I've probably mentioned this once or twice, but just next door to the housing area where I live in Hario is a Dutch "theme park" named Huis Ten Bosch. Now, putting theme park in quotations is a little deceiving. Huis Ten Bosch (hereafter called HTB) is a themed park, meaning it is a completely Dutch-themed park in the middle of Japan, but that definition doesn't fit with what most Americans' vision would encompass--roller coasters, lots of junk food, character mascots roaming around for children to snuggle and take pictures with, and lots of Disney-esque shows of fantastic design.
Well, maybe HTB does fit a bit of all that, but I might just be getting a bit ahead of myself.
Our friend, Natalie, had asked us to go to HTB once before for a festival of sorts, and we hemmed and hawed our way out of it. However, when she mentioned a tasting event of over 120 wines from around the globe, I nudged (shoved) the Hub into meeting up with her the next day so we could get our annual pass. Determined to be as health-observant as possible, we walked the mile and a half from our home to the entrance, completed our forms for a Navy pass which would allow us in for twelve months, and set off to explore on our own for a few hours before Natalie could meet up with us after work. Immediately, we spotted one of the traditional symbols of the Netherlands, the windmill, and got swept away (HAHAHA--I kill myself with the puns) with the beauty of the carefully-arranged flowers surrounding the towering giants. We crossed over a large stream leading to the ocean nearby to enter the castle which guards the only path leading into the majority of the park. Just inside, we spotted a teddy bear museum and decided to have a gander.
We really shouldn't have. Thousands upon thousands of very expertly and fancifully dressed bears surrounded us in a myriad of poses while signs all around boasted of the history of the teddy bear (which led to the most disturbing bear of them all--a teddy with a bear's body and Teddy Roosevelt's face; may I never see that again). All-in-all, even my strong, brave, military man of a Hub was a bit put off by the creepiness of the place, and we found ourselves tangled in the displays unable to find an exit. By the time we got out, we wondered if perhaps there would not be enough in the park to hold our interest (excepting the wine and the vistas, of course).
Oh, were we ever wrong.
The next corner led to the greatest place I might have found in any of my travels--The House of Cheese. Now, had we walked in only to find a history of cheese with transplanted faces of long-ago cheese makers plastered on the plastic busts of cheese wheels, I probably would have left crying, scared and scarred. However, what we discovered was a shop filled with locally-made cheeses of all varieties: robust blues, hard hunks of parmesan, tiny morsels of cream cheese topped with a delicate jam, smoked slices of herb-filled cheddars and goudas. The combination of it all was enough to make me cry for other reasons. Undoubtedly, we probably spent 20 minutes browsing through the cheeses before the Hub nudged (shoved) me out the door with promises of returning when we were ready to leave. At first, I was a bit upset, but the direction in which he gently guided me (PUSHED) led to a tiny path around the corner of the shop where we found a stand selling Cheese Shakes.
I love cheese, as the previous paragraph would likely convey, but even I was a bit hesitant to try a milkshake of cheese. Imagining a mix of disgust and intrigue a liquid drink of nacho goodness, I convinced the Hub to split one with me. We noticed the couple in front of us requesting blueberries to be added, but the thought could not break into the image I already had invented of nacho-ness, so I chose a plain cheese shake. Hesitantly, I took the first sip before passing it off to Hub...and then immediately grabbing it back and claiming it for my own. This reaction, however, was my downfall as he realized it must be good and demanded it be returned for his own test. Instead of the nacho cheese I had pictured, we had stumbled upon a cheeseCAKE milkshake, which has now become an instant favorite. We forced ourselves not to order another one, but only because we convinced ourselves that the teddy bear museum must have been the park's way of scaring off the faint at heart from the treasures within.
Every street we wandered was filled with fun and interesting shops or displays; all the buildings were modeled after an early European design, while the service was exquisitely Japanese. The entire effect was breathtaking, and we found ourselves running in and out of stores and museums, giggling like all of the Japanese tourists around us. Down from the House of Cheese was a cheese restraunt, which bordered the Chocolate House. Across from both of those was a candy shop, selling a mixture of Dutch and Japanese sweet treats. Our favorite area, other than the cheese place, of course, was a museum of eye-benders. We could not read the signs, but watching those around us led to such perfect photo opportunities as Hub versus King Kong and Hub falling from the sky.
We met up with Natalie just outside of the eye-bending displays, bragging and showing off our pictures when we noticed an older Japanese woman attempting to take a picture of the street we were blocking. We bowed then scurried to the side of the street to get out of her way, throwing in a "Sumimasen!" for good measure. To our surprise, she looked rather embarassed, but we went back to examining our own shots. A few moments later, looking up, we realized she had moved with us; turning around to see what she could possibly be taking a picture of that we were blocking this time, we saw that another woman was standing just a couple of feet behind us and to the side, flashing a grin and a peace sign. Blinking, we turned back to the first lady, felt the blast of her flash bulb, before the two of them ran away giggling at THEIR perfect photo opportunities--Americans on display! Natalie, Hub, and I looked at each other, bewildered, then back at the ladies who turned to give us a quick bow before scampering away, laughing again. I don't think I've been a Kodak moment since my old days of Smokey-the-Bear-dom (aka National Park Service work)!
The day was a gorgeous one filled with beautiful weather, delicious wines (which led to me meeting a very helpful barista who taught me the words for "sweet" and "dry," as well as running into a friend from work, Tateishi-san, who volunteers for HTB on the weekends), good food (a delicate pizza of Japanese bacon and potatoes--yes, it was delicate with those toppings, I promise!--and cheese, of course), and outrageous picture moments like me and the giant wooden shoes. I considered buying a smaller, slightly better-fitting pair before I admitted that even in my most adventurous moments of shoe-shopping I'd be very unlikely to ever wear true wooden shoes.
Finally, at the end of the day, laden down with cheese and wine, we hailed a taxi for the return home. Even a mile and a half can be killer when hauling 3 gorgeous bottles and a small investment in dairy goodness!
As an update, recently, we returned with our friend Natalie (along with her husband, Nate, this time) to enjoy the Christmas decorations that Huis Ten Bosch displays. This time, we enjoyed a feast of Chinese food including golden potstickers, fried rice, and some sort of sweet-and-savory pork before meeting at the center of the park for the Christmas dance show, with a hot cup of caramel milk to warm our hands. Sparked with the holiday spirit, Nate insisted on leading us all in Christmas carols while we waited for the evening fireworks (every night at 8:45), which led to Japanese people curiously watching us, attempting to determine whether we were a mismatched display or just crazy Americans out for an evening. Of course, we all know the latter answer is a given, so while we giggled our way through "Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire," we had to appreciate the night for what it was, nonetheless.
Too long, too long, but I don't want to dwell on that because the story I have to tell you about one of our prior destinations is just too interesting to focus on the lapse in writing (plus, well, I just like covering my tracks and stuff).
The Hub and I had made our goal, this first year, to visit our local areas in Kyushu via the MWR tours we had access to so we could then start rippling our traveling our further and further from our tiny home in Sasebo. We had signed up for the Kumamoto trip once before but was thwarted in our attempts to visit by a mistake on the tour company's part, which led to our exploring post from before about Jusco and the wonderful appliances found there for sale.
At any rate, we headed out on our typical bus with my coworker, Eriko-san, as our guide. After stopping for lunch at a mall called You-Me where we had a strange, cheesy pseudo-Italian breadbowl, we continued on with the history lesson I am about to relate as given to us by our adept speaker (settle in and get comfy, okay?).
In the 1500s, the Samurai class was very powerful but often fought among themselves. One Samurai named Nobunaga was extremely ambitious and very crafty, enlisting the people he thought would help him to the top most quickly, even if they were not of the traditional sort. His second-in-command, for example, was a Shogun named Hideyoshi who was nicknamed the "Monkey," both for his wisdom as well as his reported 2 thumbs on his right hand, which led to foolhardiness in his youth as a skilled tree-climber. Hideyoshi was born to a servent family, but his ability to understand the desires of the common man combined with his ability to quickly analyze and respond earned him much respect until Nobunaga promoted him to a Samurai after he defeated one of Nobunaga's enemies and a powerful warlord of the time.
When Nobunaga was assassinated by Katsuie, his other advisor, Hideyoshi and Katsuie fought for control of the territory, and although Hideyoshi was miles away from the castle, he marched his army day and night to fight, and defeat, Katsuie. Once he began rule, he determined that no longer would the samurai be only warlord but instead should be skilled in all forms of war and of art. His belief was that every person should be balanced, and because of this, he crafted the castle we stopped at later, while his advisor, Hosokawa, who was extremely crafty and later placed his own kin as the leader of the samurai class, began the garden we stopped at first. Japan, he believed, was comprised of 54 distinct areas, and his tribute was to create 54 corresponding areas within the garden.
Walking up to the entrance, we could spy a huge lake just beyond where a solitary white crane rested perfectly on one of the islands. Arched bridges connected the islands and led to a path that circled the lake entirely and invited each person to meander pleasantly, allowing the calm of the gardens to soak in while stresses melted away softly. Rounding the first corner, we found two Japanese women drinking from a fountain before a shrine; Eriko-san explained that the Japanese believe this to be the fountain of life and that one could not die soon after drinking from it. I took my chances and strayed away towards a picturesque group of torii gates that caught my attention a short distance from the fountain. So reminiscent of a scene from one of my favorite movies, Memoirs of a Geisha, I had to stop and admire. Coming up behind me, Eriko-san said that the red torii gates, when set so closely together, symbolized the entrance to a shrine dedicated to business or to money. Upon closer inspection, each of the gates had family kanji inscribed, which she then explained was a gift. The benefactor likely hoped it would bring extra blessings to give to such a place.
Hosakawa also believed that the samurai should be knowledgeable of the most ancient art of the tea ceremony and had a tearoom built to his specifications where he hosted other samurai, officials, and local citizens together. During the ceremony, all were of equal status, and blades were not allowed in, so just to the side, we found a spot where each samurai were forced to relinquish their blades or else not fit through the small door where one would have to crawl through to get into the tearoom. Although the side is open, as you can see in the picture, it was impolite to come through the area and thus block the view of the guests, so each person had to bend in half and crawl through. With a sword attached at the waist, a samurai would never have squeezed through, and thus Hosakawa ensured no one would be armed when coming to the ceremony.
After leaving the gardens, Eriko-san passed out newspapers to everyone so we might make our own samurai hats in preparation for our next stop at the Samurai Castle. Giggling, Hub and I posed for a picture that I'm very sure he never thought would make it online but which I could not pass up. He, however, refused to take the hat into the castle, and I opted to go au naturel (well, not-hatted, anyway!) as well, so as the driver parked our bus, we stashed our hats to the side and shuffled out the door to Kumamoto Castle, home of Hideyoshi and his Samurai. Though the castle is not the original (the original castle and most of the walls were destroyed in a fire and rebuilt in the 1970s), one of the turrets and part of the walls are and date back over 400 years in age. Opting to climb the original turret rather than the rebuilt castle (we didn't have time for both, really), Hub and I set off, removing our shoes at the door at the insistence of a small Japanese guide, placing them in plastic bags, and walking sock-footed up very narrow flights of stairs with no handrail made of 400 year old wood. Nerve-wracking? To say the least, yes! Climbing consisted of watching first for Japanese tourists who insisted upon coming down the stairs regardless of who might be coming up or of the fact that only one person could go at a time, shifting to the side to allow others to pass while gripping (anything--the walls if you could reach them, the ceiling, or the Hub!) with fingernails dug in as deeply as possible, and attempting to not slide on the well-worn wood which I imagine the guards likely braved with something more than socks. Still, climbing to the top to look out arrow-slits built four centuries ago to see the fortress grounds made impregnable by the high walls, slick with no handholds, and the moat. It was said even ninjas would not attempt to raid or to kill anyone staying within the castle, and patrons of the grounds could close the gates and live, comfortably, for weeks at a time via deep wells that led to fresh water supplies and tunnels to the neighboring farms for food.
This year, 2007, celebrates the 400th anniversary of Kumamoto Castle, so while we were there, we stopped a passing "samurai" warrior to snap a quick shot before loading back into the bus, stopping briefly at an old Samurai home, and then on to the house where we gladly rested our tired legs after climbing so many stairs!
To continue on our travels, but to make them separate entries so no one's eyes cross too badly...
Now, Hub and I have taken so many trips since we've been in Sasebo that the women working at the MWR office know us by name, which always makes me (proudly) think of myself as the travel-addicted version of Cliff from Cheers! on television. Knowing that near us is the world's largest indoor beach (the OceanDome), Hub went in to inquire about a tour there several months back and was pleased to find that one of our favorite travel agents recommended an upcoming, not-yet-released trip to a nearby island. Calling me for confirmation, he booked us the first seats on the bus, and I began relishing the thought of getting in some great board time, possibly a bit of cancerous tanning, before reporting to work the following week. We even managed to persuade other friends to join along after leaking out the good news to a few others.
Early Saturday morning, we boarded a bus, bound for a ferry port a couple of hours away; again, I have absolutely no clue where we actually picked up the ferry at. I tend to spend bus rides huddled in my own corner, praying desperately for the Dramamine to kick in, and hopelessly attempting to look as if the shade of green my skin has turned is completely normal and enviously flattering.
Once on the ferry, I found it easier to settle down, even snapping a quick shot with Hub while chatting with Andy and Becca who were sitting next to us (Andy trying to catch up on the final Harry Potter book while Hub was attempting to block out any conversations so he wouldn't hear spoilers since he just started the series). Sooner than we thought, we were deboarding the ferry, having arrived at Iki Island, reboarding the bus on our way to the beach.
I really meant to take a picture, as strange as this will sound, of the bathroom/changing room area as I keep forgetting to show everyone what a traditional Japanese toliet is like, but with the gigantic samurai spiders nesting in each corner, it was all I could do to peel off my clothes, slap on my swimsuit, and shuffle quickly out to guard the door for Becca's frantic attempts to do the same. Needless to say, I think we were both happy to walk out through the beach huts out onto the warm sand. Hub and I shared a rueful glance at the completely flat water, realizing a little late that the boards we'd lugged around were completely useless. Still, we swam, playing in the water and getting in enough salt to satisfy us for a solitary day before returning to set out for the hotel within Iki City.
Hub and I showered, dressed, and set out for a restraunt, guided by the maps our guide had thrust into our hands before we checked into our rooms. Spotting a yakiniku on the map, we walked the few blocks, stopping to take a picture of this plaque, obvious throughout the city as some sort of talisman, while a small group of teenage girls attempted to engage us and practice their English, giggling the entire time. We spoke to them for a few minutes before waving and continuing on, the trio following us like chattering puppies for a short time before disappointedly breaking away. Finding our doorway, to climbed to the second floor where we spotted another family from the tour trying to decide if they wanted to chance an all-kanji menu. The owner, a very sweet, older Japanese lady, advised that she knew English and could assist, so Hub and I shrugged and asked to be seated, sure we could figure things out on our own.
Ushered into our little room, sectioned off by sliding doors of the most delicate paper, we (Hub shot a nice pic of yours truly, I think) sat and waited for menus to arrive.
Only then did we realize just how WRONG we had been.
Our server, a young Japanese man, was extremely friendly, but it was obvious from the get-go just how little (to us)English he spoke and just how poor our Japanese was (to him). Our menu had no pictures, just amounts and characters written on 10 different pages. Alarmed, we began the wild gesturing (my favorite was when he pointed at one word, then at his tongue, signaling that we could order an entire round of tongue) that comes along with random, known words (we understood "kalbi;" he understood "beef"); looking fairly desperate, I finally spotted some artwork on the walls and used that to convey what we wanted. Unsure as to whether this yakiniku would supply vegetables, I pointed at a sign just behind Hub's head and noted that we wanted two orders. Feeling more confident, we settled back as he turned on the grill between us, and waited for our meats and veggies to arrive.
Imagine our surprise, a few minutes later, when he showed up with a couple of glasses of what appeared to be tomato juice! Confused, we shook our heads, and he pointed back at the sign of the vegetables I'd kept referring to; laughing, Hub deduced that what we thought was an order of different vegetables was actually fresh-juiced carrots and tomato. Blushing a deep red, I bowed from where I sat and gulpingly took a sip (I hate tomato juice) so as not to be rude.
Worried about what we might have ordered from our "friendly" picture helpers, we were relieved when the usual plate of meats and veggies arrived, and Hub began piling things on the grill with the tongs. Upon closer inspection, I realized that what we thought had been the usual meats actually was a lovely cut of steak, a thinly sliced bit of pork, chicken SKIN, beef KIDNEY and some sort of sausage whose contents I attempted to not think about. Asking for rice led to fish-flavored rice balls held together by a seaweed wrapper, which, thankfully, I manged to bite into before Hub had a chance (allergies and all). Having eaten bits and pieces (yes to the sausage of unknown origin, but a BIG NO to the chicken skin which was the chewiest and most disgusting substance I've ever put in my mouth in all of my years), the owner/host stopped by to see how we managed and to offer us "crawree." Puzzled, we shook our heads, but she seemed to understand that we hadn't grapsed what she meant and, grinning broadly, brought the two tinsiest cups of coffee I've ever spotted. Blushing red for the second time in one night, we tried to graciously accept our cups, sipped, then paid and left, bowing low for all the trouble we'd managed to cause in one sitting.
Leaving, we headed to the local RIC shop (convenience store) to stock up on goodies for the next day (my favorite might have been the crustless peanut butter and azuki bean spread sandwich I snagged, although Hub was really fond of the custard-filled biscuits) before throwing our sunburned selves onto the bed, tuckered out.
The next morning, we again checked out of the hotel, boarding the bus headed for a local, natural phenomenon known as "monkey rock." I found myself staring dreamily out at the water, replaying the previous day in my mind while vowing to be more on-top-of my sunscreen applications, only to turn to find that Hub, of course, had managed to find a local ice cream stand. Only him.
After hours of snorkeling among the coral reef (I actually saw a blowfish blow up--a first for me!), relaxing on the sand, we were ready for the journey home, snoozing along the way. I'm unsure if we'll ever visit Iki Island again, but our time was absolutely a refreshing point before the craziness of work descended. I can only hope we find a few more of those spots while here.
I seem to be backtracking in my ability to get out timely posts about our trips and our adventures here in the Land of the Rising Sun, so on this long Labor Day Weekend, my goal is to relate our latest little excursions for the masses (read: enjoy the pictures, cause I know that's what keeps most of you coming back).
Now, I've said before that Sasebo, while being 250,000 people strong, is actually considered a farming town; because of this, we lack a lot of the 'big city" resources--malls (or even multiple shopping arcades), a large selection of non-Japanese restraunts, and, most importantly to travelers, an airport. For those considering a visit, take note that the two nearest airports to my home are Fukuoka and Nagasaki, both equidistant really. Our friend, Kelly, was flying back to the States, and rather than deal with a train or wait for the Navy bus to come by, she asked us to pick her up at Fukuoka; thinking it a perfect time to explore more of the city we'd only really seen at two previous points (when we flew in and then when we went to the baseball game), the Hub and I readily agreed.
Knowing her flight came in late, we headed up after church, marveling at the signs along the way (most of which we couldn't read but enjoyed nonetheless)--every single town had its own small highway sign with a small, drawn picture depicting what they felt most important about their home. One had a traditional shrine gate, and another a temple doorway, but I was more surprised to see things like watermelons, strawberries, and rodents in other places! We would also see large, yellow flags warning us of the chance for rodents (or wild boars in SOME cases) potentially crossing the tollway. I kept trying to get a picture of one of those, as I nearly cracked up as much as I did the illegal immigrant sign in San Diego everytime I saw it, but alas, I failed.
Reaching Fukuoka, we parked at the airport's day lot and walked confidently into the subway, sure that if we could conquer Tokyo's lines, Fuk should be a snap. To our dismay, however, none of the signs were translated into English but were in full kanji, which we cannot read. Seeing our nervous faces, a friendly guard pointed out where we needed to stop once we explained where we hoped to go. Counting the stops from where we stopped til we disboarded, we made the transition, walked a few blocks, and came upon the Fukuoka Yahoo! Dome, which we'd visited earlier for the game. Snapping a quick shot of the giant Asahi can painted just outside, we wandered around the giant mall (easily remembered as Hawks Town) just next door where we languished for hours in the American-ness that was the Gap, Toys R Us, and, finally, Hard Rock Cafe.
Laugh all you want, folks; after enough time with only McDonalds, Mister Donuts, and KFC as your links to any American cuisine not of your own device, you'll run towards something familiar as well. :) Needless to say, I don't think I've ever tasted a Southwestern egg roll that was quite as divine, nor a pulled pork sandwich that I've enjoyed as much (not to say it was better than yours, Dad, but man--it's been a LONG time for some bbq).
Moving towards the train station again, we cruised over to the underground shopping area known as Tenjin (literally in meaning "underground'--the entire mall is underground), where I had to snap this picture of a movie playing at their local theater, just for you Harry Potter buffs back home. After that, we again rode to a stop that made the Hub break into a fit of very unmanly giggles: Eeny Meeny Miny Mo. Actually, it was another shopping area, but he couldn't get over the name and laughed everytime he saw it.
Opting to not run around in the mall, we strolled through the Kawabata Shopping Arcade, which wasn't as long as the one in Sasebo but definitely had different shops and lots of decorations for the passerby. At the end was, yet, another mall, Canal City (can you tell I have a shopping problem?), but I wanted to spend a bit of time near the Kushida Shrine, which, as you can see, was completely surrounded by the urban sprawl. Having been an extremely humid, sunny, and hot day, we were surprised to find that the wind picked up and large raindrops started coming down as we walked into the Shrine. Undeterred, I insisted upon visitng the actual Shrine to pay homeage, but was eventually pulled away by a superstitious Hub who believes that we might not be as welcome. He contends his astuteness at sensing these vibes with the knowledge that as soon as we exited through the entrance gate, the rain ceased, the wind slowed, and the sun came back out. I'll leave it to you to make your own determinations.
After that, we had just enough time to return to the airport, find Kelly, and then drive back home (where I promptly told the Hub to take the wrong tollway so we ended up several hours away and had to backtrack--oops); our goal is to spend a weekend in Fukuoka so we can explore the rest of the city which is one of the largest in Japan.
No major adventures lately, due to a combination of rain and softball that leans heavily on the wet side. Still, we try to get out and about, and I walk on the dry days, so I wanted to share a few of the more picturesque moments in the past few weeks with all of you.
First up, as I've explained before, I tend to go out to lunch or to dinner with a group of girlfriends, exploring new options or sometimes revisiting old favorites. One person had expressed interest in a restraunt named MK where servings of raw food are brought out, but rather than grilled like at Sho, you boil the food on little burners placed flush in the middle of the table. Carolie had brought a friend of hers along, Miyuki, to translate for us and to enjoy her company, and she ordered several rounds of vegetables, meats, meatballs, and dumplings for us to sample, which we dumped into the bowls of boiling water and scooped out with chopsticks or slotted ladles.
When our stomachs were pleasantly full, we ordered dessert: a steamed bun filled with a purple sweet bean called an azuki bean. Popular in Japan, they fill everything from the steamed buns to little pies to even a new azuki bean frappucino from the only Starbucks in town (which, by the way, I tried and absolutely loved; the sweetness isn't too much to enjoy, and little pieces of the bean float throughout the drink--delicious). The Hub absolute despises the desserts made with azuki, but I can't seem to get enough. At MK, they'd even used edible paint to decorate the buns to look like lucious peaches--a definite delight to most of the girls in the group.
As promised, I want to keep everyone (read: Dad, mostly) abreast on the growing rice fields near the house. With all of the rain, I've missed being able to walk as often as usual and was afraid I'd missed quite a bit of the growing season, but when I returned last week, I found the plants had shot up, flourishing in the sodden ground. I snapped a few shots of the nearest fields so I could visit with them upclose before continuing on my normal "off the beaten path" route.
Waving at the local residents walking their children to school, I continued, jumping when a crab darted out in front of my feet, snapping its claws at me ferociously as it scurried in a sideways manner and continued. I managed to snag a picture of this poor crab, but only because I think it had been injured. Fascinated, I watched for more; Lauryl had warned me once before that they become very noticeable in the summertime, even making their way into the homes of the people on the first floors of every building. Before my walk, I'd kinda squealed with glee when watching them, but as I drew closer to the water, greater quantities of the pinchers appeared, their size growing larger just as the amount had as well. When several larger crabs (whose bodies were easily larger than my palm with oil-slick-rainbow-colored shells) stopped scurrying quickly away and began more of a protest with pinching, I decided to end the little hop-squeal-jump-walk dance I'd been performing to get around them (all the while, the eyebrows of the Japanese people I'd waved to kept jumping higher at the same rhythym of each of my squeals) and head back for the house, learning my lesson most convincingly to wait out that path until the summer crab season is finally finished!
On, yet, another note, I've mentioned to a few of you the concept of "Engrish" before, but I'll try to explain it again. The Japanese are taught English in grade school, but it's very rigid and not conversational; often, the older nationals only understand written English if anything at all, and we're advised that should we have questions, it might be easier to write them down at times than to try to have a spoken conversation. However, when English translation is taken literally, rather than conversationally, odd statements come out, as the sign to the right displays. Hub snapped this shot at work where some construction work is taking place so the need to block one side of traffic is necessary. Hopefully, you all can appreciate it just as much as I did when he brought the picture home!
As a last shot, and just because I selfishly promote the beauty of the kittens, I thought I'd give all of you the chance to see what they do on a daily basis:
Important stuff, huh? Have a great day/night everyone!
Right on time, from my viewpoint of blog-writing, that is. I contemplated two different blog entries for the two subjects I hope to cover but eventually decided that if I'd taken this long in one, two would surely be hopelessly lost in the time warp (not to mention I actually hope to post another blog after this one, but it shall be mostly of pictures and short catch-phrases...meaning the phrases will catch you up on things, not that they're witty in the slightest).
After the warm reception of my last walking entry, I was encouraged to drag the camera with me along my second usual morning route: a trip down the nearest major road (major being a bit of a...err...stretch) running alongside a theme park located next to my home called Huis Ten Bosch. Kyushu, my island, was the most welcoming part of Japan to traders and to missionaries from the exploring continent of Europe; the first such visitors were Dutch and became quite a routine sight until the Emperor and his shogun determined that the spread of Christianity and such ideas might lead to natives questioning the right of their power. As so many have done before, they promptly killed the missionaries (a memorial to them is located in Nagasaki, although we haven't visited that site yet), disallowed the trading to commence, and went back to Kyoto (then the capital of Japan) quite satisfied.
The thoughts freely shared by the traders had quite a lasting effect, however, and eventually, Sasebo created this oddly-placed theme park in their honor. Every night at 8:45 p.m., fireworks and a laser show start up just across the road from us, over the water, as the park winds down. On my daily commute-to-better-health, I am first met by the delicious aroma coming from the local bakery that provides for the attraction; I find when I stumble across the smell that my feet are torn in two directions: the one hopes to run faster to be away from the tempting smell while the other drags behind in dreams of diving into a tray of doughy goodness. All the same, the entrance into the bakery area is marked with this sign, symbolizing the Japanese version of UPS. Notice the mother cat carrying the kitten gently, just as they would your package. (Insert cheesy commercial smile at this juncture--really, I just thought it interesting as it's a sign/flag we see at nearly every business in the area because of the delivery routes)
Along the way, the sidewalk itself is split, as one would also find common to areas like bus stations, train depots, and airports; if you can't guess, the raised portion is a guide to the blind, and at every intersection, a couple of feet before crossing, the raised line races around so that one has to step on it before stepping into the roadway. Ingenious, and everywhere here, although I've yet to meet or to see a blind person in this area. Continuing, we come to the easily noticed ANA Hotel, displaying a compass on the end closest to the water and a clock on the opposite side. At this point, I generally keep going, ignoring the bridge that leads from the hotel to the nearest train station in favor of walking next to the water. Once the bridge is behind me, the area's focus turns away from the park and more to the residential side of the local cho, with plenty of houses, small shops, and convenience stores; my turning point, at the time of this picture (although now I keep going--yay me!), hit at the 2 mile mark, which, conveniently for me, was easily recognizable by a statue on a rock placed by the local fishermen. There truly is more to this walk, the area, and the park, but we hope to actually visit the park some day, so I'll take pictures and post them at that point.
Last month marked the fifth anniversary of Hub putting up with me and my crazy ways in an official format (read: our fifth wedding anniversary recently passed), and as a means of rewarding ourselves for not killing each other or going crazy just yet, we opted to look into recommendations from friends and from MWR for a spa. Kyushu is filled with many hot springs, and the Japanese believe bathing in the springs and in hot springs baths to be therapeutic, relaxing, and life-extending. I don't know about the third, but we were ready for a little relaxing therapy and so made reservations at a local place called Banshoro.
A little zen garden awaited our arrival outside, and while we tried to get into a calm and a confident stance, the tiny, Japanese woman inside instructed us in broken English to remove our shoes and put them away in lockers. Once de-shoed, we climbed up the stairs to the fourth floor where she said our bath would be waiting. Now, as a side note, I should say that most Japanese baths are public affairs, sometimes divided by sex but just as often co-inhabited. For our first trip, we weren't sure about braving the staring eyes upon American-sized flesh and opted to go into hiding with our own bathing room. Ushered into a sitting room area, our guide shut the door and intoned that he would return in an hour. Grinning nervously at each other, Hub locked the door behind us while I explored the little area. In addition to a closet for our clothing, santizers with brushes for our use (no, thank you), hairdryers, cologne, and mirrors to get prepared for normal society again (again, no, thank you; I don't use the cologne or take the mints from a bathroom attendant for the same reasons).
Just into the next room through a sliding door with paper screens, where the hardwood floor transitioned into a smooth, gray stone, was the actual bath. Stepping in, we spotted the shower facilities where one is expected to scrub completely before melting into the hot water that flowed from the bronze fountain into the deepest tub I believe I've ever seen. The tub itself was overflowing, allowing the steaming water to meander through the stones and into the many drains in the room. Just to the right were the stools and buckets used by the staff to scrub the area after we departed.
Without going into great detail, I will say that we enjoyed our bath very much, although we eventually had to open the window to allow some air in as everything was delightfully hot to the skin for any length of time. As the hour came to a close, we dressed again, met our guide outside the door, and headed down one flight to our waiting massage appointments. I cannot express fully the relaxing nature of having a tiny Japanese woman with steel arms and lobster claw-esque grip clamp upon your muscles, twisting them into directions perpindicular from the way they usually lie, then giggling when you stifle screams of horror into faint squeaks of undignified and painful pleas of mercy. Ahh, yes. Relaxing indeed. The tiny young pup Hub was assigned to must have been much easier than the former samurai-slash-torture-chamber-manager I lucked out on, as I heard barely any squeals, pops, snaps, and bone crunches as came from my table. He insists we revisit and take on hour-long massages next time; I tried to blink away the tears of shame as my friendly massuese laughed gleefully in my wake while agreeing with his wonderful idea.
As we exited, taking the long way to the car so I could stretch what was left of my muscles, I snapped this shot of the gorgeous maze-like cemetary below, wondering vaguely if other massage victims came there to rest after being dragged to the next appointment by an unknowing spouse. I'd love to take a long dip in the bath another time, but maybe we'll find another spot next time, just in case.
Okay, so it's been a bit, but I defend myself by pointing out that I'm working on something of an average; now, I'm not explaining whether that average will be labeled "good" or "bad" by the masses, but it's something I'm working on at a very turtle-ish pace.
At any rate, we've not been on any tours here lately, but I've been trying to experience more of my local area. When I thought about it, I've toured around into other parts of Japan, but when asked if I had visited a certain park or if I knew directions to a specific shop in Sasebo, I had to sheepishly say no more often than not. Spurred by this, along with the Hub's week-long training trip up near Tokyo, softball games, and duty schedules, I decided to start a blog series geared more towards the places I walk on a daily basis but including the random hikes I might try as well.
To start, I guess I should explain that I tend to get up every morning, spend about an hour in basic wake-up mode where I get dressed, check my email, think about writing a blog (err...), and have a cup of yogurt; after all that, I force my friend, Kelly, into repeating the process through a series of very annoyingly persistent telephone calls to join me on a walk off-base and through the surrounding areas. After enough prodding, grumbling, and swear words, she's finally come around to my way of thinking and takes a perverse sort of pleasure in ringing my doorbell repeatedly at earlier and earlier times. It's a friendship built on a competition of irritation, to be sure, but it works for us.
Not wanting to walk the same places everyday, she suggested we visit a park she'd toured earlier on a MWR trip out by Nokado Lake. Along the curvy roads, mingled with the Japanese commuters off to their work, we drove with the windows down, singing tunes, while I tried to snag shots of interesting bits from the road. With the sun just slightly above the horizon, Kelly pulled over so I could admire the way the ocean and the sky merged into a blend of azures that melted into a fine light before darkening again. While I stood, transfixed and watching the fishing boats slice through the image but not through the peace of the morning, Kelly admired the wares of the shop we stopped at.
With the need to turn around limited to one time, we reached Nokado Lake and began our walk across the diameter via a bridge. After braving dead snakes and annoying non-imaginary gnats, we cut back to the original side across the dam, which, in Japanese fashion, was well-disguised and planted to look like a grassy knoll. Finishing at the lodge by the Lake, Kelly pointed out the bus stop, an enormous and well, shall we say, decorated whale; giggling we stopped by a local farmer's market where she had picked strawberries once before, and I snapped a shot of the fish flags, a symbol of the children of the families that owned or operated the business.
After that wonderful experience, I opted to stop by the outdoor adventure center on base to get directions to some of the hikes listed in the MWR advertisements. Determined to be active on our Memorial Day, Hub and I chose a destination at random (meaning we took the piece of paper off the top of the pile) and struck out for Isanoura Park. After a handle-clenching drive consisting of country roads that were wider and marked in most of the curves but one-lane and open in the straight-aways, we found Isanoura Lake and began the search for the trail mentioned in the directions. Never sure if we were going in the correct direction, we took note of our surroundings, of the 0 KM marker closeby, and the laughing Japanese family that passed us on bicycles and opted to follow them, assuming they could read the signs better than either of us. As one of the older females in the family passed us, I nudged Hub and whispered but was drowned out by the smallest member spotting what I had and yelling something that left her blushing and trying to stop without tumbling as she pushed her kickstand out of the sitting position. Stifling our giggles, we grinned back at them as they sped away.
The scenery was gorgeous, filled with vibrant flowers and glades of ferns, and around the curves, little bits of the lake would peek out through the trees; with the family out of sight, the forest led to a sense of calmed silence until a loud trumpeting burp resonated through the air, making the Hub jump, search the area around, startled, and ask, "What the HELL was that?" I tried my best to not fall over in gales of laughter as I explained this introduction to his first bullfrog. For those of you with the knowledge of the bull-red truck story, forgive my Hub for not being a country boy! At our fourth kilometer, sure we were lost, we found the bridge mentioned in the directions and opted for a quick pause to admire the view and snap a quick self-done photo. Finally coming back to the starting point, we high-fived, swigged some water gratefully, and began the less-scary-more-familiar journey back. What a great day!
Today, with Kelly back in the States visiting friends and family, I woke up earlier in the hopes of beating the humidity, strapped on my mp3 player, my id, and my housekey to my arm, and grabbed my camera so I might snap some good pictures from my walk, and headed down one of our two favorites paths. Just outside the base, I grinned and shot this directional sign, just so the folks playing at home might get a better idea of where we lie, distance-wise, from other cities in Japan. My mindset was one of solitude this morning, so I chose the road less travelled in hopes of a quieter, more reflective walk without as many distractions.
At the base of the first hill, just a blink away from the busier traffic, is a rice paddy, which, I was delighted to see, has been recently planted. Up until now, everytime Kelly and I walked by, the stepping stone-esque, over-sized puddles stood empty of everything except mud and footprints. One of my short-term goals is to watch the fields throughout the growing season, as I've had little exposure to rice and even less to steppe-farming which is so common here where usable land is scarce. Further down the road, I found a few fields not yet planted and waved at the farmer in the large conical hat when he seemed to notice me watching his day's activities; not wanting to upset or to be deemed rude for not asking if I could take his picture, I opted to wait until the return trip when he had left the area before snapping a quick shot.
Climbing the rolling hills leads to a view of an ocean inlet with three radio towers in the background; it's said that the transmission delivering the order to bomb Pearl Harbor was sent from these towers. Looking wistfully over the water, I couldn't help but think how odd something so unassuming in look could be lead such a devastating chain of events. Closeby was a small, private Japanese cemetary where I took a snapshot while choosing to not invade the quiet respect that shushed the enclosed glen of trees; turning, I couldn't help but grin at the diochotomy of the reverent cemetary that shared a pull-off for cars with the most seemingly ill-placed refreshment stand ever. Returning my headphones to my ears, I began climbing the hills back to the house, breathing deeply and very aware of how gorgeous MY little corner of Japan is.
Everything I've ever read about Tokyo was that it was one of the most confusing, bustling cities in the world: complex to navigate, crowded at every corner. Heeding that hint, Hub and I opted for trying Tokyo first with a Navy MWR tour; after sitting, unmoving, on a waiting list in the hopes of being picked up, we finally got the call that someone had cancelled their spots and celebrated our upcoming trip, the focus of which being, actually, Tokyo Disney, but we'd already made sneaky plans to circumvent being trapped at a theme park the entire time. Our goal was to visit both of the theme parks in one day (something we've done many times in Anaheim, both of which are slightly larger than the Tokyo parks), then play sick-hooky the following day so we could run around the city on our own in exploration.
Though excited, we packed for the trip with dread of the actual journey to and from our destination. As a Navy-operated tour, the best (read: cheapest) means of transporting the group was by bus. By Japanese law, a trip as lengthy as ours by bus mandates that the driver stop every two hours to switch off and to stretch. We realized with Disney planned, our bus would likely be loaded with lots of children but prayed they'd be fast asleep since we were not scheduled to leave until 9:30 p.m. Finding our seats at the back of the bus, we settled in with our own pillows and blankets, Hub soon dozing soundly while I wistfully gazed out at the black expanse of land around me, lights flying by like dragonflies, and pondered the future, both immediate and distant, until the rhythym of the bus finally lulled me to sleep as well.
When I awoke several hours later, we were approximately halfway to our destination; as the other families opened their eyes and began moving around, we stopped for an hour at a rest area to eat some breakfast (noodles or cold sandwiches) then watched movies on the overhead televisions. The land outside us drifted by lazily as the people inside dozed, read, and passed the time as best they could. As with any large city, the closer we came, the more dense the surrounding area, and in Japan, the land is saturated enough even in the rural countryside.
Before we left Sasebo, Hub and I had made arrangements to meet up with an acquaintance teaching English in Tokyo, so upon arrival at the hotel, we hurriedly checked in and ran upstairs to shower and to change. She had advised that we meet up at the third exit of the train station nearest us, called Hiro-o Station on the Hibiya line, because, as she said, we'd be able to hop on a train and go anywhere we wanted from that point. Laughing, I had told her that because there is no opportunity for American food (other than fast food like McDonald's) in Sasebo unless it's self-cooked, we were dying for some tasty meals from "back home." Having settled on visiting one of the two Hard Rock Cafes in Tokyo, we hopped on the local metro and swiftly sailed down the tracks to the next stop at Roppongi Station.
Now, Roppongi is known for its nightlife, and it became one of my favorite places in Tokyo because it felt more like home than any other part we'd visited. Embracing the Western culture, the Japanese youth had taken on this district as their own and supplied it with American-based restraunts, shops, and nightclubs where American hip hop, rap, and rock and roll blared out into the streets. After refreshments at Hard Rock, we popped into a couple of shops before asking Renee to take us somewhere neat, somewhere distinctly Tokyo. Grinning, she led us back into the train station, transferring from the Hibiya line to the JR (Japan Railways) line, and exiting at the very famous Shibuya Station. Along the way, Renee briefed us on the obscenely strange, but oddly fascinating, habits of some of the more stressed Tokyo residents; in the past decade, suicide has become increasingly common due to the long hours and six-day work weeks. When someone decides to kill him or herself, he or she must not only consider such a grave decision and the method of delivery, but also exactly what impact might be left upon those remaining behind. Now, the most common method of suicide in Tokyo is to jump in front of the train. With that in mind, if the person in question wishes to minimize the impact upon his/her family, they will jump in front of the government-owned JR trains because the government has a limit as to how much the family must pay for the clean-up and loss of business. If, however, the family has helped to encourage the stress, the jumper might choose the privately-owned local metro lines. Because individual corporations own these, there is no limit to the amount of money the family might be held liable for. Blinking in open-mouthed astonishment, we asked Renee how she knew all of this; according to her, this sort of information is commonly told on the news each evening, and the larger stations, like the one our train was swiftly pulling in to, have guards that walk alongside the rail, asking people to step back behind a painted yellow line.
Shibuya Station is one of the largest intersections in Tokyo, and it's the one that most people recognize with its jumbo-screen televisions, glittering lights, and thousands of people seen in the blink of an eye. Having lived in a few major cities myself, and visited dozens more, I was still taken aback by the frenzy, going into what Hub jokingly called a "sensory overload." Grinning, we stood, watching the passerbys while Renee tried to discreetly point out the Harajuku girls with their brightly-dyed hair, tanned skins, and mini-skirts as well as the opposing ultra-feminine ladies of the same age who sported sleek chignons and petticoats under sophisticated skirts in intricate designs. Swirling through these women and more were younger, good-looking men dressed in smooth black suits (but not the mafia-black suits), propositioning the prettiest girls to come to their nightclubs. Grinning, we watched several groups coming off of the same train line we had just moments before meeting up at a common spot near a bronze statue of a dog, known as Hachiko. The story has it that during World War II, Hachiko's owner was called away to war and boarded Shibuya's train; determined to remain until his master returned, Hachiko loyally stood rooted to the spot, refusing to leave, and eventually died there as his owner had while off fighting for his country. In awe of the dedication the pooch had shown, the Japanese erected a statue which has become a common meeting ground for locals. Eventually, people-watching became less amusing, and we settled into one of the local chains of bars called Gas! Panic! I had to laugh at the name, but inside was a cozy setting spinning American music only a few months old. Settling in, Renee again explained that because many Japanese youths are so desperate to catch on to any trends, should we dance, they would likely stop to watch intently for "the latest" moves. Grinning at the possibilities of introducing the sprinkler to Japan, I fought the urge to do the running man, sat back, enjoyed a drink and a long talk with, by now, a good friend for the rest of the evening.
Early the next morning, we began our movements to catch the bus and head to the first of the two Disney parks, DisneySea. While I could launch into an all-day, play-by-play recount of the details, I'll just list a few of the most interesting ones, I think:
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The most obvious change, for us, was that all of the rides and shows were now done in Japanese. One show, the so-called Aladdin show (I'll explain the "so-called" part later), had minature televisions that looked like the Sony PSP which we were expected to hold up to eye-level so we could read English while watching the play. However, it was obvious that the actors ad-libbed quite a bit, as the entire audience would howl with laughter while we looked upon our screen to read, "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen." One of our fellow tourists admitted, later, to just laughing with them so she wouldn't feel/look so foolish.
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Along with the change in language, came a change in the stories. The first show Hub and I visited was The Little Mermaid, which was performed in a theatre-in-the-round style with a taped recording playing all the songs and the words while artists performed Cirque de Soleil-esque dances to convey the beauty of underwater life. While we couldn't understand the words (other than the songs, which were the original ones from the movie), we followed the story quite well, only to find a shock when it ended with Ariel choosing to not change into a human and go against her family's wishes. We sat, blinking, waiting for the rest of the performance, only to be nudged by Japanese people, impatient to get to the next attraction since the show was finished. Disturbing to say the least.
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Oh, the food! Each area in DisneySea is themed for a specific "world," just as DisneyWorld in Orlando and DisneyLand in California are. However, for DisneySea, the worlds are set to mimic how the Japanese see different areas of the globe (the American one was interesting--a strange cross between small-town living in the 1920s with New York City delis and performers). Hub found his love in Arabia: a doughy-ball whose name neither of us remember with a coffee and chocolate center. Mine, as anyone who knows me well might guess, was aroused by the smell that drifted through the air, calling people to it and leaving 30 minute wait times just for a taste--popcorn! I knew, at that moment, that if Japan had such a love of popcorn as I did that people would wait a half-hour in line for strange combinations of flavored popcorn, I could adore the country I lived in. All in all, Hub and I tried sea salt, chocolate, strawberry, and honey, but we by-passed black pepper, caramel, and coconut.
All-in-all, a fun day which we wrapped up at 6, unable to visit another park as we'd hoped but feeling tired and accomplished on the ride back to the hotel. It had been cloudy that day, but was supposed to pour, so we looked forward to the next morning when the sunshine was supposed to win.
Upon our awakening, however, we found that not only had the rain won, but it had fought back with a vengenance and refused to quit. Our scheduled DisneyLand day promised to be cold, wet, and long, but we determined to grit our teeth through it. Stopping at the first shop we found, Hub bought himself a clear rain jacket (a body condom, as he loves to call it) and an umbrella for the day ahead of us. On the way inside, we stopped to admire the castle and found a friendly Japanese couple that offered to take our picture. You can take note of the aforementioned body condom, umbrellas, and general wetness that surrounded us--hehe!
Being Disney pro's, we went straight after to the board which lists the wait times for rides, ran to FastPass the Haunted Mansion while hopping in line for Pirates. Again, everything was now in Japanese, but having ridden these rides many times in California, we sang along happily to "A Pirate's Life for Me" while admiring the spooky alterations to the newer Haunted Mansion. We skipped along to our favorite rides, but by noon, we found that every indoors attraction had a minimum of a 140 minute wait time. There were no new attractions to be found that we hadn't ridden while living in San Diego, and after the umpteenth time Hub's head was smacked by the umbrella of the woman behind him, we declared that today, DisneyLand was NOT in fact the happiest place on Earth and left, stopping to snag a picture in front of the gorgeous cherry blossoms. We called our tour guide quickly and left a message, figured out the train useage, and hopped a line back to the hotel where we showered, changed, grabbed lunch, and headed back out, after the rain had slowed a bit, of course.
If you've been keeping up with my musings, then you'll remember that I said in a previous post that, while the word for a shopping mall is "ginza," no one in Sasebo calls our ginza a ginza because of the connotations to the one in Tokyo. Hub and I determined, with Disney out of the way and an evening of exploration ahead of us, to find out exactly why this was true. Again, we hopped onto a train, by now feeling we had finally mastered Tokyo's transit system, and rode to the Ginza Station, which we found had 10 exits, each with four sub-exits that led outward into a nautical direction like a compass, dependent solely upon the user's desire to face a certain way. The Station itself had a mall inside, as well as four floors of trains that met at this particular crossing to transfer lines. I sneaked a glance at my tourist guide books (although, honestly, I'm not sure why I sneaked--it was quite obvious, even in as large a city as Tokyo is, that we were tourists by our lack of Asian ethnicity; when we met up with Renee, she told us it'd be easy to pick her out as the only white person, and she was correct) and led us up an exit which promised to deposit us at the Sony Building.
Before we even walked inside to marvel at Sony's newest not-yet-for-sale-anywhere-else gizmos, it was painfully evident why the Japanese do not call our arcade in Sasebo a ginza. Looking around us while trying to study a map of the streets found just at the surface of the station, we realized that the Ginza of Tokyo (note that it even gets capitalized) is not one mall, but a neighborhood divided into seven ginza districts, filled with multitudes of shopping arcades and department stores, each 8 or 9 stories tall and named ginzas themselves! Again, it was a matter of sensory overload at first, as we turned completely in a circle, staring at the glittering buildings around us; this utopia-esque moment lasted for a few moments before Hub laughed and said he'd made a mistake bringing me here, as I am a shopper-at-heart! We perused several shops, picked up a few things, but mostly just spent the evening roaming around, looking at everything. When we finally boarded the train back to the hometel (our word for our hotel), we were grinning from ear-to-ear, happy with our decision to leave the group at Disney and explore on our own.
The next morning, we sadly departed Tokyo, bound back for our actual home in the small town of Sasebo. Leaving, we caught a glimpse of the infamous Mt. Fuji, which increased our resolve to come back to Tokyo, to visit the Imperial Gardens, to marvel at the Daibatsu (the great Buddha statue), and finally to make the trek to the top in search of eternal wisdom...or at least a great view!
Of all the trips we've considered and/or scheduled, by far, Hub was more excited about the prospect of watching a professional sport over any shrine, temple, or festival I could ever suggest. Laughingly, I agreed to join him for a baseball game in Fukuoka for two reasons: first, I want him to enjoy all of our trips too and want to experience various parts of Japan with him, but secondly, I mean, who doesn't enjoy baseball, really?
The trip up to Fukuoka takes around a couple of hours by our now-familiar, and friendly, MWR bus, and while the time didn't pass all that quickly, it was pleasant. Across from us sat a gentleman wearing a University of Florida t-shirt, and being the SEC-born gal that I am, I had to tease him a bit about the tournament and share my hopes that the Gators won again. Turns out, our bus-neighbor, Jose, was just in Sasebo for a few weeks working on a project as a civilian contractor. We swapped stories, being somewhat newcombers ourselves, and delighted in finding out he held the seat next to ours at the game. I told him that I was surprised he got tickets, as we had registered for the game as soon as tickets were announced and were told they sold out; he kind of blinked back at me and informed me that of the two buses headed up to the game, the one I was on was for the people who'd registered late and had to take the lesser seats. Hub and I grumbled quite a bit over that; he had been called just the day before by MWR, asking if we minded sitting in another location so a pair of friends could sit together. Not realizing we were taking the "late" seats, we'd agreed, knowing we'd hope someone would do the same for us if the situation were reversed.
Determined to not let that spoil our moods, we disembarked the bus under strict advice to come back to that exact spot as soon as the game ended. Sheep-like, we followed the rest of our bus up the escalators from the parking garage into the Fukuoka Yahoo! Dome, home of the Softbank Hawks. Turns out that unlike in America, Japanese baseball teams are owned by corporations, not by specific owners, and are not recognized by the town they play in but by that corporation. While the dome they held as home was owned by Yahoo!, the team itself is owned by Softbank, one of the largest cell phone service providers in Japan.
Grinning at each other, Hub and I ruefully admired everyone else's choice of clothes: either dressed to kill in trendy high heels, dresses, and suits or sporting the team fashionably in black-and-white jerseys. Not realizing the game was in a dome, we'd dressed for the expected rain with baseball caps and raincoats. Lesson learned for next time, for sure!
Just inside the doors but not yet into the seats, our noses were hit with smells uncommon to most American baseball fans. Now, I've visited a few stadiums in my time, and the food is always of interest. I can't remember much about Cinncinnati when I visited, but Baltimore prided itself on a mixture of everything from barbeque to the regional-favorite, crab cakes. In San Diego, it was just as easy to find a California roll as a hot dog, if not easier! In Fukuoka, however, it was ramen, udon, and fried chicken that assailed us both (yes, fried chicken--they fry bite-sized pieces of thigh meat and skewer it for ease). As we watched, open-eyed, we even spotted a few bags hosting a familiar symbol to the two of us: the Wendy's girl! Mouth watering, but not yet hungry enough to eat, we decided to find our seats and get settled in.
Now, just before, I told you how irritated we were at our seat change once we realized we'd been duped, but I couldn't have wished for a better area. We were sitting in prime foul ball territory, just up from the first baseline, and evidently, in the Hawks Wanna-be-Superfans territory. Now, I saw wannabe-superfans because a few sections over, right below the scoreboard, were three sections of fans, every one of them in jersey, with their own pep leaders dressed in traditional robes of white with the Hawk symbol on the back, waving flags, stirring up the crowd, and leading the stadium in dance.
Now, pause for a moment and drink that in: leading them in dance.
Turns out, the cool thing for any Softbank Hawk fan is to have any multitude of Hawk-sponsored noisemakers, generally plastic baseball bat-like sticks that produce lots of noise when hit together, but rather than just pounding away in excitement or happiness, they had official rhythyms, chants (my favorite sounds like, "Diamonds on his head, something something," which the Japanese lady sitting next to me laughed at and told me that in Japanese, the words they were chanting actually meant something like "Go get them, [insert player's name here]"), and movements. To sit in this section, we figured, was something akin to holding a box seat at the Kentucky Derby; if you managed to score those seats in a season pass, you never let them go. Our section, while missing the flag bearers, was close enough to earn our own pep leader. Our small section of Americans (all 12 of us) were surrounded by noise-maker bearing, organized cheer-spouting, Hawks fans decked out in their favorite player's gear, which, in some instances, was actually for the few Americans on the team. Each team in the Japanese professional league is allowed to have up to two non-nationals on payroll, and most of those come from the American Minor League.
Our little group was filled with fun-loving people intent on enjoying the game to the fullest, which made Hub and I happy because we tend to get loud when excited as well. One guy, finished with his tour in Japan but making a two-week travelling spree with his visiting girlfriend, kept buying everyone drinks, insisting that they were the best wine cooler-type of things he'd ever tried. Hub, taking a big sip of his, almost snorted the clear liquid out of his nose when he laughed while telling the guy that instead of a wine cooler, we were all drinking iced sake. Hub, of course, stuck to his favorite drink (beer), although he was forced away from his favorite American choices; making the supreme sacrifice, he flagged down one of the many Kirin girls to get a drink from the mini-keg strapped onto her back.
I can't even begin to describe all of the differences we found in Japanese professional baseball; Hub thought they were much more spirited than American fans, what with the flags, the mascots, the bands, and yes, even cheerleaders, until I reminded him of such teams as the Braves and the Yankees. And even though the fans were undeniably excited about the game, they still held onto the quiet Japanese reserve most of the time, unless the pep leaders signaled for everyone to cheer. Our biggest surprise came at the seventh inning stretch, however, when we were given balloons that vendors were selling in four packs by our neighbors and instructed to blow them up, but not tie them or release them. Holding our balloons, we waited til instructed by the announcers and the pantamiming pep leaders to stand, semi-stretch, and then release! While it wasn't the traditional "Take me Out to the Ballgame" that I was familiar with, the screeching of the balloons, the cheering of the fans, and the crazy flight of the balloons left me breathless with laughter.
Towards the end, as it became apparent the home team would indeed win, we tried to rally the fans around us into a wave, but could only manage to get our section and a couple of others before hushed by the fans around us for breaking the don't-cheer-without-the-pep-leader unspoken (usually) rules. When we finally did claim the victory, white balloons exactly like the yellow ones were bought and released instead, followed by fireworks INSIDE the dome (scary, yes, and only shot off when the team wins).
Encouraged by our cheering, the row of Japanese fans behind us posed for pictures (although the one displayed is obviously during the stretch, notice the obligatory peace sign that EVERY Japanese person does in pictures; it seems that it caught in as a fad from America in the 60s and never really died) and insisted our entire group line up for high-fives before we made our way back out of the dome. Hub and I, pleasantly tired but extremely happy with the day, promised to return with high hopes that our next group would be as much fun as this one was. While it might be America's Greatest Pasttime, the Japanese have certainly put an amazing twist on it that makes it distinctly their own.
As a final note on our trip, I must point out the last-minute bathroom stop, just because most of you will find it so different from home. I waited my turn in line at the ladies' bathroom (why must we always have the line?), only to find, to my dismay that the toliets were traditional Japanese ones rather than the western style I so love (and have grown to never take for granted after living here for awhile)--porcelain-lined holes in the ground which you squat over. Not the most fun situation, as it's been quite a bit of time before I've popped-a-squat to use the restroom. These "traditional" bathrooms are found at many of the rest areas, shrines, anywhere really, but hey--when you gotta go, you gotta go.
Sorry this one is two weeks late in coming, but I swear Tokyo will be up shortly! More from Nippon after my fingers have gotten a bit of a rest.
A bit late, but I'm determined to get this post in before our baseball adventure tomorrow and big city journey next week!
Last Sunday, with our friend Lauryl and her daughter Brianna, we again boarded the MWR bus and headed out to explore another section of our little corner in Japan. Although Hub had been to the airport several times, he had never entered Nagasaki proper; I hadn't ventured to travel in that direction at all yet, so the ride was completely new for me.
Eriko-san is now familiar with our faces and waved cheerfully, explaining that along the way we'd be stopping at a rest area for snacks and bathroom breaks. Grabbing my favorite Japanese treat, a box of thin cracker rods called Pretz, I munched contendly as I watched the road fly by. Hub and I watched for signs along the road and giggled at what we debated was either a giant tomato or a giant pumpkin (it was a fruit stand, so either could be correct) until our bus pulled to a point mid-way up a hill where scores of Japanese tour groups, led by cute, slender women with stylish bobs or neat buns, dressed in pink and navy 60's stewardess attire led picture-snapping nationals around with a small, neon flag held just in front of them along a wall, up steps, and around a corner beyond my sight. Without a flag in hand and dressed much more casual than our Japanese counterparts, we followed our neat-but-casually attired leader along the same path. Walking quickly to keep up with the amazingly swift steps of our shorter guide, I noted the worn look of the half-wall next to us and briefly glanced at a plaque professing that the wall was part of the remains left from the Nagasaki prison that had once stood there.
Rounding the corner, a great lawn of well-kept spring-green grass stretched in front of us; to the left stood an enormous statue while to the right lay smaller versions of the wall I'd seen prior. While the less mismatched tour groups used a set of portable benches to get the "perfect" group picture before the statue, Eriko-san explained to us that the statue pointed up to signify from where death had come and east where they believed lay the passage of souls into the next realm. Just next to the statue, slightly overshadowed by the enormity of the adonis-like man, was a small triangular shrine of sorts, filled with peace chains. Pointing to the golden origami-shaped crane on top, Eriko demonstrated that each chain is made up of 1000 of the origami cranes with 70 chains hanging within the "shrine" to symbolize the 70,000 people immediately killed in the blast of the atomic bomb.
With goosebumps rising on my arm on a warm day, we walked further on, looking at various memorial statues given from other countries to Nagasaki and her people to pay tribute to the wounded and dead. Along the way, a brick column stood alone, forlornly out of place with the surrounding modern-day Nagasaki; upon approach, we were told that this was all that remained of the cathedral that had once stood proudly for Japanese Christians to practice their faith. When the United States deployed with the intent to bomb, Nagasaki had not been her first choice, but because of poor weather conditions elsewhere and her strong sea ports and weapon factories, the city was selected as the most ideal location; however, when the planes flew overhead, they mistook the prison, nearby school, and cathedral for the factories they sought and dropped the atomic bomb. The bomb, being atomic in its design, did not hit the ground leaving any sort of mark, but instead blasted in the air; because of this, the Japanese have marked the hypocenter with a marker and a statue showing a mother (Japan) holding her wounded child (Nagasaki and her people) with the date and time forever immortalized: 11:02 am, August 9, 1945.
While not as deadly a blast as Hiroshima (killing 150,000 instantly), Nagasaki still suffers radiation diseases to this day, as the pictures we saw inside the chilling museum graphically portrayed. Children with twisted bodies, men and women with horrible scars or missing half a face stared back at us, seemingly pleading for help, from photographs while pieces of walls burned with shadows of humans raising their hands to guard themselves chilled us to the bone. I would love, and yet hate at the same time, to display some of the pieces we found in the museum, but due to the fragility, no pictures were allowed--a request we honored most fervently.
Leaving the Peace Park behind us, I wondered if the mood of the group would liven after such a grim few hours. Driving away, we were a much quieter group than had entered, but as the bus pulled to its next stop, we noticed a group of Japanese girls in the backseat of the bus in front of us. Since Hub and I were in the first seats, we returned their waves and infectious smiles, deboarding the bus while our spirits seemed to rise with the colorful spread of Nagasaki's Chinatown. Drawn along with the crowds, Hub, Lauryl, Brianna, and I got sucked into the crowds, finally making our way to one side so I could try the steamed pork dumplings we had heard about from Eriko. While making our purchase, we came across a group of Japanese teenagers, dressed in the short, pleated plaid skirts, white blouses, and blue blazers that scream school uniform here; anxious to speak with us, they fussed over Brianna and tested their English with us, giggling, sighing, and crowding around to hear our speech. I was surprised at the fuss because Nagasaki is twice the size of Sasebo until I realized that where I live, people are so accustomed to seeing Americans due to the base. Unless tour groups come through, it is likely most people in Nagasaki do not meet Americans very often. We laughed with them, finally separating to eat more lunch and browse a few shops (not only 100 yen stores, but also 300 and 1000 yen ones too!) before meeting back at the bus and moving on.
Just around the corner, we disembarked again in front of a Chinese shrine devoted to Confucious. Rather than the usual dogs or foxes that guard Japanese shrines, the Chinese typically use lions, and the one here was made by an especially skilled craftsman able to chisel not only the lion, but also a ball in the lion's mouth that cannot be removed (it was made of the same stone at the same time as the rest of the figure). Beyond the lion, we encountered our next difference: an incense burner to cleanse the air rather than the Japanese well to cleanse one's self. Inside the gates, we found statues of the priests of Confucian beliefs, each one displaying what the priest was especially talented at or known for.
Our last stop of the day was to the Mt. Inasa Ropeway. When I had seen this listing on our tour schedule, I could only think of the tow ropes used on small hills at ski slopes rather than a lift and wondered how something of that nature would be used in non-snowy weather. While on the bus, however, Eriko advised us that in Japan, a ropeway is a cable car that goes via a steel rope up the side of a mountain in order to bring passengers to the top. According to her, the cars could sometimes be shaky with the wind and quite scary, so if some of us did not feel comfortable going to the top, we could remain behind in the bus for the hour or so. Gulping, I looked at Hub who told me he'd stay if I didn't want to risk it, but I just couldn't pass up the chance to get to the top of the mountain. People with children were allowed to ride first (we had to take two cars due to the size of the group), so Lauryl grabbed us, refusing to ride by herself. Thankfully, the wind was not strong that day, so I enjoyed the ride while trying to comfort a pale Lauryl and shush Brianna when she said things like, "Look, Mommy! It's a long way down to all the rocks underneath us!"
Even with the brief shakiness, Lauryl admitted that there's no way we could've missed that ride; the tower built at the peak allowed a 360 degree vantage of Nagasaki and the ocean stretching out below us. Hub even grabbed me for an impromptu picture of us with the city behind. Definitely worth the scary ride for me! After first stopping again at a rest stop where we bought what we thought was a fried piece of squash (but turned out to be fried fish paste---yuck!) and then chicken nuggets out of a vending machine with a microwave programmed internally to heat them while you wait (shoulda brought my camera for that!), Hub and I reflected on the day and promised to head back via train on our own for more exploration through Chinatown and parts of the city on our own sometime soon.
