Rafting Happy

(Sliding down a waterfall, all on my own.)

We set out early Saturday morning, Steve and I groggy from a midnight swim at the beach a few hours earlier. The next night would end in similar fashion. Joining us on this rafting excursion were four other individuals. Derek, an American visiting Japan for the summer, Kyoko, Maki, and Yuki (all friends of Steve).

The long road south. A three hour car ride from Awaji-shima to the neighboring island of Shikoku. I slipped in and out of consciousness until Kochi surrounded us. The Kochi area is a mural of majestic serenity. Green-ladened hills that bend into one another and stretch over the horizon like enormous caterpillars. Crisp air. Clean water. And bugs. Lots of bugs.

Soon we were standing outside the headquarters of Happy Raft. This has been a favorite spot for Steve in that last few years, returning season after season for fresh adventures. Consequently, we were warmly welcomed by Mark, the owner, and the entire staff. Almost immediately it was time to gear up. Steve explained that rafting was scheduled for tomorrow, while today was reserved for "canyoning." Canyoning. The term was foreign to me, but it wouldn't remain that way.

Sitting in the preparation room, the scope of my upcoming mission was made clear to me. Canyoning involves overcoming a series of obstacles from the top of a mountain on your way to the bottom. The obstacles include sliding down waterfalls, swinging across gorges, scaling cliffs, and dangling from ropes over 150 foot drops. I was dying to get started. What fun this would be.

Michael, our guide, manned the rickety van that took us up the mountain. The roads were skinny and rough, but he didn't slow down, veering and swerving, nothing between the tires and the cliff. At least we were wearing helmets.

Once there our group strapped up and cautiously stepped down into the canyon. At first we waded in a pool of water so pure you could drink it while you swam. Then we splashed under a frigid waterfall. Afterward, the real tests began.

The first obstacle. I volunteered before anyone else, so they lowered me over a waterfall about 50 feet high and dropped me into water. That was only the beginning. Much of what I experienced can only be described in a 10 page essay; therefore, I have decided to allow pictures to do the talking in this case.


The canyon boasted an unsurpassed beauty; it is a place I'll never forget.

After stripping off our wet suits and hosing down, we gathered our things and went shopping for a BBQ at the guest house we'd rented (shown on the right). Once back, we settled in. I tried taking a nap, exhausted from only 3 hours of sleep, but the conversation in the kitchen was too loud. However, as the group quieted, I began fading into a dream. Then the buzzing started. A mosquito. It dove in and around my ear, hassling me, taunting me, depriving me of sleep. Later that evening, I would have multiple disturbances and wake up the next day with even less sleep than the night before.

The BBQ was delicious. Chicken, mushrooms, fish, and sausages. We had a jovial time. My only regret is not understanding Japanese. The majority of the conversation was in Japanese, and I often felt like an outsider. Even Derek knew enough of the language to contribute to the discussion, while I was abandoned in my solitude, despite my proximity to the others. In all fairness, Steve kindly swapped between English and Japanese, tugging me back into the group. Yuki also tried her English with me. I felt bad, though, for infringing on their relaxation and forcing them to compensate for my presence. Regardless, I had a good time. I filled my stomach with excellent food, and I interacted with everyone in my own way.


Around midnight our guide (he lives in a section of the guest house) asked if we'd like to go swimming naked in the river. Of course we did... We hopped in the truck and took another death-defying joyride down the mountain. When we were at the water, our guide threw off his shorts and dove into the dark, moving current. Everyone else kept their clothes on and tipped-toed in. Steve, on the other hand, yanked off his undies and flashed the group.

The moon glistened over the surface, and the water rushed by noisy and boisterous. This moment, gliding through the rough, black stream, was the highlight of my trip. I felt an absolute sense of euphoria and calm. Nothing could shatter my ecstasy.

But in ten hours I would be battling this water, slapping against turbulent rapids and paddling head-first into the mouth of an awesome whirlpool.

(Alas! my loyal reader, I have kept you in suspense too long. And now, pitiful penman that I am, I must rush through the remaining details of this adventure, for new adventures await their telling. I beg for your understanding and sympathetic scorn.)

As I mentioned earlier, I slept restlessly the night before rafting. I wasn't the only one, apparently. Near the close of our festivities, a woman from our group vanished into the night with a guide she'd met that day. Hours later she returned. The next morning she complained about the bug bites the riddled her flesh. Steve, witty as always, jokingly asked if the bites weren't from something bigger than a bug. Touche, good sir. The woman wasn't amused.

We launched into the river around 10. Paddles in hand, raised like spears against Mother Nature, we dug in and braced for the first rapid. White, rumbling liquid dunes crumbled over our bodies. "Down!" our guide screamed. We tucked into little balls, drenched in chaos. A final drop. Up, and down. Smack. The raft trembled beneath us. Then we emerged, unscathed and laughing in waves of relief.

Steve followed close behind, a one-man torpedo maniac. He survived.

Cliff jumping was next on the menu. Everyone in our group took the leap. You may notice in the video that one person dove head-first. That was Steve. Not to be outdone, our skinny-dipping guide executed a perfect back flip from a 30 foot rock.

Raft surfing, the next task, is possibly the most fun you'll ever have on a river. We turned back into the rapids and bucked against the rushing current until the raft was sucked forward. There are some amazing clips on Steve's video.

Six hours later. Arms and shoulders reddened by the sun. Legs marked by swelling dots where the monstrous horseflies had gnawed into me. And one last rapid. This one we took without the raft. Quite fun. Except I almost died. I dipped under before taking a deep enough breath and struggled to break upward, but realized I was wasting my air. I calmed. I became the still center of the universe, I let the world control me, I sacrificed my self. When I popped out, I gasped for air and swam for the shore in a daze. The guide later told me I was the last to surface.

We finished this incredible trip with a stop at an onsen (public bath). It was supremely relaxing.

Steve's Rafting Video: Starring Patrick and the Gang

A Sneak Peek at the Rafting Trip

Yeah, so I went rafting. The blog about that will come a little later this week, but to whet your appetite, here's a video of me rafting with Steve, another guy named Derek, and our guide. I'm the guy wearing the blue helmet--the one who falls out last.

"Chinchin ookii?"

Who wants to hear a funny anecdote? Some may find it trite, hackneyed, or otherwise cliche. However, seeing that this is my first such experience, I'll relate it anyway. Conversely, others may find it shocking, hilarious, or otherwise entertaining. Make up your own mind.

Last week I was having dinner with Steve and Ryan at a local restaurant when a platoon of small children walked through the entrance. As they marched by our table, they stopped and marveled at us, three Caucasian foreigners. A few adults were sprinkled among their ranks and gawked at us as well. I took no offense; in fact I was amused. The children ranged between 5 and 10 years old. Curious, rambunctious rascals. For some reason they took a special interest in me. Then one young boy squirmed to the center, faced me, and said "Chinchin ookii?" I nodded, the universal sign of acknowledgment, but not necessarily of affirmation. The boy's mother, though, promptly smacked him and dragged him away. The others dispersed at this time, giggling and chattering incessantly.

As they left, I reflected on the happening. What had the boy said? I noticed our table, surrounded by walls on three sides in a traditional Japanese arrangement. It reminded me of a zoo cage. A zoo cage with a large opening along the walkway for viewing the exotic inhabitants--the three white gaijin. We were on display.

Ryan laughed and said he couldn't believe the boy had asked that. (Ryan is quite apt in Japanese, a student for several years.) I quickly received a translation.

"The kid," he began, "asked if you have a big penis."

I was only slightly flabbergasted: for months the JET alumni had warned me about such a curiosity. Still, you can only be so prepared. I brushed it off anyway.

Elvis Lives

The Japanese Elvis Impersonator at Yasshiro Prison.



And we had to do skits on the second night. Don't ask me what I'm doing in this pic.


*Pictures taken by Amy Baker

A Brief Recounting of Events: Part III

For the sake of time I'm speeding up the narrative of my first month in Japan. Therefore, this brief recounting may actually be brief. Here's to hoping.

August 5
I met Kris, Kate, and Dayna on the final day of the weekend-long festival in my city. We claimed a small portion of sand on the busy beach and prepared for the show. Kris has been giving Japanese lessons to JETs for years. Kate is starting her second stint as an ALT. Dayna, like me, is a first-year participant in the program. They all seem like excellent people.
5,000 hanabi (fireworks) lit the night sky. Some exploded directly over the water, crashing and bawling, slapping in brilliant succession and trickling down into the sea. At one point the blasts neared a line of boats and cascaded onto them in a dangerous display. It was engrossing to see.

Our next destination was a popular dive called Bar One. I have returned to this place several times since. They serve hamburgers and use authentic Heinz ketchup. You've heard of the famous Kobe beef? Well, the cows come from Awaji Island. Yeah, we're famous for cows, and onions, and evil-looking, poisonous centipedes called mukade. Word has it, stepping on them only infuriates the little demons. My apartment is nice enough to almost guarantee I won't befriend a mukade in my kitchen. Other JETs aren't so lucky. Some have to constantly deal with the bugs. In fact, and not to brag, my place is one of the finest among the Awaji JETs.

August 7
Kris cooked me a delightful dinner at her house and we discussed the terms of my lessons.

August 8-9
Ai visited. She came from Shiga to spend a few days in Sumoto with me. Afterward, we would travel east to Shiga and have a weekend with her parents.

I introduced her to all the fine people I've met in Sumoto. Together, we ate dinner and went drinking at a bar called Nara.

The next day we shopped. I hate shopping, but it's necessary. We also encountered John, the other new JET in Sumoto; he landed in Japan a few days earlier. With Jenny, the four of us had lunch.

Ai cooked me a fabulous dinner. (I had to note how good of a cook she is.)

August 10
This day I had a job related task. John and I were chauffeured to every junior high school in Sumoto (even the ones neither of us teach at). Our guide was the principal of one of the schools. My school, Seiun, is the biggest on Awaji. I had a swell time riding around and meeting the faculty for every location. They said they would schedule an enkai (staff party) to welcome John and I. The strange part? I've been here nearly a month and this day was the only day I stepped foot in my place of employment. I won't return until September.

August 11-13
Ai and I left Sumoto for Shiga. We had a brief sojourn in Kyoto, one of my favorite cities, but the heat was so intense and the streets so bustling (it was a holiday weekend) that we tired quickly. We discovered a great ice cream shop, though.

We reached Shiga in the afternoon. Ai parent's were polite and kind as always. Ryota, Ai's younger brother, was also a lot of fun. We went to the video store together, then bought pudding. Ryota's treat.

My time in Shiga was splendid and relaxing. The second night we had a BBQ--my favorite. I didn't cook anything, but I took a picture that makes it look like I did all the work. Indeed. The food was indescribably good. Squid on a stick, strips of juicy steak, mouth-watering mushrooms. I loved every second of it. It was also good to spend time with Ai and her family.

Alas! I had to say goodbye. We'd planned a trip together to an onsen (hot springs), but the Hyogo Prefectural BOE scheduled my orientation over our vacation. So I substituted a charming time in Japan for an orientation. I was bitter before it began. The tragedy with the Shiga trip is that it's the last time I'll see Ai for at least nine months. Getting on that train and waving goodbye was hard. We'll meet again, though. Some day.

August 14-17
Yasshiro, the Prefectural Orientation. It was an orientation. Yeah, the O-word. Some information was useful, but grueling to obtain. A heatwave took Japan that week. All over the country, about a dozen people died from heat exposure, and we were crammed into classrooms with useless air conditioners. The nights were noteworthy. I met the majority of the Awaji JETs here and spent most of my time with them. The first night we had drinking games. The second night we had a welcome reception with lots of alcohol, a live band, and a Japanese Elvis who turned out to be one of the JET's principal. The third night we walked the city and found a bowling alley. I bowled a 111. We had to scurry back to the complex though because we had a 10 o'clock curfew. Many people call this place Yasshiro Prison. The best part of the event for me was acquainting myself with all the other JETs.

August 18-19
Tired, strung-out, aching, I decided to take a trip to Kobe. The Hyogo JETs had organized a gathering at the Beer Gardens. I know, I know, the last place I should be, but oh well. I'm a bit shaky with the bus system but somehow ended up where I needed to be. Earlier, Kris had helped with getting a Keitai, then told me which bus to take. John tagged along, too.

The Beer Gardens was a blast. To be honest, I drank myself silly. Thirty dollars for three hours of all-you-can-eat-and-drink. Everyone was affable, if not sentimental. Good stuff.

Awaji JET Phil


Awaji Gang


The View from Beer Gardens


Raspberry?


John and Kathy (Awaji JETs) and a Chinese guy living in Kobe


We stormed the elevators and took to the streets of Kobe. Bar hopping at first. One bar had a giant metal penis. I don't know why. The night became morning, but we were still out. Keep in mind that I'm exhausted from a week of traveling and drinking (honestly, I don't drink this much. Really).

Around 2 o'clock we grew weary and hunted for a place to stay. Of course, nothing was available. My legs hurt and my head was swimming. The last resort was buying a karaoke room and sleeping in one of those. So, we ended up doing that. I slept about an hour. We were kicked out around 5 o'clock and meandered through Kobe as the earlier morning haze settled on the city.


I got home that morning and slept until 4 in the afternoon.

Dear Lord, Is It Actually Done?
My fingers have bled for you, my eyes have watered, cracked, and splintered, and yet I keep writing. And you, loyal reader, have kept going as well. I think we should both pat ourselves on the back for that one. I'm all caught up now. These were definitely broad strokes; for now on it'll be a bit more specific and I'll better cover details about my living situation. Okie dokie. It's time for lunch.

Mata ne.

A Brief Recounting of Events: Part II

All right, all right, all right. I'm sitting pretty now; everything is taken care of. My apartment is blessed with a sweet stream of internet glory. My pockets are crowded with keitai (cell phone), inkan (personal stamp--used as a signature), and scores of loose change. My liver is saturated in biiru. My head and stomach throb in unison, a harmonic reminder of my transgressions. Things are good.

In revisiting the last few weeks, I'm shocked by the amount of things I've done. Almost every day has a story. Consequently, writing these particular entries, after so much time has elapsed, is especially difficult and possibly tedious to read (hope not). Moreover, much of the story must be cut, else you'd spend an entire day here. Nevertheless, what remains highlights my travels and gives you a broad image from which you can fill in the unstated events.

So, shall we?

Tokyo Pictures



August 1
I wasn't nervous, at first. We pulled the car around the front of the city office, home of the Board of Education (BOE), my new employers. As we exited the car, the heat seemed to press down on me, a humidity so heavy it could bog the very soul. Within moments my brow was moist. Inside the office was no improvement. The central AC was broken and the room sweltered. I felt rivets of sweat slither down the back of my neck. Then the greetings began. From table to table, I moved among them like a revolving billboard, a spectacle, a conspicuous adornment. Names politely flew at me, names I knew I'd forget. The procedure was highly regimented. Table to table, each group stood, bowed, then sat. I said "ok." We all smiled our nervous, unsure little smiles. That little smile, though, saved me. It was my armor and my sword, it was my white flag, my peace pipe, my war paint, it was all I had. It allowed me to circumvent the reality. The reality that says I'm a mute in this country, an illiterate dependent, a mystery, a nuisance, an outsider. So I smile.

Later I walked the beach with Jenny. The water was quite filthy and the waves non-existent, but I'm glad my location is so near the ocean, for nostalgia if nothing else.

August 2
The following day a secretary from the BOE helped register me as an alien resident. Also at this time she asked if I'd like to "dance with her." Puzzled, but conscious that a refusal could offend her, I apprehensively agreed. Shortly thereafter, I would learn what I had unknowingly volunteered for, and it would prove to be the smartest, or dumbest (depending on your point of view), choice I made in my initial days as a Sumoto City employee.

That evening Jenny took me to meet Steve. Steve is from New Zealand, but has lived in Japan for nearly two decades. We chatted for an hour, mostly teasing Jenny. He mentioned a rafting trip he'd scheduled for the end of August and asked if I'd be interested. I said yes. Eventually, the dance came up. Steve explained the dance to me between fits of laughter. Here's the deal: during the first weekend in August most of Japan celebrates the season by having massive festivals with traditional dress, music, song, and dance. Dance. A dance viewed by onlookers from every corner of the island. I had unwittingly become a member of the Sumoto festival.

August 3
The morning brought with it a typhoon that threatened to ruin the festival. So be it, I thought. A tumultuous sky reflected my own anxieties. How could I be duped into such a thing? The wind was terrific, strong and constant. The day stretched out as I dawdled in my room. Soon, the time came. The typhoon failed me.

We, the dancers, congregated in a cafeteria area and were served bento and alcohol. I didn't hesitate to have a drink of the liquid courage. Infamous Japanese hospitality, though. Each time I finished a can of Kirin, a fresh replacement was already on the table. They call this the bottomless glass. By the conclusion of the meal I was drunk. Prior to this, I had been fitted for a traditional Japanese robe, which would be worn during the dance. The outfit came in handy as I stuffed three cans of beer into the baggy compartments and folds before joining a jittery conga-line of other dancers. In all, our group held 70-100 members. We circled the cafeteria, leaning on each others' backs and chanting. Then we were off.

Outside, I realized the scope of the festival. Hoards of families swarmed the streets and dancers from other groups flooded the scene as well. Music pulsed into the air. The alcohol helped.

The dance: the actual moves are hard to explain. Legs crossed over each other, bent knees, arms lifted to the sky. My crash course came five minutes before our descent into the over-packed shopping district. Good enough. Intoxicated feet tugged my knees forward, my knees pulled the waist, then the rest of the body followed. I danced. I danced through the streets of Sumoto, wearing traditional Japanese garments and sweating torrents, muscles burning, waving, smiling. We danced approximately a mile. Young and old, men followed by women, instruments chiming around us, cameras flashing from the darkened storefronts, the smell of festival treats sweetening the air. The beat of the music, the chatter, the snickers, the shouts. I had another beer.

Afterward, I attended a dinner with my supervisor, who also danced, and drank an enormous mug of beer. Please disregard this growing pattern. It was a festival; drinking was required. Karaoke capped the jubilation for me. Around this time I came to my senses. My supervisor, a good, joyous man, had shanghaied a secretary from the BOE, and despite the fun, I began feeling the party was artificial. Perhaps I was too presumptuous. Indeed, I was in no condition to presume anything, but when I sang the scene turned more into a disconnected stage. The BOE secretary was clearly tired, the other men drunk and dispensing haphazard applause. I assume (here I go again) that the language barrier, which had plagued our communication all night, reached a breaking point. It was time for bed.

What a night. What a weekend. Saturday I recuperated and prepared myself for Sunday, when I would meet Kris, my soon-to-be Japanese teacher, and two other JETs living on Awaji. Oh, and I would witness a spectacular fireworks show on the beach. But that tale's for another time.

A Brief Recounting of Events: Part I

First, I would like to thank all of you who commented on my blogs. I might not be able to respond (especially since I have limited access to the net right now), but hearing from everyone really means a lot. Right now I am visiting my girlfriend’s family. We’re planning a BBQ tonight—Japanese have Americans beat when it comes to BBQs.

My internet won’t be ready for another week, so I’ve decided to hijack my girlfriend’s computer and summarize my Japan excursion thus far. Sorry, but there won’t be any pictures this time. Later I promise to upload them. This blog will be a bit lengthy but interesting—more an information overload than anything else. If you’d like elaboration on any of the topics, please let me know soon while the details are fresh in mind.

July 29
We arrived at Narita Airport, Tokyo. The flight was entertaining because alcohol was free and several JETs were quite drunk by the time we reached customs. From Narita, we took a bus into the city. I stared out the window, doing my best to read the passing signs. Hiragana and katakana are the two basic writing forms in Japanese. Kanji, the more complex form, is still a mystery to me. Our hotel was the Keio Plaza, located in the heart of Shinjuku, one of Tokyo’s busiest sections. I shared a room with two other fellows, one of whom is placed in my prefecture. That night I tagged along with a group of JETs who invaded a noodle shop. I hadn’t met anyone in this group before and I haven’t seen any of them since, but I had a pretty good time. Exhaustion soon set in and I called it a night.

July 30-31
Personally, I dread the word orientation. There’s a certain promise of pain in it. Hours and hours of mind-numbing, redundant information force-fed into passive brains. High school prepared me for moments like these. However, the Tokyo Orientation was not a complete grind. After two days I felt a little more confident about the road ahead. Of course in many ways the orientation was unbearable. It failed, I believe, in its lack of specificity. Every situation is different: it’s the JET’s motto. Most workshops were generalized. Regardless, the orientation was a solid first step in Japan, and I’m grateful the JETs were able to congregate before catapulting into their different regions of Japan. I made many contacts and had some splendid evenings.

Tokyo Nights: This topic deserves attention. After some random mingling, I took up with a group of JETs bound for Fukui Prefecture. (I visited the area two years ago on my last trip to Japan, specifically the city of Tojinbo, famous for suicide cliffs.) The Fukui Folk, as I call them, knew how to have a good time, and before they would embark for Fukui, they would gallivant through the hectic streets of Tokyo for two nights. I was lucky enough to join. On the 30^th we braved the Tokyo train system and rode for Shibuya, a very famous district, a place where fun and trouble are often friendly bedfellows. That night, like the night before, it rained, fragments from the typhoon swiping the west edge of Japan. The city was iridescent. The flashing neon signs were branded into the sleek, black roads. The air felt light and cool. Everything had a rejuvenated glow. I, unfortunately, forgot my umbrella and by the end of the night was drenched and shivering. At Shibuya we stumbled upon a bar called Five. It was a classy joint with overpriced margaritas—I had to try it though. Secluded, too. Buried under another bar with the same name. We descended a flight a stairs to find the place. Afterward, we had a brief sojourn at a karaoke bar. Here they have individual rooms for groups. It was exhilarating, singing bad songs with bad voices. But the next night would be the night to remember.

I again met the Fukui Folk, this time by sheer accident, and accompanied their entire prefecture group to an all-you-can-eat-and-drink restaurant. It had a dungeon theme, this restaurant, and we were shackled up in little cells with kitchen tables. Occasionally, the lights dimmed and masked figures burst into the cells. I don’t think we were supposed to laugh so much. The two hours were spent conversing with the Fukui Folk and munching on nameless foods. In the morning I would join my prefecture group and part for Hyogo, so originally I had planned for an earlier evening. When they proposed karaoke after the dinner, I barely hesitated in saying I would love to go. The remaining hours of the night (and a few hours into the morning) we sang song after song, no pausing, and drank pitcher after pitcher. These Fukui Folk were a great gang, every one of them warm and amicable and just as excited as me about the forthcoming year. I plan on visiting them again.

August 1
We blazed out of Tokyo on the shinkansen (bullet train). I traveled with a young lady named Katherine, who is residing on Awaji Island as well, one city above me. She was quite pleasant, and we decided to take some trips together in the future. I rendezvoused with my city official in Hyogo and started the drive to Sumoto. Also at this time I met Jenny, my neighbor and a second year JET, who was kind enough to come along with the city official. Shortly after this, Jenny would prove to be an invaluable friend, someone to guide me around the city and accommodate me to life in Japan. She acted as my translator and introduced me to many people. Without her help my transition to this country would have been much more difficult.

I will reveal Sumoto City to you in a later post because there is much to discuss.

That’s it for now. I’m tired and want to enjoy this little time I have with my girlfriend. I will try to complete Part II and, if necessary, Part III by next week. Again, tell me if any event, idea, etc., needs more detail and I’ll gladly elaborate. And remember to leave your names while commenting, otherwise I won’t know who to thank.

Alive and Well

For the few of you who may be interested, I made it to Japan just fine and have settled into my apartment. Right now I do not have internet set up, hence my delay in updating the blog. I hope to have access within a week, so be patient, my friends. Meanwhile, I am having a great time getting to know the city and all the wonderful people here.