A Christmas Miracle, part 2

When we left off, I was secure in my conviction that I was a much more interesting person than any of the Christmas Judgers could ever hope to be.  I was correct, and things were about to get a lot more interesting.

Upon arriving home, I heaed straight out again to take Ricky for his nightly walk.  We returned and, I thought, settled in for the night.  It was about 11pm, and I was getting set-up for a Christmas Skype date with The Fam.  Ricky, who had other ideas, got it into his head that he needed to go out one last time.  Not only was his insistent pawing at the back door going to distract from my skyping-ing, but he was looking at me with those big googly eyes...

And how can you be expected to resist big googly eyes on Christmas?  So I caved.  I opened the door.  He looked at me with googly eyes again.  Talking to myself as much as Ricky, I mumbled, "Fiiiiiiine, I'll throw something for you, but I'm only throwing it once, and then I am going straight back to that warm couch, and you are going to stop looking at my with those googly eyes.  My Christmas cheer only extends so far."

So as not to waste the house's precious heat, I stepped out.  And pulled the door shut.

I quickly located a half-chewed dog treat and gave it a toss down the home-made mini golf course.  Shivering, I quickly turned to avoid potential googly eyes.  I grabbed the door handle.

It wouldn't budge.

"DO. NOT. PANIC."  flashed like lightening, illuminating the worst-case-scenarios lurking in the corners of my head.  I took a deep breath.  I pointedly ignored visions of cold hours spent waiting for daybreak.  Heading straight for the warm-embrace of  Denial, I reached for the door again, willing it to be open.

It was not.

Okay.  Okay.  Deep breath.

I didn't even see The Panic coming.  It hit me hard and fast with the undeniable reality of the situation:  I didn't have shoes.  I didn't have a coat.  It was cold.  I didn't have a phone.  I didn't have ID or even a 1yen coin in a pocket somewhere.  It was 11:30 on Christmas night.

Fending off the impending breakdown, I started to move.  I circle the house checking every first floor window and anything I could climb to reach the second floor.  Ricky was barking like I had done this on purpose.  There was nothing.  The house was sealed.  I stood for a moment on the sidewalk, looking at the house.  The lights were on inside.  It looked so cozy.

I turned and walked toward the train station, the only place I had any hope of finding people awake.

About three blocks from the house, I noticed that the mechanic shop was open.  A small shop, the front parking area was crowded with bits and pieces of various automobiles.  I considered my options: Mystery Mechanics vs. Convenience Store Zombies... I picked the mechanics and picked my way to the open door.

I can only imagine what they must have been thinking when I walked through the door, a shoeless foreigner apologizing in broken Japanese.  The whole family, in the process of dismantling a shelving system, stopped in their tracks.  I asked if there was a police station nearby.  Having previously been locked out of my own apartment after dropping my keys between the apartment stairs and a wall, I knew some key vocabulary.  "Ehhhhh, the keys, inside the house..."  I mimed the unforgiving door handle.  Dad was on his cellphone before I finished my pantomime.  Everyone else was still staring at me.  "What's your address miss?"  "Oh, well, it's a friend's house.  I don't know the address.  They went on vacation.  The dog... ummm.... sorry... I'm alone."  

 I couldn't help it.  I started to cry.  I asked for a tissue, and Mom snapped into action procuring tissues and insisting I come in and sit by the heater.  What is it about the universal look of concern mothers get that just makes me crumble?  As she sat me in the chair and settled a coat around my shoulders I lost it.  Thankfully, everyone else had returned their attention to the partly dismantled shelves.  Dad said the police were on their way, and Mom brought out a hot towel and a cup of hot coffee before they, too, went back to business.

When the police arrived 5 minutes later, my breathing had mostly returned to normal, and I smiled a watery thanks at the strangers who had rescued me without hesitation.

The policeman did not look nearly as pleased to see me as I was to see him.  He asked where the house was.  About five minutes, I said, gesturing up the street.  And so we walked as his partner in the cruiser drove at a crawl about 10 feet behind us, lights flashing the whole time.  It was the single, strangest 5 minute walk I have ever taken.

Whether the policeman walking with me actually couldn't speak a single word of English or just didn't want to, I am not sure, but whatever the reason, we communicated about as well as North and South Korea.  I tried to answer his questions, but to his great frustration, I could only understand about 10% of what he was saying.  When we got to the house, his frustration became more and more apparent as he sucked every breath through his teeth.  I worried he might end up inhaling a few.

As his partner tried to get someone on the phone who could speak English, I formulated a plan.  The Rogers had given me the phone number of nearby friends to call if I needed anything.  I just needed to get to a computer and find that email.  Though I wasn't looking forward to waking a stranger up at midnight to come rescue me, it was the only option.  I had a plan.  It was going to suck.  But I had a plan.

Just then, the neighbors front door opened, and out walked a man embodying everything that was familiar and comforting.  He was white, middle-aged, wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, and when he spoke, I lost it for the second time that night.   

"Hey, is everything alright?"
"Oh my God, yeah, I'm f-fine, oh, I'm gonna cry ag-gain, but really, I'm fine,"  I managed between sobs.  "Um, my name is M-Maggie.  I know the R-Rogers from Minnesota and, I'm locked, locked out of the house."  More sobs.  "I'm w-watching Ricky, and just, just let him out the back door and closed it, and, and, it was l-locked."  

Eventually I managed to somewhat coherently get out that I was a friend from Minnesota, living in Kanazawa, and staying in Tokyo for Christmas.  My New Favorite Person On The Planet explained that the school would have a set of spare keys, but that it would be difficult to get them tonight and did I want to just sleep on his couch and get the keys in the morning?  Yes.  Yes yes yes.  Uh huh.  That's exactly what I wanted to do.

About this time the police got someone on the phone who spoke English. "Thank you, but it's okay.  I am okay.  The neighbor will help me get keys tomorrow.  I will stay with him tonight.  Oh, well, my name is Margaret McCarron, but it's okay.  I'm okay.  The neighbor will help me get keys tomorrow.  Okay, yes, well, my birthday is December 27th, 1986.  But really, it's okay.  I'm fine."  After about 5 minutes I could no longer deal with any of it, handed the phone back to the cop, mumbled some Japanese about being fine and thank you thank you, sorry, thank you, sorry.  And I turned around and walked into the house.

I was indoor again.  There was a fluffy comforter on the couch.  "I turned the heat on, so it should warm up in a few minutes."  Tears threatened again.   

"Do you want something to drink?"
"Y-yeah, th-thanks.  Can I have a glass of w-water?"
"No, I mean, do you want a beer or a glass of wine or something?"
"Oh.  Yes.  Yeah.  Thanks."

We sat at the kitchen table.  It turned out his wife and kids were back home in the States, but he had stuck around out of some sort of good luck conspiracy.  He asked all the right questions you ask people who need an easy distraction.  We talked about where I live and what I do and Japanese junior high schools and weather.  And I finally got it together.  And when I went to sleep, I was on a couch not a dog bed, in a warm room not a cold backyard, under a comforter.

In the morning, he made coffee, called the necessary people, got the keys, and then Ricky and I stayed inside alllll day.

THE END

 yes, that is Mt. Fuji in the background - I saw it from the train and had to duck down a few alleys and scramble up a couple private stairways to get to the top of a building, but it was worth it

AFTERWORD

I later made cookies for the pleasantly surprised mechanic family and saw my rescuer (Mark) and kids again when they came for dinner at the Rogers', and I got to hear his side of the story: first being woken up by Ricky's barking, then seeing police lights flashing, and  then coming out to find a shoeless, sobbing stranger from Minnesota who initially appeared to be alone in Tokyo on Christmas for no apparent reason.  It was certainly a Christmas to remember for everyone involved.

A Christmas Miracle

The thunder is rattling my walls.  The snow/sleet is piling up outside.  I am lying prostrate in an envelope of blissful heat, sandwiched between my heated carpet and a quilt from Gramma H, and Picasso, cozy in her fur coat, has declared war on the closed sliding door that is the only thing separating me from The Arctic Tundra, otherwise known as my kitchen.  It's good to be home.

I spent the first week back reestablishing a routine, remembering what's it's like to have to go to work every day, and swapping stories with friends, many of whom sensibly headed south to warmer (and cheaper) countries.  I, opting for the road less traveled and determined to tackle my uneasiness about Tokyo (I mean, where do you even begin in a city like Tokyo?), arranged to dog-sit for the Rogers, family friends and international teachers from Minnesota.

It was bliss.  Pure.  Bliss.  Not only did this house come complete with double-paned windows, insulation, and a Western-sized oven... it also had a cable package featuring such delights as Fox Crime and CNN International.  It's really quite a miracle I made it out of the house at all.

But make it out I did, for better and for oh-so-much worse.  And since it is a truth universally acknowledged, that a story in possession of a good catastrophe, must be in want of a retelling (or several), let me tell you about my Christmas in Tokyo.

The day started innocuously enough.  I woke up, walked Ricky, opened my Halbur Family Secret Santa present, met Creighton who was on his way home for the holidays.  (He left Christmas afternoon, flew for countless hours, and arrived home in time for Christmas dinner.  A little Christmas magic courtesy of the international date line.)  We brunched in Roppongi before parting ways.  He headed to the airport.  I headed home for a nap before setting to the serious business of Christmas dinner.

I had made a reservation for a traditional Christmas dinner, buffet-style, also in Roppongi.  What I had failed to consider was that "reservations required"  restaurants are less for the homeless-at-the-holidays crowd than for too-trendy-to-cook crowd.  I made a mental note to head straight for the nearest British pub should I ever find myself alone in Tokyo on Christmas.  That said, the food was straight up Christmas on a plate, the wine glasses were generous, and Javier, the middle-aged Colombian bartender, was so charming I forgave his initial, "You're alone?  On Christmas?"

Thus far, Christmas had been pretty okay.  As I was unwilling to face the sea of people queuing to get in and out of the Roppongi Metro Station quite yet (not to mention my hopes for a Christmas miracle in the form of the Spanish-speaking waiter with the nice smile magically appearing before me), I went for a wander.


Mental Note #2 re: Christmas alone - do not wander around "festive" places.  If the commercial cheer itself doesn't get to you, the looks of pity from your fellow passersby most certainly will.  I mean, excuuuuuuse me for people watching on Christmas.  After the third smugly WASPy family passed me squeezing hands and exchanging "Isn't it nice that we're together on Christmas?" looks, I actually had a glimpse into the Depths of Christmas Bitterness.  It was terrifying.

Then I realized that I was (clearly) a more interesting person than any of them.  And I got on the metro.



...to be continued another night when it is not 11:20 p.m...

an appetizer

I've spent the last week and a half dog-sitting for the Rogers (Minnesotan friends that the Hoiseths met in Malaysia) and generally bumming around Tokyo.  It has been great, and aside from my Christmas night run-in with Tokyo's Finest, extremely relaxing.  The Rogers came back on the 1st from their trip to Kenya, and though I was worried that it was going to be awkward having me staying around as they settled back in, it has been wonderful.  In fact, I'm not sure why I expected anything else.  Hanging around the house with a Minnesotan family, even though they aren't mine, has felt like home, and I'm a little sad to go to my hostel tomorrow.  That said, my hostel looks gorgeous, and it will be nice to be in the historical area of town for some temple and museum haunting before The Inevitable Return.  Though I don't have time to get into any stories yet (Aaron is letting me tag along to Costco tomorrow morning!), here are a few pictures of my trip thus far.

Reminder: you can click on them to make them bigger

 

 

In which we had a Christmas day dance-off...

...and won, clearly.

After our pilgrimage to the Great Buddha of Kamakura, we returned to downtown Tokyo to spend the night at a friend's apartment and get ready for an early morning trip to Tsukiji Market.  We had heard that if you can bear to wake up before the crack of dawn and make your way unobtrusively through piles of fish slime and whizzing buzz saws waiting for freshly auctioned creatures of the deep, you can watch them auction off hundreds of thousands of dollars of premium grade tuna.  Whether or not four white people, three of whom tower at 6+ feet, can be unobtrusive in Japan was beside the point.  We were getting ready for an adventure.

Of course, Joe and I realized that waking up before 5:00 a.m. was not a sensible option, and that a much more reasonable choice would be to simply stay awake until 5:00 a.m.  And what better place to stay awake in Tokyo than at ageHa, a massive club on the waterfront?

Our mother wholeheartedly concurred with the logic of this plan.

And so, our looks completed by a pair of fly kicks (Joe) and fake eyelashes (myself... perhaps not an experiment to be repeated) we set off.  Though the DJs were only okay, the poolside dance floor proved to be the perfect setting for an impromptu dance-off with a couple of Japanese hipsters.  Five years in Eastern Europe combined with countless off-the-chain-basement-raves (Joe) and more than a few kitchen-dance-parties-of-one (yours truly) to make us the clear winners.  We politely bowed, clutched hands, and smiled our goodbyes to our new friends before we returned to the main floor where hundreds of Japanese people faced the DJ and bobbed ever so slightly side-to-side as the beat pounded from every direction.

You see, Japanese people don't dance.  Well, perhaps that is too broad a statement... at all of the live performances that I have been to, the audience appeared to have all gotten together pre-show and decided that they would, under no circumstances, deviate from the side-to-side bob.  As with many things in Japan, the gaijin did not get the memo and can be easily spotted as their fellow concert goers politely bob away leaving a "safe zone" around the dancing deviant.

We eventually tired of all this space-clearing and realized that 5:00 a.m. comes faster than one might expect.  We returned home in the nick of time and promptly set off for Tsukiji Market where we encountered more styrofoam cartons of UFOs (Unidentifiable Fish Organs) that I could have ever imagined.  We did manage to sneak (re: gaijin smash) our way to the super-secret backroom where, only 6 days later a tuna would be sold for $175,000.

Eventually, we were shooed back to the main area.  Rumor has it that the bulk of the tuna auctions now happen completely behind closed doors.

Check out videos of the tuna auctions here.  They're not mine, but we were in there dodging men with hooked poles and "turret trucks" (ターレットトラック) - which look more like pod-racers full of tuna - with the rest of them.

Some photos of the carnage...

inspecting the fish and havin' a cigarette... not an uncommon sight

back to the main market area, watch the fingers now...

He could fillet a fish in less time than it took me to write this sentence.

Any guesses?  My money is on ovaries.  Ramble: I have, in fact, eaten fish ovaries.  Truth be told, they're not bad.

slabs of tuna, probably about a meter long

tea time

My apologies

My apologies, dear blog.  I have been neglecting you of late, and for that, I am sorry.  Forgetting is so easy with commercial free TV downloads and food blogs (my latest obsession and an excellent way to pass the time at work when I can't come up with anything else to laminate) and naps and trips and... I forget that I get joy from writing, that reworking phrases and running-on sentences is fun, and most of all that rereading what I have written brings back moments that might have otherwise disappeared forever.  So for all of the moments that I have already lost, I'm sorry I waited too long.

Here is one moment that has remained.

It was Christmas morning in Tokyo.  I think it is fair to say that Joe was somewhat less than delighted to be dragged out of bed and to the train station so we could head an hour south to a city called Kamakura whose main claim to fame is the Kamakura Daibutsu (literally, the Kamakura Big Buddha).

Joe:  "How big is this Buddha?"
Me: "I don't know.... big."
Joe: "Like, how big?  A couple stories?"
Me: "Look, I don't know.  It's a big Buddha, okay?  It's probs gonna be pretty big."
Joe: "grumblegrumblegrumble..."

We did a bit of wandering around the town before striking out towards the Big Buddha.  We paused at a shrine along the way.

Joe: "Is this it?  Where's the Buddha?"
Maggie: "Maybe, look, I don't know.  I don't think this is it, cause it's supposed to be big, and I don't see any gigantic peaceful looking dudes, do you?"
Joe: "What is this then?  Why aren't we going to see the Buddha?"
Maggie:  ".................."

Photos from the unidentified shrine, complete with mini-Buddha filled cave.

 
After wandering around said unidentified temple and garden, we arrived at the gate to the main event: The Big Buddha.

...walking along the path....

Joe: "Is this it?"
Me: "Yeah, I think so."
Joe: "Are you sure?"
Me: "Well, that sign right there says 'Kamakura Daibutsu', so yeah, it looks that way."
Joe: "So where's the... oh...... daaaaaamn....... that is a big Buddha."
Me: "Uh huh."

McCarrons in Japan: photo album #1

Check out some photos from our first couple days in Japan, December 24th to the 26th.  These photos were taken in Tokyo, Kamakura, and at the Tsukiji Fish Market (Tokyo).

click the link to see the photo album: Giants in Japan

More photos and stories to come later!  I'm headed to Nagano this weekend for my first (and only???) ski vacation!  The black diamonds are the slopes I should be avoiding, right?

McCarrons in Japan: The Reunion

This entry is a few months late in coming, but I hope you will forgive me.  To quote a recent facebook post of my brother's (thank you Newsfeed for doing my stalking for me), "Sometimes there are too many stories... happening to take the time to write some."  Better late than never though, so here goes the beginning of The McCarrons in Japan.

It all started with a Christmas cookie filled reunion at Narita Airport outside Tokyo on Decemeber 23rd.  My father had managed to carry a plate (the original Christmas themed Dixie) of Tracey's Christmas cookies all the way from Minnesota to Tokyo.  Tracey, resident Christmas Cookie Queen, makes a plate of Christmas cookies every year.  And every year, I wait with anticipation for the moment that I can snatch a handful.  The lemon bars (pictured) are my favorites.  Needless to say, I was delighted by the surprise and happily consumed all but the smallest crumbs as we waited for my lovely mother to arrive.


We waited in one of the ubiquitous Starbucks.  My eyes, still trained by Kanazawa to pick out a foreigner a mile away, were having a hard time keeping up with the deluge.  As I watched the crowds pass though, one man in particular stuck out.  He looked familiar.  As I stared at him with inappropriate intensity, I realized how I knew him.  We had taken a couple of Educational Studies courses together at Macalester, of course.  I went over to say hello.  We helpfully reminded each other of our names (Chris, I knew it was something Scandinavian), and it turns out he was here visiting family for the winter vacation.  Sometimes it is a small small world.


Mom and I managed to keep the reunion tears to a minimum, and soon we headed off to the Rogers's house where we would stay for the next five days.

Photos from December 24th, spent wandering around the greater Shinjuku area.

Keio Plaza Hotel - home of the JET Orientation for 20 years running

Tokyo City Hall aka Gotham City

He found the waterfall. : )

a different view of Tokyo, just behind City Hall

 

nice dragon faucet at a temple tucked behind the shanty town tucked behind City Hall... this is Tokyo

Notice the woman in full on traditional bridal wear in the back.  We were too sheepish to go ask her for a photo. 

That's a lot of balls.

Turns out he did have clothes...

Okay, after recently publishing a facebook album in just under 36 hours from the time stamp of the last photo, I have renewed motivation to be more timely in my internet endeavors. So here goes the second half of my Emperor saga:



The Imperial Palace is long and low and sleek like a 1960's rambler that Frank Lloyd Wright might have designed. I snagged a spot near the front and immediately felt bad for the people stuck staring at my shoulder blades. Almost as immediately I decided that I didn't care. Consider it karmic revenge for all those brain cells I have lost on short doorways. (on a side note: As I was standing, spine pressed to the back railing at a concert and enjoying my uninterrupted view of the stage, a tall friend of mine leaned down and whispered, "JET - my years standing at the back of rooms.")

When the Emperor finally appeared, Empress and Imperial Family in tow, I strained to get a better view of Princess Masako, the Harvard educated diplomat who is the subject of severe public censure as a result of her inability to produce a male heir. Yes, this is the modern world... though I do wonder. On the other hand, Michelle Obama would likely get a serious tongue lashing were she to show a hint of upper arm fat.

Princess Masako is on the far right next to her husband, Crown Prince Naruhito of the flowy hair.



Anyway, the fam came, they waved, we all stood as his royal highness gave a birthday speech. Then the real fun started as the entire crowd launched into the customary shouts of "banzai!" and frantically waved their flags.

I wonder how many times his highness gives that speech per birthday and if he changes it up just to keep himself from dying of boredom.

Probs not... might disturb the wa (和).










We were filed out post speech at which point I suggested to my new found companion that we head to the station Starbucks and camp out for some quality people watching. It was just a half second before he rearranged his face into the look that we have all acquired for dealing with particularly confusing, frustrating, and just outright obnoxious JTE's. The "oh, okay, that's what you want to do? hmmm, well, *deep breath* alright, I guess we can work with that" look.

He was obviously horrified.

I should have realized that he was the kind of guy who was genuinely excited that he got to stand in line at the crack of dawn in the freezing cold to go watch an old, short Japanese man give a 4 minute speech that he couldn't understand. Don't get me wrong, I am just tickled that I got to see an emperor, or I should say, since he is currently the only one in the world, and I have been trying to explain to my students the difference between "a" (one of many, nonspecific) and "the" (unique, specific), I got to see the emperor. How ridiculous is that? I saw the only emperor in the entire world. Well, obviously there is only one because it is such an absurdly fairy-tale-esque title. Like saying you went to see the local hobgoblin or the sorceress next door. Ridiculous.

If there is one truly amazing thing about Japan, it is the ability of Japanese people to take the most seemingly phantasmagorical things with the utmost seriousness and ceremony.

My friend, coworker, and fellow tall gaijin often jokes that he feels like a giant, stomping through this island country with an Arnold Schwartzenegger like slowness to his speech, destroying doorways and centuries of tradition with even the slightest sudden movement.

We are elephants learning to walk on eggshells.

The Emperor Has No Clothes

The word "emperor" is mentioned, and I just can't help but think of a vain old man parading naked in front of the unwashed masses. Maybe that is just me though. I'm sure that that was not the thought process of the thousands of Japanese people queuing to see "His Imperial Majesty the Emperor" on December 23rd when the big guy turned 76.

After an 8 hr night bus ride, I arrived in Tokyo at 6:00 a.m. on December 23rd. Seeings as it was the current emperor's birthday and one of the two days per year that he and The Imperial Family come out to greet said masses, I wandered my unwashed self on over to the Palace to check out the shindig for myself.

All I could see were layers upon layers of barricades and traffic cones. There didn't appear to be anyone around. Was it possible that I, Maggie McCarron, gaijin extraordinaire, was the most patriotic person in all of Japan?

Inconceivable.






the 12 most patriotic people in Japan








Then, across the stillness of the morning, I heard a hearty chuckle that could only belong to the second most patriotic gaijin in Japan. He was at a corner across the street from me, chatting to several older Japanese folk who alternated between looks of terror and looks of absolute befuddlement. Turns out that Sandy and I tied for 13th most patriotic. He, a JET from some village north of Tokyo, had also arrived on a night bus with time to kill before his afternoon flight. So we killed some time.

We killed a lot of time.
















The line grew, people queuing down the block like ants behind a particularly insurmountable twig. A man passed out paper Japanese flags. I snacked on my box of combini chocolates. My toes went numb. The sun crept across the intersection toward us, carefully warming inch after slow inch of asphalt.

Finally, we moved. It was after ten in the morning. I had waited almost 3 hours to see a guy whose name I still don't know.















After a quick security check, we were on the lawn. We waited. The sun warmed my back. I saw people trying to inch out of my shadow's reach. Sometimes it is good to be tall.

I ate more chocolate.

















And then all of a sudden it was here, the moment for which we had spent all morning waiting. We were crossing the bridge into the Imperial Palace, Tokyo sprawling in every direction from this ancient grassy knoll.

As the crowd swelled across the bridge and flowed up the curving driveway though yet another set of gates, I wondered if this was what the Russian peasants felt like when they stormed the Winter Palace.


Yeah, it was probs a little different for them.