Japanese people love Aerosmith, seriously

Lou emailed my keitai: "I'm at the Latin Quarter." My reply:
"Why?"
The Latin Quarter is a pretty typical Japanese bar where salary-men go to get tanked after work. I always roll my eyes at the notion of going there, but I inevitably end up having a good time. Small doses. And truthfully, the Latin Quarter is somewhat of an oasis in the sea of snack and hostess bars that line the streets of Karato. Plus the bartender will never forget your name, even after a nine month absence.
Even though it was a school night, I decided to go as it is just downstairs and around the corner and no one ever partys in Shimono-sucky. As soon as I walked in I was told that Stirling, decked out in his new jinbe, had just won ice cream for everyone in a fierce janken (rock, scissors, paper) battle with some dude that he had just met and among whose friends he was now ingratiated. Determined not to make new friends myself, I sat at the bar and gossiped with Wakako. But then that thing that always happens happens, despite one's best efforts to be cool. Once the karaoke gets fired up, its pretty hard not to get a little crazy, and the next thing you know, you're singing Aerosmith's "Don't Want to Miss a Thing" with everyone in the bar.

Kuma-chan

I can't believe Tom, the Kuma, is actually leaving. He was my first friend in Japan, making his way into my heart with his choreographed karaoke rendition of "Bye, Bye, Bye". I'm gonna miss you, Kuma. Love, Dubs.

Jitensha

I just got my third bike in Japan. It's a rusted out piece of shit that LeeAnne's ex-boyfriend left behind. The lock is permanently rusted open and the breaks scream but don't really brake. Considering my last two decent bikes were stolen, I figure that a beat up old mamachari (old lady bike) will keep the thieves at bay. Japan is supposed to be all crime-free and shit, but people will steal the hell out of some bicycles and umbrellas. The adults blame the jr. high school students, but I have definitely seen some drunk salary-men riding home on bikes that weren't theirs. Everyone blames the foreigners and perhaps not without some just cause (you know who you are). Some lessons I've learned from my various bike ordeals:

1. Never leave your bike at Seamall after dark. Same goes for in front of the station, outside the office (anytime of day), at the grocery store, in front of any izakaya or bar or really anywhere other than inside your apartment. No one in Japan steals from people's apartments.

2. Never buy a new bike. You'll have to do the same thing the very next week.

3. Never get drunk and take a taxi home thinking, "I'll come back and get my bike tomorrow." It won't be there. Promise.

4. Never ride your bike to the station if you are going on an overnight trip. Or if you do, expect to take a bus back to your apartment.

5. Use multiple locks. It sounds paranoid, but the built in tire locks don't work for shit.

6. Walk. It takes longer, but in the end it is a whole lot cheaper.

Doumo Arigatou Mr. Roboto (Himistu, Himitsu, Watashi wa himitsu o aru)

Today, while on a smoke break, a saw a guy I know. He said "Damn Emily, you look like shit!" Awesome. I've had a rough week and a half and it shows. Just take a good look at my face, you'll see my smile looks out of place, if you look closer it's easy to trace...

But some other friends took me out for yakitori and shochu which made me feel much better. We had fun sharing secrets and Yoriko taught me that the Japanese kanji for secret("himitsu" in romanji) literally means "secret sweet honey". However, Yoriko was yoparata and, upon futher inquiry it seems, totally wrong about this fact. On the plus side, we didn't puke after the shochu.

Sanctuary

Dear Billy,

I just finished The Mansion. It took me three months to finish. I kept stopping, picking up new books, trading written words for radio--anything to distract me from it. I didn't want to reach the end of the trilogy, as if there would be nothing left for me afterward. Your books feed my romanticized image of the South, my home. I felt like if I finished the story, let go of the characters, I would be letting go of my sense of place, of home. And now that I have finished, I am feeling mournful.

But there is another fear that I must confront. It is that perhaps my love for you is waning. Of course I will always love you, but something is different now, maybe I'm different now. I find myself looking at other writers, being easily seduced by lines that would not have ever caught my eye before. I must admit to having had several crushes lately(Haruki Murakami, Tamaki Daido, etc). It just seems that they get me in a way that you don't anymore. Or maybe it's that I get them in a way that I didn't before.

But it's not you, it's me, seriously. My whole sense of place, of proportion has changed since moving to Japan. I guess I don't know what is true anymore.

As I write this I am convinced that my love for you is intense and enduring, if slightly changed. But I think that I just need some space from you so that I can see who else I might be, what else I might need. I have no doubt, however, that I will come back to you soon, if you'll still have me.

All my love,

Emily

Tsurugi-san, Matsuyama

We got to the top of Tsurugi-san and had a beer. I hitchhiked back to the car with three obasan who were hilarious. Actually, I think that they were hilarious, but my Japanese was seriously impaired after three days in the woods with my lovely foreign friends. Anyway, they were sweet for picking me up.

That night we drove to Matsuyama so we could catch the ferry back the next day. After a good night's sleep in a real bed at a dirty hotel, we played the tourists visiting the castle(I was even wearing running shoes). The ferry was lovely. Getting back to Shimonoseki was lovely.

Chiiori

We camped at a great spot with eerie vine bridges. We built a fire and relaxed a little. But, three people in a one person tent is not so fun. Especially when it is raining buckets. At 3 am, I elected to "sleep" in the car.
The rain postponed our Tsurugi-san hike for a day, so we decided to drive through the valley to Chiiori, an old farm that has become a non-profit organization. We did some bushwacking down a gorge and made up stories about the abandoned stone structures. The nerd that I am kept wishing for a Shikoku wildlife field guide. Mmm...cataloging nature.

Golden Week, Iya Valley, Shikoku

On the way to Shimonoseki Station my cab driver warned me about the task we were about to undertake. (a rough translation) "Regular mountains are like this," he said, putting his hands together, fingertips touching to make a right angle. "Shikoku mountains are like this," his hands now at 45 degrees. I was hungover and a little bit concerned, but not deterred.

I met Sally and Marko at Shin-Iwakuni, and we set off for Shikoku. We were ill prepared and terrible at reading Japanese maps, but eventually we found our way up to the top of some beautiful mountains.


On the first day, we had a nice walk and we saw a magical woodland creature that we named John. Later, Nori, a lovely guy who runs a guesthouse in the Iya valley, told us that it was a very rare type of deer (he has never seen one) that only lives near Tsurugi-san. We decided that it is still magical.