Goodbye Katsutadai (a documentation of daily life)

I was born and raised in New Jersey, but I grew up in Japan.

That makes me the lucky girl who now has two home towns. Katsutadai is just a typical suburb of Tokyo, in a prefecture called Chiba (which even Lonely Planet says has nothing going for it) but to me, it was the most exciting and exasperating place on earth, and then it became home.

I've already documented the major events that happened here: harrowing entries into cafes, visits from friends and family, and the endless exploration of that brightness to the East: Tokyo, but it's the daily routine where I made the most progress. I learned to navigate on the world's biggest subway system, to grocery shop without being able to read, to be alone without the constant companionship of my peeps, and to ask for help in another language when I hit a wall. The day to day grind is where I did my growing, so Katsutadai, this is my tribute to you, my Japanese home town, where I grew up.

The main drag in Katsutadai

The recycle shop

This rather ugly shop was the site of a major victory early in my year. It was my first week in Japan and I managed to find the recycle shop in a neighborhood of streets with no names, select about 8 pieces that would bring my apartment to fully furnished status, and arrange delivery and payment in Japanese using my phrasebook and what little language I had memorized in the few months before arriving. I bounced home with the stupidest grin on my face. It was the first time I thought, "I can do this." and believed it. There were lots more victories, large and small over the next year, but they say you never forget your first, and it's true.
Also, the recycle shop was my favorite place to hunt for wacky things that hold no explanation like the amazing platform traditional mens' sandals I found, shown below:

really should have bought those :(

Rice paddies

Japan makes a big deal of the seasons and of time passing, much more so than in the States, and my theory is that it has to do with rice paddies. I walked past one or another almost everyday, and the constant changes are a daily subtle reminder of time, seasons and renewal. It starts in early spring with big square ponds of shallow water, separated by raised dirt pathways. Then one day you see the rice seed being planted at even increments in rows, and for weeks you can still see the bootprints of the farmers under the water. The smallest of sprouts appear a week or two later, and throughout the late spring and early summer you are surrounded by geometrically decorated reflection pools, dotted with white cranes. The smallest sprouts become taller and thicker until sometime in July, you can't see the water anymore, and then you have the greenest of green fields, stretching out as far as you can see and rippling in the breeze like a sea anemone. The harvest comes in mid October and everyone talks about the "new rice", its quality, price, taste and how there was a harvest just like this one 7 years ago and for some reason that's lucky.

The dead of winter is made infinitely more dismal in Japan by the brown, dead, depression illustrated that is a rice paddy in January. It's such a relief to see the paddies being filled with water again, and makes you reflect on what you were up to last year when the whole cycle started.

My walking and studying park

Earthquake Park

Katsutadai was also the home base for work at MIL. I feel fortunate to have landed with a good school so easily. I was flying blind from the US, and have heard some horror stories from other teachers around Japan since then. I really liked working there, and I think they liked me. I ended up staying a little past my one year contract, and on the anniversary of my start date, the receptionist at Katsutadai told me that I had been a great employee: never late, paperwork always on time, good attitude. That was nice to hear, so I went to a sayonara party that night, drank too much and slept through my first class the very next day. That'll teach 'em to jinx me with compliments. I brought them a dozen donuts on my last day, I hope we're square ;)

Some of the staff at Katsu

Ayari, Kotone, Me, Ryo, Tacuma and Miku(not pictured but drawn on the board)

My high school class playing LIFE on my last day

My easiest adult class: Tomie, Miki, Toshi and Mitsuru

Then there are my Japanese parents, Mama and Papa to me and lots of others. They own a great little dive bar called Daruma with broken furniture, terrible lighting, great food, cheap drinks and an amazing cast of characters. They drove me home in the rain, made me eat new and disgusting things and then laughed at my expression, taught me a lot of Japanese and listed patiently while I butchered it, and insisted on meeting any boys that I went out on more than 2 dates with. If a drunk guy approached me at the bar, Papa would calmly stand next to me sharpening his knife and explain how he and my father were very close. Daruma was a gem, and Osaka won't be home until I find something comparable.

My Japanese Dad and Me

So Goodbye, Katsutadai. I promise to come visit yearly, as is the tradition, and in case you too long for the days of newness we shared together, I promise to do at least one of the following things while I'm there, so that you will recognize me with my new short haircut:
Walk into a cafe's glass door and then gracefully try to pry it open with my fingers;
Order a soysauce (shoyu) on the rocks instead of shochu;
Take the wrong bicycle directly in front of the police station;
Attempt to buy a plastic bento;
Ask politely for an English vagina at 7-11;
Try to pay bills at the combini that have already been paid;
Drop my cell phone in the koi pond;
and lots of other tricks you haven't even seen yet. Love, Gail