Maruchan: My Second Home

So, there are these great things in Japan called izakaya's. It's not really a bar and not so much a restraunt, but somewhere in between. A lot of people, although mostly older, find an izakaya close to their place and then make it their second home, much like the British still do with pub's. In fact, it so closely resembles a home-like atmosphere that the manager of the place, almost always a woman, is called mama-san and the head chef, commonly the mama's husband, the maasta (master). I've been called Oniisan on a number of ocassions by the mama and other customers there, which means brother.

I found my second home at Maruchan, which means circle, but I'm not sure if there's a pun to this or not. I come here mainly to speak Japanese with the mama and the other workers, but also the random people I encounter when I usually go in there. A few nights ago I was sitting with my good friend and savior, Makoto, eating, drinking, and winding down from our day. Behind us is a middle-aged rec-soccer team, being obnoxiously loud and drinking quite a bit. Me and Makoto, having taken a small break from our conversation, sit in the comfortable presence of each other when I start to hear them talking about the gaijin at the bar. "Here they come" I think.

And they do, in full force. One of the older men, 55 I would later find out, rotates his body toward me and yells, "Oi!" I turn and greet him, "Konbanwa." He stands and comes over, asking me where I'm from, what I'm doing, blah blah blah. Good practice, nonetheless. He goes on to tell me about their soccer team, where they play and what position each one of them plays. He points to a chubby man at their table. "And him. He's just fat." They all laugh at him, while he chuckles along. One by one, a total of four of them are now standing around me and Makoto, and they've successfully taken over the establishment. Mama-san stands and asks them to sit down, but they really want to talk to me. "You're like a rock star" she says and gives me her practiced, yet loving smile.

Two other guys at a table next to us beckon me. They start by asking Makoto where I'm from and what I do, because they think I can't speak Japanese. Once they find out that I do, they invite us to drinks at their table. I say that I've drunk too much tonight already, and that Makoto has a big test tomorrow. "Really? You drank too much? Alright then..." short pause.

"Hey! Two more pints over here!" Alright, I guess I'll have one more.

And then the other table comes over to the table I'm at and starts telling me about themselves, where I politley nod and laugh at their jokes. The older man, quite fit for his age, starts flexing and showing off his body. The other laugh hysterically at this. The man sitting next to me tells me about the time he was convicted of a crime and went to jail. I'm so drunk at this point that things start to blur, a wall of humans standing around me, beer everywhere, and then I decide it's time to go.

"It's time to go" I tell Makoto. He readily agrees.

Another time, and I'll try to keep this short, I met a man who had just returned from Malaysia on business. After talking for a short time he says, "Ahh, isn't today great? Talking to you... We're friends, right?" I reassure him that yes, although we have only spoke for 3 minutes, we are friends. "You want to go down the street and grab a beer at a place I like?" The waitress behind him, now an acquaintance of mine, makes a huge "X" with her arms and mouths, "DAME" which could be translated as, "don't fucking do it". I politley decline many many times, and the conversation shifts to world peace.

"You ever heard of 'Pay it forward'" he asks. "Yeah," I say, "you do something good for someone, and then they do something good for someone else."

"Exactly" he replies. "By speaking to each other tonight, I think we have done a good thing for each other. We should probably pass it on, don't you think?"

"Absolutley."

The highschool waitress comes over and gives the man another glass of sake. He looks at me with light behind his eyes, extends his hand, and with a thud, slaps her ass. "I'm just 'paying it forward'" he tells us both, head thrown back, laughing.

Shinjuku - Fantasy vs. The Rest

Shinjuku, although largley the same as most of the other towns, was probably my favorite spot. The top picture of the last post was the view coming out of the station: people handing out flyers, 100'x100' music videos, hundreds of ads, all of them voyeurizing us voyeurs.

The main reason I've come here is to find The Park Hyatt, which is where Lost in Translation was shot; one of my favorites for quite some time now. So, after asking directions from no less then 6 people along the way, and walking for over an hour and a half, I finally find the enormously intimidating hotel/exhibition center. It was a laborious effort because, well, all the buildings were enormously intimidating. Sqaure miles upon square miles of concrete, steele, and granite. But, I found refuge in that beautiful video of nature above, and the fact that I was about to walk into a building I have seen about 35 times on my TV.

I pass the extensive fountain infront of the main doors, and step inside. I'm wearing visibly dirty shorts that haven't been washed in 5 days, a black t-shirt, and brown shoes that were once white. The lobby is gigantic and spacious, but certainly not inviting. The granite floors and walls, the different elevators assigned to sections of floors outlined in neon lights according to their numbers, large windows filled black, reflecting everything inside back in on itself. It's simple and box-ish, making anyone inside feel insignificant and tiny, and not in the comforting way that shrines do. I, quite shocked as this looks nothing like I excpected, stop for a moment and survey the situation. My conclusion: get the fuck out of here. Already having walked this far, I do walk to the other end of the lobby where I find this.


Yes, where Bill Murray pulls up for the first time in the film. After this photo I swiftly walk away, never to return. Lost in Translation could be semi-ruined for me at this point.

And then I ask myself: What the fuck is wrong with you, Evan? I'm always doing this, getting obsessed with books or movies and trying to discover them in reality, where it most definitely doesn't exist. But, it's a way of me ridding my obsessions I guess. I did the same thing with Twin Peaks. After watching the show twice through in a month and seeing Fire Walk With Me more than I couple of times, I drive up to North Bend, WA to check out the diner and some of the other areas they shot. The diner had been remodeled and was now covered in American Flags, Tweety stuffed animals, and some unpleasant individuals. At one point, a man leaned over to me and, after I told him that I'd come here because I loved Twin Peaks he looks over at the highschool waitress, and slowly turns his head back to me eyes wide, and, behind his thick beard, a grin. "I'd like cop a feel of those twin peaks."

At any rate, I did the exact same thing when I went up to Ueno with Justin to check out the area. This was a wonderful area filled with museums, vendors, and the biggest park in Tokyo: Ueno Park. This was the significant attraction for me because I had just finished The Japan Journals, by Donald Richie. He lives there and writes about the area in detail and so I know a little bit about where to go and what to see. But, deep down, actually, quite close to the surface, I know that the main reason I've come here is to see if I can meet Richie in person.

Me an Justin enter the park. "Keep an eye out for Richie" I whisper. He replies with a smile that might be translated as "What are you, 5?" But, I keep my eyes peeled and no sooner then 30 seconds later I see Donald Richie, one of the greatest Western thinkers on Japan, sitting on a bench talking to a young adult.

Then I think, "Holy shit." Richie's sexual prefrence was always for younger men. What if....

But, not wanting to disturb him and feeling a bit intimidated, I don't approach him. I do take a picture of him from a distance.

And then as I write this I look down at the shirt I'm wearing right now, bought in Japan, which says "YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT'S GOING ON RIGHT NOW" Just like that.

And then I think,

"Holy shit."

I was stalking him.

I look at myself and reevaluate my existence for a moment. I justify it with my having a semi-obsessive and gluttonous personality. But that's not enough.

I stop writing this entry.

Back from Tokyo

One week and 200 pictures later, Justin and I comfortably return from Tokyo on the Shinkansen (bullet train). Went all over the place: Shibuya, Shinjuku, Harajuku, Akihabara, Asakasa, Akasuka, Ueno... pretty much every major part of Tokyo. I'm not entirely sure how to write about everything I experienced; there's just too much. So, I'm just going to pin point some of the more poignant moments and write about them in detail.

The first that pops into mind takes place in Roppongi, a cornerstone of consumerism in this great city. A great example is "The Roppongi Hills".


This fortress of goods was created by Minoru Mori, far and away the most powerful single architect in Japan, also one of the richest men in the world. His idea in building this monstrosity was to create a self contained city, the pinnacle of which is the building above named, not surprisingly so, "Mori Tower". The other buildings in the plaza are, for the most part, residential and business buildings, with the lower floors occupied by clothing shops, jewelers, grocery stores, and other useless jargon, all of which is insanely over priced. Created on 4 billion dollars and taking no less than 17 years to construct, it's said this plaza attracts over 1 million visitors a weekend. Apparently - because of it's ridiculous proportions most likely - there have been certain political parties and angry individuals who take the ride to the top of the tower and promote their propaganda.
(click to enlarge)


As a side note, Roppongi is, topographically, relatively flat. The hills were artificially made, and come in at a height around 10 feet or so, if that.

At any rate, one night I was taking a walk through Akasaka and stumbled upon Roppongi by chance. This being my second time there, and it being a Friday night, I was surprised to see how many gaijin there were. People forcing me to take flyers, following me down the street demanding me to enter their generic, Americanized club; women standing on corners asking me if I want a "massage", which I politely decline; drunk business men throwing their weight around, objectifying women, and women prancing about dressed appropriately to be objectified. All around terribleness.

And then another stroke of fate. I run into two of my friends from my Japanese class at UW, and we go out for some drinks. After trying out some bars and clubs, we realize that we all hate clubs - in fact, most of Roppongi as a whole - and decide to go our separate ways. As we chat about our various experiences in Japan, I see a completely passed out, thoroughly drunk man on the sidewalk, sprawled in the middle of the busiest part of town. There are a few people standing around him talking, not about him, but about where to go next or where to eat. I, surprised and not familiar with the area, almost pass him without checking it out, but I finally decide to see if he's alright. I bend down next to him, all eyes on the gaijin trying to help out a passed out drunk guy on the side of the road, "Are you alright?" I ask, "Can you understand me?" Nothing. After repeated shaking's and shouts, I stand, kind of at a loss about what to do. Thankfully, another man comes by, checks his pulse, opens his eyes, and calls an ambulance. I walk away and think about how long he must have been there and if he's alright. But, most likely, he won't remember any of it anyways.

I go back to my capsule hotel and sleep.

Just another great human

Have just returned from a wonderful afternoon with one of my sensei's, Tahira Sensei.

Today, I'm on campus taking care of some jargin and decide to stop by Tahira's office because I haven't seen him since summer vacation started. I knock on his door and hear, "Douzo" Come in. I step inside, saying, as all do when they walk into someone's room, "Shitsureishimasu" Literally, "I'm being rude", but doesn't feel like that in Japanese.

I remember the first time I stepped into his office a few months ago. The first thing I noticed was the shot dispencer hanging up over his desk. The next thing was ash tray on his coffee table. We sat there, drank some coffee, smoked cigarettes in his office, then went out for drinks. Today would prove to be no different.

I come in and sit down on his sofa, and we talk about Japanese economics, Japanese culture and the like. Then I remember how he brought me to this amazing traditional Japanese style bar earlier - in Japanese a "Tachinomya" which means "stand and drink bar". It's completley unknown by most of the community, and the only people who go there are the elderly who still need a home away from home. I ask in Japanese, "You remember that bar we went to a while ago? We should go there again some time."

"Immediatley" he responds., reverting to English.

"What?"

"Let's go immediatley."

How can I argue? Nor would I want to, anyways. So, after he helps me correct one of my papers, we hop on the bus and cruise over to the bar, surrounded by a mob of high school kids who have just got out of class. A blur of sound and images: high pitched laughter, gossiping, blue and white uniforms, all of us swaying in unison to the movements of the bus.

After the unexpected intensity of the bus ride, we arrive at the bar, "Kita" (means north, but can also mean to come), and I step into a time warp, the "real" Japan; the Japan I'd like to experience all the time. But most of it is gone, lost in the earthquake or through modernization.


We order a couple of beers. I go to the bathroom, and after returning pick up my beer and take a sip. I look at Tahira's beer, which is already gone. 2 minutes flat. He's practiced.

We drink a couple more, eat some of the most inexpensive, freshest fish I've had in Japan, and then I hear, "Welcome to Japan." I turn, and an old man, drunk and swaying, stands staring me down. "Arigatou gozaimasu. Doko de sundeimasu ka?" Thanks. Where are you from? He stares for a long 10 seconds. I glance at Tahira whose smile says - My apologies on behalf of the Japanese people. Back at the man, still swaying, eyes locked on mine. Then, abruptly, he turns and walks out. Tahira laughs, and we leave.

He suggests that I come see his place, to which I very quickly reply, "Excellent idea." We sit down in his impressive living room and he brings in another beer. He's already beet-red, but he's a drinkin' man. His wife brings in sushi wrapped in elegant leaves, snail, and pickeled squash like a good Japanese wife. I eat it, complementing her all the while on how delicious it is.

Tahira sensei suddenly stands and walks across the room, "I want you to have this." He hands me a beautiful Shodo set (calligraphy), and after some miscommunication, I graciously take it with both hands, bow, and place it into my bag. Not missing a beat, he then brings over a giant wooden carving and hands it to me. "I'd like you to have this."


I hesitate for a moment and stare at what's sitting in my hands. I put on my Gaijin smile. What can I say? After his wife wraps it in 3 layers of bubble wrap and tissue, he ushers me out of his place. I thank his wife again, and Tahira walks me to the bus.

As we're walking, I ask if he misses Olympia at all, if he plans on going back anytime soon (in the past, he was an exchange faculty at Evergreen for 8 months).

"I miss the bars." I laugh, and explain why I think Japanese izakaya's are superior. "Oh, I know..." he pauses. "I miss my friends there though. I miss the students and teachers." A shallow half-smile on his face. He's aging, growing old. He's thinking about his friend down the street who owns a second-hand goods store, lying in his death bed. He's thinking about whether he'll ever see those friends in Olympia again. I think about growing old. I think about how after I leave Japan, I may never see Tahira again.

But, luckily he's Japanese and the Japanese tend to live for a long ass time.

I shake his hand and jump on the bus carrying my piece of art and shodo kit.

One of the greater moments in my life...

here I am In Sannomia, downtown Kobe, watching one of the many free concerts in Paiyama park, a small concrete park in the middle of everything. I wasn't doing anything particular, just stopped for a moment on my way back from Kyoto, maybe waiting for something to happen.

And then God delivers the goods.

An old man with some of the most insanely terrible teeth I've ever seen in a first world country takes a seat next to me. I don't take any notice because the park is crowded and I figure he just found an open seat, at least until I hear "Hello." At first I didn't even understand this because I'm so used to speaking Japanese.

"Hello" he says again. I turn, "Oh I'm sorry. Hi there." We have the typical Japanese dude interested in Gaijin discussion - where are you from? what are you doing here? etc. - and I respond accordingly. I comment on his English not because it's good (it's not), but he has the courage to use it, a big reason why Japanese English is, for the most part, terrible considering they study it for years and years in middle and high school.

"I have present for you."

"What?"

"Present."

"Why?"

"You foreigner."

I think for a second and decide it's a good enough reason. He picks up a bag he carried with him and takes out another bag within the bag filled with bags that have things inside them (a Japanese custom). He hands me a book in a thick construction paper jacket. "honto ni arigato gozaimasu." Thank you very much.

I open the book. My stomach drops. I shut the book.

"Nani kore!?" What's this?!

"Saa, hazukashii na..." Oh, you're shy aren't you?


But really, no explanation is necessary. On the first page was a school girl, holding a giant dildo. I think we both know the contents. I try to give it back to him, but, no, it's a present and he really wants me to have it. Really, just take it, I'm giving it to you. He persists, and I finally put it in my bag just so I can get it out of eyesight and bring the commotion to a halt.

A few moments pass and he says, "Hey, you should try opening it."

"No, really, it's alright. I'll look at it later."

We sit in the most awkward silence I have experienced since my arrival in Japan. At least it is for me. I look down at the ground and force my eyes as for to the right as possible so I can see, I don't know, I guess what type of expression is on his face. He's completely relaxed, and is taking care of some other business in his schedule. Not distracting himself, I can see this, but just something he probably has to organize and since he has a little time, he tends to it. Sex is viewed lightly in Japan, and a big reason for this is because Japan is, largely, a country without religion. Shinto and Buddhism were chosen by the government as acceptable religions long ago, simply because they're good at controlling people when practiced. Same with Confucianism, even more so, only this is not a religion but used for the same means. Thus, a bunch of social constructions were put into place that still remains, to some extent, today. Japan is a country where society reins supreme lord. You can do whatever you want in your private life, but once it's in the public you are punishable. Recently, this is changing, but you can still feel it, especially when considering "love hotels" and salary men antics.

At any rate, I stand up and tell the old man I have to go and meet a friend. He promptly stops what he's doing, apologizes for taking my time, and after thanking him again for my gift, I'm off. I look back and he's still sitting there, now with a cigarette in mouth. I walk away and smile, letting that feeling, you know the "just received a porn from some old guy" feeling, sink in.

Oh, how little I know about this country, still.

Another Blog

I can't seem to find the right blog set up for me. I'm not too proficient when it comes to figuring out HTML code or anything like that, so it's been quite the search. Myspace just kind of blows ass, MoveableType was a bit much, but Google seems to create excellent things, and thus, I'm giving it a shot. For those of you who have checked out my other blogs, I've reposted a few from the past just to get this whole thing going. The future holds great and terrible things for this blog, I do believe.