Let The Games Begin...

I told myself that I'd start a blog when the dust had settled.  I've come to realize that when you leave everything and everyone you've ever known behind and move to a foreign country 4800 miles away - there is no dust, and there is no settling.  There are boulders, and they are in a giant blender.

34 days ago, my husband and I cashed in one-way tickets to Tokyo and moved to Japan.  Specifically, we moved to Sagamihara in Kanagawa Prefecture which is on the southern edge of Tokyo.  We were logistically over-prepared for the move.  I have a packet full of things that vouch for our very existence - our official AND tourist passports, our marriage license, my husband's birth certificate with a notarized English translation, immunization records, social security cards laminated with gold leaf and blessed by a priest, and a certificate signed with the blood of a virgin asserting that we don't have rabies or flat feet.

I wish I could say that we've settled in and are comfortable in the country we'll call home for the next five years, but we haven't.  Everything is different, everything is crazy, everything is weird.

And everything is... awesome.

I grew up a middle-class white girl, in a middle-class white suburb.  I've lived a life of inclusion and normality.  Just to get away from the monotony, my husband and I vacationed in New York City every year and marveled at the diversity, the rush of city life, the enormity of a city whose pulse is spurred by the lives of millions of people who are different than us.  In New York City, I felt simultaneously accepted and anonymous.  I fit in with the crowd because the crowd was a rainbow.

Japan has a population of 127 million people, 98.5% of which are Japanese.  0.5% are Korean, 0.4% are Chinese, and the remaining 0.6% are "others".  We belong in the "others" category.  What a phenomenon, not being part of the club.  Being the one who stands out.  Catching people staring at you on the train.  I take no offense, but I do take note.  Being "different" is... well, different. 

Aside from a few apologetic phrases and the proper way to order a beer or a whisky or some chicken meatballs at an izakaya, we don't speak the language and the written characters are indecipherable.  This applies both to menus as well as freeway signs.  It's arguable which is more distressing - not being able to order at a restaurant or missing your exit and going 20km in the wrong direction on a toll road.

While I've detailed things that may come across as complaining, allow me to assuage that assumption.  This experience of living abroad, even in its infancy, has filled me with gratitude and understanding.  Gratitude to the people of Japan who are almost comically patient with our lack of language skills and mishandling of accepted social mores.  Understanding to anyone who doesn't "fit in", anyone who feels that they're swimming against the current.

This picture was taken at the Cup of Noodles Museum in Yokohama yesterday.  This little girl was scampering all over the place like a live wire, and finally stopped in her tracks to gaze upwards. 

I'm going to gloss over the fact that she's literally wearing a cape with a smiling sandwich stitched onto it, because I can't begin to express in words how inferior I am to her for that reason alone.  She's looking up in awe at a shadow of someone enjoying shelter from the rain, with an artist's palette.  Let your art be your shield and your shelter.

 

Have you ever been a broke college student?  Have you ever been a grown-ass adult with a real job who spent all their money on stupid shit and then had $10 with which to feed yourself until pay day?  Yeah, me too.  Jan and I had the opportunity to worship at the House of Ramen.  Thank you, Momofuku Ando, for your innovation and tenacity. 

Jan and I ventured into Yokohama yesterday which is the second largest city in Japan, boasting nearly 4 million residents.  It was a rainy day, so we took shelter inside a Ferris wheel gondola and drank wine because that's way better than an umbrella. 

This struck grief and horror into my very soul.  RIP, everything I've ever spilled on the floor while also having an empty pantry.

This is outside the museum.  A welcome bit of serenity, we were happy to escape and get some fresh air.  I'm lying, it was really  just an opportunity to see if my hair actually did smell like ramen.  Verdict: it did.

I feel you, Panda.

Language barriers disappear at bars in Japan.  All you have to do is say, "Whiskey, kori, onegai shimasu" (Whiskey on ice please).  Booze is the universal language. 

One of my favorite things about Japan are the alleyways.  Even in the hustle-and-bustle of a booming metropolis, if you swing a slight left or right, you're going to find yourself nestled in a corridor with wafting aromas of delicious food, izakayas slinging cheap booze, shops selling boots and candy, palm readers, insurance agents... Any road only traveled by foot or by motorcycle is a good road.

Speaking of motorcycles... technically a scooter, but in Japan it still counts.

The train stations are often filled with silent people, waiting in line and looking at their phones.  They are generally not bustling social arenas, but I spotted this group engaged in what appeared to be a really funny conversation.  I need to learn the language so that I can laugh along with them.  But mostly so I can tell that girl that I really like her hair.

On the other side of the platform, a quiet older couple waiting for their train.  You don't see the elder generation indulging in public displays of affection, but this couple seemed quite at ease with one another.  She turned and smiled at him, and he hadn't even said a word.

We ended our night just outside our house, at a rockabilly izakaya in Sagamihara.  We befriended an English teacher and her husband.  It's very refreshing to be able to actually converse with people at a bar - extra motivation to learn the language so we don't have to bank on running into English speakers every time we want a drink.

Thanks for hearing me out... please join me on this journey!  It's going to be a wild ride.