Arrival in Aichi

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I am writing this at our new our in home in Aichi and, in traditional Japanese style, I am sat cross legged in the Tatami room. For those of you who don't know Tatami is a kind of finely woven straw matting and in this case it is fitted like a wall to wall carpet. Ian says it smells like a hamster cage. The pc is resting on the table in front of me about a foot off the ground. The fan is going full speed, side to side, every 6 seconds I get a blast of cooler air however the effect on the heat is minimal. I cannot think of words to describe the heat, Ian chose the word 'oppressive', it's a good description. I would add to that draining and exhausting. Aichi is currently the hottest part of Japan with temperatures exceeding 35 degrees, apparently it can touch 40. Water boils at 100 degrees. That's almost half way to boiling. This can't be fit for humans. We arrived in Aichi on Wednesday. Five days of sweating, stinking and falling asleep through heat exhaustion. Tomorrow we are getting an air conditioner. Even if it costs 100, 000 Yen. (£500). I will live on rice for a week if I have to, I made the rice cooker work today, I'll write more about other personal achievements, (like finding margarine and boarding the train) later but I can't write too much more without telling of our dramatic and entirely frightening experiences on arrival in Aichi.

Ian had been complaining about a pain in his, er..., ass, since our second day in Tokyo. (Monday). By the next day he was really suffering so he introduced himself to CLAIR. No, not a girl, the council for local and international relations. Next thing he is taken off by a member of the CLAIR staff and introduced to the remarkable efficiency of Tokyo University Hospital where he is given an astonishing cocktail of medicines and a disturbingly graphic full colour information leaflet detailing exactly what the inside of his bottom looks like. The Japanese have no worries about showing you anything that looks like it came from a science fiction film but actually might really happen to your body. What happens next is even weirder. The British JETs are due to meet the British Ambassador to Japan au the British Embassy in Tokyo. Despite Ian's wobbly condition we get in a Taxi and go and it's all very grand and impressive, although it looks a bit like Chatsworth house inside which is very incongruous. Whilst we are drinking Pimms (yes I know) and enjoying the Japanese - English fusion fine dining (Sushi on a stick and miniature Cornish pasties for example) Ian suddenly realises that he's stoned. No, he's not breaking the tortuous Japanese laws on prohibited substances, it's the hallucinogenic medication he's on. He is talking at half the speed and desperately trying to compensate (Pleased.....to......meet....you.... Mr.... Ambassador.....). The free Pimms is not helping either, especially as it is topped up every five seconds by the highly trained Japanese waiting staff. I don't care, I'm pissed chatting freely with some eye-wateringly important people and having the time of my life. Ian seems to enjoy it too ... despite the stabbing pain. The nagging doubts about the stabbing pain.


Wednesday came and we board the Tokyo subway and the Shinkansen (bullet train) to Nagoya. All this time Ian is totally spaced out on the meds. We are introduced to our respective supervisors, a vice principal or two and ushered off to register for our alien registration cards and then, after a long wait, to the estate agents. The minutes pass by very slowly as various pieces of paper are filled in, stamped (with the Japanese seal or Hanko* - basically your name in Japanese) and scrutinized. Ian fidgets, grimaces and eventually collapses on the floor. The time has come to go to the hospital, another long wait but actually very quick relative to the UK. From this point on it's a bit of a blur, nurses, doctors and receptionists come and go and all we are able to say is 'Nihon-go ga wakarimasen'. (I don't speak Japanese). Surgery is mentioned and I start to panic slightly but fortunately the emergency lights in my brain kick in to gear. I somehow manage to ask the receptionist how much the surgery will cost (with the use of pointing and pictures) and then put in a call to JET to check the validity of our, now much needed travel insurance. Everything is in order and I don't need to make a call to the Foreign Office just yet. I try to explain what's happening to a dazed and confused husband who is understandably a little upset. The surgery goes ahead with the local anaesthetic failing to work and the nurse pinning Ian down like a summo wrestler. I have made an impression on the receptionist though, as we wait outside for a lift to our flat she comes out and strokes my face she says to Ian (translated) 'Your wife is cute and very funny'. Somehow that day we make it home, shocked, jet-lagged and utterly bewildered.

*My Hanko is just written as 'Taylor' and translates phonetically as 'gentle' and 'kind'. 'Ian' means 'staff training day'.

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