Tuesday, June 17, 2003

Milan or Toyama

Last night I went to a dinner party for the Hokuriku-Canada Association. A group of Japanese people that are interested in Canada and plan a get together once a year. Being the proud Canadian that I am, of course I went, the incentive being the free food and the Labatts beer. My fellow Canadian JET's also were in attendance. Well, part way through the informal dinner 3 people walk in, one dressed very hip in a dark shirt and dark tie while another in a funky shirt and shades. I turn to my friend Elita and we both say simultaneously, Who is that? Being that we think every foreigner in this area is an English teacher and we should know each other. Jokingly, Elita said perhaps they were rock stars, seeing how they were not dressed for an occasion like that. Meaning: stuffy serious Japanese get togethers. It turns out they were the preformers for a concert that we had missed earlier that evening. They toured with Chantal Kreviazick and have an album in Europe. Not sure if they are famous but they are doing several shows in Tokyo and Toronto in a few weeks. Elita and I spent most of the time talking to them, with their cute French accents and all. At the end of the night their was an invitation to go out for a drink and see the sights of Toyama when they were finished with their dinner. Phone numbers were exchanged.

Well, while walking back from the "Canada" night, we are stopped by some men obviously lost. So, at first I thought they were Russians, but then they spoke with an Italian accent. They were here preforming La Boheme and needed directions to their hotel. So, being the kindly Canadians that we were decided to walk with them. They did not speak English or Japanese so of course, I pull out the international language of love, French. We proceeded to have a conversation in Italian, English, and French. I also acted as translator when they were looking for a good Sushi restaurant. I had no clue so of course I asked the person working in the cafe. My friends thought that we should of gotten tickets for all our hard work.

Well, the four of us ALT's who had been at the Canadian night soiree stepped into a small cafe to have coffee and chat about our respective schools, bitching and complaing more accurately describes it. Pretty soon, we were overwhelmed by Italians in the cafe. It was like we were in Italy, with the Italian free flowing and the expressos everyone had ordered. Last night it seemed like I was not in Japan but was in Italy. It was a lovely evening hanging out with my fellow Canucks and basking in the sensation of being in Italy. As I walked to the train station the last thing I heard was a "Ciao, Bella", directed at me......

Monday, June 16, 2003

Oscar the Grouch

I am unhappy to report that the rainy season has started here. Good bye sunshine, we will see you in a few weeks. It will rain for about a month here. Not Vancouver rainy weather, but hot humid sticky rain that gets into your apartment and leaves you feeling damp and sticky. Plus creating a lovely haven for mold to flourish. Lovely....

Packing Report
One box of winter clothes ready to be sent. Two boxes almost ready to be sent, upteenth more to be found and packed with stuff...aiya...

I did not get yelled at by the garbage men this morning. This is a first for me. One of the most negative feelings I have about Japan stems from dealing with sorting my garbage. Not the actual physical process but the terror I have in confronting the men who take it from me. To make a long explanation short, garbage is divided into two types, burnable and non-burnable. Well, twice a month you take your non-burnable garbage to a community gathering place and put it into its assorted piles. I dread going and thus save it all up for one trip every 2 months. When I go there, I always manage to have my garbage thoroughly searched and bags ripped apart because I have somehow not sorted it right no matter how hard I try. I read the instruction book on garbage sorting and follow it religously but alas for the most part I get yelled at by these old men who sit there eyeing me suspiciously while I try to inconspicuously put it into its respective piles.

Well this morning, with my shoulders slouched in the anticipated tongue lashing in rapid fire Japanesee, I put my bags down and then promptly eye one of the old men pounce on it. He then proceeds to say something and I automatically pavlovian style say, "sumimasen, gomenasai"...only to realise that that was not my bag of garbage. I then proudly look at him with an air of defiance and say, that is not mine. This is the first time in 2 years that they did not pull apart MY bag in front of me and make me re-sort it into the "proper" piles all the while yelling to me in Japanese....triumph over the "garbage meanies"...