Pulled From The Pages: Festival Time!

 

May 20

May equals festival time in Japan. You could feel the energy in the air.  My friend Midori wanted to take me to the famous Sanja Festival. Three days of people toting over a hundred miniature Shinto shrines around Asakusa eating and drinking like crazy? Sign me up!

We rode the packed train to Asakusa to catch the last day of the festival. I should have been prepared for the crowds, but as we were pushed through the throngs of people, it was hard to catch our breath. We hustled towards Asakusa Jingu Shrine.  Midori and I held hands to keep from being separated.

Then she pulled me aside and yelled, “Let’s skip the temple and head over to the plaza. It won’t be so crowded and we can get a better view of the shrines.”   

We fought for a place along the street so I could get some good pictures. I heard the sound of loud clapping and then a whistle blowing. Midori pushed me closer to the street. “They’re coming. Get ready.”

I held my camera high. A golden phoenix bounced up and down as a large group of men dressed in happi coats hoisted the shrine to the rhythm of a whistle.  I couldn’t help but notice that men were missing an important part of their costume. I turned to Midori. “Um… why are the men not wearing pants?”

She laughed. “Its tradition. Today the happi are longer.  They used to be short enough to see the men’s loin cloths.”

I pointed to a guy whose briefs were clearly visible. “Guess that guy is old fashioned. Have to say his underwear certainly doesn’t leave much to the imagination.”

Midori ignored me and motioned up the street. “Look, geisha.”

I was happy for a pleasant distraction. The geisha were dressed in brightly colored kimonos and wore sky-high geta, a tall platform sandal. They had their hair piled high on their heads making them even taller. The geisha with their white painted faces looked like beautiful ghosts as they gracefully floated down the street.  

 

I whispered in Midori’s ear, “I can’t believe what I’m seeing. When I read about geisha, they seemed like a mythological creature.”

She nodded. “They are reserved and mysterious. Yet so beautiful.”

A team of loud Taiko drummers broke the mood. Midori steered me past a cluster of men dressed like Samurai. “The next one is coming.”

I could hear the whistle blowing its distinct rhythm.  The next shrine had bright colored paper streamers and was carried by women.  Midori beamed. “Ladies are strong so we carry the shrines too.”

I gave her a crooked smile. “I guess the temple is an equal opportunity employer.”

She didn’t laugh. Instead she pointed to one of the girls in the middle of the pack.

I couldn’t believe what I saw. “Hey, she’s on a cell phone. What do you think she’s talking about? How heavy the damn shrine is?”

Midori stuffed back a laugh. “No. She’s probably calling in their pizza order.”

Pulled From The Pages: You Call This Pizza?

May 6^th

After months of living in Japan trying to eat like a native, I longed for western food. First I broke down and hit Mc Donald’s for a Big Mac—twice! Then my craving for fried food kicked in and I found myself at KFC for a quick snack. After my horrible experience with Japanese spaghetti when I first arrived in Japan, I’d sworn off Italian food interpreted by the Japanese. Tomato sauce was usually catsup in disguise. And the cheese tasted like plastic. Yuck! But one thing kept flashing in my mind when I daydreamed of one of my favorite foods back home—pizza.  

I turned to my friend Midori. “I can’t take it any more. Pizza is calling my name.”

She gave me a crooked smile. “You said you would never try ours. It looks too weird.”

“Okay, so I’m eating my words.”

Midori’s eyes lit up. “I know just the place. They serve all kinds of toppings. There has to be something you like.”

We speed walked to the local pizza place. I pointed to the pack of high school students hovering in front of the restaurant. “Gee, I guess kids like the same food everywhere.”

 Midori beamed. “See, they know the food is good.”

I stared at the illuminated menu and had my doubts. “Pizza with mayo and squid? Barf!”

 Midori pointed to number four. “How about this one?”

The picture looked gross but when I read the ingredients my mouth clamped shut. I stared at her like she was asking me to rotten dead fish. “You want me to eat a pizza covered in egg spread and topped with pickled cabbage? Are you kidding me?”

I could tell Midori was running out of patience. “Number five has to be okay.  

I stared at the picture of a pizza crust covered in corn and potatoes. The sauce was a mixture of tomatoes and mayo. “Umm…I don’t think so.”

“But I thought Americans love those vegetables?”

“Yes, if the corn is attached to a cob and the potatoes are mashed.”

Here's a Pizza-la Commercial Enjoy! 

Pulled From The Pages: The Art of Getting Lost

One thing Japan had taught me after all these months was that I’d perfected the art of getting lost. Not that the crazy maze of streets of Tokyo made things any easier. Just when I had one section of the city figured out, a friend would invite me to dinner someplace I’d never been.  The biggest test came on spring break when I headed down to Kyushu with my best friend Cynthia. She spoke Japanese but had a terrible accent. As for me I had a perfect accent but my vocabulary was pretty limited. Asking for directions would be a challenge.   

We should have known the gods weren’t in our favor. Due to several train delays, we got into Kumomoto at 10:00.  The hostel we booked to stay the night locked their doors at 9:00 on the dot.

I turned to Cynthia, “What the hell are we going to do? Sleep on one of these crappy steel benches all night?”

She dropped her heavy backpack to the ground. “I’m so tired I could crash on the platform.”

Easy for her to say when she slept through a major earthquake. “Look maybe they will bend the rules for us.”

She rolled her eyes. “We’re in Japan remember?”

Okay so she had a point. The Japanese weren’t known for their flexibility. “Please lets just give it a shot. According to the map the place is close by.”

Famous last words. We hiked around a crazy maze of town roads getting more lost by the minute. “What are we going to do? Guess we could just crash in front of this store.”

Cynthia looked horrified. “We can’t do that we might get arrested.”  

“That wouldn’t be so bad. At least we’d have a place to sleep.”

“Are you kidding me?” She looked me straight in the eye. “Wait a second. How do you know they have a place to sleep?”  

I gave her a smile. “Let’s just say this isn’t my first time getting lost in the middle of the night.”  

Police Box in Japan

Pulled From The Pages: Dating In A Strange Land

 

April 10

I’d come to Japan to go to school and study, but the longer I’d lived in Tokyo, the more I pushed aside homework for fun.  I loved hanging out with my new friends and exploring every part of Tokyo. I’d even taken up flirting with guys but swore I’d never date. I mean what was the point? I would only be here for a year.

A whole year.

This realization finally sunk in when a particularly cute guy flirted with me.  I was hanging out with my friends at the local coffee shop. I’d seen him once before but was afraid to make eye contact. He looked like a really cute J Pop star I saw almost every night on TV.  My mouth went dry when he came up to talk to me.

 “Hello. I think I have seen you here before.”

Normally I’d think what a line. But I hung out at the shop at least once a week.  “I see you too.”

Oops Sometimes my limited Japanese could get me in trouble.  But he just smiled.

“What are you doing on Saturday night?”

Wow, this guy didn’t mess around. My friends giggled next to us.  “Ah…nothing.”

He gave me a mischievous grin.  “Good. Meet me in Shimokit. I want to take you to my favorite place.”

Two days later, I was holding a map the guy drew for me trying to find my way to his favorite place. Being a rocker type I figured it was a club. Shimokitazawa was a crazy mix of tiny streets that ran diagonally in all directions. I finally found the spot—a restaurant called Tiny Mouth. Just got to love the humor of Janglish. I strode through the door thankful I was the only white girl in sight. It would be easy for him to spot me. I stood by the door looking around when I realized I didn’t even know the guys name.  

A hand sprang up from the table in the corner.  The guy was dressed in black leather from head to toe. “Hi, over here.”

He still had the rocker thing down. I pinched myself. Super hot guys never asked me out.  I sat down across from him. “Good to see you. Sorry, what your name?”

He reached out his hand. “Goro. You look amazing.”

Flattery—always a good start to a date. “Thank you. Is the food good?”

“Oh yes, everything is wonderful. Only the best for my American girl.”

Okay, he might be laying it on a bit think but I wasn’t going to complain.  I picked up the menu that thankfully had English translations. “Everything look good. What you like?”   

“My favorite is the sesame crusted tuna with a side salad of pickled vegetables.”

“Sounds good.”

He waved over the waiter.  “We’ll take two number fives.”

The next few minutes I listened to him talk about his favorite band, and how he goes to school at nearby. How he loves Shimokit because it has so much energy. Then he patiently listened to my mediocre Japanese as I told him the story of how I ended up in Tokyo. Goro was everything a girl could want.

When our food arrived I looked down at my plate. The vegetables and even the fish had been cut up into tiny pieces. How strange.  “I never had food cut small.”

Goro laughed. “I know isn’t it great?”

I guess that explained the name of the restaurant. But I was beginning to wonder if my perfect date had bad teeth or something. “Why is this your favorite place?” 

He gave me a huge smile revealing a perfect set of teeth. “Because I miss my mother.”

“What?” 

“She always cuts up my food for me when I’m back home.” 

Pulled From the Pages: Cherry Blossom Time

 

March 30^th

Cherry blossom time!  The air was filled with the fragrance of thousands of blooms.  The trees draped down over the boulevards with their stunning display. One of the most beautiful times to be in Japan. But that’s not what my Japanese friends were excited about. They couldn’t wait for hanami—time to party.

I threw on a sweater and raced out the door to the station and the express train to Shinjuku park. My friends Midori and Keiko were throwing a party under the cherry trees—a tradition in Japan. They had slept over night in the park to make sure they reserved the perfect spot. 

Walking through the park filled with over a thousand cherry trees bursting with blossoms, I wondered if I would ever find them. Keiko promised to wear her horrible day-glow orange sweater so I could spot her in the crowd. But after twenty minutes of walking around the grounds, not one day-glow orange sighting. My hopes of a wonderful picnic lunch under the cherry trees grew dim.

My stomach screamed for food and I seriously considered a stop to get something to eat at one of the endless street vendors.  Then I saw the familiar horrible sweater jumping up and down next to a spectacular tree. “Anne, over here.”

Midori sat on a bright blue sheet like most of the other people in the park. The sheet, peppered in blossoms, was covered with small plates of wonderful delicacies. She motioned for me to sit down next to her. “You must be starving.”

“How can you tell?” 

“Because your stomach is talking.”

Keiko sat down next to me. “Your stomach is so loud it’s making the cherry blossoms fall off the tree.”

 The petals trickled down from the branches like rain. But I doubted my hunger had anything to do with it.  “Very funny.” I cruised the various plates laid out in front of me.  “Wow, you guys really went all out.”

 Midori fixed me a plate piled high with shrimp, pickled vegetables and a rice ball. “Only the best food will complement the flowers.”

Keiko held up a bottle of sake. “And drink.”

I noticed an empty bottle next to her foot. “Looks like the party already started.”

She covered her mouth and giggled. “It’s tradition. Plus the flowers look brighter.”

I gave her a smile. “I’ll bet.”

Midori handed me the loaded down plate. “Eat up.”

I didn’t need any prompting. Chopsticks in hand, I quickly downed the entire plate full of food and washed it down with a cup of sake. I rubbed my belly. “Everything was delicious.  What’s for dessert?”

A strong wind whipped through the trees. In no time we were covered with petals. Opening my mouth to speak a clump fell in. I chewed the petals and washed them down with a cup of sake.

I smiled at the girls. “What a novel dessert! Cherry blossoms aren’t just beautiful, they taste good too.“ 

Pulled From the Pages: Say What?

March 5^th

I’d been in Japan for eight months and still couldn’t get over the amazing ways the Japanese used English. Some people called it Janglish others called it Engrish, but I called it pretty funny. I’d become totally fascinated by the whole phenomenon and turned Janglish hunting into a game with my friend Trish. At least twice a month we headed out onto the streets of Tokyo looking for the funniest Janglish we could find. Our first stop was always the grocery store. New products hit the shelves all the time—perfect for a quick laugh.

“Hey Anne, check this out.” Trish said pointing to an oldie but goody. “You can get your Cock in spicy flavor now.”

I jumped up and down. “Wow, I’m so excited. Let’s pick up a ten pack!”

We moved over to the candy aisle always a good place to score. I noticed a new flavor of one of my favorites. “Look, now you can get your collon in strawberry flavor.”

Trish rubbed her belly. “A strawberry colon is a happy colon.” 

 

 

We cruised the aisles looking for more new products. No luck. I turned to Trish. “Let’s head over to Shibuya and see what we can find.”

“Great idea. We always get lucky there.”

Shibuya was the in place in Tokyo to find the latest and greatest in fashion. Janglish T-shirts with the strangest English you could think of lined the store shelves. In fact we got lucky as soon as we hit the train station.

Trish yanked on my sleeve. “Look at the shirt that little girl is wearing.”

The girl looked about eleven and she had on a white T-shirt that said in bold pink letters, “# 1 Pussy Snatch.”

“Wow. If only her Mom knew what the shirt said about her daughter. She probably thinks it means #1 Cutie.”

I knew this from experience. When I asked girls in Japanese what they thought their T-shirt said they always thought it was something kawaii, cute. When I asked a guy wearing a shirt that declared “Hot Bitch”, he thought it meant he was super cool. When I told him what it really said his face turned red.

We headed into the main mall knowing we’d find some Janglish gold. Took all of three seconds before we spied a manikin dressed in a cute red pleated mini skirt and a tight red trimmed tank top smothered in hearts that said, “Love Some Make Friends With Anyone.”  

“Hey Trish, don’t you think the little red hearts are a nice touch?”

She rolled her eyes. “That's a lot of love for one outfit.” Then Trish darted over to a shop filled with skater boy outfits. She pointed to a T-shirt on a manikin in the corner. “I always wanted to date a guy who wore a shirt like that.”

I stuffed back a laugh. “Yeah, I mean being a ‘12” Shit’ is so sexy.”

Trish pulled out her camera. “Check this one out!”

I glanced down at the shirt. “ ‘American Feeling Fanny We Give Good Mind’. Wow that came so close to being a winner.”

Trish held up the shirt and pointed to the word Mind. “They had the location right."

      

Pulled From the Pages: My Pocky Addiction

June 12^th

Today I’m finally admitting the truth—I am officially addicted to Pockys. I have to thank (or murder) my host sister Ami for my daily habit. The whole thing began innocently enough.

“Hey Ami, what are those things in the red box I always see you eating. Can I try one?”

She clutched the box defensively. “What, these?”

I had to laugh when I read the name of the candy, Pocky. Janglish strikes again. Leave it to the Japanese to use English words in amusing ways. Of course what else would you call a stick shaped chocolate covered biscuit. 

“Uh uh. They must be really good. I see you eating them all the time.”

Her face turned red. “Not all the time.”

I couldn’t believe she still hadn’t forked one over. “Right.” I moved next to her—my eyes locked on the box. I held my hand out. “Can I have one? You know how much I love anything chocolate.”

She nodded her head. Maybe that was the problem—she thought I was going to eat the whole box. “I promise, only one.”

Ami tilted back the lid and pulled out one of the candies holding it like a cigarette. I bit into the stick surprised at the crunch. The inside was like a pretzel. The chocolate and the pretzel mingled in my mouth sending me to Heaven. “Umm, these are really good.”

One Pocky would definitely not be enough. I ran my tongue around the inside of my mouth making sure to catch all the chocolaty goodness and stared at the box in Amy’s hands. 

She backed away from me once again clutching her box of Pockys. “Glad you enjoyed the candy.” She inched closer toward the stairs. “I have to go study now.”

Bolting up the stairs to her bedroom she slammed the door. At first I couldn’t understand her reaction but as the chocolate lingered in my mouth, I realized the Japanese had once again invented something that was habit forming. Anime, Karaoke, video games, and Hello Kitty were totally addictive. So why not add candy to the list? Pockys are the ultimate treat for the orally fixated person with a sweet tooth. Me. 

I’d thrown my pen chewing over for Pockys in a hot minute. The next day I ran out and bought a ten pack. I couldn’t wait to try the other wonderful flavors, mint, dark chocolate, and coconut. Pockys soon became my constant companion. My friends at school took notice. Especially Michelle.        

“I can’t believe you could get hooked on a chocolate covered stick. What are you up to? A box a day?”

I tossed the candy in my purse. “You make me sound like an addict.”

“Well, aren’t you?”

“Okay, so they’re a bit of a guilty pleasure.”

“You mean like sex?”

Leave it to a Catholic girl to come up with a line like that.

“They call Pockys a satisfying treat for a reason.”