Welcome to Japan. Have a towel.

Now that the jet lag has settled to a mere roar in the background, the train map no longer seems like a bunch of colored strings some psychopath tied together at random and I am a (somewhat) legal resident who can access the internet, here I am to write a post about beginning my life in Japan.

I suppose I’ll start with the most obvious thing that strikes you when you first get off the plane: it’s hot. Really hot. And humid, what with Japan being an island and all. And due to all this, you’d think the AC companies would be making a fortune. Think again.

Air conditioning is a barely used commodity. It’s not that people don’t have it or can’t afford it. There’s one in almost every room of a house or school. They just choose not to use it; it’s like a luxury. Growing up in the American South, where a non-air-conditioned house was akin to bodily torture, this has always been something that has perplexes me. Being uncomfortable isn’t an issue. These people just don’t mind sweating.

Everyone carries a small towel in their bag or purse, with which they use to wipe whatever sweat may burst forth in the minimally ventilated trains. Men still wear full suits, only taking their jackets off on the hottest of days and only when outside the office. Unlike America, which prescribes a small mountain of anti-antiperspirants, Japan has no problem with its own perspiration.

Not only this, but in reducing the amount of AC to only the most crucial times, it saves a huge amount of energy. The AC units usually found in rooms aren’t built in vents, but smaller, removable machines that resemble a floor heater affixed to the wall. It takes longer for them to cool down an area, but overall they use up less energy, and a resident is expected to turn them off when leaving a room or going to bed at night.

And speaking of expectations, part of the reasons my entry is so delayed is all the paperwork I had to due upon arriving here. I’m sure my colleagues had their fair share of things they had to do to ensure they were legal residents of their country, but never before have I felt so bombarded by stuff. It was like I stepped off the plane and was hit by a bureaucratic brick.

Here’s an example: I need to pay my rent on my dorm. So, to pay my rent, I need a bank account because they won’t take credit card; Japan is a cash society and things like rent and bills are mostly done by direct bank withdrawel. To get a bank account I need my student ID. To get my student ID I need proof that I’ve been approved by the Japanese government to stay here as well as proof that I’ve got a place to stay. Which I won’t have if I can’t pay my rent. Ack. That was a few days of waiting in lines. But now I’ve got most of it, including a cell phone, so I’m not completely without the ability to contact people in a crisis.

I feel that once these first few hurdles are jumped, I’ll be good to go. I’ll get my Foreigner’s Registration Card by the end of the month (which I have to carry on me at all times, along with my passport or I can be arrested. How are other people’s countries when it comes to that? Strict?), I’ve already got my Student Commuter Pass, which saves me a bundle on transport, and I’m working my way through every 100 Yen Store in the Greater Kanto Area to fill out my room (which is much nicer than one would expect for the stereotypical Tokyo coffin-real-estate market; it even has a bathroom, kitchenette and washer!) So I believe I’m on my way. Questions? Comments?

And now that my lesson on Japanese energy efficiency is finished and I’ve told you about my woes at the local ward offices, I’m going to wrap it up. I have to go to the neighborhood market to buy a sweat towel – the weather forecast looks like more warm days. So the moral for today kids: when coming to Japan, be prepared to sweat in the summer and bring a lot of ID Photos – everyone want ’em.