Farewell, Nagoya

It is time to bid farewell to Nagoya, a town with quite a lot to see that is majorly dissed in the guidebooks. My guidebook glosses over the city in two lines, saying there is not much to see besides the famous Nagoya Castle. The city -- and the castle -- was leveled during World War II (my friend the Meijo teacher tells me it was home to a missile factor). So the result is heralded urban planning and wider streets. And the streets tend to have names, which can be rare in this country. I have a few ideas of places to go beyond Nagoya Castle, which you can see on the photo page linked to below, but I probably won't have time to go to them. It's the country's fourth largest city, an industrial center with the headquarters for Toyota nearby.

Most of my time here was spent figuring out where I would sleep for the next night. And what I would do for the next day. Most of the uncertainty resulted in me not being able to go out on my own much. In order to find a homestay for the next day, I had to go to the university to find a friend. Poor planning. But I did have fun when I was able to meet friends, and I spoke befor two English classes and met a large group of students bound for a study-abroad at OSU. In addition, I spoke to three English teachers from the west, an American, a Canadian, and an Austraialian. Each offered his perspective on the career, which I am considering as an option for at least a year or two. I sang karaoke in Japan for the first time. I ate sushi that moves around the restaurant on a converyer belt, admittedly, for the second time. I met several families. I took a lesson in Japanese Caligraphy. I went sightseeing with my friend's parents, minus the friend, who I think had a date. I stayed overnight at an English teacher's house, spending time with his wife and two daughers, who speak Japanese and English, as their father is American and their mother in Japanese. I learned a little Nagoya-ben, the local dialect. I experience at mild earthquake in a house built wiht a steal frame. I saw two female college friends went to a comedy show with gush over one particular comedian, checking their makeup before chasing after him and handing him lovenotes that included their phone numbers and drawn, tiny hearts, like something out of junior high. I read half of a huge book. I carried a giant bag on crowded subway trains. I had fun in this place. But it's time to go.

Early Morning Ahead

6:30 a.m. wakeup call.

6:55 a.m. leave Nori's house for the Japan Railway station

7:19 a.m. catch commuter train to Nagoya Station

8:15 a.m. after presumably eating at McDonald's, the first place I spent yen in Nagoya, I depart by bus to Osaka, a three hour highway trip.

12 p.m. Meet Koji at the station ... and then?

I am looking forward to this leg of the trip, because today's host, Nori, has graciously offered his place again on the 2nd, the day before I fly out of Nagoya airport. This means I can pack light and just take my backpack as I go to Osaka, Kyoto and possibly Tokyo within a short period. That Giant Jansport Backpack is too damn heavy. I packed too much. I should I have thought fewer clothing items and more wash cycles. It's not like I have been too busy for that or anything.

Inside the pub

The publog offered a glimpse into my thinking on my night at the izakaya ... but it did no justice to what the experience is really like. I have been to several izakaya since I have been in Japan this time, ranging from those that seem like party halls to those that seem like fancy restaurants.

Right when you walk in, you are greeted by one or more waitresses -- always female -- who smile big and say "irrashymasee!" which means something like "welcome," or, "can I help you?" You will hear this phrase anytime you walk into almost any kind of store in Japan. Even Circle K (of course Japan has Circle K. And 7/11). Anyway -- whomever spots you entering the pub first shouts it -- "irrashymasee" -- and then any other staffer, the male cooks, the female waitresess, repeats it, perhaps adding their own special syllabic emphasis for flare.

At some point, maybe the door, maybe near your seat, you will remove your shoes. You might sit at the bar, or at a table where you sit low on tatami mats around a low table. Or at a western style table. As with any restaurant in Japan, when you're ready to order, you make it known. Maybe you press a call button. Or you shout "sumimasen," the all purpose "excuse me" phrase.

The waitresses, likely running between one place or another, run to your table as soon as they can. You order. Not a full meal, mind you, but whatver you feel like having first. Maybe, some beer and and some french fries. They arrive. They are consumed.

"Sumimasen!" you shout, and the waitress, or perhaps another one, runs over. You order something else, let's say dried squid jerky and another round of beer. The cycle continues. Food, drink, tab. I have noticed that in most cases the tab is split evenly regardless of who had what or who had more fries than the other guy. Not always, but often. Also, on the night of my "welcome party" in Nagoya, a three-izakaya crawl resulting in a massive hangover, I did not pay a dime. That's definitely a nice welcome.

Every night out must end. In Japan, bar nights tend to end sooner than the ones I have in Corvallis. People are midnfull of the last train. So maybe they finish up at 11. Or 12. Some go further, say, 2. But the people fall off the map. Upon the exit, whoever sees you leaving shouts "arigatou gozaimasu" or the past tense "arigatou gozaimashita," and then, you guessed it, everybody else who works there shouts it too. And yes, there is room for personal touch. Personally, I like the one that goes up on the last "a" -- "arigatou gozaimashitaaaaaaa."