Bars Don't Close Here

Last night I wandered/barhopped Okayama with Tim (the guy who's been here for a year already) and Alex (co-trainee) until 4:30 in the morning. And when I say barhopped I mean two bars that cater to and are mostly populated by foreigners. There is no last call here. I think I'm going to like Japan. The beers are small and cost the same as pints in the U.S., but it's Japanese beer. They also import a bunch of liquors to these bars and charge ¥600 a shot for such delicacies as Canadian Club and Old Crow. Jack Daniels costs the same. The “original cocktails” are mostly varied combinations of orange juice and sugary liqueurs, the only name of one I can recall I deciphered as “Toeface”. The bartender at Aussie Bar didn't particularly understand why we wanted a straight shot of tequila. Needless to say I did not order any original cocktails, but this morning (read: 3pm when I woke up) I drank some of the so called orange juice that had been provided for us by our generous company, which by all outside appearances was just a normal carton of OJ. So I was surprised to find that I could see through it as I poured it in to my mug. It looks, and tastes, like Tang. Anyways I think that last night is just what I needed to feel a little more at home here. With the exception of a morning spent trudging through the rain and humidity to the historic castle and famous gardens that reside here in Okayama (to but not in – we weren't ready to pay) with my co-trainees, I had mostly been hiding in my room and only leaving to have halting interactions with convenient store workers as I floundered my way through a purchase, living in a state of utter culture shock, which I hadn't even realized until I tore my way out of it a little bit. This was my first time actually going out and sitting somewhere and just sort of letting it sink in. Granted I was still totally in a safety net since we only went to gaijin bars where the bartenders speak decent enough english (at the bar Pinball one of them put on a video of his Blues Brothers cover band Skull at one of their performances and told me he loves Elvis before telling me his name, which I promptly forgot) and there was almost no one out on a Sunday night, but even that made me feel a little more like I'm here and still a person. I'm sure bonding with a couple of new friends didn't hurt either. I woke up feeling contented and ready to try my hand at something new. I am still pretty crippled by the language barrier and my lack of understanding of the culture in which I now live, and it's going to take time and serious effort to improve that, but I feel more prepared to deal with it today than I did yesterday or the day before.

So I made my first venture in to a Japanese restaurant (other than Mister Donut for breakfast yesterday). There are lots of pictures and plastic models of all the dishes at all the restaurants, for which I am eternally grateful, as even with them I still rarely know what it is I'm about to eat. So I walk just inside the sliding glass door of this restaurant and immediately to my right is a big thing that looks like one of those lottery ticket machines in the grocery store, and the only english on it is a big arrow that says “Take Out” pointing to a blue button just above the several rows of other buttons. Mercifully, there was a poster with pictures and names of dishes plastered on the window, even a couple of english names. So I picked the “Beef over Rice Bowl” and managed to find a button with matching characters on it. I put in my money and pushed the button and out came my change and a little ticket, which I took with me to my seat at the wraparound bar that comprised the seating area. The nice lady came and said something I didn't understand and gave me a glass of water and ripped off the perforated half of my ticket. Shortly thereafter I had a steaming bowl of food that smelled like exactly what I wanted to eat. This picture had been the biggest on the poster, I think it's their flagship dish. Cost me ¥480 and came with a bowl of miso soup that I burned my tongue on, and I'm stuffed. I'm working up to actually having to interact with a waitperson for the duration of a meal.

Training starts tomorrow.



addendum: as I am sitting on this bench rereading this before posting a stream of men in black slacks and white dress shirts wearing yellow nametags just poured out of a nearby Reception Hall and walked down the stairs behind me. This train station is connected to the convention center. Last night as I was packing up to leave it was an outflow of professionally dressed women from a different nearby door. OOH man even more men than the first salvo, this time wearing jackets and slightly varied shirt colors, the Hall must be huge!