Japan Closing Advice

 

 

Wrapped hiking stick from Fuji-san ready for the plane ride home

Random Observation/Comment #103: It’s hard to say goodbye, but I guess I never left – I guess I never have to.  I’ve been reliving the memories for the past 2 ½ months and it’s been the most enjoyable moments in my life.  Every morning in front of my laptop on the LIRR, I am in my writing zone with the classical music playing in the background.  I close my eyes and try to piece together all the memories of my senses and emotions.  I wish it would play like a movie, but there are all of these glitches in the audio, video, touch-io, smell-io, and taste-io departments (I know the technical terms, but this is funnier).  There are scenes where it’s perfect, but I’m lucky if I get most of them with two out of five.  I often remember the moments that I really tried hard to capture, but oddly, this clip from my past does not have associated feelings.  It’s like my memory can’t concentrate on my senses and my emotions at the same time.  For example, I clearly remember the few minutes of the sunrise as I looked over my camera recording, but the moment when the sun looked like a yolk dropping into this liquid sky, the senses are replaced with emotions and thoughts.  It’s weird because I can then repaint the picture based on the way I remember feeling.  It’s no longer the same picture, but it brings the emotions just the same. When I reread these entries in my old age, I hope I still have this valuable skill.  I hope I can still roam the 4^th dimension in my dreams – not in hopes to alter anything to cause a rift in the space-time continuum, but to be a spectator of an unforgettable part of my life.

 

 I basically wrote an entry for every day I was in Japan.  What a good idea.  So what have I learned from this social project and what do I suggest for people who want to keep a travel blog? 

• Write Selectively. Don’t spend as much time as I did/do writing about everyday as if it were the highlight of your entire trip because it will take up all of your time and you will be as addicted as I am.  I kept an excel file with a two-column table indicating the date and activity.  I filled this in everyday before I slept just to summarize the main things that happened.  Each activity box only had bulleted events like “university trip – paragliding” or “capsule hotel” to spark my memory. 
• Maintain personal style when writing.  When you write the entries, don’t forget to include your reflections of your everyday senses because if you write for yourself, you don’t just want a quick crappy summary that you could find on the places’ website.  Capture the moment in your own way – that’s what makes the writing enjoyable; the rush of memories and corresponding emotions with every sentence keeps me tapping my arm for the vein (maybe I went too far).
• Carry around a Notepad or type it into your iPhone.  My back pocket always had a pen and notepad ready to write down the next observation.  I had filled 5 little 50 page notebooks before leaving Japan.  If you’re not a writer, have one handy anyway to keep track of expenses, write down important Japanese phrases, and collect numbers from girls you meet at clubs (especially Gai-jin clubs – no problem whatsoever).
• Take pictures, but don’t forget to look around.  My camera had grown its own hunger to capture everything and anything my eyes saw, but don’t live your life through that small LCD screen.  Sometimes you just have to fight the urge, and keep it safe in your mind.  The pictures are supposed to aid your memories, not replace them.  Don’t forget to bring extra memory cards, battery chargers, and an external storage device to transfer all 20 GB of pictures (maybe that last one is just for me).
• Find your own writing routine.  My personal routine of writing is during my commute to and from school.  When I was in Japan, I wrote during some of the late nights when I was left alone in my little room without Internet or television.  An active trip will not have this free time to stay at home and write.  Resort to reflecting on these memories when you’re finished with the trip and back to your normal (and hopefully not too boring) routine.
• Fool around with different writing styles.  I found it boring writing the same way every day as a chore so I approached every blog entry with a different perspective.  There are days where I feel like writing serious reviews and other times where I let myself drift off into a random trail.  You can write stories about yourself in the third person if you’d like, but I think exploring different writing styles will keep the memories interesting.

My next adventure is Europe.  I will be there for at least 4 months studying at Hamburg University starting in March.  The blogging and copious amount of pictures will continue when I’m there.  I’m considering focusing on actually offering factual information about the places I visit, but I think too many other sites do this.  I’d like to find a happy mixture of expressing my experiences, adding my little quirks and side stories, and giving useful advice for travelers.

 

~See Lemons Wait for the Next Adventure

Making ice cream while hung over

 

 

Noda-san mixing frozen yogurt

Random Observation/Comment #102: When the “schedule” is set, you’re not allowed to make any impromptu changes.  Even if you drink until 4AM the night before, you still must wake up at 8AM to attend a frozen-yogurt-making activity.  Almost everyone I know would have slept in (which would be convincing enough to follow guilt-free), but every single drunken mess I saw the night before was outside on the benches (almost) ready to start the morning.  That’s dedication. 

 

It was a beautiful morning, but I wasn’t in the beautiful-morning-mood.  I could have used more than 4 hours of sleep, but I didn’t want to offend anyone or show Japanese people how lazy Americans really are.  I guess by waking up on time with a smile, I was poorly representing my background as a 21-year-old New Yorker on vacation.  What I should have done was wake up at 2PM and raided the fridge for Tostitos and salsa while wearing argil business socks and CK boxers (that might just be me at Jake’s house on a Saturday morning).  You could imagine my enthusiasm for making ice cream.  They were lucky that I was conscious, let alone functional and social.

I thought ice-cream-making was for elementary school kids, but apparently graduate students getting their PhDs in artificial intelligence subjects can also have a good time mixing ingredients and tossing around a huge canister.  The process is pretty simple, but the competition between college groups added some motivation.  I wasn’t sure of the exact amounts, but we mixed sugar, sour cream, and egg whites together into a bowl.  Then, we beat it to give the whole thing some body.  You really want a thick, yet fluffy consistency.  After you have this goop, you put it into a metal container inside of a larger plastic canister and fill it with ice and salt. 

Then the fun part: Close the plastic lid and roll it around to rapidly decrease the temperature against the metal.  The rolling action should keep the frozen yogurt at the edges of the container and the ice should freeze it after about 15 minutes of movement.  Different teams tried different methods of rolling the container.  My team basically found a hill and threw it down a couple of times (like 50).  I was doubtful of this success because if you graph the rolling speed against time, you will see some shaking for the climb up the hill, and then an accelerated roll down the hill.  Although the average speed may match that of a conventional method of kicking the thing around, the inconsistency of motion and body heat added during the physically transport of the device was inefficient.  In fact, after 15 minutes of this unnecessary work, the frozen yogurt looked more like frozen pudding – Failure.  Oh well, take two.  … Take three.

Well, we eventually got it.  I also gave up half-way and went to a vending machine to spend 100 yen on real ice cream.  I guess the one I ate wasn’t made with love and teamwork.  I tried some of their frozen yogurt and it tasted pretty good.   I was never a big fan of the sourness that came with frozen yogurt – I always thought frozen yogurt was like rejected ice cream.  The toppings are decent, but I rather have some cookie dough or mint chocolate chip.  If they come out with double chocolate chunk frozen yogurt, I’ll be, as they say, “all up on that shit.”

 

~See Lemons Make Frozen Yogurt

Ikemoto-san rolling the canister full of frozen yogurt

The story of a bottle of jager and rum – it ends with their sacrifice

 

 

epic bbq. look at all that food

Random Observation/Comment #101: As the alcohol content in these little Japanese people’s blood stream increases, so does the frequency of slurred Jap-English phrases.  I had no idea what they were saying, but it was fun trying to figure it out.  Even if I did understand, I waited for them to draw a picture or make funny gestures for my own entertainment.  Although this was a little mean, I actually remembered the words they taught me much better when they explained it in different ways.  How could I forget the creativity of their charade clues?  Good times.

 

After the paragliding adventures, we had a few hours to play some soccer and baseball.  These two sports seem to be the staple of Japanese culture.  Not only does everyone want to be a baseball player, but they practice tirelessly enough to succeed.  From our conversations, I couldn’t tell if it was a love for the sport or a motivation to become a superstar and travel overseas to make money as a professional.  I guess I didn’t expect a group of engineering students to make irrational decisions, like dropping all their work to pursue a career that has little chance of success (cough).  I know happiness is important, but I guess it doesn’t buy security (::Shakes fist at Angus::).

I never really played baseball, but I consider myself a well-rounded athletic person.  I think basic hand-eye coordination skills and some motor functions are all you need to play quick pick up games with students that build robots.  It may sound cliché, but I remember the little league kids teasing to come closer whenever I went up to bat.  I felt a surge of confidence when the Japanese people all moved back when they saw I was next.  I wish I could play little league now (Mitch Hedberg reference).

The BBQ feast we had was epic.  We cooked the amount of beef equivalent to a full cow.  The sizzling moo kept me stuffing my face until I truly could not move.  The food coma struck me swiftly and skillfully like a trained ninja.  Fortunately, the promises of sake and soju kept me from pitching a tent and calling it a night.  My eyelids were heavy and my breathing slowed while I struggled to maintain a Japanese conversation.  I knew it was a bad sign when I couldn’t think of anything but jumping cows and fluffy sheep.

The token Irishman (hopefully not as offensive as my “little Chinaman” nickname) did not disappoint the typical stereotypes of alcoholism and drunken rage.  His bottles of jager and rum proved useful for the night to follow.  The Japanese students didn’t really need a drinking game.  Most of them nursed two beers and showed their Asian glow.  By the third, they were laughing for no reason and started bursting out into song.  “Ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo pon!”  echoed in my ears and haunted all those that tried to escape its addictive tune.  By the four, half of the group huddled in a corner, while the heavier drinkers started our drinking games.  I’ve never been so drunk by 10PM (maybe zombiecon trumps it with 2PM).  My memory of the night is a little patchy, but I distinctly remember wearing pink slippers outside and getting into a fight with a vending machine… He started it.

~See Lemons a Little Tipsy

 

Another beer tower

Paragliding is aight

 

 

I wish that was me.

Random Observation/Comment #99: Who the hell doesn’t want to fly?  I’m a little afraid of heights, but I would still love to be able to make that party entrance.  I mean, it’s not as classy as entering a party in your own mansion with three beautiful ballet dancers around your arms after being released from a private chopper, but I do think mine flaunts a bit less money.  For some reason, I feel like someone judging my powers of flight would think to themselves, “Hey, if I could fly, I would probably do the same.”  On the other hand, the Bruce Wayne entrance would get the response, “What a complete waste of money, you arrogant son of a bitch.  I hate you because I want to be you.”  It makes me wonder why envy works in such interesting ways – maybe it’s just the pure corruption and evil of money.

 

I felt the way a racing dog must feel when anticipating the starting shot to try and catch that rabbit flying around the track.  “Ichi, ni, SAN!” and I ran with all my might off the grass covered ski slope.  The parachute inflated above me creating an ominous shadow below.  I kept my arms raised and jumped with a huge leap of faith that I wouldn’t crash to my doom.  To my surprise, I stayed afloat, but at the price of those straps digging into my biceps and squeezing my groin muscles.  This hurt like hell and made me wonder why it doesn’t bother babies as much when we pick them up by the arm pits.  I figure it’s because of the weight to surface area ratio that determines the pain.  If I were a baby’s size and weight, the two hands would probably feel more like pillows lifting me gently into a parent’s loving-arms.  As an adult being lifted, the force required to lift me upwards is much greater and focused on a smaller point.  It would be the difference between being strangled with a piece of floss or a thick belt (I don’t know why I chose this particular analogy – must be Dexter). 

So this is how it feels to fly – 200 pounds (including equipment) forced directly onto my arms and crotch.  Don’t get me wrong, the view was unforgettable, but so was the pain.  It left unattractive bruises that everyone saw during the onsen.  Side note: bruises have a tendency to go through such a glorious number of mysterious and grim colors.  The early pink turns purple, blue, black, green, and red in a weird chromatography spread.  I felt like I was opening a present every time I lifted my sleeve.  All of the university students thought I was beaten up in the middle of the night or I was lifted by an oversized man with small hands. 

Was it worth it?  Although the three, 30 second sessions of being airborne were short lived, I felt a level of freedom when falling with style.  Students yelled, “Tanoshiiiiiii” or “Enjoyable!!” while they were floating down the side of the mountain.  Paragliding doesn’t have that stomach churning acceleration that you may find in bungee jumping or free falling, but it can be done without someone strapped to your ass.  However, due to the large number of students and only 4 paragliding shoots, we spent a lot of the day just waiting for our turn.  To occupy our time, we took pictures at the bottom and laughed at people flying into bushes and landing on their asses.

The thirty seconds you spend in the air does free your mind.  I wonder if the view and feeling in Heaven is like that – a boost of adrenaline and a view seen by the privileged.  I had truly been stress-free for close to two minutes that day.  In my opinion, it was definitely worth it.

~See Lemons Paraglide

Group photo!

We definitely won the bar crawl

 

 

These guys were awesome.

Random Observation/Comment #94: Are there really losers in a bar crawl?  Properly, are you even likely to finish?  I was having a good time just walking around with inebriated strangers, and picking their brains about traveling and career paths.  Everyone has such an interesting story and outlook on life.  Some of them I pity, while others I envy – this society is made of so much drama and complexity, I’m surprised I don’t have more problems myself.

 

The bar was overflowing with music, laughter, and dirty jokes.  A classic Irish bar in the middle of Osaka? Where did they get all of those white people?  Anyway, the mixed company was a relief from the usual slurs of inaudible Japanese tongue.  This night fit any ordinary bar atmosphere, but I saw someone I didn’t think I would see in my lifetime again.  How could I forget that moustache?

One month earlier… Dotombori was a major tourist attraction because of its large selection of food and slutty girls.  Chris and I lived the life of New York models and walked around the clubs like we owned the place.  We were outside taking a breath of air that didn’t smell like sweat, smoke, alcohol, and foreigners, when we bumped into a drunken German guy.  He wore a white bandana, cheap sunglasses, a black sleeveless shirt, army boots, and camouflage pants.  He stumbled by us and started a casual conversation with Chris because he looked the most like a gai-jin.    These random meetings of “the fellow white people in Japan” club happen often.  In some cases, you pass by discretely with a CIA-type nod, and in others, you actually shake hands and vent quickly about cultural frustrations.  In all situations, you don’t expect to see the other person again, but you’re glad to speak English at a normal pace without hand gestures.  After some introductions and 10 minutes of talking, the German was back on his way to continue his night.

He still wore the same camouflage pants and bandana from the night I remember him.  In fact, it looked as if he was placed into a time machine and warped to the future (my current present) to kill me, save me, or send me an important message.  I was already so drunk that I waited for the moment he would reveal his true agenda.  Unfortunately, there was nothing this exciting to plunge my story ahead, nor am I creative enough to make up something ridiculous, so I’ll just tell it as it was – a story of a bar scavenger hunt.

Very quickly, my Japanese casual drinking graduate group evolved into a group of four white males with Japanese girlfriends.  It was odd seeing the similar trend of Asian fever.  I had joined a winning team of motivated and dedicated drinkers.  The game plan in their minds was to win the bar crawl and get the first prize of an open bar at the end location.  This was very different from my game plan of getting drunk and literally crawling around Osaka.  Their version involved a lot more walking than drinking.  It seemed like we spent 70% of the time on foot from place to place and then a maximum of 10 minutes to get a stamp, buy a beer, and chug.  We rushed and we won, technically.

However, according to the person organizing this whole thing, we didn’t.  Apparently, “we weren’t aggressive enough.”  You can imagine the tension in the air when we waited for an hour for our free drinks to find that we were shafted by some other group that called him every second of the night.  The manager of the end location even signed our ticket saying that we were the first ones there.  This angered the drunken group.  Alfred almost became green and snapped necks.  I’m not sure how to stop a drunk German guy from murdering, but I think it involves a train.

We spent the rest of the night completely pissed off and finishing a complimentary bottle of champagne from the second place prize.  Much of the conversation consisted of anger and frustrations focused on different ways to torture and kill the person organizing the event.  I absorbed every last bit of creativity just in case I ever need to write a story of a psychotic killer or Jack Bauer.  Most of these levels of revenge are removed from comic book villain motives and top selling novels because of its pure cruelty.  I think it’s violent enough to be made into an anime (oh, those crazy Japanese people).  If you don’t believe me, watch Elven Lied or Gantz.

I guess I can’t complain too much because it turned out to be a ridiculously fun night of sharing stories and making new friends.  I talked to a philosophy professor most of the time, and I followed his train of thoughts through the excitement of the night’s events.  Even if he didn’t tell me what he did, I knew he could only be a philosopher by his extreme persistence to read into every action and calculate every perspective.  In almost every scenario he developed for the organizer of the event, he was humble and partially blamed himself.  I could tell that in any other situation, he would have found some zen balance, but this time it was completely the other guy’s fault.

First mistake: He made exceptions to his own rule and didn’t tell us about it until we lost.  Second mistake: He insulted us by saying that we weren’t aggressive enough to inform him of our progress.  Third mistake: He didn’t try to comfort us in any way by offering our money back or treating us to a round of drinks.  Even though he was completely trashed, I would have expected a courtesy of reciprocation and humiliation by any human being at his age.  All he had to say was, “Look, I made a huge mistake for not letting you know about this earlier.  Let me make it up to you by buying you a drink and we’ll enjoy the rest of the night inside.  At least you guys got second place and get a free bottle of champagne.”  Do you see what happened there?  You admitted to a clear mistake, and you tried to make it up to us.  Plus, you reminded us of our reward and did it without offending us.  There are three parts to sorry: 1) I’m sorry. 2) I was wrong. 3) How can I fix it?  ::Shakes head in dismissal:: Common sense.

~See Lemons Win Anyway