Fuji: a mountain so nice we may climb it twice

The tallest summit in Japan, Mount Fuji, rises to 12,388 feet.

You don't have to be in Japan long before you hear the adage: "A wise man climbs Mt. Fuji once but only a fool climbs it twice," or something to that effect. When asked if they had ever climbed it, most of my Japanese friends and students say "Oh," slight chuckle,"no," as if it was a silly question. I was beginning to think foreigners were the only people who hiked up this thing! As it turns out, crazy foreigners do comprise a large portion of Mt. Fuji's yearly visitors and on July 17, 2010, Kyle and I, along with our friends, Darin and Tim, were among that daring pack of gaijin.

(Ann blends in seamlessly with Japanese hikers.)

With backpacks full and toenails neatly trimmed, we boarded the MWR bus at 4 a.m. bound for Mt. Fuji's Kowaguchiko 5th station. There are four 5th stations on different sides of the mountain. This is where the paved roads end and most climbers begin their ascent. We were told by our MWR tour guide that the average hiker takes about six hours to reach the summit. Kyle, perhaps feeling the effects of the Red Bull he just slammed, confidently predicts it will take us only four. Easy, Champ. Calm down. Meanwhile, I quietly set my own goal of making it to the top without vomiting and/or having to buy a $12 can of oxygen.

My friend Mari, who had completed the Fuji climb the weekend before, recommended I drink a Go Girl energy beverage before the hike. Mmmm! Deliciously energizing. Thanks, Mari! Bring it, Fuji! After purchasing our walking sticks, slathering on sunblock and snapping a few pre-hike photos, we set out from the 5th station around 6:40am.

But just five minutes into the hike and a mere 15 minutes after having used the bathroom at the 5th station, I discovered why they call it "Go Girl." I had to pee already! I couldn't even wait until the next rest station so I had to use the less-than-savory Port-a-Potty whose previous occupant was apparently trying to extinguish a fire with his own urine. The whole thing was soaked--gross! Oh, well. The break gave us a chance to remove the annoying bells from our walking sticks. Jing-a-ling-ling up and a down a mountain for seven hours? No thanks.

It didn't take long for me to work up a good sweat and get the legs burning. Kyle, on the other hand, was like some sort of human-mountain goat hybrid who garners super strength and endurance from peanut butter and sugarless gum. I had what I thought was a pretty decent pace going. I was even feeling kind of badass. But after being left in Kyle's volcanic dust and seeing elderly Japanese ladies and chain-smoking men chugging along with me, I was promptly knocked down a peg.

Not to worry. The weather was perfect, wind was calm and fellow climbers were friendly and encouraging. We cheerfully plugged along, maneuvering our way over the craggy volcanic rock and gravel trails. The pace slowed at the narrow portions of the trail and provided a few moments to catch your breath. We stopped at each rest station along the way to get our souvenir stamps seared into our walking sticks.

The rest huts sold exorbitantly priced snacks, drinks and canned oxygen and you even had to pay a couple hundred yen just to use the crapper. But it's a small price to pay for luxurious mountain-side facilities. (See photo below).

At the second to last station from the summit, the entire remainder of the trail is visible and rather depressing. It looked like an endless zigzag to the top. But alas, it ended and we made it! We quickly got our final "I was here" stamp on our sticks, paid a small fortune for post cards and headed to the rim of the crater for a lunch of trailmix and Clif bars. Ah, refreshing. And what a relief, the hard part was over. Or was it!?

My husband, a.k.a. Clark W. Griswold, bless his heart, was not going to leave an inch of this mountain unexplored. We once again set out for a mini-hike around the peak's crater. The three kilometer hike around the crater took us to Japan's highest post office, the "off limits" weather station and through a "closed-due-to-snow" portion of the trail. We ignored the signs and trekked across the snowy slope. It was touch and go at points but we made it.

After one final breather and a celebratory Asahi beer, it was time for the descent. This is definitely the hardest part and can best be described as volcanic gravel foot skiing. It was during this treacherous part of the journey that I sustained the day's only injury (unless you count Kyle's scalp sunburn). I blame this partially on Tim and a hilarious story about his 85-year-old father walking around Florence all day thinking he had a pebble in his shoe only to remove his shoe and realize it was actually a shoehorn! Funny, right? I thought so. I started laughing so hard that I lost my balance, fell smack on my bum and scraped up my arm.

Kyle also had a close call on the descent after his slow jog turned into an out-of-control sprint. Legs churning wildly down the mountain and arms flailing like a crazed Muppet, his water bottle flew from his backpack hitting some unsuspecting lady in the head. Gomennasai! Luckily, the bottle was empty.

The rest of the descent was drama-free. Although there was a young Japanese man who approached and asked me for a "high-touch." Lucky for him I was aware that a high-touch is Japanese for a high-five. Otherwise I would've assumed he was a perv looking to cop a feel and promptly shoved him down the embankment. I graciously offered my hand as he proceeded to give the world's gentlest, clammiest hi-five. It was actually kind of creepy...

Thanks to creepy high-touch man, the guys climbing Fuji in dinosaur and Batman costumes weren't the strangest people we encountered.

Approximately 12 miles and 10 hours and 40 minutes later, we arrived back at the 5th station. I celebrated with a Fresh'NUp for my feet and a beautiful view of the sunset. According to the adage, I suppose we're wise now...until next summer when we do the night climb to catch the sunrise...?

Tokyo Day-Trip

I actually wrote the following post a while back but never published it. I don't remember what I was waiting for. Anyhoo, enjoy!

I must say, I didn’t expect to have English classes lined up or to have made Japanese friends in less than a month of being here but I have done both thanks to my friend, Rachel. She’s one of the three flight doc wives I had been put in touch with via email back in February. I’m subbing for a couple of her English classes while she’s traveling this summer. I was able to tag along with her and one of her classes on a day trip to Tokyo. This class is a group of about eight ladies whose ages range from late 40s to late 60s. We took the train into Tokyo and did the Sky Bus tour. It’s an open-air bus that drives around the major sights of Tokyo. Rachel and I had English audio headsets that dryly narrated the tour but I’m pretty sure the live guide included jokes in her descriptions. There were several times when she was pointing out the sights and the entire bus would erupt in laughter. Rachel and I were left wondering what was so funny about the Imperial Palace being destroyed during World War II…?

After the tour, the ladies treated us to lunch at a Japanese buffet. They described the food as “very traditional Japanese.” I tasted a couple items that I won’t be eating again anytime soon, like the seaweed that looked like pond moss and the transparent noodles, which were slimy and kind of tasteless. I’ll definitely be eating mochi balls again. A certain type of rice is ground into paste and shaped into balls. There are different ways of preparing them, but I had my mochi balls in a sweet soup. Yum! Oh, I almost forgot. Our busboy came to clear our table and I thanked him (in Japanese) when he took my plate. "No sweet," he replied...or so I thought. I assumed he was wondering aloud why I hadn't gotten dessert. "Oh, I'm going right now to get some dessert," I explained. He looked confused. After he left I realized he said, "No sweat." Oops. I felt bad because if he's anything like me, he was really pumped to be able use a phrase in his second language. He probably walked away slightly embarrassed, confidence shaken. But most likely he walked away thinking I was an idiot.

After lunch we headed to Tokyo Tower. From what I could tell, it’s a big antenna modeled after the Eifel Tower. There are observation decks at 150 and 250 meters. The ground floor houses restaurants, museums and souvenir shops. We were lucky to have been there on a clear day. We could see most of the Tokyo megalopolous from the observation decks.

With the day coming to a close, it was time to say goodbye. This always involves a lot of bowing. But this particular farewell was different. I’m not sure exactly how it started. I think Rachel was hugging some of her students goodbye, which surprised me since the Japanese aren’t usually big huggers. Then she introduced what I call the “bro’s shake/hug combo.” I’m sure you’re familiar. The participants clasp hands, pull close and pat each other on the back one to two times. They seemed to find this entertaining, and I wondered what passersby must have thought as a couple of blond girls stood on the train platform giving “bro shake/hug combos” to grown Japanese women. I doubt they’ll make this a regular part of their greeting ritual, but I’m glad we could impart this unique behavior to them.

Top: Here's me and my new Japanese friends--yes, I feel quite huge when I'm around them.
Bottom Left: View from Tokyo Tower.
Bottom Right: Tokyo Tower

Eltonio Update and the Base

First things first: Elton is doing great. He’s still getting along with his roommates, Daisy the two-year-old cocker spaniel and Fuzzy the long-haired cat. I’ve been informed that Daisy and Elton have had minor scuffles over food dropped by baby Aiden, but was pleased to learn that recently the two hounds have engaged in spontaneous play around the house. I was very glad to hear this. Elton playing with other dogs is about as common as a solar eclipse. He prefers snorting contentedly in a catatonic-like state while enjoying the caress of a human hand.

(photo: Elton and Daisy share a futon)

Warning: the following paragraph is gross and includes semi-explicit descriptions of dog waste.

I had been a bit concerned over Elton’s abnormal stools, which were loose and contained mucous and blood. He’s had bouts of this in the past, which usually cleared up after several days of plain white rice and chicken breast meals instead of dog food. This time the diet didn’t work. My friend Rachel offered to take us to a local Japanese vet that her dog had been to since the vet at Camp Zama Army base is difficult to get into. I was really uncomfortable with Elton’s BM looking like ice cream sundae topping, so I took Rachel up on her offer. (Sorry, but you were warned).

I was somewhat concerned about the communication gap we would experience at the local vet. I found out that when you walk into a vet’s office with a bag of poo and a dog, you don’t really need to speak the same language. The vet spoke enough English to explain how to fill out the information sheet. I held up Elton’s stool sample and he soon guessed, “Diarrhea?” “Hai (yes), with chi (blood),” I added, proud of my broken Japanese. The exam and stool sample revealed that there was no infection, just a case of colitis. The vet was very helpful and friendly—he even had his little Italian Greyhound assisting him. He gave us several days worth of anti-diarrheals and antacids and sent us on our way. Total cost for visit, meds and stool sample test: around 2900 yen~$30. Quite a bargain! And I’m happy to report Elton’s poo is solid and sans chi.

Some of you have been informed that we will be moving into base housing this week. We did look at several houses and apartments out in town but only found one that was big enough and new enough for us. For those of you wondering how you even begin to look for a place in Japan, you just talk to a counselor at the housing office here on base and they set up appointments for you. An agent will then pick you up on base and take you to the house. It was a nice single family home in a lovely neighborhood, 15 minutes from base, relatively close to a park and a train station. Unfortunately, it was about 9,000 yen/month ($90) over our monthly housing allowance. We also would’ve needed two cars if we lived off base and this house only allowed for one space. Another space could be rented for around 8,000 yen/month ($80). Other cons of living off base include tiny kitchens with no dishwashers, poor insulation (even in newer homes), and clothes dryers that take forever and drain energy. So even though the 1,300 sqft. home would’ve been larger than our 845 sqft. base apartment, we decided that the extra costs and inconveniences weren’t worth it. Some people worry that living on base is isolating and prevents you from experiencing the culture. But I think Kyle and I are adventuresome enough to have plenty of off-base experiences, especially since I will be teaching English out in the community.

Now I guess I’ll tell you a little bit about the place we’ll be living for the next three years: Naval Air Facility, Atsugi. The base is relatively small. You can pretty much walk anywhere you need to in 15 minutes or less. There are two gyms/fitness facilities that offer all kinds of group fitness classes. I got owned by a tiny Asian woman in the two Body Pump classes I’ve attended. They have an indoor and an outdoor pool, ball fields, a track, commissary (grocery store), Navy Exchange (like a department store), an elementary school, a medical clinic, a hotel, golf course, church—basically anything a small town in the States would have. Except for the Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Forces with whom we share the base.

(Photo: Base chapel, originally a dojo, which holds Catholic and Protestant services.)

The eating establishments on base are okay. Kyle’s hands-down favorite is probably the galley/mess hall where you pay $4.25 and gorge yourself on mediocre cafeteria fare. There are usually a couple choices for the main dish and sides, plus a salad bar, fruit bar, soup of the day, assorted desserts, an ice cream machine and an entire wall of beverage choices. I actually don’t mind eating there but it’s such a cramp-inducing experience. One would think that since you’re only paying $4.25 you wouldn’t feel the need to stuff yourself to “get your money’s worth.” But we do. Every time. I really don’t know what happens to my brain when I get in line that makes me think, “I should get 2 lbs. of pineapple in addition to the six melon slices already on my plate. That’s reasonable.” And I don’t know what possesses Kyle to declare, with drooping eyelids and a sweaty brow, “I’m so full,” then walk directly to the beverage wall and fill a to-go cup with 24 oz. of sweet, rich cappuccino. We’re little better than goldfish who will eat themselves to death when given the chance.

Other dining options include the O Club (Officer’s Club), a couple other sit-down places, McDonald’s and the NEX food court. Here you’ll find Dunkin’ Donuts, Baskin Robbins, Popeye’s, Anthony’s Pizza, Subway, Seattle’s Best Coffee, and Taco Bell. There’s also a Japanese food court in a separate building that houses three different restaurants. We’ve eaten at two of them, including one that’s kind of run like the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld. You give one lady your order and pay her. She hands you a little colored piece of square plastic. She yells your order to the cooks. You step to the side and hand another lady your plastic tag so she knows what you ordered, even though the first lady just told her what you ordered. Whatever works.

The base is a great place to walk the dogs. It’s a nice change from our neighborhood in Pensacola where I strolled through a sidewalkless shanty town, dodging vicious dogs and armadillo carcasses the whole way. What a dump that town is…Anyway, I walk Daisy and Elton pretty much every day and the only thing that surprises me more than how well they walk together is the fact that we haven’t all been eaten by the gigantic crows. These birds are big and ballsy and they scare me. Apparently, they’re also dexterous little buggers who love to nose through your trash. Can’t wait for that.

Kyle is gradually getting into the swing of things at the clinic. He has already been to Sasebo for a week to cover the clinic there. It’s a Naval base to the southeast of us, near Nagasaki, which doesn’t have a permanent optometrist. It’s about a two-hour flight or an eight-hour shinkansen (bullet train) ride. He got to do both: flight to and the shinkansen back. In true Kyle style, he’s been staying late at the clinic, ensuring a smooth transition from the previous doctor. I predict he will have everyone thoroughly impressed with his skills in approximately one month. For any optom-nerds reading this, I suggest you email Kyle for the enthralling details.

I hope summer is being kind to you all thus far. June is rainy season here so we’re enjoying frequent showers and high humidity. We’re bracing ourselves for July and August when the heat and humidity will really turn this place into crotch sweat central. But, we’re from the Midwest and we lived in Pensacola so I’m sure we’ll survive. I think that’s enough for now. Be sure to check out the next post when I’ll tell you about my new Japanese friends. Until then…

Base Orientation and Intercultural Relations

Our first weekend here in Japan went pretty quickly. We tootled around base a little bit, took advantage of Soft Bank mobile phone company’s current special and got free iPhones with a two-year agreement, and attended mass at the base chapel.

Monday morning we woke up as we had every day since getting here; before our alarm went off. Between the sun rising at 4:00 am and the national anthems (American and Japanese) blasting over loud speakers it’s difficult to sleep in.

By 8:30 we were in the classroom ready to begin the first day of our weeklong Area Orientation Briefing and Intercultural Relations Classes (AOB and ICR—love those military acronyms). The first day was pretty boring: reps from the different departments/organizations on base were paraded through to give us the basics. One of the more memorable presenters was a Mr. Puckett from the environmental office who told colorful anecdotes to illustrate some dos and don’ts of base living. The “don’t” category included a story about a woman living in one of the apartment towers on base who put her cat’s solid waste down her garbage disposal, much to the disgust of her neighbors. Mr. Puckett also informed us—a little too nonchalantly for my taste—that asbestos was used in buildings on base as recently as 2001, thus we should contact him before doing any drilling in the walls and such. Uh…can somebody get me the number for that mesothelioma lawyer?

The rest of the week consisted of Intercultural Relations classes and were alternately taught by Yuji-san (a cheerful man probably in his forties who had been working on base in some capacity for 20 years), and Naoko-san (an attractive young woman who also worked her way up from McDonald’s cashier in the base food court to ICR instructor). As one might imagine, a good portion of ICR is focused on arming Americans with information that allows us to live among the Japanese and not make asses of ourselves…too often. With only 3% of Japan’s population consisting of non-Japanese, and only 1.5% of that consisting of Westerners/Caucasians, there’s really no hope of blending in. So the best we can do is adhere to local customs and behaviors.

One of the first things Yuji-san and Naoko-san explained to us is that Japanese people may appear at first to be unfriendly or standoffish. If you pass a stranger on the street and smile or say hello, you will likely be ignored. While Americans see this as unfriendly, Japanese see it as a sign of respect. On such a heavily populated island—128 million people in an area the size of California and 35 million people in the greater Tokyo area alone—privacy is golden. It’s considered respectful to keep to yourself as much as possible.

That being said, Japanese people are extremely helpful. With a simple “sumimasen” (excuse me), you can easily find someone willing to stop and help you find the right train, a toilet or the best beef bowl joint in the area. This is especially true if you make even the most pathetic effort at speaking Japanese. Yuji-san—who speaks near perfect English—assured the class many times that Japanese folks love it when we make an attempt to learn and use their language.

Speaking of language, I am doing a superb job of being Kyle’s translator. Before you become too impressed with my Japanese speaking and listening skills, I should note that I’m not really translating Japanese into English for him. I’m translating English spoken with a heavy Japanese accent for him. Many of the civilian employees in the various offices and businesses on base are Japanese nationals, some of whom have pretty heavy accents. I seem to be able to understand them better than Kyle, but I’m confident his ears will adjust eventually.

We’ve both been able to practice our limited Japanese vocabulary in various situations with Japanese nationals on base, but the most extensive interaction occurred on the train ride into Tokyo. The “field trip” was part of our ICR class. The entire class took a bus from base to a nearby station where Yuji-san showed us how to purchase the PASMO (reloadable train/bus pass) and figure out the train lines. After a couple stops, we broke into smaller groups and began the “unguided” portion of the field trip.

Kyle and I paired up with a couple of young helo pilots, Jake and Chris. Once on the train, Kyle and I took our seats and began studying our pocket Japanese phrase sheet we’d gotten in class. An older woman sitting next to Kyle noticed and began speaking to us. We muddled through the phrases we knew and she helped us with our pronunciation, chuckling with her as we botched some words. We asked (in Japanese) if she spoke English and she responded “minus, minus, minus,” while holding her thumb and index fingers close together. She seemed impressed with our pronunciation for the most part. This was not surprising considering that Yuji-san and Naoko-san commented how well Americans pronounce Japanese, even when first learning the language. They told us that Japanese people marvel at how “flexible” Americans’ tongues are, specifically citing the letters R and L, since they don’t have these sounds in their language. Similarly, the F, V and TH sounds (or biting lip and tongue sounds as Yuji-san put it) don’t exist in Japanese so Mount Fuji is actually pronounced Mount “uji.” Now you know.

Back to the cultural differences, several things stuck out in my mind. Let’s start with Kyle’s favorite. The practice of tipping for services rendered never made it to Japan. Kyle loves this. Our instructors ensured us that if we left money on the table in a restaurant, they would run after us to give it back.

A couple of differences Kyle’s not so keen on also occur in a restaurant setting. The big kicker for Kyle is the size of the water (mizu) glasses. Tequila shots at El Maguey are bigger than these things…or so I’ve heard. In addition, once your order has been taken and food served, you probably won’t see your server again for a while. They see it as rude to interrupt your meal by asking if you need anything. So, the shot-sized H2O and infrequent visits by the server has resulted in Kyle perfecting the phrase, “Sumimasen. Mizu wo kudasai. Domo arigato gozaimasu.” “Excuse me. Water please. Thank you very much.” We won’t talk about the one time he accidentally said, “gracias.”

Before anyone asks, I’m going to wait to write extensively about the food until we have a few more “authentic” experiences under our belt. Needless to say, the food is infinitely better than the last Asian dining experience we had in Pensacola at Jin-Jin 38. This place is apparently named for the family who owns it and the number of ways it can give you diarrhea.

In ICR they talked about different stages of culture shock. For the most part, we’re definitely in the initial honeymoon phase. Things are still new and exciting and we’re easily able to laugh at our faux pas. I suspect eventually we’ll experience more frustration as we continue to venture off base—especially driving off base. Yikes…Until then, we’ll enjoy the honeymoon.



Top Left: Kyle blends in well among the Asians in Yoyogi Park. Those are sake barrels.
Bottom Left: More sake barrels in Yoyogi Park.
Top Right: A busy Tokyo intersection.
Bottom Right: My "tour guides" look lost.

Japan: First and Second Days

Okay, here's a synopsis of the first couple of days here in Japan, or Nihon as the Japanese call it.

I wish the very first encounter we had with the locals would've been more pleasant. But thanks to the swine flu, a team of Japanese health officials boarded the plane upon our arrival to collect our Questionnaires for Heath [sic] Status and issue us a verification of quarantine inspection. This process was about as effective and efficient (it took almost an hour to process the entire Boeing 777 aircraft) as the good ole TSA practices. Donning full surgical gowns, gloves, goggles, masks, and rubber boots, the health officials were much friendlier than they appeared. Nonetheless, the whole ordeal felt like a scene from Outbreak. I guess it's better than Snakes on a Plane...

Flashback to the actual flight from STL to LAX, LAX to Narita-Tokyo. Being a couple of hillbillies who've flown plenty of times but have done very little international travel, Kyle and I were in awe of the whole flight experience. First off, Kyle had never flown on a plane that had two aisles, so that was impressive. Secondly, we both made use of the personal touchscreens on the seat backs in front of us the entire way. We watched a couple episodes of 30 Rock and four different movies. I think Kyle even played a couple hands of blackjack. Finally, were fed two hearty meals during the 11.5 hour flight from LA to Tokyo. The one downer: Kyle's tray table was uneven which resulted in an unfortunate water spill into his crotch with over five hours remaining in the flight. I offered to spill water onto my crotch as a gesture of solidarity, a la Billy Madison, but he kindly declined my offer.

After deplaning and a quick and painless pass through customs, we arrived at baggage claim to find Elton sitting in his crate, trembling slightly, and extremely thirsty. It seems the A-holes--or AA-holes, since we flew on American Airlines--neglected to offer food and water to him during the hour layover in LA, despite the explicit instructions and food and water taped to his crate. It's frustrating when you follow the airlines instructions to the letter and they don't even bother to uphold their policy of offering food and water to the animal every 12 hours. We were irate, to say the least, and Kyle gave an AA supervisor an earful. We've since submitted a written complaint--beautifully written by Kyle, I should add--to American. We'll see what results from that. Bottom line, though: Elton arrived safely and was far less nervous throughout the whole process than we'd expected. Good job, buddy.

On to Animal Quarantine Services (AQS). We had heard from those who had been stationed in Japan before that the Japanese, though an honorable and generous people, have a penchant for inane and inefficient bureaucratic processes. We learned this first-hand at AQS. The whole process and paperwork drill involved with bringing a pet into the country is lengthy and cumbersome, but I was confident we had all our ducks in a row. The AQS official sorted through our paperwork and seemed to be satisfied. Then there was a pause as he conferred with his coworker. Already anxious to get Elton out of his crate (he had been in for almost 20 hours at this point), I started to freak out at the possibility of some sort of delay. Finally the official laid two forms in front of me: the one that I had filled out and a seemingly identical blank one. He pointed to the dates at the bottom of each form as he tried to explain. I then understood. The form I had completed was only good through 2005 (even though I downloaded this form directly from AQS website mere months ago). So I had to copy the information from the form I already completed to the blank form, which was identical except for the "good through" date at the bottom. Whew, good thing they caught that :) But, again, bottom line: Elton made it through inspection and only has 16 days remaining in his quarantine. Thankfully, he is able to fulfill his quarantine here on base. Hooray!

Like many "first times," my first experience with a Japanese toilet in the airport was exciting and confusing. The toilet bowl looked familiar enough, but the key pad adjacent to it had me guessing at first. How do I flush this thing? I recognized the bidet button and knew I didn't want that. I then decided that the button that said "flush" with a couple of musical notes underneath was probably my best bet. Unfortunately, that only made a flushing sound (a water-saving courtesy flush) and didn't actually rid the toilet of anything. In a flash of clarity, I decided to look where the flush handle is on every other public toilet and there it was! I was chagrined it took that long for me to figure it out but I'm chalking that one up to exhaustion.

After hardly having slept during the flight, Kyle and I were exhausted but wanted to take in every detail of our new surroundings. I was able to gawk out the window of the van during the two-hour ride from Tokyo to Atsugi. Kyle, however, was maintaining polite eye contact while talking shop to our sponsor/eye doc he'll be replacing on base. As most of you know, Kyle gets great pleasure out of gawking at things, especially city skylines, so I know keeping his focus on the conversation literally pained him. Every once in a while Kyle's eyes darted to the windows or windshield, trying to catch a glimpse. When we passed Disney Tokyo he gave in to his impulses and swiveled around in his seat to look.

We arrived on base and settled in to our spacious room at the Navy Lodge. We took Elton to the Harwood's, the family who generously offered to keep Elton the first night so we didn't have to drive him to the Camp Zama Army Base kennel. They live in base housing with a dog and a cat and said if Elton gets along with their beasts, he could stay there until we get our housing. So far, so good. The animals are living in harmony and Kyle and I are able to walk three minutes to their place to walk the hounds every day. What a HUGE blessing this has been. A huge thank you to the Harwoods :)

That's all for now. I plan on posting regularly so check back in shortly if you're interested.

San Diego to Pensacola: The Journey

I can't believe it's been over two months since we left San Diego. I meant to post this blog sooner but...no excuses. Just lazy. Anyway, here it is.

I knew from the outset of our trip from San Diego to Pensacola that it was going to be incredibly sad, disgustingly hot, and painfully boring. On August 20th we left America's finest city and set out on a three-day trek to the Sunshine State. Since my Civic has adequate air conditioning and I have a surprisingly high tolerance for boredom, the most difficult part of the trip was the sadness I felt about leaving my friends who had made San Diego feel like my true home. I must admit, I bawled from San Diego to El Centro, (a good hour and 45 minutes), until we stopped at a 7-Eleven for a cappuccino. Evidently, the scorching desert sun wasn't enough for us and we felt the need to ladle hot gas station coffee products down our throats.

Once the tears dried up, the trip became an exercise in patience for me. My husband, as many of you know is an avid (borderline psychotic) water-drinker. Obviously, the bathroom breaks were more frequent than "Joe the Plumber" references in the final Presidential debate. I guess it's the price you pay for a healthy urinary tract.

In addition to the frequent potty stops, I noticed Kyle was taking an unusual amount of time between getting into his car and actually getting back on the road. At only 28-years-old and eight months my junior--a fact he loves to bring up--Kyle can be a bit of an "old man" in his ways. I figured he was just calibrating his compass, aligning his Kleenex and getting his Velamints* handy. Aside from the Velamints, I was pretty much right on. OK, he was also messing with his GPS, but that doesn't completely fit in with the "old man" image.

Aside from the frequent stops and slow restarts, the driving was tolerable. Since we spent so much time on the road each day, we weren't that choosy with where we lodged. We were also somewhat limited having our dog, Elton, with us. We stayed at an Econolodge the first night in El Paso and a Motel 6 the second night in San Antonio. Finally, we stayed ten days in a Residence Inn by Marriott upon arriving in Pensacola.

Our lodging accommodations proved to be a mixed bag. I was thoroughly impressed with the Econolodge. It was very clean with an unoffensive ambient odor and the room decor was more stylish than one could expect in an economy-class motel. Kyle and I are suckers for a continental breakfast and theirs was adequate. They even broke up the carb party--the hallmark of continental breakfasts--with some hardboiled eggs. Granted, the eggs looked pretty suspect but you have to admire the effort.

If the Motel 6 we stayed at in San Antonio had been any worse, I would be in treatment for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The 99% humidity in the room explained the mold which was not seen but very much smelled. I was actually dirtier after I used the shower and towels but it's hard to break your nightly ritual. Finally, the good folks Motel 6 not only "left the light on for us," but they also left a pubic hair on the toilet. I wonder if Tom Bodett can work that into his folksy, acoustic jingle.

Finally, the Residence Inn, downtown Pensacola gets my full endorsement. The free hot breakfasts and evening refreshments were wonderful. Some of you have already heard me rave about the night of barbecued beef and beer. That was special. And a big shout out to my girl, Agnes, who kept our room so clean.

Hopefully, we'll only have to make a trip like that every three years. But I did learn a couple of things from the journey. I learned to have patience with my husband because if it weren't for him, I probably would've ended up in a Mexican jail. Secondly, keep anti-diarrheals in your glove box because when you start doing the Johnny-Apple-Quickstep in the middle of Texas and you have to stop at a gas station to buy them, you're going to get hosed. Finally, that Tom Bodett is a lying S.O.B.

*Velamints are vile-tasting breath mints that my grandma faithfully carried in her purse and, while today the mere thought of them triggers my gag reflex, as five-year-old sugar fiend I could brush off the lint and choke one down in a pinch.

Welcome to Ann's Blog

Many of you--and by "many" I mean my sister-in-law and the voices inside my own head--have suggested that I start a blog to chronicle my experience in Pensacola and beyond, specifically Japan. I was resistant at first. Isn't that a bit self-indulgent? After all, I have no children to report about or interesting career anecdotes to share. Hell, I don't even have a job. But I decided that down here on the bayou, amidst the humidity, the Southern drawls and the Waffle Houses as copious as the mosquitoes, I just might be able to mine a few anecdotal gems to share with you all--I mean, ya'll.

So check in periodically to read about anything from my latest misadventure down here in the swamp to a delectable new recipe I've discovered. Maybe I'll share some pictures of that adorable hound, Elton, or just vent about a frustrating day. Oh, the possibilities. Whatever the topic may be, I'll try my best to be entertaining.

Oh, and just so there's no confusion about the title: there are two Ns in "Annals," people! This isn't that kind of a blog.