Sylvia's Journal

The second day of the workshop was slow because I was sleepy and had gotten up at 3 AM, not able to return to sleep. So by the time we started (9:30) I had already half a day behind me. I tried to yawn inconspicuously.

T. started the day off with her exercise regime that has an untranslatable name and that requires a lot of sound making that are also not translatable – they have some meaning in Japanese but she couldn’t give me any more precision. We rubbed and shook our hands, shoulders, belly and each other’s backs – the kind of thing you couldn’t possible do in Afghanistan in mixed company. There was again much laughing. I concentrated on making the right sounds.

And then all of a sudden the event was over and check in messages appeared on my computer screen. We had a quick debrief with the course coordinator and then headed for a restaurant with about half the group. We had a separate room, good for two hours of eating and having a good time. It was one of those rooms with a low table but, thank heavens, a well underneath so I didn’t have to bend my stiff knees.

Ordering goes electronically. A console with all the items, drink and food, allows for immediate communication with the kitchen and near instant service. I had deferred the ordering to the locals and enjoyed all the delicacies that came out way: Korean potato sandwiches with something that had the texture of cheese food on top, a plate of sashimi (especially for me I think), something that tasted like tiny little knuckles, breaded, a variety of tiny bamboo skewers with various meats on them and accompanied by a sambal like substance, an egg salad (salad with pieces of eggs). It was like a tapas experience – everyone picked at the food while engaged in very animated conversation, occasionally translated. And then of course there was lots of beer and sake which made the conversation even more spirited.

I collapsed once again before I could write in my diary – my internal clock is so utterly confused that once again I woke at 3 AM and was unable to go back to sleep.

This morning I went for a long walk in the neighborhood and saw Japan get to work. Works starts late, between 9 and 9:30 – it is a time to avoid the metro. I remember seeing those images of people being pushed into the cars. I am told this is still happening. So I stayed above ground and watch endless masses, the men dressed more or less alike, the women in endless variations – hurrying into skyscrapers – it could have been New York.

Tessa had asked for Japanese paper so that was my last mission in Japan. I found a paper store that has nine floors, it is, apparently THE paper store (Ito-ya) and clearly a place where I could lose Axel easily if he ever found it. It had the most exquisite paper collection (and that was only on floor 6) I have ever seen with sheets ranging from small (copy paper size) to very large (two flipcharts side by side) and from about a dollar a piece to over 50 dollars apiece. It was very easy to spent 60 dollars on not a whole lot of paper.

And now I am in the Delta lounge at Narita, hovering around the area where a lady in Delta uniform periodically places a tray of sushi rolls. They disappear within a minute so one has to be alert. I am not the only one hovering but I was successful a few times. I had my last Sake and am now trying to prepare myself psychologically for the long trip back, with two days that will collapse into one – hoping that the plane is a little empty in the section where I am seated.

This morning I watched a bunch of elderly Japanese as they ate breakfast and learned how to eat the fermented soy beans with their long thin slimy threads: you keep the cup with the soybeans right by your mouth and shovel the beans in. Slurping is OK. It’s easy that way.

This morning I got up very early, my internal clock still utterly confused. I got myself a canned coffee from the vending machine down the hall – walking there on my hotel slippers and in my hotel kimono – a piece of clothing that is put on my bed daily, nicely starched with the tie neatly folded in an 8-shape on top.

Vending machines are ubiquitous here. There are several machines on each floor: one contains alcoholic beverages, another noodle cups; a third holds a variety of juices and cold teas and then there is a machine dedicated entirely to energy, holding all sorts of booster drinks and several kinds of coffees. I learned that if the label below the item is red the drink comes out hot. If it is blue it comes out cold. It seems obvious now but my first hot can of coffee came as a surprise.

Some 27 eager twenty and thirty-somethings showed up at 9:30 on the first day of their weekend to learn more about leadership. This is one among other sets of skills and knowledge that the Japanese government considers important for a future career in the UN. The Japanese have a similar arrangement that the Dutch (and many other European governments) have with the UN to provide its civil servants. It is what brought my co-facilitator to Hong Kong and then New York, my ex to Lebanon and Yemen and me to Senegal. The Japanese are more intentional about this recruitment process than the Dutch were at the time.

We asked everyone, by way of introduction, to share their dreams (“where do you want to be in 10 years?”) and the answers were moving and inspiring. Although many did not know how to get there, they did know what would give their life meaning: environmental action, education, peace work, a maternity ward in Rwanda…some were very specific others following a vague hunch.

During the morning sessions we talked about how to create open dialogue, what competencies MSH expects from its project leaders and they assessed themselves against these standards. This provided them with some form of guidance for self-development and the host organization with some data on what other kinds of professional development they might want to propose to the government.

In the afternoon, to experience leadership in action, we entered everyone in a fictitious organization with tops, middles and bottoms (workers) to produce messages for the population of a fictitious country on emergency preparedness. The workers were asked to write slogans on how to prepare for weather calamities, earthquakes, radiation and chemical spills, terrorism and epidemics. None of those are farfetched for the Japanese of course. Although in real life most of the participants are at the lower end of the hierarchy, several of them got to experience the stresses and pressures of those above them. For many it was an eye opener that also created much energy and hilarity during the dead hours of after-lunch.

These workshops are not of the kind I am used to where donors pay for travel and lunch and people hold their hands out, obsessing about getting their money. Here people pay to attend and bring their lunch and sacrifice their entire weekend – it is all so very refreshing.

Tokyo is full of convenience stores (Seven-Elevens, Family Marts), I think I have seen one one about every 100 meters. Imagine getting your bento box at the corner shop. They even heat your meal and, if you spend more than 500 Yen you get to draw a chance ticket for a prize. None of us won – our tickets said ‘Challenge Next Time’.

During the afternoon my colleague, who is a teacher of some sort of stress reducing and limbering up exercise regime, got everyone to do just that – an important enrichment of the very long program of the day (9:30-5:30), creating both release and some good laughs.

After the work of the day was done we went to an eating establishment where, several years ago, when Axel had accompanied me, we had enjoyed a stupendous meal. It is a restaurant that is also a pottery shop, serving all its dishes and drinks in or on exquisitely turned and infinitely varied earthenware. At the time we had bought fern-shaped stirrers which have all broken since – unfortunately a discontinued line.

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The restaurant was empty except for us. It is located in a office district in town so its usual clientele had gone home. The owner and her mom treated us as if we were visiting dignitaries, pulling out all the stops. One dainty dish after another, each presented as artfully as food can be presented, was put in front of us after unintelligible consultation between my colleague and the owner.

We started with a tiny lump of a soft cow’s cheese sitting in some savory sauce and decorated with a green dot and a tiny yellow petal. Then came the sashimi from mackerel and bream, served on shredded dakon and carrot and a chrysanthemum leave. This was followed by roasted taro root and soycakes, small fried anchovies on roasted onions and tiny slices of marinated chicken sashimi. The meal was concluded with fragrant rice dotted with black sesame seeds and tiny slivers of salted somethings and miso soup. Just as in Afghanistan, hot tea signaled the end of the meal.

The meal was accompanied by a glass of cool draft to soothe our facilitator throats followed by Sake served, of course, in lovely pottery flask and tiny hand turned cups. We had to actively resist the efforts by the owner’s mom to have us try other great types of Sake though she did succeed in signing my colleague up for some sort of Sake-tasting event in the future.

In Japan it is not proper to fill your own glass or cup as this would indicate that one’s host or table mate is not paying attention. If you don’t watch out you can get drunk easily because your glass never empties no matter how much you drink. And so we filled each other’s cups, me grateful that the flask and cups were tiny.

We are at the halfway point of the workshop and I am only one day away from my departure. It is hard to believe that in a few hours I can already check in online for my return flight.

My first breakfast in Japan was a treat. I mind mapped the various items in two categories: Japanese and ‘western.’ Western included various breads and croissants, yogurt, frosty cereal and cocoa puffs, canned fruit salad, a green salad with a choice of dressings, orange juice, bacon, sausage and eggs and coffee. The Japanese breakfast consisted of rice porridge, various kinds and colors of pickles, fermented soy beans, miso soup with sea weed and other add-ins, steamed rice and green tea.

I tried everything, including the fermented soy beans. This was the most difficult item to eat as the fermentation had produced long thin (slimy) threads that strung between my mouth, the rice gruel bowl and the plastic cup with the beans like a sticky spider web.

A thin blond woman sitting next to me took what looked like lemon wedges that were set out at the buffet table. I thought that was weird but later I discovered they were grapefruit wedges something that I am not allowed to eat anymore because of my cholesterol lowering medication.

I watched the woman closely as the invented an interesting fusion breakfast. First there was with rice gruel to which she added the contents of a small packet of blueberry jam and another of strawberry jam. For her second course she filled up her bowl with steamed rice and added two pieces of gourmet chocolate (judging from the wrapper) that she had brought herself. No wonder Japanese are confused about what westerners eat for breakfast.

My co-trainer met me in the lobby of the hotel and we set out for the training center where we met the person we had been corresponding with. We walked through the notes, made adjustments here and there, divided roles and organized the room and flipcharts. I was also given earthquake instructions (away from windows, under the tables) and was told there had been an earthquake (3-Richter) last night. I had slept right through it and was grateful for that.

The plan for a Thai lunch was nixed when I told my hosts I would like to have as many Japanese meals as is possible during my short stay. And so we had noodles for lunch.

After the workday was over my colleague took me to a Kabuki-like theatre performance of her guru. This relationship allowed us a peak backstage and a greeting from the actress herself, still in her scary spider woman (no, not like the American version) costume with heaps of long monkey hair and enormous brocade robes, a fancy wig and hard and angry make up. Her grandchildren stood nearby gaping at grammy who made them run away shrieking with a playful growl now and then. We received gifts, candy in a fancy box (the Japanese have mastered the art of gifting and packaging) and a symbolic spider web, a small version of the spectacular one she used on stage to cocoon a hapless prince whose sword she was after.

The theatre show runs the entire day and into the night with people showing up at various times to see their favorite actors, teachers, friends or relatives – producing a lot of comings and goings back stage and a general fair-like atmosphere in the lobby. Most of the women in the audience wore their finest kimonos and there was a lot of bowing all around me. I had to keep myself from saying ‘salaam aleikum’ – my brain had not quite made the switch out of Dari – but I mastered the slight bow of the head quickly.

For dinner we met up with another ex-MSHer who is now teaching at Nagasaki School of Public Health. We feasted on sushi and sake in a busy restaurant section of Tokyo and had years of catching up to do.

The old 747 had some troubles leaving Detroit. We returned to the gate to get something fixed. Better on the ground than in the air I thought. I used the time to fill in the empty spaces on Sita’s cross-stitch sampler, long overdue for the first wedding anniversary and now also overdue for her birthday. It will be finished and framed next week. When I ordered the frame I discovered the empty spots.

Maybe it was to make up for lost time that we flew in the direction of the North Pole rather than going west. We never quite lost daylight, first heading north until we went over the top and then heading south. It took out the confusion of crossing the international dateline. Still we skipped a day and my morning and evening pills are all messed up now.

As we made our way up north, after Michigan and then Canada, I watched land turn into water turn into ice and frozen tundras, then high mountains in a vast expanse of white with only the sun’s shadows providing contrast. We were too high to spot any sign of life but I kept looking, wondering if anyone or anything lived down there. For six hours we flew over white.

The plane was only half full in economy, dashing my hopes of an upgrade. The first row comfort seat has fixed armrests. Even without someone sitting next to me I couldn’t annex the seat except to use it as a storage place. But the ‘comfort’ seat was indeed comfortable and I managed to sleep the first few hours of the trip, before total whiteness came into view. After that I followed the changing textures of white with awe.

The movies screen was so positioned that I got the negative view making it impossible to make out who was who. This was an old plane with no personal screens so the option to kill the 12 hours by watching movies was lost. I finished knitting the first of many baby sweaters I expect to be knitting this winter.

The food reminded me of the days when airlines didn’t bother to please their customers. I thought the really bad stuff had been thrown out but I guess I was wrong and they kept it in coolers in Detroit.
It was practically thrown on our tray tables by a hurried flight attendant who had very few people to serve. The quality of the food, announced on a printed menu with choices (we are special in the Comfort class after all), was also thrown together with little eye for aesthetics, in tiny quantities that left me hungry throughout the flight. It was also different from what the menu had promised. I stilled the hunger pangs with chewing gum – holding out for something spectacular once I arrived at my destination.

Tokyo airport, I had forgotten after two years of Kabul, felt like a hospital, all spic and span and aseptic. It was practically empty.

When I last went to Japan I had studied Japanese – completed the 10 half hours on the Pimsleur CD. It didn’t help that much but at least I could say hi and bye and thank you. Now I am completely lost. So far only the foreigners appear to speak English – airport personnel admitting they only speak a little.

I did manage to find the skyline train that takes me to Ueno station. Everything is organized according to one Big Plan. My ticket settled me in car 6 seat 11D – it would be too naughty to sit anywhere else.

A robot trying to sound like a man spoke to the passengers in Japanese from time to time and a more friendly human voice (female but canned as well) reminded everyone repeatedly of the two next stops. A large digital powerpoint slide show provided some diversion from the otherwise not so interesting ride through miles of suburbs. It told us what I already knew, that all seats are reserved and where the bathroom and vending machines where and that one should get a visa card to enjoy the luxuries this country has to offer.

I followed the last of the three options the hotel had provided me for getting from Narita to my room. This required switching from the fast airport line to the local metro in a Union Square kind of station (again not so busy because November 3 is a holiday).

If you look carefully you can find some signs in English but I was too tired to look carefully and approached people in uniform with key words (rather than asking them if they spoke English because I already learned the standard answer is ‘no.’). instead I pronounced the name of the metro line and the station. It work, I got there.

The hotel room was, as I had suspected, tiny – it made me think of those drawers where tired passengers slide into at airports for an hourly fee. My room is only slightly bigger. The toilet is worth a separate blog entry but suffice to say it does much more than being a receptacle.

After depositing my suitcase I returned to the metro where I had spotted a lively tapas place underground – livelier than any of the places I passed by above ground. I had a beer and a plate with a selection of tapas, a reasonable alternative to sushi (all sushi places I spotted were closed). I ate fast, pining for my bed. It was a very long double day and it is time to collapse them back into one very good night.