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akujunkanJust try it. I DARE you.
For those of you who aren't aware, Japanese buildings are designed with an eye to creating the maximum in human discomfort, no matter the season. They don't have central heat. Or weather stripping. Or insulation. I, for instance, live in a building where my windows are soldered shut, preventing me from enjoying fresh air in the summer or gas ventilation in the winter (you'll see why this is important below). But seeing as there's no insulation, I only have about two inches of wood between me and the world outside. There is a half-inch gap between the bottom of my front door (which separates me from the great outdoors) and the floor, as well as a centimeter gap around the rest of the door. This makes my house extremely drafty. Furthermore, as most of my interior walls are shoji (sliding screens), the humidity of summer and damp of winter have warped them so that there are gaps between each room. Even when they're 'shut' the heat or coolness one is trying to trap within a room is free to leave the building at its leisure.
In broader terms, this state of affairs means that while I air condition constantly in summer and burn trance-inducing amounts of kerosene in the winter, I am usually a hair's breadth from dying of heat stroke for one half of the year, and hypothermia the other half.
My bathroom is plastic and has the dimensions and comfort level of the airplane lavatories it so closely resembles. Remember, I live in a house where the only heat is provided by localised kerosene heaters, and is soon lost through the flimsy plywood walls to the world outside.
Now imagine the effect this architectural genius has on the aftereffects of a shower taken in a plastic bathroom. To whit: after even the briefest of showers, the water condenses on the roof of the bathroom and for one or two days - even in summer - drips onto the heads of anyone who happens to be in the room brushing their teeth or taking care of other necessities. It's as if one's going spelunking every time one relieves oneself.
It's even worse in the winter. I took a shower first thing upon returning to my apartment after break. A week later, there was still a standing puddle of water on the bathroom floor, because I can't heat my apartment enough to get it to evaporate. This standing puddle of water, aside from being cold and unpleasant, also encourages mildew growth throughout the apartment.
I actually joined a gym for the sole purpose of being able to take showers without making my apartment unlivable. This worked well, until the n00b blueflamer employee stopped me one day and informed me, with a written Engrish note that would have been funny under other circumstances, that since I have a night membership, I'll have to pay an extra 500 yen every time I set foot inside the gym outside of weekdays.
The other employees don't care when I come in, because I'm usually only there for 45 minutes (changing and shower included) and the gym is making a killing off of me as it is. But since I have no idea when Enforcer works, I can no longer pop into the gym on weekends for my shower.
This created a problem this weekend, which was three days long. One tends to get sweaty while toiling through two or three feet of snow while going about one's business, and I wasn't about to take a shower in my apartment with the weather being colder than it has all year. Thus, I spent several hours on Saturday morning trudging through over a foot of snow to three different bath houses, trying to find one that was open, so that I could bathe.
I finally found one that would be open after 1pm a two-kilometer walk from my apartment. I went back later that evening and Monday, and amused myself both times by putting my Gaijin Disease to good use.
For those who have never visited Japan, Gaijin Disease is an incurable, chronic illness which infects all foreigners who enter Japan. It's main symptom is causing them to be...identified as foreigners.
Once a Japanese realises you're infected with Gaijin disease, panic strikes. S/he quickly alerts all fellow Japanese in the surrounding area, and you soon find yourself the sole remaining occupant of a subway bench, subway car, or in extreme cases, the subway system.
So I made my Gaijin Disease work for me this weekend by systematically chasing the old women making obnoxious comments about my foreignness from bath to bath until they gave up and left the bathhouse entirely, at which point I enjoyed a long, soothing soak in the lavender pool.
The Japan Experience: Making Xenophobia Work For You.
That will be all.
For those of you who aren't aware, Japanese buildings are designed with an eye to creating the maximum in human discomfort, no matter the season. They don't have central heat. Or weather stripping. Or insulation. I, for instance, live in a building where my windows are soldered shut, preventing me from enjoying fresh air in the summer or gas ventilation in the winter (you'll see why this is important below). But seeing as there's no insulation, I only have about two inches of wood between me and the world outside. There is a half-inch gap between the bottom of my front door (which separates me from the great outdoors) and the floor, as well as a centimeter gap around the rest of the door. This makes my house extremely drafty. Furthermore, as most of my interior walls are shoji (sliding screens), the humidity of summer and damp of winter have warped them so that there are gaps between each room. Even when they're 'shut' the heat or coolness one is trying to trap within a room is free to leave the building at its leisure.
In broader terms, this state of affairs means that while I air condition constantly in summer and burn trance-inducing amounts of kerosene in the winter, I am usually a hair's breadth from dying of heat stroke for one half of the year, and hypothermia the other half.
My bathroom is plastic and has the dimensions and comfort level of the airplane lavatories it so closely resembles. Remember, I live in a house where the only heat is provided by localised kerosene heaters, and is soon lost through the flimsy plywood walls to the world outside.
Now imagine the effect this architectural genius has on the aftereffects of a shower taken in a plastic bathroom. To whit: after even the briefest of showers, the water condenses on the roof of the bathroom and for one or two days - even in summer - drips onto the heads of anyone who happens to be in the room brushing their teeth or taking care of other necessities. It's as if one's going spelunking every time one relieves oneself.
It's even worse in the winter. I took a shower first thing upon returning to my apartment after break. A week later, there was still a standing puddle of water on the bathroom floor, because I can't heat my apartment enough to get it to evaporate. This standing puddle of water, aside from being cold and unpleasant, also encourages mildew growth throughout the apartment.
I actually joined a gym for the sole purpose of being able to take showers without making my apartment unlivable. This worked well, until the n00b blueflamer employee stopped me one day and informed me, with a written Engrish note that would have been funny under other circumstances, that since I have a night membership, I'll have to pay an extra 500 yen every time I set foot inside the gym outside of weekdays.
The other employees don't care when I come in, because I'm usually only there for 45 minutes (changing and shower included) and the gym is making a killing off of me as it is. But since I have no idea when Enforcer works, I can no longer pop into the gym on weekends for my shower.
This created a problem this weekend, which was three days long. One tends to get sweaty while toiling through two or three feet of snow while going about one's business, and I wasn't about to take a shower in my apartment with the weather being colder than it has all year. Thus, I spent several hours on Saturday morning trudging through over a foot of snow to three different bath houses, trying to find one that was open, so that I could bathe.
I finally found one that would be open after 1pm a two-kilometer walk from my apartment. I went back later that evening and Monday, and amused myself both times by putting my Gaijin Disease to good use.
For those who have never visited Japan, Gaijin Disease is an incurable, chronic illness which infects all foreigners who enter Japan. It's main symptom is causing them to be...identified as foreigners.
Once a Japanese realises you're infected with Gaijin disease, panic strikes. S/he quickly alerts all fellow Japanese in the surrounding area, and you soon find yourself the sole remaining occupant of a subway bench, subway car, or in extreme cases, the subway system.
So I made my Gaijin Disease work for me this weekend by systematically chasing the old women making obnoxious comments about my foreignness from bath to bath until they gave up and left the bathhouse entirely, at which point I enjoyed a long, soothing soak in the lavender pool.
The Japan Experience: Making Xenophobia Work For You.
That will be all.
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no subject
on 2005-01-11 01:03 pm (UTC)