Tano-cho Vida: Happy Birthday, Emily!

It's my older sister's birthday. She is a young and plucky 28. Congratulations, sis. Congratulations.

Today, I fulfilled a long-cherished wish and bought a bicycle. I went to my local hardware store that carries anything and everything you may possibly need in inaka - except ___. Here I was trying to be obnoxious and cynical, but I honestly can't think of what else I might need. Hm.

The bicycles were lined up outside, soaking up the hot September sun, and one of the salespeople led me over to view them. I pointed out the ones that had caught my eye as being not horrendously old-lady-ish, and added that I thought they might be too small for me. (I have long white girl legs - they're not long by white people standards, but they're definitely long compared to the petite frames of Japanese ladies.) He thought about this and pulled one out, messed with the seat and said, give it a try. I didn't have to figure out how to tell him, "I haven't ridden a bike in over 10 years" in Japanese. He knew that by watching. He was very polite about the whole adventure, even though he looked a bit nervous letting me on the next bike after the first one was so shockingly uncontrollable.

I tried several bikes. On more than one of them, I burned my tush because of that hot September sun and the extraordinary ability of black latex to soak it up. (The salesman did laugh at that.) But eventually I settled on a cheapish black bike, very svelte and sturdy looking, no strange hangy-out parts to catch on passing trees and bushes, and a practical little basket on the front for my groceries. Ossan tried to show me a bike that changed gears, but I told him it would be too difficult for me to learn how to use. I only just learned to drive a stick-shift with any sort of confidence. I really think the bike version is beyond me. He laughed at that too.

On a side-note.

Inaka is very different from the rest of Japan. Many JETs and former JETs during Pre-departure Orientation, Tokyo Orientation, and Kochi Orientation said that the Japanese are very formal and distant and really separate home and work and won't be very accessible. This is probably quite true in big cities, or even relatively large cities, but in the rural world of mura and cho, just forget it. Say hello to everyone, smile at everyone, and say I'm sorry and thank you to everyone, and you would be amazed at the response. Old ladies who look like they can't find a smile under all their wrinkles suddenly break out beaming at me and returning my shy "konnichiwa" with a strong, self-confident, "KonNIchiWAAA". Men who are as dark as red clay from working in the rice paddies or on construction sites start giggling when I do a little half-bow-while-walking, and return my greetings gladly. Not that there aren't some people who ignore me. But for every one villager who walks by sulkily, there are twenty who smile, bob, and grin happily when I try my hand at a cheery Ohaiyo Gozaimasu or Atsui, ne? The people who work here are the same way. When I say silly little nothings in broken Japanese, they get a huge kick out of it and chuckle along and seem to try to tell me similar things, but I cannot understand them.

Back to the story.

You have to register your bicycle like you would register your car. I tried to explain that I can write my address in kanji, but I couldn't say it correctly, so the gentleman wrote it down for me. And as it turned out, it was pre-printed, so really all he needed was my apartment number. We finished all the money handling and wheeled my LBB (little black bike) outside. The gentleman, with parental anxiety, showed me how to work the kickstand and anti-theft key-ring-thing. Ten minutes later when I proved I understood how to use both, he handed the bike over and watched me nervously as I ineptly climbed on and set my sights on the open road.

Arigatou gozaimasu.

Hai, arigato gozaimashita.

After one truly alarming wobble, I set out for the parking lot to practice my turns.

I ended up biking for about an hour or so, and no not because I couldn't figure out how to stop. I live closer to the ocean, but Tano actually stretches pretty far back into the hills, rolling green on rolling green, tall trees, short rice paddies, a few rivers, some tiny waterfalls, and a surprising number of dilapidated houses. I almost had a stroke going up one hill and decided to stick to the flats after that. But here are some pics from the mount.