The Most Isolated Continent

After spending 10 days being a lump in San Diego, I packed my bags again and began the (very) long journey to my next destination: Australia.

I’d spent hours in the spring pouring over places I wanted to go, until I found a great deal on multicity tickets from Tokyo to LA to Sydney and back. It would have been foolish to pass them up. It was probably the proudest moment of my Deal Seeking life!

So, I jetted off to the land of marsupials, monotremes, sunshine and red dirt.

First stop: Sydney!

My first impression was that the city was strangely reminiscent of San Diego. At first I found this a little disappointing, but by the time I moved on a few days later I had come to see the differences.

The people, oh the people. Maybe I was more outgoing because this was my first trip flying completely solo, but I expect that Australians, in general, are just plain friendlier than most people I’ve met on my travels.

This guy has a pretty good...Koality of life!

The customs officers gave me recommendations on where to get a taste of kangaroo (Kangaroo Pizza at the Australian Hotel, by the way, was fabulous!), and which areas to go to and avoid. The waitress at a café near my hostel and I chatted for a good 15 minutes about Japan and how she used to work there. A lovely couple at a restaurant struck up a conversation with me and were awestruck that I was traveling alone, and then looked at me like I had a horn growing out of my forehead when I told them the next stop on my trip was the tablelands of New South Wales. That’s like the equivalent of showing up in LA as a first timer and then saying you’re looking forward to going to Montana.

And that was just in Sydney.

My kangaroo pizza. Delicious, but extortionate.

I enjoyed the feel of the city, but it was incredibly expensive! A bottle of water cost $3 wherever I looked. Cafes and restaurants, while delicious, were pricey as well. I ended up making a few meals at the hostel, which turned out to be a blessing since I was then socializing with other travelers, several of whom I connected to really well.

Of course I saw the tourist sites! The Sydney Opera House was massive and beautiful. The Australian museum was informative and I geeked out for several hours there. The aquarium and mini-zoo next door were both entertaining and well maintained. I’m still upset that the platypus was too shy to make an appearance in her exhibit though. My entire vacation would have been platyperfect if I had seen a live platypus! I made sure to go to a beach as well, as no trip to Australia would be complete without seeing some surfers and waves.

I walked so much. Tokyo gave me a good practice run.

Just keep swi-er, walking. Walk those Sydney streets!

By the time I needed to leave Sydney, I was torn. I wanted to move on and see my friend J, but I didn’t want to leave my new hostel friends. And there was still so much left to experience in the city.

I was once told that it’s wiser to leave a place when you still feel like it’s too soon than to end up wishing you had left earlier. Those feelings make you want to come back. And go back I shall, one day.

Flying: Much safer than the shortcut at Satan's Ridge and Suicide Trail

Next stop, the boonies of New South Wales!

We gonna shine

The 10 best things about going “home” to San Diego for the summer holidays.

 

1.    Realizing just how much stuff I’ve come to live without. Don’t get me wrong, my room was pretty Spartan, but it was full of old mementos and photos and miscellaneous knickknacks that I wasn’t really attached to anymore. My book collection, however, was begging to be stuffed into my suitcase and carted back to Japan!

My beautiful, neurotic, annoying princess of a cat.

2.    Getting to spend time with my kitty. I got her when I was 8 years old, so she’s getting up in years and the months leading up to my departure were touch and go for her health. I’m proud to report that aside from irritating my parents by becoming their 5 am alarm clock, she’s doing well.

3.    Perspective. It’s amazing how refreshed one can feel by simply removing yourself from a situation that was laced with unhappiness.

4.    Extraordinary Desserts and extraordinary friends. Seriously, how can you be mopey with cake, coffee and people whose Quarter-Life Crisis party is going to be a ball to plan (and attend!)

5.    Simply hanging out. I could sprawl across the couch, flop on the grass in the lawn, or eat cheetohs and drink slurpees at 1 am without a care in the world. It’s not what we were doing that was important, but the fact that we were together.

6.    Seeing my pseudo-children. I started babysitting them when they were roughly 6 months and 2 years old; they’re now 8 and 10. Watching them grow, even from a distance, has been a beautiful and satisfying experience. If I’m anything like their parents if and when I have children, I will consider myself blessed.

7.    Horse riding. It is my therapy, plain and simple.

8.    Surprising my parents and my big sis. They were all expecting me home a week after I actually landed. Thankfully I had some awesome friends who were in on it and helped me randomly show up. 

 

9.    Mexican food. Japan, you don’t know what you’re missing without burritos in your life. C’mon, you like portable food! You like stuffing unidentifiable food insider other foods. YOU WERE MADE FOR EACH OTHER.

 

10.  Love. Family, friends, pets, and even my friendly dental hygienist made it a wonderful, healing, introspective vacation.

Cambodia

 I try to keep this blog Japan centric, but ever since I started reading “First They Killed My Father”, by Loung Ung, my mind has been going crazy with images. Most are the mental projections of the author’s story, but some are my own.

The novel is part memoir, part memorial. It is written by a survivor of the Cambodian genocide which took place during the 1970’s. Parts of it brought tears to my eyes, passages made me despair at human nature, and the final chapters made me realize the importance of resettlement agencies. Reading the book made me remember the Cambodian students I had worked with while interning for the International Rescue Committee. Thankfully none of them had to live through the genocide, but their parents all survived it, and that itself is shocking to think about.

While studying abroad, I decided to go to Cambodia. I hadn’t had much interest in it before I started looking at my options of where I could (cheaply) travel too. Thailand produced lukewarm feelings, but for whatever reason Cambodia stuck out and I just knew that was where I wanted to go.

At the time of the Khmer Rouge takeover, there were roughly 7 million living in Cambodia. In 5 years time, 2 million were dead. That’s a significant amount of people just eradicated from existence, often brutally murdered with hammers, saws, axes and other crude implements so as not to waste bullets.

I saw the skulls with perfectly round hammer-sized holes in them. I saw the skulls with hacked axe marks crisscrossing their crowns. I saw the skulls with shattered orbits and I saw a few skulls with small holes in their foreheads. These lucky few received bullets.

I walked the Killing Fields of Choeung Ek. I saw the pits, now covered in grass with gently sloping edges. I saw the trees against which soldiers beat civilians. I tripped once, looked down, and saw that there were clothes surfacing on the path I was walking. A few feet away, bones wrapped rags were protruding from the earth. There was so much death in this one small place that it simply couldn’t all be excavated. Year by year as the rains come and wash away the soil, more and more bits of victims are seeing the light of day. It’s impossible not to step on them, so you just have to be careful. 

At the risk of sounding like a pretentious “It changed my life, man” snob, let me state right now that going to Cambodia did not change my life. I went home, I still went to school, I had a part time job and life went on.

However, I like to think that it influenced part of my outlook on life. That life is precious. That without compassion we are nothing.

"Enemies" of the new regime

Despite the sense of sadness that still lingers in the country, it is nevertheless a beautiful place. The people were some of the friendliest I have ever met in my travels, and they always had a smile on their face. They were proud of their heritage, regardless of the dark spots tainting their history, and looking forward to making Cambodia a better country for their children.

Every grain of sand is a story of earth

God Bless the Japanese. Despite being insane workaholics 90% of the year, they at least recognize this tendency and have a healthy dose of national holidays scattered throughout the year- many more than the United States.

 

From May to mid-July is No-Man’s-Land though, so by the time Umi no Hi (Ocean Day) rolled around, I was going stir crazy from the heat and workload of the past few weeks.

 

Bye Bye Tokyo!

I ended up going to the Izu Islands with a group called Tokyo Gaijins. At first, when I saw the numbers of who would be going, I worried that it was going to be a trip filled with Gaijin Chasers and dudes with terminal Yellow Fever. Thankfully, with the exception of one irritating man, every person I met was really cool.

 

We left Tokyo on a ferry around 11 pm, and it was a mad scramble to claim a bit of the deck where we would be sleeping-essentially outside, but under a cover. It was cool enough that I was able to get a few hours of sleep on the hard floor, and the rocking of the boat helped.

 

Sleeping like vagrants on the deck

The assholes on the deck below us with bongos were not helpful-particularly at 3 am. Nor were the really drunk group of Japanese shouting random English phrases.

 

We pulled into Niijima Port around 7 am and loaded up the camping gear in a rental van that sped away while we acquired rental bicycles. It was overcast and humid, but still pleasant, and it was nice to wear shorts and a tank top without being stared at for showing my shoulders (See “Things That are Weirder”).

 

After pitching our tents (I am miserable at tent assembly; it rivals my incompetence for putting together flat pack furniture), a group of us road our bicycles around the island. We bought some snacks and finally came across an acceptable stretch of beach. The water was cool and ridiculously clear, and there was plenty of space for everyone to stretch out. After nearly a year away from the sea, it was heavenly to swim again. I have realized in the past year that I am definitely a beach girl. Man, I wish I hadn't taken all those summers for granted!

A free outdoor hot spring modeled after...Ancient Greece. Oh Japan.

The day was uneventful until I realized that I my skin was on fire. I completely forgot to protect the back of my legs and my knees turned an awful red color. Going into the hot spring for sunset-even though it was open air, Ancient Greek themed and right next to the beach-was torture. I spent the remainder of the day slathering on aloe cream and kicking myself for forgetting.

 After breakfast on Sunday, our big group took a ferry over to the neighboring island, Shikinejima, and spent the day lazing about on the beach again. I made sure to reapply sunscreen as often as I thought possible, and I stuck to the shade in between dips in the water.

 

Glorious leader taking a leap of faith

The cove we went to was beautiful. There were masks and snorkels available for rental, but again, the water was so clear that I just put my sunglasses on and went swimming out into the water. A few of the men in the group entertained themselves by jumping off rocks (and docks, and piers and concrete wave blockades).

It was like La Jolla Cove, but more serene

  After those blissful days, I really didn't want to come back to sweltering Tokyo. I spent the morning of our return at the hot springs, my stinging legs submerged in the cold-water pool with my beach towel draped over every inch of exposed skin in a vain attempt to prevent any further damage.

 

New friends from Canada and Belgium!

Sneak peak: I am liable to go into a homicidal rage if you so much to bump into me or hug me, and my ankles and calves have swollen.      

The ferry ride back was nice, mainly because I managed to score a reclining seat in the air conditioned cabin. With naps and lovely chats with the Scottish people next to me-one of whom I discovered knows my roommate's boyfriend in a crazy "It's a small world" moment-the 7 hours back to the mainland seemed significantly shorter.

So, despite being horrifically sunburned and not getting much sleep, the trip was a blast. I feel like my batteries have been recharged enough for me to sweat out the final days I have in Tokyo before I fly home and start my real summer vacation!

Facken' Fuji

In honor of my JET friend's first wedding anniversary, a group of 8 of my friends decided to do something crazy. Somehow, we came to the unanimous decision to climb Mt. Fuji.

Fuji is Japan’s highest mountain, topping out at over 12,000 feet, and is surprisingly accessible to newbie hikers (like yours truly).

It's legit when you have a backpack

     It was pretty touch and go right up until the moment we left because the forecasts were calling for thunderstorms and possible snow. However, the weather reports cleared up the day of our scheduled departure, so we lugged our gear to Tokyo and boarding a bus for the 5^th station.

   You would have thought living in San Diego would have made me painfully aware of “micro-climates”. I forgot about them.

   What happened on Fuji-san that night was nothing short of memorable, although we ultimately failed in our goal to do a night hike to the summit in time for the sunrise.

  We started out walking in mist, and our headlamps gave us tunnel vision. Not that there was much to see, mind you, but we walked along anyway-Me, Sabina, Kelly, Clint (the honorary couple), Peter, Makiko, Peter’s former student and said student’s friend, occasionally greeting other hikers attempting the climb.

As we walked, we noticed flashes of lightening and growling thunder. Soon, the mist turned to fairly heavy rain.  The younger boys were incredibly fast walkers, followed by Sabina and I, who really didn’t want to stop and rest quite as often as we were, but that’s the thing about group travel. Gotta stay safe.

As the rain became heavier, Group Leader Peter essentially issued an “Every one go at their own pace, see you at the next station” since some of us were faster than others.

Sabina and I scrambled up some rocky inclines, and finally found ourselves at the 7^th station- just as our waterproof jackets and pants were loosing their…waterproofness. The younger boys were no where to be seen. Soon, the rest of the group arrived, and the lightening had become more frequent. We decided that it was too dangerous to continue up a barren mountain in such weather, but the younger boys were still missing, so Peter and Clint set off in search of them.

Us ladies managed to book a space in one of the huts at the 7^th station, came inside and attempted to dry ourselves off while we waited. And waited. And waited.

Waiting and keeping warm

Eventually, the guys called, said they had climbed all the way to the 8^th station, hadn’t seen the boys and were soaked to the bone so they were coming back down the mountain.

Of course, by the time they returned the rain and lightening had stopped, but the wind had picked up. We ended up deciding to stay the night in the hut and see what the morning brought (Most expensive little 6 foot by 3 foot sleeping space I have ever paid for!). The guys were drenched, and it was unlikely we would be able to walk to the summit in time for the sunrise. The hut workers said we still had more than 4 hours ahead of us. The boys texted us and said they had carried on at Hyper Billy Goat Speed and were near the top.

Needless to say, we were all a little irked at their inability to follow rules and stay together and WAIT at the 7^th station.


Gah, it was incredibly frustrating!

Around 4:30, one of the workers at the hut woke us up to say the sun was rising, but it was cloudy so it wasn’t the greatest view. I disentangled myself from Bina under our comforter and crept outside.

Well, it wasn’t the summit, but it sure was a heck of a view. A cold and windy view.

The rest of the gang went back to sleep for a few hours, while I sat up and chatted with one of the workers. I wasn’t feeling too good having been up most of the night; it was along the lines of how I used to feel when I worked graveyards. 

Going down Fuji was fun. Bina and I were still the fastest ones, and we found the boys waiting at the bottom, looking tired but proud of themselves. From them we learned the summit sunrise had also been cloudy, so we both felt a little better about the entire misadventure.

Sunrise from the 7th station

 In the end, Sabina and I decided we are going to try again before the climbing season is finished. I also decided that I am going to ride a horse from the 5th station to the 6th station-because I can and because I am a Japanese Princess. 

Maybe the 3^rd try will be the charm? This was the 2^nd, and the 1^st was when I was an exchange student and freak snowstorm dumped a foot of powder on the mountain in mid-July.

My "I am unimpressed" face

Jeez Fuji-san, why you gotta be such a jerk?

Happy hiking tales

Every medical experience I have had in Japan has been a mini adventure in its own right. 

Back in February, I caught the Cold From Hell. I ended up with a fever for 3 days, and this weird old man, non-productive cough, and absolutely no energy. Since I am lucky enough to have medical insurance, I left school early and saw a doctor. Influenza was going around at the time, so they wanted to test me for it. 

No problem, I thought. How bad can it be?

That’s when the nurse put me in a room and pulled out a long dry swab from its packaging-except it didn’t look like an ordinary ear swab, but one with what seemed to be a pipe cleaner on the end. 

She started toward me and there must have been fear in my eyes, because she started apologizing before her hands even reached my head. I was aware that she was about to push the swab up my nose and I pulled my head back unconsciously.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” she said, and grabbed my head to hold me still.

It was incredibly uncomfortable-borderline painful- and I was vaguely aware that my left hand was raised and tightening into a fist and she scraped around the back of my nasal passage.

Just as I was about to (unintentionally) deck her, the nurse pulled her hand back and my nose was finally free.

All that and it turns out I wasn’t influenza positive. Until that moment, though, that was the weirdest medical experience I’d ever had.

Oh, but Japan has transpired to keep me sick, which is odd since I’m pretty healthy back home. Then again, San Diego isn’t exactly a climate that breeds seriously illness!

Recently, I got sick. Terribly sick. Again.

What I thought was just a cold turned out to be a horrendous case of tonsillitis. Man, I will not wish that on even my enemies! It was honestly the worst pain I have ever experienced in my life.

The first doctor I went to barely looked at my throat and claimed I just had a cold. Too bad I had no other cold symptoms whatsoever, I’d never seen white patches on my throat before, and the soreness didn’t go away. 

You know what's good for sick people? Strenuous physical exertion!

Hiking Mt. Takao

 For whatever reason, I thought some fresh air would pump me back to perfect health, so I went hiking that weekend with some friends. Bad choice. By the time I was heading back on the trains, I was feverish and my throat felt like it was ON FIRE.

I should have asked these Jizo to watch over me. Lesson learned.

Despite propping my bed with every spare pillow in our apartment to try and give my some leverage, I got maybe 2 hours of sleep that night. I was just in too much pain to relax and even made several cups of tea throughout the night to try and sooth my throat. By the morning I was delirious and practically crying from frustration and pain. 

Rather than dick around at the general practitioners like I had before, I searched for an Ear-Nose-Throat specialist in my town. Luckily, there was one at the hospital I had used before. 

So I biked my sorry keister over there, waited, and finally saw the doctor, who surprised me by speaking English. 

When he touched my throat to see if my lymph nodes were swollen I had to bite my lip to keep from bursting into tears.

“Why did you wait so long?” he gently asked after taking a real look at the inside of my my mouth. I tried to explain that the other doctor hadn’t even bothered to shine a light on my throat. The doctor sighed and shook his head.

Then I had an endoscope pushed up my nose and down into the back of my throat. Pros: A really really accurate diagnosis (Not that the swelling and white patches weren’t enough to go by), and a commemorative photo of my swollen larynx. Cons: I keep getting weird things pushed up my nose and it’s rather uncomfortable.

So, I was diagnosed with acute bacterial tonsillitis and my white count was crazy enough that I was given intravenous antibiotics. Twice. Originally the procedure was supposed to take an hour because the drip line was barely open. I thought that was quite ridiculous (an hour for 100 mls?!), so after some quick texting back and forth with my mommy, I opened the line up while the nurse wasn’t looking and got discharged within 30 minutes. 

Teehee. 

I'm not a drug addict, I am sick.

 Japanese pharmacies don’t compound their medications often-if at all-so I ended up with a plethora. I sorta felt like an I.M. patient with my anti-inflammatory, antibiotic, anti esophageal ulcer and swelling medications.

But hey, at least I’m feeling better!  And I learned some very valuable information from this whole experience. The word for "uvula" in Japanese is "nodo chinko", which literally means "throat dick". I am endlessly amused by this.

It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live

Once again I find myself neglecting this blog.

Since I was AWOL all of May, let me give you the quick rehash of what happened that month:

Beware the sand crabs!

Oh my Happa!

Work got incredibly busy. I made exams and had lessons shooting out of my ears. My friend and old-coworker came to visit me from LA during a week-long span of national holidays, appropriately named Golden Week. Too bad it rained nearly the whole time she was here so it was more like a Silver Week. Or Nickel Week. There was beer festivals and baking days and nail appointments galore, and I even pulled an all-nighter in Tokyo in honor of my friend’s going away celebration. I haven’t done that in 3 years (not counting working the graveyard shift) and it was surprisingly fun!

And now, I sit here halfway through June and wonder where the heck my life has gone (and going, but that’s a completely different philosophical question)! People are getting ready to go back home. The higher ups are preparing for new arrivals. I cannot believe that a year ago I was sitting poolside in Palm Desert, thinking about the grand adventure that awaited me, full of excitement and worry and anxiety and hope and….Wow.

So much has changed. So much is the same.

The end of winter and the spring were rough and full of personal growth for me-for many reasons. I feel more confident as a teacher, less confident about what I want to do with my life, more hopeful for a future full of adventure, less hopeful that I will ever be able to translate these experiences into marketable skills for a U.S. based job, more confident about who I am as a person, less confident about who I am in relation to others. It’s a breadbasket of emotions and I just take it a day at a time.

It’s strange though, the way I feel now, this very minute. I used to think that my time at Waseda was my crowning achievement, and that I would never know any happiness greater than those 10 months I spent in Japan; I thought my life had peaked. For a long time, it held first place.

But now, oh the present is much more interesting. In spite of the stress, the tears, the anger, the frustration, the wrenching, mind-numbing heartbreak handed to me the past year, there have been moments of laughing so hard I’ve cried, scenes and views that have taken my breath away, friends who have showered me with warmth and kindness and held my hand when I couldn’t go forward, food that has melted in my mouth, drinks that have refreshed and rejuvenated, and absolutely unforgettable experiences that give me more optimism than I usually have (Maybe one day I CAN become proficient at folding gyoza!).

It’s been a year of deep shadows and brilliant highlights. It’s been a passionate year.

In the end, I think that’s what’s most important anyway- passion. I thought I’d lost it after Waseda, but it was just waiting for me to set aside everything and take another look.