Cycling on Tatami

UCCJ Tohoku Disaster Relief Center

2011-04-10T23:20:00.008+09:00

The group I'm volunteering with in Sendai:
http://ameblo.jp/jishin-support-uccj-en/

Please pray for the safety and healing of those in Japan's Tohoku region!

Going North

2011-04-07T20:18:00.002+09:00

I'm leaving tonight for Sendai to volunteer in the earthquake and tsunami affected areas. I'll be staying at Sendai Lutheran Church and participating in an ecumenical effort in that area. I’ll post information about my time there after I return to Tokyo in 5 to 10 days. Please continue to keep Japan in your prayers!

Shikoku Cycling Tour

2011-03-20T01:36:00.002+09:00

I will depart Tokyo tomorrow on a cycling tour of the island of Shikoku in western Japan. My brother Paul and I will try, in nine days, to ride the circumference of the island visiting Tokushima, Muroto, Kochi, Shimanto River, Beppu (in Kyushu), Matsuyama, and Shodoshima. We will travel by ferry from Tokyo to Tokushima and return, hopefully on the same boat, to Tokyo after a clockwise journey around the island. I've been planning this trip for about 4 months and am thankful it puts us far out of reach of both tsunami damage and radioactive what have you. It should be a great adventure through a very rural and traditional region of Japan. You can follow our progress on Twitter at twitter.com/thecyclingtour. There will be pictures and blog updates to follow.
Thanks for reading!

Earthquake

2011-03-15T15:48:00.002+09:00

Please pray for the Japanese people!

http://www.elca.org/Our-Faith-In-Action/Responding-to-the-World/Disaster-Response.aspx

http://www.npr.org/2011/03/15/134541988/international-humanitarian-aid-needed-for-japan

Update coming soon!

Artists' Renderings

2011-01-23T02:01:00.009+09:00

The first two pictures were drawn for me by my sympathetic neighbor Kumiko after my landlord got angry about my garbage being put out too early. The third is a picture of me as a sumo wrestler drawn by a cyclist on tour last summer in Hakodate. The last one was drawn by a four-year-old named Taro. It's amazing how different I look in each of these drawings.

Momma Tigers and the Tiger Mask Mystery

2011-01-23T01:26:00.004+09:00

This past week Chinese parenting was the focus of many a cable “news” program and talk show in the United States. At the same time, here in Japan, people were talking about a comic book wrestler who wears a tiger mask. I know little about Tiger parents, Momma Grizzlies or whatever people are arguing about back in the States, and I'm not going to join the debate because I just don't care and I don't have kids. However, I will say that the common theme I've observed amongst good parents(on both sides of the Pacific) is unselfish love. Unselfish love can certainly be lived out in many ways. You could probably list thirty large carnivorous mammals which aptly describe the characteristics of each parent's child rearing style, making the case that each animal/parent loves unselfishly. While I sit here writing, wondering whether my mother is more of an ocelot or a puma, there are many children and adults out there whose concepts and impressions of parents, in terms of a biological or adoptive mother and father, are certainly different from my own.

An anonymous donor has been sending food, money and school backpacks to orphanages across Japan. Donations have been left for children in all of Japan's 46 prefectures. These gifts have all been given, not in the name of a corporation or foundation, but with notes signed by a fictional comic book character whose identity is hidden by a tiger mask. The Tiger Mask dates back several decades and is well know throughout Japan. The Tiger Mask's character was orphaned as a child, something that certainly resonates with the recipients of donations given in his name. The orphans, who ,the news reports say, want to give thanks, wonder who's making these donations. The Japanese people, inspired and perplexed by such generosity, wonder the same. It's a wonderful nationwide mystery!

These two very different stories made me think deeply about love. It's impossible to determine whether the true motivation behind the Tiger Mask's charity is love. It's also difficult to say which parents love their children unselfishly and which ones only appear to be doing so. Only God knows. I wanted to share the story of the Tiger Mask because it appears to be an act of compassion with no expected return on investment. So often companies seem to spend more money than they actually give to charity on commercials advertising their giving. As individuals we're told to volunteer in the community so we can beef up our resumes or get into a good university. As it is, I am rarely able to do charity or make a charitable contribution without somehow bragging about it or expecting a blessing in return. I guess it's only natural. Pondering the love of parents for their children and the inspirational work of the Tiger Mask I am reminded of Christ's love for us and the love God commands us to share. We are called to love even our enemies. Whether we do that as tigers or three-toed sloths, I guess, is up to our own creative license.

Happy New Year!

2011-01-09T00:23:00.003+09:00

Blues for the Dead iPod

My 30-Gig iPod died last week. I purchased it at a Best Buy during the oh-so-epic summer of 2007 and, considering the abuses it sustained and absorbed through it's half plastic half chrome case over three and a half years of use, it's really no wonder it started ticking like a metronome the last time I tried to upload songs. Now, only a pale white screen appears with a frowning cartoon iPod and the Apple service center's URL.I know this isn't like the 25-year-old fridge in my apartment. No do-it-yourself-duct-tape-plastic-hose repairs are gonna give me an extra few months of use. It's dead. I'm sure more that enough of you have had a similar experience.

The sudden death of my iPod made me think deeply about the life cycles of all of my things, and more so the cycles of change in my own life. I was not only inspired by the iPod breakdown to replace my aging boxer briefs and see-through-unsalvageable socks (both on 5-year cycles), but was also compelled to recall memories of the past three years since I was coerced to buy that 35-dollar two-year service warranty I never used.

Though it seems everything has changed since my last semester of college at CLU in late '07, many of the same problems have re-presented themselves. This goes further than my inability to spell big words or hatred of card games. More importantly the subconscious nagging question remains, 'where do I go from here?'. Three years ago, the answer to that question was teaching English overseas, it so turned out, as a missionary. Mission accomplished or not, I'll be leaving Japan within the next four months for the Unites States and another uncertain future. I just hope there's some good cycling along the way.

Tenting on Tatami

I've mentioned before that I love my Japanese house. It has that certain time-worn comfort I've come to appreciate more and more since my days working at Value Village. In the wintertime cold, however, part of it's charm is lost (along with a whole lotta BTUs). The draft in here is beyond belief. The seams between my paper doors and around my 25-year-old plastic windows often remind me of freezer doors left ajar. This is a common trait amongst not only older but even newer Japanese apartments. In the interest of construction job creation or cost cutting (which I don't really know), almost all dwellings have been built with a short thirty-year life cycle and Swiss cheese for insulation. Central heating is also a rarity, compounding draft troubles. My Toshiba unit heater just celebrated it's 25^th birthday and has seen healthier days. It coughs out just enough heat to maintain the daytime winter temperature outside inside my apartment each night. This is where the tent comes in. My old three-season tent from REI provides just the windscreen and insulated bubble I require for homeostasis. It's cozy. I sleep on the floor on an old futon anyway, so the transition to sleeping in a tent indoors isn't quite as distant as you might think. I love camping anyway and I could sleep windows-open if I threw on the rain fly. Living alone (especially in a foreign land) offers so many wonderful liberties to be an idiot on my own time, and gives me creative license to solve problems in even the most unconventional of ways. Electric blankets.....bagh! If it gets any colder I may buy some potatoes to bake and put in my new socks, or acquire a burn barrel.

Thanksgiving Day

2011-01-06T23:16:00.001+09:00

Happy Birthday John Lennon! (not about John Lennon)

2010-10-11T02:08:00.004+09:00

At what point is it acceptable for adults to begin forgetting huge portions of their youth? As this year passes seemingly faster than any before it, I marvel at the speed with which the decade has also passed. As I try to piece together memories from the 90s and the ought years, I find that vast swaths of my would-be autobiography are either vague and distorted, or just completely gone. Nostalgia is supposed to be good for long-term memory. It exercises the brain, or so I'm told. I'm not so sentimental or nostalgic for my past these days, perhaps because of repression, pain, my unpopularity in junior high, or the fact that I have been separated by three thousand miles and two years from anyone who was actually there. There's no one around to confirm the facts, or provoke the thought. I need to start writing this stuff down, or at least talking and thinking about it, before all but the most exciting bits are gone. I'm a little like a cassette tape in the sun. It's only a matter of time before this copy of Joni Michell's Blue sounds like John and Yoko's Wedding album. It's time to get nostalgic and writing. If anyone would ever listen to my life story it should be clear and lovely and not just a drawn-out, high-pitch mess of wailing (John.....Yoko!). I was dreaming of the past a little the other day when I realized that I may be a completely different person come time for my return to the U.S.A. This scared me. I don't know how this whole reintegration thing is going to work. Especially with my erased memory.

Anyway, as long as I'm trying to remember things, I'd like to share something interesting with you from my days in Japan. This event and the subsequent chain of events it initiated has, until now, remained out of my blogs(and for the most part a secret), but has essentially had the most influence on me as I've lived out my life here. It's something I won't be forgetting any time soon.

As you've probably noticed, I love cycling. Cycling for fitness, bicycle touring and even bicycle repair are my favorite things to do. I feel most at peace and most free when I'm in the saddle. It's how I've traveled, stayed fit and maintained sanity and continuity during stressful, lonely and changing times since I was young.
I wrote this poem while I was at California Lutheran University:
That Which is Spoken (The Bicycle)

Bipedal movement classifies mankind,

By-pedal motion, perfection defined,

The men to sprout wings were masters of thee,

Your two right brothers both horse and Harley.

Free hub of bearings, derailleur or two,

With dreams of these things, no wonder man flew.

To speak of your wheels is to speak of spokes-

Brake, saddle, cassette-a diction of jokes.

Addiction to crank a quick-release joy,

The perfect ride for man, woman or boy.

Clip in clipless pedals-shoes made for this-

On shoulders of highways-eternal bliss.

Just as a mother rocks her child asleep,

One rocks this frame up the grade that is steep.

Dual-pivot braking aluminum wheel,

The wind, road, adventure, the breath they steal.

Pump on Presta, Schrader, pump pressed a pin,

Glass, thorns, pinch-flats kill the spirit within.

Round tubes of air are a synch to repair

While the passing cars and children all stare.

Chain-whipped the back of a sprocket again,

with a black lock-ring remover and pin,

the teeth are in rows like those of great whites.

White and red lights are aft and fore dark nights.

A headset for hearing naught but the wind,

the ram horns wrapped and hard enamel skinned.

With efficiency worthy of accord.

Wheels, pedals, handle bars fit for the Lord.

If Christ were on earth, like in times B.C.,

on a bicycle his travels would be.

This was the only poem of mine the my professor didn't consider rubbish. I've since retired from poetry, but I haven't retired from cycling, despite what you'll read about below.

On August 26^th 2009 I was doing sort of victory lap around Tokyo. I had recently completed a thousand-mile tour of northern Japan and I was faster, stronger and more inspired to ride than ever before. I was about 10k into my ride on that cooler-than-usual night when I crossed an abnormally long intersection in the Azabu neighborhood. As I rolled though the light, lit green, I merged right to avoid a car on the other side of the intersection, parked (I later discovered, illegally) to my left, in front of a crosswalk. As I passed the purple, box-shaped, Scion-like car, I noticed some people ahead of it. One of them, who at the time was facing away from me, stepped out to cross the street. I tried, squeezing both brake handles and locking the rear wheel, to avoid a collision. But it was too late. As a by-standing woman screamed, and I did also, the woman who had stepped out turned to face me in terror. We collided face to face. As my bicycle fell, and I flew over the handlebars, time slowed and the woman's face grimaced. She fell with her back to the ground-her head striking the asphalt. When we settled (after the longest second of my life), I was straddling her body lying face to face. Frighten and desperate, I lifted the back of her head asking if she was OK. As the young Japanese woman, in English, said clearly, “no” I noticed blood on the pavement behind her head. Horrified, I rolled off of her and stood up to direct oncoming traffic around her limp body and my twisted bicycle. Forgetting any Japanese I'd learned, I yelled for someone to call an ambulance. I noticed several people with cellular phones to their ears and, feeling shock and nausea, I asked another man to relive me and to direct traffic. I took off my green baseball cap and sat on the sidewalk with my head buried in my hands. This was the worst moment of my life. I waited in horror, too scared and confused to cry.

Two women in long dresses had come running across the street to assist the injured woman just seconds after the accident. One of the women,who I would later discover was a nurse, held the injured woman's hand and checked her vital signs. The other woman, after a minute or two, approached me. She assured me that the young, injured woman was fine. I told her, “I'm a missionary. I didn't come here to hurt people!” What she said next destroyed me. “Well, we're Mormon missionaries.”

Mormons, until that day, had been my nemeses. They were cultists. They were lairs. They stood, theologically at least, for everything I was against. I grew up, for various reasons, despising them. But, I would soon depend on them. They would be gracious bearers of truth and my Samaritan saviors.

The two Mormon woman had been first responders, first aid and first-hand witnesses to the accident, and, by the grace of God, had happened to see the whole accident from across the street, the best vantage point. They were waiting for the same light to change that the injured woman had been when she stepped into my path and was struck. They told me that the woman had stepped out before her light had changed and that she was (at least partially) at fault. They also understood, to a great extent, the degree of injury which the woman suffered (I later discovered it was five stitches on the back of the head and a lightly scratched foot).

Later that night, and after three hours of interrogation, the police told me three things: the woman had stepped out on a green walk signal, my bicycle had crossed the intersection while the light was red and I would be prosecuted and sued by the victim and police. They told me I bore full responsibility for what had happened, counter to what the Mormons had told me they'd witnessed. The police had not taken testimony from the Mormons, probably because the police didn't understand English and the Mormons didn't speak Japanese.

On the night of the accident I assumed that all the witnesses had seen, as the Mormons had, that the woman had stepped out from behind an illegally parked car on a red walk signal into my path. The other witnesses, all Japanese, (it turns out) testified to the police that I had recklessly hit the woman, as she crossed with the green walk light illuminated(an illegally parked car was not part of the equation). Or at least this is the story the police constructed for a report. In fact, one of the Japanese by-standers had told me that the injured woman had stepped out on a red walk signal. It wasn't until after almost everyone had gone home that the police told me they believed I'd run a red light and hit the woman in a form of gross criminal negligence. I was shocked. Having believed, as I said before, that the Mormon women's story would be consistent with everyone else's, I had not so much as asked the Mormons for their names, much less any contact information.

In the days after the accident lawyers tried to extort enormous sums in compensation, prosecutors and police threatened huge fines and imprisonment and I was afraid to so much as look at a bicycle. It was a mess. Can you imagine being read a foreign country’s version of Miranda Rights only AFTER a three hour interrogation? It was a disaster. I needed help

I knew one thing about Mormon's and Mormon missionaries from my past, a fact that I had previously mocked, but one that made my search for truthful testimony and a fair settlement and trial a lot easier. Mormon's are moral, strict and organized. After I broke down and realized, at the advice of a friendly lawyer who volunteered to help(another story of grace ripe for the telling) that I could not defend myself without the help of those two woman, I made a reluctant call to Mormon headquarters in Tokyo. Less than one hour after my call I was on the phone with a woman I had described to the previous operator only as “a woman around sixty who had witnessed a bicycle accident”. I can elaborate on the story more later, but you should know that both of the woman confirmed all of the details from that night in signed affidavits that has been my best hope ever since.

I don't know if I can really explain my previous prejudice toward The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. I was never told or taught to hate them. But I had often been warned by elders about the danger they posed theologically, and I'd had experiences that'd showed me they were quite different from Lutherans, despite our shared Christian heritage. For reasons I can't explain here without a novel-length dissertation, from a rather young age I was on a mission to discredit Mormons. I'd avoided, insulted and, to be honest, hated Mormonism most of my life. At age twenty-four, in the post-modern era, and after four years of a very liberal arts education I carried such an awful prejudice against others because of their faith. It wasn't until I was faced with a possible multi-million yen damage settlement, a one million yen fine and a possible five-year prison sentence that I had the humility to even call the Mormon Church to find those women. Had they been atheist, Muslim, Jewish or anything but Mormon I would almost certainly have called the day after the accident(although I may never have found someone outside such an organization). Even now I cannot think of one exception there would have been, but Mormon. I was so bigoted. I see that now. I was reluctant to receive help, even in an entirely secular situation, from someone of that faith persuasion.

As it stands now, in the civil case, I'm being sued for two million yen by the victim. Again, there are details about the year of proceedings involved which will have to wait for another blog. I'm currently awaiting a court date at which I will testify in my defense. The criminal portion of the case, where I was considered criminally negligent(and threatened with prison and huge fines) has all but been dropped as a result of the Mormon women's affidavits.

My entire life has changed since that evening ride in August of last year. I don't yet know what it all means. But, the fact that, of the twenty some million people in Tokyo who could saved me from the worst legal danger of my life, God chose a pair from the group I considered foreigners, outcasts, blasphemers and worse (even when I'd lived in America, before my missionary days) is more than coincidence. Latter Day Saints make up far less than one tenth of a percent of Japan's population. My friends at the intersection that night were the first Mormon's I'd met since my arrival here to do Christian mission work a year earlier.

I feel this accident is a call for me to reconcile with people of all faiths and denominations, especially within the Christian sphere. To most Japanese, Jehovah's Witnesses, Catholics, Mormon's, Lutherans and Pentecostals are indistinguishable. They all make up the one percent of this country classified as “Christian”. As vast as the differences my seem to Americans, they are negligible to average non-religious Japanese people. Having a shared experience with the beaten, robbed and foolish traveler on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho, I can say two things; I don't know how God will reveal his will and truth in the world, and love is the foundation for any theology of Christ. Before Jesus tells the parable of the Good Samaritan in Luke, a priest ,who has just been told to love his neighbor as he loves himself, asks (as if trying to sound wise before Jesus), “Well then, who is my neighbor?” I've come to realize that, although I've reviled Mormonism as a cult of lies in the past, God, through their kindness, wanted to show me the love of a neighbor. I hope that through my experience here I would be wiser and more compassionate in the future reaching out to my neighbors, of all faiths, in love.

I hope to write more about this whole situation in the near future. The Japan Evangelical Lutheran Church, and its leadership, have been extraordinary in their generosity and care for me during this past year of legal and personal stress. Thank you all for your continued prayer and concern for me and the ministry I serve here in Japan.

Ichiro and the End of Summer

2010-09-23T19:23:00.010+09:00

This summer was the hottest in Tokyo in over one hundred years. But you wouldn't guess so today; a day Japan closed it's post offices to celebrate a cloudy equinox. I don’t need a holiday to mark the change in seasons this year, a look outside and the first legitimate use of my favorite black sweatshirt is probably enough. I usually look forward to Japan's national holidays. But today, for whatever reason, I'd rather be working. It could be the fact that it's been raining all day, or that the temperature has dropped about fifteen degrees Celsius from yesterday's dry thirty-five. It could also be that I just started teaching again last week after a long break. I've got the same feeling I used to get pulling over at a gas station after just ten miles of a long road trip. “I don't want to stop yet Travis”, I can hear myself saying. It's only week two of fourteen in my second and final fall semester. I'm a little sad that summer has ended, but ready for what comes next.

Ichiro

I met many interesting folks on my cycling tour around Hokkaido this summer, both Japanese and non. But by far the most memorable of them was a shy 24-year old man named Ichiro. It was on day one in Oarai, in front of the ferry terminal ticket office, where I first saw Ichiro and his heavy-laden bicycle. We were the only two bicycles boarding the next ship for the ole' north country and so it was only natural that we strike up some kind of casual conversation. On the eighteen-hour overnight voyage up Japan's east coast we enjoyed meals together and talked about our proposed routes. As it turned out, Ichiro was embarking on much the same trip I had done the year before. This was his first attempt at touring and my sophomore effort so I took great pride in mentoring him in my broken Japanese (Ichiro spoke almost no English) about all sorts of things. I saw a bit of myself in his beginner's optimism and his courage as I remembered the feelings of invincibility and determination I'd felt the year before. I had, myself, been a little reluctant this year to depart from Tokyo (for reasons I'll discuss another time), and I was a little jealous of his fervor for adventure.

We landed in Hokkaido at Tomakomai where we had lunch together at one of the ubiquitous Seico Mart convenience stores. Ichiro would go northeast to Furano and I would head northwest to Sapporo. This was were our paths diverged and we didn't expect to see each other again. We high-fived, as the highway junctioned, and wished each other luck. I spent one day and two nights in the Sapporo area. There I had a chance to see the Sapporo Beer Museum, eat scallop ramen, and visit the small fishing village of Otaru. Otaru, I was told, is usually a quite place. By chance I happened to show up on the weekend of their biggest summer festival. The festival, celebrating the tide, was a smorgasbord of seafood, taiko drumming and beer. I could not have come at a better time. Meanwhile Ichiro was riding through peacful fields of lavender to the east, perhaps one hundred kilometers away.

After a great sight-seeing visit to Sapporo and a day off from my bicycle it was time for me to head north. Unbeknownst to me, Ichiro had decided to change his itinerary. He and I were both headed north. I had planned to ride a total of one hundred and forty kilometers to Rumoi the day I left Sapporo. The first one hundred were very easy. An inland tailwind pushed me at a constant thirty kilometers per hour. But as I push over the mountains toward the coast I hit a severe headwind. Just after I summited a pass I had been struggling to climb, I noticed a bicycle parked alongside a dilapidated train platform to the left of the highway. Nearby stood Ichiro. We were both shocked by the odds of our meeting. After four days and two hundred kilometers of riding apart we had met at this puny train station, Fujiyama-eki, which gets a train about once every three hours. I rode the last ten kilometers of that day with my friend from a few days before. Because Ichiro had quit his job and dumped a girlfriend (eight years his senior) to take this trip, he explained, he had plenty of time for spontaneity. His travel plans had changed to include, as mine did, Soya-misaki, Japan's northernmost point. The night of our second meeting we stayed together at a free beach campground and decided to ride the next two hundred or so kilometers together. The free beach campground at which we stayed was no more than a small parking lot-like patch of grass for tents. That evening I ended up using could water from a garden hose outside the, then closed, beach pay-showers to wash layers of dirt and sunscreen from my sunburned skin.

Ichiro and I left early the next morning on the first of three days we'd spend together. The first day was a tailwind driven joy-ride at first, then the rains set in heavy 'n cold for the last twenty kilometers. We were fortunate to find nice lodgings at a thousand-yen rider house connected to a hot spring resort complex. That night, at the resort's cafeteria, Ichiro got a surprise at the bottom of his take-out french fires. It was the phone number and email of the waitress who’d been just a little to friendly as we'd been eating our carb-loaded noodles earlier that evening.

The next morning around six, at another Seico Mart, Edelweiss began playing in a synthesized form throughout the town via tinny loudspeakers. Ichiro and I sang original Japanese lyrics to the tune, themed after his admirer from the night before. I will never hear Edelweiss again without thinking of take-out french fries. After a rather cloudy morning of riding up the coast to Wakkanai Ichiro and I took an overpriced ferry out to see Rishirifuji. When we got there, what was probably an island paradise in the sunshine was obscured by clouds. We did laundry at a resort, took a dip in the local hot spring and went back to Wakkanai, a little disappointed, but happy to be wearing clean cloths. The waitress from the night before had offered to come up and have a little octopus and drinks with us, if we'd like. She would drive the seventy K from the lonely oceanfront town we had stayed in the night before, just to see hansom Ichiro again. When it was all over I had spent ten thousand yen on fish, beer and five hours of karaoke. Ichiro and I would be parting ways the next day so I figured, what the hell. It was fun for me to watch the two of them anyway.

The next morning I awoke to heavy rains in a very Carpenters-era one-room rider house. This place was a time capsule. There were photos from perhaps the last thirty years of bicycle and motorcycle touring in Hokkaido covering the walls. People had been signing the walls in black marker for decades. Middle-aged bikers cooked with camp stoves on the tatami floors as the listened to traditional Japanese folk tunes on a small battery-powered radio. The atmosphere was inspiring, but the smell of feet and cigarettes was a little overdone. The waitress had stayed with us, having been too “tired” to drive home at 3 am. As the morning wore on the rain continued and my motivation to ride out to Soya-misaki dissipated. Weather maps showed headwinds and rain. But Ichiro told me he wanted to do it, that day. And so we left, the clingy waitress sending us off. Now that I think back I understand that the only reason Ichiro left that day was to get her out of his hair. The weather was terrible and riding was foolish.

We rode our last thirty kilometers together as the rain fell in sheets. When we reached our goal of Soya-misaki about, ninety minutes after departing from Wakkanai, it suddenly stopped raining. We took pictures in front of the anticlimactic granite triangle that stands at the fringe of Japan's territory. It was a great moment for both of us, especially Ichiro. This marked a way point on my journey and an exciting achievement for Ichiro. As we parted that day (he headed southwest and I southeast) I felt a sense of loss but also joy. I felt a little lonely but also satisfied that I had seen a stranger through the beginnings of a great adventure.

The Cycling Tour 2010

2010-08-12T22:27:00.012+09:00

This year's tour was a great success. Like last year, I rode from Tokyo to Oarai, then took an 18-hour ferry to Tomakomai on the northern island of Hokkaido. From Tomakomai I rode to Sapporo, Rumoi, Wakkani, Soya-misaki, Abashiri, Bihoro-tohge, Mashu-ko, Shiretoko-hanto, and Nemuro, to name a few places. I took a clockwise route around the island. 1850km in 18 days. And no flat tires! I've written about a couple aspects of my journey below. There's much more to come, I promise. Thank you for your prayers and support!

The Rider House

In Hokkaido there are dozens of rider houses. These are places bikers, cyclists and even pedestrians can stay the night for less than 1000yen. There's really no typical rider house. During this year's tour, for example, I slept in the attic of a crab distribution company, the spare room of a retired person's house, a barn, an information box set up by a municipal government and on the second floor of a motorcycle repair shop. All of these places were classified as rider houses and indicated by a little red motorcycle helmet on my all-Japanese map of Hokkaido. I never knew what I'd get, just that it would be dry and very reasonably priced (but, then, that was Cairo).

The most impressive thing about rider houses is the temporary community that they create each night as a new crowd of tired travelers lays out their sleeping bags. Everyone arriving at each place, bikers, cyclist and walkers alike, is subject to the same winds, rains and sunshine, and they seem to get along, regardless of their age, engine size, origin or destination. It is a place where one can debrief and commiserate about the travails and triumphs of the day to others who understand and share their passions. (It was a little like the atmosphere I've experienced during my ordeals aboard delayed Amtrak trains in the States. Although, our only shared passions there were for clean bathrooms and the truth.) I watched each night as veteran bikers handed down wisdom to college students out on their first adventure. Everyone would sit awake late at night talking about roads, the sparsity of convenience stores or the abundance of mosquitoes and how to avoid them. Even I, the lonely American, had the opportunity to share my wisdom about headwinds, hot springs and cheap lodging with very interested bikers and cyclists. The camaraderie I experienced at the seven rider houses I visited this year was something I wish for all crossroads where strangers meet, sharing their human experience with generosity, humility and kindness.

That crab distribution company rider house I mentioned above came as a recommendation from a lady riding her Harley solo around Japan. It was in the small east-Hokkaido fishing town of Nemuro. Each person received a huge boiled crab the evening of their stay, the boarding fee and crab being just 1050yen. That crab was almost worth the extra 66km I rode to get to Nemuro.

Mashu-san meets Mashu-ko

The pronunciation for my name, Matthew, in Japanese is Mashu. Being a fan of puns and having been told by one individual that my namesake lake, Mashu-ko, in Hokkaido, was the most beautiful in Japan, I just had to see it for myself. Lake Mashu was the mid-point, and ultimate goal of my cycling tour. My clockwise ride around Hokkaido would not have been complete without a climb up its beautiful 670-meter rim to peer down on its geothermally heated waters. The night before my visit to Lake Mashu I stayed in an inn (70's Japanese honeymoonish) near neighboring Lake Kussharo. I thought, since the location of the inn, or ryokan as it's called in Japanese, was conveniently close to the main highway, I might just leave my panniers and heavy baggage back in my room while I made my climb. I thought this would make the climb faster and easier. It did at first.

It was beautiful when I departed for Lake Mashu at around 5am. The sky was blue and the temperature was high. I thought to myself, as I went, that this should give me a great chance to see the lake, which has a reputation for being foggy. I had ridden about 20km and had climbed about 660 routine meters when something amazing happened. May chain broke! In all my years as a cyclist and proud bicycle mechanic this has never happened. Less than a 200-meter dash and a 10-meter climb from my goal, and during the only 40 of 1850km that I wasn't carrying enough tools to open a bicycle repair shop, my chain had broken. And so near to my goal, my namesake lake! The place I had told myself moments earlier, “This is what you came for, you're here!” It was such a crazy coincidence. I couldn't even be mad. It was just too shocking.

There is really nothing more humiliating for me than walking (or jogging) my bicycle. Especially when I'm in tight, padded shorts, and a jersey. I built my bicycle from parts with my own hands, I take pride in it and in my ability to repair anything that goes wrong. But with no tools!? After a short jog in my awkward SPD-cleat cycling shoes, probably around 150 meters, I was at the top. From the rim, at around 6:30am, nothing was visible. The crater that forms the lake was full of fog, like a bowl of whipped cream or something, and it wasn't clearing any time soon. I figured I'd just wait it out until another cyclist arrived who had wisely carried up a chain tool, the most fundamental of cycling tools, a part of even the novice cyclist's combo tool. I waited a while and talked with some photographers who were waiting for the lake to clear.

I had stopped and talked to a man on a motorcycle at one of the view points along my climb and I noticed that he was also at the top, and frustrated by the fog. I told him how I was stuck, and how my name was Mashu, and how this was the mission I had come to accomplish, and how this was like the biggest coincidence ever. Surprisingly, he kindly offered to take me back to my inn on his motorcycle to pick up the tools and return to repair my bike. I accepted. Another woman had offered to take me down with my bike in her car, but her husband had been reluctant. Probably because my bike had a week of dirt and grease on it. I was reluctant to have my bike carted down to the inn as well, because I was intent on riding down those hairpins I had worked so hard to climb. The motorcyclist's kind offer provided the perfect solution. It was too good to be true.

After an exciting ride aback a stranger's Honda cruiser, a visit to my room and breakfast at a convenience store I was back at the rim of Lake Mashu. Around 9am, when we arrived again, it was clearing. After about 10 minutes I could see the lake, perfect timing. It was magnificent! I then fixed my bike in less than 5 minutes. The motorcyclist wouldn't let me pay him for gas or anything. He just said to me something like the Japanese version of “pay it forward” and told me it was a pleasure to have saved Mashu-san at Mashu-ko. I was able to ride down those beautiful hairpins on my repaired and regreased chain, reaching speeds reminiscent of my Malibu days. I got everything I'd hoped for and more, and all because something went wrong and a stranger felt compassion for me. If I learned anything from my ascent to Lake Mashu, besides to carry your chain tool, it was to never underestimate the kindness and generosity of strangers. That could have been a very long 20km walk, in the equivalent of high heals worn backwards. Since I hadn't packed food for the climb, I probably would have given up waiting for the lake to clear that morning. I saw the lake because my chain broke, and my chain broke so I could see the lake. It's very clear to me.

The folklore of Lake Mashu is rather interesting. If a man sees the lake he will soon find a wife, but if a woman sees it she will likely not find a husband. It's something to think about.

Hills and Headwinds

I hate headwinds. On a bicycle headwinds are energy spent which cannot be returned (Unless, of course one rides in small circles. Hokkaido was a very big circle.) As I rode approximately 400km along the Sea of Okhotsk on this tour I was constantly bombarded by these winds. Where even the strongest tailwind can be taken for granted, a slight headwind is a great frustration. Hills are a different story. If you begin at the sea and return there, wherever there is, you haven't wasted anything. When I climbed the 750-meter Shiretoko Pass, I got the benefit of speeds over 60kph on the way down the other side. For days on which I had a headwind my moving average was very low, but on days that I climbed even the highest passes my average speed stayed about same as if I had been riding across Kansas. It's rather like life. There are some obstacles which we overcome and receive a benefit, like a long high-speed push forward, and there are others which bog us down, waste our energy and seem to get us nowhere. Maybe a college education is like a hill and getting cancer or having a serious bicycle accident is like a headwind. I don't know. Anyway, Monty Python always connects sports with philosophizing and I thought I'd try.

Photos: Me after my upon my return to Tokyo, Rider house in Wakkanai, Rider house in Nemuro, Crab in Nemuro, Mashu-ko, Me and my rescuer at Mashu-ko, Big Waffle

You can view more photos through Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2043862&id=55201563&l=b1d25ccb37.

Thank you for following my Twitter!

Hokkaido Cycling Tour

2010-07-21T15:24:00.002+09:00

It's 100 degrees Fahrenheit today in Tokyo!
I will embark tomorrow, July 22nd, on a solo bicycle tour around the island of Hokkaido, Japan. The plan is to take a ferry from Oarai, 120km north of Tokyo, to Tomakomai in southern Hokkaido. I will then ride clockwise around; going to places like Sapporo, Rishiri-to, Mashu-ko (my namesake lake in Japanese), and Nemuro. I will camp and stay in cheap hostel-like inns (rider houses for cyclists and bikers) for the better part of the trip. You can follow my journey and see daily updates at twitter.com/thecyclingtour. Although I'm certainly more prepared than last year with better tires, panniers and rain gear, there is certainly a guarantee that unexpected excitement and disaster will occur. They have grizzlies in Hokkaido! I look forward to writing about my trip shortly after my return, if I'm not eaten alive. Blessings to you all! Have a great summer!

pictured: the 26-year-old Benotto poised for adventure

Hello Everyone

2010-04-12T13:11:00.005+09:00

As it turns out I didn’t run the 2010 Tokyo Marathon. The injury I mentioned in a previous blog reoccurred twice before the race date. I only just this week began doing short evening runs to get back in shape for the next marathon, should I choose to attempt it. I’m optimistic that the knee’s healed for good. I think it’s time for new shoes and lots of bananas.

It’s warm enough now that I don’t need a sweat shirt, sweat pants and the heater(which sounds like a dive-bombing WWI aircraft as it warms up) in order to stay warm in my house. Winter in Tokyo is quite mild compared with what I’m used to. Although my home state of Washington’s winters are mild when compared with other parts of the country, Washington is rainy and freezing.
Tokyo gets below freezing only a few times in winter and the sky stays quite clear. Inside buildings, however, winters in Washington were much better insulated. I often wondered, as I lay in my Japanese apartment this winter shivering and watching my breath condense in the air, whether the cardboard box dwellings I often past under railroad bridges had less of a draft than my second-story apartment. At times my posters would sway to and away from the wall as they were blown by cold air seeping in around my tatami floor mats. I resorted to sleeping in my three-season REI tent for part of November and December until I grew concerned about wear to the door’s zipper and the novelty of camping inside under glow-in-the-dark stars finally wore off. (Those greenish stars, by the way, are arranged in constellations complete with a hand drawn moon. If something childish was going on my ceiling, it was going to be done as maturely and with as much true-to-life accuracy as was absolutely possible. It wasn’t my idea in the first place, but I’ve grown attached to them) Anyway, all of this talk about my cold apartment might make you think I dislike living here. But I love this house! It has more than enough character and charm to meet my standards. I have more natural light than I know what to do with and the vinyl-era flavor makes me feel nostalgic for my days working at a thrift store.
If this apartment were a vintage t-shirt hanging on a rack at Value Village, it’s one I would have tried on and purchased. I’ve lived here for a year and I’ve got a year left. It’ll be difficult to leave this place, and impossible to replace it. Though perhaps the next place I live will have double pane glass and a dryer.

The first year (2009) I spent teaching English and bible went by much too fast. I feel a little like I wasted it, like nothing happened and it’s all a blur. But when I really think about what happened I realize the first year pretty much wasted me. It was truly humbling. My second, and final, full year of teaching begins this Tuesday and it’s fixin’ to slaughter me. I will be teaching a total of twelve classes. Three of them are new; these three are for children age three to six. I’ve been teaching adults ranging from university age to retirement now for long enough to know what makes a good lesson or conversation topic. However, this will really be my first time working with the kid/toddler demographic. At first I was thinking,”I’ve seen it done. What could be so bad?” But after doing some practice classes with a few prospective students last week, I’m wondering what will keep these kids from crying or injuring one another. Even if it’s terrifying and challenging for me, I can still learn something from the experience: probably that I’m not ready for children. It’s only three thirty-minute classes a week. How bad could it be? I hope we have insurance.
Considering there are only eleven and a half months until I go back to ‘Merica has been pretty stressful. I must have a plan. Sure, living with my parents, riding my bike on the right side, drinking cheap, dark, full-bodied beer and watching cable in English will be enough to excite me for the first weekend or two, but what about my future? Yowzerz! This question is huge. I know for sure that this decision is more important than my decision to teach English overseas after I graduated from CLU. How do I even approach this? I’m too tall and my eyesight is too weak for the space program. They’ve stopped hiring astronauts as well anyway, or so I’ve read. Perhaps one of those green jobs is the next step. I’ll get back to you on this topic as soon as something interesting happens, or as soon God fills me in on what my vocational calling might be.
Early as it may be, I’m already planning my summer holiday (vacational callings are much more easily discerned it seems). After nine months of stable urban life my painful and grueling experiences pedaling up mountains, battling typhoons, agonizing over insect bites, meddling with flat tires and struggling with rural dialects of my second language have simply become nostalgic cozy spots in my daydreams. My plan this time is to ride around Japan’s northern island of Hokkaido for about three weeks. Like last year, I will board a ferry 80 miles northeast of Tokyo bound for the small harbor town of Tomakomai. I’ll probably do a loop or figure eight around the island and take the same fifteen-hour boat ride back to Tokyo. I’ll keep you all up to date on my planning(there will be planning this time) and I hope to have a Twitter page updated each day of the trip just so everyone knows I haven’t been eaten by grizzlies. I won’t get in a tweet battle with Lance Armstrong, that’s a promise.
Apart from cycling, I plan to spend some time volunteering on a faith based community farm. It’s called the Asian Rural Institute and its focus is on teaching sustainable methods of farming to community leaders from around the world. I am deeply interested in sustainable development and ecology and their relationship with Christian living and community so this should be exciting for me. I’m not sure what my duties will be yet, but I’ll keep y’all informed. That leaves about two days of summer for drinking beer and listing to vinyl. Maybe I’ll climb ‘ole Fuji again, just for the hell of it.
Significant as it may be, I’m going to write about this last, and briefly. My parents visited me for two weeks at the end of March. I was too busy before they came, and I’ve been too busy since they’ve departed, to really think about what it all meant. I tried my best to plan their trip, not realizing that no amount of planning was going to prepare me for the reality of two whole weeks with my biggest fans. We went to Hiroshima, Osaka, Kyoto, Nara, and Nikko and then explored the parts of Tokyo I considered important. There were cherry blossoms. We saw sumo and Japanese baseball. They tried the onsen (nude hot spring bathing).
On paper it was a success. I think I could have been a better tour guide, and a lot more patient. I’m just glad they waited a year an a half before coming. If they had come before I had a handle on the language, some friends and understanding with the neighbors (these neighbors have apologized for telling me to be quiet at 2am, house sat last summer and baked me pie) it would’ve been much more difficult. My parents were so generous, gracious and brave. I’m so thankful that they could come, despite the fact that their visit seemed to remind me of my shortcomings. I miss them already.
I won’t promise to write more often this time, as I’m sure I’ve lost your trust. Thank you for reading.
God’s continued blessings!

This New Year's baby is long overdue...

2010-01-16T22:12:00.003+09:00

One of my few goals in life is to run a marathon. It doesn't appear this is a goal I will meet this coming February, as I had previously expected. Two days before Christmas, and two days after a half-marathon training run, I injured my knee. The pain persisted long enough to derail the rhythm of my eighteen-week training schedule. I may still participate in the marathon, if only for a unique experience. The time limit for completion of the 26.2-mile course is six hours. Traveling at about a six-hour pace behind all participants is a bus for stragglers and the wounded. I imagine it might be enjoyable getting picked up at around the ten mile marker dressed as a character from ancient Greece or as an escaped prisoner. I haven't decided exactly what I'll do yet, but I'll at least be there to cheer on and inspire other runners.

I limped to the Meiji Shrine in Tokyo this New Year's Eve, plagued by the aforementioned injury. Traditionally, at the beginning of the new year, Japanese people will visit a shrine to say a short prayer of request, or onegaigoto. Parents ask for the success of their children in school. Businesspeople ask for greater success, or these days, just success. Singles ask for relationships. Tourist ask what everyone is doing. This year I really couldn't think of anything to ask God for in 2010. God had provided more than I could imagine in 2009. Ought nine was my Renaissance. There was adventure, heartbreak, and plenty of mystery. And so, in a moment of self righteousness, at around 12:03am on January 1st, I simply gave thanks as I tosses 50 yen forward. I then immediately gave myself a pat on the back. I made my first error of the new year shortly thereafter by eating an enormous oily hot dog-like sausage. My stomach has become accustomed to things like kimchi, soy beans and rice. I was sick for the better part of New Year's Day.

Please remember Haiti in your prayers!

Something Irrelevant

2009-11-20T23:19:00.001+09:00

I’m beginning to take for granted the fact you can buy used records in Japan with the assumption that they haven’t been scratched or warped and don’t have a missing jacket or poster. I remember searching through multiple copies of albums like Joni Mitchell’s “Blue”: pulling them out, tilting them in the light, even sniffing to check for tobacco. I now buy without so much as checking. I sometimes get the feeling I’m the first person who’s ever listened to a particular record I’ve purchased. Virtually the only non-essential shopping I do in Japan is at the used vinyl shops. The selection is amazing and the preserved quality is likely unparalleled in the world. In American shops such as Cellophane Square or Amoeba Records I would want to be sure I had something good. Here, it’s a given. It would be paradise, if not for the prices. A copy of Wings “Band on the Run” in the States might be $0.50; In Japan it’s around $7.00 for a good specimen. I’m afraid that when I return home to ‘Merica the hundred or so records I left behind will not be up to my fidelity standards. I guess there are more pressing issues at hand, but anyway…

Fall, So Far...

2009-10-28T00:03:00.002+09:00

It’s been raining since before I awoke on my hand-me-down futon, and somehow I’ve fallen ill on my day off. The only item on the agenda today is laundry, probably a good day to reflect on the events of the past few weeks and to drink lots of fluids. It’s also a good day for a haircut. I’m beginning to look a lot like Captain Planet. At this time last year I had grown my hair out and dyed it orange for a Ziggy Stardust costume. There is the temptation this year to reprise that role, but professionally….

I’ve been in Japan for thirteen months now; I’ll be here for a further eighteen. I’ve realized that there are benefits to being a foreigner in a homogeneous society, and there are certainly burdens. After all of this is over, and I’ve been living in the United States again for some time, it might be possible for me to draw some conclusions about race and nationality in both societies. These days I’m just guessing. One thing I know is that I got a place in the 2010 Tokyo Marathon because of my nationality. Of the 400,000 applicants this year only 32,000 will run. All were chosen by “lottery”. Out of the three foreigners I know who registered, three were chosen. I know one Japanese man who’s applied four times and never been chosen. Even if it is about money for the organizers from tourism and travel, I still feel a bit guilty about my advantage. However, the guilt will probably all fade away when/if I cross the finish line on Feb. 28th.

Photo: Homemade Natto Omelet

Summer, So Far...

2009-08-16T22:10:00.011+09:00

Since my Independence Day message last month I’ve been enjoying my summer holiday in Japan greatly (before that, not so much). My old friend Michael from Washington State visited from the 8^th to the 21^st of July; leading me on an adventure to Sumo in Nagoya and a memorable, if not majestic, climb of Mount Fuji. We set off quite naïve about the challenge before us, hoping to watch a sunrise after an overnight climb. I believe we packed more weight in celebration beer than in rain gear. After a clear and calm climb three quarters of the way to the summit, a storm brought us to our knees and we were forced by driving rain and high winds to seek shelter for the night in a restroom. The restroom was already inhabited by an American man climbing for charity, Lewis, pictured here second from the top. We had a phenomenal conversation with him during our four-hour stay in the restroom, interrupted by short naps and the entrance of eight Japanese climbers apparently suffering from hypothermia and exhaustion. We didn’t see the sunrise at 4:30 that morning, but we left with a greater appreciation for 3,776 meters and a sense of accomplishment. Michael did much less complaining and cursing on the difficult decent from Fuji than I did. He also showed great patience with my students and the many people we encountered together during his visit to Japan. Adaptability, compassion and calmness are characteristics that Michael has shown all the years I’ve known him. I’m confident he is well suited for his year-long adventure in Johannesburg, South Africa. He’ll be a missionary there beginning this month. Keep him in your prayers as he serves there!

On July 22^nd, the morning after Michael left Tokyo, I began what would be the single most challenging experience of my life since bullying in junior high, the cycling tour! That rainy Wednesday I was awakened, just moments before my alarm, by a small earthquake. I believe it’s no coincidence that the Japanese words for both earthquake and self-confidence are the same, jishin. Following that seismic calling to success, I set forth with a foolish boldness. This was my first cycling tour and, as often is the case with my adventures, I was alone. You wouldn’t have thought I was alone while riding, my mouth uttering something audible all day long. I must have sounded like a madman, sometimes cursing, sometimes singing, other times grunting or even screaming in pain. And then there were the prayers. There were the steadily quickening Lord’s Prayers as I raced through tens of dark tunnels in Hokkaido, chased by drivers oblivious to my vulnerable bicycle, the angry cries for healing as I climbed mountains, my knees plagued by excruciating tendonitis, and the prayers asking God just why he had made me so stupid as to think I’d survive alone in the Japanese countryside. The conflict between the jishin and those prayers is apparent now, after the typhoon, the 25 flat tires, a mild case of hypothermia, the week of tendinitis, the surprise allergic reaction to insect bites and the crash. When I left, I had something to prove. I wanted to become a real cyclist. I wanted to do something I could brag about. In the end, God proved something. God proved that I needed others to be successful; I needed to take a path of humility to earn confidence. There were times I was blessed with peace of mind, safety, comfort and a free beer at the end of the day, and there was that hour I spent beaten to a pulp and in tears on the side of a cold, rainy highway with a flat (emo, I know). The morning after I returned to Tokyo, sunburned and a little worse for wear, I was awakened by a much stronger earthquake than the one which had begun the whole ordeal. Perhaps it was just a coincidence, but I like to think its greater magnitude mirrored my self-confidence, now grounded in a greater sense of humility. Final assessment: best trip ever. Look! More pictures!

Photos: Me with new friends and fellow cyclist before dancing in the Nebuta festival, my beautiful 25-year old bike in front of a waterfall near Towadako, Nebuta Festival in Aomori City, 500km from Tokyo on Route 4

Thank you everyone who read my postings on Twitter and prayed for my safety!

Independence Day

2009-07-04T20:00:00.006+09:00

Happy Fourth of July!

It’s hard for me to believe that my first semester of teaching is almost finished. So much has happened since the last time I wrote, more than two months ago, and I hardly know where to start. I have greatly enjoyed teaching English as well as bible to my students every day. I’m almost certain I learn more from each English and bible lesson than my students. As I answer questions about English grammar and parse the meaning of bible verses, I am required to think in ways I never have before about things I always thought I understood. I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t really understand something until I’m able to adequately teach it to someone else. A rough idea doesn’t cut it in the classroom. I don’t see myself teaching English forever, but I do see teaching in my future. Teaching is the first job I’ve had that hasn’t made me bored at work.

Japan’s infamous wet season or tsuyu has cast its cloudy shadow over Tokyo recently. Tsuyu is characterized by rain, overcast skies and, most terrifying of all, humidity. I came to Japan from a place with a six month wet season, so the rain and overcast skies are really no problem, considering they only last about six weeks. The humidity however is less welcome. I can survive sleeping without covers at night, smelling a little musty, and the constant sweat on the backs of my knees, but the one thing that I may never forgive tsuyu for is its adverse effect on my clothesline. I can’t seem to get my cottons and linens dry before they go rancid, forget denim! Anyway, it should all be over in the next month.

In addition the damp days of early summer and the end of my semester I have one other important update to share. It concerns my summer vacation. My first idea for a break this year was to lie on my back for six weeks, listen to records and drink beer. I quickly realized this would get boring after about three records and would probably result in a blood clot or something. Japanese beer isn’t really all that good either. The more active and adventurous alternative was an epic cycling tour of Japan’s northeast coast. My plan is to take a ferryboat from Oarai, a city northeast of Tokyo, to the island of Hokkaido. From the port city of Tomakomai I will pedal down to Hakodate at the southern tip of Hokkaido. From there I will board a ferryboat to Oma, located at the northern tip of Aomori Prefecture. From there I will continue down the east coast of Honshu through Sendai, hopefully returning to Tokyo. It figures to be around 1600km or 1000mi in total over about a five-week period. I hope to camp on the beach, in parks and in campgrounds along the way. I feel rather self-sufficient living alone in my Tokyo apartment, knowing how to get food, where to sleep and how to pay the bills. I figure this adventure will be a good shock to the system. Undoubtedly there will be many humbling experiences and encounters with the local people throughout the journey. I look forward to begging for God’s guidance and grace along the way, as is always par for the course when I attempt things of this magnitude.

You can view updates from my tour on a Twitter account I reluctantly created at twitter.com/thecyclingtour. I’ll be “on tour” from July 22^nd until late August.

God’s Blessings! Thanks for reading!

Photos: Two Matthews and a Carp (Koi), an honor system farmer's market, Eric, Kiyomi and rainbow trout

Wrong Number

2009-04-23T01:01:00.004+09:00

Today I received my first wrong number phone call on my Japanese cell phone. I don’t know why, but hearing the confusion on the other end of the line was really hilarious. I told whoever it was, in Japanese, my name, my nationality and that I was not Shizuko or whoever it was they wanted. It wasn’t the high point of my week, but I may remember it longer than those great pancakes I made.

In other news, I’ve completed my first week and a half of teaching. It’s been fantastic! With the exception of the inevitable battles with dry mouth and a fatigued jaw from speaking so much, it’s been more enjoyable than I’d ever imagined. I teach advanced and pre-intermediate classes as well as an English bible study. In the advanced classes I only facilitate discussions and provide information about nuance, word usage and grammar (typically). In the pre-intermediate classes I am much more involved. I must encourage bravery and confidence, and I often shower students with praise just for speaking. Usually, if I stop talking, it becomes silent. In an advanced class this is never a problem. The ideal situation is one where I can’t get a word in edgewise. When two Japanese people are in a heated argument about the environment, in English, I know I’ve succeeded. Getting my advanced students to teach one another and my pre-intermediate students to confidently speak in English (even poor English) is my goal. From where I sit today, that’s doable. I’ve been getting a real rush out of teaching and I find it hard to sleep after my evening classes; my mind still throwing out random vocabulary like swap meet or carpel tunnel. I look forward to more sleepless nights!

As I sit here in my Tokyo apartment each night and decompress, trying not to suffer from the bends of culture shock, I often take a look at news from home. One awesome personal testimony about real life in the Pacific Northwest is Troy’s Work Table blog. Be it a beer review or photos from the hundred-year-flood of ‘08, I truly appreciate the genius in the simple details. I suggest y’all take a look! Peace and God bless y’all!

Photos: Milk made from fresh milk (thank God), All about Ichiro and #3085,

The First Day

2009-04-14T12:14:00.000+09:00

Today I begin teaching my first official English class to advanced speakers. There are plenty of things to be anxious about. I don't know what kind of people are coming, or how many students will be in my class. I'm most concerned right now about selecting a conversation topic that will be both accessible and interesting for my students.
Don't get the impression that I'm all nerves. I'm excited to meet new people who speak English well AND to hear the sound of my own voice! Maybe I'm most fearful of being too confident. Please keep my students and me in your prayers! I'll let you know how it goes. Peace.

Ochanomizu Station

2009-04-06T18:47:00.000+09:00

Can you hear my heavy breathing? It was an awesome spring day today in Tokyo. I went for a little cycling trip to Akihabara and Ochanomizu to look for a new or used turntable and to enjoy the scenery. Sorry about the graininess of the video, Blogger's fault, I promise. This is probably my favorite train station in Tokyo, you can get anywhere from here, and fast.

Hongo Student Center

2009-04-04T20:20:00.000+09:00

The Hongo Student Center where I work can be seen here!

Sakura

2009-04-04T20:12:00.000+09:00

To look at my cherry blossom photos on Facebook click here!

Update!

2009-04-04T15:52:00.000+09:00

Out of necessity, I find myself typing this blog atop an eight-inch-high ironing board. I’m in a much more traditional Tokyo apartment now than when I last blogged. The only two pieces of furniture in the two tatami rooms I now inhabit are a calf-high dinner table and a futon. Pillows and upright posture have become my new best friends, along with Asahi Super Dry and unsecured wireless internet from the corner cafe (but that’s another story). Quite a few changes have taken place since I last wrote to y’all and it’s about time I brought everyone up to date. Thank you for your prayers, emails and letters over the past few months! I appreciate all your correspondence greatly.

The most noteworthy events of the last couple months are the completion of my six-month orientation period, my assignment to the Hongo Student Center in Tokyo, and my relocation to a second Tokyo apartment.

As you may already know, my 33 months of service in Japan began with six months of language study and orientation. Although I will continue to study Japanese for at least a further six months, the intensive period is over. I’m satisfied with my progress so far. I can now ask a perfectly phrased question and completely miss the content of the answer. For example, I was at one of the few hardware stores in Tokyo (maybe a little like a small Home Depot that sells cat food) and I asked whether one of the high-tech toilet seats for sale (these toilet seats are fabulous by the way) could heat cold water supplied from the plumbing for it’s built in bidet. The response was a ten-minute string of what might as well have been plumber jargon, but what I knew was elementary Japanese. If I return to the United States with any more humility than when I left, part of it will be that I can say, “I don’t know” or “I don’t understand” without being ahamed. It just isn’t safe to pretend you understand in country where there are unmentionable animal organs on the menu. I don’t feel that the orientation taught me so much what I needed to know. It more or less showed me how little I knew. As cliché as that may be, it’s true.

For my first four months as a missionary in Japan I didn’t know whether I’d be spending the two year balance of my time (after the six month orientation) in Tokyo at the Hongo Student Center, or in Kumamoto at a Lutheran high school. The two positions differed greatly, and my preference for Kumamoto or Tokyo waivered back and forth throughout orientation. The fact that I had no authority to decide which position I would hold added great anxiety to the situation. The decision was up to a committee formed by the Japanese Evangelical Lutheran Church. I had to accept their decision whether or not it was my preference. When the announcement came I was relieved to know my assignment. I was able, after the announcement, to prepare myself for service at the Hongo Student Center, here in Tokyo. At the student center I will be teaching a diverse group of student English and Bible. My students will range from graduate students to housewives to businessmen. The Hongo Student Center is set on the lower floor of a Lutheran church and is owned and operated by the church. I am also assigned to teach Bible study at the church and participate in an English book club. I will be attending worship there for the first time tomorrow and I begin teaching English on the 14^th of this month. I look forward to starting my service there.

Photos: cherry blossoms and Buddha at a cemetery, Ichiro Suzuki at the WBC from the nosebleeds (believe it or not), my new house

New Blog Coming Soon!

2009-03-15T16:59:00.000+09:00

今日から春休みです。新しくて大きいブログがきます。久しぶりですね! よく千ェックしてください。
-マシュ- リンデン

Starting today it's my spring break. There is a big new blog coming soon. It's been a long time, hasn't it? Please check back often!
-the management

Sumo

2009-01-26T00:29:00.000+09:00

I’ve lived in a neighborhood populated by Sumo wrestlers for about four months now. Ryogoku is home to the kokugikan, or national stadium, where many Sumo matches take place. Dozens of Sumos live and train in the surrounding area. Until just recently I thought little about it. I’d reached a point no more than two weeks ago where I was kind of annoyed by the ubiquitous 300lb athletes. They always seemed to be the extra body in line at the supermarket or the ones cramping a train car. I've nearly been hit twice on my jogs by Sumo wrestlers on bicycles! I simply didn’t understand why they were such a big deal, other than the obvious fact that they are big people. My respect and admiration for Sumo has grown greatly in the past eight days, during which I’ve attended three matches. I witnessed feats of strength, acts of sportsmanship as well as personalities and excitement that I'd never seen on the train, on my perilous jogs or at the supermarket checkout. Sumos are real superheroes!

Home So Sick, Not So Homesick

2009-01-22T15:46:00.000+09:00

I don’t know if it was the delicious nabemono, a pastry from the bakery, a door handle or a mikan I only realized was more than a week old after eating, but something made me sick. I’ve repeatedly been pacing between my bed and the boy’s room since Tuesday night. I was probably the only American hoping Obama would just get on with the speech already (the Japanese broke it down to just four words: yes we can change). I’ve entirely lost my appetite, and for now all I can do is drink electrolyte-rich fluids and wait until the torrent ceases. I’m almost afraid to eat, as if I were handing ammunition to the enemy. I’m feeling better today than yesterday and the raging fever I had has long since past, but I‘m still quite frustrated. I’m almost certain I will defeat this virus, or whatever it is, by tomorrow. Tomorrow I’m going to Sumo, and if it’s any bit as exciting as it was last time, I won’t want to have this dysentery-like condition. Please pray for my speedy recovery and continued good health.

Do They Know It's Christmas?

2008-12-27T17:13:00.000+09:00

Hisashiburi (long time, no see)! So much has happened since my last post. I apologize for the infrequency of my writing! I’ve had the privilege of practicing my Japanese with new friends and spending more and more time working with my congregation at Tokyo Lutheran Church. As a result, I’ve stayed quite busy. I apologize!
Several fulfilling experiences from congregational life have given me a better idea of what my mission calling is here in Japan. I have had the privilege of participating in, and once teaching, a weekly English bible study. Listening to participants’ questions and incites about scripture has been quite fascinating. I would greatly enjoy hosting or even creating a study like this one in the future. As the leader of such a class one has the privilege of learning a great deal from one’s students. Another activity at Tokyo Lutheran I’ve been a part of has been a weekly English lesson for a mother and her son. The three of us practice simple conversation and pronunciation together. I have really enjoyed the amount of attention I’ve been able to give them in this small setting. They are both intent on learning and have been greatly appreciative. I am scheduled to start teaching another woman’s daughter this coming month. I am greatly looking forward to the opportunity. Every week at Tokyo Lutheran I am involved with the young children’s activities. I may be decorating a Christmas tree, singing Happy Birthday or just watching kids run around screaming, but it has been great for my Japanese language skills. I have also enjoyed working at a few church sponsored events, such as a bazaar fundraiser and a Thai nativity doll display. Whether I am cashiering a coffee stand or handing out flyers to strangers, I feel I am able to witness to the gospel through my work, however simple it may be.
The Christmas Season has been quite interesting. There are four Christmas songs that I will forever associate with my first Christmas in Japan; ‘Last Christmas’ by Wham, ‘Happy Christmas (War is Over)’ by John Lennon, ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas?’ by Band Aid, and ‘Silent Night’. The first three songs were in heavy rotation everywhere here, inescapable at coffee shops, bakeries, and the bank. As much as I love these popular songs based loosely around Christmas, they are inadequate at describing the meaning of Christmas. Searching for the real meaning of Christmas has become quite a cliché endeavor these days. Often the search only leads to the joy of spending time with family, giving and sharing. All of these are meaningful and I witnessed them this year with my congregation and friends as they invited me to their homes and shared kindness and generosity. However, it was never clearer to me what this season was really all about then when I remember,
Silent night, holy night,
Son of God, love's pure light.
Radiant beams from Thy holy face,
With the dawn of redeeming grace,
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth;
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth.
As I sang along in Japanese at this Christmas Eve’s candlelight services, I recalled the sign of the cross being formed with the light of hundreds of peaceful candles at my home church in Washington. Without remembering that the infant whose birth we celebrate is our redeeming savior, Christmas is only a holiday for falling in love, remembering the poor and ending violence. It can be those things. I encourage it. But we should never forget the cross.

A belated Merry Christmas!

A Long Overdue Message From Tokyo

2008-11-13T00:45:00.000+09:00

I apologize that my first blog post comes six weeks after my arrival in Japan on September 25th. Quite a lot has happened since then, and much of it would have been great blog material. Unfortunately, I was so overwhelmed by the whole experience, and so busy, that it was difficult to put thoughts into written words….until now! No more excuses. I’m not going to try and summarize the last six weeks, but I will try to give you some context for (what should be) more frequent blogging in the future. Thanks for reading!

I should certainly start by expressing just how blessed I am to have this opportunity. Being here in Japan in a mission role is something I hadn’t even conceived of as possible until last March. I now live in the “Sumo Wrestling Capital of the World”, Ryogoku in Tokyo. God has been so good to me; giving me experiences, friends and accommodations beyond what I had imagined. I’m already starting to take for granted that I am a five-minute walk from rapid transit that could potentially take me anywhere on Honshu. I also live across the street from amazing tempura, and karaoke is within walking distance! Something I certainly took for granted at home was my close faith community. I had a family and friends to be philosophical with, in English, whenever I needed it. Here, as I develop trust and my language skills, I hope to find the same fruitful and lasting relationships I had at home. As a part of the J-3 Program (Japan Three Year Program) with the JELC (Japanese Evangelical Lutheran Church), I’ve been blessed with great coworkers and colleagues to help me along. I feel I’m off to a good start.

The church I am attending for the first six months is Tokyo Lutheran Church. It is apparently one of the largest Lutheran Churches in Japan. I’ve enjoyed worshiping there; singing hymns in Japanese, and trying to follow the liturgy. There are just a couple of subtle differences between Tokyo Lutheran’s service and that of my home congregation in Washington, the language being one of them. Although I am unable to understand most of what is said, I can still appreciate the meaning of the creed, prayers and communion. It’s almost like being a young child again. Only, rather than understanding the words and not the meaning, I understand the meaning and not the words.

The typical congregation here is made up of mostly older folks. Much like in the church in America, Japan’s Christians are aging and attendance is dwindling. Despite this, parishioners and clergy alike are devoted to volunteerism, diaconal ministry and education. I’ve been blown away by the generosity and kindness I’ve received personally. The congregation has really reached out to me and made me feel at home.

I frequently attend, and have taught, an English Bible study for those interested in learning about the Bible and practicing their English. Many of the same questions about God arise here as would in the United States. It has been so helpful to my understanding of Japanese religiosity to be a part of this. I’d really like to start a Bible study of my own someday, wherever I may be five months from now.

Adjusting to culture here has been more fun than a frustrating. However, frustrations do arise when I realize that I have a toddler’s vocabulary. I’ve already played Pictionary while hunting for safety pins at the store and purchased dish soap in place of mouth wash. I let those frustrations be my motivation for learning as much Japanese as I can. There are many great cultural norms here. I enjoy not tipping at restaurants, having the cab door open itself and silence on the morning train. I like that when I go out to eat with a group, someone orders for everyone. I like small cars, small portions, recycling and removing my shoes. I love free tissues and I love Japanese game shows!

I’ll make sure to write more frequently in the future as my schedule permits. Thanks again for reading. I’ll be putting up more pictures here soon too. Blessings!