The panic is beginning to set in...

It all started with a bill.

At least, I thought it was a bill. It certainly looked official, and it had my name on it. When I opened it, the only part I could make out was the 97,400 clearly displayed. When I asked a friend to translate for me, all he could manage in his limited English was a knowing, "Ah, yes. Insurance."

I spent the next day in a panic, pacing my living room and playing out all sorts of bizarre worst-case scenarios in my mind. If that number was a fee, there was no way I could afford it--especially if it was a monthly one. How had insurance gotten so expensive in a country with social health care, anyway? Weren't all those Japanese businessmen supposed to foot the bills for those of us who couldn't afford regular baths? I imagined informing Interac that I couldn't pay and then facing some unknown enemy (the company, or the government, or...why not?...the Yakuza!) who would inexplicably force me to pay for insurance I did not want by weeding rice paddies and clearing mountainsides of bamboo. And then I'd have to smuggle myself out of the country and when people asked what happened to my big plans to teach in Japan I would have to explain that I could never go back because I was wanted by the government, and not even for anything exciting either.

Then Mogi-san looked at it and laughed, telling me that it had nothing to do with me. It was just some detail of the coverage plan; not a fee at all.

This kind of stress is to be expected when you're living in a foreign country, but that doesn't make it any easier on your poor, adrenaline-riddled heart. Luckily I've found a way to cope: vending machines.

I got the white one with cow spots!

I've mentioned them before, but then they were just a passing curiosity. Now they've become little life rafts of sanity.  Whenever a situation suddenly vaults itself into the realm of way-too-much-to-handle, I dart to one of these machines. You can find one literally anywhere; they're more common than pets. So I dart to one of these and take a breather, considering all my beverage options in a nonchalant way that I hope conveys a message: "What, you thought I was here to integrate myself with your culture? Silly. Clearly I am here to experience your unique beverages, that's all. I got an apartment because it was a convenient distance from these machines. I got a car to take me to the less convenient machines. I'm only working here to fund this habit and am not at all invested in my own performance or concerned about my capabilities. Obviously."

Like the time I tried to refill my gas tank. The gas stations are full-service here, which would be very luxurious if you weren't the girl who rolled into the station with no idea which side your gas tank is on  or how to pay--much less how to say "gas tank" and "should I pay inside?"--and can now only blush furiously and throw money at the employee while repeating, "Gomen...gomen...gomen nasai" ("I'm sorry...I'm sorry...So sorry..."). Luckily the employee was unbelievably friendly (are you sensing a pattern?) and tolerated my laughable attempt with a broad smile and a promise  to study English so she could help me in the future. I was grateful and comforted by her silly promise (as if it was her fault I couldn't handle daily tasks), but the minute my tank was full I sped of for my rendezvous with a strawberry milk.

When I got lost and ended up in an unfamiliar supermarket, I left room in the budget for Calpis.

When I wandered into a local farmers' market, I headed straight for the canned peach juice.

When I got lost again, I beelined for the drinkable yogurt.

At first I tried to wean myself off the dependence, but I finally caved and justified it by claiming that an occasional 100 or 150 yen was not so much to invest in my mental health. The machines' contents are like a grab bag of magic elixirs: one sip and I'm no longer the bumbling American who mistakenly thought she could grasp this language and is now paying the price in installments of humble pie.

I'm the fun-loving, quirky American whose only concern is whether to try a cold drink or a hot one next.

Happy Easter!

Happy Easter, Everyone!

I wish it was big in Japan.

Excerpts from the last few days

As you can imagine, not much has been happening in the last few days that would interest anyone.  However, in my compulsive need to garner attention, I offer the following:

I tried cocoa from the vending machines. It was cold and it tasted like bog sludge, but I kept trying it to see if that might have changed in the last 2 minutes.

I met my bosses at the Board of Education and, in attempting to explain the concept of having two families (consisting of a mother & stepfather and a father & stepmother) I ended up convincing them that I have two mothers and two fathers all living together in a communal home. Oh, and that I'm not allowed to drink anything--at all--because of my religion. No need to thank me, LDS missionaries stationed in Japan! Just doing my part to make sure the people of this country know we're perfectly sane!

My forays into the world of cooking have so far been disastrous.  I was already an abysmal cook, but without even the comfort of English recipes on the backs of packages I've been reduced to adding ingredients until the consistency looks somewhat familiar. So far this has resulted in "cabbage chowder," and I think you can all draw your own conclusions from that.

Yesterday all the other ALT's in the area kindly invited me to go out to an all-you-can-eat buffet with them. Never have I felt so distinctly like a foreigner than I did in that restaurant, shamelessly loading up my fourth plate while all the Japanese around me hesitated to even take second servings of anything.

After dinner we went bowling, but it was too expensive so I sat out. It turned out to be a wise decision because it gave me plenty of time to watch Japanese music videos that were broadcast next to our scores. If you've never seen a Japanese teenager singing mournfully with eyes shut while surrounded by a bride, a cowgirl, and a Vegas showgirl on motorcycles, then you haven't lived.

 A few guys brought along a truly disturbing little beer called "Slat" (I have photographic evidence of this) that had fruit bits floating around in it (my gag reflex would not permit me to gather photographic evidence of this). Imbued with fruity confidence, some guys started making plans to go to a bar later with some Japanese girls. "What girls?" I asked. "You haven't talked to any Japanese people all night....oh, what, you mean THOSE girls?" I looked across the length of the bowling alley at a group of girls who looked firmly entrenched in the "underage" camp. Of course, that may have just been because they're Japanese and they ALL look underage.

"Have you even TALKED to those girls?" I couldn't stop myself from asking.

"No," said one of the guys, grinning. "But it's like a game! You lose sometimes, but sometimes you win!"

I watched incredulously as the guys marched over to the girls and boldly told them to accompany them to a bar--and were promptly shot down by the girls, who were neither interested nor drowning in Slat.

"Oh well we lost that one," the guys informed me on their return. Better luck next time, fellas.

 Don't do Slat, kids. Stay in school.

Adventures Doing Stuff that would be Ho-Hum if I weren't Inept

This is my car, Touto. He is also my ticket to freedom in this small town--too bad I'm terrified of him.

It's not just the riding on the other side of the road that terrifies me, it's also the fact that Japan is very, very easy to get lost in. Almost none of the streets have numbers or names posted, so if you're receiving directions, you have to be able to identify landmarks instead. Given that I consistently found myself lost in Utah, with its neat grid pattern of streets, I think my fear of driving in Japan is justified. But on the other hand, there's only so long that you can sit in an apartment and contemplate your future before scaring yourself insane. This is how unabombers and 50-hour Call of Duty marathoners happen, people.

So yesterday I went out shopping.  A Japanese girl who stopped at a light next to me nudged her friend and they both stared at me until the light changed; Mogi-san says they hardly ever seen foreigners here. I soon returned the favor in the market, where I stood in the middle of aisles and waited for someone to buy something so I could watch how they did it. I guess supermarkets are similar the world over, but there were some differences, for instance, they're very green here so you don't use bags for your veggies and you should bring canvas bags for your groceries. You also don't hand the money to the cashier; you put it in a little plate and push it towards them. Things aren't pricey until you try to get things that require livestock, like dairy or meat. Because Japan has so little free land, raising livestock is expensive.

~~ Speaking of green, they have you separate all your trash into "burnable," "non-burnable," and plastic. And then you have to write your name on your trash bags so if your trash is incorrectly organized your neighbors can bring it back to your doorstep as a public censure. Yeesh. ~~

After the grocery store I found a hyaku-en shop, the equivalent of our dollar stores only infinitely cooler. Everything there is 100 yen, which is about $1. I got soup mixes and dishes and towels, all for around $7. Needless to say, I know where I'm going to be spending most of my shopping days.

After that I got lost. I'm worried about any of you who didn't see that coming. Luckily I had nothing to do, so I just kept driving in concentric circles (NOT making that up) until I saw something familiar and could make my way back from there. Whew. I feel like a mouse, making swift forays into the world only to dart back to safety at the first sign of wind or a big shadow. And I have to admit, I miss the stereotypical "American" diet. Gone are the days when I barely had to step outside before I had a hamburger in hand. :) But no worries; today Mogi-san introduced me to a restaurant where you can pay 250 yen and get as many drinks as you like (and the food is reasonable, too). Needless to say, I will be staying there as much as possible. While we were there I tried "Calpis", a soda with a milky color. Mogi-san says it has cultures in it for health benefits--trust the Japanese to make soda healthier and slightly unsettling!

Apartment Pictures

Iide at last...

As I write this I am curled under a kotatsu, which is arguably the best Japanese invention of all time: a table with several layers of blankets around the sides and a heater underneath. I am also sitting, for the very first time in my life, in an apartment that I can call my own. And, also for the first time, watching snow pile up on the rice paddies of a very, very small Japanese town.

This morning all the ALT's said their goodbyes. You'd be surprised by how sentimental some of us became; some even cried. But there was none of that coerced sentimentality the springs up from "character-building" camps or self-help seminars--this was the real deal, a sense of togetherness strengthened by the heady cocktail of homesickness and crippling fears of inadequacies we were all battling. Sleep-deprivation and hang-overs probably played significant roles, as well.

After a few hours of train-riding I ended up in small city where Mogi-san, my hired handler, was waiting for me. Her English is flawless, but she intersperses it with Japanese on purpose to give me a chance to practice. She immediately took me to a ramen restaurant, which won my heart to her side--but if that wasn't enough, she also stayed with me the whole day to help me arrange things, gave me several essentials (towels, etc.) from her home, and showed me a cake shop around the corner from my apartment. After today, I can dispel 2 myths about Japan: the food is not all that expensive, at least in the sticks (a lot of it was actually cheaper), and I will NOT be losing much weight here.

My apartment is spectacular; far better than I imagined. It's relatively new, but built in a traditional Japanese style, with tatami mats on the floor and (as I've already mentioned) a kotatsu in the living room. I also found that the previous ALT's who lived here left an incredible amount of stuff, from furniture to space heaters to a hair straightener and even skis. Most impressive, however, was the sheer amount of school supplies they left: a huge storage bin full of things, and extras turning up in odd places all the time. There are so many things in here that I actually have to ask Mogi-san to get rid of some things for me or help me put them in storage for the next ALT.

The town is every bit as tiny as Google Earth made it out to be. The entire area is covered by rice paddies (now little more than muddy patches); even houses are relatively rare. I found out I also have a bike (as well as my itty bitty square car), so I'm excited to ride around town when the weather gets nicer.

Mogi-san invited me home with her for dinner, and I got another great surprise: she lives in a Buddhist temple. Her husband is a priest, so they live in a section of the very traditional building, complete with paper doors and silk cushions for followers to sit on. I've always wanted to know more about Buddhism, and now I have the perfect in! And you will all be proud to know that I ate (and enjoyed!) a Japanese meal, which included raw salmon and something that looked like a flesh cheerio, which Mogi-san described as "some part of a fish." First I conquer my fear of seafood; next, the world!

Drums keep poundin' a rhythm to my brain

I know you're all dying to hear what exciting hi-jinks I got up to for my birthday yesterday, and I hope the anticipation was worth it, because I started off the day brilliantly: with 5 hours of training followed by 2 hours of health exams. People found out it was my birthday somehow (I'm sure it had nothing to do with my undercurrent of murmured, "It's my birthday" 's) and reacted in shockingly kind ways. My Irish roomie and all her friends dug around in their pockets and purses to make me a grab bag of presents, from a pencil and lip gloss to a card written on a piece of a cigarette carton. Later, one of our bosses made the whole group of teachers sing "Happy Birthday" to me--while I held my urine sample in something called a "pee pole" (I am NOT making that up) for the health check. And after the thorough health check (urine, height, weight, eye test, blood pressure, breathing test, echo cardiogram, blood draw, and chest x-ray)it was off to the pub.

I know, I know. A pub? I spent months' worth of salary to go to Japan so I could sit in a faux Irish pub?

I have no excuses, really, except that all the other teachers have a tradition of going there after training and it's really nice to lounge in the semi-dark atmosphere. Anyway, I was sitting in the pub surrounded by people I hardly knew, but liked--really, who can dislike anyone who digs around in their pocket trash to make you feel better on your birthday? And they again sprang "Happy Birthday" on me. They toasted me (another nice guy bought me a coke) and I found a piece of Japanese cake that we all shared, and we had the best time just sitting around and laughing. We might as well have been friends for years instead of days.

Today was our last day of training, and the day we had to pore through all our contracts. I found out one of my zone leaders is LDS, purely because he came up to me directly and said, "Are you LDS? You're from Utah, so I thought you were. I am too!" He then offered to help me find a ward/branch out here. I keep getting lucky like that with the people I meet; a day or so ago I met an English guy who lived in my prefecture for several years. He said he loved it there, and his enthusiasm fed my own until I hardly felt scared anymore. Still, today was so draining that by the end of it all I barely had enough spirit in me to even go to the pub, which is just as pathetic as it sounds. It was slow at the pub, too; I spent a while listening to a friend from Galway explain how he just came for a laugh and fully expects to be fired or to have quit within a week, which doesn't bother him in the slightest. His carefree attitude infects everyone around him, and even though his accent is tough to understand sometimes, he's always surrounded by people 'cus of that.

Everything changed when the pub started a dance party in the lower level, though. One supervisor made it his goal to get all of us on the dance floor, and if you knew how persuasive he could be you wouldn't even question whether he succeeded. Within minutes we were all dancing, most of us with very little skill but no shame to force us to hold ourselves in check. Immediately all barriers formed by language, culture, and rank were annihilated. We were bumping our hips with our supervisors one side and Japanese strangers on the other. We all cheered each other on, we all mimicked each others' moves, we all sang to the best songs. It was a mass of frenetic joy and I don't think a single one of us felt shy--the best send-off imaginable. For fun I started doing the dorkiest move I could think of: the one where you put one hand behind your head, forming a triangle with your arm, and lift the other leg up so your other hand holds on to your ankle and jerk your leg towards and away from your chest like some poor half-formed bird. I'm sure you've all seen it, but no one there had, and it was my ticket to 15 minutes of fame. Our supervisor started doing it, and a well-dressed Japanese couple started doing it, giggling and urging each other on like teenagers. I loved it. I loved every second of it. They made sure I was watching and cheering them on, and when they were done the gentleman led me in an impromptu ballroom-style dance, holding only the tips of my fingers. I was able to follow him alright (thank you, Social Dance 101) and at the end he even gave me an light hug that was more like a brush of collarbones.

Tomorrow I head out to Iide-machi to set up my apartment and begin the real work. If it's anything near as fun as training was, I don't think I'll ever want to stop.