no wonder i love spider monkeys...

No one told me that travelling to Japan meant entering the jungle. And no, I don't mean a metaphorical jungle in the way that Robert Sullivan or Stephen Dunn turn steel beams and cigarette buts into images of wildness. I don't even mean a theoretical jungle of confusion and chaos. I really mean the jungle.

Step outside my dorm, and creatures are everywhere. I hack my way to the cafeteria, machete in hand, to the sound of what can best be identified as a curious symphony of howler monkeys, cicadas, rattle snakes, bullfrogs, and parakeets. I'm not sure how the Japanese wildlife manifests itself in such deafening form, but it's true -- I can barely hear myself think above the din of this jungle.

When it rains, it gets louder. They warn us of a typhoon headed in off the eastern coast, and while all of the non-Portlanders are scurrying to procure umbrellas, I'm mostly afraid that the jungle creatures will double in volume when it finally arrives. Then how will I learn to speak Japanese?