More Tales of the Yamori

(pssst. for those who haven't been following from the beginning of this crazy adventure or just plum forgot-- bonus points for whomever can explain that fruity expression, by the way, and extra bonus points for U.B. if he can do it without the OED-- 'yamori' roughly translates as 'gecko' ... but the ones I'm talking about are usually brown, unlike the famous green Geiko gecko, and in these parts are better translated as 'wall lizard' or 'home lizard.' As one of my neighbors explained, they are thought to be 'protectors of the home' and good to have inside. I think this is just a rationalization... although they do eat little bugs, they're really hard to keep out.)

Last night, my apartment complex threw me a long-postponed welcome BBQ, and amist what must have been a few cases of assorted cocktail/Chu-hi/mixed drinks, the ladies and I had quite a few intriguing discussions. My favorite topic, by far, was their yamori stories.

Earlier in the day, a yamori had snuck into my apartment as I was taking the laundry out, and it scampered under the bed, out of reach. Recalling my earlier call-to-the-yamori, begging them to come back and eat my bugs, I decided to let it hang out but wondered what kind of mischief it might cause. The apartment ladies left me with no question of the trouble it might cause.

One woman said she was absolutely terrifed of them and with good reason. One day, when she was opening the sliding door into her shower/bathroom, a yamori who had been precariously perched on the door fell and slipped into the towel she'd wrapped around herself. She, of course, whipped the towel away from herself, screaming, and batted the thing away.

The same woman was later cleaning out some hard-to-reach cracks and other seldom-investigated parts of her apartment when she discovered a cache of marble-sized yamori eggs guarded by one of their fierce-looking parents. She tried to dispose of the eggs but was too terrified of the adult to get very close. Briefly contemplating if she could call animal services, she settled on calling her husband, telling his office somewhat hysterically that there was a big emergency and he needed to come home immediately.

Here is a picture of my yamori trying to blend into the ceiling:

... really, it doesn't look that dangerous, does it? ^^

The Mighty Shall Fall

Last night at kendo practice, I was finally allowed to do more than shuffle my feet around (in proper kendo style, of course, which is harder than it looks and has left me with more than one blister; with your right foot forward and left foot back, to the left slightly, and heel raised, the right foot slides forward -- while maintaining contact with the ground-- and left foot follows after. Only the legs bend; the core and upper body move forward without swaying, bending, and preferably not without the traditional bobbing motion of normal walking. This is perhaps not so hard to do on linoleum or wood floors with socks, but try it in bare feet--required in kendo-- with humidity that makes feet stick to the floor. Not so easy. And, when the forward motion is mastered, there is also moving backwards, to the left, and to the right, all with slight variations on the above). I was, in short, estatic to be declared competent in walking, kendo-style, and allowed to do more with my borrowed wooden practice stick.

Having become fairly adept at walking, which I think is a great part of kendo's grace-- that not-moving-the-upper-body bit is part of the fluidity of how one moves while doing kendo-- I was eager to move onto "Project Coolness: Phase 2. Add stick." However, phase 2 just bumped me back so far away from ultimate-kendo-coolness that I almost thought the students instructing me were pulling a practical joke. I was told to face my first opponent, the not-so-formidable dusty kendo dummy in a corner of the gym. Here he/she/it is, for posterity:

... yeah. If your students told you to "go whack the dummy in the corner on the head"... wouldn't you think it was a practical joke? The poor thing doesn't even have a practice stick. (Although before I actually whacked it, they did adjust a stick in its hands for measuring the proper distance I should stand from it). Also-- I'll try to get more pictures later-- the dummy doesn't even have a nickname. In kendo, one's name is usually printed... shall we say, over a particularly vital part of the body for reproductive purposes... on the pleated skirt-like protective covering in the picture. Upon asking my elementary kendo kids why the name is printed in that particular location, I only got giggles. I haven't worked up the courage to ask one of the coaches yet.

So, standing the proper distance away and armed with with my interacting-with-an-opponent practice stick-- made of strips of dried bamboo tied together so there is a great thwacking noise upon contact with anything and less applied force than the practicing-movements-on-one's-own solid wood stick-- I approached mine enemy. He/she/it was, on closer examination, a little more formidable, which is perhaps attributable to his/her/its height (taller than me) and the group of middle-schoolers who had gathered around to watch the foreigner hit the dummy with a stick.

Honestly... that's moving into the negative side of the coolness scale. I somehow managed to stop laughing at the situation, wipe the tears away for long enough to look a kid in the eye to make sure he was serious about this, raise the stick far over my head, elbows bent (in proper kendo fashion), and thwack the thing on its head. I managed to hit the worn, fuzzy spot (that the kids assured me they and everyone who had ever learned at their school had hit many times), and the kids were sufficiently impressed that many of them dispersed and returned to their own practice routines, which allowed me to thwack the dummy a bit more in relative privacy. We're starting to bond.

It's occurred to me that coolness isn't the greatest reason for doing kendo, and I want to be clear that it's not my only reason, by far, for participating in this particular sport. Having tried my hand at a few other Japanese cultural activities like tea ceremony and zazen, I enjoyed the feeling of peace and -- correctness? -- inherent in both. There is one way to do things right. Nice and concrete. Once you have the moves down, they can be done with great concentration on everything, beyond what the hands or feet are doing (because the hands and feet have done the motion so many times, they know what to do)... it's very peaceful, and I want to regain that feeling in a communal setting. I get the feeling the dummy and I will be spending much more time together as I master the head-slash movement. And while hitting the dummy may not be cool-- well, yeah, it kind of borders on the ridiculous, if I really want to think it about it that much-- it does fulfill those more important goals of participating in a cultural activity, interacting with members of the school and community outside of class, and working towards mastery of movements and that feeling of peace.

And, you know, he/she/it is starting to grow on me.

Snapshots of the Week

After a grueling 8 whole hours of work on Monday, projecting my voice repeatedly to get the 1-2nd graders attention and begging for some response from the horomone-fueled shy 5-6th graders, I got a well-deserved 24 hours off today for the sake of the autumnal equinox.

Thank the deities that Japan honors the seasons, especially if it gives me time off. Upon asking a neighbor, I learned that the day off is usually devoted to cleaning up one's family gravesite. With the Obon festival last month dedicated to to the same thing, I'm starting to get the impression that autumn in Japan is a time of reflection on what has passed and is passing.

Which is really not unlike America's celebration of Halloween, formerly All Hallows Eve, even with all of its hyped-up consumer-oriented products. In fact, Halloween seems to be a big celebration here, if not in the authentic and casual trick-or-treating format of my childhood then in an imported special-cultural-event: Halloween-party form. The other ALTs started talking about Halloween costumes soon after I arrived. There are a few big Halloween parties on the island that all of the ALTs are invited to, and we're expected to show up in costume.

And now, for brevity, a recap of the past week through snapshots:

--the look of incredulity by a 4th-grader who came over after finishing her lunch (I was still working on my rice and the sesame-cucumber-bean-sprout salad) and told me what long eyelashes I have.

--More family picture responses: my father has graduated from being "really cool" to "like Spiderman" and "no, no, he's more like the Terminator!" ... the kids seem to be really impressed by his stance in the picture I show them.

--thanking the heavens that my school-lunch piece of fish came cooked and lacking the head but still mangling the flesh with my chopsticks. Looking around at the 2nd graders I was eating with and realizing that my chopstick stills were only slightly worse than some of theirs. Only the girl sitting to my right seemed to have mastered the skill of removing the bones in one smooth motion; the rest of us ended up with flakes of fish everywhere, bones mixed in. In our defense, it was particularly overcooked, dry, and difficult to work with.

--wandering around today at the "Family Park" in Mine with some of the other island ALTs. Trying to start a fire for BBQ in a special BBQ pit with charcoal and lighter fluid. Failing. Rummaging around in the nearby groomed woods area for random sticks and leaves. Trying to use them for fuel. Failing. Tearing out a few non-essential pages from the back of a book to use as starter fuel. Failing. Being rescued by some park workers who show up with special gear (high-intensity mini-torches, really, plus shavings of what looked like white lard to keep the fire going long enough to catch the charcoal) and set us up at one of the BBQ tables. They do everything, including show us how to fan the fire. Give us a Chinese-style paper fan. Adam furiously fans the mini-flames with the Chinese fan while Rose and I dig out our Japanese-style fold-out fans. The three of us fan furiously while Joe laughs hysterically at the sight and takes pictures.

--also at the park today: climbing up a hill and discovering something one would only see in a tropical locale: a fake-grass turf hill for sliding. I dipped the bottom of my sled-- identical to the stubby plastic kind one would use in snow-- in the vat of oil provided to make the sled more slippery, climb aboard at the top of the fake green hill, and push off screaming and laughing.

--another slide moment: a giant Dragon-shaped slide, similar in scope to a water-slide, at the park. One sits on a foam mat which slides over horizontal spinning metal bars on the decent. Getting half-way down my first run, gaining quite a lot of momentum, and realizing there was a massive spider web strung up across an upcoming section with a spider the size of my palm resting in the web. Shrieking and lying as flat as possible to swoop beneath the web. Dubbing the slide "The Dragon Slide of Doom."

--later, wandering over to the river-estuary-- any body of water on the island is never far from the sea, so it's all salty-- wading in on some steps, trying to coax the schools of tiny fish into showing some interest. Joe had them nibbling at his toes. I wasn't successful, but on returning to my shoes on dry ground discovered a small crab had taken up residence under the sandal straps. Had to gently inform him the spot wasn't open for rent.

--Cool-kendo-outfit update: I was very close to putting in an order for kendo gear at yesterday's practice, including the traditional clothing (better to sweat in authentic garb instead of standing out more by being the only one in generic work-out gear, right?)-- and had almost completed the order, done by my kendo instructor over his cell phone, when he handed his phone to me. Taking it from him and realizing they needed my height-- in centimeters. Totally spacing on all of the conversions. Feeling like an idiot to not know my height in Japanese. I do now, though: ~164 cm. The clothes will be ordered tomorrow during the next practice!

--While the kids were changing out of their gear during the end of kendo practice, one of the coaches came over to me and tried to explain some of the history and purpose of kendo, in addition to how to bow correctly in different circumstances (all ritualized part of kendo). Honestly, I didn't understand that much. I got that knowing why I do/want to do kendo is very important, and I struggled to not blurt out that it was mostly the coolness factor (because, frankly, there ~is~ more to it... the repetitive practicing of different movements looks meditative, and yelling is an important part too. It's fairly socially unacceptable to yell anywhere for whatever reason in Japan-- well, except perhaps for going on scary rides or down slides, i.e. my above excess pleasure in discovering the ones at the park-- but it is apparently expected in kendo practice at the same instant of striking one's opponent or practicing a strike. Good opportunity, then, to vent some stress). I'm afraid that the kendo coach said a great deal more, all of it said very quickly and in very manly speech, that I didn't understand at all. I hope it wasn't that important.

... more updates to come as they become available :)

To Typhoon #13

Dear Typhoon #13,

First of all, I am very disappointed that you missed Tsushima, ~completely~, after news reports suggested that you might come this way earlier in the week and give me my first day off from school due to typhoon. I've never been in a typhoon before and was kind of excited for the new experience. Also, missing school due to typhoon is so much cooler than due to the immense amounts of precisely-timed snow of my childhood. The plows can come out in force during a snowstorm and school can prevail, but I doubt wee island folk could do much against your dangerously-strong winds. I was looking forward to battering down the hatches and hoping that my sliding doors held. Especially against such a terror as yourself, typhoon number 13!! ... a superstitiously important number and quite fitting for my first typhoon experience. (Just think.. instead of this drab letter to you, I could be writing an "Ode to Typhoon #13" right now! ... but nay, you've missed your chance for greatness and immemorialization. Sadly, you typhoons are named by the order you arrive in a certain typhoon season. You missed your chance this go-around.)

Secondly, I could have used a day off this week. Yes, I know, I already got Monday off due to "Respect for the Aged Day" -- disrespectfully shortened by moi to "Old People's Day"-- but it was my first visit to a new school and a particularly trying school at that. Things brightened a little today, my third and last day at that school for awhile, but it was generally a slog.

For shame, Typhoon #13. I'll expect more from you next year.

Almost Famous

This evening held the first really depressing moment I've had in Japan. I think the ecstacy that is the first stage of culture shock is starting to wear off. I had plans to go to a little get-together, but it was cancelled, and for the second time in a week I found myself facing another evening alone with minimal notice and a tub full of potato salad made for the occasion. [Now it sounds kind of hilarious, but the thought of trying to give away a tub full of potato salad in Japan, even broken down into smaller containers, is really quite daunting. In a society where favors are avoided because being indebted to someone is a burden, no one was going to be happy if I tried to foist my potato salad off onto them. To have it happen twice in a week was completely deflating. Aside from having lost an evening engagement and possibly stimulating conversation, I'd gained the problem of finding even more devious ways to deaccession more potato salad].

So I headed for the beach. On my bike, to try to work off some of the disappointment and to drink in more of Tsushima's beauty on the way. A small crab that skittered across the sidewalk cheered me a little. Muida was deserted save for one Japanese man toting a large camera, his wife patiently waiting in their car that was still running. He didn't linger long, and then the beach was mine. I sat and looked at the rock in the surf with a gnarled evergreen tree scraping for purchase on top, the piece of scenery that makes the beach 'the third-most famous in Japan.' It looked so lonely.

Dispirited and thinking that I couldn't bear to eat alone when I'd been looking forward to a little adult commaderie all week (playing with children all day is lovely but I need something deeper occasionaly), I decided to go out to a little yaki-tori place where the owners were friendly and the conversation lively. Unfortunately, I got the wrong hole-in-the-wall-- there are two yaki-tori places side-by-side that look very similar-- and what I assume was a husband-and-wife team barely glanced at me, keeping their gaze fixed either on the food they were preparing or on the television set. I ate as quickly as possible and got the heck out of dodge.

Earlier, I'd heard that there was going to be a bingo night at a shrine before the festival tomorrow-- which I will miss due to scuba-diving plans -- and decided that I would even take the companionship of barely-understandable obaachans over going home after my sad meal. Heading over to the shrine, I was surprised to see lots of lanterns and a ton of kids. It turned out that there was a pre-festival festival going on, with a few food booths (fewer than last year, a few people lamented to me, because there is a larger festival going on at a shrine in Izuhara this weekend), mochi-making, and an assortment of performances from students at the local schools in addition to bingo.

Almost everywhere I looked, there were small children waving at me, calling, "Kimberly-sensei! Kimberly-sensei!" My loneliness dissipated instantly. Parents came over to say hello, dragged by their children or themselves dragging their shy kids over. I ran into my favorite school nurse who spent almost an entire day chatting with me a few weeks ago when I had very little to do, and I watched her daughter play the flute in the school band concert. I was cheered even more to see a girl playing the tuba in their small ensemble, recalling my own high school tuba days, and nearly laughed hysterically when the band got up and played YMCA marching-band style with choreographed movements. I also met the woman who runs the ESL school in Hitakatsu and will probably be volunteering there sometimes on free Saturdays.

After the band was done and dancing-- traditional and non-- began, I was dragged over to try my hand at mochi-making. Gathered around a raised bowl with a large wooden hammer-like instrument, I pounded cooked rice with two men into mochi, or rice-dough. The three of us took turns with our hammers, pounding in a synchronized effort-- 1, 2, 3! (I was #3). It didn't take that long to finish-- maybe 5 minutes-- and then they whisked off the pounded dough and whisked back a container with three balls of it covered in light brown kinako, or soybean flour. Delicious. Of course, the whole town saw me pounding mochi, and I'm sure to hear about it for days if not weeks. It was fun and worth it, though.

I've found that my status as Resident Gaijin (foreigner) grants certain priviledges that are like being famous but fall short in some areas. At big events like the festival, people will come up to me or children will wave hello. The more adventurous ones will even say, "Hello!" Sometimes in the grocery store the same thing happens and, in general, everyone is very friendly. There is a darker side, though. For instance, when I was at the grocery store last week a woman looked into my small shopping basket, saw the ridiculously-priced fresh plums and dates, and asked me if I knew how expensive they were in a tone that suggested that either I was foolish to be buying such things or getting paid way too much to afford such extravagance. I tried to explain that I'd never had a fresh date before, and Japanese plums looked very different from American ones and I wanted to taste the difference. She didn't look convinced. I doubt that Drew Barrymore ever has that problem.

It may surprise my family to know that they, too, are becoming quasi-famous. Using family pictures to round out my self-introduction in the classroom, I'm always amused at what the students say. According to the kids, my father is very handsome and rugged--probably because the particular picture I'm using of him is atop Mt. Chase and he's looking as one does after conquering a mountain. My aunt and uncle's house is ~enormous~ and looks both very American/New England-y and also like an apartment building. My mother definetely looks like a teacher. In general, the kids think that my cat Min is cuter than Max, but Max has a cooler name. (The boys particularly like Max. I think the letter "x" has some inherent coolness to them. In Max's defence, she is sleeping in the particular picture I'm showing off, so her gorgeous head is turned away... but Min got a chorus of "KAWAIIIIIII~~~~," or "CUUUUTE" at one of my schools... the kids were so loud that it disrupted the classes nearby and other teachers later asked me what on earth I had done to get such a response).

... nearly every person I talk to for more than 30 seconds asks me how I'm adjusting to Tsushima. I always tell them, "slowly, slowly." It's not so much Tsushima as adjusting to how people see me, I think. I can drive fairly comfortably and buy food and generally figure out maps; I can survive. But I'm still surprised whenever a kid comes up to me on the street and says, "Kimberly-sensei!" ... I don't feel like a teacher yet. I still just feel like a foreigner who is out of place and looks it, and I'm not sure that is ever going to go away. I'm clearly so much more out of place here in the country than I was in Kyoto; even though I always slightly resented being thought a tourist, I was hardly ever singled out.

... that being said, I'm still having fun, enjoy working with the kids, and in my own way am adjusting to the possibility of never really adjusting. It's not exactly what I thought it would be like, but precious little is, and it's much more of an adventure this way.

And, really, at this point in my life, I want adventures. If I can't make an adventure out of it, I don't want to write about it, and if I can't write about at least one thing in the course of the week, then life has gotten too boring.

Impressions from kendo practice

The Japan saga continues as our young heroine finally decided she had enough courage to brave a kendo practice-- and, more difficultly, waded through a bunch of Japanese ambiguity and evasiveness to find out when and where practices are held.

Kendo, for those of you not in the know, is the traditional Japanese martial art of swordsmanship. Think samurai. Think lots and lots of samurai... kids. Yelling. A lot. While waving around practice sticks.

I thought the elementary kids were adorable in class, but man, you put them in the traditional kendo outfit of a split skirt and give 'em a stick... even more adorable. And the coaches were, frankly, beyond kakkoi (cool) with their fluid movements, weird foot-sliding moves like Noh but with a purpose, and yell of some unintelligible Japanese syllable while slamming their practice sticks down in just the right spot... stopping centimeters from a kid's head or chest. I'm willing to endure a greal deal of pain and sweat to possibly, one day, eventually, be that cool.

I want to be dashing-samurai-Kim.

And, indeed, the sweat started today, although I'd come mostly to watch practice and see if this was something I really wanted to do. The kids usually start off practice with a run, which I was equipped for (I haven't dished out what I imagine will be an exhorbitant sum for all of the kendo gear yet) with new sneakers and comfy if non-name-brand work-out clothes. And, dear deities, am I out of shape. I thought that maybe some of the muscle developed at Highmoor farm over the summer would've stuck around... but not so much. I may even start running again to build up something that could be considered cardiovascular endurance if I don't die from kendo practice.

Sadly, I'm going to have to work for the cool kendo gear as well. My next-door neighbor and kendo liasion said that usually the kids go to practice for ~6 months before ordering their gear. It's kind of a like a test to see if they're really serious about it, and during that time I guess they work on foot movements, the various assortment of bows, and maybe a few sword movements with a borrowed practice sword. Maybe I can get on an only-here-for-1-or-2-years gaijin fast-track to get the ultra-cool kendo outfit earlier.... but it's really entirely up to the coach, who has to special-order any equipment. There don't appear to be any stores in the area with that kind of sportswear, so I'm entirely at his mercy.

Updates to come as they become available..!

Snapshots from the past week

I officially started school one week ago today, and it' s been a ride. I've been to 4 schools already, and each has been quite different. Going into details would be too lengthy to ever actually get posted and might be boring too, so here are just the highlights, in no particular order:

--This morning. Riding in the back of the taxi going down my road, chillin' in the back, the wind blowing my hair dry from the morning shower, sunglasses in place, waving like the freakin' Queen to kids on the side of the road, who sometimes start chasing the taxi, yelling "hello! hello!"... if that doesn't make your day, nothing will.

--My welcome reception at Hitakatsu elementary school, last Friday. Following the principal into the gym, walking through a double line of kids assigned to be the welcome party holding up flower-chain bridges over my head. We swerve to avoid crashing into the rest of the assembly, a mass of small bodies waving and clapping and smiling, focused so hard on me I thought their eyes just might devour me. Melting from the adorableness of it all.

--The scene directly following the end of my 4th-grade class at Hitakatsu Elementary. My body covered in children. At least two on each arm, tugging in different directions, to go see this part of the classroom or go to get ready for lunch. One mischevious girl behind, tickling my lower back at odd moments. Two kids in front, holding out the cage with their class bug-- a big black beast-- and the rest of the swarm behind, jabbering at me in little-kid Japanese all sorts of questions, like how old I am and if I'm married.

--This morning, outside, at the start of practice for Sports Day. Scrambling around in the grass to find a bug-- and bug-- catching a small green grasshopper, and using it to convince the 1st-grade autistic child to slide all the way down the playground slide and stop trying to scramble back up. His eyes were so big when I opened my hands to let him see it.

--Last week, Sports Day practice at Tobu middle school. Hiding in the back, behind the students, working out with my Japanese teacher of English (JTE) who is trying to stick to a diet and losing tons of weight to battle pre-diabetes. It almost kills me to try to follow what the kids are doing, a highly-energetic, lunge and squat-intensive traditional dance that I later find out other schools are also practicing. The principal eventually joins us and, a few minutes later, flops to the ground on his stomach in a sad and sweaty heap. I thought he might actually be having actue physical distress and briefly considered going for the school nurse, but then he hauled himself up and did a few push-ups. Tough guy. Three days later, I still hurt from that one practice.

--The looks of excitement in the kids' faces-- nearly every kid's face so far-- when, at the end of my self-introduction, I haul out a copy of "Sailor Moon" and "Neon Genesis Evangelion" in English. The other teachers, even the ones I'm not working with, are almost more excited than the kids. They're even more blown away when I explain to the older kids that the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles comic was originally designed, in part, by someone from Maine.

--The magical moment this morning when my taxi rounded a curve, and there was a bay with water so still that the reflection of the surrounding mountains was unmarred except for where the piles for catching oysters floated peacefully.

--On a drive with one of my JTEs over the weekend, we saw an area that was almost completely covered, from the edge of one mountain to the next in all directions, with rice paddies blowing gently in the breeze. (There aren't that many rice paddies near my apartment-- it's kind of a haul to see one, it's too mountainous here--so it was unique for this area). Later, we flushed a partridge, or a partridge-like thing, which probably startled us more than the bird.

--Nearly ever day after school. My arms crossed and head lolling around, napping in the taxi on the way home. Or, if that proves impossible from the speed at which a particular driver goes, dropping my things inside the door, slipping off my shoes, and flopping on the tatami mat for a brief no-movement-no-thinking recuperation from the energy required to keep up with the kids.

--Saturday night, having dinner with my next-door neighbor and couple who lives above me. Trying to not drink copious amounts of alcohol, or at least balance it out with water, but still take advantage of having someone to share a bottle of wine with. In addition to the obligatory kanpai beer and following shochu. Trying cow's heart and tongue for what I believe is the first time (they were particularly explicit in their explanation... I don't always ask, sometimes preferring not to know. Actually, the heart was very tasty and I would never have known it was something unusual had I not been told). Being told that I have "a Japanese heart" because I'm modest. I told them that my more boisterous American heart might come out with more alcohol. They refilled my glass. Later, trying to explain the concept of and how to make a shooter. Finally achieved understanding and, I believe, a new respect from the man who lives above me.

...in the end, respect is what it's all about. I have so much respect for all of the teachers in my schools now. I'm supposed to be young-- on average, half as old as most of them-- and I'm exhausted at the end of every day. I don't know how they do it. Copious amounts of never-ending coffee helps, but one needs a sort of stamina, fueled in part from the kids' energy but at the same time self-sustaining. I'm learning to cultivate it, running in part off the above treasured moments of the past week. Let's hope there are many more to come.

Nagasaki, Part II

When last our great adventurer was heard from, she was dragging her weary feet away from one of the most depressing experiences in the world, head swirling with images of destroyed buildings and mutilated bodies and an oppressing weight of perhaps mislaid responsibility bearing down. What on earth could possibly revive her spirits?

The Body Shop, of course.

... I don't mean to lessen the experience of visiting Nagasaki's atomic bomb museum or the actual events, but as a traveler and human being and, for that matter, blog-writer, one must press on. It does not to do dwell on (oooo HP reference there, did you catch it?) such dark experiences. Short doses do much more.

Since the girls-only chat at Nagasaki orientation during which we were told to take care of ourselves in girlish fashion, I had been obsessing about getting some peppermint foot lotions to hold in reserve for cheering myself up after the potential dark days of teaching that were to come. The Body Shop delivered. (All the pretty fragrances also did a nice job reviving my appreciation of the world, despite its horrors like the atomic bomb). I am now fully stocked in peppermint-scented foot care: exfoliating foot scrub and brush, cooling foot lotion, and "Intensive Foot Rescue" for when things get desperate. As far as I can tell, the packaging doesn't explicitly limit what my feet will be rescued from, so I'm going to let it be a catch-all for all sorts of disasters. Maybe I should pack some in an earthquake/typhoon emergency bag or smear some around my doors to keep the bugs out. ... if my feet are rescued, maybe the rest of me will be too.

... I don't remember all the details of what we did the rest of the day, but I think it was mostly spent poking around various shopping establishments and walking along the pier. There was a nice sea-breeze, and I haven't yet gotten tired of gazing at the ocean with mountains in the background. Dinner consisted of more pizza, some with teriyaki sauce and some with-- blissfully-- normal sauce, and another trip to Baskin-Robbin's for crepes. Except, of course, for Rose, who committed "The Great Crepe Betrayal"-- copyright moi-- by not ordering one when Joe, Gavin, and myself (the other 3 Tsushima newbie ALTs) all did. For shame, Rose. Even if you never ~said~ you were going to order a crepe, it was certainly implied. And I don't know if we can be friends if you don't appreciate the deliciousness that is the crepe, Japan-style. ;)

Sunday dawned with a renewal of energy, and the Tsushima ALTs were once again ready to brave new historical wonders for the sake of taking pictures and giving our mini-vacation some legitimacy beyond easy access to fast food and night life. Since we didn't have a huge amount of time, we settled on Glover Gardens, which is a somewhat-preserved foreigner's estate from the 1800's pleasantly situated on top of a hill overlooking Nagasaki City.

Although it was a hot morning and kind of a hike up the hill, our journey was aided by incredible outdoor escalators:

... and our efforts were rewarded by many fine views of the city, a lovely British tea-garden, and the best shot of a hawk-like bird I've gotten so far, a species which also runs rampant in Tsushima. [It's still not a great picture... but identification, Uncle Ben? ;) My Japanese-English Guide to Living Things in Japan book fails me].

All in all, a lovely trip. Peace is the word. Or, to be Japanese, the guesture.

Nagasaki Prefectural Orientation: Never-ending Party Off-the-island. Part 1.

Last weekend was the Nagasaki Prefectural Orientation and my first trip off the island since arrival. It was a wonderful 3 days of city life and daily consumption of sumptuous Baskin-Robbins ice cream.

My plane left from Izuhara around noon, so I left the apartment around 9 to arrive with time to spare. It still took me around 2 hours to drive from Hitakatsu to Izuhara, but it felt like I was flying around the mountain curves with more ease than my last trip.

Arriving Thursday afternoon, the other Tsushima JET newbies and I checked into our hotel and went to a covered shopping arcade. I nearly cried when I saw the 24-hour McDonald's. While I very rarely indulge in its fat-dripping offerings in the states, here in Japan McD's is like a big of home transplanted. A Big Mac here tastes just like a Big Mac at home, and for a few blissful moments I can pretend to be anywhere in America, as long as the secret sauce lolls about my mouth. Add to that the fact that I can only get it while on the mainland... well, that's a good set-up for McDonald's obsession and consumption. It's not that I'm homesick or want to be home in America. It's just that the daily effort of getting around using Japanese can be draining, and the food is fairly foreign, so something exactly like it is at home that I can order in English is a blessing. I am glad to report that I am not the only American who feels this way or even the only expatriot. During the lunch break at orientation, one of other island girls from New Zealand made a bee-line for McDonald's and ordered a Mega Mac-- yes, that's a double Big Mac-- and we had a stimulating discussion about how we'd almost never considering eating such things at home.

We ended up at a small hole-in-the-wall bar for dinner Thursday night, after Rose and I snuck off for Baskin Robbin's (oh my goodness the chocolate-banana crepe... mmmm), which had pretty decent pizza if you can ignore the mayonnaise sauce. Actually, I think it's pretty good, but I had a hankering for authentic American food after seeing the golden arches, so I imagined the mayo sauce away.

Friday saw the dawn of orientation, which was pretty much like Tokyo orientation but smaller-- and, as the JETs who were helping run it said, they had to repeat stuff from Tokyo. It was nice to meet up with the Nagasaki JETs I hadn't seen in awhile, though, especially the other islanders. You've got to bond when someone from a smaller island than yours is going to skip the evening bar-hopping festivities in favor of buying toilet paper (which, according to her, was too expensive to imagine on the island. I guess they can get away with jacking the prices up incredibly because people still have to buy it.)

I went to a few post-orientation get-togethers, including a tabe/nomihodai (all-you-can-eat/all-you-can-drink) dinner at a hotel which had delectable cheesy potatoes. I know, they're really pommes des terre au gratin, or something like that, but let's call them what they are. Cheesy potatoes. And yes, for all of my family who knows me too well and must be wondering, I found some ketchup to go with them. Japan has a sad lack of cheese, aside from the dairyland of Hokkaido, and Tsushima is no exception.

I should make a checklist for future mainland visits. It would go something like this:

--Get a Big Mac.
--Make time for your daily Baskin-Robbins.
--If cheese is to be had, go out of your way to get it.
--Try the local delicacy if it sounds at all edible.
--Definetely try the local soft-serve ice cream flavor. If there isn't one, get matcha.
--If there's a handicraft place, go and make something, however ridiculous.
--Buy stationary.
--Ride on a train if possible.
--Hop in a scenic onsen if one is available and it's not too hot. Climb a mountain if necessary.
--Try to get to a high point in the region or surrounding wilderness and take scenic pictures.
--Go to at least one historic place and take tons of photos so no one knows what you were really doing the rest of the time... which is, mostly, searching out food, eating it, and trying to burn off the calories.

... if you can't guess from my list, on Saturday I went to a bunch of historic places in Nagasaki City ^^ The focus of the morning was the Nagasaki Peace Park and atomic bomb museum area. I really wanted to see everything there was to see, perhaps to assuage some of the guilt I have walking around a city that was obliterated ~60 years ago by my country and wondering, every time I pass an old man or woman, if they lived near Nagasaki during the war. But I couldn't do it. The peace park was fine; there was an assortment of statues from Japan and other countries, all dedicated to the ideals of peace:

... which was all fine and good. However, Ground Zero, the spot above which the bomb exploded and was a source of suffering for so many, was filled with too much residual energy. The black tower marks its exact location:

... after that, I wandered into a memorial hall with a couple of the other ALTs, but we ended up skipping the museum. Having been to Hiroshima, I knew it would probably be fairly graphic, and I wasn't up for it after the heaviness of what we'd already seen.

(... to be continued in Nagasaki, Part II...)

Adventures at the Suu-pah

When originally thinking about applying for JET early on in my senior year, I thought a bit about what it would like to live alone. Out of all possible considerations, this was by far the scariest and the least avoidable-- even if I didn't do JET and stayed in the states, chances were I'd be by myself, alone, in an apartment somewhere. I thought it might be lonely sometimes, but I'd get a cat and everything would be okay.

I failed to consider finding myself in an apartment that restricted pets. I haven't actually asked, but I cringe to think about what a kitty would do to my tatami mats. In the states de-clawing would be an option, but out here in the sticks where cats are more homeless outdoor creatures than furry balls languishing away until their next can of tuna, I don't know if that would be an option. So far, it hasn't been that big a deal. I glimpse a fluffy kitty now and then, and it suffices my base level of feline companionship.

A much more difficult problem and one I hadn't really considered was cooking for myself. Not only cooking, but making a list and getting the things on it while wading through an avalanche of kanji characters and pushing through a crowd of obaachans (old grandmothers), trying to find something edible or easy-to-make-edible. I think it's about time for a run-down of how my visits to the suu-pah (the Japanese abbreviated version of "supermarket") are going.

When I first arrived, food was kind of an issue because I didn't have a car and didn't know that there was a suu-pah within relative walking distance. I relied solely on some food that my supervisor put together for me for the first day. On day 2, we went to the suu-pah and got food that was supposed to last me until I got my car-- 4 days, which turned into 5 when we learned the car wasn't ready for pick-up on the expected day. Subsequently, I had to get a little creative with what I had left and what canned things my predecessor had left me. This resulted in original and nourishing but perhaps not repeatable meals like mushroom-hot-dog-rosemary-spaghetti sauce over pasta. (I think I deserve a little credit for getting nearly all the food groups in).

Once I got the car, food seemed easier to deal with. I could choose when my battles with the grandmothers would be and take the brightly-colored kanji packages slowly. And, for the most part, I think I've succeeded. Making a good list, however, and sticking to it is still a little problematic, especially now that I've started school (more on that later) and have less time.

... just for kicks, here's my most recent shopping list and a concurrent list of the things that I actually got.


1. Cereal

... well, I did get cereal, delicious Fruits Granola, which is basically an assortment of mostly unidentifiable but delicious grains, dried fruit, and nuts. Awesome with...

2. Milk

... for some reason, all fresh milk in Japan is whole-fat or tastes it. There are many different kinds of milk to choose from, though, which makes me think that they do have different levels of fat... but it's really not obvious. There is such thing as "skim milk," but that's really dry milk.

3. Tofu

... I ended up with 3 single-serving packages (all tied together) of black sesame tofu, which is simply delicious. I can't buy the plain stuff if black sesame is available.

4. Fruit

... ambiguous list item, since I was trying to get something in season. Since it's between seasons right now, or seems like it, I ended up with 1 nashi (the apple/pear combination fruit I wrote about earlier).

5. Veggies

... also going for what is in season or seemed like it by low price, I got cabbage, greens (which look like bolted lettuce, but I'm sure they're something else), 4 tomatoes, 4 cucumbers (both all in one package), and sprouts of the Asian variety.

6. Non-spaghetti pasta

... after the ~4 days of spaghetti while waiting to get a car, I've laid off pasta for awhile, but I want to try my hand at a casserole one of these days. This is in preparation.

7. Pasta sauce

... the end result was getting "meat sauce," which comes in a can... if it's anything like the bag-packaged variety, it will be watery and have little meat, but I can pretend or add in more hamburger.

8. Olive oil

... Olive oil! From Italia! Or so the package says... but since Italy isn't as far away from here as America, I'll believe them.

9. Butter

... I recently learned that the tub-o-yellow-stuff that's sitting in my refrigerator is actually margarine and not the real stuff, so I got sticks of Hokkaido butter. I've never had that particular kind before, but being dairy and from Hokkaido, it's got to be delicious.

10. Other food for ~3 days

... yeah, ambiguity again, but I was counting on the maybe-something-will-just-look-like-it-wants-to-be-cooked phenomenon. I ended up with one slab 'o deep-fried tofu, a chicken breast, mini-hot dogs (ever adaptable to many dishes), and 3 one-serving-size packages of ready-to-cook yaki-soba, all neatly packaged together. Yaki-soba, basically a noodle stir-fry, is sort of a throw-whatever-in-the-pot dish, so it shouldn't be too hard to use the rest of the ingredients.

11. Food for the evening

... I was tired and didn't have the energy to grocery-shop, unpack everything, and cook, so I got konbini-style katsu (deep-fried pork) curry and an individual package of "raw milk cheese cake" for dessert. Apparently Japan distinguishes between two types of cheese cake, one that is baked and one that is not. I got what was available, which was the no-bake cheese cake.

So what was the result of this fine bit of shopping, you might ask? A successful first attempt at yaki-soba:

... well worth the effort of battling obaachans for the best ingredients. :)