Hanko and the Hash House Harriers

So the night of my arrival in Tokyo I was (understandably) exhausted.  But I'm a professed nonbeliever in jet lag (I have all-nighters from time to time and recover fairly quickly, why should traveling halfway around the world be any different?) so a good nights sleep should fix all that. See my next post for my renunciation of this foolish belief, and acceptance of its existence.

Tuesday:
Living in Tokyo is anything but boring. Everything takes a little more effort or a bit more research when you don't speak the language. I learn something new every ten minutes or so, which is fantastic, because I love learning, especially cultural learning. Tuesday, my first full day in Japan, was spent meeting with my boss Takayuki to set up my bank account and grocery shopping. In Japan, in lieu of signatures for things such as bank documents, everyone has a stamp with their name on it called a hanko, so I got mine to officially set up my bank account (which you can see below along with my residence card, library card and work id).

The black cylinder is my hanko, and the red stamp is what it looks like. It says Ro-Be-Tsu (for Roberts).

The grocery store proved to be a great learning opportunity. Upon entering I just stood staring for a bit  unsure of what I planned to get there. But conveniently the first things I saw were plates and pans, which were exactly what I most needed to bring my tiny kitchen to the next level. Unfortunately, when you move and are unfamiliar with your new home and need things you waste a bunch of money for the sake of convenience. So I bought two (not so special) plastic plates for ~$24, not really realizing it, but the next day I made up for it by finding a 100 yen store and getting a couple bowls and cups for a little over a dollar each.

Other things learned in the grocery store were as follows:
1. Everything is wrapped in plastic, including produce.
2. The grocery store near me has two levels, one of which I didn't notice, leading me to believe that Japanese grocery stores don't carry any bread (though this isn't far from the truth), or produce.
3. I can tell the difference between shampoo and conditioner by reading katakana, but moisturizers and face wash are just as difficult to tell apart as in the U.S. (maybe I'm the only one who has this problem).
4. Entertainment can be found in Japanese grocery stores in the form of advertisement jingles played on tiny tvs next to the dead fish aisle.

Wednesday:
And Wednesday is a hashing day! The Hash House Harriers are an international "running group with a drinking problem". The previous link gives a good explanation (if I described it in detail half of you would probably think it sounds awesome, the other half silly and perhaps even repulsive) but for the purposes of this post you should simply know that we run a trail marked by flour laid on the ground by the "hare(s)." I learned of the group and joined them in Portland this past summer and found it to be a fantastic way to meet new people, see parts of the city I'd never have seen on my own and get the fringe benefit of exercising now and then. But before coming to Tokyo the first I had heard of the group was from my friend Chiara, and my aunt's friend Shaila, both of whom hashed in Tokyo.

So I found where the group was meeting and planned to meet them after setting up my new iphone. With Chiara's help, I had found a Softbank store in the famous Harajuku with employees that speak english, but got a bit lost in finding it (sans working iphone) and so by the time I was done setting up a data plan it was 6:30pm. The group meets at 7:20, and knowing this and the fact that it would take me 20 minutes to get home by train, and another 20 to get to the Iidabashi station where the run would begin, I was anxious to get out of the store. I ran out of the store jumped on the always on time and frequently running train home, changed my clothes and ran back out the door. I got to Iidabashi exactly at 7:20 but couldn't find anyone at the meeting point.  I was about to go home after looking around a bit, but then I noticed a mark of flour on the ground, signifying a part of the trail. I followed it, and soon enough found another mark, and another, and for about half a mile I ran following marks left by strangers, with no clue where I was, or where I would end up.  I soon came upon a Japanese man and woman who looked like they were runners and asked them "Are you?" which is the typical hasher's way to ask if someone is on the trail, to which they responded "Ohn-On...err, looking!," meaning they were looking for the next mark. I followed them through streets and shoulder width alleyways for miles and we finally reached the end of the trail where we were rewarded with a beer. We then spent the next few hours at a restaurant where we ate delicious tofu and udon, and drank seemingly unlimited beer and sake, and I was transported back to this past summer in Portland. It's incredible to me that I can go to pretty much any large city in the world and find people doing this same thing (hashing) in nearly the same way. It was like the comfort of a Starbucks for some travelers, but so much better.

   

 The above are pictures of my apartment/dorm.  I would've added nice small captions under each one, but it turns out blogspot makes it obnoxiously hard to get four pictures in one row and moreso with captions.

(By the way, I came to Tokyo with dreams of toilets like these, which you can find in the airport and even some McDonalds here, but instead I got a boring normal toilet. My work however, does have the high-tech toilets. This resulted in me standing in front of a toilet full of my pee trying to figure out what button to press to simply flush, for a good minute or two. I almost gave up and left the bathroom unflushed, but as I was about to walk out of the stall, a coworker showed up and not wanting to seem uncouth for walking out with my pee out in the open and all, I walked back into the stall, prompting her to ask through the door if I needed anything...)

My friend Ben (who writes a hilarious blog from Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso) asked me if I live in a high rise. Sadly, no. But maybe that will be one of the factors I consider in getting a more permanent apartment (I'm only in this one til the end of December). And by request from Ania, pictures out of my door/window, and from the patio.