Dyad

In the last installment, I made it to Sumiyoshi Station. I thought my stress would be lifted for a bit longer than it was. In an email from my supervisor at Kobe University, she told us gaijin to meet at Sumiyoshi Station. My first thought was, well, stations can have more than one entrance, can’t they? So I replied to her seemingly vague email asking specifics on where to meet. With a prompt response, she told me that there was only one 

and that I couldn’t miss it!

Guess what I did!

Yup, as sure as the rising Sun, I blew right on by it. Not my fault, though. When I made it to the ticket gate, there were two exits. 50% at that point. I took the right exit. In hindsight, staying near the gate would have been wise. And now that I think about it, I think my supervisor told me to meet at the ticket gate. Hmph, so it was my fault after all! Anyway, I walked down the stairs and saw a white guy with travel bags, looking lost and confused. Definitely in my boat. I stroll over to the fellow and throw my native tongue, American, on to the blok…and with American I was responded to! though it was some odd variant I couldn’t make out. The guy I met was Gareth (whom I called Gunter for a week or two till I remembered his actual name). He is a Brit (explains the deformed American) from Sheffield University. Tall, little chubby, goofy…gaijin. Like me! So hey, instant buds. We began to talk, and as we become more familiar, a local interrupts us with really broken American. We eventually figured that another white guy was waiting for us up back in the station. We head up, and see another tall, skinny, extremely white gaijin with bags that cannot lie about who you are. This fellow’s name is Josh. He like Gareth is from Sheffield. We chat, and with a snap, the Gaijin Damn breaks, and the cattle start to round up. Third guy I met was Colton (Cole he prefers). He reminded me immediately of Malik, a friend of mine back in the States, but that doesn’t help you. Think Californian, like Ubercalifornian, with like wicked clothes, and like cool hair, and, you know, yeah, like a sweet accent. To this moment, I can’t tell if I like the guy. My hesitance started with a phone call. Immediately after meeting him, he received a phone call and wipped out fluent Japanese. Once he was done, I complimented him on his Japanese, telling him he sounded great. He shook his head and said he isn’t that good. Modest. Modesty! Come on, man. You are good. Don’t wave off my compliment. Being modest is no better than telling half truths – you’re still lying. Eh, whatever, looking upon this with patient eyes, I know this is only a silly pet peeve of mine, but it still irks. Anywho, more are still to arrive. Out of all who showed up that day, only one is really worth remembering for your sake. Lennart Jacob, a German from Hamburg. I don’t really have an idea of what German’s look like, but he fit my mental image of one perfectly. For lack of better terms, Aryan. Tall (relatively. Hell, I’m relatively tall in Japan), blonde hair, blue eyes, strong shoulders. Aryan. We waltzes towards our gathering gaijin gang with his 1940s travel bag and 1945 jacket. This guy, my friends, is a guy I’ll be sure to mention in more blogs. An atmosphere about him is goofy, yet thought-provoking. Entirely enjoyable.

The boat was now ready to set sail with the set of us. We back a bus, I offend a local, and the boat makes land at Sumiyoshi Kokusai Gakusei Shukusha, my home for the next year.