Drinking in Japan

Yan-san, the patron saint of those who study Japanese (he was the main character of a 1980's/1990's series that was/is widely pirated on the net), enjoying a cold one at his pad in Tokyo. Yan was never afraid of downing a sake or five.

"Will you drink it alone?" The bright-eyed combini worker eagerly asked me. I paused. In Canada, someone who drinks by themselves is usually considered in need of a full-blown, "let's call AA!" intervention. I should have remembered that I was in Japan before I shook my head: "No". She seemed disappointed. She was the first - but not the last to ask me this odd question.

The truth was that, since I was in the middle of nowhere, I would drink it by myself: one (large) beer while watching movies downloaded from the net. Many foreigners have questioned just what the hell it is about this place that seems to increase their imbibing habits. Was it that there was absolutely nothing else to do? Was it that booze is sold everywhere, such as supermarkets, convenience stores and even (until 11pm) vending machines (oddly, these are now only located in front of sake shops)? I only know that, in the year since I arrived here, I have drank more in volume and frequency than I ever have in my pre-Japan life.


The JET shopping cart, that fateful August when we first arrived in Japan....


Maybe it's due to the fact that drinking is intertwined in the culture as much as the language is. There's even a term for this: nomunication. A "Japanese joke" or pun, it marries the Japanese verb for "to drink" (nomu), with the English "communication". It's often said that in Japan most business is done after hours, when everybody heads to an izakaya (tavern)or akachokin (cheap food/drink) to kick back with a few frostys and some snacks. Also, what happens at the izakaya stays at the izakaya - you can go nuts and no-one will mention it the next day.

Actually, I had heard such tales: Japanese guys setting their pubic hair on fire for a joke or stripping off their clothes and running around the place, but I assumed this was the usual "those crazy Japanese!" exaggeration. However, I actually saw something like this go down: a bunch of us teachers went out for a "2nd year teachers" party. One guy, the 40-ish, super-serious gym teacher who barely ever said anything in the staff room, went fairly nuts at a karaoke place. He grabbed the mic, mimicked as if it was his dick, started yabbering flat-out nonsense into it - not any language, but just gibberish - and started humping the wall. For two full songs. I was in tears of laughter - I mean it was absurd - but the other two teachers, two women in their late 40's, didn't seem to notice anything and just searched the book for a good song to sing. No one ever said anything about it then or ever.

On a slightly more sane level, even holidays are just an excuse to get wasted. There's an expression here that kinda sums this up: hana yori dango. Literally, "(we) prefer dumplings to flowers", it means the mundane/practical is preferred over the artistic. This is taken to a literal level at hanami (flower viewing) festivals. Ostensibly, people gather to gaze at the freshly bloomed sakura (cherry blossoms). However, the real scenario is less prosaic: people gather to thrown down a blue mat, drink some (well, a lot of) sake, and howl into a portable karaoke machine before finally passing out.

Another reason I was drinking a lot was the frequency of enkais (drinking parties). It was quite common to have an enkai to celebrate someone's coming or going or wedding or birthday or it's Monday or let's just have a drink godammit. It seemed like we were always at a bar. At the enkai, there was a certain structure: people would always pour drinks for their "superiors" (a habit that I, as the lowest on the totem pole, wasn't so keen on adapting to as it meant a lot of pouring and not so much drinkin'). Also, Japanese drinkers usually start with beer, move to sake, then drink shochuu (usually, women drinkers would stick with chuhai or cocktails).


There are three main makers of beer in Japan: Asahi, Kirin, and Sapporo. I'm a fan of the latter, myself. Be wary not to buy happoshuu (low malt / sparkling liquor) instead.


You probably know that Japan is famous for rice wine, sake (pronounced "sa-kay", not "sa-key" btw). It can be drunk hot or cold, depending on the weather and tastes. It's usually called nihonshuu ("Can you drink Japanese sake?" is a question that has irritated many a foreigner). However, it's currently much less popular than it used to be and beer has taken its place.

Shochuu is a kind of Japanese vodka, kickin' in at 25% alcohol. It used to be mostly an old-man's drink, but is now more popular than sake due to faddish Japanese tastes: young women now drink it because they believe it's good for their health.

Chu-hai is, as its name implies, a "high ball" cocktail. These are mostly popular among young women and come in brightly colored cans. Apparently, quite a few ALT's have shocked their supervisors by drinking one of these in the teacher's room at lunch, thinking it was only a cola.

A further reason I was drinking is that I wanted to be social. I eat out as often as possible for this same reason. Though many native Japanese folks are nowhere near as likely as a North American to strike up a conversation or even chat, I persist. It works sometimes. I'm now translating a menu into English for a cool couple who run an izakaya near my place. The guy told me he wasn't too keen on foreigners before, but recently he's given me free food, a discount on drinks, and even stayed open for me one night when I was passing by. So, I'm making the menu for them, though it's more for the English-speaking customers that might chance by.

Last year, I also went to a regular place, a "snack" bar near my house. A snack bar is kind of like a hostess bar, where there's a "mama-san", who is the owner/manager, and usually female staff who are friendly to customers. No, not friendly in that way - just kind of flirtatious...However, though we had a mama-san, the place by my house was basically just a bar with higher prices than usual. The staff were friendly, but there was never any suggestion of any romance. Michael, the ALT was brought to a similar place in his town where, his co-workers promised, a "sexy lady" waited. She turned out to be at least 50. Anyway, these places usually have the "bottle keep" system, in which you buy a bottle of whatever and it's kept at the bar with your name on it. Also, although there are actual snacks, they are pretty low key: chocolates, chips, salted squid, and the traditional Japanese drinkin' snack, salted green beans (tastier than you'd think).

Full-fledged hostess bars (also called kyabakura, after "cabaret", exist. Despite the name, there's no dancing. The female staff must flirt, talk, and drink with the customers. They are also encouraged to go on paid dates. Some have sex with the customers, some don't. Foreign girls, especially blondes, can do quite well financially. I watched a documentary, Tokyo Girls, about some fairly plain Canadian girls who became well-off by leading on some lonely souls here. Michael and I passed by one of these places in Kyoto, but didn't know what the hell it was - the sign said "Girls Bar", but we weren't sure if that meant women-only or what.

There are also host bars, for women. The hosts are quite visible to visitors to Japan, in that they actually work the street, urging women to come to the bars with pick-up lines. They wear suits, and often have bleached or styled hair. ike the hostesses, the hosts must drink with their customers and thus, many suffer from liver damage. In a scene that is a spectacle of human misery, they encourage their customers to buy champagne to celebrate the slightest event ("Today is your fifth visit here! Shall we open a bottle?" Let's!). Ironically, the clientele is mostly made up of women who are themselves sex trade workers. There is also a great documentary about this, The Great Happiness Space. Though it provides an interesting glimpse into a rarely-seen lifestyle, it makes for depressing viewing. One girl even becomes a prostitute to support her host habit. Another pours her heart out for hours to a host, only to have him reveal to the camera, just minutes after her departure: "I hate her". That she expects to marry this guy makes these hosts worse than any prostitutes - prostitutes provide a service, but these hosts and hostesses provide only lies. I dunno, the idea of paid companionship just seems brutal to me, but maybe I'm just looking at things through my limited, "Western" perspective. What do you think?

You are allowed to drink in public in Japan, but they have a zero tolerance policy when it comes to driving. Even a bicycle. Further, if someone is at your place and gets hammered, then gets into trouble on their way home, you can expect a visit from the po-lice. Yet, like I said, when people get sloshed here they do crazy stuff, just like anywhere else. A few months after I arrived here, I was heading down the road in another prefecture with another teacher (he was driving). We saw a wreck in front of us, so I suggested he call an ambulance (I was kinda surprised that he asked me "What's the number?" as I thought he would know it....anyway, it's 119, in case you ever need it!). As we waited, I noticed the thing was still smoking. "Uh, maybe we should get out and check that the driver's all right?". We were on a bridge, and the traffic was getting backed up behind us. A few Brazilian guys from cars behind us had the same idea, and we headed for the small car, slightly crushed and on its side.

As we approached the car, I was surprised to see that there was someone still inside, an old dude. He was yelling like hell, presumably "get me the hell out of here!" in Japanese. I couldn't hear. So, a bunch of guys began pushing the tiny car, trying to set it straight. I noticed that it was being pushed towards the edge of the bridge and, should it hit it, might well fall off the bridge. I helpfully pointed this out. Finally, they put it right side up. The door was stuck, so a massive Brazilian guy practically ripped the thing off it's hinges and the old guy fell out, cursing. He was stumbling around, and you could definitely smell booze. He was far gone.

I got back in the teacher's car and we waited for the ambulance to arrive. As the teacher was talking on the phone with his brother, I noticed some activity up ahead. Ol' Jack Daniels was back in action! The character had gotten back in his car and was attempting to shut the badly-damaged door. He gave up, turned on the still-smoking vehicle, and took off, weaving down the road. I couldn't believe the car actually worked, and the fact that this guy was on the road again. We followed him for a short while, but he was gone. The ambulance and police passed us, heading towards the bridge. Later, when I told my Kyoto-sensei this story, he just shook his head and said "You have seen a Japanese shameful thing.". However, I was like, cool!

Speaking of my kyoto, he once showed me his small pocket diary. It went back seven years. Every day had either a green or red dot, or both, next to it. The thing had so much green and red it looked like a junkyard for traffic lights and Christmas trees. "What's up with those dots?" I asked. "Green is for when I go running" he said, "and red is for when I have drunk sake". The man had run a lot and drunk a lot. "I usually drink by myself and I watch TV and eat edamame" (salted green beans, actually pretty tasty).

"Do you drink alone? I always do!" said the cute, 24-year old teacher at my last job. "I always drink by myself, every night!" said the cute 28-year old at my new job. They told me the combini worker's question was most likely a subtle prod to get me to ask her to drink together, which I, Mr. Genius, was too retarded* to pick up on. Maybe I should stop drinking...

* apologies if you suffer from retardation and are thus offended by this term.

Okinawa

Hey. Yes, I'm still alive and in Japan, as yet unharmed by the various earthquakes, typhoons, and lack of good spaghetti. Sorry for the scarcity of recent postings. It's all about:

1. I have recently moved from the countryside to a larger city. I chose not to re-contract with JET. Though I still think JET is the best way to come to Japan and I loved my school, teachers, students, apartment and salary, the place I was living was simply too remote.

and

2. I'm working on a lot of things at the moment, including a book (not about Japan). However, I will continue this blog as I still have a lot of subjects to cover. Next time, I'll talk about drinking in Japan, but this time I'll update you on Okinawa.



As I mentioned prior, I went to Okinawa with the students on a school trip in Feb. Okinawa is famous for its distinctive style of cooking, especially using go-ya (a kind of bitter gourd or melon). To prepare us for the trip, the students prepared some Okinawa-style cooking for us at school. The other teachers didn't seem to like it so much, but I thought it was pretty tasty. The main thing was mimigaa, a meal made from a pig's ear in vinegar (pork is an important ingredient in Okinawan cooking, and every part of the pig is used), which was much better than I thought it would be. No, really, it was good.

You know where Okinawa is, right? It's one of the southernmost islands of Japan, with great tropical weather. Besides the food and weather, the language(s) is/are different, although sometimes people just call it a dialectical difference. Another thing that's cool is Okinawan music. This music is pretty recognizable, based as it is on the sanshin, similar to the traditional Japanese shamisen. This three-stringed instrument is related to the sanxian from China. A Tokyo band called "The Boom" had a hit in the early 90's with a modern version of a traditional Okinawan song called "Shima Uta'" (Island Song). However, my favorite music from there has to be Diego Musume(Deigo Sisters). Their album "Diego Musume Special" has super- basic, ultra-melodic haunting tunes. "みやらび風" is great. Check it out.

After the first day of visiting a cave and the peace museum, we headed over by ferry to a small island to the south. After we dropped the kids off with their respective homestay families (and some teachers had a drink or two to celebrate this...), some of us took a bike ride around the island. The day had a great vibe about it: sunny, relaxed, etc. We rode by fields and passed by this shisa, a kind of protective dragon/lion creature:



Just as the tanuki is popular in mainland Japan, this guy was around a lot of houses, ostensibly protecting them from danger. Speaking of houses, we passed by this oddly-designed place. If I remember correctly, I think it was a dentist's house (I have another, simpler pic, but threw in the schoolgirls passing to make it more "exotic" for you!).



We then went to a kind of WWII museum. Though there were no cases for the displays and you could thus touch/take anything, there was no guard - or anybody - around. The only "guarding" as such was at the gate: these two huge stone devil faces:





We moved on to the sea. Though it was February, it was plenty hot. Nobody (besides me) wanted to swim and, it being Japan, I went with the flow (pun intended) and just cooled my feet off and, for some reason, thought about Canada over the sea.



By car, we traveled uphill to check out this mountain,



and walked to the top to check out the view.



As I believe there was only about 1000 people on the island, we kept running into quite a few of the students, even passing some on the crazy-tiring path up to the mountaintop.

The next day, we took the ferry back to the mainland. On the ferry were a bunch of American servicefolks, with whom my students wanted me to interact so they could see foreigners talking to each other (after the war, the States established a lot of military bases on the island. This fact became more widely known in 1995 when U.S. marines abducted and raped a 12-year Japanese girl. Though the perps were caught, they were declared immune to local laws due to their status. However, this triggered serious protests in Okinawa, and in '96 they were charged. The outcry led the States to declare that they were pulling bases from Okinawa, but have yet to do so. ) As I'm not a fan of the military "mind"-set and, in addition, had absolutely nothing in common with and thus nothing to say to these guys, I declined.

We headed by bus to Naha, the coastal capital city of Okinawa. I was surprised that our tour guide not only talked (helped by her hand-written, phone-book size notes), but also sang (traditional Okinawa songs). during the few days we were there. I was also kind of surprised that not only the students but also the teachers talked over her singing and tour.

We arrived at Kokusai Dori (international street), which is the main strip in Naha, kind of like Vegas. After some traditional food with some teachers and students, we all broke off into small groups and went shoppin'! You have to admit this pig's face was kinda cool, but I had to ask myself, "Sure, I want this, but do I really need it?".



In a kind of farmers market, we ran across this snake herb ("good for sex!" I was told),



as well as more traditional Viagra, ye olde' snake-in-a-jar.



There was also a lot of so-called "American" motorcycle-related clothes and Hawaiian shirts on sale. I'm not really sure who it is exactly that buys these, however.

The main strip was pretty notable for its collection of promotional figures on benches. There was this forlorn-looking character next to a giant goya,



this cheerier looking cucumber thing by another goya,



an oddly-out of place Marilyn Monroe (sporting her famous catchphrase "No Sit Down!"),



Rotten Ronnie (It says "Don't climb on me").



Further down the road is his twin,



accompanied by a drug-store logo elephant and, to Ronnie's right, yes, that's a hot-dog draped in the American flag who appears to be applying condiments to himself; just as those Buddhist monks doused themselves with gasoline so they might more easily burn, ol' Frank is dousing himself with ketchup so he can more easily be eaten. As my mind is being overloaded with possible jokes and metaphors, I think it's best to end on this note.

JET's in Japan

(click on me to read larger text)
--- JET Calender, August 2007.

So, ol' Pavlos' goal is to "change some of his student's lives". I thought it was interesting that he only wants to change "some" of their lives - why not all? Take a look at his accompanying photo and consider which students lives Pavlos wants to "change".



"I often [...] feel as if others are lacking in some way. Even though they are doing their own best, I tend to think differently and force my own opinion. But in fact, everyone is an existence in the universe and the universe is already perfect."
- David Titternington, "Ten People, Ten Colors" essay.
--- Jet Journal, 2007

Hi David. Unfortunately, you're a bit- well, a lot - wrong. Some people are lacking - such as stupid hippies who believe that "it's all objective, maaan" and actually attach their name to such rubbish as is marring my page above.

I went to a JET conference with my JTE. A cool guy, his opinion of many of the JET's was, "too much confidence". I agreed. There were a lot of, in my esteemed colleague Pavlov's words, "grand prize winners".

But lets start at the beginning... After I arrived here, the group of us (new JET's and the old hands (those who had been here one whole year) went into Kyoto. They showed us a foreign foods store. They showed us an Irish pub. They showed us another Irish pub. They brought us to a salsa dance place. They mentioned the "great French food restaurant" in our city and made plans to go to an Italian place in another city.

As I'm from Canada, where I can enjoy that kind of stuff anytime, and I travelled, you know, around the world and all to come to Japan, I was eager to do Japanese things, eat Japanese food, meet Japanese people. So, as Steve Miller played in the smoky background, and the room full of foreigners (meaning us) drank their Seabreezes and their Guinesses, I suggested to our "leader", a largish girl of Indian descent (mentioned only for context), that maybe it would be fun, you know, next time or whenever, to go somewhere Japanese. Seeing as we were in Japan, and all.

She (let's call her Sharon) was not happy. "You may think all these Japanese girls with their high heels and short skirts are so great now, but we have to stick together!" she shouted at me. Her line of thinking was interesting, especially considering I had never mentioned anything about Japanese girls, girls at all, or their relative modes of dress. "As foreigners, we are like a team and we have to support each other. Nick (another JET) used to be just like you, but now he understands". She was clearly pissed.

Later that evening, this "support" was demonstrated to me. As we were in the traditional capital of Japan, Kyoto, we were of course now enjoying the strains of salsa music, surrounded by Brazilian people. One of the other JETs was telling me she thought I was a "9" (out of 10) in looks, which I mention only to brag. After I went to the washroom for no more than a minute (only drinking beer), I happened to notice that everyone was gone. Yes, every single person from our group was no longer in the place. Not knowing Kyoto well, after some wandering about, I was forced to take a taxi to the station, catch one last train, then another taxi (about 40 bucks) to my city. So, I somehow wasn't feeling that loving foreigner vibe Sharon was promoting.

When I saw her next (at an Italian restaurant, natch), she quickly began defending her actions even as I approached the table: "I didn't leave you, you know! We had to catch the last train! I wasn't the leader of the group or anything!". I heard from other people that she had suddenly remembered about the last train and quickly brought everyone to the train station, where slightly more loyal people noticed that I wasn't present. Though they offered to come back, she reminded them that it was the last train. Where's that supposed solidarity, sister?

Actually, I don't have any hard feelings. A friend of mine once told me that people are doing you a favor when they show you right away that they are assholes, so you don't have to find out when you really need them. So, thank you Sharon (bows).

A lot of the JET's were pretty smart people. However, quite a few of them were like Sharon in that they didn't seem to have much life experience - never lived alone much less lived or even traveled to a foreign country, never even worked before much less worked in Japan (where a lot of what we know as "logic" doesn't apply), so they can be forgiven if they try to handle it by retreating into their foreigners-only bubble world. I only ask that you understand that I don't want to hide in there with you.

An almost opposite situation is the "big fish in a small pond" factor. A guy - and it's usually a guy - comes to Japan and starts to believe the "You can use chopsticks well! Nihongo jouzu (you speak Japanese well)!, You look like Brad Pitt!" hype (which you really do hear all the time). The aforementioned "Nick" is a good example of this. Near the beginning of our time here, I saw him at the station. "Hey, Nick!" I shouted. He trudged over, "Yeah?""What's going on?" "Whuddya want?" "Uh, nothing - just saying hi, I guess". He trudged away. Another great example of Sharon's foreigner kinsman-ship. We probably didn't exchange more than 10 words in my year in this city. Needless to say, Nick re-contracted for a third year, despite - like Sharon, who didn't re-contract - not even being able to order a meal in Japanese. A (Japanese) ex of mine once gave me some advice, "If you go to Japan, remember who you are". There's a whole series of cartoons about these cartoons: Charisma Man. I don't blame someone like this for wanting or appreciating attention, I blame them for believing it. Just the other day, a friend of mine's dad told me I look like Brad Pitt. Perhaps not coincidentally, I was the first foreigner he'd ever met.

I don't want to give you the idea that all JET's act like this. Michael, the guy from the Thailand trip, is on the ball. The other JET's in my city were cool, one of whom stopped talking to Sharon after Sharon "supported" her by trying to kiss her (Japanese) boyfriend. Another was a cool girl from Ireland. The last was a guy who also didn't re-contract but will move to Kyoto to be a normal size fish in a normal size pond (or river, in Kyoto's case). I am also pursuing this course. I think JET is the best way to come to Japan, and loved my school, teachers, and students. I honestly didn't have any problems whatsoever. However, the location was a bit remote for me: I felt like I was wasting my life on those slow, expensive train rides. My city didn't have any concerts, movie theatres, cool hangouts, young people, or really that many people at all. I am a city guy, so I'm looking forward to Kyoto. JET pays well and is fun and private schools (likely my only option for work in Kyoto) pretty much suck from what I've heard, but you can only re-apply to JET after 10 years. There aren't many jobs for foreigners in Japan other than English teaching, so we'll see what happens. I want to have confidence, but not "too much confidence" like Pavlos and Nick, or not enough like Sharon. Or lose my mind like David. Ganbarimasu.

Garbage in Japan

You can walk - even ride - for miles in Japan without seeing a garbage can.

At the the combini (convenience store) like Lawson or Family Mart, when you buy some yogurt or a drink, you're sure to get the appropriate chopsticks, a straw, and maybe a spoon with your order. Also, your items are sorted into separate bags: hot and cold, big and small, etc. So, you end up walkin' away with a lot of excess rubbish. It might seem odd then, that garbage cans are as rare as leprechauns in Egypt. In washrooms they're also a rarity...unfortunately, along with hot water, soap, towels, or even hand dryers. Even shopping malls lack this item I foolishly took for granted back in Canada. People smoke like crazy here, even in restaurants. Which really sucks, in my opinion. There's plenty of ashtrays for those folks, however. Interestingly, there are special "shiroi posto" (white post boxes) specifically for disposal of porno mags. Just so you know where the priorities lie here. Though they're supposedly not that common, here's one by my local JR station:

While the mags might be dirty, the place is not - it's a real rarity to see any trash on the streets at all. I'm serious - they're usually spotless (of course, these scenes in Tokyo might look familiar to some North American readers, but I've never seen anything like this here in this city, even after a festival).

Why, then, are there no garbage cans in Japan? Well, there's a few reasons: According to this military page , "One small, but remarkable, lingering effect of the terrorist incident on the Tokyo population is the lack of garbage cans in public areas; even 10 years later, they are still associated with the sarin attack." Supposedly, lockers, garbage cans, and other potential bomb hiding places were disposed of in order to maintain safety. Another reason might be that people simply don't eat outside or while walking like we do back home. I have flaunted this unwritten rule a few times, enjoying a Family Mart spicy chicken while walking to school and, more recently, celebrated the opening of a new Baskin Robbins while riding my bike. Both times I paid the price (open-mouhed stares from passing cars). Oh, people also don't chew gum and stick it places like they do back home. The third reason is that garbage cans would encourage people to take garbage disposal for granted and they're big on recycling and the environment here. Really big.

Monday's regular garbage day
But I forgot again
There are two big plastic bags
They're lying on the floor
Gomi day Monday and Thursday
Let's take it out in the morning
Gomi day seems like every day
I hear the truck
I hear the warning

Gomi gomi gomi gomi gomi day
Gomi gomi gomi gomi gomi day
Gomi gomi gomi gomi gomi day
Gomi gomi gomi gomi gomi day
Oh garbage day... hey!

Wednesday's cans and bottles day
But I forgot again
There are four big plastic bags
They're lying on the floor
Gomi day Monday and Thursday
Let's take it out in the morning
Gomi day seems like every day
I hear the truck
I hear the warning

Gomi gomi gomi gomi gomi day
Gomi gomi gomi gomi gomi day
Gomi gomi gomi gomi gomi day
Gomi gomi gomi gomi gomi day
Oh garbage day... hey!

As Shonen Knife's lyrics imply, there are different days for different items ("gomi" is garbage, in case you haven't figured it out). Thus, one must sort one's items into at least four goddamn separate piles (paper, glass, cans, & "PET bottles" - plastic bottles). Supposedly, some cities have up to nine separate groups. There's also special items, like electric stuff and oversized. There are appropriate bags for each and an actual calendar that lists the relative days. You have to peel off the labels from the bottles and jars, as well as clean the insides. "Ha ha", I can hear you thinking. "Screw that! I'd just dump it all into the same bag!". Well, that would be nice. However, the bags are clear and the neighbors are watching. Any garbage screwups and it'll be assumed to be the gaijin's fault. You may get a bag left at your door with a note. One ALT in this prefecture didn't sort his stuff correctly and was identified by the bag's contents. He was called down to city hall and forced to correctly sort the stuff in front of his supervisor. Luckily, I've never had these issues as I eat out a hell of a lot and don't have much rubbish (Interestingly, I just finished packing/cleaning to move, and my JTE was telling me how, when she previously helped an ALT move, her garbage was all dumped into one bag: "Americans are dirty like that".)

You may have heard, based on the legacy of James Fallows' Atlantic Monthly article ("Japan - Land of Plenty"), tales of "sodai gomi". "Yeah, man, the Japanese throw away perfectly good stuff in order to have the latest stuff. Also, their places are small, so they trash the stuff to save space. You can get brand new Sony TV's, fax machines....anything!" Foreigners (Japanese people would be too embarrassed to get caught taking someone's garbage) would go around on sodai gomi day and load up on refrigerators and the like. Unfortunately, this basically ended with the end of the "bubble" (economic boom) in the early 90's. People simply can't afford to throw things away like they used to. However, though I've never seen these discarded diamonds, I have still heard/read that they exist. An interesting note about "sodai gomi" - it's also the sarcastic term Japanese wives use to refer to their husbands, which may give some insight on the power dynamic of marriages here. Conversely, an ex of mine, Junko, was always pissed that people in Canada pronounced her name "Junk-o" (it's actually "Jun-ko").

Currently, people are more likely to bring their stuff to the recycle shop. However, that's a real rip, in my humble opinion. I went there yesterday and was not pleased with the results. Here's what I brought and what I originally paid (in dollarz, not yenz):

a brand new DVD player, used three times (50)
a brand new stool (30)
a brand new mirror (30)
a Muji (like Ikea, but expensive) clothes drying rack (50)
a brand new umbrella pail (20)
a Muji garbage box (25)
a Nintendo DS game (40)
a brand new Japanese study book (30)

I think there was some other stuff too. That's around 275 dollars if my math is good. I expected about 20% (around 50-60 bucks). They offered me 1,200 yen (about ten bucks) for the lot. There's no bartering. I thanked 'em and left (with my stuff), but was actually pretty pissed off. A lot of stuff here is expensive (a book I wanted is 50 dollars in Canada and 600 dollars here!), but has no resale value. No-one has heard of ebay here. People are happy to pay different prices for the same distance on train lines and the same amount for a large size item as a small. So, shopping and stuff like this can be frustrating sometimes.

This ends my knowledge of Japan/garbage-related trivia, so I'm gonna wrap up this mess.

Onsens in Japan

The "Onsen" (hot water) symbol.


"Can you nude?" My kyoto-sensei (vice principal) was asking me. "Uh, excuse me? What?" Turns out I heard him right - he was inviting me to an onsen (hot spring bath) and was wondering if, as a foreigner, I had any reservations about getting naked in front of not only co-workers, but also total strangers.

I'd been to onsens before and my kyoto is a cool guy - not only the coolest guy I've met in Japan, but probably one of the coolest people I've ever met - so I was in. Since that first visit, I've probably gone to various onsens with him, about 20 or 30 times in total. When I first met him, he told me he hoped I would "work hard and play hard". Which is pretty cool. As he likes cool jazz, the ride out there is always an experience in itself. He has visited Canada in the past and doesn't mind speaking English. So we ride out in the countryside, accompanied by Sinatra, the Third Man theme, or Chris Botti, chatting about stuff small and big in a combination of bad English and bad Japanese. I wasn't a big fan of mellow music before (obsessively preferring unique or extreme music rather than background music), but have grown to appreciate it as it totally meshes with the drive through the countryside and the soothing spa.

Sometimes we stop by a Family Mart convenience store and grab a spicy chicken. Once, standing in the parking lot chomping on the thing, he stared off into the distance and said how great it was to be able to do this. "Do what?" I, understandably, asked. The social situation of a vice-principal is such that, he told me, he could never stand and eat outside in this way in our city as someone might see him and, "That is not how a kyoto-sensei should act." (I was reminded of another teacher I knew who showed me of a picture of himself when he went to America on a teacher exchange program a few years prior. He had a beard and it really suited him - though beards usually suck. "Why don't you still have it?" I asked. Apparently, he wore it back here for a month or so, then parents wrote a letter to the board of ed, who complained to his boss, who complained to him. The beard was a goner). So, even the trip is a nice escape from the pressures of daily life.

Actually, his initial question was a valid one. Onsens are pretty much a Japan-only phenomenon and even have a bit of a negative rep among foreigners here. "Not here for the green tea and onsens" is the rallying cry of those guys - and it is always guys - who feel they have to choose between enjoying "traditional Japanese culture" and picking up girls, as if it's a one-or-the-other situation. Actually, onsens are pretty far from a demanding (and, some *cough* might say, boring) ritual like the tea ceremony or a temple visit : you simply take your clothes off, get in the water, and relax. You can chat if you want or not. The only pressure is the water pressure. Oh, man.



While you are indeed naked with other people, mixed-gender onsens are now few and far between. They had 'em here up until the American Occupation, until the Yanks decided, "Nudity?" There must be sex involved! Cancel it!". Damn Americans, I thought, until my kyoto asked me why they don't have onsens in Canada. "Is it because people can't be nude near each other?" He asked. Yeah, that's probably it, I thought. I also was forced to explain that the closest we had to onsens were the gay bathhouses in Toronto. Not the kind of thing you want to explain in limited Japanese, in a sauna surrounded by nude Japanese dudes.

Finally, there are some cultural differences. You don't just hop in the water. There's showers and cleaning areas with soap and shampoo where you scrub yourself clean before getting in the water. If you do simply hop in, you're making the water dirty (the family bath at home works the same way - same family, same water). This being said, I have seen people get in without washing first. Which pisses me off, as there's a perception that only foreigners do this. This is so true that there was a landmark case here by Japan's pretty-much lone foreigner's rights crusader, Arudo Debito (formerly David Aldwinkle. Though he had given up his U.S. citizenship and became a Japanese citizen, he was still refused entrance to a "Japanese only" onsen. In an unprecedented move here, he sued. And won. Anyway, one of the claims of that onsen's managers was that foreigners wouldn't know to act correctly in an onsen. As I am usually (actually, always, now that I think of it) the only "foreigner" in the onsen when we go, I can't help but be conscious of this fact. As you soap and scrub before getting in, you feel the eyes on ya.


So, I was again kinda pissed when I saw a (Japanese) guy with a tattoo there. Tattoo's are verboten because they are pretty much Yakuza (Japanese mafia) territory - they haven't caught on with folks here like they have back home. If you are found to have one, they can throw you out. He was a nice guy - chatted with him a while, but it happened to be on the same day - same time actually - that another (Japanese) guy was puking his guts out from the next whirlpool - not into the water, but it was still disgusting. I think it was New Year's Day. If it had been me in either of these situations, I am sure it would have confirmed a cultural stereotype or two.

Anyway, here's the breakdown of the procedure: drop your shoes off at a locker outside. Take the locker key to the counter. Pay and get another locker key. Pass through a curtain, then there's two doors with curtains, one marked with the "man" symbol and the other "women". These "sides" of the onsen rotate weekly, so even if you go to the same onsen a week later, you might be on a different side from the previous week. After the mandatory joking about going through the opposite sexes curtain, go in. Take your stuff off and put it in the locker. You should have either brought or been given a small hand towel (tenegui) with which to cover the magic. Boldly leave the locker area and enter the onsen. These come in various shapes and sizes. Usually, there's a variety of whirlpools, herb baths, sauna's, salt saunas, back massager tubs, showers, etc Before you get in, sit on the small stool and wash with the provided shampoo and soap. After that, hop in! Hey, don't let the towel enter the water - just leave it on the side, or you can wear it on your head like some of the older gentlemen there. My kyoto loves the sauna, and I've also grown to appreciate it, though I really dig the herb bath. However, every time I enter the latter I get a serious craving for pizza due to the oregano smell... Oh, if you use the sauna, shower the sweat off before getting in the other baths.



I really wish I could bring the camera in to take pics for you. No, not of the old naked guys, but of the cool surroundings. It really is designed to be comfortable. One I've been to is built by a huge lake (structurally set up so no-one can see your nudeness). There's ducks, a stone waterfall, cool plants and a stone staircase by the outdoor section. You can hear the people (women/men) from the opposite side over the wall. Some have TV's or classical music in the sauna (and some even have TV's in the main room). I went to one place in Osaka with my host family that was packed - five floors of baths, massage chairs, TV's, eating, drinking, or smoking rooms....tons of stuff.
We ate, had a beer or two, slept, then went back in. It's surprising how hungry and sleepy you get from just relaxing.. There's also sentos, mountain hot springs.

Actually, it's pretty inspiring too. There's nothing to do but relax and think, so I've had some pretty good ideas there. Unfortunately, I've never had a place to put a pen and paper (comfortably), so they're lost in the ether. Still, once you come out you're fired up and ready to go. Some people have been here for years and still not gone, but if you visit, check it out. It's a cool concept.


[NOTE: none of these photos are mine. I had a few, but they were lost via the HD crash. These photos come to you courtesy Google Images.}

Safety in Japan

A suspiciously bulky woman warns us about fires (from a safety pamphlet given to us by - if I remember correctly - the JET folks in Tokyo.

"Japan is safety country" (sic) is the mantra of many a native (usually in contrast to "gaikoku" (literally "foreign countries"), usually meaning America, which we are led to believe is unbelievably dangerous). Most books about Japan will include the mandatory story of the lady who left her purse or passport on the train/on a bench, only to find it sitting just where she left it or have it returned with all the contents intact by a smiling policeman. And, to a large extent, the claims are true.

Actually, I myself have accidently left my back door open, with thousands of dollars, my new guitar, and new computer in plain sight with no problems whatsoever. Even when I just arrived in my prefecture - in what I think was an acting out of subconscious desires - left my 10lb bag full of Tokyo JET orientation material on the train, the police - from another prefecture over - tracked me down and I got the stuff back. Yay.

However, you can never be too safe, apparently, as loudspeakers and signs constantly warn you of even the slightest transgression. Stay on the escalator. Don't touch this. Etc. This toothpick-warning, taken from a chopsticks wrapper, is emblematic of the perception of safety in Japan. While this might seem reminiscent of the "coffee is hot" warnings you get at McDonald's, suing really isn't an attractive option here as it is back home. The perception here is, if something happens to you, it causes trouble for the rest of us, so don't let anything happen to you.

To tell you the truth, while I don't miss a lot of things about Canada, I was surprised to find myself almost missing this: you are walking down a street, but there's some shady characters lurking in an alley. Or, there's a woods, but you don't want to go in because you know some weird people might be in there. However, here, due to various cultural factors (most due to the relatively conformist lifestyle that ensure everyones will be at work / school / sleeping during a certain time period), you never see this. Never. You pass the woods and you know there no-one in there. You can pass by alleys and they're empty. There's no weirdos lurking around. By the way, I figured out that it wasn't the crazies that I missed, it was simply having people around.

This is because, as I mentioned in another post, there's no-one in this town. If you visit here, you'll see - this place is that Twilight Zone episode. Every time I see this road safety boy (for school crossings, I guess), from afar, I think, "Oh, this place isn't so bad. There's somebody over there." Yet, 9 times out of 10 it turns out to be this misshapen safety freak. Speaking of road safety, well....many streets don't have street lights. Many roads are wide enough to accommodate only one car. Many cars have TV's in them in the middle of the dash. Many drivers talk on the phone while driving (maybe about what's on TV!). However, if you're in the car veering around dark narrow streets it may feel dangerous, but I've seen only one accident (I'll tell you about it under the "Drinking" section). Perhaps TV's in cars were to blame for what happened to this safety kid:

This is not to say that the place is 100% crime-free. For example, though I stated that you never see anyone in the woods, I passed this sign near the bike path by my house. It says, bascially, "Be wary of chikans. If there's danger, call 110." The word "Chikan" (made of two kanji characters meaning "foolish" and "man - negative nuance") is Japanese for "pervert" or "molester". So, there may be perverts in the woods in Japan. There are definitely perverts in the woods in Canada, as my mom can confirm. Out walking the dog one day, she ran across a dude furiously pleasuring himself amongst the trees.

These chikan are most well-known for train activities. They're metrosexual pervs! At rush hour, Japan's trains are the most crowded in the world. Chikans take advantage of this close proximity to grope women standing nearby. To combat this, the train companies have instituted "women only" cars, but whether this has been successful or not is in dispute. For one thing, most chikan crimes go unreported due to the victim's negative perception (shame) about the incident (there are tales of foreigners who recognize an incident and point out the chikan, only to be ignored by everyone, including the victim. Causing a scene is not appreciated here). For another, many women apparently still take the shared cars, stating that there is a lack of space due to too few "women only" cars. Another train-related pervert is the businessman who reads "hentai manga" (dirty comics) in full view of women and children. Here, it must be noted that this is not Mickey Mouse stuff, it's pretty extreme (though the naughty bits are censored). Finally, though I have met many women who tell me about their chikan experience, I've never seen one touching someone, nor have I seen Comic Book Guy. However, again due to public restraint about reporting an assault, it is more than reasonable to assume that the assault figures - both physical and sexual - are in truth higher than reported.

This underreporting (or non-reporting) is also present in schools. Ijime (bullying) is currently a hot topic in education. However, it seems to me that this is socially sanctioned. Yes, it's a stereotype, but the society really does encourage conformity. There are famous cases of teachers and even principals of schools disregarding and even participating in violence towards students. Yet, the only reason this appears to have become an issue is that students have been writing suicide notes addressed to the board of education, and killing their parents as well as themselves. I mentioned before that a girl at my school cuts herself, and there have been suggestions of domestic violence here and at other schools. However, the attitude is "that's not our business". So, school might not be so safe for the students.

As far as protection at school, we have one of these sitting in the principal's office. It's called a "sasumata". What is its purpose? Well, basically to keep at arms length any intruder that might be foolish enough to challenge any principal - ours is a 65 year old woman - wielding such a mighty weapon. You might be thinking, "sure, but what if the crazy person has a gun?" and, well, that's a good question. Regardless, most schools have a training day in which one teacher acts as the assailant and another mans the sasumata. Some schools even film this drama as a training film. Yes, I would love to see this and no, I don't have any copies of such a film. Interestingly, we actually had an intruder visit my junior high school twice recently. The first time he had, oddly enough, a bag full of ice creams, and was wandering around the staff room. The second time, he demanded an application form, due to his strong desire to be employed here. I didn't see him either time but, when I suggested, "Hey, why didn't you use that sasumata thing?", some teachers laughed. If you're crazy, no sasumata. If you have a gun, no sasumata. You have to be just crazy enough, or maybe have a knife. Maybe that guy had seen one of those "You don't have to be crazy to work here...but it helps!" mugs here or something. Which would explain the application form.

Like any other, the country does have it's share of crazies. They are at least as spectacular as those in America. There was a cannibal. And of course the cult that wanted to douse the Tokyo subways with sarin gas. Recently, the ijime fallout has been reflected in child violence. There was the kid who left another kid's head at the school gate. And recently, I recall reading something about a kid who showed up at the police box with his mother's head (at the time, they confirmed he had a head, but couldn't confirm that it was in fact the head of his mom.) Another recent crime, a bit closer to home, was the murder of an English teacher in Tokyo. Before ending up buried in a sand-filled bathtub on his balcony, she had agreed to teach private lessons. To a guy who had been stalking her. At his house. You don't want to blame the victim, but wtf? Anyway, the killer managed to get away, running bare-footed down the street.

Perhaps he was a victim of the pressures of society here that drives people to absurd lengths. I saw a rather depressing documentary about how popular sucide is in Japan. The Aokigahara woods near Mt. Fuji is a popular place for those with no hope to simply wander off. The doc featured a cab driver who had let people off there. They didn't ask him to wait. Jumping before oncoming trains is another method. Apparently, the charming, almost cartoonish tones that each station plays are meant to cheer up the downhearted (there's another page that has tons of train sounds, but I can't find it. If you do, please let me know. It even has a related train recording: "Chikan wa hanzai desu" (chikans are criminals)). Following Japan's groupthink method, there are even suicide clubs and webpages, in which folks organize and check out as a group. So, apparently one can even be a danger to oneself here.

So, besides the perverts, crazies, and terminally depressed, what other threats to safety exist? The all-natural kind! Earthquakes. Tsunamis and typhoons (both so natural to Japan that the words were imported into English). I've not felt that latter two yet. However, I did get caught in some weird freak dust storm. It was the only day the students were allowed outside for lunch. This was because of hanami (flower viewing) of the first cherry blossoms in Japan. The students surrounded the baseball diamond, sitting on mats and eating their boxed lunches. Late as usual, I walked across the diamond with my freshly-purchased combini (convenience store) lunch. Suddenly, students lunches were about twenty feet in the air. I was surrounded be a column of dust. It was wacked. Students were screaming and stuff was flying everywhere. The teachers were stunned because I just laughed and kept on slowly walking. I just figured, oh, I guess this is a dust storm or mini-hurricane or something. You could actually see a tornado of dust. Then, just as suddenly, it was gone. Later, I emptied handfuls of dirt from my new-from-Thaliland pants pockets.

My first earthquake experiences, which I was kind of looking forward to, were anticlimactic in comparison. The first was when I was simply woken by the bed shaking. I though I had dreamt it until I checked the net later that day. The second time, I heard the neighbors running around upstairs and then running down the stairs. Except, they weren't. The entire house was shaking. This only continued for a matter of seconds, but it is frightening to realize the ground you're standing on is so unstable.

As noted at the beginning, there's a perception that crime is for the other countries. Thus, there's a feeling that crime - along with disease - is imported along with visitors to the country. This is reflected in media such as TV shows, which seem to report only selective news from other countries (I often hear about murders etc. from co-workers), along with an almost imperceptible "thank god that could never happen here" attitude. American visitors are surely familiar with the "Do you have a gun?" query. Recently (just after the school shootings in the States), despite my assurances that I was only a harmless Canadian, I was even asked this question by a wary cabdriver. Dude, I've never even seen a fucking gun. The recent "mook" (magazine book) Gaijin Hanzai Ura File (basically "foreigner criminal underground file") skipped any issue-skirting and brought its concerns right out in the open: foreigners - here mostly meaning Chinese and blacks - are flouting the laws, taking "their" women, and causing havoc! It wasn't so much the outrageously racist concept (and articles and pictures, etc.) that was offensive to many foreigners here, it was more the fact that the mook was so widely available: not only in the convenience store Family Mart (ubiquitous in Japan), but even on Amazon.co.jp! After all, racism exists in many countries, but it was surprising (and disappointing) to find it so unchallenged here (there are hate-speech laws against this kind of stuff in Canada, for example). You can read more about it here if you'd like.

So, you are safe here. Unless you're a woman. Or a student. Or a Japanese. Or a foreigner. You are safe.

Note: that last part reminds me, I was recently stopped by the satsu (the po-lice) again. Despite our photos/info/etc. supposedly being on record at the station, some other ALT's here have been stopped up to 5 times. I was walking home from school. A police car passed me on the otherwise empty (as usual) road. Knowing how the police "think" (1. we are bored, 2. there's somebody we can get away with hassling, 3. Go!), I knew they'd try to be clever and wheel around and come up behind me. Lo and behold. I was waiting at the light when I hear a motor idling behind me. Despite the fact that there's no cars for miles, I wait until the light turns green. Then I wait a few seconds more so's they can't come up with any nonsense. I sloooowly trudge across the street. At the other side, a car suddenly passes me, the two cops jump out and ask if they can speak to me. They ask for my info, so I whip out the foreigner ID card which we are legally obliged to carry with us at all times (if you don't have it, you may go to jail and/or pay cash money). From the focus of the questions, I get a sense that these guys just want to speak English. But no free lesson today, Kento - from now on it's Japanese only baby! After I ask what the problem is, the main cop's eyes shift back and forth so fast it looked like he was watching pro ping pong. "Well....you were walking across the road....and....you had your head down...and...you were walking slowly...so..." he looked up, triumphant that he was on the verge of sucessfully manufacturing a semi-coherent reason for stopping someone so obviously doing nothing untoward "We thought you were lost!". Later, when a (Japanese) ex-gf came to visit, I told her this story. "Oh, that was very kind of them", she told me. So, I guess I don't have to be worried about being safe. Japan is safety country.

Thailand

Rotten Ronnie givin' the "wai", the traditional Thai greeting.

The cries of "Sexy movie? Sexy movie?" still haunt me. And I can never watch Mythbusters the same way again. Hot weather. Cheap stuff. Police on Segways narrowly missing legless guys crawling along the ground. Insanely old and ugly European men with hot young Thai women. It was Bangkok, Thailand baby!

Okay, first, let's get all the "Bang Cock" jokes out of the way. Yes, there was a stop on the transit called Bang Sue. Yes, there was another called Thong Lo. Maybe if these places were Wall Street-type centres of commerce there'd be some contrast to these jokes. While they were centres of commerce, it actually was low thongs and Sue-banging that was being sold. So, it ain't funny. Sure, the stories about prostitution were true. But, perhaps it only seemed so because we were staying right in the middle of the centre of it all. How did this happen? Let's start at the beginning....

Spring break was coming up, and a cool ALT (not too often you've heard that word combo, eh?) from a nearby town was talkin' about going to somewhere interesting. I had heard Thailand was cheap, and so...we were off. Our "planning", such as it was, consisted of downloading and compiling lists of info about the country. Because, naturally, we knew nothing other than: the weather was hot; the food was hot; you could go to a tailor and get great clothes for super low prices; it was a centre of prostitution (not a selling feature); there was lots of "ladyboys" (guys with sex-change operations) there (definitely not a selling feature). Oh, and perhaps the most important part: flights from Japan were super cheap. Despite a travel agent who seemed determined to not get our money, we eventually got tickets.

I read some of our comp of travel info on the plane. It told me some pretty interesting things about Thailand. For example, never mock the King as you can end up in jail for it. Also, the feet are considered unclean - don't even point 'em at somebody. And never pat a Thai on the head as it's a big insult. Don't sniff your food. Don't wear shorts or short-sleeves to a temple. Don't point at or face away from a Buddhist statue. And so on.

It was with this little knowledge (and related fear about unwittingly committing some punishable-by-death act) in mind that we stepped up to the tourist counter in the Bangkok airport. We asked the smiling ladies for some good hotel recommendations. Perhaps considering that we were two young men who didn't know word one of Thai and appeared to have no plan whatsoever (we had written only the word "HOTEL" in "where will you stay?" section on the arrival slip, which caused the other ALT to get grilled by the customs guard for about five minutes), they set us up in Nana Plaza.

Nana Plaza, it turns out, is the heart (or one of the chambers of the heart) of the sin district in Bangkok. We lugged our luggage (so that's why they call it that) through the busy streets. We had heard you could get a great quality hotel for what we were paying, so the Ambassador was a bit of a letdown. It was big, with a huge entranceway, but old. When we went out for dinner after checking in, we spoke to the owner of the restaurant. When Coffee (that was her name) heard we were staying at the Ambassador, she threw her head back and laughed, "That place! So old!". The streets of Nana are lined with vendors selling food, clothes, the latest DVD's (and I mean the latest), souvenirs, and pretty much anything else. Taxicab and tuk tuk (the small pedicabs) drivers offer their services by shouting at you from across the street or even touching your arm. In an approach I found somewhat insulting, some street vendors would clap to attract your attention as you passed (hey, I'm not an animal or baby).

The first day, we went to a famous Sunday market. It was hot. Really hot. The place was ultra-cool. There was a Thai band playing American-style country music. These cute girls were selling, of all things, cat food. I didn't buy any, but their costumes did make me get frisky, so maybe it worked. We drank fresh pineapple juice. The endless laneways had all sorts of cool (though probably bogus) clothes at low prices (I saw a "Dadidas"-brand shirt). Inexplicably, I bought some patio lights, which looked really cool at the time but I haven't used that much yet. Maybe when I have a BBQ. I also bought an Adidas bathing suit from an apparently legit place, but the coloring faded after about 4 swims. They were cheap, anyway. The cops were driving Segways! (I took a pic for you, but my camera had chosen this time to crap out on me. It still worked, but the viewfinder would only display a white screen, so I couldn't focus. I used the manual viewfinder to get a shot of the Segways, but it turned out black.). The other downside was when I, struggling through the crowds, looked down and saw a guy with no legs dragging himself through the market by his arms. He was right on the ground and must have taken a boot or two to the face a few times. Actually, we seemed to see a disproportionate amount of legless people. We also saw a girl, who looked about six, sitting by herself among the street stalls.

These twin themes of degradation and commerce were a constant undercurrent to our visit. As we noted, we were the youngest (by about 20 years) foreign guys we saw in Thailand(except for those drunken Brits on the train). Most foreign guys were older, lackin' style, and almost always accompanied by a younger (about 20 years) Thai woman. The perception that, as a foreign guy, you were one of these guys was always there. If we were eating in a restaurant, quite a few passing girls would give us a smile and that frank look right in the eyes. So, you never really know who is legitimately friendly or who is a legitimate couple (rather than customer and paid companion).

We decided to leave the city and head out to the Samutprakarn alligator and snake farm ("The world's largest crocodile farm"!). I mean, come on - they had "over 100,000 crocodiles"! They also have the largest captive crocodile (19 ft, 8 in) as well as albino and other freakish gators. On the long ride out to the zoo, I had noticed a lot of people wearing yellow shirts. This pattern continued at the zoo. And when I say "a lot of people", I mean about 60% of the population.

Our ticket was marked "For see alligator show" (scanned, but lost in the Great Crash of 2007) and the other ALT, who I'll call Michael, wanted to see that first. However, they also had a monkey show. As you might know, I love those guys! I bugged him to see the monkey show first. They fought with swords and the female monkey "sang" (mimicked a recording), but it was a bit underwhelming. The monkeys had a low attention span, so they were always running around. I got some great shots of other monkeys though, and this monkey prayed, danced, and clapped hands in exchange for some juice. Cool.

The alligator show was wild. To an apparently infinite loop of the strains of the Hawaii Five O theme, two 15-16 year old Thai boys descended into an alligator pit to prod and harass the animals with sticks. The animals looked dangerous but seemed to know the drill. They basically just sat in the sun and snapped at the sticks when prodded. For the showstopper, the kids stuck their heads in the gator's mouths. I'll put up a movie if I can. At the end, folks had their pics taken with the gators. Yeah, I like callin' 'em gators.

It was an interesting place. In a scene worthy of a David Lynch flick, as we passed a gazebo with a couple and their baby in it, the father strolled up to a jukebox and dropped some funds in it. The machine proceed to blast out a guitar-heavy song at volumes I didn't think a jukebox could manage. As we tried to find out who the artist was (the Clash, but not that Clash - the Thai Clash), it was painful to stand in front of it. In addition to the monkeys, snakes, elephants and gators, they also had a full zoo. And, uh, a shooting range, which we found a bit odd. Dig this sign: (shooting range, elephants, concert hall - not too often you get that selection).
And how about the shop stocking alligator shoes, purses, etc. They even sold so-called gator burgers which, despite my recent I'll-eat-anything! adventurous streak, I was reluctant to try. I did buy two (non-gator) shirts that I liked at the time yet never wore and later used as rags. Best of all, I bought a commerative plate containing a picture of me with a monkey! Yes, I could post a pic, but I look so ridiculous with this big smile on my face...no way.

Finally, there was an elephant show. The delay of finding the place and waiting for it to start was worth it. The elephants almost looked like they were smiling, and really performed. They rode scooters, painted pictures, walked around on strings, stood on two legs, danced around, and even took money from people with their trunks and handed it over to their trainers . We considered taking a ride on one, but fatigue and the stench of snake crap made us decide to get back to the hotel. Speaking of elephants, on the way back I got some shots of this XL three-headed elephant from the cab. Then, as we got out of the cab, Michael dropped his plate, with a pic of him with a gator. Luckily, he also had a good pic of him taken with a tiger.

The next day we went to another market, this time a clothing and computer area known as Pratunam. Our long ride to the zoo - about 15 miles - had cost us 200 baht (about 6 dollars). Our literature had warned us to ensure that we take only taxis marked TAXI METER and to ensure the driver turned the meter on. So, when we went to the market, we took a TAXI METER taxi. On the short drive to the market (it was only a few blocks away), we passed a Spiderman 3 billboard. Noting how many recent movies were already available on DVD in Bangkok, I mused aloud, "I wonder if Spiderman 3 is out here yet". Our formerly mute driver became excited. "I am Spiderman!" he shouted. "Ha ha! Where you from?" "Canada? America? Ha ha, we are friends!". As we excited the cab, I noticed that we had not asked him to turn the meter on. How much was this trip that took less than 5% of the distance/time to the zoo? "200 baht!" shouted our new friend. I reluctantly forked over the funds to Spidey, chalking it up to a learning experience.

The clothes market was cool, but we didn't buy anything. People were lugging around multiple bags filled with cheap clothing. We discovered that the omnipresent yellow shirts are worn each Monday as a symbol of loyalty to the King as yellow corresponds to Monday, his birthday. They even have the royal crest on them.

After getting lost in the maze of alleyways for a while, we drank some coconut milk fresh from the coconut, then we finally found the computer market. So, our search wasn't fruitless. Fruitless. Get it? Ha ha, good times. Anyway, you can barter down to about 1/3 the listed price in Thailand, so the computer market was pretty cool. This was basically our first encounter with the "Sexy movie?" offer, which was shouted at our white faces from quite a few stalls. As Michael later actually bought some sexy movies on DVD, I can't cry discrimination or anything. It was like I've heard about (but didn't really see) in HK - they had the latest movies for about 2-3 dollars.

We were warned not to take the tuk tuks as they supposedly rip you off or bring you to places you don't want to go, and we had just gotten burned on the taxi, but it looked like hella fun, so I sprang for it. It was like a roller-coaster ride - fun, but you're always wondering if you might be that 1% that dies. I was, anyway. The guy turned out to be honest and brought us right to where we wanted to go for cheap. So, if you go, try it at least once.

The next day, in what was a highlight of the trip for me, we took a long boat down the Chao Phraya river. Our guide was pretty cool: "I have a long boat. Come on my long boat." Okay. I was surprised that he took off after getting only the two of us and didn't wait for more people. The weather was great and the riverbanks were beautiful. Some areas seemed a bit poverty-stricken, so we felt kind of weird touring past in this big boat. Swimming kids waved at us and we saw monks strolling through temple courtyards. Suddenly, a wizened woman in a canoe swiftly pulled up alongside us, screeching, "Floating market! Floating market!". It was, as you may have guessed, a floating market. Michael bought an overpriced buddha souvenir and I bought an overpriced beer for the driver.

We pulled into Ankor Wat. As we were standing on the corner by the large temple-like structure and next to the sign pointing the way to the temple, a stranger suddenly approached us. Gesturing the opposite way, he offered to direct us "to the temple". Having read about this scam (sometimes, people tell you the temple is closed for cleaning or somesuch and offer to take you elsewhere - usually a store they have a deal with - while you're waiting). Though we chose to follow our instinct as well as the large sign, as we walked down the street he shouted, "Not that way!" after us.

Though I was wearing shorts and a short-sleeved shirt, supposedly taboo in the temple, quite a few other people were as well. I asked the ticket guy if it was okay and he resignedly waved us through. The temple grounds were under construction, so there wasn't much to see. Then we got to the famous reclining Buddha, which was great. A smiling god who's just chilin' - that's something I can get behind. Supposedly, there's more images of the Buddha in Thailand than actual people. I tried to get some shots of the great paintings on the wall, but my camera was still wacked and couldn't focus.

We went on to the Palace grounds. A guy approached us out front and told me I couldn't go in with my current wear. I ignored him, but the guards actually did wave me aside and try to get me to rent a robe. As the place was closing in 15 minutes, I decided not to bother. Michael went ahead and I had an ice cream at Baskin Robbins, soaking up the touristy vibe of the neighbourhood. Michael was already pissed off by the scammers and constant sales pitches, so the driver on the way back taking us to the wrong stop (bus station instead of subway station) was the last straw. Then, as we were trying to get a cab outta there, the next drivers told us their meter was broken. Thailand was billed as the land of smiles, but this only reminded me of that "Smiles - Free" that used to be listed on McDonald's menuboard. Yeah, they're free as long as you're buying something. However, the next driver redeemed our faith in people, as he quickly told us the subway station was near and brought us there quickly and cheaply.

I was eager to check out the famous clothes discounts, and the place definitely didn't lack for tailors: there seemed to be at least a few on every street. I ended up shopping at the first place we went to, despite the sales dude's outrageous initial quotes. After I talked him down to (what I hope was) a fair price, I bought three suits, six shirts, and a cashmere overcoat. Spent a hell of a lot of money, but then I love the clothes I got. One suit is standard, one has a Chinese collar, and one is a light-colored casual. The shirts are classy pin stripes and solids. The cashmere...well, I'm almost looking forward to winter so I can wear the sucker. You could choose the quality, and I chose the best (and most expensive), natch. Inspired by my enthusiasm, Michael borrowed some money and got some stuff as well. Suddenly, despite my coming with thousands of dollars, we were down to very little. Veeeery little.

On our last baht, we went out to find a thai kickboxing place that the tailor had told us about ("Yes! Japanese try their karate but Thai boxers...snap! They break their leg with a kick!") but somehow ended up at a huge beer hall festival celebrating we know not what. Our budgeting was suddenly postponed as we drank huge beers. Still, I gazed wistfully at the Brits at the next table who were drinking out of some massive keg-like contraption that looked like medical equipment. Onstage, a variety of bands played, including one who did an impressive cover of Bohemian Rhapsody. Then, in what may have been the highlight of Michael's trip, the female singer of the next band took on "Achy-Breaky Heart" (once his mom's favorite song). The singer must have only seen the sheet music and not actually heard the song or something, as she consistently pronounced Achy as "ah chee". You had to be there.

We also went to an outdoor bar called, appropriately enough, Sin. Later, as we checked out one laneway, we were swarmed by cute girls and encouraged to come in their respective bars. After some discussion, we decided to check it out. They paired off with us, ordered drinks for us, and almost attempted conversation. As the only other people in the place were older European's groping "their" girls and our companions seemed unfamiliar with the idea of conversation, it was kind of uncomfortable. They were definitely attractive, but we weren't really interested in kissing someone that that fat bald guy playing pool over there had been kissing an hour or so before. And paying for it. "Let's go dancing!" one enthused. Then, sternly, "But, you must pay." Perhaps to avoid any later disputation, the latter point was repeated a few times. We checked out.

A little depressed by this, we went out another night to find a "regular" bar. We went in what seemed to be a standard place with doormen and a cover charge. The cute girl next to me started talking to me. Her English wasn't bad. She claimed to be an exchange student just back from the States. When the conversation rolled around to her future goals, hers were simple: a condo and a rich man to pay for it. I wished her luck with that. Her friend showed up and took a strong interest in Michael. Strong enough that, after a few drinks, she invited him to come to the washroom with her. As she looked a bit like Sadako from "The Ring" with a lot of makeup, he politely declined. As there had never been any mention of money (and, in fact, I think they may have bought us a drink), we couldn't figure out if they were on the level or not. After thinking about it later, we concluded that they were likely working girls looking for fun on their night off. When we decided to leave, the girl I had been talking to suddenly grabbed me, kissed my neck, then began crying. Hey, I know I'm lovable, but we were only there an hour-and-half at most. It was definitely surreal.

As we were down to only transportation fees, the last morning was spent watching Mythbusters and odd Thai TV on one of the few stations we could get. There was no movie channel, and, though Michael had bought DVD's, our request for a player from the desk was met with confusion. We checked out, then hung at the pool. The Ambassador's pool has a cool bird sanctuary near it, but the cries of the creatures are kinda nightmarish, echoing off the nearby buildings while you're wading in the warm water. Later, we left our bags at the desk and I was happy to find the cart selling bug snacks that I'd seen before. Michael noted that the charge to take a picture was actually higher than that of the bugs. Again, I declined the adventure and chose not to partake. I'll post soon about some of the weird stuff I have eaten.

Finally, we walked the Bangkok streets for the last time, passing for the last time the lady who always shouted "handsome man" as we walked past, the clapping street vendors shouting "sexy movie!", and the ubiquitous German gents with their Thai tarts. It was interesting. As we were nearing the Ambassador, an old Thai lady - she had to have been at least 50 - grabbed Michael's arm and said something. He brushed her off and then she grabbed my arm and said the same thing, a whispered, "take me with you.". We didn't.



As usual, there's a Japanese connection to this story. There's actually even a Japanese part of town that Michael and I stumbled into one night. Besides it being overpriced, we needed a break from Japanese food so we didn't stop there. We didn't see any Japanese people at all on our trip. Except for...this one character at the pool. If it didn't really happen, you'd swear it was some kind of scene from a cheap laughs comedy. Picture a luke-warm pool, surrounded by seedy Europeans and their girlfriend of the day. The unearthly cries of the birds are careening off the walls like the Hitchcock film. Suddenly, this guy struts out of the hotel with the full gear on. Yeah, he's got the bathing cap, the goggles, the snorkel, and the flippers on, and he's ready to go. He stands at the edge of the pool and does a full flop straight in. He does two laps, then gets the hell out. We didn't see him again. Like Michael said, we wouldn't have been surprised to see a hidden camera or something somewhere as it looked like something you'd see on a comedy show here.

This final pic was interesting for two reasons: the "No durians" rule (a durian being a fruit that, while it tastes okay, emits a crap-like odor) and the rules regarding "lady joiners". Which brings us full circle, I guess.