These dreams won't let me be...

People say that dreams often represent the desires of the subconscious mind.

When I was at my old job, it was more like "torment of the subconscious mind" - I would dream about not finding an editor, or perpetually filling out the project forms on that special project management software we used!

Now, however, I find myself dreaming about Amakusa.

It's never a memory, always a return. I've just arrived, and I haven't told anyone that I'm there to visit. It's always a surprise. This is not a recurring dream, however -- it's always different. One day, I'm visiting the 711 that was by my apartment and the family that runs it; another day, I'm headed to the sushi bar, excited to see my adoptive Japanese "dad".

The reason I find this so strange is that these dreams only started up a few months. At least once a week. Of course I've wanted to go back and visit since...well...basically, the time that I came back to the States. That said, I've been so busy that my day-time musings of Japan have been short, though I use Japanese on a daily basis.

It's not hard to say what I miss the most: people, hands down. It wasn't a tourist trip for me, nor did it have the finite boundaries of a study abroad. The people I connected with - my students, neighbors, coworkers, friends - were what made Amakusa great.

Living the small-town life - and I mean really living it, not just being a student at a university in a tiny town (though I did that, too!) - gave me a different perspective on life all together.

I used to have high hopes and expectations for myself as a kid, the kind of student that killed all but my math classes, ate, slept, and wept academics and high gpas. Though taking Japanese language in college was a reality check for me (honestly, I think the only thing I've ever struggled more with is Calculus), I was still a go-getter throughout college for the most part. I had a clear plan: Graduate, do JET 1 year, go to Grad School, Pass Go, Collect $200 plus Salary and Benefits.

I look back now and think, "Damn, I was a machine." In Amakusa, however, life was simple. I went to work at my small school, went home, did some pottery or shamisen with the local teachers, went home, ate dinner, went to sleep. On weekends, I saw my friends. My job wasn't glorious - it was often frustrating, but what job isn't? However, the interactions I had with my students, with the people around town, gave me a joy that I think I didn't truly appreciate until now.

Growing up, I had aspirations to be a lawyer, a psychologist, a professor - something grander than what I was doing in Amakusa. There was always an anxiety that came with that, an anxiety I still feel when I think about it. But now, dreaming of Amakusa, it makes me wonder: would living a simple life be bad? Is it wrong to want to do less than I know I'm completely capable of? I think it's just fine for other people, so why not myself?

In any case, I never thought I would have ended up in a place as small and sleepy as Amakusa, but I would never take it back. Hopefully, I'll be visiting soon.

Reflection: The Transition Year

Another year has come and gone. 

It's been a year that I've been back from Japan, and yet it's strange to think I've been back so long. It's even stranger to think that only now do I feel like I'm starting to live my life again.

What is it that they say? That Change is never easy? I didn't have too much trouble with it initially when I moved to Japan, save carrying all of it around in my wallet (oh yeah, and there were those swollen ankle days).

Moving back to the U.S., however...

Well, the first 5 days home, I was tired. And it wasn't that Jet lag tired -- I felt drained. Physically, my trip in Japan and LA had exhausted me. Emotionally, there were too many ties to Japan, an abruptness to the departure that left me kind of empty.

It didn't quite feel real. It wasn't until I went over to my sister's house for my "Welcome Home" party that I realized I hadn't left my house in 5 days.

When I told her, she all but shoved me out the door. Go to the place with free WiFi, buy the cheapest damn coffee they have, and don't come home until you've applied to at least 5 jobs.

This is probably the best time to explain that my sister and I, being 7 years apart, get along like PB&J. Now, if you'd known us as kids, you would never believe it. She was the big sister who locked me out of her room at play time, I was the little sister poking her over a foam ice chest in the back seat of a rented sedan on our two-week road trips with mom and dad. Somewhere along the line, we went from nemeses to co-conspirators.

Now, when I'm bugging out, she just gets me.

I like to think that I'm a good voice of reason every once in a while, too.

Anyway, after back to the program: My sister kicked me out with a matter-of-fact order. For the next few days, Panera became my haunt. Alas, I did not find the meaning of life, nor my next job, at the bottom of a crappy iced coffee cup. It did, however, give me a little more motivation.

And vitamin D. That always helps.

I did find my next job soon after. My mom, ever talkative and helpful, came upon a coworker with ties to a translation company. (The company will remain unnamed). I sent my resume, had some interviews, and started as an editing intern.

I was excited! For the first time in 6 weeks, something was moving in my life, and it seemed like I had a good opportunity to work on my Japanese. However, this is Miami.

AKA North Latin America.

Before I knew it, I was reviewing Spanish, Spanish, and more Spanish. Granted, I was getting a good reading practice, and I had the chance to work with some of the best, most detail-oriented senior editors, but more often than not I felt as though my eyeballs were about to fall out of my head.

It was only supposed to be for a couple of weeks, then I was going to work on Japanese-English documents, they said. What really happened was one of the most stressful periods of my life.

Disclaimer: I lasted eight months at that job. Throughout that period, I gained an incredible amount of business experience and met fantastic friends that I am perpetually grateful for.

That said, I don't think I have ever been more miserable. At first, I told myself that it was a learning curve -- Project Management, business, was something I had no experience with. They'd started training me on a new client, which blew up fast. That account became my baby. There was always a new challenge, a higher hurdle, and it was all part of the curve. Someday, I'll reach the top of the hill, I said to myself, short-winded.

It just so happened that the hill included an obstacle course of long hours, emails 24/7, and no overtime pay. The worst was when I'd dream of work, wake up, and have to go to work. It happened more times than I can count. Eventually, I came face to face with a conundrum: I was so drained that I needed coffee, but coffee started to make me anxious.

Finally, it came to the point where I could no longer ignore the fact that crying when I came home from work was not only hormonal, and that the shortness of breath and tears together were panic attacks -- something I'd never suffered from before. I even went to see a shrink.

So I quit. I admit, at first it hurt my pride to leave at first, almost like I was giving up. However, another job opportunity came along not long after, and I am now happily using Japanese in my every day life. I took a pay cut, and the kind of work doesn't seem quite as prestigious -- I don't get to call the shots, most of the time. Even so, I feel like I've done a complete 180. Reasonable hours? Normal days off? Weekends without answering emails? Home before 9? Wait, before 7?!

I remember telling a coworker towards the end that I didn't even feel human anymore. Perhaps that was the most valuable lesson I learned from that job: that no job is worth that kind of misery.

Again, the knowledge and experience I gained there are invaluable and will undoubtedly help me in the future. The human connections -- for all the inhumanity I felt -- were priceless. Some of my coworkers became my best friends, and my bosses were always kind to me. It just so happened that they were as crazy workaholic as the industry expected me to be.

So, to sum it up, I spent the better part of a year like that. A lot of good things happened in that time, too, however.

I started growing a little maple tree for a few months (it eventually died, but I reveled in the short growth process). I went to France for two weeks after I quit my job, which I liked more than I expected (French people are much nicer than we are often led to believe). Oh, and that sister I mentioned earlier? She had a baby, a cute little nephew for me to spoil when he's old enough to tell the difference.

Don't get me wrong, I still can't wait to go back to Japan. But it seems like life is finally moving forward again. I have absolutely no idea what the next step will be, or where it will take me, but at the very least it's started off with a smile on my face.

On the way home...

By now you must be wondering, "Where is she? Where has she been?"

Well, now I'm back home. As to how I got here? Beyond the conventional airplane, of course.  Well, that's a longer, somewhat bumpier story.

The first part of this was written in a somewhat surly state of mind, influenced by sleep-depravation and the general frustrations associated with dragging a good percentage of your life across 7,000 miles of ocean and terrain in three suitcases. Please forgive me when it gets ranty, haha. The second part, well...let's see how it goes.

Part I - ALL I WANTED WAS SOME SOBA.

I had it all planned out.

When I went to Kamakura, and out with friends on my last days in Japan, I though, "Nah, I'll get it at the airport." It was to be my last, perfect meal, a time to reflect in my last few moments alone in Japan.

zaru soba: cold soba noodles, a refreshing summer staple



All I wanted was some freaking zaru soba and tempura. What I got was a quick, ready-made sandwich in a plastic pack from Dotour as I ran to the boarding gate.



This is what happened:

I left my friend's place, and got to Narita Airport at a reasonable time (about 2.45 hours before my flight). I had left my two large suitcases with my friends at the 711 コンビニ (convenience store) back in Amakusa, who sent it to Tokyo for me four days before my flight. The shipping company had called to confirm that my bags had arrived at the airport the day before, and there was a cell phone station where I could cancel my service right next to it. It seemed to be going perfectly.

"Seemed" being the optimal word.

As soon as I got to the airport, things went downhill fast.

I strolled up to the cell phone kiosk counter of Terminal 2, ready to cancel my phone service, only to be met with a surprise. My 2-year contract would be "up" on September 1st - even though I started a contract on August 14th two years prior. It was August 27th. Could I just leave instructions for them to cut my service on September 1st? No, I had to be there physically. Could I have a friend go in person to close my account? No, it had to be me or a family member. After a bit more prodding, they told me I could have my work supervisor do it for me, but I'd have to hand her the special form... 
 


...too bad my flight was in two hours.

So guess what? $100 early cancellation fee, plus my regular bill.

Nothing to do but pay, so pay I did.

But at least I had my baggage situation arranged, right? WAIT. I arrived to find that, yes, my bags had arrived, but to the WRONG terminal. There "wasn't enough time" for them to transport my bags to the next terminal - given the time that Kuroneko would spend in calling the truck, packing the bags, and delivering them to the next terminal - so I had to take them on the terminal shuttle with me. Now, terminal shuttles run great at Japanese airports, much like anything else in the country. However, we're talking about me, two +20 kg  (approx. 60-70 lbs) suitcases, one carry-on, and a shoulder bag. Somehow, with the balancing/clinging skills honed during my university bus-riding days and the help of two nice, Japanese ladies, I managed to do it.

I thought I'd cleared it, and did my math: I'd have about an hour to check my bags in and have lunch...except SURPRISE!

Delta recently changed their international flight baggage allowance from 2 checked-in suitcases to 1. So bam! $100 extra baggage fee. Oh, and one of my suitcases was over weight. But not just overweight. (Mind you, I realize this is my own fault for having too much crap, but really). The policy is that 24-32 kg costs $75 extra. Above 32kg to, gee, Idon'tevenknow, would cost $200 extra. My bag weighed 33 kg! The stewardess directed me to the corner nearby, and told me if I could transfer 1 kg to my other suitcase, which was underweight, then I could avoid the heftier of the two fines.







Now, if my suitcase would only open. The overweight suitcase was an old, hard-shell beast, which my father had found for $5 at a garage sale and had fixed for my initial trip to Japan. It had lost a handle on the way there, and apparently lost proper lock function just as I was ready to make my way back. After about 10 minutes of fighting with my luggage, I finally managed to open this crazy bag, transfer some clothes, and...now the suitcase won't freaking lock. Another 20 minutes later, I'd finally managed to lock one side of the suitcase, and slip the clasp lock on the side of the other. 

With a hope and a prayer, I rush to check in my two suitcases in, practically throwing $200 at the stewardesses. At this point, about 45 minutes have passed. I realize I don't have enough money in my Japanese account to cover the extra cost of the phone bill, but as I rush to the ATM (you can deposit money from an ATM to your account for most banks in Japan!), I realize that  I can't because my tiny Amakusa bank is, well...too tiny.HAHA!


By now, it's about 3:30 in the afternoon. I haven't eaten lunch, and haven't really eaten breakfast, but there are 10 minutes until boarding. I haul ass through security, manage to buy a prepackaged sandwich from Dotour near the gate, and make it just in time to line up for boarding. 

Well, I didn't get that soba, but at least I got that Coolish Peach ice cream in a pack from the vending machine. And the girls next to me on the plane were nice. 



Bright sides, right?

Plus, I was going to see my great friends in LA, where I was going to spend a week before making my final stop in Miami. 

Except, someone left an entire container of bags on the plane in LA, of which mine were conveniently included, so I, along with several other passengers, were waiting over an hour for our bags to get out of the plane. This bag carousel is also just  past customs - a no-phone zone - but also had an extra customs component that made the carousel area phone-free. I couldn't even get the airport wireless signal to message my friend who was picking me up. 

When I finally get out of the airport, I spend 15 minutes just trying to get onto the wifi. By the time I am able to contact my friend, he has just left the airport because he has a class at Northridge...and with the traffic, and there's no way he can turn around to come back to the airport...



So, again, My Three Suitcases and I hobble slowly, painfully, to a charter bus that drops me an hour away, nearer to my friend's school, hobble into the wire-less terminal (no phone for me, and certainly no wireless devices), where I started plugging away at this blog post. 

Needless to say, my departure from Japan was less than stellar, and certainly less than I had imagined for myself. From that point on, though, things got much better: My friend arrives, we get food, and after a magnificent shower I spend a great week seeing the LA sights with my great friends Monica and Justin. It was just the medicine I needed after that ordeal. 

And the best part? My suitcases stayed in the trunk all week.

School Lunch

...kind of.

In Japanese schools, 給食 (kyuushoku), or school lunch, is compulsory. There is a special person at the head of the Kyushoku Center who crafts the menus for all the schools in an area, term by term. These aren't the frozen something-nuggets that our schools threw in an oven, or the limp green beans and french fries we warily ate in American schools (I saw "we" collectively, as I always brought my own lunch to school). Japanese school lunch is in fact made by the people at the centers. The idea is that, by eating the lunch prepared by the lunch centers, the schools can educate children on healthy eating habits.

A typical Japanese school lunch (in my area) consists of:

Rice
Salad
Miso Soup (variety)
Meat (usually fish or chicken)
Milk

(On special occasions, perhaps thrice a year, there's cake or some other sweet.)

This really translates to:

A mountain of rice.
Half a small plate of thin, pickled cucumber salad.
Miso soup with  some vegetables, but mostly potato and konnyaku (a hard, tasteless jelly)
Meat (which, when not chicken or fish, translates to fried medalians full of mystery called 'croquet')
Milk (freezing in the winter, luke warm at best in the summer by the time you can drink it.)

This all adds up to a whopping 1,000  calories. 

That's almost a daily caloric intake, I thought when I first found out. No wonder I felt like I was going to burst.

While granted more delicious than any public school meal I'd had in the States,  I don't need that much food at lunch. I can't eat that much food at lunch! Kyushoku was built with growing children in mind. But teachers in the public system have to heat it, too, as a way to educate the children. And, you have to eat everything, even the things that you don't like (even if you hate it). I guess it's good in a way because it makes children have to try new things, but at the same time I think it can breed resentment. I  certainly felt resentful. There aren't a lot of foods I dislike, and even then I can eat them if the situation calls for it, but having to eat everything on my plate, especially when I didn't serve myself, was extremely taxing.  I was seriously struggling not to fall into a post-lunch coma during my afternoon classes, especially at elementary school where I have to be the most active.

I tried asking the teachers who make the lunches to serve me less, but they kept doing the same thing. Again, and again, and again.

So I quit. And started bringing my own lunches.

I was lucky, since my school still let me eat with the children. I suppose they see it as a form of cultural exposure, but other people who have quit eating Kyushoku weren't so lucky. Their schools made them stop eating with the children so as to not influence them.

In any case, my lunches (now cut down to perhaps a third of its previous caloric value) consist of many different recipes, some local, some Cuabn (when you try to make picadillo in Japan, you learn just how much a difference an olive makes!), and most times my own creations.

This is my most recent Japanese お弁当（o-bento), or "homemade lunch."



かっぱ巻き（kappa maki)Cucumber roll with sesame (I cheated and added prociutto because, well, I had some left!)


いなり寿司(inari-zushi) Sweet soybean curd filled with vinegared rice (and sometimes other stuff).

たくあん(takuan) Yellow, pickled Japanese radish

A little pre-made pasta salad (you wouldn't believe how popular that stuff is here!)








 

Daily Dallys

I've written quite a bit on my travels, and been on even more than I've written about, but I rarely talk about the things that go on every day.

While the daily things that keep me busy may not be as exciting, they're just as much a part of my life as my trips, if not more so.

More importantly, they're easier to write about on a consistent basis. When I think of cramming all of my wonderful experiences into one post -- impossible, even for me -- I get anxious and tend to procrastinate. It's my goal to try to update at least once a week.

Better late than never!

Experiences in Jewelry Making

When I went to Kyoto with my mother in the Spring of last year, I bought some cute, hanging earrings, cloth-crafted white flowers with a dab of color at the center...which I promptly LOST. But only one. Frankly, I don't know what's worse, the loss of a new purchase or the taunting reminder that it's not fully gone.

In any case, I searched  everywhere I went for earrings similar to that which I had lost, but not even specialty stores that sold that kind of fabric and objects made of that fabric sold earrings.

So, I decided to make my own!







I bought the flowers at one of the specialty stores -- while I am amazing, and I'm sure there's some youtube tutorial about  making them, I didn't make this particular part myself. Then I bought the earring parts (posts, beads) at a craft store. I've never made jewelry before, so I kind of did this at my own whim, cramming things together how I thought they'd hold together and using pliers that I'm sure were meant for other purposes. Currently they're being held down with a Scotch Tape backing (desperate times, you know?) until I can find a proper back to glue them to the post.

“Traffic Cops,” or “It’s not like we’re trying to make a countdown.”

Between Graduation and preparing for the new school year, playing catching is hard work! I’ll do my very best, though.



This issue will be about…

New Years in Japan (Part Deux)

This past December, after enjoying a brief stay back home for my sister’s wedding, I flew back to Japan. For those of you who don’t know, when you fly from America to Japan it’s like you lose almost two days due to the time difference. That put me on the cusp of the new year when I flew out on December 29th from the East Coast.
 

Arriving (groggily) in the early morning hours of December 31st, I had about 4 hours to rest in my airport hotel before checkout. After transferring my bags to my next hotel, I hit the streets of Tokyo to meet with my old college friend, Julia. We studied Japanese together, and she’s likewise teaching English in a place north of Tokyo. This was the first time we’d seen each other in almost two years, so it was great. We met with a coworker of hers, also spending New Year’s in Tokyo, and went for lunch and some light shopping on the famous streets of Ginza.

That night, we went to Shibuya (a popular nightlife district in Tokyo) for dinner with a few other friends of hers. It was a prison themed restaurant, with each of the tables secluded in cubicles like a cell block, barred windows and all. It was slightly dark, and every once in a while a siren would blare, the lights would flash, and people who had “broken out” would run around with masks.

As the hour got later, we finished dinner and went along our ways. Julia’s friends had opted to stay in lively Shibuya for the countdown, but Julia and I planned to be two among hundreds (if not thousands) of people making a trip to the famous Sensouji Shrine in Asakusa on New Year’s eve.

We had planned for this in advance, knowing that many people would be out and about. Traffic would be bad, both on the streets and on trains, but we had left early to combat that. However, there was one thing we hadn’t expected: that the police would be our undoing!

Don’t worry, no one got arrested. At least, none of us. The point I want to make is:

Traffic cops are terrible. Everywhere.

While I’m sure they had good intentions like crowd-control and traffic relief in mind, what they really created was a mass of confusion. Like cattle, we (the crowds) were herded off the streets and onto the sidewalks – a smart move for safety, and now what I have qualms with. The mess began when certain, otherwise convenient subway entrances were blocked from use. Locals and tourists alike complained in confusion, stopping to ask cops where the heck we were supposed to get the subway, all the while moving along at an ant’s crawl.

Needless to say, Julia and I hadn’t anticipated pedestrian traffic of this level. Add to that, Shibuya is at least a 30 minute train ride from Asakusa. We jumped on the first train that came as soon as we made it to the train stop, but even then we were only the slightest bit out of luck.

So it was that we found ourselves counting down the seconds to midnight on a crowded, Tokyo train next to a very amused Japanese woman.


“It’s not like we’re trying to make a countdown, or anything.”

 

The train arrived at Asakusa Station at 12:02 am.

We thought we would have to run to the shrine once we exited the train, but as we ascended onto the busy street I looked at Julia and said, “What the heck. It’s not like we’re trying to make a countdown or anything.”

It became our slogan for the night.

We went to the nearest convenience store and bought some wine coolers, then proceeded to the shrine. It was quite cold out, and we were sure to be waiting in line for a while, so we figured the alcohol would keep us warm on our way.


When we arrived, however, it was worse than we had expected. The crowd, at least 60 people or more across, spanned back about 5 blocks from the shrine with hopeful Japanese waiting to make their first prayers for a good 2014.


By this point, we were freezing and exhausted (I’d averaged a total of 4.5 hours of sleep in the previous 24 hours, and Julia had likewise arrived from a trip abroad on the previous night). Glancing at each other, we shrugged.


“It’s not like we’re trying to make a countdown.”


The shrine would be there when we got back. So would the people, but we hoped the crowd would have died down by then. We went to a nearby bar, where we warmed up and played card games with a few area locals. At around 2 am, we returned to the shrine. The crowd had lessened, but we still waited about an hour and a half before we arrived at the shrine steps. The crowd leaving was much better than arriving, but still hectic to push through. By the time we were walking to the station, it was about 5 am. As we trudged along, we were surprised to find that Starbucks was open.

We were cold again, and we figured, “Well, it’s not like we’re trying to make a countdown!” So we had our first coffees of the year in a Japanese Starbucks, watching as the rest of Japan trudged along home.

神戸 Kobe

The Takachiho　trip entry was long winded. I'm going to try to shorten the future posts for the sake of my own time, but I make no promises.



This time, I want to talk about Kobe. A neighbor from the U.S., who was placed in Kobe, couldn't rave enough about it. On another long weekend, when everyone was busy, I decided to go on my own. I trained and flew out to Osaka on Friday night. When I got to Guesthouse Tennoji (a place I've stayed before), it was nearly midnight. The Guesthouse keeper remembered me, but looked perplexed. Apparently, somewhere between all of the English competitions I was training my students for, I didn't realize that his Guesthouse requested an email confirmation. It's rare that hostels or hotels do so in Japan. As such, he had canceled my reservation for that night, but I was in luck! The mens dormitory was completely empty that night, so I was able to stay there.

I was staying in hostel in Kobe the next night, but I really wanted to see Hikone Castle, which is in Shiga, bordering the east of Kyoto (if you look at the map, it'll all make more sense).





I set off on a 45 minute train ride with all of my bags to meet up with my friend Masafumi who lived in Kyoto and had planned to come see the castle with me. Carrying my bags, I mused about the pleasantries of public transportation in Japan. Almost all Japanese train stations and airports have lockers of varying sizes, which make traveling from place to place extremely convenient. I intended to do so with my duffel bag and backpack. As the train I was on got crowded, I placed my duffel bag in the overhead rack and relaxed.

When I finally got to the station at which we were meeting, I took one look at my friend's face and felt the icy cold fingers of realization rake down my back; I had forgotten my bag on the train!

Not only that, but I had forgotten my bag on the train when I changed trains at Kyoto Station, easily one of the biggest, busiest stations in Japan. I was lucky that I had forgotten my duffel bag and not my book-bag, which had all my important things -- computer, phone, wallet, etc. However, the duffel bag had all of my clothes for the trip, including spare shoes and all of a girl's essentials.

Thankfully, Japanese trains run extremely on time. Trains are only late by a minute, if at all, and so online train tables are very accurate. If you ever travel by train in Japan, check out hyperdia.com (input the departing station, arrival station, and departing time, and it will give you several options around that time, including prices!)

It was easy enough to explain to the station staff at what point in time I lost my bag, but describing it was another matter. All I could say was "It's a Japanese style design with lots of zippers." Which it was. There was no other way to describe it, as only seeing would really help, and there was no solid description to go on besides "it has lots of flowers." Even so, the staff was kind enough to put out a call for train attendants to be on the lookout.

There was nothing to be done at that point, so my friend and I went out to see the castle.

Hikone Castle is one of the few original castles of Japan. There's no real furnishing left inside, but the timbers of the rafters are not as factory-straight like some of the recreations; rather, they are made from naturally cut trunks, and it's interesting to see how they curve together to support the roof.

We called the station help line to check on the status of my bags over a cup of Starbucks coffee (Japan has special flavors not available in America, so don't judge me!), but they were still lost to me it seemed.

It was nearing 7:00 in the evening. Sad and clothes-less save the clothes on my very back, I took an hour train ride to Kobe, this time careful not to leave my bags behind. My GPS insisted on taking me down an alley that looked like a dead end, but as I turned the corner, there before my very eyes was a colorful, newly built hostel that radiated warmth.

Exhausted, and not little worried for my bags -- I was on a three-day trip, day one, with no spare clothes! -- I checked in. I had a personal room with a bathroom and shower to myself, which was a relief. As I was preparing my instant noodles in the kitchen of the place, two Japanese guys come in, acting like a comedy duo. They were surprised that I not only spoke Japanese, but enough to joke back at them. Needless to say, we were fast friends.

The two of them were actually Kobe locals, who were friends with the barista/bar tender and often came to the hostel to drink coffee.

Oh yeah, as if it's not cool enough that this hostel is an old Japanese house that was reconstructed by the owners and the owners' friends by hand, and is decorated with original artwork (doors, walls, everything!), it has a small cafe area that's available to everyone, locals included. The barista, a twenty-something with an awesome mustache, mysterious air, and incredible English skills, was equally entertaining. Talking through the night with them and the female owner, I ended up with two tour guides for the next day.

My friend from Kyoto, who had never been to Kobe, was kind enough to come meet up with me, and as we were about to call the train station, I got a call instead. Lucky for me, my bag ended up at a station only a ten minute train ride away! We went over and got the bag, with all of my articles untouched, and got a nice view of the coast along the way. The rest of the day, we spent with the Kobe Comedy duo, who took us all around the city by foot.

The harbor area at night is splendid, as many of the buildings are illuminated, including a rainbow-lit Ferris wheel. The most astounding part, however, was the large waterfall on a mountain directly behind Shin-Kobe station, a major station!

Overall, this was my impression of Kobe. It used to be the center of Kansai, that region of Japan, until the great earthquake a bunch of years ago. Now, it's still a rather large port city, but the main attractions seem to be shopping and food, Osaka having taken a more dominant role in the realm of business. Many of the streets are wide and open, and there's a lot of beauty to be seen. Compared to other places, it may seem unremarkable, but there's an air that's, simply put, enchanting about it. Now that I have friends there, it's double attractive, and I couldn't wait to go again. I did, actually, for this past New Year's, but that's a story for another time...