Day 14: Monday, September 26th

There is a euphemism in the United States claiming that men never ask for directions and that women are all too eager to do so. Now while I am not one to join sides, I rarely hesitate to ask for help in the middle of nowhere. Now imagine you are an ocean away, barely speak or even comprehend the language, and have taken 6 trains too far from even the remote destination you can dream of. Oh yes, today was that day.

I had planned to meet my Fulbright advisor at a location and train station I had never before ventured. Mistake number one. I am usually extremely adventurous, so I figured that I would be able to maneuver my way through the monorails, subways and trains that make up Osaka’s transportation system. Oh how I was wrong.

I believe that travelers have all experienced the, “whoops I got on the wrong train,” dilemma, have immediately jumped off, and hopped on the correct train. Sadly, I have not quite figured out how to do this in Japanese. After asking the 2^nd train engineer, “hopping” on the wrong train the 5^th time, and being two and a half hours late from meeting my advisor, I had to take matters in to my own hands.

What wonderful adventures await foreigners while abroad. I decided to hail a taxi, and just my luck the nearest one made a dramatic James Bond-reminiscent U-turn, and the automatic passenger doors opened (oh yes, didn’t you know that in Japan you dare not open or close the doors of a taxi?). I asked the aged, balding cab driver if he knew where Ikeda bank was, and zipped away as if running from armed bandits.

Now who would have thought that Yamata-san and I, during the course of a 4,668 yen cab ride (that’s almost $50 folks) would talk about the lovely Hanshin tigers, Japanese food, Hurricane Katrina, President Bush, law school, karaoke and his children. Had I never stopped and asked for directions, I never would have met this wonderful man. And while our ways parted abruptly as he dropped me off at the bank and my advisor was long gone, it just reminded me once again how quickly this country can surprise you. After my near-hysterics throughout the many train stations of Osaka during the day, Yamata-san absolutely brightened the entire afternoon with his kindness and grace with which he put up with my terrible Japanese.

Lesson learned: I think next time I’ll map out my travels ahead of time. Enough “I’ll plan ahead when I need to because adventures are cool” business for me!

Day 13: Sunday, September 25th

One has never truly experienced Japan unless he or she is enlightened by the beautiful temples and shrines that adorn the dramatic forest-encrusted hillsides. After taking a marvelous course at St. Olaf about Japanese art history, I could not wait to venture to these places with the Fulbrighter who lived in neighboring Kyoto.

After an uneventful train trip and awkwardly full bus ride to meet her, Kavitha and I started our day at Ginkakuji, or the silver pavilion. This is one of Japan’s most famous temples, but was oddly without frills, due to the fact that its designer died before ornamenting the simple building with frivolous silver.

We continued down the “Path of Philosophy” to gaze at smaller temples like Honenin, Anrakuji, Reikanji and a small, out of the way shrine called Ootoyo, whose torii, or gates, were ornamented with large rats. Kavitha and I were amazed at the way tat homes are nestled right up next to these serene places of spirituality and worship, which I could only venture to reason that it is due to Japan’s lack of space.

We found our favorite temple in Eikando, a center for Pure Land Buddhism, which boasts an amazing sculpture of the Amida Buddha looking over his shoulder. It was simply beautiful. The main temple had a fortuitous gold-encrusted alter, silk screens with lions that jumped out at you, and a high perch that overlooked the foothills of Kyoto. It was amazing to me that this had all been created in the mid-9^th century, when American was not even a footnote in world history.

Of course no trip to Kyoto is complete without seeing the Heian shrine, which is a bit ironic, because it is the first thing you see when you are in the city. Imagine a gargantuan torii, or gate, that is the skinny sister to the Arc du Triomphe. Now imagine it painted bright, day glow orange. This thing is absolutely amazing, and as you pass under it you are immediately filled with a mystical sense of sincerity and awe. The Heian shrine is still a working place of worship, so as my friend and I crossed the enormous grounds and took in the surrounding buildings and cherry blossom trees filled with pieces of white paper messages tied to each branch, we saw the evening’s prayer begin. I immediately felt a sense of awe at the majesty that Japan possesses. While I am a proud Presbyterian, by no means, does my rinky dink church compare to the magnitude of the Heian shrine. Amazing.

To wrap up our evening, Kavitha and I ventured into Shijo, which is the Ginza of Kyoto, where in between Armani and Louis Vuitton stores exist men holding signs for brothels. Not particularly my cup and tea but it certainly makes one realize the diversity that exists in a cultural center like Kyoto, which is the former capitol of Japan.

I have already planned many more trips to Kyoto, including next weekend’s venture to see the Louvre’s collection of 19^th century painters at one of the local art museums. I know that I will have plenty to explore in the Kansai, but Kyoto’s fantastical cultural scene, mixed with its backdrop of the Higashiyama hills makes it one of my favorite places in Japan already.

Day 12: Saturday, September 24th

Still in search of a cell phone: no wonder the Energizer bunny kept going, he didn’t have a cell to call and ask for help.

Day 11: Friday, September 23rd

If an unenlightened person were to see thirty grown men, in their underwear, beating upon drums and screaming, one might assume they would be an NFL initiation or Woodstock part 3. Of course this is an oversimplification and overtly naïve view when discussing the world of taiko, one of the most fantastic forms of the arts that I have ever seen.

Friday evening I traveled to nearby Kobe to see Kodo, one of the world’s foremost taiko groups in concert with some of the Fulbrighters. Taiko is a traditional Japanese artform that combines drums, dance, and various musical interpretations to create one of the world’s most exciting inventions since sliced bread. And I am a big fan of sliced bread!

Even though it took me 3 hours to get to Kobe (when it is usually a 45 minute train ride), and I missed the first two minutes of the concert due to the obvious language barrier, and I almost died thinking I wouldn’t get to see the concert, the big guy upstairs was watching over me. One of our concert-goers knew I was missing from the bunch and had convinced one of the ushers to let us in even after the performance started, and I snuck to my seat hunched over like an old woman who hasn’t had any calcium in the last 40 years (which unfortunately is quite prevalent in Japan).

Awe-inspiring doesn’t even graze the surface of how fantastic the performance was. Not only does Kodo perform the traditional pieces of music with extremely large drums, but they included the shamisen, much like a harp, dancing, comedy and theatrics with a way that I had never seen in my life.

I was so invigorated by the performance that I asked my fellow Osaka Fulbrighter, Joe, if he knew of any taiko workshops I could attend, and there is one in Kyoto in November that I am hoping to check out. Joe himself is an amazing performer, and I hope that he opens my eyes wider to this world!

Day 10: Thursday, September 22nd

Anxiety comes in doses. In my twenty-three years that much I have learned. But meeting the person who will directly influence whether your research is a success or failure leaves more to nerves than one could possibly explain.

I woke up nervous not only because of the previous day’s negative experience with the alien registration office, but also because I became sick with a nasty cold (are they ever nice?). Unfortunately, that led me to a night fitful of restlessness which allowed me to oversleep an hour and completely miss meeting my Fulbright Osaka buddy at the city ward office. So in the middle of intense heat, attempting to breathe through my one nostril that worked and attempting to not hyperventilate from coughing, I actually convinced the ward office worker to give me a temporary alien registration card. Haha. Kristin: one, city ward office: 0.

I didn’t realize things were as bad as they were until numerous strangers approached me with sorrowful looks asking, "daijyobudesuka," or "are you ok?" I was just happy that the immigration office acknowledged my existence, but was now worried I would miss meeting my advisor for the Fulbright project. My professor is one of the leading political thinkers in Japan, so a good first impression was almost unspoken.

Round two in Kristin vs. the world began when I realized I had to run to the Osaka University Co-op to pray that they had not rented the apartment of my [Japanese] dreams. Given that Japanese apartments are miniscule and that Osaka has some of the highest real estate values in the world, I was happy I found a place where the bath and toilet were separate and I wouldn’t be cooking in my closet. Unfortunately, they now informed me that I needed a honshouin, or co-signer.

At this point, I had to meet my advisor. As soon as I walked in the building I heard, "Howaito san. Howaito san" The wonderful law school office manager had “prepped” everyone that an American girl would be playing law student for the next year, and so I could not believe the kindness of this man, or the fact that he led me directly to my advisors office explaining how excited the university was to have me. Now THAT is a homecoming.

The nervous tithes in my stomach dissipated once I saw the smile on my advisors face. A man in his early forties, with thousands of books piled to the ceiling in his office and an enthusiasm that went far beyond his age and agility, I knew we would get along. He is the sweetest, nicest, not very good at speaking English guy I could have ever met in my life. Not only did he think I was really smart for being a Fulbright (still preposterous I tell you) and tell me he was going to introduce me to his wife who leads human rights groups around Osaka, but he also invited me to some of the seminars of his colleagues that are extremely exclusive and for upper graduate students. Oh thank god. But it gets better.

My advisor asked me if I had any questions, and so I just ventured and asked if he had any ideas about honshouin. He said he not only knew what they were, but that he would be happy to be my co-signer. We immediately left the office, marched right up to the co-op, he translated everything for me, got them to reduce the price of the apartment, and finally, offered to help me open a bank account the next week.

Kristin: 2; mean people: absolutely zero.

If there is one thing that I have honestly learned in my two weeks here in Japan, it is that one should never underestimate the power of kindness. Of course this idea transcends boundaries, but I have come to honestly depend on the compassion of Japanese strangers and the crazy stories of what doing so generates.

Day 9: Wednesday, September 21st

There are three words in the English language that strike fear and anxiety no matter ones age, occupation or status. “I’m sorry, but…” can leave one dumbstruck for seconds, minutes, reaching for anything they can cling on to for dear sanity. Unfortunately for me, my grip is lacking.

Today my three favorite people in Osaka joined me in traveling to the Moriguchi ward office to obtain our alien registration cards: Joe, Stacey and Mike. I felt like Dorothy and Toto, skipping down the yellow brick road, with passport and id photos in one hand, and gaily holding my buddy’s hand in the other. Well, at least that is how I pictured it in my head.

Instead, imagine a dirty, dank, cement office with floors that looked as if they haven’t been washed for ages and a woman that screams, “next please.” Now imagine that you don’t actually understand a word anyone around you says. Oh yes, that is how my first experience of becoming a legal alien started. Oy. Vei.

While the process wasn’t entirely difficult due to the wonderful language abilities of my buddy Mike, I kept insisting that the woman who held my life in her hands wasn’t understanding me when I asked for a temporary alien registration card and she declared they had no such thing. Hmmmm, hurtle number one.

But my overly optimistic attitude skipped right out the door, exclaiming that we must have just over-thought the whole process and proceeded down the road to open our bank accounts.

Now of course, there are only two places in the world where banks make it difficult to take your money: the first being Japanese banks that open at 9 am and close at 3 pm for no clear reason, and the second I am still looking for in vain just to make myself feel better. As I sat down with my temporary alien registration card, excited to give away some of my grant money to an official-looking person, she took one look at my piece of paper and a small glint appeared in her eye. Or maybe that is just how I replay it in my head. She turned to her supervisor using some rare form of Japanese meant to invoke fear in the minds of foreigners, and turned to me and said, “I’m sorry, but…” Ahh, but of course. I wasn’t actually a legal foreigner because immigration did not give me the right forms. I truly experienced what it meant to be a minority.

But that is exactly the reason that I have come to Japan. Not to get angry, but to understand why discrimination exists, how it continues, and find methods to alleviate it and possibly prevent it from happening in the future. One illegal alien without a gaijin card at a time. Or so the story goes.

Day 8: Tuesday, September 20th

Space. Good old American free space. From getting in to a car and driving aimlessly (not of course with gas prices as high as they are now) to walking for miles in uninhabited forests, never ever again will I take the idea of space for granted.

My wonderful Fulbright buddy Joe accompanied me in our search to find apartments in Japan’s second largest city. It is one thing to go apartment hunting in America: so many choices, different sizes and price ranges and areas to choose from. In Japan however, your choices are as follows: small and smaller.

Not that I’m claustrophobic. Okay, not that I’m an overly dramatic claustrophobic, but when your closet is your kitchen is your shower is your bed, I think it’s time to keep looking. As Joe and I attempted to maneuver through the apartments near my Osaka University campus, we not only forgot to take our shoes off, but also forgot to leave our spoiled American expectations combined. At least our college housing advisor, Yukiko, was a sweetie pie. She was very excited about these apartments, and while I do believe that living without termites and cockroaches is a major plus, it doesn’t necessitate the bare minimum of my expectations. Lesson learned.

On to LeoPalace21: an ultra-modern, ultra-hip, ultra-expensive form of housing in Japan, where the word “corporate” is an understatement. As you enter the lobby, the white walls, blaring Japanese pop music, and the blindingly shiny floors make you instantly forget you're in Japan and transport you to “2001: A Space Odyssey.” While Hal’s computer voice didn’t come over the intercom, we were led up a white staircase where the adorable, handusomu Minakata-san waited for us. Let me preface his description with these words: a bless the hearts of Japanese everywhere. This young man did not speak a lick of English, but he tried to desperately to engage us in conversation that Joe and I couldn’t but help stay three hours to not only chat about unbelievably expensive apartments, but about the Hanshin Tigers baseball team and Bob Marley. When one of his co-workers finally attempted to help him with our language barrier she exclaimed, “you are such good Japanese speakers.”

Joe and I laughed about our “good” language skills all the way to a ramen shop, the epitome of Japanese cooking. As we hashed our day over pork ramen and fried rice, the owner of the restaurant, with an accent thicker than Arnold Schwarzenegger’s, attempted to engage us in conversations on politics and sports. Unfortunately, either due to our fatigue or our lack of language capacity, the only words Joe and I could get out were “hai” (yes) and “hai.” Wow, now aren’t our vocabularies impressive?

I was so thankful for Joe’s company back home that I didn’t care that we hadn’t actually settled on an apartment. Sometimes it isn’t the destination, but the journey that’s half the fun!

Day 7: Monday, September 19th

My friends had a day off from their busy work schedules to show me a little of Osaka and I was so excited for their offers as my official tour guides. We were still joking about the day prior, about an incident that happened on Respect for the Aged Day in Japan. Japan is renowned for their honor of aged persons, and in doing so, a national holiday was declared in their honor. Unfortunately, not all people observe this day, as I noticed first-hand when my luggage was dropped off by the takyubin, the most amazing invention since wireless internet and chocolate cake. The takyubin is a delivery service that serves all of Japan, and you can have bags, suitcases and precious items delivered to the hour of your choosing. Amazing! Unfortunately, my delivery man was about 65 years old and hunched over. While he attempted to carry a year’s worth of my belongings up four flights of steep stairs in blistering heat he kept screaming, “jyuudesune…jyuu…jyuu.” Of course the poor man was complaining about my suitcase being heavy. My weight-lifting boyfriend and athletic dad could barely tackle it, how could this poor man do it himself? That certainly gave me a new appreciation for Respect for the Aged Day.

As my friends and I attempted to lighten the morning mood, we passed by the Osaka Jazz Festival on our way to a luscious Indian food restaurant. Now I am an enormous Jazz fan, but when it includes salsa dancing and the song, “Tequila,” I had to wonder what my sinus medicine was doing to me when my friends explained that in Japan, even salsa is considered jyazu. Chalk it up to one more thing Kristin didn’t know about Japan.

As we entered Umeda, Osaka’s downtown, I was amazed at the crowds and particularly, at the mass of French culture that I saw. Patisseries, bakeries, shops demonstrated that the Japanese obviously have an affinity for French fare. At least that’s one thing we have in common. As I climbed the 9^th story of Comme Ca, a beautiful, minimalist stone structure in the world’s first train station/shopping center, I entered my nirvana: the dessert floor. The Japanese are renowned for their cooking prowess, but the gateau that I saw were cakes filled with fresh fruits and flowers to the point of overflowing. Here I was thinking that I would lose weight in Japan due to the small portions, but when it comes to vices, sugar is most definitely mine. If there is one thing I would recommend to tourists entering Osaka, do not miss the cakes of Comme Ca!

In addition to gorging on French food, the rest of the day was spent purchasing Japanese language books, maneuvering through crowded stations and simply enjoying the company of my friends. The last of which can never be underestimated.

Day 6: Sunday, September 18th

Since both my new roomies worked at their jobs teaching English my first day in Osaka, I took the initiative to explore my new surroundings. My travels began on a blistering day, where the humidity was equivalent to my core body temperature and had to constantly prevent myself from jumping in to the neighboring river to keep from melting.

As I walked down the narrow streets of Osaka proper, I realized two things: (1) bicycles are extremely numerous in Osaka, and (2) pedestrians by no means have the right-of-way. Just because one is walking does not mean that they are free from potential hit-and-runs both by cars and bicycles. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about without understanding Japanese, attempting to decipher angry screams from frustrated drivers nearly made me fall over with exhaustion.

As I placed one foot in front of another I did happen to notice a silver, miniscule van stop right in front of me, and before I knew it I heard, “heh-ro, heh-ro.” A petite Japanese man in his mid-twenties who identified himself as Misaki asked me what I was doing in Osaka. When I responded that I was a kenkyuusei, or research student, at Osaka University, he proceeded to ask if I was, indeed, American. The cynic in me wanted to respond with, “Je suis Francaise. Je ne parle pas Japonais,” but this young man was so innocent I told him that yes, I was Amerikajindesu. He wanted to know where I lived, and I said “far away from here,” and I said it was nice to meet him, attempting to get as far away from him as possible.

Ten minutes later, as I was still wondering the streets of Osaka, I hear a breathless voice yelling, “Kurisuten! Kurisuten.” Misaki had run back to his business, obtained a meishi (Japanese business card), and somehow wondered the streets trying to find me. It was the most adorable thing I have encountered so far in Osaka, aside from the millions of small puppies that catch my eye. For his efforts I gave him my e-mail address and realized that not all Japanese are afraid of foreigners, and that maybe, just maybe, I still had “it.”

The rest of the day was filled with becoming lost, going in circles, and partaking in the fascinating culture that is Hello Kitty, but it gave me a wonderful appreciation for my new home. Even when I arrived back at my friends’ apartment building and realized I had not been given the correct entrance code, I did not fret. That is, until a massive animal that resembled a mutated sewer rat attempted to nestle in to my knee. My friend Mike told me, after I ran back to Osaka, begged an unsuspecting pedestrian to use his phone, and obtained the correct entrance code to the apartment, that my new furry friend was a tanoki. Japanese stories abound with myths regarding this creature’s ability to shape shift and, according to my friend, beat upon its genetalia like taiko drums. Now I’m no percussionist, nor am I a fan of mysterious creatures, but I do know that if a dirty, unfamiliar creature attempts to say hello anywhere within a one-block radius of me, the first thing I do is scream, and the second is to make sure I don’t have rabies. Call me paranoid, but I’d rather be foaming with passion for my research project in Osaka instead of foaming at the mouth!

While my friends and I laughed at the day I encountered I was simply thankful to have kind, compassionate people in my life that were willing to put up with my eccentricities and put me up for the night. Amen to Minnesota nice!

Day 5: Saturday, September 17th

My last morning in Tokyo consisted of waking up with my ears still ringing from the dance music the previous night. What a way to end my time in Tokyo!

My fellow Kansai chica Kavitha and I were going to ride the train together, because she is living in Kyoto, which is just a hop, skip and a jump away from Osaka. We asked our nearly fluent Fulbrighter Kenny for some advice on getting to the train station to catch the world’s fastest bullet train, the Shinkansen. We figured that half an hour would be plenty to arrive, catch some grub and relax in our expensive reserved seats.

What we didn’t realize, however, was that our hotel was a good 5-minute walk from the shinkansen station. Instead, we accidentally took the local train that went all the way around Tokyo to get to it, about an hour and ten minutes out of the way. We just died when we this out, only after missing our scheduled shinkansen, running to the bathroom only to realize they were Japanese-style in-ground toilets, rushing to grab crackers and sushi from the vending machine and making it just in time before the next train left.

When we got on the train our eyes encountered two luxurious, plush, spacious reserved seats including foot rests, food, and warm hand towels. This was as close to first class as I would ever get. Unfortunately, several minutes in to the ride, one of the female conductors discovered when checking our tickets that we were on the wrong train. That mistake made us head to the dreaded unreserved seats...9 cars away! To make things more exciting, between cars 9 and 1, Kavitha and I proceeded to lose her tickets in a bag we threw away, so we had to search every trash can in each car until we finally found her tickets and were able to go back to the inimitable unreserved car. It. Was. Hilarious.

It was a sad goodbye when she left at the Kyoto stop, but I was extremely anxious to see my awaited home away from home: Osaka. The suspense was limited because when you are on a train that travels at 220 kilometers per hour, Osaka is merely minutes away from Kyoto. After I arrived at the station, took the wrong train, got off on the wrong stop, got back on the train, went to the wrong suburb, and finally took the local which stopped at every platform from here to infinity…I made it to Furukawabashi. Although the journey was quite unique, it was the most amazing feeling to see my friend Stacey waiting for me, ready to take me to she and my friend Mike’s apartment.

That night, aloft tatami mats and amidst the night life that is Osaka, my head hit the pillow filled with thoughts of a long day’s journey into a new, year-long adventure.

Day 4: September 16th

Friday was the best day and night of my entire experience in Tokyo. After realizing that I had not bought omiyage, or gifts, for the Fulbright cutie pies I frantically rushed around Tokyo looking for some inexpensive items. Of course, my friend Takara and I were sidetracked by clothes, nail polish, and cafes, but what is a girl to do in the world’s largest city?

As I said goodbye to the wonderful Fulbright office, I was saying HEL-LO to a great night of enjoying the town with my fellow pals. We started off by going to a ritzy restaurant near our hotel, where the water was ¥ 630, or so we thought, until we realized that it was our lack of Japanese language ability, rather than hefty wallet size that was hindering our evening!

We all decided to try out, what else, but Japanese karaoke. Oh yes, put a mike in front of me and I become an animal who craves the spotlight. Diana Ross ain’t got nothin' on me. It was so great to see all my new friends make complete idiots of ourselves, although I have to say, that my friend Joe and I’s rendition of “Dangerous” could be a hit on the Fulbright pop charts.

As the night grew long, we decided that we had to visit the infamous Roppongi, an area of Tokyo where many foreigners to go drink and dance. As we arrived, it felt as though we had entered another world where English was once again a useful language to know. We began the Roppongi party by dancing teaching some Japanese men how to dance, followed by some dancing at popular spots like Gaspanic and the Lexington. Everyone from U.S. military officers and German exchange students were mingling as though it were the world’s largest melting pot. But in a place with so many people, I was bound to run in to some fellow Minnesotans, a group of St. John’s college students, my alma mater’s football rival. Then again, when your own football team’s quarterback runs 80 yards to make a touchdown in the opposing team’s end zone, having rivals is the least of your worries.

While the passed away, it was wonderful to be able to meet people from all over the world, and I had to remind myself over and over that I was in Tokyo, Japan. The revelry kept me from realizing how precious the time is we have to be with our friends, because the very next day we all departed for our new homes for the rest of the year. All I knew as I laid my head down to my pillow the next morning is that Japan is one adventure after the next.

Day 3: Thursday, September 15th

After not nearly enough sleep to recover from the previous night’s reception, all the fellows gathered at the JUSEC (Japan U.S. Educational Commission) office to listen to two current Fulbrighters discuss their experiences in Japan. Ken, a P.h.D candidate from the illustrious and laid-back Berkeley spent his year as a Fulbrighter in Hokkaido, the northern-most island of Japan researching the human rights efforts of the Ainu. The Ainu are indigenous to Japan, but experience vast discrimination, and it felt comforting to know that other Fulbrighters share my interests. Ken was joined by Allison, also conducting her dissertation research on divorce in Japan. She informed me the night prior about Koizumi’s own divorce, which astounded me. Now, how can such a great politician, with some of the world’s most famous hair, ignore the birth of his youngest son? The idiosyncrasies of the Japanese culture are so fascinating, and that is exactly the reason why I am here!

We discussed everything from the nuts and bolts of the grant to how to get an apartment, alien registration, good places to buy books, and earthquake safety 101. Afterwards, a few of us made a sad attempt at using our Japanese to cash our first official Fulbright checks. Imagine a group of ten foreigners entering three wrong banks before they find the right one, and then each one after the other asking the teller, “money please have check.” I just chuckled to myself when the tellers smiled patiently. I mean c’mon, we get to have a little gaijin (foreigner) license, right?

The evening was supposed to be spent with a group dinner, but Kavitha, Takara and I just happened to stumble upon the bright lights of Ginza after we got off the train. Just imagine it: enough money burning a whole through your wallet for two months rent, and miles upon miles of Louis Vuitton, Chanel, Tiffany’s and other Park Avenue stores at your disposal. It was almost too much to bear. The girls and I instead spent an astounding $5 to create our own hanko, which is a stamp that has your name in kanji, or Japanese characters. I was so excited to see the machine carve out the symbol for shiroi, or white. Obviously, cheap things amuse me.

After that difficult night (sarcasm noted), the girls and I craved American food and so we went to the koban (police station) to get directions. Unfortunately, the police officer was so intrigued by our being foreign women that he gave us the wrong directions and the taxi driver just could not believe that a police officer could have done that. So after completely embarrassing ourselves in front of the taxi driver and becoming lost in Ginza, the cutest construction worker actually walked 3 blocks to get us to a T.G.I. Friday’s. Now I literally know the meaning to “thank God it’s Friday.”

So as us chicks bonded over drinks and our stories of applying to law school, we agreed that working with the United Nations would be the coolest job in the world, and that this was going to be one helluva year because of the friendships we’d already forged.

Day 2: Wednesday, September 14th

My first full day in Japan consisted of waking up, bleary-eyed, forgetting where I was for a split-second, and then realizing that the reason I couldn't understand the other voice at the end of the wake-up call was due to the fact I was actually in Japan. Not America.

I met five of the Fulbrighters at breakfast, all wonderful people with very individual interests and unique projects. Takara is a beautiful, petite Southern girl whose lively, bubbly personality makes her seem larger than life. Kavitha is a great Midwestern girl who graduated from Northwestern and deferred Columbia law school to research women's employment rights. Woah. Kenny is a hilarious and absolutely brilliant Stanford grad who's obviously going places, like med-school next year. Joe is my Osaka buddy, he will be studying taiko drumming in Osaka. He has this rye sense of humor that is hilarious and he's so passionate about the arts that it's aazing. Yeon Wha is a stunning New York girl who graduated from architecture school in five years. I felt so out of my league, especially when compared to the fact that these kids were in their Sunday best, while I was ready to start orientation in my Adidas track suit. Not all that comforting.

We entered the Fulbright office, and it was almost as bright and buzzing as the advisors that we had come to know by e-mail. Miyuki, my advisor, is petite, quiet and an absolute cutie-pie, for lack of better words. I also was able to meet the director of the Japanese Fulbright program, David Satterwhite, who is a bright American man who has thousands of stories about his travels to other countries, and also just happens to be a fellow political scientist. The other three Fulbrighters, Roxanne, David and Luke arrived and we all immediately bonded as we listened to each other explain their projects. Each one sounding more interesting than the previous. From brain death to education, Faulkner to suicide, everyone's projects are going to be so interesting to see throughout the year.

We convened for lunch. Ahh yes, my very first traditional Japanese lunch. There are only so many words that can describe what a crawfish head tastes like, or rather raw tuna, or battered fish-tail, or jellied fish eggs. While it was fun to listen to everyone talk about their lives, just a glimpse of what we will come to hear throughout the year, I drank my wonderful green tea and was thankful that at least the atmosphere of traditional tatami mats, screen doors and scrolls was appetizing.

Later that night, dressed to the nines thanks to the fashion-savvy New Yorker, Yeon Wha, we all left for the annual Fulbright reception, where all the grant recipients are met by the Japanese Education ministry, the ambassador to Japan, and many other Fulbright alumni and community supporters. It was simply wonderful. I met Marc, a fellow Koizumi (the Prime Minister of Japan) lover and we gushed about his political attributes, including the all-too famous hair. I met Sony executives, mayors and other wonderfully supportive and intelligent people. Near the end of the evening, I was in a circle of lecturers, the ambassador and two of my Stanford-grad and Northwestern grad Fulbright colleagues, when several of the officials asked me, "are you really from St. Olaf College?" I happily said that yes, I was a proud Ole graduate, and right in front of a sea of Ivy Leagers and other intelligentsia, they exclaimed, "St. Olaf, yes. That is a very good school. We know it well. You are very good if you to go to St. Olaf." I just laughed and couldn't believe that thousands of miles away and amongst some very well-respected people, that my little St. Olaf had them all smiling in awe. Ahh, the pleasures of having a beautiful alma mater.

As we hiked back to the hotel that night, our voices raw from laughing so hard, barely able to keep our eyes open and craving American liquor, we all knew that we had already created some wonderful friendships.

Today's the day. This is the first time I have actually had to sit down and write in my blog, and to really reflect over my first few days here in Japan. They have been amazing, with some twists and turns that have already made for some great story-telling.

I left the states Monday, which of course Tuesday in Japan, and even though I did not even go to sleep the night before I left, I almost missed the flight from Rapid City to Denver. I was so worried because I had about a minute to say good-bye to my mom and dad and my boyfriend Greg who escorted me to the airport. I thought I was about to completely lose it. So in between Kleenexes and getting full-body searched, I was a bit in shambles.

When I arrived in Denver I was informed that my flight had been changed and that I had two minutes to get to the gate, so I figured I was obviously experiencing some evil form of de ja vu. But things changed when I arrived in the luxurious LAX international terminal, where Japanese Airlines put me up in the VIP lounge before leaving the continent. The ride over was long. Ten and a half is just about impossible to humanly stand when crunched into a small seat with terrible in-flight movies. As the plane took-off it finally hit me that I was about to embark upon an entirely new world, and I pondered this as I saw the California coastline get smaller and smaller.

When I arrived at Narita Airport, my lovely seat-mates, Koji and Sachiko wished me luck in my new life in Japan. I breezed through immigration, luckily, and rushed to the baggage claim to realize that because of my flight change, "Kurisuten Howaito san not have bagaji until sree days later." Now those are not fun words to hear after you've been up for 47 hours, but the kindness of the Japanese people shined through as the tall Koji informed me that he and Sachiko wanted to take me all the way to my hotel in Tokyo. Now who can get caught up in lost luggage when you have cuties around like that?

When I got to the stop for my hotel, I realized it was near Ginza, the ritzy part of Japan where Chanel and Cartier are everyday names. Since stores close around 8 p.m. I walked to the nearest department store to purchase the necessities for one who\'s luggage has disappeared, and was immediately overwhelmed. As I found the only pair of pants in the store above a size 2, I flipped the tag over to read that they were 13,600 yen, roughly $136. Even Casio and Timex watches, that can be found in Targets for $10 were hundreds of dollars here.

As I entered the lobby of the HOTEL Villa Fontaine, my wallet much lighter, I felt like royalty staring up in to the 8-story atrium that reflected the Tokyo skyline. I realized that the only way this poor college grad could afford to stay here was because of the generous Japanese government. Yay for diplomatic relations. As I drifted to sleep in my silk duvet, after a nice foot massage and cup of green tea, I felt like a queen. If only my first night in Japan could be this good. I knew that my year was going to be amazing.