Adventures in Japan no. 31

I awoke with a start. It was 3am. There was a loud explosion from outside and the house shook and swayed. Immediately my mind lead me to believe we had just been bombed by North Korea.

It lasted for 3 seconds then was gone. The neighborhood was quiet. There were no dogs barking – did I just imagine it?

My startled husband ran into the room in a panic. “What was that?”, he asked. “Did Daisen erupt?”, I casually asked about the dormant mountain 10 minutes away.

After living in Japan for 16 months I've finally felt my first ubiquitous Japanese earthquake.

16 percent of the world's earthquakes take place in Japan. They're as common as anime and mullets, and almost as scary.

Adventures in Japan no. 30

We discovered a mouse in our house the other day. On top of all the other critters that share our old Japanese house with us, we have a mouse.

We put out poison (“the favorite flavor of mice” according to our manager) and named it Henry. Now whenever we need to refer to it we can say things like:

“I saw Henry in the kitchen tonight”

“Henry ate a box of dry lasagna noodles”

“Henry's dead”

It makes it sound less like we have a rodent and more like there's just an unwelcome visitor. Our school's owner reassured me that mice don't eat people (don't they?) and doesn't think a mouse is cause for moving. Hopefully Henry won't overstay his welcome.

Adventures in Japan no. 29

“Hey, how are 'ya?”, he said like he's known me for years. “Do you play any instruments or sing?”, he asks me. “No, do you?”, I respond. We instantly struck up a conversation, not because we knew each other, but because we are two foreigners in Japan that happened to cross paths.

He'd come to the coffee shop to play, but the rest of his band didn't show up, so he was hanging around and chatting it up with the waitress.

As I was waiting for my coffee I learned more about this stranger then I know about many of my own friends – his wife is Japanese and he's been here for ages – doesn't get out much.

After a nice conversation with a friendly American man in Japan, and my coffee in hand, I set out ready to take on the rest of the night.

Adventures in Japan no. 28 (adult)

Cassandra and I were on a mission. With men being Japan's sexual center, we wondered if there was any place in this city we could find something to pleasure women – a vibrator.

She remembered seeing a video store by the sea that could have had ulterior motives, so we drove in that direction.

As soon as we walked in I knew we wouldn't find anything in there for us. This was man's land - the world of explicit sex – and it didn't belong to women.

We casually walked in, confident and secure. The well-lit front room seemed innocent enough – a Tom Hanks film, some comics. Casually displayed up front with comics were photos of young girls in bathing suits, their ages printed in the bottom corner – 8,9, 10 years old.

We decided we needed to take a full lap around the store, venturing behind the 18+ curtain. The tall shelves of videos provided a safe sanctuary for middle-aged men to hide out amongst their fetishes. As soon as they saw us, they scattered.

The sex industry in Japan is clearly created for and ran by men. I advised Cassandra to purchase online.

Adventures in Japan no. 27

Hungry and tired, I pulled into the Lawson parking lot. I hadn't ate since lunch, and smoked salmon onigiri sounded intoxicating.

Removing my security pass from teaching at the military base, I got out of my car and met the glance of a Japanese man getting out of his car. He smiled and waved. Pleased to see a friendly face, I waved back at the stranger.

Looking through the convenience store aisles, I found my onigiri and again bumped into the stranger.

Once back in my car I put my seatbelt on and the stranger walks by. He waves. I wave back – this time a little confused.

I leave the Lawson parking lot and head toward my next class at Yawata Bussan. “I hope he doesn't follow me”, I think to myself.

I arrived at Yawata Bussan 30 minutes early and sat in my car eating my onigiri. Seaweed, rice and salty smoked salmon is a fantastic combination. After I'm done eating I pick the remnants of seaweed out of my teeth in the rear view mirror and pull out my date book to look at my classes for the week.

I hear a tap-tap on the window.

I look over and there's a large white car parked next to me – the stranger smiling through the glass.

He rolls down his window. With hesitation, I roll mine down too. He begins talking to me in rapid-fire Japanese. Wakarimasen nihon-go, I say. He mentions Yamaguchi – the place my license plates are from. No, Yonago, I say in English. I glance back down at my date book, thinking our conversation is over. Anata wa kawaii desu, he says through his window pointing at his face. I thank him for the compliment. I think I'm cute too.

He realized this was going nowhere and waved goodbye. I didn't wave back this time.

Adventures in Japan no. 26

From the rooftop of Tenmaya I have the perfect view of Yonago. The peninsula is laid out before me, and I can see the ocean on both sides of me. It's dusk and overcast, and the air is humid. I smell the faint aroma of incense – lingering around me from teaching at Mrs. Ikuta's house – her family alter alive with offerings of incense.

The beginnings of summer are all around me – familiar sounds of the returning cicadas, the hot salty air.

Adventures in Japan no. 25

16 May 07 | 9:55a

Nice English – like Happy Teriyaki and Beauty Nails, it's another casualty of the English language in East Asia. It's also one of the classrooms I teach in --- and it's haunted!

The Nice English building sits on a busy street overlooking Yonago. It was a small hospital earlier in the century and was only recently changed into an English school. “Nobody died here.”, my manager reassures me.

With the old operating room changed into an office – no longer sterile white tiles turned gray, it looks like something taken from Silent Hill. The spiral staircase leads to a grizzly, abandoned 3^rd and 4^th floor – the ceiling reminiscent of a dead plantation home with brown swirls of water damage rippling through the paisley pattern.

I'm always alone in this building – waiting patiently for my perpetually late students – hoping I'm really alone.

Last night I taught an English class there to a small group of 8 and 9 year olds. The humid beginnings of summer have left a dank odor in the building, so I had the classroom door carefully propped open to filter out the rotting air. Without a gust of wind the door slams itself shut. My students were alarmed and looked at me for a reason. I shrugged my head and continued the lesson – once again propping open the door, but this time moving the white board in front of it. Again the door slams shut, the white board moved aside.

“Ghost house!”, 8 year-old Takashi shouts. The other 4 students agreed and continued repeating their English definition of what happened. “Yes, it's a ghost house.”, I casually said.

As soon as the children packed up and left for the evening I jolted out of there. I've always thought the old Nice English building was haunted, but now I have confirmation.