Japan for a month
An alley of nameless tourist shops, go left. A gas station. Weird hotels. A graveyard. An array of private businesses that look as if they had been there forever. I tried to act as if I knew where I was going. I tried to ask a group of Japanese people. They literally just stared at me. “Okay, no problem,” I thought.
I went to Japan hoping to take ballet or any dance classes there, but that eventually got pushed to the side after realizing that they weren’t as readily available, compared to the US, and dance itself is kind of frowned upon in general.
Summer 2016
(click on photos to enlarge)
I meant to write about this experience much sooner than I have. I had been so travel exhausted in general and continued working an incomprehensible amount of hours that I never had the time to decompress and write. I was too rushed and flustered. I kept a journal but found myself unable to write much on my travels. I would hope it would just stay within me and I would be able to express it better at a later time.
I ended up writing about this over the course of a few years, but I wish I would have been able to write about it more, while I was there.
So, let's start off by saying, I planned Tokyo on a total whim. I didn't plan much and I couldn't due to lack of internet and time. I was working in Alaska at the time on the ocean with zero internet and zero down time. Seeing some of the aftermath of the tsunami at the time, I guess it just was in the forward part of my brain.
I decided in a tiny fishing town in an even tinier library in Southeast Alaska: That's IT! I'm going to go to Tokyo!
So I bought a round trip ticket for a month in August.
Then it hit me how amazing it was going to be, however scared I was to experience an environment that I would have no real knowledge of.
So I worked up until the day of my flight, without a single day off and no real time to pack. I shoved all my clothes into my REI 65 liter bag and brought an additional backpack. I jumped on the plane on my 31st birthday and headed to a place that would change my life.
I had two connections from Sitka, Alaska, to Seattle, to LAX. Little did I read the fine print on my ticket that said I had 59 min to make an international connection.
Let me just tell you in case you don't know what that entails at LAX.
At LAX the international airport is not in the main airport. It's about a 45 min walk if you're lucky or in my case, a thirty minute SPRINT. I got out of the terminal expecting the connection to be right there. The flight attendants gave me a look when I inquired about my flight that said “You’re not going to make it in time.”
But another flight attendant stepped forward and gave me quick directions as if she believed I could do it. Then I felt like I could do it. So I grabbed my huge bags and made a run for it.
I made it to the international airport after looking frantic and freaking people out. There were so many people there! I was not going to miss this flight on my birthday!! I now had to find where exactly I had to go in the sea of international arrivals and departures. I went up an escalator knocking into people with my bags and found my airline. I had to wait EXTREMELY patiently as families from overseas with all of their belongings asked a million questions to the two airline attendants. Finally a spot opened up. I made a mad dash, where I got my boarding pass and had about twenty minutes to spare. They inform me I have to go through another security line.
No big deal.
I think.
I round the corner and the longggggggggest security line of my life. International people being patted down, the line moving at a snails pace. I'm dying. I'm sweating. And I'm about to cry. There was one extremely attractive security guy (welcome to Los Angeles) who made my wait a little better, by chatting me up with a killer smile and saying it was cool where I was going and how he thought it was admirable I decided to venture off solo. I tried to concentrate about getting my stuff through and yelled at him thank you as I made it through and ran to find my gate in a chaotic whirlwind. I made my flights with 5 minutes to spare and collapsed into my seat in the aisle.
So on my flight I was exhausted from working 9 weeks straight on the open ocean, where you think I would have passed out on my flight. But no, I couldn't sleep a drop on a 14 hour flight. I tried to learn Japanese on the video monitor, but I was too excited to pay attention. So instead I opted to watch the movie Unbroken, not having any previous idea what it was about. (Go figure)
Since it would be my birthday the next day I was super excited that I would get two birthdays since I was crossing time zones. Two birthdays in Japan. I mean what more could a girl ask for? I would get one on the plane and one the next day. Well, turns out I calculated wrong, when I left it was August 9th and when we landed it was August 11th. The universe had skipped my birthday completely. That's what you get when you think you know everything.
We finally landed at 7:30 pm and I was so ready to get off the plane. I made my way through customs after nervously filling out the paperwork. The way the English was worded on the customs forms was peculiar so it took me while to translate what they had meant. I made it out without any real issues, found my bag and now had to figure out the intimidating task of navigating the Japanese railway. I went to the currency exchange and got a couple hundred yen. I had previously bought a bunch of Japanese apps on my phone (translator, subway system map, currency exchange converter) all of them which did NOT work without WI-FI. Which I ultimately learned, WI-FI would not be available throughout the length of my stay in Tokyo, besides Starbucks or a hostel. 4G phones did not work (at the time) with Japanese WI-FI. (UPDATE: you can now access wi-fi in Japan) You can buy a disposable phone there, but really it's not that big of a deal. I survived without it.
This lady patiently explained to me what rail stop to stand under, and how to get down there. I repeated it back about five times to make sure. I was headed to Asakusa, (pronounced a-sock-sa not a-sa-koo-sa) but because it was so late, I had to make a transfer.
I think my ticket was approximately ten US dollars. I nervously tried to find my stop and finally did. Also, I was drenched in sweat from my Alaskan clothes. (Just a side note: I completely underestimated the weather and it was extremely hot the entire month of August. I had to cut my clothes to have things to wear.)
So I waited at the stop and looked around for the first time. Everything was impeccable, immaculately clean. Everyone was dressed polished, simple and modern. There were vending machines with Japanese soda and coffee drinks everywhere, on every side of every block. The vending machines look a bit child like at first. Bright colors and almost a synthetic appearance. I felt like I didn't fit in...immediately.
My train arrived and I boarded with my too big tourist bags. I thought in my head everyone would want to talk to ME (since I obviously look out of place) and ask about MY travels. No one even looked at me. Everyone was on their phones like robots.... well so it seemed to me that way considering I just came from complete remote isolation in Alaska. The automatic train computer voice bounded on and on in a bubbly Japanese voice. I had no clue what they were saying. I desperately looked around for English. Nothing. So every time the train stopped I manically searched out the window for the stop name. I finally got to the transfer point after an hour and then made it to Asaskusa.
In Tokyo, you will walk more than you ever have in your entire lifetime. You know in the states you can just exit the subway? In Tokyo, you will get off the train and go up and down numerous sets of stairs and walk down countless hallways before you find the sun again.
When I exited the Asakusa stop, it was about 85-90 degrees. As I previously stated, I had my Alaskan gear on and needless to say I was dying. I got a few smirks from some foreigners as I got off the train and turned onto the first street that I didn't even recognize it as a street. By this point, nothing is really in English. So, using my handy paper map as the only reference, I turned this way and that, and walked up a few alleys, almost got nailed by a bicycle, had to stop in a pharmacy (or what I think was a pharmacy) to ask for directions. I remember seeing a big Ferris wheel and hearing the universal excited screams of people at a carnival (this distinct noise I would become familiar with as I would hear it day and night for weeks to come outside of my hostel window) and finally made it to the hostel, that was nestled in an alleyway. The receptionists seemed amused at the sight of me and ran to get me a water, the first act of kind Japanese hospitality that made a distinct impression.
I am beyond relieved to arrive there, but so disheveled.
Imagine if you will....just to recap.
9 weeks at sea...in Alaska. No day off. The sun never truly setting. 16 hour days. A flight to Seattle. To LAX. An almost missed connection. Customs at LAX. A 14 hour flight on which I didn't sleep. Two train rides in about a hundred degree weather. And walking about ten blocks...in winter clothes and a 50lb bag.
I grabbed my room key and I knew this would be one crazy adventure.
This is obviously a wax statue.
The next morning, I was completely overwhelmed. I will never forget walking down the hallway stairs at the hostel and the lights changing with each step. The light gets brighter when you are walking and dims where you just left. Energy efficient lighting, even at a hostel. Welcome to Tokyo.
I couldn't exactly sleep well in the hostel, my roommates kept coming in and out at all hours. They kept bringing stuff in plastic bags in, and up into their bed rustling around. This was a trend for the entirety of my stay in Japan. I later figured out some Japanese people temporarily stay in hostels in Tokyo and I could only best figure out it was their groceries/snacks they were eating in bed.
So still after not being able to sleep that well and flustered with my phone not working, I said screw it and got up at 7am. I decided to try to use a payphone. First I had to find where to buy a pay phone card. Turns out you can buy them at 7 11, which is a whole different concept compared to the 7 11s in the US. (7 11's originated in Japan, who knew?) So compared to the poorly kept convenience store as 7 11 is known for in the United States, in Tokyo they are IMMACULATELY clean with snacks, food and drink I have never seen in my lifetime. Every thing you buy is like a surprise.
It also turns out, not a lot of people ask for payphone cards so I struggled with trying to explain what I was looking for to the cashier. He finally understood and sold me a 20 US dollar phone card. I bring it back to the hostel and insert it into the phone in the proper slot. I am greeted by a rambling Japanese prompt, then an English one.
I punch in the card number.
Wait for a prompt. Dial the country code 1.
Then the number. It doesn't work.
I try again. This time country code 001 then the number. Then I ask the front desk at the hostel. They have no clue. Upon each failed attempt I hear the same message in Japanese, although I do not speak Japanese, tones can be universal and I knew that meant my call had failed. I kept hanging up and trying a jumble of numbers. After about 20 minutes I'm getting upset. I am flustered because of the long flight. Lack of sleep. Cultural barriers. Communication barriers. And not knowing what to do when I am sleep deprived.
Also I want to call home. What’s worse in the entire world than wanting to call home and you can't?
I somehow magically dialed the right combination of (card number, dialing out, country code, phone number). I don't hear a ring but hear my mother's voice. "Hello." "Mom, it's me. I made it." I then hear a prompt saying after the call connected it used 17 of the 20 minutes to connect the call to the United States. "Shit." I say and tell her I love her and that I'm fine. That I will try to get another phone card and call her back tomorrow. "Okay, sweetie." She says.
I hang up and try to figure out how to make a local call with the right coins. It has to be EASIER. I needed to call the people I arranged to see here and I was excited and nervous all at the same time.
I have always looked up to Mother Teresa despite what the entire world has to say. It is on my list to visit Missionaries of Charity in Calcutta, India. But I knew at this point in my life I wasn’t ready to go to Calcutta just yet.
However, they have houses around the world that are set up in places of extreme poverty. I knew if I didn’t really have plans set in Tokyo that I wanted to be a part of their culture and community. I felt so drawn to contacting this place it’s as if I could think of nothing else. So I somehow had found an email on the internet to the Missionaries of Charity in Tokyo right before I left Alaska. I shot them a quick email and I got this response:
I am Brother Noas Minj,
you most welcome to Japan.
Month of August weather is hot in Japan, there will be guest in our house and we have very limited room but I think there will be no problem, let me know when you coming to japan.this is our tele no...
So upon realization that I didn’t write down the number, I email them from the hostel computer:
Dear Brother Noas,
I made it to Tokyo last night. I am staying in a hostel in Asakusa for a few days because I am very jet lagged. Where exactly is your building by? I am trying to figure it out.
I am staying by Sensoji temple place. Is that close to your building? Any detail would help. I plan on coming there sunday or monday....whichever is better.
Thank you.
I can laugh at this now and my naivety of how large Tokyo was and how I had
no clue.
View from sky tree tower, Tokyo
The funny thing about life is that things fall into place when you least expect it. It turns out I am in the exact part of Tokyo that the brothers are in. I have no clue the odds of this but I should think it should be equivalent of coming to the United States and having no idea what city you need to travel to. And picking Juneau, Alaska and having the brothers also be in Juneau, Alaska.
I get this reply:
Dear Jodie,
We are very near to you, by walk is 15 minutes, if you come here Monday is better for us, if you see my mail kindly call me or give me your Hotel telephone number,
br Noasmc
I print out a map of Asakusa. I head back to the phone. I am really excited to talk to them. Brother Noas answers in a Japanese greeting.
“Hello, it’ me, Jodie,” I say.
He tells me he is glad I made it and called. That yes, I can come by tomorrow and gives me the exact address. He tells me to call from a pay phone if I get lost. Okay I say (but cringe at the thought of using the pay phone again).
I ask the front desk about the address and they literally have no clue. The front desk doesn’t seem to very helpful so far. But it can’t be that hard to find this place right? Me, with no working cell phone and no idea how to read Japanese. I laugh again at my naivety of the overwhelmingly large and confusing city Tokyo is to navigate and I smile at remembering how I didn’t care that I didn’t think it was a big deal and I would find it first thing in the morning. But first, I ate some toast (since it was the only food I recognized) and took a shower and went to bed since I was on a different time zone still.
The next day when I headed out to go find the MT house I took a paper printed map since my phone wasn’t working. I also had the number to the MT house just in case I got lost. I walked towards the river in Asakusa. I generally have a sailors sense of direction but within two blocks I knew I was in trouble. I looked at the street names and my map and just kept heading in the direction I thought was correct. I would get to know this walk very well in the next month of my life. An alley of nameless tourist shops, go left. A gas station. Weird hotels. A graveyard. An array of private businesses that look as if they had been there forever. I tried to act as if I knew where I was going. I tried to ask a group of Japanese people. They literally just stared at me. “Okay, no problem,” I thought. The longer I walked, the more impoverished the area looked although nothing like poor areas in other countries. I must be going in the right direction. After an hour I was dying of the heat and felt like I was going in circles. I walked up an alleyway loitered with people sitting outside. It smelled heavily of alcohol and uncleanliness. I showed the people sitting in the alleyway the paper with the name and address. They stared at me. I said “Mother Teresa” in a bunch of different tones and hoping to strike a key of familiarity. One man stared at me, booze engulfing his breath, grabbed my paper and said “English English!” and started running away.
I ran after him and took it back. I was getting nowhere fast. I decide to go back on the Main Street and ask one of the seedy hotels for help. I took off my shoes and put on these sandals that I think I was supposed to put on. Once again, communication failure. They didn’t understand a lick of what I was saying. I think I looked as if I would cry.
I pointed to the phone and dialed the number. Brother Noas answered almost with a chuckle in his voice.
“I expected this call from you. Where are you?”
I told him the hotel name. He told me to look for a grocery store in the next few blocks and they were in the alley behind.
“Oh okay.” I said and hung up. Great. Another alleyway.
So I kept walking and walking and saw a grocery store or what I thought would be a grocery store. I walked around to the alley. I was starting to get turned around again and somehow I was back in the alleyway with the crazy guy who took my paper.
I sighed.
I walked a block more in the direction I hadn’t gone before. I saw what looked like a Mother Mary statue. I stopped. The building was square and dark grey. “I wonder…” I began to think. Then the door popped open, “Jodie welcome!”
It was brother Noas.
“Here come in and take your shoes off.” His kind eyes were a light grey and I smiled. I nervously took off my shoes. He handed me a pair of sandals from a cubby. The door was still open and I noticed the small silver plaque by the door.
Brother Noas seemed to be in a hurry.
“Sorry Jodie, I have to go to the bridge on my bike to our weekly spot.”
I looked out the doorway. The brothers were scrambling to climb on bikes with metal baskets filled with plastic containers.
“Do you want to come with us?” A small man with an adorable raspy voice asked me from afar.
“No thank you.” I said because I haven't rode a bike in so long. He smiled and they got on the bikes in their dark brown robes and left. I walked upstairs to the smell of delicious curry. I was sweating and nervous, guarding my backpack over cautiously as I noticed homeless wandering around the house. I put my bag in the corner of a small room and put my money in my bra.
I felt red in the face for having the thought of theft in such a place. And preventing the theft by sticking money in my BRA strap in a MOTHER TERESA house.
"What if I lost my money and I'm stuck in Japan?"
I argued with myself justifying my actions.
"What if the homeless steal my entire bag? "
“How silly am I being? I am at a Mother Teresa house and I’m scared and guarding my stuff? “
I kept the money next to my heart (the wrong place for it, truly.) Right then I looked up and snapped this photo. I almost forgot why I had came here all along.
While at the brothers house that day, I decided I would do my best to work fervently and positively. I helped prepare the meal, which was a curry dish, since rice is cheap and goes a long way to feed people. All the volunteers were from all over the world, were a bit shy to talk to at first, but were patient and had a certain glow. I chopped onions and ignored my overbearing, screaming intuition of "oh my gosh, no one is wearing gloves?!" and smiled as Brother Barnabas stared at me with kindness and curiosity. We cooked potatoes, rice, and a few varieties of vegetables that were thrown in a giant pot to stew. I remember sweating profusely, and having to take off my jacket as I couldn't stand the humidity anymore. I remember being self conscious to do so, because of my tattoos, but knew I would have to grin and bear it in a culture where tattoos equal the Yakuza (i.e. Japanese gang members) and are highly looked down on (which I shall elaborate on later). We then prepared the food for service and went downstairs to serve, mind you, I'm still awkwardly wearing my first pair of Japanese house sandals, which are too small. Thomas looked at me and told me kindly that it might be overwhelming to see all the people in the dinner hall, but if I felt uncomfortable, just to let him know.
I said "I'll be fine," but honestly, I was a nervous wreck.
We set up tables with folding chairs and then opened the doors as people from all ages filed in to eat. The brothers had told me before that the homeless in Japan feel very ashamed not to be working, so they hide during the day. They also said there wasn't a large drug problem within Japan, however a lot of the homeless did drink because they had worked manual laborious jobs their entire life for very little pay, so their bodies hurt. To deal with the years of body aches, they drank alcohol to numb the pain since they couldn't afford much of anything else. This gave me some insight into their culture.
Also, unbeknownst to me, I was in Japan during the anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima & Nagasaki. In Japan, this day is remembered by volunteering in the community and spreading positivity. I also would realize maybe some of the homeless Japanese might be war veterans. Maybe they would know I was American by sight and would not want me to serve them. I know the bombing is still a sore subject for this culture to this very day. They do not support nuclear war or unnecessary violence and are very sensitive to talking about Hiroshima & Nagasaki.
So with all of this in mind, I put my best foot forward and ran food to the tables, picked up dirty dishes and smiled, although I was trembling on the inside. I saw a lot of people staring at me, but they would advert their eyes if I returned the gesture and look down. The people were also were very considerate of the others waiting in line. They would eat as fast as they could and leave so others could get in and have a seat (very unselfish and un-American).
The frequent running dialogue pops up in my head, if I was only a doctor, I could help more, as I habitually started to assess the many bruises, possible tumors, abrasions, crippling arthritis, and conditions of all shapes and sizes, and other medical issues that aren’t necessarily physically seen. I also noticed a lot younger population than I would expect, people my age who look sort of healthy, but obviously didn't have a place to live. I didn't feel as uncomfortable either as I normally would on the homeless streets in the United States. I don't know if it was the calming presence of the house, or that this culture was so different without drugs involved, that I felt less guarded when I was there. A time or two I felt my eyes water, or my lip quiver but I kept my head down and did whatever was asked of me. A few people bowed to me when leaving, which caught me by surprise.
After we fed a little over 200 people we cleaned up and I got to dine with the brothers and volunteers. We ate out of the same washed cups and same bowls and same glasses that we had just served, which at first I was apprehensive about to be honest. But see, here again is where I had forgotten why I was there and all about God, spirituality, companionship and the whole shebang. I was thinking of myself again. I felt a bit ashamed and ate what they dished out for me, and it was spicy and delicious.
The brothers made an introduction of me, (formally and in Japanese, then in English) to everyone in the room, and then everyone introduced themselves. They told of how they started volunteering there, while one of the brothers was translating all their stories to English for me. I was starting to get emotional as each story was so very different, yet had the underlying theme of unexpected compassion. I remember specifically a young guy who had came in late but was eager to help. He seemed painfully shy and when it was his turn to speak his face was so red and he looked down. But he said he would walk by the alley every day to work and was so moved by the brothers kindness towards these people, that he was drawn to come here. I thought to myself how sweet each person was and was finding myself verklempt and it wasn’t due to the humidity.
A lot of volunteers told me they had been to many Mother Teresa houses and they spent most of their money to travel there when they could. They told me with a sparkle in their eyes, a gleam that I always have trouble describing. Most of them were from Asia, and had also traveled to the main house in Calcutta. And when they spoke of this place, their voice changed and they would smile and say "You must go." I would listen and blush a bit, but I knew I wanted to wait, until the time was appropriate in my life.
I helped wash dishes and was asked to join the mass afterwards. I agreed, although I knew it would all be in Japanese, since the brothers spoke at least 3 languages fluently. I bowed my head when people bowed, I sang the sheet music as phonetically as I could figure out and just tried to close my eyes and be in the moment. My mind was starting to wander to if I was living my life right, if I had enough money to travel around and other general travel anxieties I can best relate to the movie Motorcycle Diaries. I had to stop my brain and focus although I had no idea what was going on, but what I do know is I didn't bow deep enough at the waist because a lady came over to help me bow the appropriate way.
They chimed a few bells and mass was over. I said thank you and grabbed my bag and headed back on the extremely hot trek towards the hostel.
After my first day at the brothers house, I felt exhausted to say the least but relief of some sort that I couldn't explain. I had overzealously told them I would be available for whenever they needed for the length of my stay here, which meant a few things. One, I couldn't travel up to the mountains and/or beaches and islands because if I did, I would be gone for nearly a week (or more) if I went up north and the same amount of time if I went down south. And two, it would also mean I couldn't focus my sights too much on just traveling around the country side for three weeks and flying out of Tokyo at the end of my month. Both of these were my former plans.
And that's travel for you, plans change. So I decided that I could take a few short trips if I wanted, nothing too over the top due to calculation of expenses. And yes, I know Tokyo is an expensive city, but things were taking care of themselves. I could buy toast and coffee for a dollar in the morning at the hostel, and the brothers told me I could eat and stay there if I wanted. But I just couldn't do it feeling as if a lot more people were traveling to Japan to volunteer with them, that had a lot less money than me. I thanked them kindly but said I would be fine at the hostel and would let them know if plans changed.
So I walked the hour trek back to the hostel, showered, called family and went to bed. The next day I walked around Asakusa just taking in all the sounds and sights. I ate udon noodles at a tiny noodle shop and worked up the courage to talk to a few people in the hostel. I agreed to meet the brothers early the following morning so I went to bed early and was starting to get adjusted to the travel and time lag.
The following morning I walked to the house with a bit less confusion but just as nervous. I went in and said hello and was informed that they were starting their mass. Everyone grabbed a mat and a lady handed me a mat and also a board with two rectangle legs on each side. Thomas told me we were going to pray the rosary. Have I ever prayed the rosary before he asked? Um no, although I had read about it a lot in a booklet. I could never quite remember the lines to say with each bead, and since I wasn't catholic it wasn't instilled in me. It's okay, Thomas said and handed me a rosary. He set up my mat and my board. He demonstrated how you slide your legs underneath and sit on the board. The volunteer lady who took a liking to me the first day tells me, "It is for you, to help your kneel. Your legs won't get as tired since you're not used to kneeling like we do a lot in Japan."
“Okay, ”I said.
“Surely this isn't going to be hard. How long will it take, ten minutes at most? A piece of cake.” I think.
The prayer begins. I try to follow along on the Japanese sheet with English translation. I grab the cross at the bottom as visually instructed.
I close my eyes.
You move up the beads vertically and then horizontally. By maybe the 3rd bead my legs are ON FIRE. How many beads are on this necklace? A hundred?! I'm trying to count. I open my eyes and look around at everyone peacefully praying. I will say the ambiance and sounds of the prayer and chanting are literally beautiful, but I simply cannot absorb it at all. It's like your first yoga class or something. I'm starting to sweat. The rosary is also being prayed in JAPANESE, which is taking twice as long as English, or so it feels. This is a test. The brothers are testing me I know it. I close my eyes. I start crying internally. Screaming. Trying to focus. Blocking out all negative thoughts with the words "peace" "love " and thinking of calming colors like "blue and green." I look at my watch, (I know I shouldn't) but it's only been ten minutes. Should I cry? Should I stand and say I can't do it? One of the brothers is looking at me and I close me eyes again. Jesus God, please give me strength to get through this ever loving rosary prayer. I somehow blackout and try to listen for the Japanese equivalent of "we are finished." But nothing. Just words I can't understand sprinkled with God, Mother Mary, and the repeated Japanese word of watashitachi. I can no longer feel my legs. Every time I think ballet will help me, I am humbly proven wrong in life. I will not lie to you to say I could not focus on praying and was in incredible pain the entire time. I think I just almost passed out and seventy minutes later, the prayer is finished. There is a gong that is rang and everyone quietly puts away their mats and heads to the kitchen. I say “I need a minute,” like I'm going to fool anyone that I am not in excruciating pain.
I wait until the room is clear and I fall off the board. My legs are absolutely, beyond asleep. I try to shake them while trying not to scream. The lady that is always helping me come back and asks if I'm okay. “Yes,” I assure her. It took me a very long time to stand up. I was relieved to be done, but was that how I was supposed to feel?
I helped out with random house chores after and answered more questions from inquiring strangers, volunteers and the brothers. I tried to explain to the brothers what Alaska looked like, but they literally couldn't believe what I was saying. They were from such a hot, dry and sparse area that they couldn't understand anything about a jellyfish or the green of the forests. I tried to explain the Aurora Borealis and they asked me if it was literally magic or a trick. I had to laugh.
They introduced me briefly to their visiting brother, an American Priest who made some comment about my tattoos along the lines of "poor girl." Which I thought was sort of rude for a priest to say aloud and made a mental note that I didn’t really like him, even if he could speak English.
I talked to a few of the Japanese volunteers about their lives, as they nervously practiced their English with me by apologizing every few seconds. After socializing, I started to leave for the day and brother Sebastian with his unique raspy voice told me I should go visit the sisters in a city about an hour away. “I’ll think about it,” I said as I changed my shoes.
He turned and asked me why I was here and I said I didn't really know. He said, "No, you know Jodie...." "I don't know."
I protested in honesty. "You. Know.” he breathed out in kindness.
"We all have a seed within us. When we are a child, we see someone who needs help and you help them. Then as we get older, something happens and you forget. But the seed is still there. The seed is you being called to help others. Always remember that.”
More writing continued below photos…
(click on photos to enlarge)
I spent the following 4 weeks on and off at the Brothers. I went down to a bridge with them and handed out curry to-go packs for the homeless, in a line as far as the eye could see. We actually ran out of food that day.
I never went to see the sisters, although I wanted to. I underestimated the time I had to travel around to the nearby cities.
I spent the “me time” days off, traveling up to Nagano to see the snow monkeys and other small towns in the Alps. I went to Kyoto and stayed for a week. I went to Nara another week and just spent my time being present, feeding the deer and staring at the massive deities in the temples.
I met a friend of a friend, Henry and his girlfriend, and they took me around when they weren’t working, to the Emperor’s Imperial palace and to explore the area around Shibuya. They also let me stay at their apartment for about two weeks, using it as a point of rest. They brought me gifts and let me sleep and eat to my heart’s content, even though they never met me before in my life.
I ended up making several travel friends at the hostel, we took cooking classes together, also did some cooking of our own cultures, went to the grocery stores together and explored different parts of Tokyo on different days.
It was obviously such a culture shock overall, I tried my hardest to just go with the flow although I never knew what was going on most of the time. Overall, I spent time exploring Akihabara, Ueno, Harajuku, Shinjuku, Shibuya and many other places/prefectures visiting restaurants, coffee shops, the Tokyo sky tree, temples, fish markets and museums along the way. Akihabara was for me one of the weirdest experiences only because I have never watched anime and I was so confused about all of the arcades and shops. The lights, colors and sounds were over stimulating yet so fascinating. I learned about the “maid” cafes and spent time in an arcade in a selfie booth taking my own cartoon selfies, before this was even a concept on Instagram, Snapchat or any social media in the United States.
I spent time learning about the Shinkansen (and of course traveling on it while obnoxiously taking pictures of all the wild looking different versions of it at the railway station), had my fortune read at a temple, tried to find the cat alley town which I did, but ended up disappointed about the lack of cats. I watched the ”Carnival parade” in Akasuksa and had many conversations where strange people approached me on the street and asked if they could practice English and I always thought it was so funny. One old man, even recited to me the entire JFK inauguration speech, verbatim!
I got lost more times than I can count and even ended up in a restaurant that was just for people and their dogs, although it took me at least thirty minutes to figure this out. I didn’t care, I ordered food and just laughed as I watched all the natives staring wildly at me with confusion as why I didn’t have a dog.
I even tried to get to the highly sought after, owl cafes, but didn’t have any luck. However, the AMAZING latte art provided at nearly every coffee shop consisted of cute animals made out of the foam. So…same thing.
Four things I distinctly remember is:
The presentation for all items in Japan is IMMACULATELY perfect. Even something such as their version of KFC was executed in such a way that it looked like plastic toys.
The use of technological innovation is absolutely mind blowing. I couldn’t figure out half the time, what some objects were. I remember even seeing pumpless gas pumps! I mean, woah!! How obviously clever.
The bidets changed my life!! A warmed toilet seat? I mean….along with the music effects, it’s a win win. Although having someone explain to me how to use them was equally as comical.
Last but not least, I remember how polite and caring everyone was. The constructions workers are dressed so pristine and coordinated, it looks like a movie set. They literally stop everything they are doing if a pedestrian is coming, and ESCORT them SAFELY across the sidewalk or street. There is no sloppiness anywhere! Including the post offices and outfits for every single job. They are take pride in every follicle of what they do, even if it’s not a desirable job in the United States.
I unfortunately couldn’t visit the onsens because of my tattoos and learned about the mysterious Yakuza and the shopping addiction of Ginza. I also didn’t get to see sumo wrestlers, which I really wanted to, but oh well! I did however experience my first booth-karaoke experience in Kyoto with a few Europeans and Americans and sang our hearts out until 5 am!
I spent my last night there listening to the people in the hostel play their instruments together, although they couldn’t speak the same language. We also went to a hidden hookah bar where I saw a Japanese person with tattoos. (woohoo!)
I think it was definitely the food that was my favorite part of Japan, along with the hospitality of the people, the friends I made along the way and my time at the MT house, which left a long lasting impression on my heart.
I hope to go back again one day!
(click on photos to enlarge)
