There and Back Again

But most of all, Hobbits like things that grow.  A good story doesn’t really end, it grows.

                My grandfather recently died of Alzheimer’s. One of the most odd and interesting parts of the disease is the need to go “home”. Some say it is their childhood home they are looking for.  I think it has more to do with the lack of familiarity.  Without memory, how can anything be familiar?  How can anything seem normal?  How can you ever be home?

I couldn’t imagine that feeling and hope I never do.  He had a home.  He just couldn’t remember it.  He had us. He had Grandma Williams.  He had a life that I strive to compare to.

So let me tell you a little bit about home, about what I remember.  My stories.

Tokyo was completely foreign to me but it became my home; it became a memory.

 

The Routine

I remember the dorm dad clearing his throat loudly outside my door at 5 am every day.  I knew the cleaning lady would close off the showers around 9:30 and finish cleaning the dining room between 11 and 11:30; I would always see here in there while making ramen just before I headed off to school. I would smile and try to stay out of her way.  She would smile and continue her work, stopping from time to time to stretch her back or, on rare occasions, comment to me about the weather. On days I had to go in around 10 I would see the short guy in his hat and vest walking his big, white dog.  I always wanted to pet his dog because she reminded me of Sally.  I waded through the morning bustle at Iidabashi and strolled along path to school, canopied by trees and made deafening by cicadas in the summer and trains year round.

 

That little walk I particularly liked.  Anime shows often start with the sound of cicadas growing louder and louder until it seems to be an all consuming wave, only to cut off into a conversation somewhere.  Walking that little path with cicadas all around, which really do overpower everything, was like stepping into one of those shows.  We think of cicadas here as solitary, quite hums but in Japan they are not solitary or quiet; they are like an army.  A soldier’s wandering steps are solemn.  An armies deafening march is awe inspiring and overwhelming.  Cicadas are like an army. It’s a sound I won’t forget.

I knew most of the teachers would be boring that day.  They were boring every day.  I knew Shinya sensei to be strict, Komine sensei to make fun of people, Komia sensei to fidget, and Hasegawa sensei to smile.

I had a few friends too. Chris would worry about his looks, make bad jokes, and troll (say stupid/obviously wrong stuff to annoy people). Ally of course would be there to make fun of him or just scowl.  Cadan and I joined the roast.

The train home was quiet, crowded, and in winter, dark.

 

 

Dinner was practically a family affair with the dorm mom and all the other cafeteria ladies gossiping in the kitchen or at their table and all the foreign students at our own table, gossiping in English and generally dreaming of food.

I remember walking. Walking home. Walking in the park.  Walking to Nishi Kasai.  Just walking.  Watching people has always been a bit of a hobby for me but I’m not sure if I had ever realized how much I love to.  Somewhere I have a picture of a grandmother telling a story to her grandchildren.  I really like that one; there’s nothing better than a good story because a good story is nothing more, and nothing less, than a bunch of good memories.

One time I was about 10-15 minutes from my dorm in the middle of a park at about 10 PM and as I came over a bridge I saw a rather frantic young Japanese man.  His motorbike had tipped over and, being quite small, he just couldn’t right it by himself.  Try as he might, there was just no way he could lift it from either side. Obviously I was the only person around so I helped him, he said thanks, and we both went on our way.  An interesting memory though isn’t it?  I’ll never forget the tiny guy in a park late at night that couldn’t lift his bike.  He’ll never forget the foreigner walking around a suburban park late at night for no apparent reason who helped him lift his bike.

I wrote before about wandering through tiny back alleys at night and seeing a man’s face set aglow by his cigarette.  Such a cliché scene but we like clichés.  Everyone says they hate cliché, cheesy stuff.  We don’t.  We love that crap.  I think the only reason we tend to think so poorly of watching a good sunset is that every loves to watch a good sunset.  What’s so bad about that?  If something is both wonderful and familiar, is it not universally treasured memory? So back to the man smoking away in his little, dark alley; he reminds me of my own walks.  Just outside watching the planes fly over and the people walk by and thinking. Familiar, wonderful, and universal.

*Chris took this

 

 

The People

Komine and Hasegawa were my favorite teachers. One time when the other Scott (an extremely fat American who never left the dorm) was in class, a rare event to be sure, Komine asked him how many sushi he could eat. Scott mumbled a little incoherent answer in English while Komine said in Japanese “10, 20, 30, 40, you forgot how many?!” He had no idea.  She had the biggest grin.  I love when people know how to have a little fun.

I said Hasegawa sensei smiled.  That is what I will remember of her; a smile for every situation.  There was even a particular grin/grimace for those times when you had no idea how to say something. Everyone should know how much a giant smile puts a room at ease, especially when you’re about to make a speech in a language you only vaguely understand.

 

I had been drinking a lot of milk tea the first semester so Chris decided to buy a big bottle and try it.  Well he drank a liter of it in about an hour at McDonalds.  On the way home we were crossing a big intersection and about ¾ of the way through we hear a cough or two followed by a giant “SPLAT.”  A liter of milk tea does not stay down.  He had puked in the middle of a very busy intersection right in front of the cars.  What could we do?  What do you do in that situation?  We all burst out laughing at the sheer absurdity, except Chris of course.

Cadan will probably remain most in my memory for being simple, caring, and frank. While stranded on Fuji all night, Cadan turned that place upside down looking for somewhere for Runan to sleep.  During finals week he’d go over to her apartment and do all the cooking.  He was always looking out especially for Runan but everyone I think in a more passive sense.

Ally was practically Chris’s mother away from home; “Do your homework!” “Don’t say that!” “Yes, I’ll pay for dinner.”  The latter was the most often used.

Sun Borui. I don’t suppose I told any of you much about her.  She taught me by accident that you should never underestimate how important we are to each other.  I would just talk to her in class from time to time and sometimes when a group of us went out.  Well it went along about like that until she left.  Only afterwards did she say that me and one other guy, Shannon, an older man about 30, were her best friends in Japan.

And all the others.  There were many; Joseph, Ron, Andy, Kristy, Svenja, Rafael, Ryota, Nozomi, and Yuma.  And many more I haven’t listed. And even more whose names I’ve forgotten.  I’ve never been very sociable, but I do truly love people.  They may annoy me at every now and then but time is kind and memory sees through rose colored glasses; I will remember them for the good I saw.

 

Through the Fire and Flame

 

It was truly Hell.

Hell beyond conception; a dark horror whose shadow is deserving of the utmost terror.

Hell indiscriminate and undeserved; innocent children and the cruelest of men burned alike.

Hell for the soul; families rent apart if not destroyed entirely.

It was war.

It was Hell.

 

The stories are all the same which, instead of dulling the senses, makes a tide; slow and steady but whose power is yet unfathomable.

Nobuko Oshita (13) was a first-year student at First Hiroshima Prefectural Girls High School.  She was exposed to the bomb at her building demolition work site and fled to Koi.  There she was found by relief corps workers who returned her to her parents in Otake.  She died late that night.  She sewed this summer uniform herself.

 

Nobuko Shuda (14) was a second year student at Yamanaka Girls School.  She was exposed to the bomb at her building demolition work site. She was found by her parents and brought to the Red Cross Hospital where she passed away on the 10^th.

She died that night.

He died in 4 days.

She survived a week.

They only found his bag.

They found her wallet.

They kept her shoe.

This watch, a gift from his father, reads 8:15, the time of the explosion.

 

 

None escape the gates of Hell, and Hell is certainly what they glimpsed.

A land of devoted to destruction, wreathed in flame, flowing with blood, and tainted with a peculiar, invisible death.

 

 

I intend to instill in you a parade a horrors.  We’ve all seen photos of the bomb.  Photos of a flattened city.  Photos.  A city.  Never your city. Never real.

 

Perhaps because I’ve spent a year in Japan, but Hiroshima’s Peace Museum made it a real city, with real people, and a real story.

I have a shirt with a quote saying “One death is a tragedy.  A million is a statistic.” A million deaths don’t seem real. They can’t be real.  We cannot fathom that kind of devastation and, if we could, I’m quite certain we wouldn’t want to.

Numbers are wonderful. They give us power to make the best decisions possible but even me, a numbers person, does not think in numbers. We think in stories and so stories are how love, life, tragedy, and death must be conveyed.

It was not 10,000 children that died in Hiroshima, it was Akiko, Yukiko, Kenta, and Takeshi.  Numbers tell generals how effective the bomb was as a matter of strategy but the stories tell us its cost in life. That is what the designers of that museum knew.  “Many children died.”  That’s sad in the “ahh, that’s very unfortunate” sort of way.  “Nobuko Oshita, 13, sewed this uniform herself.  She was exposed to the blast at her work site and died with parents that night.”  That is something we can understand.  A girl just like the one that plays by your house, young and happy, died because a bomb ending a war she did not understand.  “She sewed this summer uniform herself.”  Obviously a poor family surviving the war.  She couldn’t afford nice cloths but she made some.  She probably wore that every day.  She was so proud of it.  Her mom was so proud of her.  A “child” did not die.  Nobuko Oshita died.  She was beautiful I’m sure.  She was happy, at times at least.  She was loved. She is lost.  All of her beauty, happiness, love, and life are what died.  That gives meaning to a number.

You see what I mean by tide.  One story has power.  Many make that power unstopable and that horror inescapable.

Here are the other pictures from the museum:

Interesting to see their side of the story.  These are US censorship marks on a writers letters about Hiroshima.

 

So now that you are depressed, I’d like to tell you about the rest of Hiroshima.  It was forecast to be a cloudy day but I left that dark museum to see a glistening green park bathed in yellow sun, perhaps the best way to end that tour. There really isn’t much to say.  I saw the dome whose copper cover melted in the heat of the blast.  I saw the Children’s Peace Memorial where people put thousands of paper cranes in the name of peace.  The story goes that a girl about two survived the blast in a house somewhere in Hiroshima.  She was physically fine but about a decade later she was diagnosed with leukemia. As it took her health, she found comfort, entertainment, or maybe just purpose in folding little good luck paper cranes.  She died.  Her memory did not; the cranes are made in memory of her, a little girl who died for a war she had no part in.  And so, they are made by the thousands in the name of peace.

I saw an elementary school that was near the center of the blast.  The only students who survived were a couple boys still changing in the basement.  One section of the school survived the blast so survivors would go there and write their name and whereabouts on the walls.  I can’t imagine the chaos.  To think that your hope for finding love ones was depending on little messages scrawled on the walls of a burned out, half destroyed school would be unbearable. But hope, no matter how small, I suppose is hope.

 

And lastly I got to see Miwajima.  It is a really famous shrine that sets in a little bay partially submerged.  The time was most of the way out when I went but it was still quite pretty.

The deer there were perhaps the most amazing.  They are completely tame and they do not seem to make good pets.  They remind me most of goats; anything that’s can be chewed to pulp is food.  My map sticking out of my cargo shorts almost became fodder.  It was pretty fun to pet deer though and see little Bambies unsteadily walking around or sleeping under trees.

The ferry ride back was fun too.  The clouds were all layered and silver lined on one side and on the other oyster farms sprawled across the bays back into a cove misted over with fog.

By this time it was already 6:15 pm and my bus left at 8.  I tried to get up to the “Peace Pagota” somewhere on a hill by the train station but it turned out it was over a kilometer away, so that would have been a bit tight.  I had one last thing on the list for Hiroshima;  okonomiyaki.  They have their own particular type that is made with lots of soba noodles.  Here is a picture of one:

If you ever get the chance, definitely go to Hiroshima.  It is a fun town with lots of cool temples and such but more than that it give history a setting.  It is the place that was annihilated by the first atom bomb ever to be used against people.  The museum will show you how horrible that time was but the lush park and lively city will tell the story of recover.

 

Speed racer for dad:

Friends Freezing on Fuji

Seems I owe you guys another blog.

 

Where to even start?  I suppose where I left off would be best.  So we will start with the trip to Mt. Fuji.

 

Waiting, trying to sleep, and being cold characterizes the majority of the trip.  That said, I will never forget it.

At 8 am we left the dorm in Kasai.  We were on the bus at 9:40 am.  Why so early if we were going to climb at night so see sunrise?  Unfortunately 9:40 am was the last bus for that day.

The bus ride was actually very pretty.  It was kind of like a review for me and it did make me realize that I will miss some parts of Japan.  You don’t think about it that much, but Japan truly is one of the most naturally beautiful countries I have ever been to.  Just from the highway we could see steep hills making islands in the fog with small towns nestled down away from the cold and wind in between them.  I always liked the Japanese watercolors with old men working in rice fields with bright greens hills and soft white cloud floating behind them.  It seemed they were a dream; the picturesque not the norm.  Paintings don’t do reality justice.  I’ve seen cities of low, traditional houses cleft in two by rivers and surrounded by glistening rice patties reflecting the green, yellow, red and orange hills all around and a clear blue sky, make ever bluer by towering white clouds, above. Whatever you’re imagining isn’t near as cool as the real thing.

I’ve become a bit nostalgic and off topic.  Before 1pm we were at Fujisan (Mt. Fuji).  Since we didn’t want to leave the main town until 8 or so, we had A LOT of time and VERY LITTLE to do.  There were two or three stores and three for four restaurants.  After looking at all of them in about 30 minutes we decided to get a late lunch at one and wait there until they closed at 5:30pm.

This will be a good time to introduce you to everyone.

Chris: I have been spending a bit of time with Chris all year but certainly a lot this semester. He is from San Diego, CA and reminds me of Justin.  Maybe a bit too much.  Actually if you imagine a non-Christian, Pilipino Justin you’d be pretty close.  For those of you who know me and not my brother, Justin (which is probably no one), I basically mean he doesn’t think before he speaks, complains a bit, and likes to talk.

 

Ally; Chris’s continuous companion.  Or maybe it is the other way around.  Either way, they are always together and have apparently been friends for some time before this.  Not quite sure how to describe Ally…Short, Asian, and satirical come to mind.  She makes fun of Chris.

 

Cadan: The Brit among us. I have known him since the beginning of the year because of level 2 Japanese but, like Chris and Ally, I’ve only begun to spend much time with him this semester.  Cadan is the more daring and adventurous of the three mentioned so far.  Describing people is so much harder than describing scenery.  He is easy-going, almost maddeningly so for people as driven as me.  Perhaps that’s what makes people like him so necessary.  That is not to say he does not accomplish; from what I’ve seen he is quite good at anything he puts his mind to. Except for saran wrap for whatever reason.

Runan:  (You will have to forgive the spelling. I’m quite certain I spelled it wrong)  This was the first time I had spent much time with her but she is Cadan’s girlfriend so I have seen her a few times before.  I guess it will suffice to say she is Chinese, speaks more languages than I can say hello in, and has a good sense of humor.

 

 

We spent a few hours the way you just spent those last few paragraphs; getting to know each other through conversation and Uno.

At about 4 we figured we out to go look for flashlights since we only had one somewhat small one and a really small one.  No flashlights.  Well, we’ll deal with it, right?

Where is the trail?  It’s closed. What? Closed?  But people are climbing! Closed.  That’s about how the next conversation with the help desk went.  We checked it out and found it to be “officially” closed but we were still afraid they might put a guard up or something after all the shops close around 6 so we figured it be best to head out early, just before everything closed.  That was probably our fatal decision.

 

 

It was really a short and uneventful trip up.  We got to see sunset and took the opportunity to take some fun photos of ourselves.

 

Now for the funny part: we found a little nook out of the wind and thought “This is a nice spot to spend 6-7 hours until 2-3 am when we should start the final climb to the top.”  The only good place to spend that long on a mountain at night is inside next to a heater or in a giant sleeping bag.  We had neither.

 

First hour or so before it got dark were fine.  By the time we started seeing the moon and the glimmer of stars we already had all our clothes on.  By 10 pm we were huddles together for warmth in the corner.  By 11 we were as close as we could get with a plastic raincoat on top to keep heat in.

I think it could go unsaid that we were unprepared.

That was not the end of our problems.  Runan got sick from the altitude or food or exhaustion or all three and her and Cadan went back down.  Well now it is just Chris, Ally, and I wrapped in all the coats trying to make it till 2am.  By midnight Ally and Chris were shaking.  We decided to head down and use the one open place’s bathroom one last time and try to just go slowly to the top to keep warm.  At that point we discovered that my one flashlight was not enough.  It was going to be quite a task going up with just it.  On top of that the kind man with the bathroom informed us that it might snow that night and we couldn’t use his bathroom.

Scrap that plan.  We were headed down and we weren’t the only ones.  On the way down we met an older Canadian couple who had been lost for an hour or two and were just waiting for someone to come by.  Our rugged band of under prepared tourists slowly made its way back down to the 5^th station (where we started) at about 3 am.  Right as we were walking up we were greeted by Cadan who said “Theres an open truck that’s pretty warm.”  Apparently he had already tried to break in everywhere else.  The Canadian couple, who at least had nice coats, sat in front of a shop and the rest of us piled into now quite warm truck to wait for sunrise.

 

I couldn’t sleep at all and Cadan wasn’t feeling well so we both got out and walked around for a bit.  As we were doing that a car pulls up right next to our truck.  One more thing you should know about Chris- he is always trying not to stick out among the Japanese.  He likes attention but not social censure.  Well camping out in an unlocked commercial truck would probably draw quite a bit of social censure.  Me and Cadan saw the car pull up and could help but laugh.  We knew Chris would be panicking inside.  That car stayed there for like 30 minutes.  When it left our suspicions were confirmed; Chris had been trying to make the two girls stay silent and hide so no one saw them.

Sunrise was fairly soon and, having almost been discovered once, we thought it best to vacate our warm truck.  Now for another few cold hours.  The good news is we got to see sunrise and it was quite pretty.  We thought we would be blocked by clouds but that bright red rising sun burnt it right away.

 

Sunrise was over by 6 am and our bus was at 1 pm.  Another 7 hours.  The first few consisted of wandering around outside as workers “prepared” their nice warm store before they would let us in.  Then, when they finally let us in, we were only allowed to stay for an hour or two before they kicked us out in “preparation” for another group.  I fail to see how 5 college students sitting face down at a table (Chris perhaps snoring a bit) could inhibit whatever they did.  Well another hour or two outside before another shop opened and we moved in there.  We bought a lunch/breakfast and they said we could stay unless it got busy.  It was Sunday during off season.  They seemed far too concerned about being busy for the 15 guests they saw during the whole like 4 hours we slept in there.

 

I make it sound a bit miserable, and it was, but Fuji was really fun too.  All about the story right?

 

Son and Stars

I have been touted by teachers, praised by preachers, flattered by friends, and glorified by grandparents, all shining stars in my life, but the distant light of stars is made invisible by being a Father’s Son.

Dad, I have always known you were proud of me. You have always told me that you were but perhaps I haven’t told you often enough that I am proud to be your son. I could write volumes about what you have taught me but, upon finishing, I would find that a list means nothing. The infinite cannot be contained in a finite list. At the end of a dictionary you may find your vocabulary has increased greatly, but that is all. Stories are much more; at the end of a story you are left not only with the contents but ideas that continue to grow and form in your life.

As a child I was always among the least daring. I didn’t particularly like anything that seemed like it might hurt me, scare me, or, worst of all, I might fail.

When we first got motorcycles and four-wheelers I was always the slow one. Mom and I would trail behind at our own speed with Justin racing to keep up with Dad in front. The dirt bike scared the crap outa me, I really didn’t want to ride it that much. I stuck to the safe four-wheeler putted along. Justin loved the bike. He was fearless and fast and I was envious. It’s never fun to be the one that doesn’t quite measure up, especially to your twin brother and Dad, but sometimes it is quite a bit easier just to deal with that than to deal with the problem. The problem was I was scared. You knew that well Dad. So one time out in the Reno desert just me and you went out on the four-wheelers and you made it a challenge. There is no way I would have went as fast as I did that day normally, but I was mad. I was just as good as you and I was going to prove it. You knew I would. It would have just made me madder if you told me that whole thing was a lesson but I was too dumb to know the difference. You got away with preaching to me without ever saying a word. Fear was sapping all my joy and all it took to start having a little fun was a healthy dose of anger and adrenaline. That trick still works on me. I may not have inherited all your fearlessness like Justin but I got your sense of competition. So if you ever want to make me do anything else, I’m telling you now and only because it’s Father’s Day, all you have to do is tell me I can’t. That’s really more of an admission of defeat than a real hint; you obviously already knew that about me.

Seems I’ve forgotten the exact verse now but this one sounds right: “Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” (Matt. 6:34). It was always your motto not to worry about something you can do nothing about and I have tried to do the same. I have noticed one small problem about not worrying though; it infuriates others, especially people that worry a lot. When people ask me why or how I don’t worry I usually say “Just don’t.” That’s not entirely true. I just don’t, but only because I have had a lifetime of examples of how to do that. More correctly, I’ve had a lifetime of examples of what not to worry about. Your observation, and now mine, is that people probably waste more time and energy on worrying than almost anything else. Foundless fear and fruitless worry are really almost the same thing now that I think about it. You’ve given me a good example of not only why, but how to have neither. Worry about nothing; plan for what you can. Fear God, but never let fear control your life.

Alas, I promised stories, so I ought to deliver on that promise. Moving to Reno was a big decision and, although the memories are faint, even at that young age I remember it being a big deal to you. It felt like it was a thousand times bigger to me which was frustrating in the same way worriers find a calm person maddening. Everything feels bigger when you’re 10. Anyway, somehow you managed to convince me not only that you understood the gravity of my situation (and grasped it a thousand times better than I did) but also that moving was not something to fear; a new place was just a new adventure. It was not something to spend our time worrying about; the decision was made and we had only to make the best of it. To be sure, Justin and I were still more than a bit distraught about the whole thing, but in the end I think I learned a lot from the experience. We survived it. Moving away from family (though they soon followed) and friends seemed an insurmountable wall of isolation. I didn’t make a lot of friends, but I did make some. I didn’t stop worrying, but I found out how much good all my worrying did me (none at all, that is). I didn’t even forget my fears, but I began to overcome a few. My life has never changed radically, but each successive change has been greatly influenced by your example, Dad. I had a little less fear and worry because you betrayed neither. Every time I see you come up against a difficult problem I’ve been affected similarly. I see concern and thought, not fear and worry; hopefully someday I’ll be seen handling life’s difficulties with the same thoughtful concern.

Those concerns are many times about work. Dad, you work a lot. I think I got that from you. I don’t so much like to work in general as I hate being idle. I have to do something and if I’m doing something I really love I can do it all day. As far back as Mansfield, which is really all I can remember, when things got busy at work you would be there late at night and up early to do it again the next day. Nothing’s changed. You still do that when it seems necessary to you. You work hard. That has been a great example for me. I highly doubt I’m smarter than many people. An IQ test would probably show me slightly above normal. In fact, I remember being quite upset in elementary school because Justin scored high enough to get into the “gifted” program while I had not. I haven’t been smarter than most at school, just harder working. You were the one who showed me what it really meant to work. It starts with a decision; a commitment to do whatever it takes to reach your goal. I should talk a little bit about that here. As far as I know you’ve never explicitly said this to me, but I’ve learned from you that the worst choice is always to make none at all. You are decisive. No one makes all the right decisions in life but you have always been willing to make the decision. I can’t seem to think of any major examples, but there are infinitely many small ones. Maybe the best example (and the funniest) is your choice in restaurants. When traveling, you take all of our opinions on what to eat but once you’ve made up your mind on what you want, that is what we are going to do. I think I annoy people just as much when I ask their opinion on something, consider it and all its implications, and decide to do the opposite. Others’ opinions help me think of what I want more than they influence my actual choice. You probably do about the same thing with restaurants. It isn’t that you don’t think about what we suggested; it’s just that after considering those suggestions, you find another choice more appealing. I’ve been on this little tangent for a good amount of time now, so I suppose we will get back to the original point, work. Once you’ve decided, you do what you have always told me to do, set goals. Real goals. Tangible goals. I try to do that now and it really does help. When I took the SAT again my goal wasn’t to “do better;” it was to get a 1500. That’s what I did. You wanted US aviation to have a FBO, and it does. It took some long nights, coffee, conference calls, and a bit of aspirin, but you got there. Someday I hope to achieve something like that, like growing a company tenfold, and if I do I will have your example to thank for it.

Long work hours and trips to China make you seem like a bit of a workaholic, which you are, but I’ve learned much about family and God from you as well. I’m putting the two together here because they have always seemed inseparable in your life. God comes first and with that a responsibility to your family.

To say the least, I am not the most mystic of Christians. For that matter, most people would say I could do with a bit healthier dose of faith. I think you have been accused of the same; an inability to separate logical action from matters of God and Church. Do you know why I don’t particularly like teaching other Christians? It isn’t because I don’t think I have any interesting ideas, although ideas are the problem. I love questions, probably more than I like answers, even if they require you to think hard about the foundations of your faith. Hard questions aren’t necessarily fun, although I find them interesting. They require thought which is uncomfortable and maybe even change, which is more so. You have never encouraged ignorance. You have never discouraged questions. That is the value of logic. If I had to name one of the biggest problems with conservative churches today it is that they encourage ignorance. They win arguments by not understanding them, but you were never afraid to argue. The solution to scientific challenges was always for you to reconcile your faith with the science and to understand how the science disagreed. That makes you a rare person among the faithful and should never be counted as a fault. You have extraordinary faith in God which you show in your worry-less life. God’s plan rules your life and you don’t have to worry about what you can’t change. You show dedication to the Church; there are few more loyal in their tithe. We have always been rich and the choice has always been there to shirk off that duty. That tithe could pay for a lot of fun but you always had faith in God’s plan for that money and your finances. I see you read your Bible and pray every day. I’ve never been able to measure up to that. Your work isn’t done yet I suppose. It may never be since God seems to use you to shape my faith.

To move back to family, as I said, you always seemed to like a good discussion. That showed through in Justin and I’s high school life. We were the one to argue with the atheists and ask the hard questions. But more than that, the willingness to hear a question showed me your desire to impart wisdom on us. Even if you didn’t have a perfect answer, you wanted to hear the problem so you could work on it with us. You gave us everything; wisdom, love, encouragement, opportunity, and an example. In college English class we read a book called “Gilead.” One of the lines in the book went something to the effect of “Maybe the real family legacy is sons who disappoint their fathers.” I’ve never thought you were disappointed in me and avoiding that feeling may be one of the strongest drivers in my life. The main character in the book goes on to accept his son despite all that he has done. You have given me that too; I know there is nothing that would make you ashamed of me. When I say avoiding the feeling that I have disappointed you is one of the strongest drivers in my life I do not mean that I feel your disappointment, only that I feel a little less of your pride. That may not even be true; I may just not feel worthy of that pride.

You and Mom are a perfect example of love too. You are partners, equal in each other’s eyes. I shouldn’t say equal. Everything in each other’s’ eyes seems more appropriate. You forged a bond together that cannot be broken. A proper sword is not made from any one material; it is an alloy. It is a mixture of various components hardened together through fire and time to be greater than the sum of its parts.

Having told you of what you’ve done, I should now describe the sum of all those little changes: the present. That is to say me, in Tokyo, Japan eating sushi, traveling alone, and making friends. I no longer feel like the least daring. Quite the opposite; many times I feel like the most fearless of our group. A lot of the students here chose their major because either their family already has plenty of money and they can do whatever they want or because it is likely to lead to a stable job. Neither seems like very good reasons to me. One lacks that work ethic you taught me and the other lacks a challenge. The people in the first group are usually the ones planning to graduate with bachelors in 6 years or so in something with minimal application. That seems like a waste to me. Where is the drive, the need to succeed? I want to make you proud and I know spending 6 years to do something easily done in 4 is not the way to get there. And I want to take risks. Life is no fun if you live in fear of instability. Like me on that motorcycle, with fear in control all I could do is put along in misery and bitterness. I want to be the one in front, even if it means wrecking every now and then.

I did get a little bit of the wanderer in you too. I still have a personality test you took when you were a kid and you scored top of the charts in the “wanderer” or “traveler” or whatever category was called. I love to travel and there is no way I could travel like I do without the confidence you’ve instilled in me and the worry you haven’t.

Turns out I love business too. There is very little else that satisfies my mind like a good discussion of economics and business.

My present has a lot more questions than answers, but like I said, I like that. There is quite the thrill in answering them. Those questions don’t mean I’m lost, they mean I’m going somewhere and it is all because of you.

You have acclaimed my arithmetic, commended me on my computer skills, and now esteem my economics, but without the sun the way is dark and life is scarce. All the stars in this universe don’t compare to the Sun; they leave us lost and fumbling in the dark. Dad, your pride in your sons brings life to their work and light to their way.

Lastly, and most simply, I’d like to say “Thank you Dad, for everything. I love you.”

Concerning Time

 

If you’ve been reading my blogs, I’m sure I’ve made it pretty clear that when I travel I’m basically just walking down random streets until I see something that makes me think “That’ll make a cool picture.”  At which point I go there, take my picture, and start off again in whichever direction seems most interesting.  If none have any peculiar characteristics, then I generally pick the most abandoned looking.

And so the plan to go to Fukushima started about that way.  I wanted to go somewhere and I thought there might be an abandoned theme park there.  Turns out there isn’t, or at least not too near or possibly destroyed, but the point is I booked it before having any set destination.  I like it that way.  I think I said this before but I will again, if you have a strict plan that you follow to the letter you will never exceed your expectations.  No wonderful surprises or scenes you didn’t see a thousand times while looking at the travel site.  That’s boring.  So screw the plan, bring a GPS, and only use it when you turn around and realize you have no idea where you are or how you got there.  It works.  Trust me.

That’s not to say I make no preparation at all.  I did end up with a general outline of going first to Aizuwakamatsu and spending the second day in Fukushima but that’s about as far as it ever got.  And so that’s what I did.

 

The problem with riding a night bus out is that I don’t sleep on the way there.  I probably got a total of like 1 hour of sleep, giving up at about 4:30, and arriving red eyed at Fukushima at 5 AM.  The station hadn’t even opened by the time I finished my Natures Valley bars and taking some pictures.  I was off to Aizuwakamatsu before 6 AM rolled around.  I love train rides through the country.  The scenery is so mesmerizing it is beyond me how anyone could close the blinds and sleep.  On that subject, I hope I never would be one to ignore the beauty around me.  Even if it is familiar, that familiarity can only increase that places wonder I would think; home always holds a special place.  Kids always find great joy in all the little things around them.  I think having the faith of a child is probably very similar to having their sense of wonder.

 

I fear I’ve gotten off track so we will get back to my getting off the beaten track.  The first place to go in Aizu was fairly obvious; the giant castle.  A 30 minute walk through shops not yet opened for the day led me straight to it and the surrounding park.  There was a tour group there which was kind of interesting.  Not really because the people were but because of the mentality that it shows.  Japanese people almost always travel in groups from my experience.  Most of the time, from what I see, well planned trips with set schedules are by far the most popular way to travel.  That goes against everything I love.  I can’t seem to understand it.  A while back that question came up with the only real answers being money and safety.  I don’t think that money is the main reason.   Growing up I rarely thought of myself as a risk taker but now, upon going into college and studying abroad, I’ve found that “risk” bothers me far less than most.  It is probably mostly arrogance, but I’m certain that wherever I may be, I am going to be just fine.

I’m rambling a lot this time.  Eventually we’ll get this story told I promise.  The gardens were very pretty as usual (but take note that even though they were “as usual” they were still wonderful).  The castle itself was a replica built in 1965 but it certainly felt like something from ages long past when you were looking at it from the stone walls surrounding.  You got a real sense of how awe inspiring it must have been centuries ago.  It was a fairly high building by today’s standards but, in that day, it would have towered above the valley, asserting its dominance to all who entered that lord’s realm.  I can imagine it reflected in the rice field that probably once surrounded it.  That is a picture I wish I could have.

By 10:30 I had seen everything there was to see there and was off to find something to do for the rest of the day.  I soon found myself in the Fukushima Province Geological and Cultural Museum.  I could really care less about the geology but it did put the Japanese feudal system into better perspective for me.  It was just like England really.  Castles or a lord’s large manor was surrounded by thousands of acres of fields farmed by poor peasants.  Actually, it still kind of resembles that system.  The cities are surrounded by the country rice fields farmed by more traditional families and their traditional houses mirrored in their fields.  The mountains are as they always have been; virtually uninhabited and filled with dark, green, and gods.

 

After that I headed off toward the side of the city that bordered the hills.  There were lots of shrines there from what I could tell on my map.  I was right and certainly glad I went.  In reminiscence of my Kyoto trip, I got a bit lost in a graveyard.  I somehow ended up on a hill that I could see the main road from but couldn’t get to it without walking through people’s backyards.  “Don’t mind me; I’m just a foreigner who wandered out of the graveyard behind your house.”  That would have been awkward, so I had to find my way back to the entrance.  Very worth it though.  Graveyards tell time with an accuracy empirical numbers miss.  The recent is new, shiny, polished marble.  The old are disheveled, but still in the back recesses of memory; they have mementoes of years past still lurking around.  The ancient are far from the mortal minds’ memory but stone still stands testimony to that distant time.  Even that too passes though.  Like Ozymandias, no matter how great they once were they pass first from reverence, then from remembrance, and finally from remnant.

 

After that habitual graveyard visit I made my way up to some temples on the north side of town.  I have mentioned that Japan has a lot of stairs haven’t I?  Well it does.  Temples have more than average.  These temples had way more than average.  I’d like to think I am in fairly decent shape but I was winded and sweating pretty decently by the time I got to the top.  That would be so bad if 70 year olds weren’t already at the top.  Apparently this city is where one of the famous fables of Japanese culture took place.  A group of samurai soldiers saw the castle getting taken and, in a strange (but very Japanese) sense of loyalty, they were obligated to commit suicide.  Perhaps even more interesting than this extreme value on “loyalty” were the two other monuments on that hill; one from Nazi Germany and the other from a Fascist Italy.  They were given in friendship between the three countries just a few years before WWII.  An interesting place to have those monuments placed; loyalty unto death.  I suspect Hitler thought himself the lord.

 

It was only like 4 pm but, due to my lack of sleep and long walk I was getting fairly tired.  I decided to go to the hotel, clean up, get dinner, and retire for the night.  Dinner was wonderful as you can see.

 

 

The bed might have been hard.  I didn’t notice; I was asleep before I hit it.

 

In the morning, this time a not-quite-so-early 8 AM or so, I spied again the giant statue I got a glimpse of on the way in.  Well I couldn’t say that I saw a giant statue and didn’t go and so my next destination was set.  After an abundant free breakfast I was off to the train station and soon back to walking down the road.

 

I walked in and no one.  I didn’t see a soul in that giant park.    After a minute and walking in a little way a gardener noticed me and led me back to the empty ticket booth to collect the fee.  It was nice having the whole place to myself but I suspect that tourism in that area is suffering and Fukushima city just further confirmed that suspicion.  Well the Buddha (or Buddha’s Mother, whatever it was) was huge.  Like 100-200 feet tall.  I really couldn’t tell other than it was huge.

 

That little excursion was quite fruitful.  I got to take pictures of rice fields (which I love) and, more importantly, I SAW MY FIRST SNAKE.  He was only out for a second.  Our eyes met for half a second and he was gone.  Completely disappeared in foot high weeds.  I wish I had a picture but I’ll settle for the memory.

Fukushima’s main attraction, as far as I could tell from the map, was a big park on the north side of town.  Well it was obvious that tourism had died and rotted there.  Most of what looked like former tourist shops were closed with the shutters closed.  There were no signs or directions to the park.  If I hadn’t had a GPS I would have never found out how in the world to get in.  Once in, it was empty except for the few residents.  (It is a public park but it seems like some residents were probably grandfathered in.)  This was my abandoned theme park.  First thing I saw was this creepy octopus thing.  Picture pretty much speaks for itself there.

 

Well on the way up I notice this old building and thought it looked kinda cool with all its vines.  There is much more to hear about that later.

 

At the top of the big hill was a shrine with “the worlds largest grass sandal.”  Seems like something you would see a sign for on route 66.  That shrine was just odd.   I assume in some sort of connection with the sandal, there were prosthetic legs all around.  Post-apocalyptic world came to mind.  Everything closed, no sign of humans, and prosthetic legs.  Well on the way down from that I saw the first person I had seen since entering the park and I think he was just going to the top for exercise.

I started to go by that overgrown structure and I noticed a little path.  I had lots of time till my 1 AM bus and what did I have to lose?  I certainly had everything to gain.  That innocent little path made my trip.  It was an abandoned house.  Not just abandoned.  I’m talking ghost town.  You know how in apocalypse movies how houses are disarrayed and half destroyed but almost everything is just left.  You are getting the idea.  I came around to the back to see a big hole in the side of the house with the sink on the ground, a pot still hanging from the sagging roof and a couple of glasses in a long-rusted rack.  Brush and spiders had covered the floor but the cabinets were still standing full of cups, bowls, etc.  I couldn’t resist.  It was wonderful.  It was a treasure.  It was everything I imagined that abandoned theme park that first enticed me could have been.  I pick up a stick to fend off the spiders and prod the floor and headed in.   The kitchen was fully equipped with what was probably a lower-middle class couple’s austere cupboard.  Cheap cups, simple bowls, and some rusted pots and pans.  In the hallway to the front door there was a shrine.  The little lights were still plugged in, incense in the drawer, and decorations on the counter.  Nothing had moved.  In the bedroom the dressers were still full of clothes.  On the floor there were shirts still on boxes.  They looked new.  They had never been touched.  These had probably been sitting on the ground half a century in a box, untouched.  I walked into a time capsule.  The floor had rotted, dust have covered everything in a thick layer, and heat, water, and time had done their worst but nothing could nothing could mar the sense of stepping into someone else’s life.  Where had they gone?  Why?  How?  What compels someone to abandon everything?  The house never left the past; I was the ghost of present.  My treasures all came from a little dresser/shelf near the door.  On the bottom shelf was a tea pot.  I love tea pots here but an antique one from this house was invaluable.  Above that were some painted cans and I decided one would make a nice colorful addition to my shelf as well.  In a drawer I found a milk bottle.  I didn’t realize the full extent of this discover until after I got home.  It says Fukushima Milk Pronto.  It isn’t just a milk bottle; it was delivered to these people decades ago via the local milk service.  I was about to go when I notice a piece of paper and thought I might as well see what it said.  Great decision.  It was a calendar from 1962 depicting cars which seem to be coming from a man’s mind and drawn up to a magnet held by a hand at the top.  The bottom is rotted and torn from all that time in the dirt and rain but I hope I can preserve what is left.

 

The items:

 

I somewhat regret not taking more now but I suppose I left someone for the next adventurous person.  I hope there is one.

 

To finish off my time in Fukushima I wandered around the city taking pictures of old and abandoned buildings.  Oh, and there was this cat that had an excellent performance.  He walked out just in front of me, stretched, meowed, and then followed me for 30 feet meowing.  If I had any food, even if I was starving, he probably would have gotten it.

 

 

And two days passed.

 

 

(All those plus a few more in a slide show)

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Rants, Reflections, and Rivers

After talking to Mom and Dad about how much work Justin is doing and how much I’m going to have to do next year I am feeling quite lazy.  To fend that off I figured I should do something but, being 11:15 at night, I only really have two choices: homework and blog.  I think my choice is obvious.

 

No I come upon a second dilemma; what to write about.  Should I talk about Japan, random thoughts, politics, economics, what? Maybe I will combine a couple of those on the subject of personal finance.

 

I have come to the conclusion that very few people have the slightest idea how to manage their own finances.  As far back as I can remember I’ve had lessons about money, saving, investment, etc. floating around in my head. I suppose I have you, Dad, to thank for that and probably Papa too.  When I have $500 I immediately start budgeting out what I’m going to do with it in my head, starting with how much I plan to save.   From what I’ve seen and heard other people tend to start with what they can buy.  This is by no means a condemnation of dreams but rather an appeal for rationality in their actuation. 

 

Everyone here thinks I am rich, which I can’t really deny, but I think I have far less than they imagine because I spend less than they expect.  I have $1250 a month.  That is a set.  I know how much I have.  That is always a good place to start; inventory.  You can’t make a decent plan to do anything if you don’t first know what you have.  I also know what I want; I have priorities.  Travel, fun experiences, souvenirs, and food are all floating around in my head and ranked in order of importance.  Travel was listed first because it is the utmost priority for me, and many people profess it to be theirs as well but they do not show it.  A bottle of milk tea for class, an extra snack for the train ride home, and a couple of cans of beer for Saturday night. Let’s take account.

Drink:   120 yen  X 5  =  600 yen per week

Snack:  100 yen  X 3  =  300 yen/week

Beer:    300 yen  X 2  =  600 yen/week

1500 yen (almost $20) per week in stuff that is far from a necessity.  There are many other cuts that can be made (drinking, smoking, and eating out in spite of paid for food at the dorm being the most obvious). 

There is great power in knowing your priorities well; your greatest joys are often sacrificed for insignificant, forgettable wastes.

 

On a far grander scale, the idea of investment is totally foreign.  I grew up hearing people discuss puts, calls, bonds, and good “investments.”  That may be counted among the many blessings that my family has bestowed upon me.  Stormy (sorry to rag on you) and so many others have had no idea what to do with their money.  No idea what other people do with their money.  No idea how it grows.  No idea what value time has.  No idea what interest rates mean (more than the general “high is bad.”) 

Why do the rich stay rich?  Because they have a very good idea about how money works and it has been drilled into them since childhood.  They (I) know that saving $10 when you are 20 is as good as saving $40 (or more) when you are 60.

Let’s have another little math lesson.

Saving $50 a month for 40 years earning a modest 4% leaves you with $60,000

Buying $50 a month for 40 years would end up being $24,000 spent on stuff that would likely be worth $10,000 or less (probably less)

 Someone has a year’s worth of living expenses while the other has…well…at best $10,000 worth of stuff they probably moderately enjoy.

 

The point is that money makes money and there is some vague conception of this idea prevalent but it is about as tangible as Alice’s Wonderland it seems. 

My whole point being there is a severe lack of financial education.  People see interest rates like they see world affairs; far off and far too complicated to grasp.  Stocks don’t even get that far. They sit in a smoky back room with the men who control the world.

 

Seems to me if Buffet wanted to improve peoples’ lives he could start in the area of his expertise far more easily. 

A quick google tells me there are about 20,000 high schools in the US.

So let’s say 40,000 teachers at $45,000 a year.

$1,800,000,000

Seems to me Buffet could pay for a high school finance education for 10 years with that half of his fortune he has already pledged to give away.

 

So there is my rant.  I have no doubt that being rich at birth makes life much easier but it is the knowledge that tends to come with that which is of infinite value.

 

 

 

(The pictures are from a walk I took today from Nihombashi back home)

Memories of Mom and Me

I’m not sure what my earliest memory of you is Mom, but here are a few. (Pictures courtesy of my trip to Narita today)

Remember in Mansfield when it started raining while we were jumping on the trampoline? It was like something out of a movie. The wind picked up, a front rolled in, and with one big crack of thunder it started pouring. We all high tailed it back in, soaked from the 100 foot run from the trampoline to the house.

We used to walk Sally down by the golf course in Reno. It was always so pretty up there on those little trails winding across the hillside, down through the tree covered valley, by that clear-cold stream. Sally loved the stream. I suppose that cold water was heaven in summer for her in that fur coat fit for the arctic. I would always find tons of golf balls and tote them back for everyone to use; I think I found them mostly for the challenge. And maybe my memory has turned rose colored, but it seems to me there was a little section like a tunnel through an aspen forest. Perhaps that is where I began to love walking. More it was you that caused that, not any one place. Much of the time I’ve spent with you must have been walking because those seem to be some of my most vivid memories. We walked up that path across a sage brush covered field (a rather non-descript description for Reno) near the elementary school whose bell we could hear. We walked around our street and down to where that church was too. We would walk to Grandma and Granpa’s from time to time after they moved out there. We would walk to the park with the tennis court. I still love to walk Sally with you.

In high school I always wanted to stay up late (and did); you were always the most approving of that. Or, well, maybe to be more accurate I should say least disapproving.

You taught me how to wash blood out of clothes and sheets. That skill has served me well and I’ve had to use it far more than I would like.

You and I like graveyards and antiques. We were always convincing Justin and Dad to stop somewhere to look around for a good deal or a cool gravestone. Both of those have stayed with me as well. I love junkshops and find it very hard to pass one up; there could always be a buried treasure, right? Not like I need any more “treasure.” In fact, I think my room could do with quite a bit less as long as I can keep it all (I realize that is a bit of a paradox and I’ve yet to find a good solution). As you may have noticed in my pictures from Japan, graveyards are among my favorite. I’ve always loved people but have never been very good with them. Maybe that’s why I spend so much time gleaming bits of peoples’ lives from their graves. On second thought that sounds a bit morbid. Maybe I just like how they look.

I remember Grampa Williams in his garden and you in ours. I can always remember that. At every house. It remind me of the beginning of Lord of the Rings where they are describing the Hobbits as a people whose “[hearts] truly lie in peace and quiet, and good tilled earth. For all Hobbits share a love for things that grow.” The Japanese remind me of that phrase too and that is perhaps one of my favorite parts of this culture.

Thank you Mom for making me, me.

(And some more random pics, Oh, and that tree behind me is like the size of a small Sequoya)

I was lucky (again) and there was a small festival today.

It is wishing for fun travels.

This one is wishing for good grades or something at MY school. The first part say Hosei University (法政大学）.

Hoodies, Houses and Holmes

I little birdy told me I have to write something. Her name’s Stormy. So write I will.

It will be all thinking and not many pictures I suppose since I haven’t taken many. It has been raining every day. I shouldn’t even say raining. It is mostly just gray drizzle to dampen my hoodie. I feel like I am in Seattle without the coffee or English.

I went water skiing last weekend which was an awesome and chilling experience. By chilling I don’t mean frightening, scary, etc. but rather literally chilly; it was like 55 degrees, cloudy, and windy.

Midday Saturday I got picked up at Hosei and from their one of the members drove me and another girl all the way to a place called Itako where they have a boat, ramp, course, and a house. Yep. A house. Ill describe the stuff first I think.
It is so weird driving on the other side of the rode. I always had the urge to grab the wheel (which should have been in front of me but wasn’t) and jerk the car onto the right side of the road. I also found out why people don’t drive that much; it is ungodly expensive. On our east coast trip a few years back I remember dad being livid about paying like $1 every 50 miles or something. Well this put that dollar to shame. I was just riding along and taking in the scenery when we came to a toll booth (we had been on the road for a while) and it says “The fee will be 2300 yen.” No way. That is about $28 just for ONE of the segments. My suspicions were confirmed on the way back. I think we paid a total of like $40 in tolls to go a total of about 60 miles. As if parking fees and gas prices weren’t enough, this surely is a deal closer for the trains.

The boat was an old Malibu that has been beaten to heck on the inside but still runs well. It is definitely a ski boat and was great for a ski team. Not much to say there.

Now for what you’ve all been waiting for, the house. They really did have one and not just like one of the kids parents had one. The club has one. I’d imagine it looks much like an old frat house would look like if I had ever seen one. With its walls plastered with papers saying all sorts of random crap, ski posters everywhere, and the most rundown furniture available it was perfect for a bunch of college students to spend a weekend in. No heater or air- you will need to bundle up inside too. I borrowed one of their hideous yellow jackets which you can see me in below. I hated it but not as much as the cold. The whole thing was traditional Japanese. Next to the kitchen there is a small dining table with a heater under it and blanket-skirt all around. I had always seen them in anime but never in real life. Since you sit on the floor for traditional Japanese stuff, you just sit on the floor, stick your legs under the table, and whala-heated feet. The main dining room with the big tables did not have that unfortunately. It was like 60 in there so I ate with my hoodie on. It did however have tatami mats which are how Japanese homes used to be floored. They are just bamboo mats that roll out over the floor and actually look quite nice. Despite the cold air the hot dinner I had there was wonderful. We ate a huge thing of homemade curry rice (Japanese version of it anyway) there and then the main event started. Let me tell you, Japanese people can make a drinking game out of everything. They played probably a dozen different drinking games and then when I taught them blackjack they turned that into a drinking game too (all losers drink). To further explain the amount of drinking I should explain the food bill; $30 for curry, $130 for alcohol. I think that pretty much explains it.

And at last I should talk about the river. The river was cold so I kept wearing the hideous yellow jacket and huddled next to a fire which resembled a smoker- it always needed more air, never had enough energy, and put off enough smoke to make anyone gag. A lot of fun though. I miss days at the lake with everyone so much. We sat and talked and tended the fire and watched the skiers and complained about the cold and just relaxed. It was nice.
The water was not so nice. I had to wear a full wet suit for the first time which I must say is not one of the most comfortable devices ever made although possibly the warmest. Like I said, 55, windy, and in a river but, with a wet suit, I survived. The first day was super windy and I was not prepared for the cold so I didn’t ski very well. The second day I was prepared (if not equipment wise at least mentally) and had a bit more fun. I also realized how out of shape I am. I did one run each day and my arms and shoulders were sore for two days. Seems I am going to have to do quite a bit of exercise before I’m ready for this year’s ski trip.

Now….what else to write about? Classes are going. Still easy so I do most of my homework in the morning before I go to class.
I have been trying to keep up with stock market news. Finance may be my thing cause I quite enjoy it although I don’t think I’m particularly good at it yet. It is like getting paid to gamble; very educated gambling. Exciting, interesting, and pays well (maybe). As I’ve said before, in this blog or maybe somewhere else, economics/finance/business is just fascinating to me. It is not just numbers like so much seems to be. It is about people. It is about politics. It is about solving mysteries. You watch and watch and, if you have been diligent in your watching and even more so in your analysis, you may well capture your Moriarty. The key of Sherlock Holmes success was not to see the facts but his ability to make the connections that others did not. Everyone saw the same things Einstein did; he was just the only one to notice how the time and space we all see is related. Likewise finance and economics (at least good finance and economics) are not just about having the right facts but understanding the depths of their interrelation. I suppose I’m rambling on for myself now.

Belated, break, and blossoms

I haven’t written a blog in a long time and I suppose that’s mostly just me being lazy. So I guess I need to start way back in Nepal.

Nepal was awesome. Thinking back the most appropriate thing to say was that it is beautiful. It starts with hills (which we would probably call mountains) which are terraced all the way up, scattered with small villages, and criss-crossed with footpaths.

I can’t think of a much better way to describe it than to give you the short log I made while there and my pictures. So… (excuse the many errors and such, It’s a not very edited set of notes basically)

Day 1
The city was loud and busy. Everything seemed chaotic. Very dirty too. It was interesting that they do cremation publicly and even more so that people who didn’t seem to be tourists watched. Got trapped this morning into buying some expensive paintings. Obviously the guides friend and gave like a 30 min lesson then proceeded to selling. Not my favorite way to spend $80 but ill live; at least they were nice. The whole town seems built on tourism or large sections at least. At night, after the guide had left I was walking around the area by my hotel alone. I turned around really fast cause I thought I felt something on my backpack only to find everyone looking at me funny. Oh well, just a little paranoid carrying $1000 in electronics around one of the poorest countries on earth.

Coolest part of the day was meeting the drivers friend\girlfriend who was from Japan. She has been in Nepal for 2 years working as a midwife. Fun coincidence and got a little Japanese practice.

Day 2
Strike. The government is raising the price of gas (I think this might mean lowering subsidies) and so the people are on strike and letting nothing move. I woke up at 6:15 and my guide didn’t show up until almost 7 at which point he said there was no way to even get to the bus company. So, I just figured I’d ask how far it is. 30 minute walk. Why in the world is he worried about a 30 min walk when we were going to be walking hours on end for the rest of my stay?! Alas, it was still no use. When we were almost there we met the clerk of the bus office and he said nothing was moving. Well crap, back to the office to figure out how to fix this problem. They said all the “green plate” tourist cars were already reserved cause people were worried about the strike. Again, this raises questions as to efficiency. If everyone else planned ahead why didn’t you? After much negotiation and lots of persistence, I convinced them of an idea of my own design. We were going in a circle, so why not just get to the end point of my trek which was much closer? Well they dragged their feet but i eventually convinced them. Apparently my bag was light enough that my guide can carry my bag and his.
About 10am we met at my hotel. My guide then had the somewhat absurd idea to take a rickshaw all the way to my endpoint (about 7 miles from the hotel). I went along with it and paid the $26 fee and we were off. Really was quite fun. Made it to the endpoint before noon and had a doable day. People stared the whole way. Who takes a rickshaw that far?
Continuing stairs. I thought we were climbing the staircase to heaven. Just up and up and up and every time i thought we got to the top we hit another set of stairs. Only two small blisters. I really felt much better than anticipated.

That is our rickshaw in front of us. The protesters made it clear that we were going to get out of the rickshaw one way or another and walk at least when we were near them.

Day3
Beautiful views. That sums up most of the day. As for the night, i got the special treat of seeing a Hindu ceremony for healing (the owners son was sick). Guy used dough like stuff to make statues, beat a drum, chanted, and wore bells. Dinner for me was egg over a whole bunch of potatoes. Filling and good.

Day 4
Just a little lost. We took a wrong turn and got lost for 1.5 hours. A poor guy that followed us down the wrong side but fell behind may still be there. Hope he found his way out. The night before we discussed the route and such. We changed it a bit. Going to only spend one day at the lake cause it will be so cold. I had to really push him all day to go as far as we can. He’s trying to be careful with me I think but he was planning such short days I felt Id be wasting my time. I also decided I want to get back to Kathmandu one day early just in case there is another bus strike. I cant afford to miss my flight. I think it can be done easily. As i said, they were making rather short days in some cases so i will either skip the rest day on combine another. I hope to combine not skip the rest day. Omelets are good here but quite small. Their “double” was barely larger that what i would call a normal sunny side up egg. Rooms have nothing but a padded bed like thing to put your sleeping bag. No heater. Electricity either not at all or only a few hours.
Oh, one big problem; I’ve forgotten my guides name.

Day 5
Going over the pass was the mentally and physically hardest thing ive ever done. It was about 10 degrees, very windy, steep and icy. Met another group at the top who recognized how bad I felt. I don’t know how they, 2 in their 40s, seemed so fine. No room in the hotel so we stayed 500m down. My water froze solid in my room. No idea how people live there.

Day 6
Down to thulu which is a big village but apparently their electricity and internet had been cut. I hoped to email you from there. I sat outside for hours taking pics with my telescopic lens. Later there was the fun fire side wait for dinner with a very old woman and a younger one who played on her cell while caring for her child. Also the view at night was amazing and my pictures do no justice.

Day 7
Short day today. Just went a few hours to a small little village right on a roaring river. The path here was a lot of fun. Was filled with all sorts of plants and flowers. It was almost like a rainforest. The other side of the valley was just like a desert though. Such a huge difference. At the place there was this little girl, maybe 6 or 7, that seemed to do everything (Turns out she was 9). She waited on us, she did the dishes, she washed clothes, she brought chairs, and heck, she even brought wood. I finished the return of Sherlock Holmes today and might finish the man who knew too much tonight. The lodges are quite interesting. Just like walking into a family’s house, eating with them, and be putting up in a spare room. I have about 900 photos right now I think. Been trying not to take so many that I’m overwhelmed when I get back. The diet here consists of bread and honey with milk tea for breakfast and dal bhat for the other meals. Dal bhat is rice with curry potatoes and lettuce with lentil soup. It makes up a good 75% of the diet here. I’ve been eating a lot of fried potatoes and eggs for variety. Every place has the exact same menu so it becomes somewhat predictable. The fires in the main room is nice. I’m writing this by one right now. Very warm and get to watch the people interact. I’ve gotten more used to mu lack of showers but i will be very glad to have my heated room and daily hot shower back. I think they are carving up a freshly killed chicken in the kitchen right now. I see the feet.

PEOPLE carry these things!!

Day 8
Another short day full of listening. My hair is quite greasy. Sigh. What do you do when there is no shower. I need to do a little laundry I think. My shoes are extremely dirty and beginning to look a little worn. I hope they last. I’ve been using a lot of battery so i hope i will have enough. Paid 100 rupies for 1 hour of charge today. Met another Japanese guy who takes photos and writes for a Japanese food magazine.

Day 9
Going to be cold tonight. I got a shower though so i feel a bit better. The owner of the hotel walked with us half the way cause she spotted us on the way. Hope there is a fire tonight. (There was)

Day 10
Went to kansing gumba and got over a pound of yak cheese for 290. Great snack and its good. It’s a hard cheese but doesn’t have a particularly sharp taste. I’ve notice my feet are getting a bit torn up. Hope theyheal. Looked in the mirror for the first time in like a week. How many times have I been able to say that? Even me, who’s not notably self-conscious, looks in the mirror every I go to the bathroom. Not as bad as it could be but daily showers and a shave will help. Wish i could bring back yak cheese.

Day 11
Knees got sore from going downhill today. Took a bunch of pics of plants. Noticing how much boys are preferred. The girl has done the laundry and the dishes and the boys have moved from card towers to marbles. She might be a little older but still. Also, i eat a lot here. Im thinking 16 to 17k rupies, about 200 dollars for a tip. Also met a police woman from France today who is taking a year off to travel. Reminded me of Nan.

Day 12
Got internet today. That was nice. The hotel owner seems really cold\uncaring though. Also had the worst spaghetti I’ve ever had. Would have been ok if not for the sauce which tasted like a lightly sweet barbecue sauce.

My Guide:

Day 13
Guide got the bus tickets today and I’ve mostly relaxed and such. Did more laundry. Sent a few emails, caught up on news, found out it costs 1700 rupies, about 20 dollars, to leave Nepal (It did not, that fee was gotten rid of a few years back). Not a bad day. Oh, and sat on the second floor balcony with my telescopic lens and took pics of people.

So that pretty much sums up my trip. The last few days I was a little sick, probably from the weird food for two weeks and exhaustion.

Then, as you all know, I spend a little over a month home which was a lot of fun and a great break. I loved getting to see all of you again and just sit at home and eat American food. Spent a bit of time with Stormy which was great as always, and now back in Japan. It is a little like home too. My own room, my stuff, my computer. Also, I got here just in time for cherry blossom season which is absolutely beautiful. They are everywhere and now that they are beginning to fall it is like snow. Little white pettles fall all around you and gather in the corners. They blow around like snow drifts, whisping across the road in little curly cues to the next drift. Almost tempted to grab a handful and send them home to you but I suppose that might be like trying to mail a snowflake. Wouldn’t do them justice anyway. One of the streets near me is lined with them so it is just this endless line of white trees converging in the distance. Despite being a huge city, Tokyo has a lot of natural beauty.

There are some spots that are really popular to go “hanami” (literally flower watching but it just means to have a picnic under the cherry trees). I think I like the quiet spots better for photos though. It is impossible to get a good picture with 1000 people around you vying to take the same picture.

School started yesterday and I think the new semester will be fun. I’m taking mostly Japanese language classes. The others are public speaking, marketing, and finance.

Don’t Panic

Don’t Panic

Just one particular line I remember from “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.” I thought it was appropriate given that I am about to head off into Nepal for a little over two weeks.  I’m not quite sure what to say to soothe all your worry weary souls, but I hope a few of my thoughts on the matter might make the mastery of your mind more manageable.

First of all, I am thoroughly prepared; I know not a word of Nepali (the language), have no idea how to use a compass, and every fire I ever started’s first step was half a gallon of gasoline.  I kid, I kid.  I have my tablet (which has a battery that lasts 9 hours of use plus a spare battery for another 12 hours or so) that works as a GPS and map.  I have a fire starter with magnesium (which is really cool by the way and works just as well as gasoline).  I have a water purifying straw (again, really cool. Everyone needs this crap).  I even have a first aid kit and enough hand warmers to line the inside of an entire jacket.  I’ve got clothes, scarfs, 2 pairs of gloves, a rain proof jacket, a hat, sunscreen, chap stick, pen, passport, money, and that’s all I care to list for now.

Despite having the highest mountain in the world, Nepal is largely a fairly warm place.  Kathmandu, where I land and spend a few days, is supposed to be in the mid 60’s when I’m touring.  Everywhere else just gets colder depending on altitude, but most of my time will be spent at around the 9000 foot range; making it about 50 F.  A comfortable temperature if you ask me, especially compared to the windy, rainy, 38 F it was in Tokyo today.  Today will be about the same as my coldest day in Nepal should be.  Minus the rain I hope.  Of course, I will be about 15,000 ft. up at that point, so I imagine I’ll be getting quite a lung workout.

I’ve also created a map for all of you. Below is a link to a map I created. Follow the little pins and their labels to see where will be each day.  It’s like one of those count-down-to-Christmas things people have.

http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?msid=213230967925582813362.0004b70114fdccd364638&msa=0&ll=28.142238,85.575256&spn=1.281141,2.705383&iwloc=0004b701b056213d90b08

You know, I think the part I’m most nervous about is the airport. I’ve been through tons of airports before but this time I’m flying a completely new airline and leaving from a totally new airport.  I will be leaving with lots of time to spare.  It really can’t be all that bad. Narita only has two terminals and, compared to Dallas, they are very small. The whole airport is really more like the size of San Antonio or something which is astonishing considering it serves the largest metropolitan area in the world.

Packing for this I’ve come to greatly appreciate the art of packing well and deciding what you really need and what contingencies are worth planning for.  A backpack that is supposed to weigh less than 30 lbs. is a bit different than what I would normally pack for a 2.5 week trip into cool weather. Layers. Layers are all important.  I have undershirts that can be washed in a sink or what-have-you easily.  Socks.  Nothing would be worse than blisters on a walking trip so I have all manner of socks. Thin socks, thick socks, tall sock, short socks.  Gloves; two pairs.  One that is especially warm and another, Nana’s gift, that are warm but also still dexterous.  If I want to take photos I can’t have my hands sucked in my sleeves or hidden deep in my pockets and I know you all want photos. If you don’t, I do and I’m sure you’ll all pretend to even if you didn’t.  And the lastly, all my camera stuff.  I have three lenses now, so that takes a bit of room. I have three batteries because I’m not optimistic on the power situation.  Two SD cards for two reasons; room and backup.  I’d hate to have no way to take photos if my SD card broke on top of a mountain. All that gives you a little insight into what I brought and why I brought it.  More than anything, it might tell you which things are most important to me.

“We apologize for the inconvenience.” In Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, that is God’s last message to the universe.  Well I suppose it’s fitting here as well.  Sorry to make you all worry but I hope, like Marvin, when it’s all said and done, you’ll say “I feel good about it.”