The Nighthawk Has Landed

Drinking hot coffee in a can from a vending machine I couldn’t read. Typing at the laptop on a table three feet from the ground. Sitting on a mattress that I’d normally call a comforter. My “inside slippers” by the door and my “bathroom slippers” by a toilet you have to pull a lever upward to flush. Four channels on a Sanyo television with graphics I can’t decipher flanking all sides of the screen and upbeat people singing around a cartoon cat dressed up as a loaf of bread. All of my loved ones are now in the past and I’m here in the future. Yes, the Nighthawk has landed. I am in Japan.

It was the choice of two evils and, depending on your feelings about flame broiled, I went with the Burger King over the McDonalds. Walking back from my unhealthy lunch of gooey burger caked with every gooier cheese an alarm sounded in one of the corridors and a dozen or so airport personal rushed to the scene. Whatever the issue had been was resolved as the alarm beep quickly subsided. The Detroit Metro airport took no chances. The announcements from the stern voice in the sky instructed terminal visitors, every three minutes it seemed, to report any suspicious people to airport police. I’m glad I’d made all my odd movements in Ottawa. The voice also reminded us to not leave our luggage laying about and to report any unattended to baggage. I left my pack by one of the windows for a few moments and saw people glaring at it. I hurried over and snatched it up assuring all those around it that it wasn’t about to explode.

The fourteen hour flight went by pretty quickly considering the hefty time spent in the air. Friends back home were aghast by how long my flight was. You guys are all lightweights. My travel by bus during the Canadian Pilgrimage was madness on wheels near the end of each respective journey from to and from Vancouver. This trip took three days. Yes, you read that correctly, three days! A form of travel claustrophobia set in near the end of day two and by day three, still cramped in your seat watching the same road go by you, your mind snaps and you internally go insane. I was a lengthy travel veteran.
Fourteen hours was a cakewalk. During those long bus rides I developed the ability to place myself in a travel coma. I was able to block out all sounds around me and drift into long periods of sleep, a sort of hibernation, and hours would go by as I rested. I used this trick on the plane with greater success, as there were fewer interruptions. Traveling by bus the driver was apt to inform us loudly of each nearing stop. On the plane you seldom heard anybody and the speaker was so far behind me blocking it out was no trouble at all. I awoke only for meals, which were quite good, especially the chicken breast bathed in barbecue sauce, and then snapped the switch off to sleep away the rest of the flight time. I think I managed to squeeze in eight hours of sleep. Finding the correct position is the tough part. I was seated next to two women traveling to the Philippines who giggled every three seconds. This was not as cumbersome as being wedged between one of them and the window. I haven’t quite mastered contorting myself into a comfortable travel mode and because of this arising from my coma would be a painful experience. I still have a slight kink in my neck.

Stepping into the Nagoya airport I immediately felt like an outsider. I looked different. Of course, but it even felt like I acted different, walked different. I was a foreigner and it showed as I wandered down the hallway bewildered by pretty much everything I saw. Customs agents bowed as I passed hurriedly by trying to not attract any more attention then I already was. Thankfully almost all the more important signs in the airport had English translation and I was able to direct myself into a bathroom, to the baggage claim and into the arrivals zone. I caught sight of my bag circling around on the conveyor belt and with a heft pull we two were reunited. Where have you been, you beast? How was your trip? Aside from an officer walking a dog up to my suitcase so it could smell out the contraband I wasn‘t carrying, I had no trouble clearing Japanese customs and obtaining my landing permit, a sticker which is actually your Visa although looks less official then your pre-Visa Visa. Yeah, I don’t get it either but everything is smaller in Japan, I hear.

Waiting for me was a Company Representative. I didn’t spot him at first and figured if I wandered around the arrival zone looking confused they would eventually spot me. This tactic proved to be a successful one and a slip British man in glasses approached, confirmed I was who he was looking for, and welcomed me to Japan. He had to pick up another teacher so we waited and had a nice chat. He had a wonderful sense of humor as most Brits do. We spoke of the different culture here and I told him some of my back history and he filled me in on his also giving me a primer on what I could expect my first few days. Not much business was spoken of, though, and we passed the time laughing like old friends over varied topics. I will compliment one aspect of my personality, the ability to chat it up with just about anybody and soon have them laughing. I’m still smiling now at our conversation about robots that take care of the elderly over hear. He told me of one such bot he spied at a recent expo who’s only programming required it to open a door. DoorBot 2000, I called it, and proceeded to speak in a robotic tone. I wondered what happened if the DoorBot broke down and just kept opening doors. Our, worse, it defied it’s programming and didn’t open any doors, in fact choosing to block them from opening. We called this the DoorStop Bot 2000. Then there was the GranBot 2000, a robot that fed the cat, turned on the telly and made you some porridge. This one had a thick British accent and an underlain attitude of contempt. The Company rep was also a big fan of Red Dwarf, my favorite Brit-com. It was nice to have somebody I was instantaneously able to relate to and laugh with. It made for a seamless transition because if you blocked out all the Japanese signs around you, the extra peppy commercials on the televisions and the announcements in the language that was not your own, I could have very well been chatting it up with a buddy back home over some coffee.

The other pick up was late and the lateness turned into a no show. The rep searched around the terminal, talked to customs agents and other staff but we could not find the other teacher. He reluctantly gave up searching after an hour or so and we were then off into the cold night air, although not as cold as Canada, and into a parking lot filled with cars not much larger then the Matchbox racers I had as a kid. The traveling shoes have now touched Japanese soil (ummm….pavement). We loaded my luggage into the company van and I mistakenly tried to get in on the wrong side of the car. Like in the UK, the driver’s side is opposite of Canada and the United States. I commented on this and the Brit said “Yeah, it’s on the correct side.” We drove on down a very clean highway passed the neon and chrome. Extravagant billboards followed us everywhere. Again, I remark upon how clean it is here. No trash anywhere and no graffiti. Some of these walls would be assaulted by paint if there were back home. The rep, also an excellent guide, pointed out some of the landmarks in Nagoya and between the more serious aspects of our conversation we continued to joke. I informed him of my trepidation towards chopstick usage and asked him why the Japanese just didn’t use a fork seeing that it was such an advancement. He could not come up with a single reason to why one wouldn’t just use the fork. The defense rests, your honor. He said they should make chopstick edible, maybe out of beef jerky. We added that to the list of inventions along with the DoorStop and GranBots. At one point he talked about how he would soon give me some maps and leave me alone to explore. The way he said it sparked images of the current trend in American television and I asked him if this whole teaching English was just a front to lure unsuspecting Canadians to the isolated Japanese woodlands where they would be unwilling participants in the hottest reality show this side of Kyoto: Survivor – Japan!

An hour later we were in the city and at my training dormitory. The lobby way was lined with what has to be over fifty pairs of brown slippers lining shelves on each side wall. A sign next to them reads something in Japanese and I can only assume it says TAKE ONE. Your shoes stay up front as is the norm in this culture and you choose a set of these inside slippers that fit you. Another pair of bathroom slippers would be found in the apartment. To my surprise I was told I’d have a room entirely to myself as I was the only one currently in the dorms with other teachers arriving later. Having my own room eases my worries of leaving my cash and laptop behind each day. Heck, I could walk around naked if I wanted to. This is not likely as the room temperature was colder then it was outside. I have been wrestling with the heating unit but with the remote control being all Japanese I have had to rely on memory (did that button get things hotter or colder? Ah, yes, that was the power button.) and lots of patience. The room is not as small as I expected. It has traditional Japanese flooring mats and sliding doors you can close to lock yourself off from the kitchen and bathroom areas. My bed would be found in the closet. Seeing no bed in the room was jarring at first as I thought that the low table was my sleeping surface. I didn’t say anything and, instead, let the rep escort me around to save from embarrassing myself. He told me that the silliest question he has ever been asked when revealing the bedding set in the closet was “Do we sleep in here?” I’m glad I didn’t ask my table bed question.

Because it was late, he decided to take me to the nearing connivance store to fire off some photocopies of my passport, landing permit and insurance claims instead of heading to the head office where this is normally done. Hardly any of the confectionery was recognizable. I found Pringles, Snickers bars and Kit Kat (a larger form of the popular four wafer variety here in single bar called the Big Kat). I explored the store for grocery items I could use over the next few days and found that though I couldn’t read packaging you could easily deduce what most things were. They rent DVDs at this place to although all they seemed to carry was the first few seasons of 24, a popular show even over here. With all the business work complete the rep and I walked back to the apartment. We passed a restaurant on a nearing corner. I made note of this place as the smells come from it were amazing. I don’t know what they were making inside but unless it’s fugu I’ll be eating some tomorrow. Also of note on the way was a large poll marked Fire Hydrant. Now why would the Japanese need to know the whereabouts of a fire hydrant in English?
The rep and I bid each other good night and I thanked him for being a great guide and for the laughs that made me forget my understandable fears and worries. Inside I made the faux pas of walking to my room without having removed my shoes. Thankfully there was nobody around to notice and I went back to retrieve the slippers. This is going to take some getting used to. The heater had shut off in the room and the place was an ice house. I compare to my first few visits to your place, Steph, before you told me where the heat was. Burrrr! The vending machine in the lobby had a fine selection of drinks of which the only one I recognized was Pepsi. But, what’s this, a HOT section? I’d read that you could get anything in a Japanese vending machine and this one offered a much needed coffee, Roots Creamy Café, to be exact and it comes in a can. The downfall to getting hot coffee in a can is that you get a hot can. I basically juggled this thing back to the room to avoid any third degree burns. Man, that person that sued McDonalds over their hot coffee would have a field day over here! Pulling open the tap, I guzzled down my first taste of Japan. Creamy Café gets my endorsement, folks.

I am in room 101 (like Neo in the Matrix!) of the training complex. After exploring the apartment I decided to warm up by taking a shower. The shower here is a bit different. First, the tub is deeper. Much deeper. I banged my knee stepping in, if that gives you any idea. Next to the tub is a grating on the floor. The cleaning routine in Japan consists of you showering yourself off outside of the tub and then filling the bath for a relaxing soak. I opted this evening for the Western way of showering. Which way was hot, which way was cold? It was all in Japanese. I had a fifty/fifty chance of being blasted by cold water. I lost. Yikes! Well, now I know which way to turn for hot water. You have won the first battle, Japanese tub, but you have not won the war! Next time I will step higher and turn your nozzle to the left! Ha!

Now, showered and warm (I closed the sliding doors to entrap the heat), I laid my bedding out. You are no more then a foot off the ground, if that, on these traditional Japanese futons. Mine has a rather girly floral pattern which, from what I understand, is the company norm. I covered the flowers with the soft brown blanket provide, turned on some soothing Tom Waits and laid back. I’m here. I really did it. The first part of the journey is now complete. I can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings.