“This is not ketchup.”
I think it was the instinctual and absolute certainty in my voice as I made this pronouncement that made Stewart and Nobie almost hysterical with laughter.
I was eating what Nobie described to me as fish sausage with vegetables and Stewart offered me some of this red sauce that came in a jelly jar. I asked him what it was and it was his response that prompted such a knee jerk reaction from me. Embarrassed, I immediately apologized and tried the sauce that was indeed ketchup. I kept catching myself looking uncomfortably at the jar for the rest of the meal, though, and to be honest, I still feel a bit itchy thinking about it.
Ketchup does not come in a short, squat glass jar. Ketchup comes in big plastic squeezable containers or small tear-able packets. If I’m at Granite City, it comes in tall glass containers. Ketchup does not come in a short, squat glass jar.
And such is my biggest food dilemma in Japan. The packaging never seems to match the product. Perhaps it is simply an American thing, but I have an expectation of something before I taste it. This expectation is created by the look of it – the color, the texture – and by what I’m told it is. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’ll try things without knowing what they are, but sometimes I think I know what it is and what to expect and when it doesn’t match my expectations, I’m completely thrown.
Now, apparently this is not something that would occur to a Japanese person. Many foods here are prepared into a paste or ground beyond recognition. In fact, from my limited experience and from what Stewart has told me, even Japanese people often don’t know exactly what are eating or getting ready to eat. He said some of the liveliest conversations he’s witnessed have been prompted by his question of what food they are eating. Frankly, I don’t understand it. I want to know what I’m eating.
One exception from this rule is squid on a stick. We went to the cherry blossom festival at the Kumamoto Castle a few nights ago and like many American festivals, there were a lot of food stands. And one of the popular food items available at these festivals is squid on a stick. Now, I’m up for just about anything and if it looked any different, I wouldn’t have had a problem trying it. But, it looked like squid on a stick. No thanks, I’m good.
But remember, that’s the exception.
Another problem in identifying food is the abundance of fried foods. I was shocked to see this, but it's everywhere. When I questioned Stewart and Nobie about this, they said that that is the mark of the Westernization of food that has occurred in the last twenty or so years. Japanese think they have all kinds of Western food. They even have a word for it: yoshoku. This is not Western food by any of your or my standards, though. They take hamburger, wrap it around cheese, bread it, fry it and call it a hamburger. I say no. Fried pumpkin puree (yum), fried crab soup – looks like a crab cake, is not a crab cake (odd, but yum), fried ham and egg (alright), and fried fish sausage (a little goes a long way) are fairly common items at bento box stores – kind of fast food cafeteria places that are all over Japan. This is not American. It is not Western. It is Japanized Western. It is yoshoku.
Perhaps the main difference I have noticed between a Japanese and an American restaurant is in the drink situation. Where American restaurants serve large 16-20 oz. glasses of water, soda, or tea: and always keep them refilled; Japanese restaurants serve small 10 oz. tumblers and charge for refills. The only drink you can have unlimited refills is tea – usually green tea, which is served in a big pitcher at the table and you refill yourself. Japanese just don’t drink as much when they eat as Americans. Why is that? I don’t know.
I’ve had a lot of good food recently, but I won’t bore you with a detailed report. The highlights have been a chicken, potato, and vegetable curry that Nobi made a few nights ago that was indescribably good, and some yakitori we had at a food stand at the Kumamoto Castle cherry blossom festival. Yakitori is basically grilled meat - usually chicken, pork, or beef - or vegetables on a stick. I cannot begin to tell you how good it was. I’m getting the vapors just thinking about it.
I’ll have some pictures posted on Flickr.com in the next coming days. And coming soon, hundreds of thousands of Japanese and one American enjoy the cherry blossom season in Kumamoto.
- Jenny
Monday, March 31, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
Have Wallet, Willing to Shop
As y’all were enjoying your Easter dinners and snacking on chocolate eggs, I started my first solo journey into Kumamoto City.
Stewart and Nobie had an appointment for Monday morning, so I plucked up my courage and decided to head into Kumamoto on my own. I walked down to the train stop - only about a seven-minute walk - and waited for the train to come. And as I sat on the bench waiting, an older man rode by on a bicycle and was so startled to see a Westerner that he almost lost his balance as he continued to stare at me long past he had rode by. I couldn’t help but laugh at his gaping.
After a twenty minute train ride, I was deposited at Fujisaki-gu Station a few blocks away from downtown Kumamoto. About a block away is the Kamitori which leads to Shimotori– literally “Lower Road” and “Upper Road” – which are covered pedestrian streets full of boutiques, convenience stores, and restaurants. There is even a hundred yen shop – their equiviliant of the Dollar Store.
Between these two covered outdoor shopping centers are two of Kumamoto’s biggest department stores, Tsuruya and Parco. These both are a lot like a small upscale mall in America – full of smaller boutiques full of Gucci, Louis Vuitton, etc. However, urged by Stewart to check out the basement of Tsuruya, I discovered the same type of upscale boutiques only these were selling food. Vendors of fresh produce, seafood, and meat were alongside vendors of wine and gourmet products. There were also a good number of upscale fast-food vendors and my personal favourite, chocolatiers with some of the most delicious looking truffles and petit fours I’ve ever seen.
I enjoyed visiting a lot of the boutiques along Kamitori and Shimotori – they reminded me a lot of the boutiques I enjoyed shopping in downtown Pasadena when I lived there. I also got a lot of practice saying, "Chotto mitade kudasai," meaning 'just looking, thank you.' However, I did feel odd walking down these shopping centers and into the boutiques in my jeans, t-shirt, and tennis shoes.
Warning! Tangent ahead. I’ve been here about a week now and I have yet to gain a solid understanding of Japanese fashion. All I can tell is that I am not part of it. I’ve yet to see one girl or woman other than myself wearing tennis shoes. Shoes are almost exclusively high heeled, and most of the time knee-high, heeled boots. Even girls on bicycles – and they are everywhere – are wearing heels. T-shirts also seem to be verboten for women unless it is covered with half a dozen blouses, scarves, and blazers. Layering is a big thing here. The majority of women wear skirts - many with jeans, shorts, or dark tights underneath. And if they aren’t wearing one of these items, money says they will definitely have knee high tights on. Colors tend to stay in the blacks, greys, or pale pastels. Instead of playing with color, they play with pattern – leading to a chaotic mix of plaids, checks, and stripes. Even without my blue eyes and western features, I stick out like a sore thumb with my solid, bright colored t-shirts and dresses with flats and tennis shoes.
To set my parents' minds at ease, I will say that I only purchased a pair of sunglasses at the 300 yen store - approximately $3. To the surprise of no one who knows me and sunglasses, the cheap pair I purchased at Target only a day before my flight over here was lost en route and I needed a new pair.
I’ve got to go, but coming ahead, my thoughts on Japanese food and restaurants. Definitely different from America. I think my friends at Granite City will find it very interesting. Also, as soon as I figure out how, I will be posting lots of pictures. Cherry blossom season is blooming in Kumamoto.
- Jenny
Stewart and Nobie had an appointment for Monday morning, so I plucked up my courage and decided to head into Kumamoto on my own. I walked down to the train stop - only about a seven-minute walk - and waited for the train to come. And as I sat on the bench waiting, an older man rode by on a bicycle and was so startled to see a Westerner that he almost lost his balance as he continued to stare at me long past he had rode by. I couldn’t help but laugh at his gaping.
After a twenty minute train ride, I was deposited at Fujisaki-gu Station a few blocks away from downtown Kumamoto. About a block away is the Kamitori which leads to Shimotori– literally “Lower Road” and “Upper Road” – which are covered pedestrian streets full of boutiques, convenience stores, and restaurants. There is even a hundred yen shop – their equiviliant of the Dollar Store.
Between these two covered outdoor shopping centers are two of Kumamoto’s biggest department stores, Tsuruya and Parco. These both are a lot like a small upscale mall in America – full of smaller boutiques full of Gucci, Louis Vuitton, etc. However, urged by Stewart to check out the basement of Tsuruya, I discovered the same type of upscale boutiques only these were selling food. Vendors of fresh produce, seafood, and meat were alongside vendors of wine and gourmet products. There were also a good number of upscale fast-food vendors and my personal favourite, chocolatiers with some of the most delicious looking truffles and petit fours I’ve ever seen.
I enjoyed visiting a lot of the boutiques along Kamitori and Shimotori – they reminded me a lot of the boutiques I enjoyed shopping in downtown Pasadena when I lived there. I also got a lot of practice saying, "Chotto mitade kudasai," meaning 'just looking, thank you.' However, I did feel odd walking down these shopping centers and into the boutiques in my jeans, t-shirt, and tennis shoes.
Warning! Tangent ahead. I’ve been here about a week now and I have yet to gain a solid understanding of Japanese fashion. All I can tell is that I am not part of it. I’ve yet to see one girl or woman other than myself wearing tennis shoes. Shoes are almost exclusively high heeled, and most of the time knee-high, heeled boots. Even girls on bicycles – and they are everywhere – are wearing heels. T-shirts also seem to be verboten for women unless it is covered with half a dozen blouses, scarves, and blazers. Layering is a big thing here. The majority of women wear skirts - many with jeans, shorts, or dark tights underneath. And if they aren’t wearing one of these items, money says they will definitely have knee high tights on. Colors tend to stay in the blacks, greys, or pale pastels. Instead of playing with color, they play with pattern – leading to a chaotic mix of plaids, checks, and stripes. Even without my blue eyes and western features, I stick out like a sore thumb with my solid, bright colored t-shirts and dresses with flats and tennis shoes.
To set my parents' minds at ease, I will say that I only purchased a pair of sunglasses at the 300 yen store - approximately $3. To the surprise of no one who knows me and sunglasses, the cheap pair I purchased at Target only a day before my flight over here was lost en route and I needed a new pair.
I’ve got to go, but coming ahead, my thoughts on Japanese food and restaurants. Definitely different from America. I think my friends at Granite City will find it very interesting. Also, as soon as I figure out how, I will be posting lots of pictures. Cherry blossom season is blooming in Kumamoto.
- Jenny
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
A Rainy Day in Kumamoto
Easter morning dawned grey and rainy.
While Nobie attended church, Stewart and I hopped in the car and traveled out of Kumamoto heading towards the coast of the Ariake Sea. Nobi’s parents own what is essentially a very large, nice shed on a small bit of land by the seashore. In the past Stewart said, Nobi’s mother enjoyed coming there to tend a small vegetable garden. Now, the shed serves primarily as a storage unit for Stewart’s books, teaching materials, and maps: which what had brought us there for the day. As I perused this small section of Stewart’s large book collection – and grew very excited that I will have plenty to read while I am here – Stewart searched through his maps and found several English road maps of Kumamoto and the entire island of Kyushu.
Before we headed back to the city, Stewart pointed out the several ‘love hotels’ in the area. To those who may have not heard of Japanese ‘love hotels,’ please let me explain. A ‘love hotel’ is a pay-by-the-hour inn for couples to go to have sex. Now, this isn’t necessarily as sleazy as you think, you dirty minded Americans. In a country where population density is almost 350 people per square mile, privacy can be hard to find, especially when you are living with your extended family which can include not only the parents, but grandparents as well. That said, some of them are a sleazy as you think. I saw one the other day called the ‘Red Rose’ Hotel, which had hot pink velvet-like curtains in the windows. Classy.
Back in Kumamoto, Stewart took me to a Japanese buffet restaurant – similar to a ‘Golden Corral’ I think. It was a good way for me to see and try a variety of Japanese dishes. It was great. I loved the small bits of fried chicken – about ten times better than Chick-fil-a – and fried mackerel. Tempura vegetables, steamed sweet potato and carrots, and rice with shitake mushrooms were also delicious. My only misstep was a large piece of steamed enoki mushroom - practically impossible to bite and chew - requiring that I put the entire thing in my mouth and gnaw on it for quite awhile. Despite Stewart’s stifled laughter making me want to laugh along with my driving instinct to gag on the slimy rubbery thing, I finally swallowed it. Stewart expressed his admiration and confessed that he probably would have spit it back out. I felt so proud.
We arrived back home around four o’clock and simply enjoyed resting with the several New Yorker magazines I brought with me. Later, that evening Nobie made ginger pork for dinner along with mashed potatoes, tortilla chips and homemade guacamole. My favorite meal so far, though I confess I left the guacamole alone and had some of my Mom’s homemade salsa that Stewart had brought with him from his last trip to the States. After dinner, Stewart and I took Meg, the dog, for a short walk and returned for a relaxing evening in from of the television, which Stewart attempted to teach me how to operate. They do have satellite, which receives CNN, BCC World, and a few movie and U.S. channels, primarily FOX World. Common U.S. shows on the schedule are House, NCIS, Bones, and all of the CSI shows.
It was a fairly quiet day, but an enjoyable one. I was feeling some jet lag still and forced myself to stay awake until ten o’clock before I collapsed into bed. My next day would be quite full as I planned to explore downtown Kumamoto, this time all by myself.
-Jenny
While Nobie attended church, Stewart and I hopped in the car and traveled out of Kumamoto heading towards the coast of the Ariake Sea. Nobi’s parents own what is essentially a very large, nice shed on a small bit of land by the seashore. In the past Stewart said, Nobi’s mother enjoyed coming there to tend a small vegetable garden. Now, the shed serves primarily as a storage unit for Stewart’s books, teaching materials, and maps: which what had brought us there for the day. As I perused this small section of Stewart’s large book collection – and grew very excited that I will have plenty to read while I am here – Stewart searched through his maps and found several English road maps of Kumamoto and the entire island of Kyushu.
Before we headed back to the city, Stewart pointed out the several ‘love hotels’ in the area. To those who may have not heard of Japanese ‘love hotels,’ please let me explain. A ‘love hotel’ is a pay-by-the-hour inn for couples to go to have sex. Now, this isn’t necessarily as sleazy as you think, you dirty minded Americans. In a country where population density is almost 350 people per square mile, privacy can be hard to find, especially when you are living with your extended family which can include not only the parents, but grandparents as well. That said, some of them are a sleazy as you think. I saw one the other day called the ‘Red Rose’ Hotel, which had hot pink velvet-like curtains in the windows. Classy.
Back in Kumamoto, Stewart took me to a Japanese buffet restaurant – similar to a ‘Golden Corral’ I think. It was a good way for me to see and try a variety of Japanese dishes. It was great. I loved the small bits of fried chicken – about ten times better than Chick-fil-a – and fried mackerel. Tempura vegetables, steamed sweet potato and carrots, and rice with shitake mushrooms were also delicious. My only misstep was a large piece of steamed enoki mushroom - practically impossible to bite and chew - requiring that I put the entire thing in my mouth and gnaw on it for quite awhile. Despite Stewart’s stifled laughter making me want to laugh along with my driving instinct to gag on the slimy rubbery thing, I finally swallowed it. Stewart expressed his admiration and confessed that he probably would have spit it back out. I felt so proud.
We arrived back home around four o’clock and simply enjoyed resting with the several New Yorker magazines I brought with me. Later, that evening Nobie made ginger pork for dinner along with mashed potatoes, tortilla chips and homemade guacamole. My favorite meal so far, though I confess I left the guacamole alone and had some of my Mom’s homemade salsa that Stewart had brought with him from his last trip to the States. After dinner, Stewart and I took Meg, the dog, for a short walk and returned for a relaxing evening in from of the television, which Stewart attempted to teach me how to operate. They do have satellite, which receives CNN, BCC World, and a few movie and U.S. channels, primarily FOX World. Common U.S. shows on the schedule are House, NCIS, Bones, and all of the CSI shows.
It was a fairly quiet day, but an enjoyable one. I was feeling some jet lag still and forced myself to stay awake until ten o’clock before I collapsed into bed. My next day would be quite full as I planned to explore downtown Kumamoto, this time all by myself.
-Jenny
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
On The Other Side Of The World
I’m late- I’m late- for a very important…
So, before I tell y’all about my first few days in Japan, I should probably introduce the couple who have so graciously offered to house me and show me around. I’ve previously referred to them as my godparents, but that is only in the most figurative sense. I am not Catholic nor have I been raised Catholic. I call the Johnsons my godparents simply because that is the quickest, easiest way to get across the scope of their relationship to my family and me. So deal with it.
Stewart Johnson is an American boy, born in Texas and raised in Kansas. Nobuko (Nobie) is Japanese and went to America for college. She met Stewart and my Dad when they attended Ottawa University together - my Mom, the baby of the group, joined the club a little later. And the Johnsons and my parents have been close friends for over thirty years, though Stewart and Nobie have lived in Japan the vast majority of that time.
Well, that’s a brief sketch and I promise, you’ll learn more about them later, but back to my first adventures in Kumamoto –
Having arrived at midnight Friday evening / Saturday morning, I seem to have thankfully escaped all but the slightest sense of jetlag. I woke early on Saturday – as many of you may guess, early for me is about seven o’clock (godforsaken early is about six) - and had a nice morning with Stewart and Nobie drinking tea and catching up. Around ten, Stewart began my introduction to Japan by taking me to three different grocery stores.
The first was similar to Whole Foods or Henhouse as it catered to the upper middle class. And there I was induced by Stewart and a saleslady to try a sample of what looked like a ping-pong ball size of pink sugar. I was in the fish and seafood section, however, so I felt pretty confident that sugar it wasn’t. It indeed had a sugary texture, but tasted very salty with a peppery aftertaste. After I thanked the lady and Stewart and I moved on, he told me that I had sampled smoked, peppered roe of some sort, I think perhaps of mackerel.
And so I commence on my adventure with new foods - this is just the beginning.
As you might have guessed, Japanese grocery stores have a much larger fish and seafood section than the average Kansas grocery. Items like a wide variety of kelp and seaweed and what look like tiny dead minnows are common along with beautiful cuts of yellow-fin tuna and squid. Even items like salmon or halibut look different here. Whole packaged fish is pretty common along with cuts like the collar. In my experience so far, the Japanese tend to leave more bones in their fish at the supermarket, which they use for broth and such in their cooking. In the meats like beef, pork, and chicken however, they are often packaged in thin strips as may be used for shabu-shabu style of cooking. Even larger cuts like filet, cutlet, and roast are much smaller than I am used to.
The next stop we made was at a small village grocer, similar to what I imagine a corner grocer in New York City is like. With a beautiful display of produce just outside the door, inside was a smaller version of the first store with less variety focusing more on the essentials, which with milk and eggs still included a good amount of fish and large bags of rice - they sell rice in five pound bags here while sugar and flour are sold in small half-pound packages. The produce, however, was the star of this production - lots of citrus fruits that I didn’t quite recognize as well as huge apples and oranges. For some reason I thought fruit would be much smaller here than in the United States, not the genetic monsters that we see in an American supermarket, but not so. Some of these fruits are actually bigger and pretty than anything I'd find in the States. I'm not quite sure what to think about that, so I'll probably just ignore it. In fact, I’m actually eating one of these new citrus fruits for breakfast as I write this blog – a cross between an orange and a tangerine. Smaller than a regular orange, but much tastier. I don’t know the name. I’m also really excited to try a lot of the different fruits and vegetables – Japanese eggplant, taro, and lotus root.
And finally, we went to the average local grocery store – think IGA or Piggly Wiggly.
A section of the grocer that all of these stores share that I have yet to discuss is the pickle section. I’m sure most of you immediately think of pickled cucumbers. Y'all really need to work on your imaginations. Japanese will pickle anything and everything from the common things like onions, carrots, and beets to the more unusual like plums and taro root. Actually, I am sure the really unusual pickled items are escaping me right now. I've probably blocked them out. I’m not a big pickle person.
So, Stewart and I picked up couple packaged assortments of sashimi and sushi and went back home to meet Nobie for lunch. I ate several things that I had already had before like tuna and shrimp sashimi and vegetable sushi maki roll. I also tried a few new things like the common and not at all intimidating egg sashimi and the slightly more intimidating inari sushi, which is basically a dumpling of rice covered in tofu paste and fried - with liberal doses of soy sauce, not bad.
After lunch, Nobie went back to work preparing for an interpreting job she has next week on the subject of the Indian stock market. Doesn't that sound fascinating? Stewart and I sat around a talked before catching a train to downtown Kumamoto around five o’clock and walking around the shopping area. I did this again on my own a few days later and will go into more detail then. We also walked nearby to the Kumamoto Castle, which looked very cool all lit up in the nighttime. I took a picture, but it didn’t really come out, so when I go back to really explore the castle, I’ll be sure to take lots of pictures. It really is very cool. Yes, I will Mom. I promise.
As we circled back to the train station, Stewart pointed out several art museums, the civic center where he attends concerts occasionally, and the Kumamoto International Center. Cha-Ching! Though it was around 8:30 in the evening, we went into the lobby of the KIC and Stewart showed me the bulletin boards where jobs and things are posted. I am planning to go back in the next week or so to check it out more and write down some of the job opportunities to inquire after. I also want to check to see if there are any social groups for the gaijin (foreigners) in Kumamoto.
When we finally wandered back home, Nobie laid out for dinner the leftover sashimi and sushi from lunch as well as a nice cabbage salad dressed with kind of an Italian dressing, and as is traditional with almost any Japanese meal - a bowl of rice. This particular bowl of rice was a mixture of red, white, and wild rice as well as some small bits of a kind of potato-like tuber – the Johnson special blend, I was told. It was all delicious.
I had a full day and now with a full belly, I was incredibly tired and soon wished my hosts a good night and hit the sack.
As so my first day in Japan was complete. It only gets better.
-Jenny
So, before I tell y’all about my first few days in Japan, I should probably introduce the couple who have so graciously offered to house me and show me around. I’ve previously referred to them as my godparents, but that is only in the most figurative sense. I am not Catholic nor have I been raised Catholic. I call the Johnsons my godparents simply because that is the quickest, easiest way to get across the scope of their relationship to my family and me. So deal with it.
Stewart Johnson is an American boy, born in Texas and raised in Kansas. Nobuko (Nobie) is Japanese and went to America for college. She met Stewart and my Dad when they attended Ottawa University together - my Mom, the baby of the group, joined the club a little later. And the Johnsons and my parents have been close friends for over thirty years, though Stewart and Nobie have lived in Japan the vast majority of that time.
Well, that’s a brief sketch and I promise, you’ll learn more about them later, but back to my first adventures in Kumamoto –
Having arrived at midnight Friday evening / Saturday morning, I seem to have thankfully escaped all but the slightest sense of jetlag. I woke early on Saturday – as many of you may guess, early for me is about seven o’clock (godforsaken early is about six) - and had a nice morning with Stewart and Nobie drinking tea and catching up. Around ten, Stewart began my introduction to Japan by taking me to three different grocery stores.
The first was similar to Whole Foods or Henhouse as it catered to the upper middle class. And there I was induced by Stewart and a saleslady to try a sample of what looked like a ping-pong ball size of pink sugar. I was in the fish and seafood section, however, so I felt pretty confident that sugar it wasn’t. It indeed had a sugary texture, but tasted very salty with a peppery aftertaste. After I thanked the lady and Stewart and I moved on, he told me that I had sampled smoked, peppered roe of some sort, I think perhaps of mackerel.
And so I commence on my adventure with new foods - this is just the beginning.
As you might have guessed, Japanese grocery stores have a much larger fish and seafood section than the average Kansas grocery. Items like a wide variety of kelp and seaweed and what look like tiny dead minnows are common along with beautiful cuts of yellow-fin tuna and squid. Even items like salmon or halibut look different here. Whole packaged fish is pretty common along with cuts like the collar. In my experience so far, the Japanese tend to leave more bones in their fish at the supermarket, which they use for broth and such in their cooking. In the meats like beef, pork, and chicken however, they are often packaged in thin strips as may be used for shabu-shabu style of cooking. Even larger cuts like filet, cutlet, and roast are much smaller than I am used to.
The next stop we made was at a small village grocer, similar to what I imagine a corner grocer in New York City is like. With a beautiful display of produce just outside the door, inside was a smaller version of the first store with less variety focusing more on the essentials, which with milk and eggs still included a good amount of fish and large bags of rice - they sell rice in five pound bags here while sugar and flour are sold in small half-pound packages. The produce, however, was the star of this production - lots of citrus fruits that I didn’t quite recognize as well as huge apples and oranges. For some reason I thought fruit would be much smaller here than in the United States, not the genetic monsters that we see in an American supermarket, but not so. Some of these fruits are actually bigger and pretty than anything I'd find in the States. I'm not quite sure what to think about that, so I'll probably just ignore it. In fact, I’m actually eating one of these new citrus fruits for breakfast as I write this blog – a cross between an orange and a tangerine. Smaller than a regular orange, but much tastier. I don’t know the name. I’m also really excited to try a lot of the different fruits and vegetables – Japanese eggplant, taro, and lotus root.
And finally, we went to the average local grocery store – think IGA or Piggly Wiggly.
A section of the grocer that all of these stores share that I have yet to discuss is the pickle section. I’m sure most of you immediately think of pickled cucumbers. Y'all really need to work on your imaginations. Japanese will pickle anything and everything from the common things like onions, carrots, and beets to the more unusual like plums and taro root. Actually, I am sure the really unusual pickled items are escaping me right now. I've probably blocked them out. I’m not a big pickle person.
So, Stewart and I picked up couple packaged assortments of sashimi and sushi and went back home to meet Nobie for lunch. I ate several things that I had already had before like tuna and shrimp sashimi and vegetable sushi maki roll. I also tried a few new things like the common and not at all intimidating egg sashimi and the slightly more intimidating inari sushi, which is basically a dumpling of rice covered in tofu paste and fried - with liberal doses of soy sauce, not bad.
After lunch, Nobie went back to work preparing for an interpreting job she has next week on the subject of the Indian stock market. Doesn't that sound fascinating? Stewart and I sat around a talked before catching a train to downtown Kumamoto around five o’clock and walking around the shopping area. I did this again on my own a few days later and will go into more detail then. We also walked nearby to the Kumamoto Castle, which looked very cool all lit up in the nighttime. I took a picture, but it didn’t really come out, so when I go back to really explore the castle, I’ll be sure to take lots of pictures. It really is very cool. Yes, I will Mom. I promise.
As we circled back to the train station, Stewart pointed out several art museums, the civic center where he attends concerts occasionally, and the Kumamoto International Center. Cha-Ching! Though it was around 8:30 in the evening, we went into the lobby of the KIC and Stewart showed me the bulletin boards where jobs and things are posted. I am planning to go back in the next week or so to check it out more and write down some of the job opportunities to inquire after. I also want to check to see if there are any social groups for the gaijin (foreigners) in Kumamoto.
When we finally wandered back home, Nobie laid out for dinner the leftover sashimi and sushi from lunch as well as a nice cabbage salad dressed with kind of an Italian dressing, and as is traditional with almost any Japanese meal - a bowl of rice. This particular bowl of rice was a mixture of red, white, and wild rice as well as some small bits of a kind of potato-like tuber – the Johnson special blend, I was told. It was all delicious.
I had a full day and now with a full belly, I was incredibly tired and soon wished my hosts a good night and hit the sack.
As so my first day in Japan was complete. It only gets better.
-Jenny
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Across the Ocean
After about 20 hours of travel and another eight hours of undisturbed sleep in an actual bed, I can safely say that I am alive and well in Kumamoto, Japan.
A suggestion to anyone planning to take a similar journey overseas: Schedule layovers of at least two hours on domestic flights and at least three hours on international flights.
My flight from Kansas City to Chicago was on time. However, I only had a forty-minute layover, so by the time I found my gate for my flight to Tokyo, it was already boarding and I didn’t have anytime to grab a soda or snack from any shop or check my laptop for an update on the KU game. Go Jayhawks! Instead, I walked straight onto the huge Boeing 777 for my 13-hour flight.
I always have a moment of ‘What the hell am I doing? I must have been nuts to think this was a good idea. I’ll just have to turn straight around and go back home.” This moment happened as my flight to Tokyo was taxi-ing down the runway and I was squashed in a middle seat of a five-seat row in the middle of the plane.
Side note: Sitting directly behind me was a tall Asian man with the greatest mullet I have ever seen – apologies to Billy Ray – and wearing a denim members only jacket with a red shooting target and two crossing rifles embroidered on the sleeve, underneath were the words ‘Top Gun Champion 2003, 2004.’ Awesome.
Back to my mini meltdown. My plans to turn directly around and head back home had disappeared about three hours into the flight, as I decided there was no way in hell I was subjecting myself to this horror again anytime soon.
About two hours into the flight, we were served lunch. I was given the completely un-illuminating choice of chicken or beef. I choose chicken, which turned out to be Chicken Curry. Though only slightly edible, I still believe I made the correct choice after viewing the still unidentifiable beef dish my companions on either side were served. About halfway across the Pacific, we received a snack composed of ramen noodles, though I politely declined, the smell surrounding me turning my stomach that was already tied in knots. And finally, about an hour from Tokyo, we got one more meal. This one was either hot ham and cheese sandwich or vegetarian lasagna. It is difficult to screw up ham and cheese, though they did their level best. It stopped me from devouring my shoe at any rate, which I suppose is an airline culinary success.
I said that this last meal came about an hour from Tokyo, which is literally correct. Unfortunately, it would be another two hours before we touched down. After about twenty minutes past our intended arrival time, the captain finally came over the intercom to announce that we had been put in a holding pattern above the airport because of high winds. Many false starts and thirty minutes later, we touched down in the Tokyo-Narita Airport; fifty minutes late with only forty-five minutes to my connecting flight.
Anyone who has gone through customs knows my story by now. With our delay, my flight arrived with three others combining to form a never-ending line at customs. It moved pretty fast, but by the time my passport was stamped and I got my luggage through declaration, I had missed my flight to Fukuoka by twenty minutes.
I have to admit that after fourteen hours in the air another hour in customs hell, I was quite agitated. The help I received from the Japanese airport workers however was incredibly helpful and did a lot to bring me back from the ledge. Though I am sure the help I inquired after never quite fell into the job descriptions of any of the people I asked, they were all super polite and helped this poor, ignorant American get where I needed to go.
And where I need to go was another flight to Fukuoka leaving in a little over an hour on a different airline and all the way across the airport at a different terminal. I didn’t have any trouble catching this flight, though my trouble was now in getting the message to my godfather who was waiting for me on the flight I missed. I tried to call his wife at home, but couldn’t figure out the phones at the Tokyo Airport. They wouldn’t accept my AT&T calling card nor would it take the 100-yen coin I tried to use. Not wanting to miss my plane, I left the phones and tried to leave a message for him at the ticket counter. Their polite assurances that they would try to get the message to him didn’t fill me with encouragement. I was almost there, however, and just had one more flight to go.
The flight from Tokyo to Fukuoka was only about an hour and a half and blissfully uneventful. I had a window seat and no companion in the aisle seat next to me, so I stretched out and laid down the entire flight.
Of course, when I arrived in Fukuoka, my godfather was not there. Having been told by the ticket counter that I had canceled my previous flight, he was on his way home. Thankfully, I was able to get through on the phones at the Fukuoka Airport and called his wife who told me which bus and bus-stop to take to get to Kumamoto and assured me that my godfather would be there to pick me up. So, yet another form of transportation had entered the mix and this time there were no English translations accompanying the announcements in Japanese. Again, another polite Japanese woman went out of her way to help me out. Seeing me clutching a piece of paper with my bus stop written in Kanji and English and with out a doubt looking incredible nervous, she promised to tell me when my stop came.
Finally, an hour and a half later, my bus stopped and I got off. My Godfather was waiting and drove me to his home only a few minutes away. It was now midnight in Japan and as I said earlier I had been traveling for about twenty hours. I said quick hellos to my godparents, was introduced to their dog and home, and fell in bed.
More to come: My first day in Japan.
A suggestion to anyone planning to take a similar journey overseas: Schedule layovers of at least two hours on domestic flights and at least three hours on international flights.
My flight from Kansas City to Chicago was on time. However, I only had a forty-minute layover, so by the time I found my gate for my flight to Tokyo, it was already boarding and I didn’t have anytime to grab a soda or snack from any shop or check my laptop for an update on the KU game. Go Jayhawks! Instead, I walked straight onto the huge Boeing 777 for my 13-hour flight.
I always have a moment of ‘What the hell am I doing? I must have been nuts to think this was a good idea. I’ll just have to turn straight around and go back home.” This moment happened as my flight to Tokyo was taxi-ing down the runway and I was squashed in a middle seat of a five-seat row in the middle of the plane.
Side note: Sitting directly behind me was a tall Asian man with the greatest mullet I have ever seen – apologies to Billy Ray – and wearing a denim members only jacket with a red shooting target and two crossing rifles embroidered on the sleeve, underneath were the words ‘Top Gun Champion 2003, 2004.’ Awesome.
Back to my mini meltdown. My plans to turn directly around and head back home had disappeared about three hours into the flight, as I decided there was no way in hell I was subjecting myself to this horror again anytime soon.
About two hours into the flight, we were served lunch. I was given the completely un-illuminating choice of chicken or beef. I choose chicken, which turned out to be Chicken Curry. Though only slightly edible, I still believe I made the correct choice after viewing the still unidentifiable beef dish my companions on either side were served. About halfway across the Pacific, we received a snack composed of ramen noodles, though I politely declined, the smell surrounding me turning my stomach that was already tied in knots. And finally, about an hour from Tokyo, we got one more meal. This one was either hot ham and cheese sandwich or vegetarian lasagna. It is difficult to screw up ham and cheese, though they did their level best. It stopped me from devouring my shoe at any rate, which I suppose is an airline culinary success.
I said that this last meal came about an hour from Tokyo, which is literally correct. Unfortunately, it would be another two hours before we touched down. After about twenty minutes past our intended arrival time, the captain finally came over the intercom to announce that we had been put in a holding pattern above the airport because of high winds. Many false starts and thirty minutes later, we touched down in the Tokyo-Narita Airport; fifty minutes late with only forty-five minutes to my connecting flight.
Anyone who has gone through customs knows my story by now. With our delay, my flight arrived with three others combining to form a never-ending line at customs. It moved pretty fast, but by the time my passport was stamped and I got my luggage through declaration, I had missed my flight to Fukuoka by twenty minutes.
I have to admit that after fourteen hours in the air another hour in customs hell, I was quite agitated. The help I received from the Japanese airport workers however was incredibly helpful and did a lot to bring me back from the ledge. Though I am sure the help I inquired after never quite fell into the job descriptions of any of the people I asked, they were all super polite and helped this poor, ignorant American get where I needed to go.
And where I need to go was another flight to Fukuoka leaving in a little over an hour on a different airline and all the way across the airport at a different terminal. I didn’t have any trouble catching this flight, though my trouble was now in getting the message to my godfather who was waiting for me on the flight I missed. I tried to call his wife at home, but couldn’t figure out the phones at the Tokyo Airport. They wouldn’t accept my AT&T calling card nor would it take the 100-yen coin I tried to use. Not wanting to miss my plane, I left the phones and tried to leave a message for him at the ticket counter. Their polite assurances that they would try to get the message to him didn’t fill me with encouragement. I was almost there, however, and just had one more flight to go.
The flight from Tokyo to Fukuoka was only about an hour and a half and blissfully uneventful. I had a window seat and no companion in the aisle seat next to me, so I stretched out and laid down the entire flight.
Of course, when I arrived in Fukuoka, my godfather was not there. Having been told by the ticket counter that I had canceled my previous flight, he was on his way home. Thankfully, I was able to get through on the phones at the Fukuoka Airport and called his wife who told me which bus and bus-stop to take to get to Kumamoto and assured me that my godfather would be there to pick me up. So, yet another form of transportation had entered the mix and this time there were no English translations accompanying the announcements in Japanese. Again, another polite Japanese woman went out of her way to help me out. Seeing me clutching a piece of paper with my bus stop written in Kanji and English and with out a doubt looking incredible nervous, she promised to tell me when my stop came.
Finally, an hour and a half later, my bus stopped and I got off. My Godfather was waiting and drove me to his home only a few minutes away. It was now midnight in Japan and as I said earlier I had been traveling for about twenty hours. I said quick hellos to my godparents, was introduced to their dog and home, and fell in bed.
More to come: My first day in Japan.
Monday, March 10, 2008
A New World
Here I am, the newest member of the blogsphere.
I'm leaving for Kumamoto, Japan in less than two weeks, but come back from that ledge! I haven't abandoned you. You can visit 'A Jayhawk in Japan' to hear all of my inspired insights and deep contemplations. But first, I have to go and think of some, so until later...
- Jenny
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