The Great Disappointment

Really, I don't want to spend too much time on this story, but hell, I guess it's worth a mention. After careful planning, four of the Adventure Friends team I assembled and I boarded a bus to Matsumoto city, where we were bound for an abandoned school for North Koreans. For many amongst the them, it was supposed to be their first step into the crazy world of urban exploration.

Familiar faces and new - Erika, Agha, Millo and Christina are four of the Adventure Friends.

This "land for sale" sign was all that remained.

 But our lead turned out to be a dud. That's right - after a three hour bus ride to Matsumoto, we walked a half hour only to realize that the place had been demolished. What a letdown! Especially considering the round trip was 6100¥. Yikes. In my own defense though, the place had been abandoned and stood where it was since 1998. Satellite pictures on Google Maps still had it standing where it was. We must have missed it by a hair.
So the rest of that night, the Adventure Friends and I wandered around the city and ended up in a karaoke joint for a few hours until we boarded our bus back to Tokyo. It was fun, just not 6100¥ fun. Still, I have lots in mind for the group I created. They're all awesome people, so in time we'll head out again and have ourselves a real adventure.

A Matter of Personal History

In the week before I left Montreal to set out for Japan, my mother entrusted me with a guidebook, upon the first page of which she wrote a phone number. "Try calling this number if you're ever stuck and in need of a job," she said. Though time did pass, I eventually managed to find myself employment, and so I never had to resort to it.
 Recently, though, my mother and stepfather have come to Japan for a three week visit. It was a good ride, and they managed to see quite a few of Japan's sightseeing power spots before spending some time in Tokyo, where I frequently joined them for more exploration of the capital. But one thing on our to-do list stood out from the rest, in that its purpose wasn't sightseeing at all, but much more personal than that.
31 years ago, my mother had made her way to Japan much like I did, and found herself working in a German restaurant in Tsukuba, Ibaraki. The place was owned by a Japanese man who had developed a liking for foreigners over the years, and kept the restaurant running through his own personal funds. It was a place where visitors to Japan had a chance to find employment, the phone number for which my mother had given me before my own very first steps here.
 Though Tsukuba is far from being the tiny little suburb it was back in the 80's, the restaurant, named Elbe, still remains where it was when it opened. But upon finding it, most of the whole building it was in was changed, and the restaurant itself wasn't without its own renovations. What mattered, though, was that it still stood.
 My mother and stepfather and I took a few steps inside, and were greeted by unfamiliar faces. It figured that the staff would be completely different.

And though I explained my mother's story, how she had been working at this very place 30-some years ago, it was all the manager could do to nod and answer my mother's questions. The owner, it had seemed, was sick and home-bound, his wife had passed away, and the rest of the staff had long since quit. It was all kind of sobering.
 But then an older man stuck his head out of the kitchen - and my mother beamed at the sight of the very same chef who had worked the kitchens those three decades ago. The reunion was heartfelt. We were sat down, given tea, and memories were exchanged between my mother and the wizened old chef. And hearing about those old days was significant for me, too. After all, this was the restaurant where my mother had met the man who would become my father some ten years later.

The staff at Elbe, with my mother in the center right.

We left Tsukuba quite content that day. Even for me, it felt like things were put into their proper place.

Legacy

Kikuko and Dario.

Not a week ago, Mira Lupoli was born to my good friend Dario and his wife Kikuko. They were unsure whether it would be a boy or a girl until the birth, and were struggling to find names for the child that would fit both in Japan and Italy. I'm glad they pulled it off.
 I went in for a visit with Papa Lo and Haruka, along with their kid Leon. The newborn is healthy, and Dario seemed ecstatic. So that's the second of my friends to have a child in 2014.
Though the parents would rather not have pictures of the baby on the internet, I can assure you she's pretty cute, and she definitely looks like her father. 

Baby Leon is doing great, too.

Canadian Style Poutine?

Nope. It would've been too good to be true.

New Beginnings (For Some More Than Others)

Awh yeah, I'm uncle Sean now.

On New Year's Day, Leon Hayato Lo was born to my good friend Jean-Paul and his newly-wed wife, Haruka Mizonoguchi. I was happy to hold the child, who was delivered healthily and without complication. I've never had a close friend become a father, and I was oddly proud to be the first one there when I got the news.
It's kind of a nice way to start a year. Hopefully, it means big changes are coming. Congratulations to the young couple. Henceforth, Lo will now be permanently referred to as Papa Lo.

On a side-note, the three last posts weren't very travel-based, but I'll be catching up to that by posting about a recent trip I made to the Chugoku province very soon! The next few days will be packed with updates. Keep up if you can!

Anecdote: Happy Holidays

Merry Christmas guys, and happy holidays and all that. This picture was taken and put up together by my workmate.
Anecdotally, I was Santa Claus for the Christmas party we hosted for the babies. When I walked out the door, they started screaming and crying hysterically, because I looked like some kind of big red monster to them with my beard. Parents, on the other hand, were laughing out loud at the world's smallest Santa Claus. It was either gonna be me or a woman, so you play with the hand you're dealt, right?

Anecdote: It Snowed in Tokyo

Workmates and I

Today we got heavy snow. If my memory serves me right, we only had three such days last year.
 Tokyo ain't properly equipped to handle heavy snowfall, so it kind of just piles up everywhere and ruins it for the working man. Train lines stop and the streets bloat up with traffic. Boo.
 In one class, only one kid out of ten showed up and pooped himself and left the class early. It was awkward in an interesting way.

Anecdote: Names Rich People Give Kids

Only in my work location in Hiroo, Minato-district, considered to be one of the richest districts in Tokyo, do I ever encounter children (or even people in general) with such colorful names as:

1: Plus
2: Atom
3: Knight
4: Cougar
5: Atticus

Mind you, these are Japanese kids. Those aren't translations of their names, those are their actual names.

 "Takayuki! Kana! Cougar! Get over here!"

Anecdote: Honesty

Unrelated: Best Fortune!

After seeing Canti off in that horrible rain the other day, everything on me was completely soaked. The water had penetrated even my wallet and dampened every bill. The next day, while trying to buy a drink in a vending machine, the damned contraption swallowed my 1000¥ (12$) and wouldn't spit it out. Lucky, Ken was around and called the number on the machine.
 "We'll refund you that money," they said without any demand of proof. Sure as hell, they took my address, and two days later, a letter came to me with an apology from the company and 1000¥ inside. People are either naive or honest here, but I'm thinking it's the latter.

Anecdote: Familiarity

Today I was working at a different branch of my workplace than my usual one.
 While running Jungle Time (free-play time), I notice one 3 or 4-year old boy doing nothing but running around the gym in a circle while making his own sound-effects (eg; pew-pew, bang bang, crash, bam!) He had slightly darker skin and curly hair. At one point, another kid happened to be standing in his way, so the curly-haired boy shoved him on the ground and kept running in circles.

 It's like I traveled back-in time and met my brother from 16 years ago.

#alangoharzadeh

Colors

(This picture is unrelated.)

Today was a regular day at work. I was running a free-play time. Generally, it's an easy 45 minutes of light work. Just being around the children, being there in case there's an accident. But the parents are also present, so my job is made that much easier. I greet the parents and tickle a child here and there.
 I recall I was thinking of something completely generic, along the lines of what it was I would be eating, when I feel a light tug on my hand. I look down.
 It's a little girl I know quite well. She has the cutest laugh. Her entire face lifts when she smiles. She's not quite 2-years old yet, but she's quite vocal. Her whole hand is wrapped around two of my fingers.
 "Hey there!" I beam at her. She giggles and pulls me along. "Where are we going?" It's not like I expect an answer. I have to bend down for her to hold me by the hand. Although she's running, I cover her tiny steps in just a few of my own strides.
 We arrive at the base of a folded gymnastics mattress. It's just about one foot high. She climbs up and beckons me to step on top as well. And then she jumps off with her stubby little legs. Landing, she looks at me.
 "Jump!" she says -- one of the English words she picked up. I do as told. Her shrill laughter can probably be heard from across the room. Satisfied, she grabs the two fingers of my left hand again, and runs to the next point of interest.
 This one happens to be a small tunnel, intended for children to crawl through. Its diameter is probably the same as that of my shoulders. Of course, she fits inside like a jellybean in a roll of toilet paper. To her, the tunnel is huge, and me, I'm the smallest of her "big friends." She's convinced I can fit inside. I awkwardly try. My shoulders get stuck inside, but I manage to crawl through, much to the girl's delight. I'm not even standing up yet, that she grabs my hand again and starts running, letting go half-way. But she's right to assume I'll follow her. I'm curious as to what she wants to have me do next.
 She looks at me as she jumps into the ball pit. As I stand nearby, she fishes out two larger soft balls, and hands those to me. She then picks two smaller ones out for herself. Then, taking the two balls she's holding in her tiny hands, she presses them to her head.
 "Minnie Mouse," she says.
 I get it. I press the two larger balls against my own head. "Mickey Mouse," I reply.
 "Minnie Mouse," she repeats.
 "Mickey Mouse."
 "Minnie Mouse."
 This goes on for a few minutes. At this point I'm smiling so wide my face hurts. And I just can't help it. It felt like when I was laughing the whole world was laughing with me.
  Slowly but surely, I'm rediscovering colors to my life I never noticed I had forgotten about. Everything else fades away when I'm given a chance at being a child one more time.

I Have Bubbles

Today a couples of buddies and I decided to walk around the Yamanote train line. We walked 50 kilometers over the course of 13 hours. I'll get into that sometime soon, but let me tell you, it was quite a trek.
 In the meantime, here are pictures of me blowing bubbles, a gift courtesy of a friend I recently made. I had lots of fun blowing them into large crowds of young people.

I also tried to show a kind police officer, but he seemed largely unimpressed with my display. I'm pretty sure I saw a smile creep up the side of his lips, but when I asked if I should continue he shook his head and made a shooing motion with his hand. I told him to have a happy day and went on my merry way.

I bet he was secretly happy.

A Handyman Briefly

Recently Erika moved and I was invited to help by taking down some walls and demolishing a few things from the old place.
 I was using a power saw and poisonous fumes were rising into my face, so Ken made me a Tupperware face shield thing.
 So here's a picture of me holding a power saw in one hand while wearing a Tupperware on my face.
 I think it exudes manliness.

Pullquote: Whitney Houston

I don't want to give this too much attention for the wrong reason, but yesterday just after finishing a class, a parent put his hand on my shoulder and said to me, "Whitney Houston just died!"
 After he walked away, I let slip an "Oh, wow."
 One of my coworkers heard this and said, "I know, shocking, right?"
 To which I replied, "Yeah, that people here actually have heard of Whitney Houston."

Julian is Sad

This is Julian's sad face.
Julian is paid 10$ an hour to walk dogs and clean a guesthouse. However easy that may seem, all is not perfect beneath the hermetic-looking exterior.
Today, as Julian was doing his daily routine, his canine friend decided to take a dump. And so, holding himself responsible to do what every dog owner (temporary or not) should do, Julian bagged the stool and went on his merry way, leash in hand.
However, my dog shit story ends not here!
For, you see, the dog had defecated in front of someone's lawn!

"But Sean," you may ask, "In front of the lawn? Not on the lawn?"
"Correct!" I would earnestly respond. "On the street in front of the lawn which is in front of the house!"
No big deal, one would assume, especially since Julian picked up the shit. But one would assume wrongly! For, you see, the man who owned that house was watching! And, after said man made a quick inspection of the spot the shit was, and found it not clean enough to his liking, the man furiously dialed the number of Julian's boss, and complained, threatening to call the police if such a thing were to happen again! And the boss came down upon Julian with the fury of a thousand suns.
Long story short, Julian got scolded for not picking shit properly enough. This is why Japan is clean.

Night Out at Stella

Julian and I were invited today to go out with Mr Bobby and Kimura-san to a small bar in Asakusa named Stella. Seeing as we never got the chance to really hang out with them despite knowing them for a couple of months, we couldn't pass up on the chance, and so the four of us took bikes from New Koyo and rode out to Asakusa, which isn't too far away from our neighborhood, and a short 10 minute ride in the night air took us straight there.

I was surprised to find the place mostly attracted a younger age group of hip-hop oriented people than I had originally expected by accompanying Mr Bobby and Kimura-san. Stella isn't anywhere close to being as big as Womb or Unit, but it does have a dance floor. 

Alas, tragedy struck that night; the saddest thing perhaps that had happened to me since coming here.

As I was sipping from my Red Bull (in case you were wondering what a non-drinker orders at a bar) while talking to Mr Bobby, the young lady in green (pictured on the right) sat down next to me and tried to engage in conversation!

It went something like this; note that the text in italic is all spoken in Japanese.

Girl in Green: Hey!

Me: Oh hey, good evening.

GiG (smiling): [something something] dancing. [something something something.]

Me: Oh, err, I'm unfortunately Canadian. My Japanese sucks.

GiG (surprised): Oh? Really? You're Canadian?

Me: Yeah. My Japanese is terrible. Do you speak English?

GiG: Nope, not at all...

Me: Ah, that's too bad.

GiG (smiling, gesturing towards the dance floor): [Something something something] there. [Something something] yeah?

Me: Err, yeah! It's fun!

(She gets up and goes to the dance floor.)

I assumed she was asking how I liked it. I'll try not to torture myself by wondering what else she might have meant, but, damn it, I have to learn more Japanese.

Anticlimatic

This picture is unrelated.

As most of you know, I had an interview today.

 Ah, yeah. It kind of didn't happen. I got there 20 minutes early and looked around for 50 minutes. I couldn't find the office.
 But wait! It's not as bad as it sounds (and neither am I as dumb as I sound!) It was a group interview and I had the option of going either today, tomorrow, or next Tuesday. What bothers me more is that even after having looked around for 50 minutes, I couldn't find the place! I was given a map!


 "But durr hurr Sean, why didn't you just memorize the address," you say. Well that's because Tokyo has no functional address system. I kid you not. No one knows the addresses of anything, nor do they give addresses. I wasn't given an address. Just a map of the location. I was expecting some kind of sign or something.

 All in all, I spent an hour shaving myself clean and dressing up and all that jazz, took a 40 minute train across Tokyo for 5$, looked around for fifty minutes, gave up, sat myself down in a KFC, ate, and took the train back for another 5$. And I have to do it again tomorrow. What a drag.

On a side note, I'm supposed to get called within the week for details regarding a different interview for a different job. This one involves teaching fitness and arts and crafts to children between 2 and 12, for 19$ to 55$ an hour (kind of a wide gap, I know. I'm curious about that too.) More on that soon.

Jyu Go

I was at a McDonald's just now, trying to cash in on a sweet deal. Five McNuggets for 1,25$. So I went up to the cash, and asked for "Jyu-go (fifteen) McNuggets," to which the guy replied.
"Jyu go?"

"Yes," I confirmed.
(In Japanese) "That will be 1000yen."

To this I was puzzled, but I figured the deal was over. I made no fuss and gave him 1000 yen.
"For here or to go?"
"For here."
He looks at me like I said something funny. And then I got this.

Because instead of "Jyu-go" - Fifteen pieces, he thought I meant "Jyu go" - Ten Five. As in, ten boxes of five. I now have my lunch and dinner for tomorrow.

The Old Man Who Plays Koi Koi

The other day we caught a little rain. It was good weather for staying in and not doing shit.
 I bought a set of secondhand Japanese Hanafuda cards, having left mine at home.
 The only Hanafuda game I know how to play is Koi Koi, so we got to that.
As I taught Kris to play, an elderly man sat down beside him, and, after a few rounds, urged Kris to move over so that he could play in his place, shooing him like a raccoon.
 He taught me to shuffle and distribute the cards the traditional way, and we played a few quick rounds.
 At the end of the game, I put my hand on his shoulder and called him "Koi Koi ga suki na ojii-san" (Grandpa who enjoys Koi Koi) to which he replied in Japanese, "I'm not your ojii-san (grandpa), I'm your onii-san (brother.)"

 That's how I met Miyamoto-san, the Old Man who Plays Koi Koi, two days ago. He's a sweet old man who loves pointing out at what we are eating ("That there is yakisoba"), and flirting with the 40-some year old Kenyan nurse who some times uses the computer in the lobby.