I slept in and only caught the 10:00 bus to the Nippon Steel Research and Engineering center where I used to intern.  I was not able to meet everyone I knew from back then, but came close.  Many of the group I worked with had been transferred – only three, as far as I can tell, still work in what was the Steelmaking research group.  My direct supervisor, Sasai-san, I had to go find in the administration department, where he was busy with planning company-wide research and development activities.  While that sounds like a nifty promotion into a position of increased power and responsibility, Sasai-san is a researcher and I get the impression he longs to be back doing research.  If you know an engineer with a research bent, you’ll understand. 

Yamada-san had organized a mini-concert at lunch with the Music Club.  He had asked me to play and I’d agreed to play one song.  My family will know right away that I played “Autumn Leaves” as it is the only song I can reasonably manage.  I guess I need to start practising for next year – it won’t do to be a one-hit wonder.  (As I write that and think about how well I play, I’m tempted to add another letter, but I try to keep this blog clean.)  Yamada-san himself played a difficult Mozart piece and a small choir with Tsuri-san from the mail center sang a Japanese piece, superbly accompanied on the piano by another Yamada-san.  It made me glad to have several former co-workers in the audience – even my old boss, Matsumiya-bucho, now a “fellow,” ate lunch in record time to make it to the concert. 

With so many people to meet and everyone apparently glad to see me it at times felt like being a celebrity, which I find weird.  Kishida-san at the travel agency, who had changed from floral-patterned to striped “diet slippers,” commented that I was very popular because people passing by their glass front would recognize me and say hi.  I have done nothing to deserve this popularity except for looking different, which is hardly something I chose.  I wonder if real celebrities are as mystified at their status as I am, if a continual confusion regarding the grounds of their celebrity causes them to do the wacky stuff we see them do. 

Unfortunately March is perhaps the busiest month in Japan, the end of the financial year, and so some meetings such as the one with Ohashi-san were cut a bit short because of company meetings.  Perhaps better planning on my part could prevent that, but for an essentially unplanned visit I got to see almost all the people I wanted to for at least a little bit. 

Mizuno-san had reserved a table at the Futtsu club, where we were joined by many NSTR scientists as well as Koji Hirano and Yamada-san.  Of course, the purpose of a nomikai is to eat and especially to drink, and although several people also refrained from alcohol, I was the only one not to drink for purposes other than being able to drive a vehicle.  Sure enough, Oe-san pronounced me “boring” with a little shake of his head, and repeatedly tried to get me to share some of his shochu.  I wish I could have.  It’s so hard to explain that being a Christian by no means requires giving up alcohol or being boring, but that I see it as an exercise in restraint and that the whole point of disciplined restraint is practising it even when it’s unpleasant.  All I could do was promise I’d drink with them again next time. 

We got into a discussion about how certain people eat certain animals without compunction and why that is, mostly because we got onto the topic of whale meat.  Someone wondered why Christian countries are so up in arms against Japan’s whaling, but someone else pointed out that Norway whales as well.  There are, of course, strong connections between religion and diet, so the conclusion is not that far off the mark – although I fear that Christians tend to care very little about the welfare of whales, especially those who feel the UN is about to subjugate the world to totalitarian rule.  I’ll admit to a preoccupation with the welfare of other humans over that of whales myself.  But in the end a lot seems to be habit: Japanese people don’t mind a fish being cut up alive and made into sashimi, while they cringe at the thought of wringing the neck of a chicken or killing a lamb by cutting the jugular.  They also wouldn’t eat bunnies. 

After dinner there was the choice of either going back to the dormitory or joining Suzuki-san, Oe-san, Nakamura-san, and Otsuka-san (not related to the maker of Pocari Sweat) for a so-called “nijikai,” second gathering.  We went to a sunakku called gombei, which apparently means “totally drunk,” had some snacks including whale (no dolphin, although Oe-san declared that to be very tasty), and sang endless songs on karaoke.  Ms. Otsuka left after a short while – she may have been waiting for transportation, I don’t quite know – and so it was the four of us, sometimes picking songs as a challenge rather than because we were able to sing them well.  I tried my first ever Japanese karaoke song and at least got the refrain right because I have the CD with that song.  Nakamura-san and Suzuki-san sang a famous Japanese Enka song for me, one of Ishikawa Sayuri‘s best-known, 津軽海峡冬景色, a hit in the year of my birth.  I have that on CD, too.  Enka’s recurring themes of nostalgia, loneliness, loss, and wistful longing should assure it a continued popularity with modern homeless man – and I wouldn’t be surprised if similar genres gain popularity elsewhere, at least while there are still people who know how to express this type of sadness. 

A few of the guys – especially Sato-san, who shares my predicament – commented on how I’ve lost hair.  I take comments like that as a sign of friendship.  Mere acquaintances won’t vocalize such observations.  I’ve also learned an important lesson: losing hair will keep people from noticing you’ve gained weight. 

Suzuki-san and I took a taxi back to the dorm, where we parted, tired.  Otsukaresama! 

 

March 3 

After a breakfast similar in spirit to dinner I walked downhill through the deserted town, over the fake wooden bridge and past the elementary school to the bus stop.  I called Olivier briefly to let him know when I might arrive in his area and walked back to the stop.  A bus with Shinjuku on the rear display sat in the parking lot and as I debated whether to ask if that was mine, it left, a few minutes before the scheduled time for my bus.  Those few minutes became minutes of intense worry – I don’t know why I get so caught up in hypotheticals.  I was off on tangents thinking of how I’d hitchhike to Tokyo or whom I’d complain to.  Pointless, as it turned out, when the bus arrived perhaps two minutes late. 

We left the parking lot and slowly climbed up the highway along the flank of the mountains, with the long tongue-shaped spur climbing up at the same rate in the middle of the valley.  At the top we passed through several tunnels, the longest of which, through Mount Ena, measured 8940 meters.  The bus rolled along at a leisurely 80 km/h, which a sign in the bus explained was the safe highway speed.  To me, it felt frustrating in its slowness. 

We stopped at a few other rest areas, and at the lake Suwa rest area I bought another gohei-mochi, only realizing after purchase that this one was made with a miso paste sauce instead ot the walnut sauce.  It was a let-down despite tasting good. 

We arrived at Shinjuku four and a half hours after setting out and I made my way to Osaki to check in to the hotel for the night, the New Otani Inn.  I dumped most my stuff and went off to Kanazawa in the Kanagawa prefecture, where I met with Olivier and his family, Etsuko and eight-month-old Léon.  Olivier and I had studied Japanese together with Stefan in Kanazawa in the Ishikawa prefecture in preparation for our internships back in 2001, and Olivier had now just moved to Japan for a job with a Japanese subsidiary of a Swiss company. 

I arrived just as the first load of furniture had been delivered – Olivier and Etsuko were still staying in a “weekly mansion” until they had moved into their house.  I helped set up one couch and partly set up the other – one screw wouldn’t find its thread.  Then, I helped Olivier scratch up the floor in our eventually successful attempt at moving their fridge up a flight of stairs.  I think Olivier will give a substantial rebate to a future buyer if he moves the fridge out himself. 

We walked around the town a bit, toured the 100yen-shops, and had coffee together.  I thought Olivier would help me eat the sweets, but his cold meant swallowing felt painful and he wasn’t about to indulge in gratuitous swallowing.  We returned with drinks for everyone, and sat and chatted as we waited for the mattress to be delivered.  Léon spent most his time playing with pet bottles, slippers, and trying to take giant steps whenever someone held him upright.  Once you had him like that, it was impossible to sit him down, because he’d simply lock his legs and instead of sitting would just tilt over.  He had the habit of turning away from the direction in which he was being held, earning him the nickname Mawariman. 

We left for our respective temporary lodgings once the mattress arrived, and I got to experience firsthand how having a cute baby in tow can make it difficult to talk to your wife.  Olivier said sometimes they’d make a 20-minute trip without ever being able to talk to each other. 

Back in Osaki I realized that I wasn’t able to connect to the internet, even though there was a jack in the desk that said “Computer.”  I complained at the reception until they moved me to the internet-enabled floor, which was a smoking floor.  Faced with the prospect of having to spend another night in a smoking room or without internet for more than twice the Toyoko Inn rate, I canceled my reservation and reserved a room at the Chiba Toyoko Inn.  If someone wants to sponsor my writing up a trip from one Toyoko Inn to the next, in ascending numerical order, I’m all ears.