My First 24 Hours on my own O_o

A lot of JETs talk about how tough it is when you first move into your apartment and realize you’re all alone.  Some, while still unpacking their suitcases, burst into tears and collapse on the floor.  Others manage to make it to the supermarket after unpacking, but then proceed to fall apart into a sobbing mess in the condiment section when they realize there is no peanut butter or jelly.  Whether because of  culture shock or the idea of being on your own in a foreign country, miles and miles from your friends, a lot of people have a ‘breakdown’ moment.  

Me?  Well, as much as I think that I’m the type who tends to cry at the drop of a hat, I managed to survive my first 24 hours of independent living in Japan (i.e. no host family or orientation at a hotel) pretty well.  Trying to sleep on the tatami mat floor, I’ll admit, was tougher than I thought since a.) my air conditioning drips (really bad since water can cause horrible mold in tatami), b.) my predecessor doesn’t have a lot of sheets to go along with the many futons I inherited, c.) the tatami room kinda smells, and d.) I was still expecting a giant mugade 百足 (hundred legs a.k.a centipede) to come crawling across the floor and sting me at any moment.

My first day out on the town was definitely a lot more exciting than I expected.  I had planned to do some chores, put on some athletic clothes, and then bike around town a little to get the gist of where things were, when things were open, and to go see the beach and take some pictures.  I succeeded in doing all of those things, but when I was returning along the beach path to grab some yakisoba for lunch (think lo mein), two middle-aged Japanese guys who saw me before invited me to sit down and have a beer.  Before I could say “Uh....,” I was plopped down on the bench next to one of the guys and a beer was opened and placed before me.  Even after a few polite refusals, they had me not only drinking their beer but also eating yakisoba on their tab.  Oosada and Hama-chan (a joke way to address a middle-aged guy as ‘-chan’ is a suffix used only for little kids or cute little ol’ grandpas and grandmas) talked with me about the typical things, like where I was from, where they were from, what they did, what I was doing here, etc.  According to Hama-chan, we were now, from this point, tomodachi 友達 (friends).   

Next thing I know, Hama-chan’s relatives, what looked like his nieces and nephews or perhaps sons and daughters, arrived and convinced me to go with them on a banana boat ride off the shore.  In case you are wondering, a banana boat is a large, yellow, cylindrical raft with two runners along the side to make the bottom flat.  Sitting on the raft with your hands gripping rope handles and resting your feet on the runners, a jet ski pulls you along and tries to throw you off by taking tight turns and going over waves.  Think of going tubing except with multiple people at once. Right away, the jet ski pilot pulled a sharp turn and all four of us, not knowing that we had to lean on the turns to avoid tipping over, hit the water hard.  The water was super salty, but really warm.  I’ve never swam in an ocean that warm before.   Actually, except for a small backyard pool in Virginia, I had never swam in a body of water that warm before.  This what it must be like to go to the beach in Hawaii...

After two more spills and 15 minutes of gripping on for dear life, we finally had enough and were pulled back to shore.  After saying goodbye to everyone (which took longer, since Hama-chan made me drink another beer)  I finally left for my apartment to cook dinner.  

Right now the sun is setting, and in the graveyards that climb up from the streets into the mountains, I can see smoke and hear fireworks from families who are celebrating Obon at their ancestors’ grave sites.  I wonder if all Japanese summer days are this fun...