3 - Disorientation

Lest my time in Tokyo sound, dear reader, like little more than a two day jolly, I feel compelled to inform you that it was all in the name of cultural acclimatisation. Besides, being looked after in a plush western hotel offered us the chance to dip our toes in the foreign waters of Japan, rather than, say, being thrust into a kimono and left kneeling on tatami mats whilst intrigued onlookers awaited our lengthy self-introduction in fluent Japanese. All this would come in time of course but for now, the easier proceedings were the better.

We had a full day of conferences, talks and hopping around like rabbits (more on that in a bit) to give us a whistle-stop overview of life here as an English teacher. All was handled with a ruthless efficiency, even if some of the speakers were blessed with the sort of sparkling delivery usually found at lectures on east European crop rotation. In general though, we were helpfully informed that Japan is a foreign country and things are done differently here. And you don't want to go into someone's house with your shoes on. You really don't.

So, a decent culture-clash anecdote aside (a Japanese teacher fondly remembering his bemusement at being asked if he liked harikuri by a beaming Australian teen - her accent was apparently a little too thick to clearly pronounce "Hello Kitty"), we were starting to succumb to the post-lunch urge to nap. The info being dished out was bound to come in useful, but that buffet had been laid on a little too well.

However, I did say that proceedings had been organised with a ruthless efficiency, so, sensing the heavy snores gradually filling the room, on leapt Richard "Genki English" Graham. A Yorkshireman, and a suspiciously cheery and hyperactive one at that, he's pretty much a rookie teacher's best friend. As a JET he was lumped with the task of teaching very young kids English; a position made doubly difficult by the fact that there was neither a curriculum nor a teacher with any English ability at the school. Three years on he'd become pretty good at it and toured Japan in a clapped-out VW campervan, urging elementary schools to introduce their kids to the language in a fun and engaging way. He's now something of a celebrity (I thoroughly recommend www.genkienglish.com to anyone with even a passing interest in English language teaching), not to mention a master at getting people to make idiots of themselves. Unveiling some of his foolproof kids' games, we were soon bounding about as orangutans and singing our names to complete strangers. The talk though, memorable as it was, left me gripped with a gnawing fear that I'd largely ignored up until now - good god, I'm supposed to be a teacher.

You'd expect a dentist to have a brief idea about how many teeth you should have before he started prodding around in your mouth, so similarly you'd expect a teacher to have some experience before he was turned loose as an "educator and shaper of young lives". I, however, had none, and frankly it was starting to terrify me. Not much has changed since then, but I take some comfort in the fact that even seasoned pros have turned to me to say that they winged the lesson plan and weren't sure if it would work. Besides, getting a group of kids to tear around a room screeching the sentence you've just taught them makes up for all the times it goes to pot.

So, heads buzzing with stacks of good ideas, we stumbled from conference room to welcome drinks party in a semiconscious daze. This was our first taste of Japanese drinking etiquette: a rigorous, formalised evolution of binge-drinking. The hardest part is waiting for the magical shout of "kampai!", as up until then you have to hold your beer for a good ten minutes without touching a drop. After that though it's all go, and people typically insist on topping your glass up before you've taken a sip. I could get used to this...

After everything I was ready to crash out. The next day I was off at the crack of dawn to my new home, so I was a little reluctant to go out on the tiles.

Oh sod it, like hell I was.

















Bonkers

As if working our way through the Big Book of Stereotypical Pub Crawls, we found ourselves out drinking with two Irish guys. In an Irish pub. Quite possibly the only place in Tokyo where ordering a beer in Japanese could provoke a wince from the barman, followed by a clarifying point to a name badge reading "Dylan." A few pints of Kilkenny's later (which, I'm reliably informed, the Irish definitely don't drink) and my idea of an early night was seeming as distant as it was unfathomable. We rode the train a few stops to Shibuya, a neon-lit consumer's paradise that makes even Times Square shift nervously.

Emerging from the station was an experience akin to seeing that massive spaceship going overhead in Star Wars for the first time. It's mindboggling huge, overflowing with light, noise and people. And oh, the people! Swarms of them, all dressed like an Australian's nightmare: bangles galore and brightly coloured hair cascading onto their shoulders. The traffic filling the 8-lane street suddenly parted to reveal the largest zebra-crossing known to man. On cue, a great tide of pedestrians surged across from both sides; much like, you'd assume, the largest game of British Bulldog you've ever seen.

So, I didn't get that early night, but I did get to natter to locals and discover the delights of cold sake. It all helped quell my nerves about shipping out the next day, where, I expected, the real Japan would begin. And I now know that finding an Irishman and suggesting a quick pint is a surefire way to take your mind off anything even remotely bothering you. Turns out the guys we were with had done the same the night before and slept through all of the day's lectures, waking up just in time for the welcome drinks, recruiting us and doing it all over again. God bless you JET Programme, god bless ya!