The Amateur Fatalist

The Amateur Fatalist Looks for Work

2009-11-04T09:17:00.003+09:00

It's been almost a year since I left Japan and moved back to the United States. In that year I've sought permanent employment...and failed delightfully. My job-seeking chronicles were meant to be an essay. I've decided to turn them into a self-deprecating series of blog posts instead. I hope you enjoy this first installment. Oh, and let me know if you're hiring. You may find yourself in future posts.

The Search Begins
I moved back to the United States in the midst of the worst economic crisis since the Great Depression. I was returning after two years spent in Japan teaching English. The ex-pat community there stayed abreast of the worsening situation in the States, but with our cushy teachers’ salaries and government health plans, we couldn’t really relate…the 5,000-mile-wide ocean added to that separation, too. After my term was up I hopped on a plane and returned home, adding myself to the tired, the poor, the huddled, unemployed masses. But I wasn’t worried. I was certain that any employer in the country would be lucky to have this more cultured, wiser version of me. I was well-traveled, well-published, and far more interesting than when I left America. Unfortunately these things do not translate well as “qualifications,” which is what all of my potential employers were so hung up on.

I quickly found that weathered columnists were being laid off left and right. Freelance writers and under-seasoned editors like myself didn’t stand a chance. In the interest of making rent, I cast my job net a little wider than I first intended. I broadened my search from publishing companies and magazines to anyone that would pay me in money.

It turns out that finding a job was pretty easy. Finding a job that I could see myself working for more than two or three months, however, proved a little trickier. Over the course of the next nine months I accepted employment with ten different companies. Some lasted hours, others months. I sold, I typed, I filed, I wore a hairnet. I took an oath of office with the U.S. government. I went dumpster diving for books. I peddled diet bars and hamburgers and photos to Irish dancers. I was home at last and determined to stay, no matter what I had to do to afford it. These are my stories.

Bangalore

2009-08-04T13:11:00.002+09:00

August 2

We've finally made it down south. We took an overnight bus from Shimla to Delhi, then hopped a flight to Bangalore. Members of John's family met us at the airport, and for the first time on this trip, I let my guard down. I'm finally able to relax without keeping one eye on my bag.

After we landed, we were ushered to John's aunt and uncle's apartment. There I had my first homecooked Indian meal. I can't tell you how wonderful it felt to be welcomed into someone's home after weeks spent in hotels and on the dusty road. Toys littered the floor, books lined the shelves, family photos smiled out from the wall. I felt so safe.

That first night we met up with John's father who took us out to dinner. We laughed and ate, and I fell asleep that night feeling as if the tide had turned.

The next morning we drove to a bird sanctuary near Mysore. On a rowboat ride around the park's lake we spotted (according to our guide) "little egrets," "middle egrets," and "big egrets." We rowed past a dozen crocodiles, which our guide splashed while giggling like a school girl. I inched to the far side of the boat, failing to see the humor in pissing off large carnivorous reptiles.

After that we stopped at a number of historical sites in the town of Srirangapatna, including Tippu Sultan's mausoleum and fancy schmancy summer palace. Rain started to fall as we stood on the banks of the Cauvery Sangama River. A boy struggled to paddle his round straw tar-bottomed boat to shore. Women in saris held neon green melons and inky eggplants up for our inspection. An old man in a stained lurgee fanned flies from the cobs of corn he roasted on flickering coals. As the sun set we reentered the diesel cloud and followed it back into Bangalore.

Bangalore used to be the Garden City of India. John's family pointed out spots that were once verdant parks and quiet tree-lined suburbs as we drove out of the city the next morning. "I remember when then was a rice paddy" "No one ever thought the city would stretch out this far" and "That used to be " were repeated comments. Today the city is an browning, overpopulated, traffic-jammed mess with rare patches of green. Although it tries to hang onto its Garden City moniker, it seems to do so half-heartedly, like it knows it isn't fooling anyone.

To escape the noise and pollution, the family packed up and headed to the Bannerghatta Jungle Lodge. There we divided into pairs and settled into our "tents." The only resemblance my room had to a flimsy camping apparatus, though, was the canvas it was made of. Complete with electricity and attached baths, my "tent" was the nicest room I've stayed in on the trip thus far. Add to it the fact that we had the whole camp to ourselves and had constant concierge attention. Now this kind of camping I could get used to.

Soon after arriving we all piled into a van fitted with cages over the windows for our grand safari in search of lions, tigers, and bears...which you'll have to wait to read about. :)

Shimla

2009-07-24T14:11:00.002+09:00

July 24, 2009
We are in the Himalayas and my sweat has dried. After a scorching week in the plains, I've headed north to Shimla where royalty used to go to escape the same summer heat. To get here we took a toy train, a small, slow narrow-gauge railway that crawled up the mountains. The train twisted and climbed for five hours through breathtaking scenery. The air cooled and the dust disappeared as we rose higher and higher into the Himalayas.

Once we got to Shimla I opted to get my own room for the first time this trip. (I splurged for the $9 room with a shower and mirrored ceilings. Rowr!) Shimla is a lot safer and less intrusive than other cities, so I felt fine about branching out on my own...and I didn't feel like I was holding anyone back if I stayed in bed all day reading.

I keep referring to Shimla as the "Gatlinburg of India." It's a relatively quiet mountain town where the mist is constantly rolling, everything is within walking distance, and the whole place is chock full of tourists. I love not getting hassled by touts and being able to walk around dry and cool. People still look at me like I'm the only white woman they've ever seen, but I don't think that's going to stop (regardless of how badly I wish it would).

We will be here for a total of five nights before heading to Bangalore to meet up with John's family.

On July 22nd we all woke around 5:30 and climbed the steep incline into town. John hauled out pairs of welding goggles. Around Scandal Point, in the middle of town, the sun popped out from behind a building. We put on the goggles and stared directly at it. A small dark sliver appeared on the sun's white surface, slowly sliding to cover it. Over the next hour we watched the moon horn in on the sun during the longest solar eclipse of the 21st century. Because we're so far north we only saw about 80% totality, but it was still the coolest thing I've seen on the trip thus far.

The best part of the whole experience, though, is that we got to share it with the town. People slowly started making wide circles around the strange foreigners in the silly glasses staring at the sun. Eventually I waved one man over and gave him my lens and pointed upward. He called his friend over to look, and everyone else came in turn. We shared our glasses, tried to figure out the best way to take a photo without frying our cameras, and chatted with locals. An AP photographer even snapped a bunch of photos of us looking goofy...which I hope never see the light of day.

Agra

2009-07-20T14:56:00.002+09:00

July 20, 2009
I can see the Taj Mahal from the window of my room. The domed marble structure made me catch my breath when I first saw it. It is huge and glorious and every bit as beautiful as the pictures.

Yesterday we arrived in Agra on the train from New Delhi. It was the first of many Indian train rides I'll be taking in the coming weeks. I love public transportation. There's something about moving quickly along the ground that touches my soul. I was expecting that after we left Delhi city limits we would ride through green fields and quaint suburbs. Instead, most of the scenery was dusty brown urban sprawl littered with trash. Occasional fields were scattered with tent cities and straw huts. Children defecated in ditches while mothers fanned cooking fires.

I think every Western tourist who visits India has to at some point comment on, or at least acknowledge, the poverty they see. It's unlike many other poorer countries I've visited because India is so overwhelmingly populated. So far there hasn't been a single street or site or rickshaw ride where the pollution, the garbage, and the poverty of the citizens hasn't slapped me in the face. I know that eventually I will stop feeling sadness and sympathy; that this will all just become normality for me here. But as of now, it breaks my heart.

Rabindranath Tagore, an Indian poet, once wrote that the Taj Mahal is a "teardrop on the face of eternity." This colossal grave site is, in face, a wonder. Stunning. Amazing. Opulent. We lucked out on our timing because the site (normally with a hefty entrance fee) was free for all today. We lined up at 2 pm, after a morning tour of Agra, to enter the Taj Mahal. Although we were among a crowd of thousands, that couldn't detract from the Taj itself.

You must remove your shoes to get close to the actual structure. The day was scorching hot. So after our bare feet sizzled on the stones, we sought refuge in a shady marble alcove. As we lazed in the shade, sitting in a nook of the Taj Mahal, overlooking the Yamuna River, I got my first real "Wow!" moment. I am in India. India! This is real. It's all actually happening after so much planning and worrying and waiting. India!

After visiting the Taj, we regrouped and headed off to the train station where we left for Jaipur. Tomorrow is going to be a slow day for me. I haven't been sleeping well, and the heat is beating me down. So Jaipur might not see much of me. It'll live.

New Delhi

2009-07-18T12:58:00.003+09:00

July 16, 2009
I'd read the guidebook and the online forums. I'd watched documentaries and talked to people who had been. But nothing prepared me for India. I was greeted by a crush of humanity at the airport, brain-broiling heat, and that smell. The smell of sweat and depth and dust and shit. Car horns tapping out Morse code signaled to auto rickshaws and families on motorcycles. Ariving in India was like time travel on acid, like being inside a video game, a total sensory head fuck.

We swerved and bumped to our hotel in the backpacker ghetto of Paharganj. No matter how much I was expecting it, it still surprised me to see large cows lazily wandering the streets. Our driver almost slammed into a group of pedestrians to avoid one.

Our hotel screwed up our reservation, so John (one of my travel partners) and I set out to find new digs. We eventually found a room nearby and settled in for the night. Holiday Inn it ain't, but it got us off the street for the night.

When we went out for provisions, John and I were wrangled into a conversaton with a hotel tout. While watching Shakira videos on YouTube, we listened to his tales of driving tour buses through the Himalayas, of 7-year-old boy kings, and near-death experiences. Welcome to India!

July 18, 2009
Yesterday was hard. It was hot and jet-laggy and grueling. We tried to fit too much into our first full day here, but it ended all right. You'll see. We spent the morning running errands and heating up with the day. By the time lunch rolled around, sweat was pouring from my body and would continue to do so for the next 12 hours.

For lunch we took an auto rickshaw (a motorcycle fitted with a carriage for passengers) to old colonial Connaught Place. We weren't on the street 30 seconds before the first tout accosted us, insisting we visit the Delhi Tourism Office. (Not to be confused with the India Tourism Office. The Delhi office is a sham company set up to help tourists part with their hard-earned rupees.) Every half block someone else would stop us, telling us about the Delhi Tourism Office. The guy sitting next to us at lunch, the restaurant owner, the shop security guard, the construction worker. "I am not trying to sell you anything, my friend. I'm just trying to help you." I began to think touts would start popping out of manholes and dropping from the sky. Most places I've been touts get a commision for the tourists they bring into a shop or restaurant or "tourist bureau." They'll follow you or lead you to the place where they'll receive their payment. That's why this Delhi scam confused me. I'd read in the guidebook to expect it, but I couldn't figure out which of the 50 touts would get the commision from our visit had we gone to the Delhi Tourism Office. Were they using hand signals or camera phones or super secret spy technology?

Later that night we asked our maitre'd at the restaurant what the system was. His reply: "In some worlds men are paid with money. In others they are paid with 70 virgins." Apparently a mosque in Delhi operates the phony tourist office, and its faithful followers harrass every tourist they see to patronize it. No one person gets the commision, they all do. Mystery busted!

After finding the real government-sponosored India Tourism office, we booked ourselves on an afternoon tour of Old Delhi. On it we visited the Red Fort, the place where Father India Mahatma Ghandi was cremated, and Humayun's tomb. Our tour guide raced around each site, pointing out nothing and providing no information, trailed by 10 tourists fighting off sun stroke. I can't tell you anything about the Red Fort. Ghandi's site was rad for the 30 seconds I saw it. By the time we made it to the last stop, I said to hell with it. I bought an ice cream and napped on the bus (and enjoyed the site as much as anyone else, I think).

Clouds of diesel fumes and ear-piercing honking followed us back to our hotel.Patience wore thin. By the time we made it to the train station to book our onward tickets, the office was closed...or closing actually and not interested in helpng us out.

And then there was dinner.

My pal Paulette used to live on the island closest to mine in Japan. She just so happens to be in Delhi right now, too. Her and her friend met up with us and we all noshed at the United Coffee House, a gaudy 1940s colonial leftover. Beaded curtains hung over the balcony, pastel pinks and greens accented the walls. The table slowly filled with North Indian delicacies: pungeant Christmas-colored tikka masala, bubbling red butter chicken, bright steaming bowls of curry, and golf-ball-sized dumplings, all soaked up by bowls of rice and spongy flaps of naan. As the food began disappearing, so did the noise from the day. I felt cleaner, more relaxed. After a midnight dessert, we closed the place down. We watched the waiters crowd around our paid bill like pirahnas as they calculated how much we'd left as a tip.

Yesterday was hard. It was crowded and hot and tiring and almost too much to handle at times. But there's something about a great meal that dulls the throb of a bad day. A great meal has the power to restore friendships and create new ones. It has the power to equalize and energize. A great meal can make you feel so full, both physically and mentally. More people should sit down together over a table full of food.

...and so begins my passage to India.

2009-07-15T02:52:00.003+09:00

I know, you're disappointed in my lack of posting lately. You have every right to be. I'm ashamed. However, soon there will be more posts than you can handle. A plethora if all goes as planned. Tomorrow I leave for a month in India. I hope to find time between the chai-sipping and train-riding and site-ogling and curry-eating to update this blog with my goings-on. Please check in to see how things are progressing, and please keep in touch.
Namaste, ya'll.
Rachel

Photo of the Day and a New Article!

2009-05-02T00:21:00.003+09:00

Matador Travel picked up another one of my articles, and I'm happy as a clam about it. The article describes five common American gestures that can be misinterpreted in other countries...or my alternate title "Five Foreign Ways to Give the Finger."
Check out the article here.
Can you guess which country Wes is offending right now?

Photo of the Day

2009-04-24T00:46:00.005+09:00

I was having a conversation with a friend the other day about why he had a baseball bat in the back of his car.

"For protection," he said.

I think I've been away from Tennessee for too long. I know that San Francisco isn't the safest place in the world (although Japan might very well be), but I rarely thought about violence while I was there. Walking home late at night I would often be afraid that someone would snatch my purse, but I can count on one hand the number of times I thought about being killed. I didn't know anyone that owned a gun. And except for the occasional can of pepper spray, I didn't know anyone that carried a weapon of any kind.

Being back here is strange because everyone I know is at least conscious of physical violence, if not downright scared of it constantly. I know more gun owners than I care to admit. People carry baseball bats in their backseats for protection. It's a different mentality. We're brought up to be surrounded by weapons, tools whose sole purpose is to cause harm to other people. It's not the guns themselves that bother me, it's the reasons that people have them. I'm not saying it's wrong to want to protect yourself. I'm just saying that I hate that we even have to think that way.

The Tennessee legislature just passed a law that says it is now legal for people to carry concealed weapons into restaurants. Public places that serve alcohol, that cater to families with children. Why? So people can protect themselves against the criminal element who carry their pistols everywhere apparently. I wasn't aware that shoot-outs at Chuck E. Cheese were common enough to require such wild-west-type legislation. I'm mistaken about a lot of things these days.

Until my friend told me about the baseball bat in his backseat, I never considered owning a weapon. I never viewed anything in my house as a weapon (except for rolled up newspapers. Cockroaches must be stopped!). This morning I dropped a cast iron skillet while doing the dishes. The first thought that ran through my head was "If someone were robbing me, I could bust open their skull with that thing."

Photo of the Day

2009-04-22T01:09:00.003+09:00

While the new direction for The Amateur Fatalist is still up in the air, I'm going to try to keep up with the Photos of the Day. Now that I live in Tennessee, you're going to see a whole new cast of characters in my photos and stories. Might as well get the introductions out of the way. Blog world, meet my dad. Dad, blog world.

Photo of the Day

2009-04-21T12:13:00.002+09:00

Welcome Back, Me!

2009-04-10T10:18:00.004+09:00

It's been too long since my last post. I know that, and I'm sorry. I have settled back into Tennessee life, and am honestly happier than I've been in a very long time. In the coming days, I hope to get more online about my goings-on and whereabouts and what-have-yous. For now, though, I just wanted to share my annual "Ode to Spring" poem written in the throes of a barefooted romp.

The dock breathes with me
As we suck in our
First lungful of spring.
Sighing, elastic terra
Fading rigid lines
Becoming cool waves
Melting

Cherry blossoms sucker punch
Barren branches—
Blood red pops

Magnolia flakes spin groundward
Mockery
To the fading season

We exhale.

My toes dry in
A softly humming breeze
Spring song sticking
In the river’s throat
A thick overture of pollen and
Slow spun spider webs

We creak and heave into motion
From a dead standstill
Rising,
Waking from long hibernation
Fading rigid lines
Becoming cool waves
Melting
Into the flexing soil

Photo of the Day

2008-12-19T08:03:00.005+09:00

Here it is, folks, your very last Japanese Photo of the Day. In honor of the long journey I'll take to get back home, I'm posting some transport photos. Expect a post later in the day saying sayonara.

I have spent more time on ferries this past year and a half that I care to admit. People who live on the islands get a hefty discount, which makes taking the overnight boat about 50% less than flying. 11 hours on a boat is often a bit tough, though.

My one and only helicopter trip to/from Aogashima.

And, of course, the main artery of Tokyo, the JR train line.

Inside a train at about 3 in the afternoon on a weekday. You don't want to see rush hour.

And this magnificent wonder is the machine that has gotten me around Hachijo for the duration of my stay. Oh, Blueberry, I will miss you so.

Photo of the Day

2008-12-18T08:05:00.005+09:00

Tomorrow is the big day. It's my last full day in Japan before I move back to America. So this is your second to last Japanese Photo of the Day...until I get back to the states and rediscover some gems I can't help but share.

Today you are getting a final dose of Hachijo-jima. These are pictures I've taken around the island. It's sort of my final tribute. I hope you like it.

At our summer teacher's barbecue, everyone pitched in to help make a big batch of yakisoba. Nom nom nom.

Near "firefly river" is this huge torii gate that guards the entrance to one of Hachijo's shrines.

The incomparable Nanbara Coast

And, of course, a boat. At an intersection. Of course.

There is a garden full of birds of paradise near my house. When I used to go jogging, it was the thing that greeted me at the end of my run.

Hachijo's third volcano, the illustrious Hachijo Ko-jima:

I can't believe I've never mentioned Hachijo's famous glow-in-the-dark mushrooms. For a short period during the rainy season, patches of green phosphorescent mushrooms sprout in the forests up on Mt. Mihara.

My favorite shot of Hachijo Fuji! I was coming home on the overnight ferry, and woke up in time to see this amazing view of the island. It was the calmest I have ever seen the water. The ocean was like glass.

Guess which mailbox belongs to the foreigner.

These gorgeous hibiscus blossoms bloom everywhere in Hachijo. Bushes full of them line the main streets. Hibiscus tea and jam are sold at the store. And last year we even had a big hibiscus festival. I never get tired of seeing them.

One final shot of Hachijo Fuji. This time from Nanbara.

Me too, Doraemon. Me too.

Photo of the Day

2008-12-17T07:56:00.003+09:00

Yesterday afternoon I was tidying up my computer files, and I stumbled across some pictures I took on my first trip to Japan in October of 2006. I visited my good buddy David, and together we explored Osaka, Kyoto, and Nara. That was the trip that made me decide that moving to Japan was a keen idea.

I took this photo outside of the Daibutsu (Big Buddha) statue in Nara.

And this is Osaka Castle.

Finally, a view of Kyoto City from Kiyo-mizu temple. I thought that the temple with the city in the background sort of epitomized Japan.

I have a new category!

2008-12-16T14:52:00.005+09:00

I just added a new category to the website: videos! In honor of that, I'm going to post a couple videos that have slipped through the posting cracks. I don't take video a lot, and the quality is always speculative, but it goes a long way in helping me explain just what the hell is going on. Click on the Video tag on the right to see more.

This gem came from my trip to South Korea last year. I visited a cultural village and caught this dance performance.

And now for some Japanese flavor! The short video below was filmed at the Sumo Grand Tournament in Tokyo this past September.

Photo of the Day (Aogashima Edition)

2008-12-16T08:34:00.010+09:00

Last week I had the honor of teaching elementary and jr. high school in the smallest town in all of Japan: Aogashima. The population hovers around 170 and on the "stuff to do" scale, it sits somewhere just above 1. However, I had a great week. Why? Because the students were excited, the teachers were considerate, and everyone I met was kind and helpful. My minshuku (small, bed-and-breakfast hotel) kept me fed and happy. I wanted to share some of the photos I took during my week there. I'll also provide more travel info at the bottom of the post, in case you ever want a dose of small town life.

Here is a shot of Aogashima's double volcano. The island itself is one volcano, and this little one sits inside the caldera of it.

The volcano also has steam vents around one side of it. The steam is scalding hot, and is used to power the public sauna. It can also be used to cook food. Here I am checking out the pots used to cook with.

The entire population of Aogashima lives on one small part of the island near the school. The island's only harbor sits far away. Cameras record waves and weather, which then broadcast the images to everyone on the island. That way, you don't have to make the trip to the ferry if it's going to be canceled anyway. When the weather is really bad, the tiny ferry runs the risk of being slammed against the rocky cliffs. How do you fix that? Well, how about hooking it to a crane and lifting it up in the air till the waves die down.

Some of my elementary students gave me goodbye gifts. Since souvenir shops are lacking, most of my gifts were handmade island favorites: ivy bracelets, berry bouquets, and of course, ashitaba.

As my helicopter took off for Hachijo, a group of people gathered at the heliport to wave goodbye.

And here is the last view I had of Aogashima town before flying off.

How to Get There
First, you need to get to Hachijo-jima. You can take a flight from Haneda in Tokyo on ANA or a ferry from Takeshiba port. Once in Hachijo, you have two options. The first is the helicopter (recommended). Tickets can be purchased at the TAL counter in the Hachijo airport. The flight takes about 20 minutes, and leaves Hachijo once a day at 9:20 (be sure to check in half an hour before to keep your seat). Tickets are ¥11,500 each way. The helicopter seats nine. A cheaper option is to take the ferry. Tickets can be purchased from the ferry office at Sokodo Port in Hachijo. The ferry takes about 2.5 hours, and tickets are approximately ¥2,500 each way. The ferry is less reliable than the helicopter, though, since waves between Hachijo and Aogashima can be rough.
Where to Stay
I recommend the minshuku Aji Sai, but I can't find the direct phone number. There are a few other minshukus on the island, and all provide meals with your stay. There are no restaurants on Aogashima. There is also a free campground on the volcano, but be sure to bring your own food if you stay there. Call the village office for more information on where to stay: 04996-9-0111
What to Do
Definitely plan a day to hike around the volcanoes. Be sure to check out the trails that lead up from Aogashima town (where all the buildings are), because the trails there are well-marked and easy to climb. Also, sit for a spell in the volcano-powered sauna. Near the sauna, check out the salt shop where Aogashima's famous salt is manufactured. Since the town sits on steep cliffs, getting down to the ocean to swim isn't all that easy. You can splash around near the harbor, though. Keep your eye out for dolphins.
What to Buy
Aogashima is famous for two things: salt and shochu. The salt is made by slowly drying ocean water over the volcanic vents. And I can attest that it is delicious. The shochu (or aochu) is different from any other Japanese shochu I've tasted. It's hard to describe the taste, but give it a try.

Photo of the Day

2008-12-15T16:34:00.003+09:00

There once was a girl named Sadako Sasaki. At the tender age of two she survived the atomic bombing of Hiroshima. Ten years later she developed leukemia because of radiation from the bomb. After she became sick and learned she was dying, Sadako put her faith in an old Japanese legend. The legend says that anyone who folds 1,000 paper cranes is granted one wish. Sadako's wish was to live, so she started folding. She made it to 644 before the disease took her life (according to some sources). In honor of Sadako, her friends continued folding cranes for her.

Today there is a memorial to the girl in Hiroshima Peace Park, and schoolchildren from all over the world fold cranes and send them to the memorial in honor of Sadako. She has become a symbol of anti-nuclearization, a symbol of the effects of the atom bomb. Here are some of the cranes at her memorial:

Photo of the Day

2008-12-13T19:21:00.004+09:00

Well, friends. I have less than a week left in Japan. That means you have less than a week of pictures of Japan to sift through. Today, with Christmas on the horizon, I thought I'd post some celebration photos.

Last year for my birthday, my friend Atsuko made me a beautiful and tasty birthday cake.

I took this photo at a summer festival. In America we nosh on grilled hamburgers and hotdogs. In Japan, the food du jour at festivals is yakitori (chicken on a stick) and grilled noodles.

Sticking with the food theme, the following photo was taken at one of the best restaurants I've ever been to, L'Atelier by Joel Robuchon. It wasn't a holiday per say, but I think that any time you eat at one of Mr. Robuchon's restaurants is a celebration in and of itself.

Photo of the Day

2008-12-11T08:02:00.004+09:00

Today, gentle viewers, I want to share some photos of famous Japanese landmarks I've seen while I've been here.

This photo was snapped on a crisp winter day at Kiyo-mizu temple in Kyoto.

And these next two were taken at the Daibutsu in Kamakura.

Finally a relic from the Hiroshima museum honoring the nuclear attacks there during the war.

Things I Hope I Never Forget

2008-12-10T15:52:00.005+09:00

As I pack up my life in Japan, and clear out the last vestiges of myself from the island, I am kept company by memory. There are things I hope I forget as soon as I leave, and others I hope I never do. There are things I know my brain will let slip, but I hope my heart never does. Things like...
the joy I felt the first time I recognized a word in kanji
the way a palm tree looks, bending in a typhoon
how clothes smell when they have dried in the sea air
the sound of my beer-soaked voice warbling over a karaoke song
what Mt. Mihara looks like on those precious days when the sun pierces the scattering clouds, casting sharp shadows on the lava flows
the pain of being totally, utterly alone
what it feels like to slide into a scalding volcano-fed hot spring stark naked with a bunch of strangers
the touch of tatami
the mind-numbing boredom of winter in a small town
how endearing I think Japanese naivete is, and how much I think it needs to be protected
what sushi is supposed to taste like
how my heart feels when I hear a plane taking off
the reverberating sound of a taiko drum
what weather smells like
that I have seen and known a place that very few people will ever know, and that there was a time that I sincerely loved it.

Photo of the Day

2008-12-10T08:41:00.002+09:00

Today you're going to get a dose of Hachijo-jima. Below are a few photos that I've taken around the island.

During the last World War, Japan was a little battered. In response to attacks, it took measures to protect itself. Hachijo people thought that the Americans might try to attack the island on their way to Tokyo. So they dug tunnels through the mountains there, providing hideouts and vantage points for gunners. The war never came to Hachijo, but tourists can still explore the war tunnels. This photo was snapped on one of those tours.

The weather on Hachijo is moody to say the least. If a typhoon isn't brewing, you might have blinding sunlight or torrential rain...all on the same day. The day this photo was taken was one of my favorites. When the sun is shining and the clouds are scattered in the sky just right, I think Hachijo is the most beautiful place in the world.

One of the "delicacies" on Hachijo is kusaya. It's usually made of flying fish, which is caught, splayed, and dried. Then the fish is soaked in a nasty-smelling brine and served. The taste is actually really good...if you can get past the stench.

"Nothing on Hachijo can kill you." That's what one of the teachers told me in response to my concerns about the vast number of spiders and insects and sea snakes. Nothing is poisonous. Even the scorpions aren't real scorpions; they're harmless bugs that only look like scorpions. In other parts of Japan, eating fugu, or pufferfish, is a chance to look death in the face. If not prepared correctly, one bite of fugu can kill you. But, as this fisherman informed me, like everything else on Hachijo, our fugu are harmless. Sweet.

All over Japan you'll find these cute little statues dressed in colorful clothes. I thought it was so adorable...until I realized what they are. These are memorials for children who have died. Parents dress them up in clothes in honor of the sons and daughters they have lost. Not so cute anymore.

Photo of the Day

2008-12-09T11:02:00.003+09:00

Today I am in Aogashima, the least-populated place in all of Japan. To say that there is nothing to really do here is a bit of an understatement. No restaurants or beer halls or discotheques. The population of the whole island is around 170. I am happy to report that the place is beautiful and the people are unbelievably friendly. I think the lack of things to do will be made up for, no problem. And I got to ride here in a helicopter, which was hella cool.

In honor of my week on a small island, I'm posting some photos from another small island that I know and love: Miyake-jima. You've seen photos of it before (my shrine festival series, specifically). A few years back, the volcano on the island blew its lid, and the whole place evacuated. People started returning in 2005, but the place is still all post-apocolyptic and spooky from the eruption. Observe:

Photo of the Day

2008-12-08T08:11:00.005+09:00

Today is going to be a fun photo hodge-podge. These are images that I just get a kick out of. I hope you do, too.

My friend Tyler found these lovely socks in Ebisu. Thank Heaven for Unisex!

After 17 hours on the boat to Ogasawara, we were all a little bit loopy. Here is Rob offering bananas to the sea gods upon our arrival.

People from all over Japan head to the island of Niijima for the white beaches and great waves. This statue of a wave jockey greets visitors as they leave the airport.

All I have to say about the photo below is that I am very upset they didn't have it in my size. :(

Sports Days are huge in Japan. Entire towns come together a few times a year to take part in races and track and field events. I think it's a great community-builder, and have always had fun at Sports Days. When I last went to Oshima, I was lucky enough to catch their Sports Day in action. These well-dressed guys ran the caterpillar relay (where team members' legs are tied together).

I think I've mentioned ashitaba before. It's the "tomorrow plant" that grows all over Hachijo. When Ashitaba is in season, everything on the island is flavored with it: ice cream, tea, even beer.

Photo of the Day

2008-12-05T13:37:00.006+09:00

Today I'll send you off into the weekend with some photos of Japanese critters...living and dead.

First, the adorable. In Ogasawara you can visit the Marine Center and get up close and personal with the island's reptilian residents: the sea turtles. This place is home to turtles of all shapes and sizes from unhatched eggs to 1,000-pound leatherbacks. For about $1 you can buy a cup of cabbage to feed to some of them. This little bugger almost took my finger off when I tried to feed him. I don't hold it against him, though. My fingers are delicious.

Now for the scary. Autumn is spider season in Hachijo, and you can't go outside without running into little scurrying arachnids. As long as they are little, they can scurry wherever they want, as far as I'm concerned. The two monsters living on my porch are not little, and they have kept me from going out there for about three months now. I'm serious. After 5 p.m., you will not find me on my porch. No way, no how. Why? Because this magnificent bastard and his friend live there now. I have named them Needles and Dentist, after the two other things in the world I hate as much as spiders. The beer crate is in the picture for scale. This thing is as big as my hand.

A little less frightening are these little fellas that live in the many war tunnels and caves on my island. The picture doesn't do him justice, since you can't see how tiny and adorable he is. I bet the spiders on my porch would eat this guy for breakfast.

Now for the not so alive. I've mentioned before that fishing around Hachijo is like shooting fish in a barrel. A couple hours of spear fishing brought this catch home.

And finally a blast from the past. When I last went to Oshima, I met a man who used to navigate a whaling ship on the South China Sea. He showed me his photo albums, and I withheld my tree-hugging judgment. Here is one of the photos from his album. Yes, that's a whale. Yes, that's the carcass nearly covering the entire deck of the ship.

Photo of the Day

2008-12-04T08:12:00.006+09:00

Winter is just around the corner, so today you're getting a dose of Japanese snow.

Last January I thought it would be a smashing idea to head to a mountaintop in the dead of winter. Smart, Rachel. Smart. The good news is that Mt. Koya in the winter is a reflective, sparsely populated, gorgeous place. I stayed in a Zen monastery, meditated with monks, and wandered around in the freshly-fallen snow. The bad news is...well...it was friggin' freezing! These next 3 photos were taken on that trip.

And, again in February, I thought, "Hey, let's go on vacation!" So off I trotted to Kyoto to go sightseeing in a snowstorm. Again, absolutely gorgeous. The snow gave the temples and sights such a different personality from all the photos I had seen of them. Unfortunately, again, it was cold as hell.