Japanese Candy?

In Japan, the English word candy doesn’t conjure the same image it does in America.  For some reason, they only associate it with the stuff we call hard candy.  No, I’m not talking about drugs.  I’m talking about the stuff that old ladies give out in handfuls on Halloween (unless your neighborhood granny is a drug dealer), the kind of crystalline sugar rocks that chip your teeth but stick to them too.  That being said, there seems to be a dearth of American candy bar brands over here.  They have Snickers and Hershey Bars, sometimes, but pretty much none of the other stuff.

Nonetheless, their convenience store candy shelves are just as brimming as ours, not with Milky Ways, Twix Bars, and Caramellos, but with Kat Kat’s and Crunky.  Somehow, the candy industry over here is undergoing some sort of revolution similar to what happened to the restaurant industry from “Demolition Man.”  In case you’ve never seen the movie (shocking!), I’ll spoil it for you: in the future all restaurants have become Taco Bell.  Fortunately for the world, Taco Bell doesn’t exist in Japan, but in the meantime Kit Kat and Crunky are monopolizing their own corner of the market.  I don’t have any photos of strange Kits Kats at the moment (I’ll get some, I promise), but I have captured one of Crunky.

What is Crunky, you ask?  According to the box, “Crunch Chocolate: A fine combination of crunchy malt-puffs and chocolate.”  This one happens to be flavored “Soft Cream Koubou,” which is spelled with the same kanji as construction worker.  I can only assume this means men have to die for the production of each candy bar.  More photos to follow later this week.  ^_^

Stuff (not) to bring to Japan

Before I left for Japan, I was bombarded with information on what I’d need when I got there.  The flood of e-mails, letters, message boards, websites, and phone calls was all rather overwhelming.  Topics ranged from the benign – what omiyage (souvenirs) to bring for coworkers – to the worrisome – tales of people missing their flights because of overpacked bags.  Everyone seemed to have advice, but it was impossible to follow all of it.  If I packed all of the Japanese textbooks, cheese, toothpaste, and shoes that everyone had recommended, I definitely would have ended up  one of those forlorn JETs standing lost by the airline checkin counter.

Nonetheless, the deluge got me thinking about the importance of planning ahead.  There was a good deal of stuff I might need when I arrived in Japan that I would never be able to find, but it was hard to sort out just what would come in handy.  Below is a list of stuff I eventually settled on.

1. Toothpaste.  Supposedly the water here doesn’t have flouride and the toothpaste is spotty.  Not sure if thats true.
2. Deodorant.  Lots of it (I was moving to the jungle, basically).
3. Salt Water Taffy as omiyage, for the staff at my schools.  Also, keychains, tshirts, notepads, for special people.
4. Omiyage for the mayor and board of education.
5. Tie-dyed t-shirts, handmade before leaving
6. Two suits
7. Two poetry books and the collected works of both Shakespeare and Edgar Allen Poe (I like to read).
8. Stickers (for the kids).
9. Postage stamps (to act like stickers, for the kids)
10. Leather flipflops, from Wallmart, plastic sandals, dress shoes, and sneakers.
11. Some big ABC coloring pages.
12. Some postcards from Baltimore.
13. Lots of photos of friends, family, and stuff around town

I could certainly go on, but what the hell.  The point I’m about to brilliantly segue into is that I didn’t need half of that stuff to begin with and my luggage space would have been better spent on hot sauce, Reece’s cups, and Nyquil.  Here’s the list of stuff I shouldn’t have brought:

1. Toothpaste and deoderant.  Japanese pharmacies sell Aquafresh I still have six extra units of Old Spice under my sink.
2. Half the omiyage I brought.   Postcards and keychains, that’s all you need.  Besides, the mayor doesn’t really want a giant cardboard cutout of Cal Ripkin.
3. Random English teaching props.  Seasonal decorations and random magazines are probably more useful, but they can always be mailed by friends later.
4. Postage stamps.  Why did I listen to that recommendation?
5. Edgar Allen Poe.  Sorry dude.
6. One of the suits.  Also, half of the dress clothes I brought.
7. Excess photos.  Ones of friends and family are essential, but digitalize (is that a word?) the rest.

The best thing I brought were the tie-dyed shirts, which were actually mailed by a friend later.  The second best was omiyage but I never gave it away:  a small stuffed crab from Baltimore.  Perfect for games and subverting Japanese culture (which is your de facto  job description if you’re signed up for JET).  Runner up goes to my Baltimore Orioles cap.  They’re not popular at home, but they don’t exist over here, so wearing it gives me extra street cred.

Now, if I had replaced the omiyage, dress shirts, and Edgar Allen Poe with pharmecuticals, gummy bears, and science fiction, I probably would have had an easier time of things when I first arrive.   The tricky thing with planning for this sort of trip is that the Boyscout Motto (BE PREPARED!) only works if you know what you’re up against.  I unfortunately had no idea that I would be moving into the rural Japanese version of Ravenholm from halflife two, so I planned poorly.  Anyway, to finish this off, here’s a photo of my old sandals, still sometimes put to use in times of dire need:

I think I got my $10 worth out of them.

Coming up next in my series of “I’m actually writing again” blog posts, things I desperately need donated to me in America this summer.

On culture shock

Culture shock is eight year olds poking you in the crotch during an important speech.

Culture shock is tentacles for breakfast.

Culture shock is love that doesn’t make any sense.

Culture shock is suicidal kittens.

Culture shock is sticking out.  Alot.

Culture shock is the eye of Mordor.

Culture is a haircut you’ll regret.

Culture shock is the sin of satan and the sign of gorgoroth.

Culture shock is drunk people you’ll never see again.

Culture shock is an icy pit of despair, like the cold shadows of Elmo’s broken heart, in the rain.

Culture shock is food poisoning.  Again.

Culture shock is minor misunderstandings.

Culture shock is intimidating people at your birthday party.

Culture shock is no one pronouncing your name right.

Culture shock is a twelve month gin hangover and waking up in a strange karaoke bar.

Culture shock is bad formatting, and its getting old.