Comings and Goings

Yesterday, I went with three of my housemates (the fourth was out of town until today) to the next stop on the local rail line, the Odakyuu-Odawara (小田急-小田原) line to Machida (田町).  We were celebrating both my arrival as a new resident, and the departure of a resident who had been here for the past year.  As the fellow who is departing Japan noted, we were eating in an Italian restaurant, with a French name, and which served its dishes in the Japanese style (what we might call "family style" in the USA).  It was a little too much cognitive dissonance for him, so he continued drinking his Belgian beer.

The stone stairway leading up from my front door.

During this trip, I have decided to stay at a somewhat traditional Japanese house that has been converted to a shared house with six individual sleeping rooms.  I selected it for the garden and the tranquility of being removed a bit from the urban-dominated landscape.  At night, I do not hear the trains, I do not hear the traffic.  I hear the rustling of the tree leaves in the steady sea breeze from the Pacific Ocean just 17 miles to the south.  I hear the sound of the rainfall splashing against the stone deck outside the sliding door.  I hear the sound of the neighbors cleaning their dishes.  And, yes, I hear the occasional sirens, reminding me that the city remains just beyond my horizon.

It'll be sad to see this housemate go, though I've known him only briefly.  He was the only resident with whom I could readily speak English without worrying that I was speaking too quickly for comprehension.  Speaking with my other housemates is an enjoyable exercise that allows me to practice my Japanese and they their English; but sometimes it is nice to just drop into your native tongue and speak freely without having to think so hard about what it is you are (or think you are) saying.