Shizuoka-shi

Where do I begin?

So I live in Japan. Not a good place to start a piece of writing, but a good way to get started. I went to Shizuoka City yesterday. I liked it a lot. I had to be there to buy a plane ticket back home for the Christmas season, so I decided to make an evening of it and explore a bit. Exploring meant hiking through drizzle in my suit, silk tie and a 15 kilogram backpack (about 35# for you imperialists). I really liked Shizuoka. There were people dressed in colorful clothing, and some even had piercings or a tattoo. In fact, I even saw a tattoo parlor! T3 Tattoos. On the 2nd floor of a business complex. But before I even left the station I knew I would like this place. In my brief dealings with the local citizenry I found that most had a rudimentary understanding of English- I could say something and somebody would understand me!
I saw a lot of westerners too. This happens to me on occasion and it’s always a surreal experience. My first reaction is “UGH! What’s that hideous beast with the piece of flesh between its eyes?” And then, “Oh, that’s a westerner.” And I want to say “American” but I don’t because I now know people from England, Australia, South Africa, Canada, Trinidad and Tobago, Scotland, Ireland and New Zealand and they look like they speak English and do but they aren’t from America. They each grew up in a totally different place across oceans and time zones. I suppose Canada is pretty much America, but I’ll only say that with a smile to show my Canadian friends that I’m making a joke.
The next inevitable thing that happens is quite peculiar and difficult to describe, even to myself inside of my own head without using words. It’s that moment where we both notice each other and at the same instant know that neither of us has any idea what we are doing here. It’s the moment of eye contact, when a slight smirk begins and continues to grow into a ridiculous grin. If we’re in Hall’s public spectrum, a simple quick head nod communicates all understanding across our distance. Passing on the street; however, is even more exciting because I suddenly remember that this person walking toward me could potentially be from Germany. Or Norway or France or Russia or Brazil and maybe they don’t speak any Japanese OR English! I get tense and begin to wonder if I’m going silly. Then a noise comes out from behind the ridiculous grin and it sounds a lot like “Hi” or even better, “Hey.” Then I let go of my breath and laugh to myself because I again think about how neither of us has any idea what we’re doing here.
After wandering for almost an hour, all I managed to find was the tattoo parlor, a denny’s and a vending machine that sold Mountain Dew (of course I bought one). I then decided to have a plan so my evening wasn’t wasted and so I could put down my backpack at some point. My first thought was to find a case of Mountain Dew and purchase it right away. That eroded into finding a bookstore that had an English section. I decided against that in a moment because they’re expensive, but then noticed a book store so I crossed the street. The man working there didn’t have English books, but he pointed me in the general direction of a store that did so I hopped back on the trail. I didn’t make it far before being drawn into a used clothing store called “Grandpa’s Closet” by the trucker hats in the window. Again I found a couple from Wisconsin as well as a T-shirt and an Old Milwaukee patch. I talked to the interesting people working there in mixed Japanese and English until I decided to ask where I could find a Mexican restaurant. Not sure what drove the genesis of that question, but it kind of popped out and afterwards seemed like a really great idea. The people working there were so kind- they printed me off a google map and an information sheet about “pojito” with its phone number in case I got lost. I did get lost while passing underground because there weren’t any crosswalks so I had to walk back to Grandpa’s Closet and start over. Arriving at my destination I discovered the place was called “Pollito”- the double l in Spanish gets changed to a “gee” sound in Japanese. The restaurant was tiny and it was worked by 2 Japanese guys cooking and taking the orders, but the atmosphere was wonderful. I enjoyed Corona, Sol and Sauza adds while listening to “La Cucaracha.” The beans in the burrito were a little dry, but the jalapeño I ordered was so delicious that I could really think of no better place to be at that moment than in my little Mexican cave sipping a “nama bi-ru.”
That phrase above means “draft beer.” I didn’t want to upset the flow of the paragraph, and I figured I’d let you work at it for a bit. By the time I was done relaxing with my second beer it was after 10 o’clock. I got back to my apartment around 10:45, read for a bit and went to sleep. It was truly a perfect evening.