The days have seemed a little darker lately both literally and figuratively. This morning I woke before the sun even started to lighten the sky, and the sun's been sinking behind the mountains earlier at night.
For all those dark moments-- like an awful first class with the teacher who assured me there was a lesson plan after my self-intro and then made me wither in front of the class alone until the bell rang-- there's the occasional glorious smiling face.
Like today, after my elementary first and second grade lesson when the teachers announced I would be eating with the first-graders-- they cheered and jabbed the air with their fists like they'd won a prize.
The beaming smile on a first-grader's face as she wobbles her way over to me on a unicycle and catches my hands for balance... and her two friends follow, leaving me standing absolutely steady, a human hitching-post for unicyclists.
The 2nd and 3rd graders who were arguing over who would be on whose soccer team; at first I was considered a burden and no one wanted me (well, I was in pirate garb for Halloween and may have been seen as not wanting to get dirty), but then I showed off my mad soccer skills and the other team demanded another rock-paper-scissors match to try and win me to their side.
The teacher (whose soccer team beat mine... okay, so his goalie skills were far more awesome than mine, but it was my first time being a goalie) who saw me sitting, bored as hell, waiting for the last period to be over and my taxi to arrive. And promptly came over with two kendama (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kendama if you aren't sure what a kendama is), one for me to keep and one for him to demonstrate his crazy skills. The dude can get the kendama ball to land on the spike. AND he can do it backwards (hold the ball and get the spike to land in the ball's hole). I've never seen anything like it.
The 'tea lady' -- who does so much more than make tea, including custodial work and incredibly creative nature-based arts and crafts projects-- who hauled in a box full of giant pine cones, gave me ideas about what to do with them, and made a copy of a map with the location of her secret giant pine tree grove so I could collect more.
The looks of terror on the 1-4th graders' faces as I growled and came after them with my pirate hook. Hey, it was a class on Halloween. How can I adequately show them what Halloween is without scaring them? ^^ I even got one first-grade girl to shriek and run away.
The adorable sea of kids wearing hand-made Halloween masks, all saying "Twick or tweat" and waiting for me to give them chocolate. Somewhere in the back is a girl with a mask of the pirate's signature skull and crossbones-- surrounded by pink hearts. Oh, Japan.
My taxi driver last week during our discussion of Tsushima's mountains. He looked over the ones surrounding us and, with a dismissive "Eeeeh," said they were "just onigiri." Just rice-ball mountains. The mountains here are shaped like Japan's triangular onigiri. And later I thought, you can't live just on rice balls. Sure, they'd be sufficient sustenence but aren't truly satisfying. One needs more. Even if it's just a milk tea or mikan ze-ri (tangerine jello). I suppose that's what the airline's for.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Fukuoka Trip Part 2: Dazaifu and Onsen
... so it's been awhile since the cliffhanger of me cutting rice and eating a delicious lunch with obaachans reminiscent of the witches from Macbeth.. but the rest of that weekend in Fukuoka should be recounted too. (Especially since I'll be back in Fukuoka next weekend :)
After my morning deja-vu-Farmer-Kim excursion to the rice paddies, I decided to take advantage of the city's offerings. Sated by McDonald's and a crepe (well, what did you expect), I meandered about until I found a movie theater and-- wonder of wonders-- something playing in English. Having been out of the movie-news loop for awhile, I didn't realize until after I'd bought my ticket that the establishment was an independent movie theater and the production I'd chosen for its English, "Goya's Ghosts," was a rather dark commentary on art and the Spanish Inquisition with a few horrifyingly grotuitous moments. ...the only other possibly-in-English option, though, was "The Real True Life of Hitler," so I think I made the right choice.
After the movie ended (with a rather touching if bizarre finale), I had my first wrenching moment of homesickness. I had to pass through a hyaku-en (100 yen, like a 1-dollar) store to switch escalators and was walking by a Christmas display-- this was still October, so a little early, yes?!--when the music over the loudspeakers switched to a melancholy English-sounding song. (Sometimes if I'm not paying attention, English songs sometimes sound like they're in Japanese, and vice versa... this one sounded English-y from the beginning, but I think it was really Japanese). The thought that I wouldn't be going home for Christmas really hit me.
I'm not going to change my mind about staying in Japan over Christmas-- it's my first break long enough to really travel in, and I'll have to go back to the states soon enough to check out grad schools-- but I'm going to have to work extra-hard around Christmas to not be depressed. I'm currently planning a 2-week-long sight-seeing extravaganza with Rose, the southern Tsushima lady-ALT, to Osaka, Tokushima, and Kyoto. It'll be nice to revisit some of my old Kyoto haunts, especially the temples that I kind of took for advantage while JYA. And going with Rose, I'll get to take part in her joy of seeing them for the first time. We're going to try to hit up some of my fave Osaka spots too, like Spa World and-- good lord help us get tickets from this konbini-barren wasteland of an island you've sent us to-- takarazuka.
Anyway. I was feeling kind of low after the Spanish-Inquisition-torture movie and Christmas-store-display-inspired homesickness, so when I saw the palm readers at a bookstore near Hakata station, I made a beeline for them. The man who read my palm clearly had no idea what to say (I think he was just trying to sell the mystical palm-reading books), but his hands were warm and he told me my ancesters were watching out for me. Also, I apparently have "Big Love Power" (I applauded his attempt at English), so as long as I try hard things will work out.
Faith in myself, my "love power," and my spectral ancestors who got my back all restored, I called it a day and went back to the youth hostel.
The next morning saw me grabbing more tasty tuna-mayo onigiri and umeboshi for breakfast (it may be an aquired-taste combination) and the beginning of the hunt for Dazaifu and the legendary flying plum tree. I suppose it's time to tell the story of Sugaware to Michizane and how he came to live around Dazaifu and why there is such a thing as a flying plum tree. I wrote a lengthy research paper on the subject during my first year at Smith (during the first-year seminar that led me to Kyoto for two weeks and, in retrospect, had a huge influence over the paths I took afterward), but here's the short rapper's version:
So there was a guy named Sugawara to Michizane,
yeah, he was alright--
liked writin' poetry,
dude stayed up all night.
Haiku, haiku... Hai-KU!
Going 'bout his business
then just one day
the dude got slandered
by the power-hungry Fujiwaras
Fuji-fuji-fujiwaras!
So the Emperor who really liked him
got all in a fuss
believed those dirty liars
and sent Michizane far away.
Away, away-- so far away!
To Kyushu, to exile,
with hardly any family.
Leavin' behind his loved ones
the man was sorrowful.
Sorry-sorry-so very sorry!
So the night he leaves,
he writes one last poem
saying 'bye to his favorite plum tree,
which really meant his family.
Fam-fam fam-Family!
But you know, that plum tree
took it all the wrong way
thought Michizane'd really miss him,
so it flew to Kyushu!
Plum-plum plum-- super plum!
Now that's the best part
but the story doesn't end
Nah, gotta have some ghosties
this is old-school Japan!
Bake-bake-bakemono!
Sugawara finally dies
so far from his loved ones
and strange things start happnin'
to the imperial family
Strange, strange.. so strange.
Lightning strikes a prince
and sets fire to some buildings.
So the soothsayers decide
it's Sugawara's restless spirit.
Comin-comin- coming back at ya!
To appease the angry spirit,
they make him a god--
with the power of lightning and writin'
now he's Tenmanu.
Ten-ten-tenmangu!
So if you need some help
with an entrance exam or two
you know who to pray to
and he'll listen to you!
Ten-ten-tenmangu!
... and that's about as far as I'm going to go with that. Not really brilliant, but it gets the point across in less than 20 pages.
I later learned in my wanderings that the day I chose was a special free market day at Dazaifu (meaning anyone could set up a stall selling goods for free), but when I first arrived, the streets were insanely packed and I thought maybe it was just a popular temple.
The research paper for my first-year seminar was focused on Kitano Tenmangu, the shrine dedicated to the god Tenmangu (the former Sugawara no Michizane) in Kyoto. There are Tenmangu shrines scattered all around Japan, but probably the two most famous are the one in Kyoto and the one in Dazaifu, where the flying plum tree is located. I was a little surprised to see this statue of a bull outside the Dazaifu Tenmangu shrine:
... the Kitano Tenmangu shrine has similar bull-statues leading up the path to the shrine. It's considered good luck to rub the bulls and, indeed, there are many shiny worn spots on all the bull-statues I've seen.
Also similar to Kitano Tenmangu, the Dazaifu shrine has rows upon rows of placards written mostly by high school or university entrance examinees, praying for help during their entrance exams.
And the glory of the shrine, I give you the Flying Plum Tree-- dum dum-dum!
... see, it even comes with a plaque that labels it the "Flying Plum Tree." ...I may try to return during plum blossom season, when it's supposed to be even more impressive. It was such a surreal moment when I found it, though.. it's set prominently out in front of the shrine, but the plaque is hidden to the side, so for a little while I was inconspicuously circling the tree like one does with someone you think you know but can't be sure of, in order to buy time to place the person before charging into a conversation about your previous meeting. And it's kind of funny... I'd traveled to the shrine mostly to see the tree, but most of the other visitors seemed to be ignoring it. I finally confirmed the tree's identity when I simultaneously found the plaque and a Japanese man with an impressive-looking camera started snapping shots of it from all different angles. The Japanese may be photo-happy, but they usually only take pictures of trees if they're particularly beautiful in spring or autumn OR are famous.
Mission accomplished, I spent a few moments in the tree's company and then went to do what all the Japanese people were doing after their brief moments of reverence-- lining up to buy charms and other presents.
Sufficiently under Tenmangu's protection until the end of my studying days (and y'know, I am a life-long learner), I browsed through the shop stalls until it was time for lunch. I decided to treat myself to a very fancy lunch at a wonderful high-quality tofu chain, Ume no Hana, which has an elegant restaurant squirrelled away on a side-street near the shrine. At my waitresses' recommendation, I ordered a plum wine with a full plum a la olive-in-a-martini-glass stuck inside. Very sweet and delicious.
I also specially ordered (aside from a huge and beautifully-prepared set lunch) a few bits of deliciousness that I'd had in Ume no Hana's Kyoto branch: deep-fried mochi on a stick covered in sweet miso sauce. Can there be any higher bliss? (Or any higher-calorie mochi-based food?)
Sufficiently stuffed to last a few meals, I continued on my journey. I'd wanted to spend more time at some of the more hidden-away temples (with richer offerings of statues and art), but my reservations at a traditional ryokan in the onsen/hot-spring town of Takeo, more than an hour away, preceeded sight-seeing. According to traditional ryokan rules, I had to arrive relatively early in the afternoon to settle in and take a bath before resting and then taking, perhaps, another bath.
It was worth skipping out on the other temples. I'd had low expectations for my room at one of Takeo's bath houses because it was so cheap, but the futon was lovely and the sliding doors nicely painted.
The room was also enormous for one person, with a secondary sunny sitting-room that for some reason made me think of Aunt Beth. I don't know why.... maybe it had a family let's-all-settle-down-and-relax feeling, maybe it was the sounds of the rather loud family next door and the kids bouncing around, maybe it was the neatly-arranged alcove for two where a couple could escape while their kids played in the next room... but I think Aunt Beth would've liked it.
Looking out from the double-door/windows in the sunroom was a quaint little homey shrine and garden. I snuck out before I left to leave a little something in the shrine; it was just so peaceful to look at.
... if Aunt Beth was Japanese, I could totally see her camping out here for a week on vacation, letting the kids play in the garden, wandering around town, using one of the For-Families baths.
Takeo onsen was ~so~ amazing... such a nice chance to relax after all of my earlier adventures. I immediately dropped my stuff in the room and took a bath in the place I was staying, then came back to flomp on my futon. Then out for another bath at a different bath-house --wrapped up in my onsen's yukata, clomping around in their geta sandels and trying to not break my neck or get the geta stuck in the street grates lining the parking lot I had to walk through. Some of the baths had rotenburo (outdoor baths), beautiful with elegant gardens and stars above, and some of them were rather scroungy but had locals (great company) and scorching-hot water that soaks worries away on contact. Next time I want to stay longer.
The next morning I got up, made a brief appearance at breakfast (one of those everyone-crowded-in-one-room affairs with seating by room number), and then one last dip in the bath before heading back to Fukuoka and home. A busy weekend but just the solo-adventure I wanted with some nice down-time at the end.
Fukuoka Trip Part 1: Rice-cutting
I went to Fukuoka the weekend before last after a rough few weeks (assorted reasons) and return to Tsushima a changed woman. I've officially switched loyalties from Lawson's to Family Mart (both brand-name konbinis, or convenience stores, for those not in the know), as Family Mart offers better odds of getting my hands on tuna mayonnaise onigiri ~and~ has individually-wrapped umeboshi. Take that, Lawson's. Sadly, Tsushima doesn't have any konbinis in my area-- there is a rumor of one in Izuhara, but it could be a myth. But I will remember the great finds of the past weekend (including a reunion with Lipton's milk tea... mmmm...) and proudly shop at Family Mart the next time the opportunity presents itself.
My goals for the trip were simple: a rare rice-cutting excursion offered by the youth hostel I'd opted to stay at, a meal at Ume no Hana for excellent tofu delights, a visit to Dazaifu to see the flying plum tree (which followed Sugaware no Michizane all the way from Kyoto.. well, more detailed history later), and onto onsen in Takeo. Shopping and a movie in Fukuoka, time permitting.
I arrived at Fukuoka airport late Friday night and, after bumbling around dark alleys and eventually getting a hand-written fool-proof map from a rice/sake-shop owner... and then letting lost again... found my youth hostel, Khaosan Fukuoka. After checking in and dumping my stuff, I meandered upstairs to the common room and was nearly floored to see a room full ' o gaijin. ... well, it was an international youth hostel and listed in my English guidebook-- that's how I'd found it, after all-- but after 2 months of relative seclusion from other foreigners, it was shocking to walk into a room and be surrounded by native English speech. There were maybe 10 people from various countries crammed around a table in various stages on the path to drunkeness, and I sat down mostly to observe and soak in their (progressively slurring) words and accents. We played a rather complicated card game that I don't think I can ever duplicate, even though the guy who explained it swore that it was the easiest card game in the world. He even boasted that he taught and played it with a group of Japanese homeless people once, mostly using gestures. In retrospect I have to wonder.
The group soon broke up, though, most everyone going to hit the clubs and me to bed to get up early. At 7 AM the next morning, the van departed from the hostel for a rice and vegetable farm in Kurogi (黒木）. It was an interesting 2-hour drive, mostly urban sprawl for the first half and sub-rural hamlets in the last hour. I was particularly impressed by a stone lantern/statue shop which had Jizo statues intermingled with stone lanterns and surrounding a clump of giant pot-bellied frogs on their hind legs. Kind of surreal.
People had gathered from the area at a ramshackle building I later learned was the local elementary school... I know my schools are huge and mostly beautiful, possibly over-funded, but this one needed help. There were many small children underfoot, and I realized this was probably a yearly family outing event. We soon introduced ourselves-- I got a spontaneous round of applause at my ingenious use of Japanese-- and loaded into the back of mini-trucks to make the climb up to the fields. It was kind of like a roller coaster, and while my truck was comfortably roomy, the one ahead of us was bursting with small children who raised their arms up and shrieked the whole way.
It turned out that rice wasn't the first item on the list. First, we had to fertilize the daikon, then harvest sweet potatoes and sawa imo, a softer, almost gummy potato whose consistency has been compared to natto (fermented soybeans), but I can't agree. Nothing can get as nasty as natto without some serious fermentation. We also harvested some gobo, although the ones in the field were shorter and stocker than the slim, >1 meter-long ones I'd seen in the grocery stores. It was nice to be able to root around in the dirt again, and the view from the field was gorgeous (the patches of yellow-green are rice fields), so I didn't mind the additional non-advertised labor.
Soon we took a short break and then charged onwards to the rice field. It was actually my first time seeing rice close-up, and the plant was more grassy than I had imagined.
It was also planted in clumps, which was important to keep track of while working with hand tools. I was given a small sickle-like instrument and told to cut 6-8 clumps which would be bundled together. Scything away, we made progress, but there were so many clumps! ... I had a lot of fun, though, even if kids did occasionally machoistically throw themselves in front of my sickle.
In addition to the physical learning-- seeing hands-on how difficult it is to harvest a rice field and trying it myself for a few hours-- I learned a little about rice equivalents. One of the farmers had brought along a newspaper to demonstrate. Eight rice clumps in a 2x4 arrangement occupy an area about the size of one folded-out newspaper page, which is enough rice to feed 3 people breakfast. It completely blew my mind; no wonder Japan's flat spaces are covered in rice fields. Most people do have rice for breakfast, and then there's lunch and dinner to consider as well.
After cutting and binding the rice, the bundles were strung upside-down on bamboo poles to dry. Looking at everyone working away-- kids still cutting, elders tying bundles, and everyone chipping in to hang the stuff up-- I thought of that cheesy phrase "it takes a village." ...I'm sure that one hard-working farming family could've managed the job, but it did take ~30 mostly inexperienced but enthusiastic adults and children nearly 2 hours to cut the entire field. The main farmer said that the volume of rice we cut was enough to feed one 3-member family for one year (assuming rice is eaten at every meal)... so about 365 days x 3 meals x 3 people, which results in an area of 3,285 folded-out newspaper pages.
After all of our labors getting the rice strung up, we cleaned up and had a lovely lunch prepared by a gaggle of obaachans who must have been working all morning to feed the ravenous hoard. Watching the wise rural crones crouching around the pot of soup, I couldn't help but think of Macbeth.
In addition to this Fukuoka-style white miso-based soup, which included matzo-ball like dumplings with bits of sweet potato hidden inside, we had that rare kind of super-strong homemade tsukemono (pickles). The daikon tsukemono almost burned from overpowering miso. Excellent.
... there are more pictures of the rice-cutting expedition on the hostel's website, for those of you who want more, at http://www.khaosan-fukuoka.com/2008/10/_photos.html .
My goals for the trip were simple: a rare rice-cutting excursion offered by the youth hostel I'd opted to stay at, a meal at Ume no Hana for excellent tofu delights, a visit to Dazaifu to see the flying plum tree (which followed Sugaware no Michizane all the way from Kyoto.. well, more detailed history later), and onto onsen in Takeo. Shopping and a movie in Fukuoka, time permitting.
I arrived at Fukuoka airport late Friday night and, after bumbling around dark alleys and eventually getting a hand-written fool-proof map from a rice/sake-shop owner... and then letting lost again... found my youth hostel, Khaosan Fukuoka. After checking in and dumping my stuff, I meandered upstairs to the common room and was nearly floored to see a room full ' o gaijin. ... well, it was an international youth hostel and listed in my English guidebook-- that's how I'd found it, after all-- but after 2 months of relative seclusion from other foreigners, it was shocking to walk into a room and be surrounded by native English speech. There were maybe 10 people from various countries crammed around a table in various stages on the path to drunkeness, and I sat down mostly to observe and soak in their (progressively slurring) words and accents. We played a rather complicated card game that I don't think I can ever duplicate, even though the guy who explained it swore that it was the easiest card game in the world. He even boasted that he taught and played it with a group of Japanese homeless people once, mostly using gestures. In retrospect I have to wonder.
The group soon broke up, though, most everyone going to hit the clubs and me to bed to get up early. At 7 AM the next morning, the van departed from the hostel for a rice and vegetable farm in Kurogi (黒木）. It was an interesting 2-hour drive, mostly urban sprawl for the first half and sub-rural hamlets in the last hour. I was particularly impressed by a stone lantern/statue shop which had Jizo statues intermingled with stone lanterns and surrounding a clump of giant pot-bellied frogs on their hind legs. Kind of surreal.
People had gathered from the area at a ramshackle building I later learned was the local elementary school... I know my schools are huge and mostly beautiful, possibly over-funded, but this one needed help. There were many small children underfoot, and I realized this was probably a yearly family outing event. We soon introduced ourselves-- I got a spontaneous round of applause at my ingenious use of Japanese-- and loaded into the back of mini-trucks to make the climb up to the fields. It was kind of like a roller coaster, and while my truck was comfortably roomy, the one ahead of us was bursting with small children who raised their arms up and shrieked the whole way.
It turned out that rice wasn't the first item on the list. First, we had to fertilize the daikon, then harvest sweet potatoes and sawa imo, a softer, almost gummy potato whose consistency has been compared to natto (fermented soybeans), but I can't agree. Nothing can get as nasty as natto without some serious fermentation. We also harvested some gobo, although the ones in the field were shorter and stocker than the slim, >1 meter-long ones I'd seen in the grocery stores. It was nice to be able to root around in the dirt again, and the view from the field was gorgeous (the patches of yellow-green are rice fields), so I didn't mind the additional non-advertised labor.
Soon we took a short break and then charged onwards to the rice field. It was actually my first time seeing rice close-up, and the plant was more grassy than I had imagined.
It was also planted in clumps, which was important to keep track of while working with hand tools. I was given a small sickle-like instrument and told to cut 6-8 clumps which would be bundled together. Scything away, we made progress, but there were so many clumps! ... I had a lot of fun, though, even if kids did occasionally machoistically throw themselves in front of my sickle.
In addition to the physical learning-- seeing hands-on how difficult it is to harvest a rice field and trying it myself for a few hours-- I learned a little about rice equivalents. One of the farmers had brought along a newspaper to demonstrate. Eight rice clumps in a 2x4 arrangement occupy an area about the size of one folded-out newspaper page, which is enough rice to feed 3 people breakfast. It completely blew my mind; no wonder Japan's flat spaces are covered in rice fields. Most people do have rice for breakfast, and then there's lunch and dinner to consider as well.After cutting and binding the rice, the bundles were strung upside-down on bamboo poles to dry. Looking at everyone working away-- kids still cutting, elders tying bundles, and everyone chipping in to hang the stuff up-- I thought of that cheesy phrase "it takes a village." ...I'm sure that one hard-working farming family could've managed the job, but it did take ~30 mostly inexperienced but enthusiastic adults and children nearly 2 hours to cut the entire field. The main farmer said that the volume of rice we cut was enough to feed one 3-member family for one year (assuming rice is eaten at every meal)... so about 365 days x 3 meals x 3 people, which results in an area of 3,285 folded-out newspaper pages.
After all of our labors getting the rice strung up, we cleaned up and had a lovely lunch prepared by a gaggle of obaachans who must have been working all morning to feed the ravenous hoard. Watching the wise rural crones crouching around the pot of soup, I couldn't help but think of Macbeth.
In addition to this Fukuoka-style white miso-based soup, which included matzo-ball like dumplings with bits of sweet potato hidden inside, we had that rare kind of super-strong homemade tsukemono (pickles). The daikon tsukemono almost burned from overpowering miso. Excellent.
... there are more pictures of the rice-cutting expedition on the hostel's website, for those of you who want more, at http://www.khaosan-fukuoka.com/2008/10/_photos.html .
Today's peanut gallery comments
Today was a Toyo middle school day, but instead of normal classes, the students were out hard at work job-shadowing in various professions... which allowed me to go on a wild ride with some of the middle school teachers to "check up on" the students. Yeah, right. This is Japan. We didn't go to check up on them; we went to take embarrassing pictures that can later be used against them in the school newspaper or yearbook. The vehicle I rode in, which had 5 of us squeezed into a mini-van, had a sort of campy prison-break feeling. Yeah, we were teachers, but hell if we were going to be in school when the students didn't have to be. Eating lunch out (and being served by one of the students job-shadowing in the restaurant) was an added bonus.
Some of the students got to do pretty cool job-shadows. Two girls job-shadowed at the northern Tsushima police station in Sasuna, and when we sensei-tachi showed up, the cops pulled out all of their crime-scene investigative equipment and gave us demos. It felt like being in a television show (NCIS!!). The police had the girls walk over an area of ground and then lifted their footprints off it, then dusted for fingerprints on a car. The girls also got a mini-lecture about how it's too bad there aren't more female cops; there's apparently only one in Tsushima, and she's in the southern part. The police were very encouraging that the girls pursue a career in the field.
Another couple of students went to a kindergarden, where I got mauled and laughed at by many small children. Which was okay... my main tormentor was a small boy who asked me to say things in English and then laughed incessantly at my English pronunciation (as opposed to his and the other kids' Japanese-influenced speech). He was also fond of the monkey bars, which was his downfall, because I called him "Saru-san" ("Mr. Monkey") and asked if he did any non-monkey-like things. (Somehow, my dignity is saved if it was only a monkey laughing at me.) I also got offered a dango (hmm... translates to... ball of rice-dough?) made of out wet sand by a young girl. I guess they don't have mud pies in Japan.
After school, I made a trip to the hospital to get a recurring headache checked out. I'd kinda hoped to slip in and out without running into anyone I knew, but there were no less than 3 of my students (with parents) in at the same time. So much for privacy. I did, however, manage to stop 2 wailing little kids from crying purely by accident. Their mother said they must've been so surprised to see me that they were shocked out of their tantrums. I don't know if this is complimentary or not, but I made funny faces at them, which made me feel better. ..Am I degenerating into a 5-year-old? Is this the inevitable outcome of being an elementary school teacher? And, more importantly, will this shocking-kids-of-of-crying trick work on long airplane flights?
... after being examined, I headed over to the pharmacy to pick up whatever concoction had been prescribed and found myself reunited with my old friend from JYA Kyoto, kannpu-yaku. AKA ground-up leaves and roots from China stuffed in a packet, to be swilled down with a large gulp of water. Now, they are very well ground-up leaves and roots, so the mixture kind of resembles uniformly chunky sand instead of something hauled out of the compost pile. I did find it amusing when the pharmacist felt it necessary to stress that what he was giving me was "not Western medicine" and "from China." Actually, I kinda like the stuff. I have no idea if it works-- we'll see this time around, since I was taking many more pills during my week-long fever last time-- but it does have a homey, spicy taste.
P.S. Updated kaki count: hard-3 soft-23 ... I will admit to some embarrassment during my last grocery-shopping expedition when a parent leaned over to look in my basket and I quickly shuffled things around to hide the hoard of kaki in the bottom. But I still love them.
Some of the students got to do pretty cool job-shadows. Two girls job-shadowed at the northern Tsushima police station in Sasuna, and when we sensei-tachi showed up, the cops pulled out all of their crime-scene investigative equipment and gave us demos. It felt like being in a television show (NCIS!!). The police had the girls walk over an area of ground and then lifted their footprints off it, then dusted for fingerprints on a car. The girls also got a mini-lecture about how it's too bad there aren't more female cops; there's apparently only one in Tsushima, and she's in the southern part. The police were very encouraging that the girls pursue a career in the field.
Another couple of students went to a kindergarden, where I got mauled and laughed at by many small children. Which was okay... my main tormentor was a small boy who asked me to say things in English and then laughed incessantly at my English pronunciation (as opposed to his and the other kids' Japanese-influenced speech). He was also fond of the monkey bars, which was his downfall, because I called him "Saru-san" ("Mr. Monkey") and asked if he did any non-monkey-like things. (Somehow, my dignity is saved if it was only a monkey laughing at me.) I also got offered a dango (hmm... translates to... ball of rice-dough?) made of out wet sand by a young girl. I guess they don't have mud pies in Japan.
After school, I made a trip to the hospital to get a recurring headache checked out. I'd kinda hoped to slip in and out without running into anyone I knew, but there were no less than 3 of my students (with parents) in at the same time. So much for privacy. I did, however, manage to stop 2 wailing little kids from crying purely by accident. Their mother said they must've been so surprised to see me that they were shocked out of their tantrums. I don't know if this is complimentary or not, but I made funny faces at them, which made me feel better. ..Am I degenerating into a 5-year-old? Is this the inevitable outcome of being an elementary school teacher? And, more importantly, will this shocking-kids-of-of-crying trick work on long airplane flights?
... after being examined, I headed over to the pharmacy to pick up whatever concoction had been prescribed and found myself reunited with my old friend from JYA Kyoto, kannpu-yaku. AKA ground-up leaves and roots from China stuffed in a packet, to be swilled down with a large gulp of water. Now, they are very well ground-up leaves and roots, so the mixture kind of resembles uniformly chunky sand instead of something hauled out of the compost pile. I did find it amusing when the pharmacist felt it necessary to stress that what he was giving me was "not Western medicine" and "from China." Actually, I kinda like the stuff. I have no idea if it works-- we'll see this time around, since I was taking many more pills during my week-long fever last time-- but it does have a homey, spicy taste.
P.S. Updated kaki count: hard-3 soft-23 ... I will admit to some embarrassment during my last grocery-shopping expedition when a parent leaned over to look in my basket and I quickly shuffled things around to hide the hoard of kaki in the bottom. But I still love them.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Signs of Autumn
I don't know how many pieces of literature or literary criticism I had to read about the Japanese respect and reverence of nature. The connection between man and nature is certainly highlighted in Shinto, but in most portrayals of Japan the significance of nature goes further. It's part of every-day life; it's ingrained in every haiku. And the turning of the seasons, in particular, is deeply felt in the hearts and minds of the Japanese.
At least that's what all the literature would have me believe. And I have to admit that as I experience the coming of autumn, I do think there's some truth to it, at least for the Japanese stranded out in rural areas like mine, where the traffic lights are few and far between and the steep curves of the mountain roads limit a car's speed more than those suggestive signs. Autumn does not just come to the country; it invades. The forerunner sentries--found mostly in select season-specific supermarket produce and the vegetation along the side of the road-- have come and are fading. As the evenings start to cool with a chill that sets my neighbors running for their portable gas heaters and me rummaging around for sweatshirts, the tips of the mountains are beginning to succumb, touches of red and yellow sprinkled like a sickness among the lush green. What I think of full-blown autumn, all the maples showing their glory and the leaves starting to fall, will not reach Tsushima until November.
The first forerunner of autumn to make an appearance in Tsushima was the bitter cucumber. Famous in Okinawa, I was curious about its bumpy exterior and on the advice of a cafe owner tried to stir-fry some with pork and garlic. Here's how it turned out:
.... a nice meal with nashi, the Japanese pear freshest in summer and early autumn, for dessert. The 'bitter cucumber' is a bit of an aquired taste, though. Aside from its overall appearance, it doesn't really resemble a cucumber. The inside is inedible and must be scooped out; only the bumpy exterior is good for cooking. Even heavily seasoned with garlic and shoyu, it was really bitter.
The next two autumn forerunners were complete surprises; looking out my taxi window on the way to school, mysterious clumps of brilliantly red flowers had sprung up overnight. I learned they are called 'cluster amaryllis,' and they do look like amarylli up close:
A delicious supermarket surprise, the green mikan (kind of like a Japanese tangerine) is only available for a short time at the beginning of autumn. While prefectly edible, it has a more tart taste-- though by no means unpleasant-- than the fully-ripe orange winter mikan. I actually like the green ones better; they fill out their skins, unlike the shriveled winter mikan, and have a unique unfinished sweetness. I still love the orange mikan, but they can leave a somewhat overly-sweet aftertaste. The green ones seem more sassy, have a more complex flavor. They're mikan teenagers, difficult to understand and describe.... and even if such a thing were possible, they'd vehemently deny it and then hate you for your analytic attempt. So I'll just leave it at that and give a mug shot, should they ever find their moody way to you:
The next three sentries of autumn came nearly concurrently, springing up along the side of the road and being quite prevalent in my taxi rides to school. They are the flower called 'cosmos,' also known as the 'autumn cherry-blossom' for its resemblance of the spring cherry-blossoms; a hay-like weed associated with autumn and a frequent companion in wall-hangings with rabbits or the moon; and fields of white soba blossoms. After petal-fall, the soba will be harvested, ground into flour, and made into delicious soba noodles.
The lastest and unmistakably American sign of autumn is the prevalence of Halloween as a subject in school. I've been asked to give many talks and at Tobu, my favorite middle school, my JTE showed up with a cat-hat for me to wear and a witch-hat for herself. We wore them all day and I do believe we were adorable (I wore black on purpose to be a 'black cat'):
... although all of my school talks are just a warm-up for an all-day Halloween party coming up on the actual day, when I will be a pirate. I've paper-mached a hook and sword and am looking forward to the old-fashioned Halloween games.
At least that's what all the literature would have me believe. And I have to admit that as I experience the coming of autumn, I do think there's some truth to it, at least for the Japanese stranded out in rural areas like mine, where the traffic lights are few and far between and the steep curves of the mountain roads limit a car's speed more than those suggestive signs. Autumn does not just come to the country; it invades. The forerunner sentries--found mostly in select season-specific supermarket produce and the vegetation along the side of the road-- have come and are fading. As the evenings start to cool with a chill that sets my neighbors running for their portable gas heaters and me rummaging around for sweatshirts, the tips of the mountains are beginning to succumb, touches of red and yellow sprinkled like a sickness among the lush green. What I think of full-blown autumn, all the maples showing their glory and the leaves starting to fall, will not reach Tsushima until November.
The first forerunner of autumn to make an appearance in Tsushima was the bitter cucumber. Famous in Okinawa, I was curious about its bumpy exterior and on the advice of a cafe owner tried to stir-fry some with pork and garlic. Here's how it turned out:
.... a nice meal with nashi, the Japanese pear freshest in summer and early autumn, for dessert. The 'bitter cucumber' is a bit of an aquired taste, though. Aside from its overall appearance, it doesn't really resemble a cucumber. The inside is inedible and must be scooped out; only the bumpy exterior is good for cooking. Even heavily seasoned with garlic and shoyu, it was really bitter.
The next two autumn forerunners were complete surprises; looking out my taxi window on the way to school, mysterious clumps of brilliantly red flowers had sprung up overnight. I learned they are called 'cluster amaryllis,' and they do look like amarylli up close:
A delicious supermarket surprise, the green mikan (kind of like a Japanese tangerine) is only available for a short time at the beginning of autumn. While prefectly edible, it has a more tart taste-- though by no means unpleasant-- than the fully-ripe orange winter mikan. I actually like the green ones better; they fill out their skins, unlike the shriveled winter mikan, and have a unique unfinished sweetness. I still love the orange mikan, but they can leave a somewhat overly-sweet aftertaste. The green ones seem more sassy, have a more complex flavor. They're mikan teenagers, difficult to understand and describe.... and even if such a thing were possible, they'd vehemently deny it and then hate you for your analytic attempt. So I'll just leave it at that and give a mug shot, should they ever find their moody way to you:
The next three sentries of autumn came nearly concurrently, springing up along the side of the road and being quite prevalent in my taxi rides to school. They are the flower called 'cosmos,' also known as the 'autumn cherry-blossom' for its resemblance of the spring cherry-blossoms; a hay-like weed associated with autumn and a frequent companion in wall-hangings with rabbits or the moon; and fields of white soba blossoms. After petal-fall, the soba will be harvested, ground into flour, and made into delicious soba noodles.
The lastest and unmistakably American sign of autumn is the prevalence of Halloween as a subject in school. I've been asked to give many talks and at Tobu, my favorite middle school, my JTE showed up with a cat-hat for me to wear and a witch-hat for herself. We wore them all day and I do believe we were adorable (I wore black on purpose to be a 'black cat'):
... although all of my school talks are just a warm-up for an all-day Halloween party coming up on the actual day, when I will be a pirate. I've paper-mached a hook and sword and am looking forward to the old-fashioned Halloween games.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Taxi-ride Musings and Kaki Connoisseur-ship
This morning in my taxi ride to Nanyo middle school, I was struck with a sudden burst of overdone ephemeralist prose and jotted this in a notebook:
"10-7-08 ~7:10 AM Somewhere between Hitakatsu and Nanyo, Route 39.
I wanted to weep today at the mist dancing over the still water in a bay, hovering like a phantom with no reflection.
The sun shines through the mountains' mist like a hazy memory made clear only after the island wipes sleep from its eyes. The fisherman rise last, having spent the darkest hours of the night attracting squid to their boats with bright lights. Gathered in force, at night the sea is awash with their boats, mini-suns too bright to look directly at. A nautical solar system."
In my defence of the above, which vaguely reminds me of many disgustingly inadequate translations of pre-modern Japanese poetry and prose... there is something incredibly moving about the brief flashes of ocean and mountains I get to see in the taxi rides to my schools. Since the roads are mostly narrow strips of asphalt winding around mountains and through tunnels, more than half of the trip allows only the sight of mountain-sides coated in concrete (to prevent landslides) or a solid wall of trees rising upwards. The few seconds in which the mountain ridge barricade briefly opens up to allow a view of the ocean or the other mountains beyond is therefore quite precious.
... or maybe I'm just getting as soft as the kaki (persimmons) that I so love. Yes, thank all the kami-samas, kaki have finally made it to Tsushima. The hard-type ones arrived last week, but tonight I made a special trip to the supermarket on a rumor that the soft-type ones had arrived as well. And, indeed, they had, and I wanted to cry again at how juicy and flavorful they were. (I may have eaten 3 with an otherwise subdued dinner tonight. That's not a confirmation, it's just a possibility.) "Natsukashi," which is generally translated as "nostalgic," although that's a seldom-used word in English that doesn't do much to capture the true feeling... well, natsukashi.
When I'm truly honest with myself, the opportunity to be exposed to real Japanese food played a big part in deciding to come back, and kaki is my favorite fruit. It's also only available during autumn; with winter comes its season's end and no more kaki until next autumn. I can't even begin to describe kaki's taste; you have to come here and try one. The trees are beautiful, with the orange-red tomato-shaped fruit clinging to the branches long after the leaves fall. It's not unheard of to see snow gracing abandoned trees, the orange fruit gleaming underneath. (Although, frankly, if I ever see this in the future, I am going to stop whatever I'm doing and becoming a kaki dorobo--robber-- on the spot. Delicious kaki should not be left to malinger in the snow. Let me know if you want to join me in kaki thievery and we can form a loose organization of fruit yakuza).
Today on my way back from a all-island middle-school relay race, I chatted with another teacher about kaki. We discussed hard vs. soft varieties, light and solid vs. dark and stripy flesh interiors, and Fukuoka vs. Wakayama kaki (two locations from which Tsushima kaki shipments are delivered)... and then it struck me that I've become a kaki connoisseur. For the record, my favorite is a soft Wakayama kaki with a light and solid orangy flesh interior. I can't wait until some of the kaki in Tsushima become ripe and available (... or until some of my neighbors or co-workers decide to make my day and give me a sample from their trees. I've already had one offer!)
To survive whatever kaki deprivation may befall me after the conclusion of autumn, I've decided to consume as many as is reasonable while the season and my appetite for them lasts. And, for the amusements of myself and others, why not keep count? Since my discovery of the opening of kaki season at the su-pah last weekend, I've had 3 hard and 3 soft kaki. The number currently squirreled away in my fridge will remain secret but will become apparent while the number of eaten kaki rises :)
"10-7-08 ~7:10 AM Somewhere between Hitakatsu and Nanyo, Route 39.
I wanted to weep today at the mist dancing over the still water in a bay, hovering like a phantom with no reflection.
The sun shines through the mountains' mist like a hazy memory made clear only after the island wipes sleep from its eyes. The fisherman rise last, having spent the darkest hours of the night attracting squid to their boats with bright lights. Gathered in force, at night the sea is awash with their boats, mini-suns too bright to look directly at. A nautical solar system."
In my defence of the above, which vaguely reminds me of many disgustingly inadequate translations of pre-modern Japanese poetry and prose... there is something incredibly moving about the brief flashes of ocean and mountains I get to see in the taxi rides to my schools. Since the roads are mostly narrow strips of asphalt winding around mountains and through tunnels, more than half of the trip allows only the sight of mountain-sides coated in concrete (to prevent landslides) or a solid wall of trees rising upwards. The few seconds in which the mountain ridge barricade briefly opens up to allow a view of the ocean or the other mountains beyond is therefore quite precious.
... or maybe I'm just getting as soft as the kaki (persimmons) that I so love. Yes, thank all the kami-samas, kaki have finally made it to Tsushima. The hard-type ones arrived last week, but tonight I made a special trip to the supermarket on a rumor that the soft-type ones had arrived as well. And, indeed, they had, and I wanted to cry again at how juicy and flavorful they were. (I may have eaten 3 with an otherwise subdued dinner tonight. That's not a confirmation, it's just a possibility.) "Natsukashi," which is generally translated as "nostalgic," although that's a seldom-used word in English that doesn't do much to capture the true feeling... well, natsukashi.
When I'm truly honest with myself, the opportunity to be exposed to real Japanese food played a big part in deciding to come back, and kaki is my favorite fruit. It's also only available during autumn; with winter comes its season's end and no more kaki until next autumn. I can't even begin to describe kaki's taste; you have to come here and try one. The trees are beautiful, with the orange-red tomato-shaped fruit clinging to the branches long after the leaves fall. It's not unheard of to see snow gracing abandoned trees, the orange fruit gleaming underneath. (Although, frankly, if I ever see this in the future, I am going to stop whatever I'm doing and becoming a kaki dorobo--robber-- on the spot. Delicious kaki should not be left to malinger in the snow. Let me know if you want to join me in kaki thievery and we can form a loose organization of fruit yakuza).
Today on my way back from a all-island middle-school relay race, I chatted with another teacher about kaki. We discussed hard vs. soft varieties, light and solid vs. dark and stripy flesh interiors, and Fukuoka vs. Wakayama kaki (two locations from which Tsushima kaki shipments are delivered)... and then it struck me that I've become a kaki connoisseur. For the record, my favorite is a soft Wakayama kaki with a light and solid orangy flesh interior. I can't wait until some of the kaki in Tsushima become ripe and available (... or until some of my neighbors or co-workers decide to make my day and give me a sample from their trees. I've already had one offer!)
To survive whatever kaki deprivation may befall me after the conclusion of autumn, I've decided to consume as many as is reasonable while the season and my appetite for them lasts. And, for the amusements of myself and others, why not keep count? Since my discovery of the opening of kaki season at the su-pah last weekend, I've had 3 hard and 3 soft kaki. The number currently squirreled away in my fridge will remain secret but will become apparent while the number of eaten kaki rises :)
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