Orange Bread
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Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Monday, December 1, 2008
A Sunday Amongst Sundays in Early December
My Sunday consisted of running around Tokyo, some lone samurai Christmas cheer, and interesting new folks. I volunteered to be a stage crew member for a Tokyo International Player's production of Shweyk in the Second World War later this week, and I was invited to a rehearsal to sort of get a clue on what was going on. The cast was rehearsing in this dark, intimate, and coffee scented little room called "Our Space" that TIP rents out separately for practices.
As I sat watching in one of the low, mismatched chairs in the corner, wiggling my stocking'd toes and trying to make mental notes, I realized how bizarre it felt to be in a room where the only language spoken was English. Since there are only a few international exchange students at my university here, being in the company of almost exclusively Brits and Americans felt other-worldly! Despite the surrealism, it was comforting. The mood in the room was of familiar and nostalgic, and I felt excited to sort of become a part of it.
Later in the evening I met up with friend of mine who had graduated from HPU last year--and is now working here--and a handful of her co-workers. We were to meet at Hard Rock Cafe, which came with a weird surprise. I am now so used to entering restaurants with my Japanese switch attempted on, so when I started to explain to the host that my friends were already there and was answered with an "Oh I think they're over there, go right in" in flawless American English, I blinked and took a second to register.
The evening ended, as most everyone's evenings do, in a salsa club on the top floor of a tall and mysterious building. I thought, awesome, I don't know how to actually salsa but I do love to dance, so I can dig it. Um, it turned out that I was COMPLETELY out of my element, as everyone in the small but cozy club was around twice my age and intensely knowledgeable in the ways of the salsa.
Middle aged Japanese couples, who must take advanced lessons together or something, were abundant and full of fahyaa. They twisted and twirled and kicked, and the Cuban bartenders hollered and joked with each other in Spanish. I felt like I was in a movie. Since most of the people were in their forties/fifties and really knew how to salsa, I must say I felt pretty awkables. I lingered by the bar with my friend and one of her coworkers, gnawing at the pineapple chunk from the edge of a dericous strawberry margarita, jerking my shoulders around to the music and trying to make appropriate facial expressions. I think I would have felt much less out of place if everyone was not 40, but it was still really fun to take it all in. Overall, a saucy treat for the senses.
ANYWAY, on this last fine Sunday I also tried to take a good amount of photos of my surroundings, and the collection turned out looking like some kind of time machine. I took pictures as I walked to the train station in the morning, through my boondocky but pleasant little town, and then some more once I got to Shinjuku, one of Tokyo's busiest metropolitan areas.
As I sat watching in one of the low, mismatched chairs in the corner, wiggling my stocking'd toes and trying to make mental notes, I realized how bizarre it felt to be in a room where the only language spoken was English. Since there are only a few international exchange students at my university here, being in the company of almost exclusively Brits and Americans felt other-worldly! Despite the surrealism, it was comforting. The mood in the room was of familiar and nostalgic, and I felt excited to sort of become a part of it.
Later in the evening I met up with friend of mine who had graduated from HPU last year--and is now working here--and a handful of her co-workers. We were to meet at Hard Rock Cafe, which came with a weird surprise. I am now so used to entering restaurants with my Japanese switch attempted on, so when I started to explain to the host that my friends were already there and was answered with an "Oh I think they're over there, go right in" in flawless American English, I blinked and took a second to register.
The evening ended, as most everyone's evenings do, in a salsa club on the top floor of a tall and mysterious building. I thought, awesome, I don't know how to actually salsa but I do love to dance, so I can dig it. Um, it turned out that I was COMPLETELY out of my element, as everyone in the small but cozy club was around twice my age and intensely knowledgeable in the ways of the salsa.
Middle aged Japanese couples, who must take advanced lessons together or something, were abundant and full of fahyaa. They twisted and twirled and kicked, and the Cuban bartenders hollered and joked with each other in Spanish. I felt like I was in a movie. Since most of the people were in their forties/fifties and really knew how to salsa, I must say I felt pretty awkables. I lingered by the bar with my friend and one of her coworkers, gnawing at the pineapple chunk from the edge of a dericous strawberry margarita, jerking my shoulders around to the music and trying to make appropriate facial expressions. I think I would have felt much less out of place if everyone was not 40, but it was still really fun to take it all in. Overall, a saucy treat for the senses.
ANYWAY, on this last fine Sunday I also tried to take a good amount of photos of my surroundings, and the collection turned out looking like some kind of time machine. I took pictures as I walked to the train station in the morning, through my boondocky but pleasant little town, and then some more once I got to Shinjuku, one of Tokyo's busiest metropolitan areas.
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