Lost and Found

It has been a while since I had any "Lost and Found" item; not just any item at home, but losing something in public and going somewhere to retrieve it. In Indonesia, 99.9% of the time if I lost it, I would never find it again. In the U.S., the percentage was slightly lower; I really had to depend on a Good Samaritan to submit that lost item to the Lost and Found department somewhere. Well, recently, yours truly, in his excited state of having swum in the clearest indoor pool water and best visibility pool ever, left the area without bringing his goggles. I realized it much later at home when I could not find the item in my gym bag. Two days later, I decided to go out and get a new set of goggles to bring to the pool, just in case I could not find the lost one.

An article in the New York Times few months ago mentioned the honesty of the Japanese people. A photo accompanying the article showed what seemed to be thousands of umbrellas in a warehouse. Turned out that those umbrellas that were found were usually submitted to the police station, where they stayed until the owners reclaimed them. Wallets with money showed up as well, and the rule was that if the owner did not reclaim the item within six months, then the person who had submitted it could claim the item.

I decided to see if I could retrieve my pair of goggles at the pool first. After I described the item, the staff looked at their logbook of lost items. In my poor Japanese I mentioned that I had lost it the previous Friday. Then two staff members said what seemed to be the Japanese "a-ha!" and informed me that the item had been sent elsewhere. Of course this was all explained to me in Japanese, but as usual, when I started learning a language, I found it easier to say things than to understand what others were saying. I looked at their hand gestures, retrieved all the recognizable nouns and adjectives, and deduced that the item had been sent to a glass-topped office next to the swimming pool building. That building seemed to house the administrative office that governed both the pool and the gym next-door.

I pursued it further by going to the adjacent building after my swim with the new goggles (I was, after all, inquiring about the loss already in my swimming briefs). First, a stop at the front desk, where the staff told me to go to the office around the corner; then, as I was about to leave, I saw her pick up the phone (maybe alerting the office that an absent-minded foreigner -me- was approaching). By the time I reached the office and entered it, I saw the welcoming staff hang up the phone; she was indeed informed about me by the other one.

This second staff had me fill in a form of what I had lost, the description of the item, my name, address and phone number. Then she took me a few feet away to another counter, by where she asked me to sit down. She then approached a much older colleague, a man in his 50s. They had a friendly chat, and then they parted. She went back to her desk, and the old man disappeared into a room in the back. Not too long thereafter, he came back with a clear plastic bag with the goggles. Before he even took them out, I saw already that they were mine. Still, I had a closer look at it, and with a beaming smile, I thanked him, and on my way out I thanked her.

I think I was more excited that the system had worked than actually finding the goggles themselves. Well, at least this time, it has indeed worked. We shall see if they will be able to find it when I finally lose my mind.

The Asakusa Samba Festival

About six weeks ago in one of the subway stations I spotted a poster of a Brazilian carnival but with a non-Brazilian dancers. It turns out that the Asakusa area of Tokyo holds a Samba Festival every year in late August since 1981, and this year, it falls on August 28. I have been looking forward to seeing this festival, but unfortunately on the day of the parade (yesterday) it was grey, gloomy, and drizzly. I ended up not going, but boy, did I miss that event. The parade went on (what would you do with hundreds of feather-clad dancers who had readied themselves since last August for this year's event?) but I could only enjoy them from the pictures provided by somebody else on the web. Here is one of those sites:
http://audiolicious.com/gallery/album14

I learn from the internet that there is a big Japanese Brazilian community in Tokyo, and there is a huge interest in the Samba. Many studios as well as organizations provide dance lessons for its afficionados. In fact, the main attraction of the parade in Asakusa is the Samba parade contest. More information can be found at:
http://web-japan.org/atlas/festivals/fes11.html

How Blue is My Pool?

Goodness, I have been rendered speechless in the first week of swimming in a Japanese public pool. First, the coordinates: the main swimming pool, measuring 50m X 20m, is located in Sendagaya, adjacent to the 1964 Tokyo Olympic Game Stadium. It is called the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium Indoor Pool. Sendagaya is an area next to Shinjuku, the better-known area of contemporary Tokyo. A second pool is located in a level below and adjacent to the main one, and it is only half as big, 25m x 13m. Opening hours are from 9am to 9pm, all year round; this being an indoor pool, the weather outside has no bearing. The Sendagaya swimming pool does close one or two days a month. Usually one can see this in a schedule posted in the foyer or lobby area.

Two identical ticket vending machines are located outside of the building, few feet away from the entrance. There are several options: adult single (¥600), junior high student or younger (¥260), an adult with a child, and a "debit" card. You are on your honor as far as which ticket you get. This being Tokyo, it costs a whopping ¥600 for a one-time entry for an adult. In Japan, buying a card (instead of individual passes) does not necessarily entitle anyone to a discount. The highest-priced card in this vending machine, for example, cost ¥5000. I inquired to the staff if that might mean the admission price became ¥500, which would then allow me ten entries for the price of that card. She replied that with such card, I have to add a supplement of ¥400 which would bring the total to ¥5400 and thus would allow me 9 entries (which means no discount at all.) I found that very curious, indeed.

The card issued is like a business card with a magnetic stripe on the back. You put the card into a slot at the turnstile, and pick up the card when you pass through. There are two lockers (divided by gender, naturally), each with its own turnstiles and card readers. When you enter the locker area, you are greeted with a sign that politely asks you to remove your shoes. This being Japan, a plastic bag is offered for your convenience (to contain the shoes so as not to soil you and/or the locker.) One would need to put a ¥100 coin in the locker slot in order to close the door and retrieve the key. Later, when you open the locker with the key, the ¥100 will fall out into the bottom slot, where you can retrieve the coin.

There are signs everywhere, as well as a brochure for first-timers, that spell out certain rules like a swim cap must be worn at all times during swimming, and that nobody should use shampoo, conditioner, and/or soap to cleanse themselves after the swim. The reason is that the water is being recycled and re-used within the facility. Another rule was to have no jewelry whatsoever during training. I took of my earrings, but refused to take off my navel ring. As a result, I had to sign a waiver, which was then kept in the record book. If any guard ever stopped me from entering, I could just refer him or her to the record book.

There are eight lanes with a gradation of speed assigned to them: the outer two lanes are for the slowest speed swimmers, and the innermost two lanes are dedicated to those who try to catch up with Michael Phelps. At any time of the day, the pool seems always teeming with people, mostly young men and older women (I have only observed the main pool, not the second pool.) Most of the men seem to be high-scholars, with occasional grade school boys and old men. Most of the women seem to be in their 40's-50's, and almost always they appear to be friends who have come together and use swimming as a healthy social outlet.

The first time I dipped into the pool, the water felt very nice. The temperature was just right. I was in awe once I submerged myself completely: the visibility was so good that I could actually see the wall and other swimmers standing at the other end of the pool, about 50 meters away! I have swum my entire time in the States, both in public and private pools, and mostly indoor ones. Those pools are never of this size but the water temperature is usually poorly regulated and the visibility is very bad. Even after a cleaning, I would never be able to see the other end of the pool.

When I started swimming, it was a joy to turn my head left and right just to see the other gliding bodies racing at different speed. Because of the high turnout in this pool, circle swimming is mandatory (more rules: observe your speed and choose the correct speed lane, no passing, always stay on the right of the lane.) In the U.S., it is not uncommon to find a maximum of three swimmers in a lane during peak time, but here, there is no maximum number. Sometimes I see up to nine people swimming in the same lane.

The only flaw in this system is that because you are not allowed to pass, once you reach the wall, if the one preceding you is not going yet and s/he would not let you pass, then you are stuck with waiting. In my case, when I want to do an aerobic (as opposed to anaerobic) exercise, I want to keep going from lap to lap with no stopping in between. Usually when I find myself having to pause between each lap, I start to look around for a different lane. Sometimes it is all right to go to the slower lane with lesser number of people, but you just distance yourself so that you will not swim too fast and start slowing down behind somebody else.

The admission price is rather high. You can get a one-month gym pass with a pool at Tipness, for example, for about ¥3000/month, and you would have plenty opportunity to swim and to exercise at the gym. But, I have yet to explore that option. So far, I have been to the same pool for two weeks now, and each time, I still marvel at how blue and how clear the water is. I also enjoy seeing people young and old being very active in doing physical exercises. I have yet to arrive to an empty pool. Perhaps an early arrival or a late visit will present me that opportunity; until then, I will distract myself with the clear visibility of this cool pool.

Sendagaya Swimming Pool
at the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium
1-17-1 Sendagaya
Tokyo
Tel: +81 (03) 5474-2111
¥600 adult
¥260 for children aged 3 yrs-old until junior high school

Mosquitoes: Japanese vs. Indonesian

I grew up in Indonesia, then moved to the U.S. (Louisiana, Tennessee, and California) and now am living in Japan. Those years of living in the U.S. were great; if not for anything else, then for the one reason that I did not ever have to deal with mosquitoes. Maybe it was the climate of where I used to live, or maybe it was the fact that I never lived in a lower level apartment, but my summers in the U.S. were pest-free (safe for those telemarketing calls.)

In Indonesia, there are only two seasons: the wet and the dry seasons, but mosquitoes thrive on both weathers. All year long, they are always around and doing their job. On the other hand,my many trips to Tokyo were never punctuated by any visit from a mosquito. Before my move here, times were passed in the hotels and those visits were hardly during the summer. When my partner and I moved here to our new place in Tokyo, we were delighted with the presence of a garden surrounding the building: it was a perfect playground for our two dachshunds. Spring passed with many evenings finding the patio door open to let the fresh air in.

Then, it all changed with the coming of the heat and the humidity of the summer: a Tokyo summer so notorious that my partner's colleague who got reassigned back to the US skipped town so fast I did not even get to bid him "Sayōnara." It was also then that we realized that our place was vacant for six months in the market before we snatched it: maybe people knew about the mosquitoes problem, the garden being a perfect place for them to hide. These days I refused to go out and play with the kids (the dogs) because no matter what covering I had, one or two mosquitoes always seemed to find an opening somewhere. My partner was attacked as well, but he did not seem to develop any allergic reaction to it: no bumps, no itches; with me, instant bumps and itches that necessitated me to rub Tiger Balm on them (believe me, that does the trick!)

I started thinking about the difference between the Indonesian and the Japanese mosquitoes, and here are some of them: An Indonesian mosquito's stinger (what do we call that: beak, needle?) is usually sharp, and when it sucks your blood, you do not know it until it is already too late. It is like having your blood drawn or like getting a vaccination with a syringe: the sharper the needle, the less the pain: the duller the needle, the more you could feel it enter the skin. The only preventive method would be if it lands on the hairy part of your body, which can cause you to feel tickled and thus reach for that spot and inadvertently shoo the bug away.

Japanese mosquitoes surprisingly never seemed to hone their needles. Their needles are so dull that I could really feel it when the pesky vampiric bugs drew my blood. Kidding you, I am not: many times when I thought I felt a stinger on my body, I reached for the area and found a mosquito flying away, and within the next few seconds, a red bump was there. I thought Japanese culture fostered a very diligent society and things were supposed to be more perfect than their counterparts in Indonesia, but I was left disappointed with the mosquitoes' laziness in sharpening their tools.

I have to admit, however, that Japanese mosquitoes are stealth-like: despite their dead give-away of when they commit their crime, once caught in the act, they fly so fast that one could hardly hunt any and kill them instantly. When I thought that I had killed one with a clap of my hands, I found out that it only fell down and tried to fly again as fast as they could. It was very difficult to kill them with bare hands. Indonesian mosquitoes, on the other hand, are a bit more sluggish. They also make the mistake of always making a sound (buzzing noise) when they are about to bite, which was like someone announcing that s/he is about to commit a crime and giving you enough time to get prepared for a defense.

Another difference that I have observed was that the Japanese mosquitoes work around the clock, non-stop, ad infinitum, day and night, night and day. In Indonesia, the pesky bugs only do their blood drawing at night time. During the day time, they take their siesta; maybe it is the unbearable heat and humidity all year long that cause them to be more laid back. They do work 24 hours a day, except that it is not continuous.

I went to Tokyu Hands (a kind of a mini Home Depot cum stationery store cum fabric store rolled into one) to purchase different repellants, and am trying hard to believe that the many ¥s (yens) spent on those items would actually work. There was even a hat net and a body net suit, much like those worn by bee-keepers, but come on, this is getting ridiculous. In my frustration, I asked my partner, "Where could they have gotten in except for the times we briskly opened the patio door to let the dogs in and out?" The answer came few days ago while I was pondering upon the Greek myth (this being the Olympic season) and thought about how Odysseus and his men had escaped detection from the Cyclops Polyphemus by clinging onto the belly of the rams. Right enough, when we were about to let the dogs in, we shook them, and guess what? Mosquitoes flew away from their bodies. Darn those literate Japanese mosquitoes! Where did they get a copy of The Odyssey?