Yesterday I got to cut out early and run in to Kobe to get my re-entry permit for my trip to Australia. Apparently, every time I leave Japan and want to come back it costs 3000 yen (about $25). I got a multiple re-entry permit good for one year that will allow me to come and go as I please as much as I want for 6000 yen.
I had to wait in a long line, and none of the government employees spoke English… that was a big surprise. The place was full of foreigners like me, and we were all just guessing how to fill out the forms. At one point I found out that you had to buy a sticker to put on the form to prove that you had paid the 6000 yen. It turns out the stickers are sold downstairs in a convenience store – talk about strange. So I walked down and bought the sticker and went back, then told everyone how to do it. The room cleared, and everyone went downstairs. The employees were nice enough to speak slow Japanese, so everything was OK in the end. I stuck my sticker, and now I’m cleared for departure.
The government office thing took a lot longer than I expected, so by the time I got home it was almost time to go out again and attend my year end party.
While I was waiting for Mr. Komuri at Akashi station I bumped into fellow ALTs Chris and Lisa. They met while on the JET program and have been a happy couple in Japan for almost two years now. Chris is an especially nice guy. He has a good sense of humor and perspective. They were heading off to their own year end party, so they wished me luck. Mr. Komuri showed up and we took the train to Kobe.
Worth noting here is that I suggested the train route to get there – we changed trains once at a strategic station and saved a lot of time. Mr. Komuri was surprised, and he rides the trains all the time. I think I’ve got a pretty good grasp of the train system around Kobe – I’ve gone plenty of times, I guess.
We got to Kobe and Mr. Komuri wanted to take me on a tour of Chinatown. The Chinatown district of Kobe was quite big, and merits a lot more time than we spent there. There are so many tiny shops with food – you could walk around and sample so many things. Since we had a big dinner ahead of us, we had to just look. Still it was a cool part of town that I didn’t know about before, so I’ll definitely be back.
We got to the party – it was being held just south of Chinatown in the Hotel Okura. It’s a very nice hotel – maybe the most famous in Kobe. We walked into the lobby, and were instantly treated like visiting royalty. Two of the staff approached with big bows and asked politely how they could help us. Mr. Komuri explained about the party, and one of the staff led us personally to the elevator, and then we were on our way to the 34th floor – with a beautiful view of the Port of Kobe.
The party is something paid for by all the teachers. They take a small bit of your salary out every month, and then use it at the end of the year to pay for the party. It’s kind of a pressure relief valve – lots of uptight teachers get to let their hair down and relax. Only full-time teachers are invited to attend, with me being the most notable exception. They did invite the janitor and his assistant, which I thought was very nice.
Things started out quiet enough – there were speeches that I didn’t understand, and we ate dinner dish by dish. They would bring out a dish, and then we would all eat it, and then they’d bring another one.
The service was extraordinary. There was a server for each table, and then a backup for each table to cover in case the first server was busy right when you needed something. It was by far the best service I have ever had at a restaurant. You were left to concentrate on the food and the company, and you never noticed how effortlessly they moved around. Each dish came out and there was a presentation. The server placed the dish on the big rotating wheel on our table, spun it around once so that everyone could check it out, and then she served individual portions. The food was Chinese, and it was very good. It was somewhat Japan-ized, but the flavors were great.
Even as dinner was continuing, the strange drinking ritual began. In Japan it is considered impolite to pour your own drinks. You pour drinks for your companions, and they in turn pour drinks for you. Our group occupied a large banquet room with six tables, and I noticed that some people were walking from table to table, pouring drinks for people. Only an hour into the party, some people were giggling and laughing and slurring their Japanese in an amusing way (at least amusing to me).
I asked Mr. Komuri if I should be walking around pouring for people, but he just grinned. He said that my salary is the same every year, so there is no reason to be “grinding seeds” (kissing ass). I laughed at that – and he was probably right. Instead I concentrated on keeping the glasses at my own table full.
Drunken Bingo began soon after dinner, with three teachers up in the front calling out numbers in Japanese, and me struggling to figure out if I had the right number or not. Unfortunately, I didn’t win. Still people walked around pouring. My glass never got less that two thirds full, and that’s with me drinking pretty heavily. Everyone wanted to pour for the American guy, and so I never really even got up. Later I figured out that I didn’t have to drink every time someone came by – I could leave my glass full. Then people came around with liquor, sake and wine, and so at the end of the night I had four full glasses of different alcohol in front of me.
I had heard that Japanese people tend to get drunk quickly, and it was true at least with my teachers. The ones that were driving that night were fine, but some people were train wrecks. The janitor’s assistant was babbling in Japanese at Miss Yamamoto, one of my adult class students brought a whole bottle of red wine and wanted me to evaluate it with her, and people were stumbling around carrying big bottles of beer. I can’t begin to describe to chaos in there.
As things wrapped up, Mr. Komuri told me about one of the teachers that is retiring next year – he had invited some of the teachers to go out drinking with him, and Mr. Komuri wanted to know if it was all right for him to go off without me. The soon-to-be-retired teacher in question was sleeping on the floor in the corner, so I figure they had a good time. I made my way to the elevator, and joined a bunch of my drunk co-workers in a long elevator ride down. Some teachers pushed random buttons on the elevator, so we had to wait a long time to get to the lobby.
I split off from the main group and took a shortcut, and then met another group of teachers at the station. They asked where I was going, and when I told them, they said that I was at the wrong station. I know my way around pretty well, even after all those drinks, but they were adamant. They assigned one drunken teacher to show me the way, and he led me into a subway, and showed me the price board.
I’ll be a monkey’s uncle if they didn’t have my hometown (Futami) on the fare board. He insisted that I pay the 800 yen fee, and then we went into the subway. He was going the other way, but pointed at the train track where my train was going to arrive, and then took off.
I know my town pretty well, and I’m very sure that the subway from Kobe doesn’t run into Futami. That’s like getting on BART in San Francisco and getting off at the Sonoma station. It just doesn’t exist. Besides, I would have heard about it a long time ago. Since I had already dropped 800 yen, I got on the next train, and went along with the ride.
The farther I went, the more sure I was that it couldn’t be right. But, then why did my hometown have a sign in the station?
After three stops, I chickened out and got off the subway, cashed out my ticket, and went up onto the surface streets. From there it was a short walk to the train I usually use, and I was home in thirty minutes. Upon reflection, I figure that somewhere along the subway line is a place where I would transfer to a bus, and the bus would take me back. Next time I’ll stick to my guns and take the right train.
