Satomi and I finally rented a house! If Japanese traditional architecture had a Soviet era the houses would probably resemble what we have rented. I’m super duper excited about it. Satomi is less thrilled because it needs a lot of work and even more cleaning but I think she will be happy to get out of her parents’ house.
There seem to be two very distinct sets of people who are attracted to Japan. There is the tribe that is attracted to “Cool Japan”. People of this ilk tend to love cute toys, sexy but cute comic books, J-Pop music, Nintendo DS and the bright lights of Tokyo. “Cool Japan” actually appears to be a real Japanese Government program to promote Japanese Manga (comics) and Anime (cartoons) as a way to save the Japanese economy. I am a member of the other tribe. We used to be the majority but now we are not very hip. Still, I am a proud member. My tribe loves old Japanese houses, Buddhist Temples, Shinto Shrines, the Samurai spirit, and Kurosawa films.
As a lover of idealized old Japan, I have fantasies about living in a hundred year old Japanese house, tucked away in the mountains with a straw roof and an irori (Japanese hearth for cooking and heat) blazing away on a cold winter evening while snows falls quietly on rice fields recently harvested and waiting for the following spring. That is not the image you will get if you visit our new house. I’m pretty sure that it was built in the 1970’s. It is definitely Japanese but despite it’s tile roof it would never make the grade as a set for a Kurosawa film. It has shoji doors and tatami floors–very traditional. The shower/bath room is impossibly spartan and unbelievably cold and impersonal–very Japanese in my experience. The stairs to the second floor are steep and narrow but less so than houses built in earlier eras–a definite plus. It lacks beauty the beauty refinement of my dreams but so does most of Japan. It is definitely cold and stolid and would benefit from extended use of nicely scented candles. It doesn’t sit high in the mountains but you can see the Ariake Sea, partially obscured by the copious and omni-present cacophony of telephone and electrical wires if you look out one of the second story windows. A stone’s throw away, across the street from the aluminum window factory, there is a Buddhist temple. It isn’t a pretty one on the outside but I have high hopes for what lies behind the closed doors. The white cat that sleeps on the temple steps is a plus. It’s not the house I want to retire to but on a shoe string budget it will more than do.
We’ve been cleaning and preparing whenever we have a spare moment but it is slow going. Luckily, we have Harikubo, Satomi’s Uncle, to help us. He is our David Goodman. If you don’t know David you should. He is handy man extraordinaire. Harikubo fixed the places in the kitchen and bath where the tile had fallen off. He put clothes rods in the closets (not standard in Japan). He replaced the broken faucet in the kitchen and he is going to help us put in a cheap linoleum or vinyl floor in the kitchen. On top of that, he knows everyone in town, it seems. He’s the one who found the house for us. His friends hooked up the gas so we can have hot water, cleaned the septic tank and donated supplies to fix up the shower and tub area. We would be miserable without him. So far I have only repaid him with a fifty dollar case of beer (beer is really expensive in Japan!). I’ll have to do better than that.
Today, I started painting what will be our living room. The previous tenants let their kids draw on the walls with magic marker and used sharp objects to etch the walls. Super not cool. I sanded the magic marker off but was told no wall patch exists to the type of wall we have. We will have to live with the etchings. I hope scarred walls looked good in beige. Satomi is obsessed with curtains these days. She won’t rest until we have hung new curtains in every room. FYI, nice curtains are expensive. We are staying away from nice and going the second hand and discount store route. I hate to admit it but curtains really do make a big difference. Guys, take note and listen to the ladies when it comes to curtains.
The biggest plus for me is that it has a room that I can use for a yoga studio or to teach English classes. If people are arranged just right for yoga it can fit about six beginners or eight advanced students. I’m hoping to start teaching yoga classes in the house in January. I also have been planning some English conversation classes for elementary school students. Satomi has agreed to be my assistant teacher. I excited about that. I love the idea of couples working together. She’s a little anxious about it but she’s a trooper so I know she will do a great job. She has come with me to teach English to 4 and 5 year olds at a local pre- school the past two Saturdays. She helped out a little and was super duper.
That’s it for today. Thanks for tuning in. I could finally post something because we had a huge rainstorm last night and this morning so I did have any work in the orange fields. It has been seven days a week up to now. Christmas in Colorado is looking even sweeter than usual this year after a few months of getting settled in Japan.
I passed my driving test! I am licensed to drive in Japan using either an automatic or manual transmission. In the end, we paid seventy-five dollars for one hour of training from Saga City Driving School. It was money well spent. There is no way I would have passed with out it. The secret code costs money and I paid the price. The driving school gave me a map that indicated when to shift gears, where to signal, when to change from the left side of the lane to the right side of the same lane (weird but it was part of the test), and lots of other important details. I followed the driving instructor’s advice down to the slightest detail and it worked! If you ever need to take the test I’ll give you a good deal on a slightly used map with all of the secrets.
On Friday October 16th at 1:56 pm I felt the fall wind for the first time and it was good. It has been cold in the evenings and mornings since.
Since then we have blown right though fall and seem to be entering winter. With no central heating it is going to be long, cold grind until spring comes. I am already shivering every time I take a shower. I’m less than thrilled about that.
I’ve lost too much weight since coming to Japan. I’m down five pounds…mostly form my face, I think. My biceps are becoming pretty sexy for a skinny guy, though. Check back in the future for pictures!
I graduated from orange crate carrier to orange crate carrier and orange picker. This summer was the hottest one that anyone remembers so a lot of the oranges got sunburned and have dry spots inside along with a dry, flat spot on the outside. We have to check every orange for that plus they have to be not too big and not too small, not too spotty, and nice and round. It all sounds easy until you start looking at tree after tree with hundreds of oranges. Factor in that the rules are a little different for each type of orange and it gets trickier. I have been reprimanded for picking sub standard oranges on a few occasions but I think I’m getting the hang of it. I had to learn that just because it tastes good doesn’t mean that someone will buy it.
I went for a hair cut yesterday. I got a cut that was way too cool for me but I like it. I was also given a lesson in blow dryng my hair (blow from the front for the top of my head for more “volu-mu”. Blow the sides dry from the front for less “volu-mu”), what wax and how much (maximum hold, liquid wax that is a 10 out of 10 on the stiffness scale), and hair spray (spray once from 30 centiometers away with spray that is 8 out of 10 on the stiffness scale). I don’t use a blow dryer and I was too cheap to buy new wax and hair spray so I’ll stick with what I have (FYI, I don’t own hairspray but I might have a jar of Aveda styling clay. Maybe.) and hope I look good enough to go to the field and see my new friends.
My new friends. They're wild and don't know how to use a litter box.
I have so much more to tell you but I’m sleepy. Tomorrow it will possibly rain and if it does I will get a day off and can write something less fluffy and trivial. Thanks for tuning in.
For today I had written a nice light post about trivial stuff that is happening here in Japan but we had a minor adventure that caused me to change course. Here’s how it goes…
Satomi and I took a brief hiatus from picking oranges this afternoon so that we could make a follow up visit related to Satomi’s mission to have the neighbor stop discharging the water from her washing machine into her parent’s back yard. Apparently, this has been going on for years and it is a smelly nuisance. That, however, is a different story for a different time. There may be a whole other post about her crusades to right the wrongs and bring justice to the downtrodden in our new town.
Anyway, were were driving back from our meeting when we saw a “tonbi”, Japanese Sea Eagle, on the center line of the road. He had been hit. It was still standing but it wasn’t moving looked really bad. Its feathers were all ruffled, possibly from the impact or possibly because cars and trucks were whizzing by in both directions, inches from it. It looked like it had been tumbled in a clothes dryer. A crow was lurking close by with what looked like ominous intent. Satomi screamed at me to stop and I pulled over at the next road. She ran to a house and asked to borrow a box while I watched the usually proud bird stand in a stupor with traffic paying it no heed. It only took a minute for her to return with a box and we ran down the sidewalk toward the bird. The traffic just kept coming and coming. A mini van saw that we were trying to help the bird and stopped in the road, stopping all the other traffic as well. We dashed out to load the bird into the box. I was trying to scoop it up with the box because I didn’t know if he was dangerous or not. Its talons were fearsome and its beak equally so. I was making moderate but slow progress. While I plodded along Satomi sprung into action. She was wearing two layers of shirts. She took off her purple Cirque de Soliel tee-shirt and grabbed the bird and put it in the box. It made absolutely no sound or movement but, to me, it’s eyes looked like they were relieved.
We hustled it back to the car. “What now?” we thought. We had a stunned raptor in our tiny Subaru R2 housed in a box that we couldn’t close because it was too small. What if it sprung back to life! Its wing appeared to be broken and was bent at an unwieldy angle but if he was passive because of fright we would still be in for trouble if he decided he wanted out of the car.
I had told Satomi’s parents that we would meet them in the field as soon as our meeting was done so that we could get as much done as possible. Rain is expected tomorrow so we won’t be able to do much. I wanted to go tell them we would be late but Satomi wanted to rush the bird to the animal hospital. We knew the injuries weren’t going to heal enough for it to return to life in the wild but we hoped maybe the doctor would give it a shot and put it out of its misery. Satomi won and off we went without letting her parent’s know what had happened to us. I insisted on stopping by the grocery store for a bigger box. I won that battle and 30 minutes later we arrived at the animal hospital with the bird secure in a bigger box and still docile, except for a little scratching the side of the box when the engine hit a certain RPM.
Satomi rushed in and was back in 20 seconds. She had been told by the receptionist that they were not willing to even consider helping. The animal hospital said they wanted nothing to do with a wild animal. They only helped cats and dogs. I suggested to Satomi that maybe they should advertise themselves as a pet hospital instead of an animal hospital. Better yet, a cat and dog hospital. Satomi wasn’t doing well. The really empathizes with animals and can’t stand to see them suffer in the least. A stressed out mess, she said that there was one other animal hospital in town. Again, we were off. That one didn’t go well either. At the end of her rope, she snapped when that doctor said that wild animals should be returned to the wild to die naturally. I sort of agreed but I also agreed with Satomi who said that being hit by a car made this bird’s situation not part of the natural cycle of life for a bird. The doctor retreated, seeking safe shelter in his office as his wife apologized profusely. Again, we headed down the road with our injured bird. We had kind of bonded with our boxed bird by that time and I had a sad, sinking feeling. I weakly offered to put the bird out of its misery myself if Satomi felt that strongly about it but I don’t know if I could do it. Something in the bird’s demeanor made me think that it wouldn’t want that. We decided to think it over while we drove back to our town.
In the end we did take the second doctor’s advice(not because we wanted to but because we thought it was more humane than continuing to drive an injured bird to and fro) and brought the bird to the mountains to die as naturally as a bird can when it has been hit by a truck and had its wing, and probably more, broken. We found a nice place on the mountain, next to one of Satomi’s parent’s fields with a view of the sea and I slid it out of his box onto the grass. He was still alert and there was a calm emanating from his deep brown eyes. It didn’t move except when I tried to pull Satomi’s purple tee-shirt from its jet black talons. There was still a lot of strength there. It clung tightly to the shirt. We left the shirt with the bird and headed to the orange field to make our apologies and get some work done. Neither of us could stop thinking about the bird. Satomi wanted to go check on the bird and give it some water after we finished in the field but I didn’t want to. So we didn’t. Nature is taking it’s course right now. If it is still alive it probably won’t be for long. The rain is coming and the temperature will be dropping soon. It’s sad. It feels like we lost a friend even though we only spent two hours together and the bird was in a box most of the time. The image of the stunned bird in the middle of the rushing traffic is burned into my mind. And the eyes too. So alive and proud even when broken beyond repair.
It isn’t fun leaving a friend to die alone in the woods but we did it and it was probably the right thing to do.
*This is slightly altered from the original post. I posted an early draft in error when I was battling the Gremlins of internet connectivity. I apologize to those of you that had to suffer through all of the mistakes*
For a few years Satomi’s father has been espousing,to me, the merits of boiled pig’s feet. He couldn’t seem to fathom that I had never indulged. In the hope of keeping my streak of un-indulgence going, I had tried not to seem overly enthused about trying them. I guess that he figured that I was never going to ask to try them so he ordered them himself (something unheard of) from his favorite restaurant and sent Satomi and I to pick them up.
I won’t say much about them so that the uninitiated can try with out having my opinions tarnish the experience. The experience wasn’t traumatizing in any way. These particular pigs feet were salted. I think that was probably a good idea. I will also say that I ate three of them and the principle of Diminishing Marginal Utility (I learned that fancy term from Jim Astle in High School. Thanks!) was in full effect. The third foot was not nearly as enticing as the first. Eating three was not my plan but as you can see from the smile in photo (pre-indulgence) I appeared to be really relishing the experience. I probably said oishii a few times too. That means delicious in Japanese and I use that word a lot. It is one of the few very clear and unambiguous things that I can say in Japanese. Two days later I was rewarded for a hard morning of carrying orange containers with another two salted pigs feet. Leftovers, microwaved to perfection. Somewhat less oishii that the previous three. Also, for the record, Satomi ate zero pig’s feet in total. She knows when to say no.
If you have any opinions about salted boiled pigs feet let me know. If you haven’t tried them yet, by all means do so ASAP and get back to me with your feelings. I’ll be waiting right by my computer.
The “mikan shukaku”, better known as the orange harvest, has begun. One week down and five months more to go! Satomi’s parents are picking oranges as fast as they can. In addition to my weed pulling duties, I am providing the strong back to carry them from the field to the truck, load them, unload them at the house for sorting, stack the containers of sorted oranges, load the sorted containers back into the truck to bring them to Japan Agriculture for storage, and finally, unload them onto pallets. From there they are whisked away by forklift to places I know nothing of. Eventually, I fear, we will pick them up again for another round of sorting. At about 40-45 pounds per container of oranges a day and 30 or 40 containers a day I am get a good workout everyday. Satomi has the worst job right now. She is on cooking and cleaning detail for the whole family.
Check me out in my farmer gear…Japanese style. I opted for the new version of the traditional “Jika Tabi” shoe. I chose the Jika Tabi not because I am a purist when it comes to Japanese tradition but because I have narrow feet by any measure. And, in general, Japanese people have amazingly wide feet. My feet were swimming in all of the shoes I tried on. Notice the split for the big toe. Thanks to that separate big toe compartment my feet don’t slide around too much. The shoes are so light and flexible it as almost like being barefoot (except there is some protection from sharp pokey things and rotten oranges that would otherwise ooze through my toes when I accidentally step on them). I don’t advise you to run out an by a pair quite yet. Give me a few weeks to see if my feet become exhausted from lack of support.
Here are a few pictures I have taken while I was out and about. I have been to Japan many times but I’m still amazed by what I see without trying to do anything special.
In case you can’t figure out what the pictures are of (click to enlarge):
A chestnut before you extricate it from it’s protective covering.
A a bunch of “Jizo” stone statues looking down on a mountain path from their lofty perch.
A guy out for a morning of fishing…with at triangle shaped net.
It was a dark and stormy night that turned into a gray and drizzly morning. Not exactly the weather I was hoping for on October 5th but it was workable nonetheless. October 5th is our anniversary and I had big plans to do something special for my lady….get my Japanese Driver’s License. Being a 40 something year old guy who has to depend on his wife to drive him around is kind of like having to ride the bus to school as a high school senior. Super duper not cool. Luckily, I’m still super duper cool and able to drive myself around but that is all going to change if I don’t pass the driving test by October 24th. If you haven’t guessed by now, today I failed. At least I received glowing reviews for my performance.
I’ll give you a synopsis of what it has taken, up to now, to not have a Japanese license (I can drive because I have an international license that is valid until October 24th).
September 5-Satomi calls the driver’s license office to see what it takes for a foreigner (aka “gaijin”, translation “Outside person”) to get a driver’s license. It requires:
Valid license from your home country-Potential degree of difficulty (PDOD)-0
Passport. PDOD:0 I already have that!
Foreign Resident Card. PDOD:5. Applying for the card was like so much of my Japanese life, bad comedy. After a 3 week wait I get the card.
Two photos of the appropriate size for a Japanese Driver’s License which is different from the size needed for my foreign resident card. I have 6 of those left. I think they printed extra for me because my picture was so hideous. PDOD:1.
Translation of the aforementioned license by the Japanese Automobile Society in Saga City. PDOD: Easy, but a pain in the but since it requires 90 minutes of driving each way to cover a total distance of 51 miles.
Interview in Japanese to determine if I am even going to be able to take the test. Who has everheard of an interview for a driving test?!! PDOD: 6. Satomi tells them that if the Japanese is difficult I won’t be able to communicate. They give her permission to translate. PDOD raises to 10+. Satomi has no patience for my Japanese.
Take a written test. PDOD: who knows but at least I can take it in English. Satomi asks if there is a study guide in English. They say no but the test “isn’t that hard”. Everything is hard in Japan. They love tests and they love bemoaning the fact that everything is difficult. If they say it isn’t hard then it will be a piece of cake. PDOD:1.
Take a driving test. I’ve been driving for a lot of years. I can do this. PDOD:5. Turns out the test isn’t on real streets. It is on a driving course that doesn’t really resemble reality. It was designed by Japanese people for use by Japanese people who can access the same hive mind. Revised PDOD 10+. And they say “He will fail a few times.” Revised PDOD 37. When asked how I will know what to do they respond, “he should memorize the course.” They decline to say how that can be achieved. Revised PDOD 38.3. And, you must use the test center’s car. PDOD: unchanged.
Make an appointment and show up at the correct time: PDOD 1. We make an appointment for October 5th at 1:30pm.
With all of the necessary paperwork, we arrive at the test center 90 minutes early and as people do in Japan we eat a boxed lunch in a very spartan waiting room with a recycle bin but no trash can. We pack the trash and load it in the car where it is still sitting. We check with the information desk at the “Driver’s License Office” about where we are supposed to go for our appointment. The woman seems very confused and suggests we try the next building, “The Driver’s License Examination” building. Turns out that she is right. The place is deserted except for a cleaning lady taking her lunch break. She gestures toward a doorbell by one of the vacant desks. It is 12:58pm. The sign says that the window opens for business at 1pm. We wait two minutes and at 1:00 and 1 second Satomi pushes the buttons and the building springs to life. A thoughtful looking man in a very official uniform made entirely of manmade fibers materializes at the desk and listens to our question. He appears to be deeply pondering our situation when a cheery and official looking lady, outfitted in a uniform without a hint of cotton and who three seconds before wasn’t even in the room suddenly summons us to sit down. In short order she takes my documents and vanishes. From somewhere we hear her tell us to take a seat. Just as we start to sit down a different man, sans uniform, comes and ushers us into an office on the other side of the building. I feel a little bit like maybe I am in a Kafka novel. I am totally disoriented and I now have no driver’s license, passport, foreign resident card, or translation of my license. I am, however, still holding two photos of myself that I had taken in the photo booth outside of a supermarket. In them I look like I belong on a wanted poster.
In the room I am given “the interview”. I recount my entire driving history from the time I received my learner’s permit until I left LA on August 31st. They ask who taught me to drive, how many questions were on the written driver’s test, where I was asked to drive on the driving test, What kind of car did I drive, who owned the car, how big was the engine, How many passengers could it hold, how many hours a day and for how many months did I practice for the test, was my eyesight tested, did I receive my license the day I took the test or did I have to wait, how much did I pay for the test, how much did it cost when I renewed the license, what was the procedure for getting a California license when I changed from a Colorado license, did I practice on a manual or automatic transmission, blah blah blah ad nausemum. I pass…the interview. I guess that is good. They say most Chinese and Phillipinos fail the interview. Apparently, they don’t want to pay for Japanese driving school so they come with fake licenses and have no idea what the actual procedure to get a license entails and it shows. They must go to driver’s school.
Next, I take the written test. 10 multiple choice questions. Easiest test ever but I still miss one question.
Next is the driver’s test. The man who interviewed me makes my all time favorite Japanese face when I insist on taking the test today even if it means I might fail. All Japanese can do the face. To make it yourself, pull your chin in and move your head as if resisting an invisible force that is violently trying to pull your right ear directly through your neck so that it touches the left shoulder. The entire time you should be sucking air violently in through your teeth so that it sounds like the spit vacuum at the dentist office. The gesture means, “Your request is against standard protocol and if you persist everyone is going to be uncomfortable.” I persist. I have been in this situation before. I consider asking him if he likes the Carpenters. Japanese have an unfading passion for the music of the Carpenters. He looks a little bit too worldly to like what every other Japanese person likes. I go out ona limb and ask him if he likes the Eagles. He does! He likes The Mamas and Papas even better. We chat about 1960’s and 70’s American music. I get to take the test “just as practice since I came from as far away as one can come to take the test.” In his mind the matter has been decided. I will fail. Still, as the Green Tea Dreamer, I fully intend to pass.
Thank you Mamas and Papas. After a little smoozing from my friend the interview guy, the driving test evaluator says that he will drive me around the course once so I can see it. The interviewer hops in the back sat. He brings Satomi along so that she can translate. I ride shotgun. It is made abundantly clear that I won’t remember the course and that I will fail. As we drive the course I can see why expects me to forget the course. If you look at the course on a map it is like a hand full of spaghetti that has been dropped on the ground. Roads criss cross and wind to and fro everywhere. A broken down car sits it one lane. In the center of it all is a traffic signal. I’m having trouble telling if treets are one way or two way. The course only hits a small fraction of the roads but that makes it even more confusing. As he drives he stops where there are no stop signs, uses the turn signal 92.7% of the time and inexplicably moves from the far left side of the lane to the far right of the same lane. I am puzzled but I remember as much as I can so that I can imitate his moves. At one point he navigates an frighteningly narrow s-curve that only leaves inches on each side of the car. Beyond those few spare inches the road drops two feet. I suspect this simulates the many precipitous drops along rice fields or into drainage ditches in this land of the rising sun and few guardrails. In another place he negotiates a crazy zig-zag with the same drop-offs and pieces of dangling plastic along the edge of the road. These represent buildings, I suspect. In Japan it isn’t uncommon for a house to be inches from a busy road. All in all, this seems like a very representative test of driving in Japan. Still, I’m not nervous.
We return to the start and I am told to hop in the driver’s seat to take the test. Just to show that I am a careful driver I walk around the car once before getting ready to drive. I even glance underneath the car in case a cat ran under when I wasn’t looking. I don’t put it beyond the country of Japan to risk the life of a cat to test if I am a safe driver or not. In my experience, it seems that an unabashed display of caution never hurts in Japan. The evaluator seems to disagree. He yells, very politely, at me to hurry and get started. I hurry. Once in the car I check the controls so I know where everything is. He tells me to get started. I start. First thing do is attempt to signal as I leave the parking lot. Instead, I accidentally turn on the windshield wipers, something I do once a day when I drive in Japan. The controls for the turn signals and wipers are on opposite sides in Japan and the USA. Fortunately, the test hasn’t started yet so he can’t dock me any points. I shouldn’t be too concerned. The country of Japan has already decided that I will fail. Letting me pass when I haven’t studied the course or paid $3000 to go to driver’s school would set a bad precedent. Other foreigners would expect to pass without some bloodletting as well. The entire house of cards would flitter to the ground. I saw the air sucking, head twisting face and know it’s true but I proceed anyway.
Did I mention I am taking the test on a manual transmission car. I have some anxiety about this since I only have about 15 seconds of driving to get used to the clutch and the first stop is midway up a hill. Turns out that it isn’t a problem. The test car is amazing. It is the nicest manual transmission that I have ever driven.
I drive the course with in a manner I would describe as above competent. I negotiate the s-curves with grace and the zig-zag with measured confidence. I manage to keep my turn signal on for most of the time that I am on the course. I stop at the stop sign and try to look in the mirrors and check for danger as often as humanly possible. I stop randomly a few times when it seems that danger may be lurking. Still, for the first time I think that I may not pass this test.
The test ends and I am showered with praise for remembering the course. In addition, not only my memory praised but my my driving skill. The evaluator doesn’t stop there. The driving skill of Americans and Canadians in general is given a big thumbs up. I definitely failed in spectacular style.
I am asked to step out of the car. I am told that a perfect score is 100 and that 70 is passing. I feel hope rustle in my chest. This could be my crowning moment…My score, he says, was minus 200 and something. Is that possible? I sneak a peak at the evaluation sheet.Judging from the red red marks on his evaluation sheet he is a hemophiliac with a sword wound or minus 200 something is more than possible. I think he will have to change to a new pen (or get a pint of blood). It appears that I made three mistakes…over and over and over and over. I didn’t drive consistently within 70 centimeters of the left hand side of the road. Which to me sounds like a recipe for pedestrian carnage.That was 10 solid minutes of deductions right there. I didn’t check the inside mirror, side mirror, and glance back to the right (in that order) before signaling that I would change lanes to the right and turn right. I had to do that a lot. Oops! I did however do all of those things simultaneously while turning on the signal on but not consistently in that order. Apparently there was no partial credit. I made similar mistakes when turning left. I was informed that there is a set procedure for using your mirrors. My haphazard style wasn’t appreciated. I was also told that I am a completely competent and safe driver in Japan but that “isn’t what this test is about. It is about following the rules and you didn’t do that.” Point taken. He goes on to say that Americans and Canadians are great drivers. They know how to control the car, they can anticipate problems, improvise, and adapt to changing situations. In general, I agree. He reiterates that this test is not about those things….it is about following the rules. That’s a lesson I think I should learn in my new life.
Luckily, they said I can still drive on my international license until October 24th when it expires. so, I drive Satomi to my friend Taichi’s Sushi restaurant and we dine fabulously and economically on our anniversary.
I sign up for a one hour lesson with the Japanese driving school on the 15th. They push me to sign up for a three month course but I decline.
I’ll let you know if I become the 12th grade dork who rides the bus to school.
I have been off the grid, so to speak, for a month now but I am back. Things have started slowly here in Japan but Satomi and I are starting to gain some momentum in our search for a place to live and on potential means of earning a livelihood. I’ll write more about those things in a later post.
As you surely noticed from the title I have given our quest to build a new life here in Japan a moniker…The Green Tea Dreamer Project. No doubt I am the one who is the Green Tea Dreamer. Slowkurt is no more (most of you will understand that). If this were Satomi’s blog is would be the “How are we going to survive with out any money project!!!”. I plan to leave the panic to her and dream about a future where we frolic part of the year in the USA and part of the year in Japan all the while drinking green tea copiously wherever our travels take us.
The adventure has begun for us. Follow along if you like. If it gets interesting tell your friends to follow along too.
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green tea dreamer project 