5 posts tagged “everyday life”
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!
This morning, we awoke, readied ourselves, and walked to the bus stop to catch our transportation to Kumamoto as scheduled. However, when the bus pulled up, and we tried to check in, we found that our names had been left off of the list even though we paid for the trip in February. The tour guide apologized and almost hugged me (and you all know I don't do hugs from random people) when she thought I was going to cry, but we assured her that it wasn't her fault and that my eyes always water when I'm facing right into the wind. Irritated at not getting to go but determined to make the most of the day, we headed to Jusco to browse. With the rest of the day, I figured I could get in a quick entry catching you up-to-date on some food trials and glimpses into day-to-day life in the Japanese world.
Last weekend, after a long night of card playing with friends on Saturday, we opted to go to base on Sunday morning, grab our mail, do some shopping, then head over to the Arcade to walk around. Now, in Japan, malls are called Arcades (as in a shopping arcade), but I believe the actual term is Ginza. However, to most Japanese people, the word Ginza refers to a specific arcade in Tokyo, so while that is the correct term for a mall, they don't use it for their own. It's a strange set-up, but hey--it works for them. The Ginza here in Sasebo is basically an open air strip mall--a walkway that runs between shops on either side. There is no roof over the walkway, although, of course, the individual stores have their own roofs. All-in-all, the Arcade is one mile long, crossing streets and alleys the entire way and filled with everything from department stores to 100 yen stores (think a much better dollar store), restraunts to cafes (they have the only Starbucks in town!), fresh fruit stands to stores with nothing but socks (the Japanese are crazy for socks).
My first goal in the Arcade was to intoduce Hub to the 100 yen store where we purchased extra forks for him to take to work due to the loss of multitudes of forks from our set, as well as a Japanese lunch box for me. Well, no, I don't actually need one as I'm not working, but my goal is still to pack one of these with a bento successfully. You'll notice the band around it holds it all in place, as the top lifts off to hold small, lunch-sized chopsticks with two more containers underneath to store food in. Of course, Hub can't go anywhere without getting a bit hungry, so we stopped into a dessert cafe, but when he saw a Sasebo Burger on the menu, he discarded any thoughts of an enormous fruit sundae. I think I've said before, but Sasebo was the first place in Japan to offer a hamburger on the menu; however, with that in mind, remember that it has been Japan-ized. See that large white thing above the burger and below the lettuce? That's an EGG, slightly hard-boiled but still runny. Eggs are used everywhere out here; needless to say, Hub loved it, ate most of it before he realized his eyes were much larger than his tummy and gave up.
One thing I was most concerned about over here, and I know some of you were as well, was the attitudes of other Navy spouses and the ability to make friends. It's not as if I'm some sort of weird shut-in without the ability to make any (on the contrary, I make them very easily), but I had many reservations about living in such a small area with only other Navy people for immediate discussions. I didn't enjoy living in military housing in San Diego as much as I normally would have because of all the drama that ensues when people get together, husbands going away for long periods of time, and the over-the-fence gossiping that goes on. However, I've actually made some suprisingly good friends here. Every Friday night now, I join a group of well-rounded, very intelligent women for dinner and discussions where we alternate between visiting a new restraunt and joining someone at her home. With most of the husbands gone (Hub is the only one of the group on shore duty), our schedules revolve around each other, but when they come back in, as was the case this Friday, we chose to deviate from the norm and have lunch instead at a place called Show.
Now, I've always said I would never pay a place to cook my own food, but I found Show to not only be extremely tasty but fun and engaging as well. Upon entrance, we were greeted and offered both a traditional table as well as a Western table (Western table meaning table and chairs rather than sitting upon cushions). While I generally prefer a Western table, in this case, we opted for a traditional table, removed our shoes, and literally climbed in. The sneaky part of this is that while we were seated on cushions with a low-sitting table before us, the ground beneath the table had been cut away to allow you to not sit on your feet but let them dangle below. In the center of the table two grills were installed, although no heat came from them. Glancing at the lunch menu, we laughed and decided we'd just pick a random square as we understood nothing of it. After our drinks, our meat and vegetables arrived (please note they are completely raw), as did our rice, miso soup, and the obligatory pickles. Every sit-down restraunt in Japan offers their own version of the pickle as a means of cleansing the palate; each are made differently, if somewhat similar (I mean, how different can a pickle be, honestly). After she turned on our grill, the waitress released the curtains so we were enclosed in privacy to cook, to eat, and to talk freely. I had so much fun placing each daintily cut piece of meat on the grill while mixing my own sauce with the ingredients left upon the table, allowing the sauce to drain somewhat while the meat cooled on the rice, then savoring both the meat and the flavored rice. What a treat, and I can't wait to visit again with Hub (I think we might be heading there for the much more expensive dinner next week on his birthday).
Off of food for a bit...
I mentioned that this morning, we drove over to Jusco, the local department store, in lieu of our scheduled trip, and I did it, mostly, just to take pictures for you, Mom. What follows is a little bit of appliance love, just for you to compare sizes with appliances here as well as at home. Keep in mind that by living on base, I use American-standard appliances rather than these, but I do have friends who live out in town (on the cho, as it's called here) who encounter each of these on a regular basis. Enjoy!
This is a dishwasher . Notice how the front changes color between the stainless steel to a gray plastic? At this point, the front actually folds down to expose the racks for dish storage. All this for, note the price in yen, something over 500 American dollars.
On to wonderful laundry time. Don't panic, but this is the only appliance needed in a Japanese home for laundry; yes, this little thing both washes AND dries, although per my friend Natalie, drying takes approximately 4 hours per load and can be done in a much more easy manner. Again, the top folds in on itself, exposing the drum inside, and the price is just under 500 American dollars.
No appliance story is complete without a nod to the Japanese bathroom. The Japanese are quite fond of heated toliet seats (you would be too with the drafty construction, allowing the wind to HOWL--not whistle--through the homes all winter long), and the one Hub is modeling comes complete with its own remote control, just the thing for that first bathroom moment of the morning. All of this for the low price of just under 800 American dollars!
Hope you all enjoyed the bits of stories that I've been meaning to send for some time. Hub is going into MWR in the morning to discuss the trip situation and make sure that we're still scheduled for our Nagasaki this coming Sunday, to Fukuoka to a professional baseball game the Sunday after that (Hub's pick, but I'm still excited), and then to Tokyo for a few days starting March 31! You know what this means, right? More stories to post later, and more pictures to enjoy!
Still, without the fish or seafood and the obligatory seaweed wrapper, I felt as if I had not experienced true sushi. When family back home asked if I had found my fill of the delectable treat, I would stammer that I had not even tried any "true" Japanese sushi. Determined as I was to end this failure on my part, I was met with resistance by the Hub due to a severe allergy to all things of the sea; with resolve in mind, I began asking around and found that like me, my friend Lauryl had not tried sushi due to a balking husband. We made plans to end the emberrassing streak by visiting what is commonly known here as a sushi-go-round.
Doubtless, some of you are wondering about the name of such a restraunt, but I can find no term more self-explanatory than this one. As literally as I can put it, you seat yourself at a diner-style bar that winds itself around to enclose a Japanese man (in our case) intent upon fixing new items. Helping myself to a very welcome oshibori (a wet towel used to cleanse the hands), I regarded intently the set-up; directly in front of me was a black box hosting a large quantity of hashi (chopsticks). Sitting next to this was a bottle of soy sauce, small packets of ginger (used to cleanse the palate), and smaller packets of wasabi. On the opposite side of the hashi case was a spout with a button to press and a black cannister which appeared to house instant green tea. Unsure, Lauryl asked the gentlemen next to her who advised her to use one scoop (which he reiterated several times!) of the tea to one cup of the hot water.
Now, on to the self-explanatory part.
Known to us (Americans, that is; I have no clue if the Japanese use this term as well) as a sushi-go-round, the bar I spoke of has a minature, but long, conveyor belt that runs directly in front of the customers and encases the employee inside. As it winds around, different colored plates filled with tastes of food parade with the aspiration of being selected and enjoyed (the various plates and sushi: raw prawn, salmon, I think, and the unknown but most expensive fish. Absolutely nothing was as expected; instead of the sushi rolls we had become accustomed to in the United States, our selections were not rolls at all, but instead a sticky rice cake with a piece of meat on top. No wrapper, no roll, and oftimes not even fish or seafood (I now know that this type of sushi is called nigiri zushi; the rolls we expected is maki zushi)! We watched the procession for one full turn before I hesitantly grabbed what appeared to be a grilled chicken with onions and mayo. On my small plate were two pieces, so I dutifully passed one over to Lauryl, scraped the onions off of mine, and bit in, savoring the tangy sauce of the chicken on top of the slightly sweet sticky rice.
Emboldened by our first favorable attempt, we began grabbing various other plates: shrimp, salmon (we think), but we passed on the uncooked, whole squids whose tentacles stretched out to hang off the plate. After the chicken, Lauryl fixed herself a nice combination of wasabi and soy sauce in a little plate picked up from above our heads, dipped her shrimp sushi in, and then came up coughing immediately afterwards. Laughing, I explained that from what I'd read, most Japanese sushi comes with a thin layer of wasabi already spread over the rice, accounting for the sudden loss of breath on her part. Carefully, we lifted our future meats and removed much of the wasabi before nibbling.
We watched as the men beside us filled out little slips of paper, handed them to the sushi man on the inside (that sounds so like a black market sushi contact...heh), and received custom selections. Anxious to try but unable to write what we wanted in kanji, Lauryl caught the employee's attention with a soft "Sumimasen!" and asked for tempura for ni (two). Only a moment later, an older woman came from the back with plates of hot, fried veggies and fish and offered them to us. So good, but Lauryl still wanted her traditional rolls. Noticing the hanging banners proclaiming the options and the prices, she sumimasen'ed again and pointed to a glossy picture. Shortly, the 'captured" sushi man inside the belt proferred what she had requested.
After being pleasantly filled, we stood, signalling our finish of the meal. Again, the older lady came from the back with a handheld electronic order pad, counted our plates and noted the colors (the various colors of the plates signify the price of the sushi), leading us to the front where we happily forked over our yen and left.
Sushi mission accomplished!
Sounds absolutely stupid, but it was the prospect of living in a pagoda-like house. I so wanted my own little koi pond, a little Japanese zen garden with stones and a lantern or a fountain where I could meditate daily.
Do I meditate now, or have I ever? Absolutely not, but I like to think that if I'd managed to get my hands on one of those zen gardens, I'd be a meditating fool.
For once, however, the advisors in San Diego told us true--it really is hard to live in Japan with pets. Finding a home in Japan that allows a pet is difficult, but should you manage to leap that hurdle, there's the thought of paying for six months of quarantine in a kennel on-base at $400 a month that will make you blink twice. In the end, we chose to live on-base because of the furry brats and so moved into a building that looks remarkably like my first dorm in college.
The moving experience was amazing, to be quite honest. We were warned that at least one of us (guess who the one was) had to be there for the movers' arrival between 8 am and 5 pm. In the States, with that schedule, I'd anticipate seeing no one until at least 10 am. However, promptly at 8 o'clock, my doorbell rang, and the cutest set of five young Japanese guys in matching blue coveralls with shaggy haircuts stood bowing outside my door. Each time they needed anything, they asked my permission (including bathroom breaks), and while we'd been advised to absolutely not tip anyone (it's considered an insult--as if to say they don't make enough money or are so bad at their jobs that they need to buy further training, etc.), I couldn't help but offer drinks. Even though every one of them took a Coke, and seem surprised that they were cold rather than warm, they one-by-one refused to drink them until they finished the move.
The most unusual part of the day came during the unpacking process. These guys are so great at their jobs that they will not only haul it into your house, but they unpack everything for you and put it away where you point. Having been told that our oversized leather sofa and loveseat would not fit into a Japanese house, we opted to buy a couch and a chaise lounge from Ikea but hadn't put them together so they could be shipped in the wrapping they came with. Now, being that Ikea is a global store, they don't use words to tell you how to put the products together but instead show a series of pictures where a little man does everything that you are meant to emulate. When the movers got to the section where it tells you what not to do, I thought each of them would fall over laughing at the pictures. After they finished, they even asked to take the instructions with them because they enjoyed it so much! Of course, I sent them on their way with the paper, I'm sure looking extremely bewildered.
So...even without all the normal trappings and with everything being standard military issue in the home, with our things inside....it's finally home. *sigh of happiness*
1. Our cable, as it's provided by the only American cable company out here, is filled with very few actual commercials but instead all pro-military, pro-America clips mixed with reminders not to sexually harass anyone, to help your shipmates if they're thinking of suicide, and to keep your will up to date. *blink*
2. The programs are also old. We re-watched the season premiere of the Unit last night, so imagine everything I get, minus the news, being about 6 months behind the rest of you. Envious yet? Just wait.
3. Driving here is SCARY. In Japan, there are three skill levels of drivers (by law): beginner, novice, and professional. As an American, because driving on larger, American roads are scarier than tiny Japanese ones, we are considered immediately professional upon receiving our international driver's license. What does this mean? Well, Timmy, it means that if I, as a professional, get rear-ended by a novice driver, I am held more at fault for not getting out of their way because they're still learning. If I am hit at no fault of my own by another professional, I still bear some fault because honestly--who's not partially at fault for every accident made?
4. Where I live, Sasebo, was the first place to ever serve hamburgers in all of Japan. I'm still trying to track down the absolute original Sasebo Burger fast food restraunt, as I think that's a Kodak moment waiting to happen!
5. Japanese are not religious; they are superstitious (and this is straight from my cultural relations teacher's mouth--a Japanese national and Sasebo resident her entire life). Japanese shrines are places to pray or to make wishes to assist the living while Buddhist temples are used only to give respect or to mourn for the dead. Pray at the wrong one for the wrong person can end in someone's death. Okay, I made that last line up.
6. Japanese department stores are wonderful things. The first floor houses everything you'd find in a Wal-Mart Superstore--shampoos, groceries, etc. The second floor houses what we as Americans think of in regards to a department store--clothing, small household items, etc. The third floor houses an entire food court and more shopping spillover from the second floor. The rest of the floors are extra parking, as department stores are some of the few places that offer free parking. Now, that's just a layout to the department store nearest me; I'm sure ones in some of the larger places offer multiple floors for each service, but even the small ones are fun, I've found!
