Vodafone is the Devil

Last night I made a blunder, American-sized. I should start by saying that my cell phone is an amazing piece of machinery. It can connect to my laptop via USB cable, and I can upload and download pictures, movies, mp3's, documents, my day planner, etc both ways. Last night I was bored and decided to play around and see just how much the little powerhouse could do. Somehow I stumbled upon a feature that allowed me to use the keitai as a modem, thereby connecting my laptop to the internet. Holy crap, it was a beautiful thing, especially considering I still don't have internet in my apartment, and the international center where I regularly use the computers had been closed when I went earlier. God knows how long I sat there staring at the screen, smitten, typing e-mails and checking myspace. My keitei really was a little powerhouse.

At school today, just as I was pulling my lunch out of the microwave, there was a phone call for me. It was Vodafone, my cell phone carrier, telling me, in Japanese, that last night's internet joyride had cost me 37,000 yen. I fell into a chair, literally. In case the conversion rate isnt fresh in your American minds, 37,000 yen = $350. I started crying. I continued crying, many Japanese teachers now staring at me, as I called the English customer service number and asked if there was any way to reverse the charges. No, she said, she couldnt reverse the charges, but she could sign me up for unlimited internet usage in the future for just 4095 yen per month... did I want to do that? SERIOUSLY?!?! I hung up.

Bicycles of the Corn

Today I managed to find the bike shop everyone insisted was in YouMe Town. This was their entire selection. Okay, thats not entirely true. There were about 2 other variations of this bike, and one mountain bike. Rows and rows of these, as though they weren't exactly the same. It was almost creepy, like a nightmare a cyclist would wake up from in a cold sweat, gasping for air.

Okonomygoodness

Hiroshima is famous for a dish called okonomiyaki, which is a fried pancake made of course with pancake batter, egg, cabbage, pork or seafood, soba noodles, and special okonomiyaki sauce. The traditional way to eat it is straight off the grill with a little spatula and chopsticks. This picture was taken in okonomiyaki district, where there are about 40 okonomiyaki restaurants within just a few buildings, side by side. Talk about fierce competition. The story is, every restaurant has its own secret sauce recipe, and so their products are different. Anyway, legend goes that the woman in this picture has not taken a day off in like 30 years. She is 60 or so now. There are spatulas in her hand, but you can't see them because she's moving so fast.

P.S. Okonomiyaki is delicious, and eating off the grill is just plain cool.

God, Please Send Me Broadband

Today I went back to Deo Deo electronics store to sign up for Yahoo! BB internet. Yesterday, I attempted the same mission, but learned that I couldn't sign up for service without my full address. You see, I knew most of my address, but not my zip code, and I tried to explain this to the Yahoo BB man in Japanese, without knowledge of the word for zip code in Japanese. He told me the word was "banchi," and that I needed to find it before they could give me service. I went away dejected, but determined. As soon as I got home, I went to the Marin Drugstore underneath my apartment and asked them what the "banchi" was there. I soon realized that the banchi was not the number I was missing, that banchi didn't mean zip code at all. I tried in my best awful Japanese to explain to them the number I was refering to. This went on for about 10 minutes, and now several customers were participating in the game of "figure out what the crazy foreign girl is saying." Eventually I asked them if they had a letter, and physically pointed out the number on the envelope. This worked. I wrote down the number. I was stoked, and kind of proud. So needless to say, on my trip to Deo Deo today, I had the highest of hopes. I knew all the important numbers, I had my pre-alien card authorization paper, which a friend had told me I might not even need, my passport, and a smile. Right outside of Deo Deo, I ran into my blockhead, Brandon, who was on his way in as well to get a new phone, and he offered to help with my internet acquisition. But I just chuckled and said not to worry, I had it covered. I got to the service desk, and saw the same few employees I had spoken with the previous day, one of whom was a rather unattractive girl with a terrible mascara problem, and the other was a tall, good looking Japanese guy who was clearly in charge. Let me take a moment to say that he is probably the first man I have found attractive since entering this god-forsaken country. Anyway, they asked me for my gaijin card, and I told them that I didnt have it yet, but that I had the pre-card authorization paper, and handed it over, along with my passport. I heard a jumble of "dekinai"s, (cant do it) and a knot started to form in my stomach. After making about 5 phone calls, consulting a few other employees, looking something up in the computer, and just looking generally troubled, they told me they couldn't give me internet without my gaijin card, because they needed it to set up the phone line that the internet would be connected to. Now, you may be wondering why I would need a phone line in the first place to get high-speed internet, and to explain that would involve a detailed discourse on what is wrong with Japan. So I'll leave it at "it's complicated." Basically, what this all means is that I won't even be able to apply for internet until September 1st, when my gaijin card arrives (assuming it arrives on time). It then takes up to two weeks after the application date to start the services. Awesome.

Amongst all this confusion, Brandon noticed my distress and invited me over to his place to use his internet. So I am blogging from his laptop, and he is making us some dinner, which I am stoked about. I had an apple for lunch. That sounds like nothing, but if you could see the apples in Japan, you would crap your pants. They are huuuuuge. It took me 10 minutes to eat this thing, no joke. All the fruit here is like that. There are melons here that sell for $100 in department stores. An apple is about 200 yen, or $1.80, which sounds like a lot, but if you were to weigh it and charge by American standards it would probably cost the same. And they're perfect, but I have to rest somewhere in the middle.

There is a floor hockey game in an hour or so that a few of the Kure City JETs organized, so I think I will go to that. Tomorrow I am off to Saijo in central Hiroshima for a week of Japanese language and culture training. Hopefully the hotel will have free internet. Woot.

No Mini Skirts in Japan

Today I was walking to the International Square, which is where I have been using the internet for the past few days, since it takes about a month to get it installed in this country... anyway, I was walking, and this man, maybe 55 years of age says, `hey, mini skirt, blah blah blah (in japanese)`. Of course i have no idea what he actually said after `mini skirt,` as my Japanese, i have found out, is terrible. About two days ago, another similarly-aged man, possibly the same man, said `gaijin desu ka?` (are you a foreigner?), i smiled and nodded, which was followed by `iya da ne` (thats bullshit, isnt it?) or some equivalent insult. Now, my main problem is not that these men might be insulting me, but rather that I dont know if they are, or if theyre merely catcalling, or just babbling incoherantly as a result of the alsheimers disease that must be overtaking this city, where there are more people with canes than without. I only wish my Japanese was better (or functional at all), so I could engage in conversations with these men.

So far I am not homesick, but there are some things about America I miss, like good old garbage cans on the street. Hell, I`d even settle for normal garbage disposal in my apartment. But instead, there are no garbage cans anywhere. There are soda vending machines every 50 feet or so (excuse me, that should be in kilometers), but nowhere to throw them away. At home, I have to buy these specially designated trash bags from the Mirin Drug Store downstairs, which force me to separate my trash into burnable and non-burnable. What that means, I`m not sure. All I know is that my house smells faintly of fried octopus, because I threw away an entire plate of them into my burnable trash bag after biting into one and realizing what it was. Being a good gaijin, I was trying to be adventurous with my dinner choice a few days ago.　So instead of reaching for the steamed gyoza dumplings at the grocery store, I grabbed the unidentifiable round fried puff things. Anything is good when its fried, right? I knew as soon as I bit into it that something was wrong. Using my tongue, I sort of rolled it around my mouth, and then I felt the sucker. I spit it out, and sure enough, it was a tentacle. Yeah, that`ll kill the apetite quick.

Tokyo

Shinjuku is slighty reminiscent of Disney World, only everything is written in Japanese. This evening after dinner, I had a little over an hour to kill before my Prefectural night out on the town, so I decided to venture out of the Keio Plaza Hotel for the first time. One of the other girls from Miami told me about a strip of shops and restaurants down the street from our hotel, so I decided to head that way. She said you couldn't miss it, bright lights and all, and of course she was right. As I crossed the street via a ridiculously wide crosswalk, I couldnt help but notice how quiet the city was. Salarymen walked past one after another, talking about something or another. When I made it into the strip, it felt more like an indoor mall. It honestly seemed like some contrived movie set. I didn't want to be the doof just walking up and down the streets with my mouth agape, so I decided to go into a large camera shop and check out some Canons. I have never seen so many pocket-sized cameras. I found only about 10 SLRs, none of which being the Digital Rebel I wanted to check out. I picked one up and played with it, pretending I remembered what I was doing, that it hadn't been a year and a half since I had actually adjusted focal lengths and aperatures, pretending I remembered how. It didn't help that all the labels were in Japanese. Being here makes me desperate to brush up on my language skills, so I have a feeling that will become a top priority this year.

The prefectural night out starts at 9:30 and goes til midnight. We are supposed to visit some bar that is all-you-can-drink for 2700 yen, which equates to about $25. Not such an awesome deal if you ask me. I don't even feel like drinking. I mean, we're in freaking Tokyo... I'd rather sight-see than stumble home. Plus I don't feel quite genki , haven't since I got off the plane. Rob, another Miami departer, wants to go karaokeing tonight after the prefectural events, but I think his prefectural event ends before mine. I doubt he'll still be around at midnight waiting, which sucks, cause I really want to karaoke. Maybe tomorrow night. I have meetings all day tomorrow. Blargh. Today's meetings were surprisingly enjoyable. The Japanese ministry officials are hiliarious. I am constantly surprised at how their English is broken but their humor is flawless.

Food has been not-so-Japanese thus far. I did visit the treat shop downstairs and bought an assortment of Japanese desert breads (pan) for 500 yen. I just ate the 'peanut bread,' which turned out to be a roll filled with peanut butter. Last night before I passed out for 12 hours, I ate the pumpkin bread, which tasted nothing like pumpkin, but instead was filled with mashed black beans.

Other weird stuff:
1. No one rides road bikes here. In a city with a bike parked every two feet (literally) along the street, I managed to only run into one road bike, which was some brand I didn't recognize.
2. The blow-dryer emits merely a light warm breeze. My hair is completely void of style.
3. The bathroom mirror is heated, so it doesn't fog up when you shower.
4. I have to stoop down to wash my hair.
5. The toilet has 4 buttons on the console : bidet, noisemaker, a stop button (i'm not sure what it stops), and a butt-spray button. I swear, there's a little picture of a spray of water and a butt. Awesome. Angie also thinks the seat is heated. I try not to spend that much time on it.
6. The toothpaste is ginger-flavored, and the toothbrushes are clearly made to only brush one tooth at a time.

I miss you. Yeah, you.