Oh Lord, Hokkaido...

Back in my carefree days on the JET Programme (google it), I once edited a newcomer's guide to life here in Hokkaido. Although Japan prides itself on having four distinct seasons, here in the great northern wilderness, I wrote, we only have two: winter and August.

I wasn't kidding.

Despite today being the 14th of April, Hokkaido got beaten up by a big bad winter weather pattern that bullied its way in from Siberia and whipped snow and wild winds across the island. We awoke this morning to this:

Out came the winter coats and boots, the show shovels and gritting sand, the curses and oaths at living in such a sub-arctic hell.

You would never think that Muroran (top temperature today, 3 C, snow, feckin piles of it!), lies on the same latitude as Marseille (top temperature 17 C, partly cloudy, no snow, haven't had any for years).

Home thoughts from abroad

Finatan O'Toole wrote a damning (and despairing it must be said) piece in yesterday's Irish Times about the state of the nation - a link to the article is here.

He concluded that, given both the country's present economic difficulties and the stubborn fact that they are due to continue for some time, the only option open to most young people is to emigrate.

As someone who has emigrated (though for a long time I never thought of my situation in such a way), it is not the sort of thing I would glibly recommend. As some of the subsequent comments from readers point out, emigration is as much an emotional decision as an economic one.

Leaving one's country, the place you were born and raised, home to your family and friends, is an ongoing exercise in displacement. You are forever a foreigner in whatever country you settle, yet visits home leave one feeling like you are an actor in a familiar drama, but one to which you no longer know the script.

I think this sense of displacement is further heightened when you have a children. I look at Cian and think in three years time he will be starting school and that, more than anything else, will mark his identity as more Japanese than Irish. He will begin formal learning in the Japanese language, he will learn about Japanese history, he will be taught his roles and responsibilities as a future Japanese citizen. After school sports will begin, and given the pervasiveness of the game, that will most likely be baseball. Or maybe soccer. But it won't be hurling or Gaelic football. And as a father, who passionately loves all things GAA, not being able to see my son catch and kick a ball, or puck a sliothar, that breaks my heart. His sense of Irishness will be limited to what I can pass on to him, but that will be severely constricted by both time and space.

I have always harbored the hope that in the not so distant future, I might return to Ireland with Sanae and Cian and start (continue?) our lives in the place I truly call 'home'. But given the events of the past two years or so, that hope has become very dim indeed.

Seven hours in Tokyo

April 1st, early Thursday morning...
4.30: Alarm goes off. Arrghhh. Turn off alarm. Five more minutes, just five more minutes....

5.17: Oh Christ! Feck!! Shite!! Fecky shite feck!!!! Jump out of bed. Well, would have jumped out of bed if I hadn't been sleeping on the floor (Cian was sick so he shared the 'big bed' with Mammy. I had to sleep on the kitchen floor. And who bought the bloody bed, eh? Who? Who?)

5.18: Wake unconscious Japanese person in the 'big bed'. Tell her the time. Greeted with the Japanese equivalent of 'Oh Christ! Feck!! Shite!! Fecky shite feck!!!!'

6.00: Car crunches gravel as I shoot down the driveway like Jason Button on steroids. It usually takes us 90 minutes to get to the airport. The plane leaves at 7.30. That gives us, math's fans, exactly 90 minutes to get there. Envision us tearing down the runway forcing ANA Flight 470 to abort its takeoff while Sanae tries to wrestle open the emergency door.

6.34: Pass under a flyover bridge with a banner announcing that April is 'Safety Driving Month' in Hokkaido. Or rather, pass under a flyover bridge with a banner announcing that April is 'Safety Driving Month' in Hokkaido at just over 125 km/h.

7.05: Arrive at New Chitose Airport. Other banners seen along the way include 'Drive safely - keep within the speed limit'; 'Hokkaido - the safety driving land'; and my favourite, 'Beware! Bears!'.

7.30: Safely on plane.

9.05: Arrive in Tokyo. A different country. Spring is here - greenery everywhere, cherry blossoms too. Take the into the city centre. Buildings, people, cars, trains, more buildings, high buildings too. And trees, green trees, lots of them. Try not to act too excited in case locals realize we are Hokkaido culchies and start mocking our backward, sub-arctic ways. As the sun is shining and the temperature is well into double figures we throw caution to the winds and decide to walk from the train station to the bank. Mistake. Am sweating when we arrive at the bank. Make mental note to shave too abundant chest hair next time I come to Tokyo.

10.20: Shown into rather plain meeting room on the 11th floor with a partial view of Hibiya Park. Still trying to hide out mucker backgrounds so act suitably unimpressed.

10.35: Nice woman who approved our homeloan from Nice Johnny Foreigner Bank comes into the room. Want to act reserved and aloof but end up simpering our gratitude for her beneficence. Have to restrain Sanae from groveling before her.

11.25: After some arcane financial speak about 'mortgage repayments', 'fixed term interest rates', and 'disembowelment penalty clauses' , I sign some documents in Japanese I don't understand and leave the room in hoc for what will probably be the rest of my life. Sanae seems happy though, and that is what's most important.

12.15: Go for a walk. In the searing, nineteen degree celsius heat. That's middle of July weather up in the great frozen north. End up at Zojoji Temple which is garlanded with white and pink cherry trees in full bloom. Sanae attempts to tell me a potted history of the temple. I, as per usual, pretend to listen. As far as I can gather it involved this samurai killing another samurai and then 49 of the dead samurai's family, friends and assorted hangers-on coming to the temple and avenging the death of their relative, friend, and dude they used to know, by killing the first samurai. I'm not too sure why it took 49 of them but obviously they were leaving nothing too chance. Too celebrate their successful homicide, the 49 then built Tokyo Tower behind Zojoji as a monument to their murderous intent. As I said, I'm surmising here.

13.05: Being in Tokyo, the culinary capital of Japan, we have lunch in a Chinese restaurant.

14.00: Nice lunch too.

15.00: It's too hot to walk around so we retire to a cafe, eat ice cream and watch the bullet trains go by. Ahh, the excitement of urban life.

16.30: Fly back to Hokkaido all aglow with our new found bright-lights, big-city cosmopolitanism.

18.05: Arrive at Shin Chitose Airport. It's dark, cold and raining. Our 'aglow' quickly washes off.

20.00: Arrive home (but not for much longer!) No bears seen. Cian excited to see Mammy and Daddy again, but way more excited by the ANA airplane set we've brought him back.

22.00: Before falling asleep on the floor (again), realize that today was the easy part. From now we have to start packing and preparing to move house.

Wish I were a bear.

Have enough chest hair to pass for one.

Apologies

Apparently my yahoo email account has been sending out spam messages to all and sundry recommending various, eh, 'performance enhancing' medications (as if Colin Farrell needed them anyway). I have upgraded my security settings, downloaded virus protection software and sent out some big men with even bigger sticks to find those responsible. For the cumulative effect to, well, accumulate, may take a few days, so if you continue to receive messages from me saying "re: Angelina Jolie's desire for you" etc., please delete them without opening them.

Apologies are also due for the paltry number of blog posts I have written this year. A quarter of 2010 has already been consigned to the past and I have barely scraped into double figures. April, I promise you faithful readers, will see a notable increase in both quantity and quality (similar to what the various spam messages promise, but with no need to change the sheets afterwards).

The Sudo's

So Johnny Foreigner Bank call us and say "Yes, God, yes, of course you can have a loan. How much do you want?"
Nice Johnny Foreigner Bank (NJFB).
Amidst all the cheering and popping of champagne corks, NJFB say they need a couple of things from us, including some documents from Sudo home.
Cheering immediately stops. Cue ominous sound of distant thunder.
"Ahh", I hesitantly reply, "that would entail me contacting Sudo Home again, would it?"
"Yes".
Ominous sound of distant thunder grows louder.
"You wouldn't like to contact them yourselves, directly like", I offer.
"No. You need to do it."
Ominous sound of thunder growing louder and not so distant anymore.
"Right then", I mutter, "I, emm, will see what I can do".
Forked lightening flashes outside my office window. Wind begins to moan, a low and anguished sound.
Hands shaking, I pick up the phone.
I put it back down again.
I need to figure out who I need to speak to.
Sudo somebody. The guy in charge of the real estate section. The guy who rang us the week before and sent a small earthquake of panic rippling through the greater Muroran area. Him. And I can't remember the fecker's first name.
Ahh, but I have a copy of the purchase contract here with me in the office. And there is his name. Written in kanji. Laboriously translate the name - Sudo, Toshi...ko...Sudo Toshiko, that's my man.
Thunder has stopped and sunlight seems to be breaking through the clouds outside. Pick up the phone and ring the office.
"Hello, this is Brian Gaynor. Can I speak to Sudo Toshiko, please".
"Sorry", replies the secretary, "could you say your name again, please?"
Repeat my name.
"Ahh, Mr. Gaynor. Ahh, yes". There is a note of fear in her voice. In the background I hear screams, what sounds like a panic stampede to the exits, and the sound of glass breaking.
"And, ehh, you want to speak to..."
"Mr. Sudo Toshiko, please".
There is a momentarily silence at the other end of the line. I'm not sure, but I think I can hear tumbleweeds blowing through the empty office.
"Sorry, who?"
"Mr Sudo Toshiko".
"Ehh, nobody by that name works here".
The momentarily silence is now at my end of the line.
"Erhhhh..." Panic grips me too.
"Do you mean Toshihiro Sudo, the company president?" she offers helpfully.
I lose all reason and blabber, "No, no, he's not the president, he's much younger than that".
"Maybe Vice-President Sudo...?"
"No, not him either", I say in an increasingly shrill voice. "He's a young guy. Has a full head of hair. In charge of the real estate section". Christ, how many feckin Sudo's are there in the shagging company?
The secretary is by now completely convinced that everything she has heard about 'Gaynor, the mad foreigner' is true.
"Ehhh, do you mean Sudo Masatoshi..?"
"Yes! yes! of course! Sudo Masatoshi! My man Masatoshi. That's who I want. Put that fecker on the phone now!" Oh, sweet relief.
A pause.
"Sudo Masatoshi speaking".
"Ahh Mr. Masatoshi. At last. It's so good to hear your voice. Forgive me. Good morning to you. Listen, about the home loan, we need to get a few more documents from you".
"The home loan?"
"Yes, the home loan", obviously old Masatoshi hasn't had his necessary fill of morning coffee. "The bank need you to send them the following documents".
"The bank...?"
"Yes, the bank, Shinsei Bank, down in Tokyo. The bank we are getting the loan from. The bank you have been negotiating with on our behalf". Jesus, you'd swear Masatoshi ate a extra big bowl of retard rice for breakfast this morning.
Another pause. Finally he says,
"Sorry, who is this?"
A terrible feeling settles upon me.
"Ehh, Brian Gaynor, from Muroran", I hoarsely whisper.
"And this is about?"
"The house in Tenjin-cho".
"Ahh, Mr. Mad Foreigner Brian Gaynor-san. I have heard of you. I have, however, thankfully never met you before in my hitherto peaceful life. The person you need to talk to Sudo Takashi".
"Sudo Takashi."
"Yes. And unfortunately, he is out of the office all day. Will I get him to call you this evening?"
"Call me?", I mutter, "No, ask him to call my wife..."

A Star is born!

Yesterday Cian made his way-way-the-hell-off Broadway debut at the Mizumoto Nursery School Play / Performance Art / Random Body Movements Accompanied by Bad Music Show.

"A towering triumph" - The New York Times

"Spellbinding in its raw, visceral, physical intensity" - The Guardian

"What the hell was all that about?" - an utterly baffled father.

The kids, in the true spirit of Fame, put the show on right there! And we all watched. And wondered. What do they mix in to the school milk?

For an exclusive look - only for you, esteemed readers of the Gaynor-Takahashi Blog, all three of you - click on the link below and experience the true majesty of motion that is the human body.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TP4Mf5cQmqg

The school year here in Japan ends this month so March is a seemingly never ending procession of graduation ceremonies. They like their graduation ceremonies here. Oh, they really do. You finish in the Nursery School and go to run out the door - not so fast, graduation ceremony. At the end of six years in elementary school - graduation ceremony. Get through Junior High School - hey, graduation ceremony. Go on to High School and three years later, a tad predictably at this stage, graduation ceremony. Higher education beckons and yes, four years later, you've guessed it, graduation ceremony. Maybe your ambitious, continue your third level studies and do a Masters, and lo, and indeed, behold, a whole two years later, another graduation ceremony, just in case you had forgotten what the preceding five were like. And maybe by this stage you have become a hardcore addict, who desperately needs his fix of bathetic speeches and arcane rituals, so why not go for broke, get a doctorate and three years later find yourself at yet another graduation ceremony.

Then, of course, there are the corresponding 'Entrance Ceremonies' for all these educational milestones. And somewhere in between, maybe a smattering of actual learning.

Gnarly

The weekend before last a big low pressure system bullied its way over Hokkaido, bringing with it gale force winds, sub-zero temperatures, lots of snow, and most importantly, a big, heavy, winter swell.

The waves were easily the biggest this season so far, the occasional break topping three metres. It meant that Itanki beach, my usual surf spot, was closed out, so I ended up down at Uzu, where there is a left hand point break that only really works on a combination of a big swell and low tide. And we had both the Saturday before last. 10 fools, their surfboards and more enthusiasm than sense. A little too early in the season for my liking - the paddle out and the duck diving were fairly intense - but the reward came with three great rides on some big, big waves.

(In the the photo above, there are three surfers in the picture. Can you see them?)