Letters From Matt #11: Haramachi, Japan: Bubbly Things

 

Postcard from Matt, July 1991. Japan.

Letters From Matt are letters from my brother, Matt, from various of his domestic and international travels. The letters span decades, and I share them on Living Rootless at intervals, in no particular order. 

September 1991
Haramachi, Japan

Dear Mzuri,

Yesterday I bought a plastic aquarium and some inexpensive fish (by Japanese standards, they were cheap, anyway). I was really excited about the purchase and am right now listening happily to the bubbles vibrating the plastic container and making a noise that anyone else would consider annoying 

I set up the project on my big windowsill in my classroom. Hopefully, it will generate a few words of English from my students like maybe "Would you turn that noisy thing off," and maybe some words of admiration from some. 

Not wanting to buy a bag of rocks to cover the bottom, I rode my bike to the beach for my own selection. Surprisingly, I bumped into the new English teacher from the next town. She's a pretty blonde (I told her all your blonde jokes. Ain't I the suave one.) from Connecticut. 

She helped me collect rocks. We oohed and aahed at each one as if we were buying art objects.

As we were hunting for rocks, I spied one of those hand-blown green glass bubbles that were used to keep fish nets afloat. I lunged for it greedily, yelling "Look! It still has the net wrapped around it." I wonder how long it had been floating in the ocean. A typhoon passed through just one day earlier so I guess it brought the bubble along with it. Maybe it had sunk to the bottom of the ocean with a big rotten fish in it and finally after all these years came loose and washed ashore. It's a small glass bubble just bigger than my fist.

Matt's Japanese fishing bubble, years later. Credit: Matt

This morning at 6:30 a friend picked me up at my apartment and we went canoeing in his 13 ft Coleman canoe. The river was high and fast and the canoe not very stable. Water lapped into the boat as we cut through bumpy water. Today is a holiday because of the Autumn equinox, even more special because a full moon has come at the same time and that's good luck. We have a holiday at every solstice and equinox. 

Thanks a lot for the book. I just started it and it's very interesting reading for me now. 

Take care, 

Brother Matt

Letters from Matt #10: Guam

Letters From Matt are letters from my brother, Matt, from various of his domestic and international travels. The letters span decades, and I share them on Living Rootless at intervals, in no particular order. 


September 1990
Guam

Dear Family,

The weather in Japan has finally started to cool down. Today it’s about 70 degrees F and cloudy. They are talking on the news about typhoon #20 which will hit the southern coast some time today. The last typhoon hit the day I left for Guam. It killed 28 people. In my town, however, the only casualties were a couple of TV antennae.

My trip to Guam was fun. First, I went to Tokyo and visited the zoo. I saw several pandas, and a black panther that roared “save the rainforest”! as I passed by. I used the train to get to Tokyo and connected to the subway system to get to the international airport. The trains are very clean and always on time down to the last second. When the train stops a man jumps out with a watch in his hand. They wait one minute for people to get on or get off. Then he blows a whistle and waves a flag. All the doors on the train close at once and off we go again.

When the train reaches the very last station on the line, a crew of custodians rushes aboard and tidies up the train. After cleaning, the conductor presses a button that automatically rotates all the seats to face the other direction, then he goes to the other end of the train and takes off again. This way they never lose time turning the train around.

My friend, Chuck, who is a junior high school teacher on Guam, picked me up at the airport. He teaches in a small school on the less populated south side of the island.

The island is about 250 square miles (about 40 miles long by six miles wide). Population is about 125,000, 42% of which is Chamorro, a people who inhabited the island about 4000 years ago. They are thought to have originated from Malaysia. The school Chuck teaches at is mostly Chamorro.

They are culturally a lot like Filipinos because Magellan landed in Guam in the 16^th century and it became a colony. After the Spanish-American War, the U.S. ruled it under the authority of the Navy. In the 50s, Guam became a territory and now it has a booming Japanese tourist economy.

There is a university in Guam that is fully accredited. The public school is constantly looking for teachers, so they will pay full scholarships for those who want to be teachers. The starting pay with no experience is 24,000 a year. That’s for 184 days of actually showing up to school. I picked up an application and some other info. I’m considering it as a possibility.

While I was in Guam, I taught Chuck’s students about rainforests. They seemed to like it. I wish I had my rainforest rap tape, though.

I made a petition to George Bush for them to sign and located a place they could recycle aluminum cans for money. It felt good for me to do something like that.

Among other activities on Guam, I found time to go snorkeling several times near the coral reefs that surround the island. I don’t think I could ever get bored of looking at such beauty.

Well, I just looked at the clock and realized it’s time to go teach a class. Until next time.

Matt

Letters From Matt, #9: Haramachi, Japan: Fire 'n Ice

Letters From Matt are letters from my brother, Matt, from various of his domestic and international travels. The letters span decades, and I share them on Living Rootless at intervals, in no particular order. 

December 1990

Haramachi (now part of Minamisoma), Japan

Dear Family, 

 

 

…. There are many paradoxes in Japan. One of which I am experiencing this moment. The Japanese are more efficient than Americans when it comes to cars, hot water, and home heating. For instance, the average home does not have a gigantic hot water heater that is constantly keeping large amounts of water at 160 degrees. Rather, they have a very small gas-powered water heater that turns on only when you need the water for a bath. I must heat water on the stove to clean my dishes. Nobody I know ever uses hot water for washing clothes. And it is not unusual to see a solar water heater on top of the house. 

The winter is cold here and yet very few houses have a furnace. Most houses are very cold inside, but they have something called a "kotatsu." It's an electric heater that fits under the dinner table. A blanket is fit between the table top and the kotatsu so that it drapes on the floor trapping all the heat under the table. I am sitting on the straw mat floor this instant with the blanket over my lap and my feet toasty warm under the table. The rest of the apt. is cold. This is the Japanese way. 

Not only does it save tons of energy, but it undoubtedly keeps the family closer together. 

Here's the paradox. 

THERE'S NO INSULATION. NONE. IN THE WHOLE DAMN HOUSE!

So on one hand they are very miserly with generating heat but on the other hand, none of it stays inside the house. 

SO I'M FREEZING! except for my feet, which are burning hot. 

Oh well, I guess every culture has its idiosyncrasies, certainly including our own. 

Matt

 

Letters from Matt #8: Haramachi, Japan: Tea and Toes

 Letters From Matt are letters from my brother, Matt, from various of his domestic and international travels. The letters span decades, and I share them on Living Rootless at intervals, in no particular order. 

11 March, 1993

Haramachi (now part of Minamisoma), Japan

Dear Family,

This morning I went to my last tea ceremony for the next couple of years. One of my students, a 67-year old man, had one of his kimonos altered to fit me and today he presented it to me. He and several others wore kimonos and the ladies helped me get dressed into mine.

The tea ceremony takes place in a very clean, simple room with paper and wood sliding doors, tightly woven straw mats, and a small brazier with hot charcoal and a tea pot sunk into the floor. We sit on our feet like we don’t notice there isn’t any blood getting to our feet. We wait silently while tea – not black tea but a green pasty solution is served to us one at a time. When the person next to me receives his tea he bows to me before drinking it. When I am served mine, I bow to the person on my left. Before slurping the tea down in three (not four) noisy slurps, I must rotate the tea bowl three one-quarter turns. After my slurps, I rotate the bowl again back the way it was.

I then put the bowl back on the floor and inspect it as if it were a wondrous piece of art and not just a very plain looking bowl.

After we’re all finished, I can sit on my side for awhile allowing blood to rush into my feet. I’m invited to stand up and move to the next room, but I decline and say, “I just want to sit for awhile” (at least until I can feel my toes). At another time someone told me that at that moment after the tea ceremony, some people are injured with sprained ankles.

You probably would never have thought that going to a tea ceremony was flirting with danger. Fortunately, I escaped the event with no damage.

Letters From Matt #7: Borneo: Blowdarts and Biosphere

Letters From Matt are letters from my brother, Matt, from various of his domestic and international travels. The letters span decades, and I share them on Living Rootless at intervals, in no particular order.

January 18, 1991

Borneo

Dear Family,

My trip to Borneo was fantastic. I took 200 pictures (all slides). Most of them turned out great.

I found the people to be very hospitable. I hiked into the jungle far away from any roads. An airplane had dropped me off 150 kilometers from the state highway (mostly dirt). A Penan family that lived a nomadic life of subsistence in the forest fed me wild pig that they shot with poison darts and a blowpipe. I spent two days with them speaking no English but learning a little of the Penan language. I tasted many different fruits from the jungle and learned of many different medicines that the Penan produce from plants and animals. The Penan love to dance and are very friendly.

I would like to go back and visit them some time in the future but I’m afraid they may not have a future, for the loggers are supposed to arrive in that area in the next two years. The meat, the fruit, the medicines and the dancing, smiling people who have lived there forever will disappear.

There is an effort afoot to make the area I visited into a United Nations Biosphere Reserve. A fancy version of a park that requires a treaty. Of course, the native people would still live there and tourists would be welcome. Only the loggers would be somewhat restricted.

One of the people I met gave me a blowpipe with darts as a gift. I also have acquired several baskets and samples of native medicine that I would like to show people when I get home.

Now I’m safely back in Japan and am looking forward to my next trip which will be in April. I’m thinking about Thailand or possibly Indonesia. 

Tell everyone I said hi.

Matt

Letters from Matt #6: Eagle River, Alaska: Birdsong and Wind

Letters From Matt are letters from my brother, Matt, from various of his domestic and international travels. The letters span decades, and I share them on Living Rootless at intervals, in no particular order. 

23 May 1984

Eagle River, Alaska

Dear family,

I have been driving now for a very, very long time. I feel as if I’ve almost driven around the world. Right now I’m a few miles west of Haines Junction, Yukon Territory. It’s very nice – right among the Kuane Mountain range; snow is in the high spots and in the creek and river bottom; pine trees abound.

The strangest experience is that of being alone for over a week. I took a hiker from Columbia to Kansas City and another from Kansas City to Denver. I had a beer with a gas station attendant in Deer Creek, Alberta, and the night before last I conversed all night with an Indian. So I’ve talked to no more than 5 or 6 people all week. There are no words to make a good description of what it’s like because it’s perfectly silent save bird songs and the wind. When you don’t have anyone to talk to, the mind activity is streamlined and accelerated. That doesn’t mean I’m getting any smarter, it just means I’m getting a short dose (temporary, of course) of craziness.

I know it shouldn’t have happened and wouldn’t have happened if I were keeping good records, but I’m not sure whether it’s Saturday or Sunday. Luckily, I’ll be able to find out next time I buy some gas. But what would happen if I were off the road and not near a gas station. It kind of makes me wonder just how long I would last.

With four exceptions, most of my experiences have been visual (I’ve got two rolls of film to prove that). I won’t bore you anymore with any of it, but I did at least want to get a letter off so you could know I’m still alive and that I’ll probably make it. I only have about 600 miles to go. I should be in Anchorage tomorrow evening (Sunday or Monday – maybe Tuesday, who knows).

Love,

Matt

P.S. Did you know that it doesn’t get dark here til after 11:00 p.m. and it gets light about 4:00 a.m.? It makes bedtime seem like an afternoon nap.

Letters from Matt #5: Wassenaar, Netherlands: I Am Christopher Robin

Letters From Matt are letters from my brother, Matt, from various of his domestic and international travels. The letters span decades, and I share them on Living Rootless at intervals, in no particular order.

15 July 1998

Wassenaar, Netherlands

Dear Family,

At the moment, I’m back in Wassenar. This place is fantastically pleasant. It’s so quiet, cool, and green here. Bicycles glide effortlessly along smooth bike paths, crossing arched bridges across still, black canal waters speckled green with duckweed.

The trails take you forever through ancient woods to hidden meadows and secluded ponds with cattails on one end, two boys fishing on the other end. Onward through the woods, an elderly couple stroll arm in arm, slowly, quietly.

I come upon a velvety green meadow. No one but me. The sun comes out. The air is cool yet the sun feels warm on my skin. Burying my face in the grass the smell of warm wet grass brings a flood of childhood imagery in the backyard of Bradley Road or the lawns of our house in Middle Bass or Sudden Valley. Brother #1 says he wishes you could see it. I think it’s great medicine.

I think I’m Christopher Robin.

Love,

Matt

Letters from Matt #4: Haramachi, Japan: Fear in My Eyes

Letters From Matt are letters from my brother, Matt, from various of his domestic and international travels. The letters span decades, and I share them on Living Rootless at intervals, in no particular order. 

8 July 1990

Haramachi (now part of Minamisoma), Japan

Dear family,

… Today was a beautiful day. I went to the beach with about a half a dozen students and friends. The people here are so nice to me. (But I have to be careful – last night at a party, some girls asked me what my blood type was.)

We went swimming in the ocean. I got sunburned on my face and legs. I can feel the heat now, especially on my legs, as I lay on my futon writing this letter. The waves were enormous, frothy, and crashing down on me – filling my nose and mouth with salty water. After getting out, my skin was sticky with salt. Many Japanese were surfing today. One of our friends brought two surfboards. He offered for me to try, but I had already swallowed enough ocean for the day. Maybe next time.

One of the girls made lunch. It’s amazing how carefully prepared Japanese food is. She made egg salad sandwiches with white bread - sounds simple, but she sliced the crust away from each sandwich and arranged them neatly and tightly; packed in a box as if they were made for astronauts.

She also made fried chicken drumsticks. The skin and meat from the smaller end of the drumstick were peeled upward so as to leave bare bone on one side that could be used like a handle for eating without getting your fingers greasy. It was like a popsicle sort of. The end of the bare bone was wrapped in foil to be sure no grease touched your hand.

After a nice long day at the beach, we went out to a restaurant. While we ate, they taught me some Japanese phrases like – Anata wan han sai des? means how old are you? and biru kudasai means I’ll have a beer, please. The latter phrase could be quite useful, so in gratitude, I taught them a couple expressions such as I drank like a fish and I’m going to sleep like a log. 

Oh yeah, at the beach I started to build a sand castle. The girls were very curious of my strange, child-like behavior I guess, but they started to bring me water to help make the sand wet for me. Then a couple of guys built a wall around it. When finished, it was about a meter tall (we’ve gone metric in Japan; so sorry) with towers and flags, a moat with a drawbridge. When we left, the tide had just begun to slosh water through the gates and into the moat. It was cool.

Last night, at my suggestion, all the adult students (mostly female between the ages of 18 and 28) joined in a party to celebrate Independence Day, a farewell to a student leaving for Australia, a birthday, my one-month anniversary of Japan life, and Tanabata.

Tanabata is a Japanese holiday that has something to do with some sort of stellar convergence that happens once a year on about July 7th. Anyway, part of the tradition is to have a tanabata tree, a leafy top section of a bamboo (which grows abundantly in these parts). The tree is decorated almost like a Christmas tree with little pieces of colored paper folded into many different shapes. Then everybody writes a wish on a piece of colored paper and attaches it to the tree. This ritual, along with the stellar convergence, is supposed to make all of your dreams come true.

Well, anyway, one of the girls brought a Tanabata tree to the party, along with lots of little pieces of colored paper. She showed me how to fold the paper into a paper balloon and I and others made a wish to place on the tree. It was fun.

The party, at my suggestion, was held on the roof of the school, one of the tallest buildings in town. The moon was full. You could see the shadows of mountains in the distance, a few kilometers away. (So sorry, metric again neh. Eeeeee. I think I’m turning Japanese neh.)

G*, a girl who I’ve got a crush on, brought a big plate of sushi. She fixed a big plate for me. Oh no!!!!!! The raw fish kind of sushi is no problem. I even like it kind of. But she honored me with the more expensive delicacy of raw salmon eggs wrapped in seaweed. 

Salmon eggs --> Human delicacy. Photo credit: Randy Johnson

Because of the way it is here, you are supposed to put the whole thing in your mouth all at once. Somebody sensed the fear in my eyes so they rushed the video camera and spotlight over to me. The whole group watched the barbarian almost gag on what they consider heaven. All I could think of was, yeah, I’ve seen this stuff before in jars in the sporting goods department at Sears – used as FISH BAIT! 

Salmon eggs --> Fish bait. Credit: OLX.

I almost threw up, but didn’t. My honor was left intact and I soon recovered after a few beers. …

Sayanara,

Matt

Letters from Matt #3: Tulum, Mexico: Stung by Stingray!

 Letters From Matt are letters from my brother, Matt, from various of his domestic and international travels. The letters span decades, and I share them on Living Rootless at intervals, in no particular order.

Stingrays. Credit: Wikimedia Commons

14 July 2003

Tulum, Mexico

Dear Mzuri,

Now I am living on the beach in Tulum. My hut has a thatched roof, stick walls, a flimsy door, a concrete floor, a dirty bed, but with washed sheets. This is one of the best huts because it has a concrete floor and a bed and it is closest to the beach so I get blasted with a fierce ocean breeze that keeps me cool and eliminates all but a few mosquitoes. I sleep with the doors open all night feeling the breeze and the ocean glimmering in the moonlight and framed in palm trees. The ocean is just 150 feet from my door. Beautiful girls from Europe sunbathe topless outside my thatched-roof front porch, where I stay in the shade most of the day.

Yesterday, I was snorkeling … I saw a small manta ray laying in the sand under water a half kilometer from the shore. I went under to agitate it just a little to see it wave its winglike body so gracefully like a butterfly. It wasn’t a manta ray, but a stingray.

His tail stung my hand, leaving it bleeding and paralyzed with pain. I tried to squeeze out any venomous or infectious stuff or stinger even though I don’t know if any of these things are a part of a stingray’s bite. My fingers couldn’t move and the light bleeding wasn’t stopping immediately so I swam to shore without the use of my left hand. By the time I got to shore, my hand felt like it was on fire and someone put out the fire by smashing it with a hammer. Soreness moved up my arm almost up to my shoulder. This lasted about two hours.

Concerned onlookers offered thoughtful suggestions for treatment. The first was from a guy who helped around the scuba shack.  He was a tall and thin Mexican man, a heavy drinker and smoker who like others had found a lifestyle hanging around the beach catching work where he could find it. He had many tattoos,very muscular, had skin like leather.  In previous conversation I found he knew something about traditional healing.  He earlier mentioned a kind of wood that could be brewed in tea to treat kidney stones. His suggestion for the treatment of a stingray sting was to allow a friend to urinate on the wound. The tourists and locals who were standing by looked at me to see what I would say, then away from me or to the sand as if realizing I might recruit them.  I suggested I would pass on that treatment

A Mexican guy poured alcohol on it and then swabbed it with merthiolate. His name is Iban. I thought Iban liked me, but after his first aid, I’m not sure, because that hurt like hell.

A French-Canadian gave me some Bactarin ointment. I guess this may have helped prevent any chance of infection, but nothing for pain.

An Israeli asked if I wanted something for pain. Damn right I did. He gave me a little white pill. He couldn’t remember the over-the-counter name, but said it was good and would work in a few minutes. He was right. My hand feels fine now. However, people keep melting in front of my eyes and a palm tree turned into a bird and flew away.

Just kidding about those last two details. I’m fine now and see the world as a benevolent place. … Anyway, I want to get back to the beach, now that I know the difference between a manta ray and a stingray.

And now I know why they say don’t touch anything in the ocean.

Ciao,

Mateo

Letters from Matt #2: Tulum, Mexico: Medical Emergency!

Letters From Matt are letters from my brother, Matt, from various of his domestic and international travels. The letters span decades, and I share them on Living Rootless at intervals, in no particular order.

Mexico. Credit: Matt

1 August 2003. Tulum, Mexico.

Dear Mzuri,

I have been caught up in the powerful windy vortex of beach life, mesmerized by the sea's vast emptiness and captivated by the constant adventures and treasures that wash up on the shores.

It is a big day if I learn a new Spanish phrase, meet a new friend, snorkel on the reef, find a shell, swim in a freshwater sinkhole called a cenote, and cook a wonderful meal with my improvised kitchen on the beach.

I have the best cabana on the beach, Cabana 13. It is a natural magnet, a gateway, a garden of beauty, and I am its king, and it is my palace. I lay in my hammock and court visitors, vendors, vagabonds, vegetarians, vegans, and varmints.

The night before last, my palace was invaded by the return of an agonizing pain in my kidneys [that] I'd experienced 10 years ago. It happened at midnight after having gone to bed an hour earlier. I was agonizing with pain for six hours before waking up my Swiss friend, who happens to be a medical assistant. She had wanted to see the sunrise, so in tears, I said please wake up and see the sunrise, and then take me to the hospital.

We took the taxi an hour's painful drive to the nearest hospital where M* and I had to learn new Spanish such as rinyon for kidney and piedra for stone. (Every experience has its opportunity for learning.)

Four doctors attended to me along with a radiologist and nurse. With my Swiss friend to be my companion, the kindness of the medical staff, including a urologist who drove an hour to consult on my condition, I was in good hands. I had an allergic reaction that they had to quickly counter with a hydrocortisone shot.

I was in the hospital about seven hours and spent five hundred dollars. Cheap if you ask me, because I would have let them take anything to relieve such pain. The x-ray confirmed a 1.2 cm kidney stone, up from the 7 mm stone I had 10 years ago. They gave me some pain killers, some anti-inflammatory drugs, and an antibiotic, and Claritin E and said I could finish my vacation and take the surgery or other resolution to the problem when I return home. The urologist said my only risk would be more pain and not damage to my health.

.... my friends from Switzerland and Mexico just found me here in the internet cafe and are ordering me a banana smoothie with milk. The girls picked up some medication for me from the pharmacy and brought me some chicken, chili peppers, broccoli, and other items for us to barbecue on the beach tonight.

Life is good and even out of the dark comes light.

Adventurously,

Mateo

Letters From Matt #1, Tulum, Mexico: What's Going On?

Letters From Matt are letters from my brother, Matt, from various of his domestic and international travels. The letters span decades, and I share them on Living Rootless at intervals, in no particular order.



18 July 2003. Tulum, Mexico.

Dear Mzuri,

Just checking in. It's hard to spend much time on the computer now. I think I might be having an impending diarrhea event. You know the feeling. Otherwise life is great in Tulum.

I'm surprised I haven't heard from Mom or Sister 2. I was hoping to respond to their emails. As I said, it is easy for me to push the reply on my screen as I can't carry a sweaty piece of paper in my pocket [with their email addresses on it] if I'm hitchhiking six kilometers to town and sitting in a hot cafe with diarrhea and look up their address.

I also am worried that although I replied to Sister 2 with a question about how Maya is doing, I have not received a reply. This makes me imagine she is dead and therefore Sister 2 has decided not to reply so my trip is ruined with bad news. I would rather know than to imagine the worst, so please ask her to reply. Of course, now I know she will just tell me what I want to hear even though my dog has been kidnapped for dissection in a biology experiment or sacrificed in a satanic ritual.

Give everyone my love. TELL ME IF MAYA IS OK.

Oh, and if anyone visits my house, please take in the mail as I forgot to stop my mail before I left. Mzuri, I see you went to Mokabe's, but did you stop at my house? If so, did it burn down or been taken over by drug dealers?

Ok. I think I have to finally go to the bathroom.

Ciao,
Mateo.

Maya, RIP 2011