Culture Shock: Part 1

People keep asking me what kind of things have been a real “culture shock” for me since coming to Japan. Well, folks, fasten your seatbelts, because I have had a wild time of this.

Before that, though, I just wanted to apologize for the belated entry. For those who did not know, I have been sick for much of these past two weeks and spent the vast majority of the weekend (aka my “writing time”) knocked out like a boxer with a glass jaw. Seriously, no amount of tea, loud noises, or, well, anything could keep my eyes open.

Those of you who travel may be familiar with some of traveling’s many pitfalls, one of which is constipation. Between the vast distances I crossed, the stresses of getting from place to place, and the sudden dietary changes, well, I did not manage to escape. It had been several days, actually, since I had managed a bowel movement. I was still in a hotel, undergoing training for my new job, and this place was decked out with everything from a gym to a garden and waterfall feature in the center of the building. On top of all of this, the toilets were similarly overdone.

Japanese toilets have gained something of a reputation, between their various functions. They can be all-in-one toilets, bidets, music players, white sound generators (to allow some privacy), and a number of other things. I even heard one person refer to these things as “a gift from the future.” Well, the future knew my needs one way or the other. One evening, I thought I felt something and decided, for the sake of my health, I should at least give it a shot. Well, the toilet in my room was so heavily rigged that, the moment I sat down, I activated a pressure plate that started a loud and turbulent pre-flush cycle. The sudden noise and the unexpected gale beneath me actually scared me enough to loosen my bowels in an instant. So, I guess I should count that as a victory? I still find myself poking toilet seats around here, though, just in case they decide to erupt into geysers when I sit down.

That same evening, I walked to a nearby 7/11 (yes, they have those here) and saw that they sold alcohol! Not only did they sell alcohol, though, they sold cheap alcohol! Aside from wanting a little something to unwind and being something of a beer fan, I thought I would try the local flavor. Looking through the options, I saw some titles I had tried in the states, such as Sapporo and Asahi. Being the adventurous (and miserly) spirit that I am, though, I grabbed something new and almost half the price: a blue can that I think had the Suntory label on it.

A word to the wise: If you’re in Japan and see a beer in a blue can, don’t drink it, because that stuff is weird. I mean, really, it was salty! Who makes a beer SALTY?!?!

But the strangeness just kept coming! After purchasing the beer, I tried to use some of the little Japanese I knew to thank the store clerk.

The Japanese must think Americans are nuts.

When I did, this smiling, pudgy, unshaven guy about my age said “Oh! You are so gentle!”

I’m sorry, but the last time someone said that to me, it was from a girl and I had just made love to her for the first time, so excuse me if that comment set me a bit off balance!

Apparently, though, what he meant was that my “thank you” had been too polite; I had used too many honorifics. See, Japanese is an exceedingly polite language and is built around a whole system of etiquette. Just off the top of my head, I can think of six ways of saying “thank you,” each suited for a different context. The speaker and listeners’ relative social statuses, the action that elicited the gratitude, their familiarity, and a number of other factors all determine which version of “thank you” is appropriate. Thing is, I am terrible at Japanese, so there are probably another two dozen versions that I don’t even know yet! And that sort of linguistic etiquette permeates nearly the entire language.
I knew that before coming to Japan, but still, hearing a grown man softly say to me “Oh! You’re so gentle!” was not expected.

Speaking of expectations, I had anticipated that, upon coming to Japan, I would have left the religious crazies behind.

WRONG.

The first time I went into one of the main train stations, I found Jehovah’s Witnesses and various other evangelicals standing around handing out fliers and calling for people to listen to them. I suppose I wasn’t too surprised by that, since hanging around public transportation and harassing people is kind of their M.O. worldwide, what really hit me in the gut came a few weeks later in the form of a coworker. This Japanese coworker told me that he does not believe in the theory of evolution. I mean, seriously? There are even priests in the Vatican who have accepted evolution! I knew that ignorance and crazy were kind of human universals, but I was hoping to at least leave that particular brand of crazy behind me in the states! Looks like there are just some things that you cannot escape here.

Such as Pachelbel. You know, from Pachelbel’s Canon in D? Goes a little something like “Da da-da da da-da da da-da-da-da-da-da da da-da da da-da da da-da-da-da-da-da…” Yes? No? Well, you hear it EVERYWHERE. That same chord progression is in tons of pop songs, folk, country, even punk rock. You know, in stuff like “As we go on… We remember… All the times we… Spent together…”

That’s all Pachelbel.

See, I don’t have a personal beef with the man, but that song is so catchy and repetitive, it drives me NUTS!!! Now that I’ve written about it, I expect that I won’t be able to get the melody out of my head for the next four days.

Now, normally I wouldn’t complain about something like this. It’s so ubiquitous, what’s the point in whinging? It’s all fairly harmless anyhow, right? Well, some time ago, I found a kindred spirit on YouTube, so now I feel entirely justified in expressing my frustrations.

I didn’t expect to escape this composer completely and I was fine with that. I listen to songs that have the same chord progression, though disguised cleverly enough that I don’t notice unless I pay attention. However, the school I work at seems to take particular joy in tormenting me. During lunch period every day, they tend to play music of some sort and, guess what?, every couple of days, the original, true-blue Pachelbel’s Canon in D comes over the speakers and that’s it! Game over! Song’s in my head for the rest of the day! I’m starting to think that I would be listening to this damned tune even if I was doing Peace Corps work in Nicaragua.

If you’re curious and need a good laugh, here’s the Pachelbel Rant! It’ll give you an idea of my thought process.

Anyhow, it’s erring on 10:30pm here, I get up at 5:30am every day, and this post is long enough. Before the Song of the Week, though, let me just leave you with another little tidbit:

I went to an Okinawan restaurant with some coworkers a couple of weeks ago and accidentally ate a pig’s ear. I mean, it was food and was definitely meant to be eaten, but I didn’t realize that I’d just chewed up a pig’s ear and swallowed it until five minutes later. I just thought that it was octopus or something else comparably chewy and cartilaginous.

Whoops.

Song of the Week: I have been playing some songs for a few elementary school classes this week. “Hungry Like The Wolf” by Duran Duran happened to be one of them and, ever since I had the idea to play it in class, I have not been able to flush it out of my head. Still, it’s better than Pachelbel!

Parental Advisory: Explicit Content

Is there a better way to begin this week than with a penis festival? Yes? No? Well, either way, Japan has one.

Apparently a good number of my coworkers were already aware of this bizarre celebration. I, however, was not expecting an article (and picture) about a giant, enshrined dick appearing on the group chat. So, of course, I immediately made plans to attend the next day. What else was I supposed to do? Besides. It was only forty minutes away.

Apparently the Kanamara Festival stems from a local tradition and a couple of legends that go along with it. The first legend is that the Shinto goddess Izamani once gave birth to a fire god. This left her weak, injured. Two gods of mining and blacksmiths, Kanayamahiko and Kanayamahime, then healed her wounds. Because of this, local sex workers near this shrine would pray to these gods for protection from STDs, childbirth, and similar hazards of their trade. The other story claims that a demon fell in love with a local woman in the area. Instead of sending her flowers and chocolates, though, he decided to inhabit her vagina.

Yup. You read that right. Just sort of burrowed in and set up shop, apparently. To make matters worse, though, the woman was to wed and, during the post-nuptial activities, this demon bit off her new husband’s penis. Whoops! Sorry, honey!

So yeah, that marriage didn’t work out. However, she got married again, hoping that this was just a freak accident. Turns out it wasn’t and now there was a second eunuch hobbling around the village. The woman finally decided to make an unusual commission from the local blacksmith and ordered an iron penis from him. Once it was ready, she “presented” it to the demon, who, thinking it was another man, chomped down and smashed his teeth to pieces. The demon then fled in agony, toothless and frightened. The metal phallus in question was subsequently enshrined there. (Source: Tokyo Cheapo)

The [drag] Queen of the festival

Now, every year, the temple has volunteers, some in drag, “put benevolent spirits” into massive, enshrined dicks and then parades these things around town for a couple of hours! Performers, food vendors, and all the typical festival accoutrements appear and much of the proceeds go to STD research.

Schlong story short, my experience there was something of an overload. Aside from my unfortunate history with phallic objects, which left me walking on eggshells all day, everything just came so quickly! The heavy weight of the crowd pressing against me, the heat of the day, and the hard railing I was crushed against were a bit too much for me. You see, there was a rather long line waiting to get into the temple area where the penises and performers were. Although I could only watch, the people inside seemed to be having a ball.

Beyond the temple’s low walls, I could see three tall palanquins bearing phalluses, each larger than the next. The first was a serious bit of wood, about a foot tall, surrounded by smaller metal versions. On the far end of the courtyard was a big black dick, standing perhaps five feet tall, complete with veins. In between those two, though, was a towering, pink Godzilla of a cock. It must have been even almost as big as the snow penis that broke my leg freshman year!

After the priest and his assistants finished their ritual for putting spirits into the statues, various staff lifted these portable shrines into the air, bouncing and jostling the statues above their heads. I half expected white confetti to explode from their tips at any second.

Once the parade left the temple, though, and began its trek through the town’s streets, all hell broke loose.

Trying to get a closer look, I had inserted myself into the massive crowd crushing itself against the walls. When the parade left, though, the courtyard was left open and the crowd thrust forward, pushing itself through the temple’s archway and exploding into the space beyond. Even if I had tried to escape, I doubt that I could have. If I thought that rush hour on the Tokyo subway system was bad, this was worse. I have been caught in inexorable undertows while swimming and been swept away by rivers and currents that no amount of strength or skill could avail against. This crowd was much like that: A force of nature. Going against that tide would have been tantamount to a salmon trying to swim against a tsunami. Thankfully I don’t think anyone was injured and, hey!, I got to skip the line. I felt like a dick for it (see what I did there?), but didn’t really have much of a choice at the time.


Inside it was much like any other Japanese festival. People prayed at the main shrine for good luck, ate and drank beneath the cherry blossoms, enjoyed performances, and bought all manner of penis and vagina-themed goods. Oh, wait. Okay, not quite like any other Japanese festival. Parents were even buying genitalia-shaped candies for their kids to munch on!

Getting in on the fun, I bought the biggest candy they had, which was about five inches of hardened sugar in the shape of a red-tipped penis. It cost 500 yen (a little under $5.00), but I thought, “When in
Rome, right?” Let me tell you, I definitely got my money’s worth out of it.

That thing took almost three hours to eat. It was too hard to chew and, even with my entire mouth around the thing, it just did not want to dissolve! It eventually got to the point that my tongue developed sore spots from licking and sucking on it; even starting to bleed a little! Those things are definitely meant for sharing.

Meanwhile, I lost track of how many folks wanted to take my picture with that thing! I don’t know if I seemed approachable or if people were just entertained to see a white guy in leather taking dick, or at least taking part in the festivities. There were a ton of foreigners there too, which isn’t too surprising all things considered, but I seemed to attract cameras like a sailor attracts whores at the docks. 

Glad I lost my sense of dignity during high school theatre!

When all was said and done, and the phalluses had returned after their long, hard march, it was time to call it quits.

Ended up following this guy as I left.

Heading out, I decided to see just how long the line to get into the shrine was. I followed it out of the side gate, where people were supposed to enter from (whoops), and down to the street corner about thirty meters away. Then it turned around the corner and kept going until the next street corner. Past that, the line went down the street for almost a football field. Man I dodged a bullet, but wow did I feel guilty after seeing that. Just hope it wasn’t quite that crowded when I got shoved inside but, let’s be honest, it probably was. On my way back to the train station, the next performers took the stage. I know that American music dominates the global industry, but it was pretty weird hearing a Japanese man trying to sing Toto’s “Africa” as I left.







On a side note, remember that shrine I mentioned last time? The one I stumbled upon while running? I took the time to find it again last night! Many of the cherry blossoms have fallen now, but hopefully the pictures at the end of this blog will give you some sense of the serenity and ambience there. Unfortunately, I left my good camera at home because my computer’s SD card reader has suddenly decided to stop working. Sorry for the poor quality, but if anyone knows how to touch up iPhone pictures to balance lighting exposure, I’d be glad for some tips!

Anyhow, here’s the Song of the Week: “Whatever It Takes,” by Imagine Dragons. This song has been buzzing through my head all week and helping to keep me awake at my job, despite waking up at 5:30 every day for an hour and fifteen minute commute. Enjoy this while you check out the shrine pictures!

 

We Live In A Game

At long last! I have WiFi in my apartment! Haha! Get ready, internet!

This also means that, ta da!, I can bother people with my blog posts on a more regular basis! Gotta say, before this, trying to do anything at the local convenience store was not my cup of tea. Especially since I could only use their WiFi for an hour each day. An hour to take care of work, personal emails, and communications with my apartment coordinator was not enough. But yeah, now I can post blogs in my spare time, look into writing competitions, study Japanese, get in touch with friends and family, and otherwise better myself with my nearly limitless access to the web! (Read that all as “I will be browsing web comics and looking up cat videos every night.”)

Yet last week I promised more information on the move to Japan, did I not? I mean, this is technically a travel blog after all, by the furthest stretch of the definition. Well, first I would like to blame any grammatical errors, typos, or just plain bad writing on my apartment’s table, as it is the wibbliest table that ever did wobble. No, I can’t actually blame any of that on this crummy table, but I really want to. I’ve already spilled three cups of tea just by typing or turning book pages too enthusiastically.

The company I work for stuck me in a tiny apartment that, as a part of the lease, includes some “rental furniture” that I didn’t ask for and never wanted to pay for. While the refrigerator and clothes washer are nice to have, I could have gotten others for cheaper in the long run and everything else is either poor in quality or superfluous. For example, they “rented” me another induction stove when one comes built into the apartment itself. Why would I need two?! I don’t have any counter space to begin with! The wibbly-wobbly table pulls triple duty as my cooking prep area, writing desk, and dinner table. Definitely wouldn’t trust a TV on this thing, if I ever get one to play games with that is.

However, I have been so busy with the transition and settling in that video games have largely been a distant thought. I talk about them with coworkers and friends, but when I get home, I’m usually too preoccupied with feeding myself, laundry, and various other things. I’ve had the time, but I often find myself writing or reading or going out and wandering my new surroundings. Besides, I’m starting to think of this whole experience, if not careers and life in general, as something like a giant game anyhow. I mean, yes, people say “Life is a game,” but they each mean something different and often they never elaborate. For some, it’s about playing other people and out-planning them to get what you want. For some, it’s about competition and earning greater status. Me? I’m seeing this as something akin to an RPG. That means “Role-Playing Game,” for the less geeky and more socially and psychologically adjusted among you.

Even on my way over here, I could not help but think of traveling in terms of a video game. While flying over the Korean Peninsula, I thought “Huh. Between this and my flight over Russia, among other things, I have circumnavigated the globe.” I half expected to hear a “ping” at any moment and find a little achievement badge titled “Globetrotter” hovering above my head.

While at the hotel where my company was housing us for training, I thought “This is a lot like a tutorial in a video game.” The training was fun and supportive, the setting cushy, the stakes minimal, and everything about what I am supposed to be doing in the next year was more or less explained. Oh, and there was a silent, intimidating threat in the form of my new job looming over the entire thing. Company employees even showed us how to navigate the public transportation, which is unfortunately as close to a Fast Travel mechanic as I’m probably going to get in this life. Once they got us to our apartments, though, we were more or less on our own: Welcome to Level One, kids.

Like an RPG, I found myself surrounded by other characters (also known as “people”) with lives of their own, various skills, and story lines independent from, but similar to mine. Some people had been playing for longer and had managed to achieve one goal or another, be that to get a better job or start a family or whatever.

Living here, though, I find a lot of things are unavailable to me as a foreigner, which makes my own goals seem distant. For one, I am illiterate. I can enter a bookstore and browse their selection, but I can’t even read the titles. If I buy something, there goes some precious money and there goes even more precious space in my shoebox apartment. All the while, I gain no benefit from the purchase because I lack the skill required to utilize it. Furthermore, there are also various restaurant and store owners who will not serve “Gaijin” (foreigners, esp. those of Western descent) because we cannot read the menus or otherwise communicate. They also anticipate that we will be rude, loud, messy, and sometimes do not want to serve foreigners simply because we are not Japanese. I imagine that those last people account for relatively few of those who have refused me service. Or at least I hope so.

Either way, though, if I invest more time in “training” my Japanese Reading “skill” then, like a game, I will have more areas and resources available to me. If I invest time into buffing up my Japanese Speech “Skill,” then I will have more access to services and I’ll hear about other interesting places and resources I might never know about otherwise. More points in my Teaching “Skill” would mean fewer complaints in my job report, less exhaustion, and hopefully a better recommendation when all is said and done.

Also, very much like the start of an RPG, I am making very little money. Aside from only receiving a little more than what counts for minimum wage in my home state, I have to wait two MONTHS before my first paycheck. Think that’s crazy? Yeah. I do too. We were told something about Japanese laws requiring foreigners to work at a job for a whole month before we receive any payment. Perhaps this is to prevent migrant workers from flitting about and destabilizing the job market? Beats me. I’m just speculating. The real kicker, though, is that my company also has a policy on only paying for the work done the month before, or something along those lines. So, in short, even though I have been working billable hours since March 17th, I won’t get a paycheck until mid May. They did warn us that startup expenses would be steep, but it was not until we were practically on our planes for Japan that we found out it was because we weren’t getting paid. Guess that’s why they were so insistent that we set aside at least $5,000 for when we got here. That’s the money we need for rent, commuting, and food until nearly June. We get reimbursed for transportation costs, luckily enough, but, once again, those don’t come until our paychecks do.  When that first paycheck hits, though, it’s going to feel like a sledgehammer of cash. It won’t be very much, really, but it will feel like a lot.

So these next two months are going to be rather lean. On the bright side, contrary to popular belief, food in Japan is SUPER cheap. I mean, yes, the average pay is lower than in the states and minimum wage is lower, so that drives the prices down, but seriously? A dollar for a box of tofu? A dollar for half a liter of soy sauce? Less than a dollar for a whole daikon radish or a head of cabbage? Wow. That almost offsets the pricy rent and utilities bills.

I’ve also made a little game of finding where I can get the best deals. While exploring the area, I have found a multitude of stores. Some are national chains, some are family owned. There’s even a little grocer not five minutes from my house. Each has different prices for their products, though, so I’ve been keeping tabs and figuring out when I will be in each area for business so that I can buy the cheap goods while there. It’s an efficiency and resource management game! It sounds bland, but it’s entertaining! It also gives me an excuse to wander and fill in those shaded-in parts of my World Map. Again, Fast Travel would be super convenient, but you take what you can get, no? Such wanderings have also earned some interesting local finds!

Yesterday, for example, I went on a run, as usual, but got completely lost for about a half hour. Not so normal, for me. Much like the vast majority of places built before urban planning, my town has a bunch of winding streets that snake through the cluster of hills that it is built on. Aside from getting turned around at every opportunity, I encountered one dead-end after another and then night fell. Again, normally my sense of direction is pretty solid, thanks to years in the Boy Scouts and how I just enjoy this sort of thing, but man does this place look different at night. While trying to find my way back, I noticed some soft pink and red lights floating above the hill before me. Break lights from cars? They weren’t moving though. Shop lights? Kind of spread out. Once I gained the summit, sweating and panting, I looked around, wondering what I had seen. From the top of the road, though, I could detect no hint of the lights and ran on.

Until I caught a glimpse of them as I passed the next street.

I doubled back, peeking my head through a simple stone gateway that marked a small parking lot. Within stood a dozen or so trees, with cars carefully nestled amongst them. Hanging from lines suspended between the branches hovered paper lanterns, lit from within by small electric bulbs. Through the pink and red paper, diffuse, soft colors illuminated the gravel and the leaves, staining everything in rosy hues. Tip-toeing in, I scanned the area, half expecting a cross Japanese local to shout at me for trespassing. I found a stone path and followed it for a few feet before I noticed the house set on the property. Through a frosted window, I could see a sink faucet, sponge, and other domestic objects. Convinced that I had stepped into someone’s yard, I nearly turned around before I realized that the “house” was actually the back of a small temple.

Just a few steps forward and I could see a traditional, Shinto-styled temple. Cherry blossoms fluttered in the branches above me, the occasional petal tumbling down as a breeze shook the boughs. Looking down and following the path, I found the shrine itself standing at the end. The wood was dark with age or artificial staining; smokey in the dimness, with paper talismans hanging from the front entrance’s archway. I stood at the edge of a small courtyard, it seemed, with the shrine at the far end and other structures framing the gravel-covered space, including the building that also served as a house.

Sudden, acute awareness of my foreignness kicked me back to my senses. The terror of accidentally trespassing and the knowledge that I was still lost at night with a dying phone sent me back on my run. I wish I had taken pictures for you guys. Thing is, when I finally gave up and opened Google Maps a few minutes later, the app said I was only seven minutes from my apartment. The shrine could not have been that much farther!

With that in mind, I tried to find it again tonight, hoping to see the lanterns and the cherry blossoms. Problem is, the shrine I found on Google Maps was the wrong one. This temple, far nearer my place, is called Komagata Tenmangu. Again, no idea what that means, but this was a far more foreboding locale. Almost entirely unlit at the top of nearly fifty stairs and guarded by stone hounds, whose pale fangs and wide eyes gleamed in the gloom, I was tempted to turn back right then. It did not help that I was also, once again, surrounded by houses. I did not want to seem a trespasser or look like the clueless foreigner/borderline tourist that I am, so I took a couple quick pictures and went on to try to find my original goal. No luck, I’m afraid. Went wandering around for a good hour, but to no avail.
Returning to my apartment, I opened Google Maps again (thanks to my WiFi!!!) and I think I’ve found the right place, finally. It’s called Shirahata Jinja and it is almost equidistant from my apartment to the furthest I explored tonight. Damn, but it is hard navigating this town at night! I’ll try again tomorrow.

Until I get those pics, though, here’s a little preview of what I’ll write about next week!

In the meantime, I have some studying and other work to do. If I’m going to thrive here, I really need to work on my language proficiency and I also hear other writing projects calling my name. Gotta level up my fiction and other works if I want to make a living as a writer some day soon!
I’ll talk with you all soon. Have a good week!

Song of the Week: “Shell” by NateWantsToBattle is but one song from an entire album inspired by one of the great video game classics: “The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time.” If you enjoy this tune, you might want to check out the rest of his album!