The End of Denial: the price of gas in Tsushima

I've been driving a car on a rural Japanese island for almost 3 years. Going to the gas station and filling up 3/4ths of the tank is about 4000 yen. When I stop to think about it, that's something like $45. I drive a small "Kei car," however, which can get me 2 hours south to the airport and back on 1/3rd of a tank of gas, so I don't think about it that much. (I honestly think Kei cars are close cousins with go-carts... but don't tell my blue beast that). About a month ago, however, I saw a sign outside my local gas station-- the same gas station where I've been filling up for 3 years because they're nice and didn't laugh when I pulled in the first time and didn't know where the gas-latch release lever was-- that said the price of gas would be increasing by 6 yen in a few days. I saw another sign today saying the same thing. And so, although I've been in denial for 3 years about how much I'm actually paying for gas, I thought it was time to do the conversion. Putting 9.3 litres in my car today cost 1488 yen. Doesn't sound too shabby, does it? 160 yen per litre? ...but do a little math, and that's the same as paying $18.21 for 2.4568 gallons, or a whopping $7.41/gallon. On April 1st, when the price will rise by 6 yen/litre, that's the same as a jump to $7.69/gallon. Time to fill up, indeed.

Randomness from this week

While I was planning on posting about climbing Mt. Fuji this week (in part to reward U.B. for his undying patience since last July), several events have completely thrown me off my blog-posting-plan.

First, the thing that everyone would have to have slept through the past week to have not heard about: the unreal 8.9 earthquake and devastating tsunami that hit the Tohoku (northeast) region of Japan last Friday. Oh, and the power stations that are releasing minute amounts of radiation, too.

While the disaster happened during my school day, no one's watching TV at school. There were no annoucements; if any of the teachers knew during the day, they weren't talking about it, even in the relative privacy of the teacher's room. I found out, ironically enough, from an e-mail of a premodern Japanese list-serve that I'm on. The message basically said, "Whoa, shit's going down in Japan. Is everyone okay?" ..which prompted me to turn on the news. And yeah, the disaster was all over the news.

I checked that my island wasn't in danger-- we weren't even on the initial high-waves list-- shot off an e-mail to immediate family that I was okay, almost as an afterthought, and went off to taiko practice as usual. It was an ordinary day, guys.

I was pretty busy last weekend with various things, so I wasn't sitting in front of my TV (as, it seems, most of my fellow teachers and American friends were), but gradually it started to sink in that the disaster was huge. People who I haven't spoken with in years tried to check in. Even though I'd sent out an e-mail before my family heard the news, I still got frantic "Are you okay? REALLY?" e-mails from them, nearly every day as the Fukushima plant radiation stories mutated; I don't think mom will be convinced until I see her in person this summer.

Apparently, the American media rather ran away with the story... and while it's their job to report the news, can you really blame them? Biggest earthquake in Japan since the Meiji Period, giant killer tsunami wave, and radioactive material being shot into the air. It could be a best-selling end-of-the-world style movie, and they get to talk about it! No cats-stuck-in-trees rescue stories today, folks-- we've got exclusive Japanese Armageddon footage for you! Here's the kind of wreckage that an 18-meter-tall wave can create-- just look at those houses floating along, the cars bobbing under!

I'm not trying to poke fun at the tradgedy. I don't know what people are saying now, but at least earlier in the week they were saying that this is much, much bigger a disaster than Hurricane Katrina. I don't believe in comparing suffering, but just looking at the numbers I'd say it is. Less than 2,000 people died during the actual Hurricane Katrina; with the double earthquake-and-tsunami, the current numbers are about 15,000 people dead or missing. Not all of the JETs (other foreign, English-speaking teachers here in Japan on the same program as me) are accounted for yet. (So while I'm fine, really, guys... it could've been me out there, missing.) And like Katrina, some areas where the water came in may remain that way; the earth sunk under the pressure of the tsunami to be below sea level. Some areas may not be able to reclaim their turf.

While the actual disaster didn't physically affect me, and Tsushima's probably the safest place in Japan in terms of earthquakes (we really don't get them), I have been watching the ocean recently. I've caught myself thinking, out on a run-- if an earthquake happened now, I'd have to get away from those telephone wires. I could run up those concrete steps to the ancient burial mound at the top of the hill to escape a tsunami. I could scale the concrete meant to prevent landslides and get to the top of that mountain. In other words, I've been trying to convince myself that I'm safe or could get myself to safe place quickly. Which, obviously, isn't always the case, even if my island is basically a bunch of mountains.

I'd like to thank my Nanyo middle school teachers and kids for helping to get me out of the safety-funk. Yesterday, they cancelled two regular classes to make plans for how to raise disaster-relief money. The kids made signs and boxes to put the money in. And while money is the best way to help Japan right now (especially for people abroad), I thought-- what else can I do?

Second Harvest Japan is an NPO that, in its normal line of business, gathers food for orphanages and women's shelters (www.2hj.org for English and Japanese-language options). They've taken their food-distribution skills and applied them to the Tohoku disaster. The Second Harvest center in Tokyo is currently accepting all kinds of donations, everything from toilet paper to baby bottles. Looking around my apartment, I've got a bunch of stuff laying about that I'm not going to use and they certainly could use. I also translated a list of high-priority, easy-to-ship items into Japanese and handed them out at a few schools this week; I'll see many people tomorrow at the Nanyo Middle School-Closing ceremony and asked them to bring their donations then. I'll make a package manifest and ship everything together. From Tokyo, Second Harvest has a couple of tractor-trailers that make a run into Sendai every other day, so hopefully the stuff will get there soon. (Earlier this week, everyone was just begging for money because the infrastructure wasn't really set up yet for futher disaster relief; the area doesn't have much gasoline or ways to get gasoline in, so if a truck went to Sendai then it'd get stuck in Sendai with an empty tank. It looks like the Second Harvest people have fixed that problem somehow).

And now, on to lighter subjects. Also this week:

--I had my chest bound by a middle-aged Japanese woman. Twice. She was quite effective.
(She then dressed me in a furisode, or really long-sleeved, young unmarried woman's kimono, with hakama to boot. Once as a trial-run and once on JHS graduation day.)

--A conversation I had with a second-grade elementary student at Higashi Elementary (translated from the Japanese by moi):
Student: "How old are you?"
Homeroom teacher: "You know, in America it's rude to ask that question."
Me: "How old do you think I am?"
Student: "Uhh... 16?"
Me: "That'll do."
Homeroom teacher (to student): "Oh, but dear, 16-year-olds are still in middle school."
Student: "Umm... 22?"
Me: "That'll do, too."
.... personally, I don't mind being thought of as 16. It certain beats many of the other answers I've gotten to "How old do you think I am?" .... the average is mid-30's.

--Sometimes, reality is stranger than soap operas. Turns out the school-lunch-planner/J-mom who I've been making meals with FOR TWO YEARS-- yes, I'd say we were getting to be pretty close friends-- is pregnant. And due in June. (And here I thought she was just putting on some winter pudge). It's really great news, though. I think it's common for Japanese women to keep pregnancy a secret until they get a few months away from the due date (or until it becomes way too obvious to hide)... I'm not sure why. But I was way surprised.

Epic Trip, July 2010: Mt. Fuji!

So here's what U.B. has been not-so-patient about for months: the long-delayed blogs about our trip to Tokyo, Mt. Fuji, and Kyoto!

Since I've made U.B. wait so long, I'll start with Mt. Fuji.

I can't remember when exactly I first thought about climbing Mt. Fuji. It was definetely some time in middle school, back when I first got interested in Japan. I thought that if I ever went to Japan, Mt. Fuji would be part of the trip. I read peoples' accounts of their experiences climbing it. I sighed over the shape of it. My 12-year-old self didn't think that I would ever actually get to go to Japan, but I dreamed of Fuji.

And, somehow, I studied abroad in Kyoto for 9 months and lived in Kyushu for nearly 2 years before getting there. In Kyoto there were always so many things going on, festivals that I didn't want to miss out on or gorgeous fall foliage or plum and cherry blossoms to be appreciated. In Kyushu, Fuji was too far away, too mystical. Maybe I didn't want to break Fuji's spell. What if seeing it in person wasn't as good as all the pictures?

I needn't have worried.

Of course, in planning the trip with U.B. and family friends C and P (and the late-addition of college friend L), I forgot some things. I forgot that climbing a mountain is very different than viewing a mountain. Oh, and I forgot that I don't actually like the process of climbing (although I love reaching the top, which is usually worth the effort).

It wasn't until we were actually on the bus from Shinjuku to Mt. Fuji's 5th station (the normal starting point for most Fuji climbers, except the religious pilgrims who really want to make the trek from sea level or the climbing fanatics who want to try different routes) that I realized we wouldn't be able to see Mt. Fuji from the bus. First of all, we were going in at night, arriving at the 5th station around 8:30 PM. Also, the bus' route of approach didn't allow for a vantage point where the riders could see the mountain in all of its glory: we were going straight for it.

In thinking about the logistics of how we were going to climb Fuji, there were two options-- we could go in at night, start climbing around 9 PM, and climb straight through until hopefully getting to the summit before sunrise around 4:30 AM. Alternatively, we could get to Fuji in the early afternoon, climb part-way, stay at a traveler's hut, sleep a few hours, get up around midnight, and (again) hopefully get to the summit before sunrise. The second option would progress at a more leisurely pace and allows for some rest. From the online accounts I read, however, the huts aren't the most restful places. While they are warm (something I wouldn't really appreciate until we were on the mountain passing them by), most people seemed to find them noisy. It's not like you get your own room, there's just one big tatami-matted room that you can stake out a spot in. People are coming and going all night, so it might be difficult for light sleepers. My Fuji hiking group eventually decided to rest at our hotel in Tokyo in the afternoon (which was guaranteed to be undisturbed and restful) and straight-hike through the night.

After a couple of hours on the bus from Shinjuku, we arrived at the 5th station. Despite the late hour, the omiyage (gift) shops were still open, just in case we wanted to buy a commemorative walking stick with jangly bells. (We didn't.) After a few brief pre-hike photo ops, we were off!

Here is U.B., well-equipped and ready!

...us together, with a Mt. Fuji 5th Station Express Bus sign in the background.

The trail ahead Pre-hike, lookin' happy: Me, P, C, and U.B. Pre-hike, way-psyched!: L and I

While we had gotten some rest in the afternoon, the hike up Mt. Fuji was more difficult than I ever could have imagined. Even at 9 PM the 5th station area was relatively warm, but once we started hiking it cooled down quickly. That made stopping uncomfortable; you'd get to a group of mountain huts (strung along in clusters around the path) and sit down on a bench outside, but the cold would seep through your clothing and you'd have to keep going to warm up again.

I really wanted to give up about 3 hours into the hike. It was absolutely gorgeous: the outline of the mountain just visible to my left from moonlight, the stars shining brightly above impossibly clearly and beautifully, and lights from the town below lighting up the countryside. But I was so exhausted. (This despite my attempts at pre-hike training, which included running during the week and hiking on weekends). Seriously, just picking up one foot and putting it ahead of the other was a huge challenge. I was shuffling along and not even half-way up the mountain (and that's not considering that I'd have to get down again somehow).

I also didn't feel very well. We'd been going along at a slow enough pace to avoid altitude sickness (well, I certainly had; the more energetic members of the group were galloping on ahead), but I think changing my gaze from where my headlamp's light was bobbing a few paces in front of me to the gorgeous stars above to the softly-glowing town below was giving me something like motion sickness. I felt very out-of-shape and discouraged, and the only things keeping me going were U.B's gentle encouragement and the knowledge that if I did quit (which would be hugely embarassing, given that this was something I'd been so adament about wanting to do), I'd have to go back down to the 5th station and hang around the parking lot while waiting for the first bus of the day around 9 AM. U.B. even took the water out of my backpack to carry himself (the heaviest item by far), but my legs were as heavy as ever.

Somehow I made it all the way up. It was certainly a journey. I remember collapsing on benches in exhaustion and getting cold within a minute, despite numerous layers and polypropylene and a hat and gloves. As we got closer to the top (and it got closer to daybreak), people started coming out of the mountain huts were they'd spent part of the night. Hiking tour groups clogged the path like cholesterol emerging from cells to clog arteries, so even after I'd gotten something like a second wind, we were forced to move at a snail's pace. Eventually the groups were moving so slowly that everyone was climbing in line, waiting for the person ahead of them before taking each step forward.

Luckily, we'd left early enough in the evening to make it to the top on time for sunrise despite the slowness. (On the way back down, though, we saw the long line of unfortunate people who had miscalculated and were still waiting to get up).

When I finally did make it to the top, it was about 30 minutes before sunrise. The faster members of our group had arrived earlier and were huddled together, trying to stay warm. I soon realized how impossible that was. The wind took what little body head you could manage away, and despite numerous abandoned buildings, there was no escaping it.

It was a very long 30 minutes, and all I wanted to do was sleep. When the sunrise did come, it wasn't the spectacular vision we'd been hoping for. While it wasn't raining (thank goodness!), the cloud cover was fairly extensive. We only got brief glimpses of the sunrise when the clouds opened up for a few seconds. Here are sunrise pictures from the top:

... the smudgy-looking gleam of red below is actually the sunrise being reflected in a lake. It was supposed to be really cool.

I could barely manipulate my fingers to open my bag and turn the camera on. So here is the one pictures I have of me at the top of Mt. Fuji.

Thankfully, while the sunrise at the top kind of sucked, once we started descending it got amazing. (I think we needed to get below the layer of clouds that was obscuring the awesome view.) Part-way down, you can see the awesomeness of the sunrise reflecting on a nearby lake (with some added mist to boot).

...as it got a bit lighter, we could see smaller mountains around the lake, too.

My favorite Fuji-sunrise picture

(sunrise, lake, mountains, AND mist!):

... and a close-up of the mountains and mist:

So, in the end, the view-near-the-top was worth the hike. But don't think that I'll be doing this again. There's a Japanese saying that basically goes, "A wise man climbs Fuji once, a fool climbs it twice." And I think the rest of my hiking group (most of whom had more problems on the way down than the way up) would agree.

Ninja Birthday Weekend (2010)

I've had a couple of awesome birthdays in Japan; this blog post will focus on the Ninja Birthday Weekend of 2010. Yeah. There are ninjas a-coming.

Just like in America, my birthday falls during "summer vacation," but at least last year it was over a weekend so going off-island was easy. I made arrangements with Jess, one of my off-island friends, to get together.

On my way south to Tsushima's airport, I saw a bunch of these flowering trees. They're called 'nemu no ki,' or 'sleepy trees,' possibly because the tree's fronds hang down sleepily, the flowers droop when they get old, or maybe because it blooms in the sleepy dog-days of summer: it's very hot and definetely siesta-in-the-afternoon kind of weather.

Nemu no ki flower, close-up to zoomed out:

...I rather like nemu no ki :)

Anyway, I got off-island and met Jess in Fukuoka for some soul-loving Hard Rock, then crashed at her place. The next morning, we got dressed in style-- ninja style! Yes, my birthday plan focused on going to a Ninja Park about an hour away in Ureshino. I want to call it a theme park, but it didn't have any rides. It was more like a historical park with recreated ninja-esque buildings, carnival-style shuriken game, AND a ninja show. It was, in short, amazing.

Ureshino is a bit famous in the area but sadly not for its ninja park, which was pretty deserted. Ureshino is a lot more famous for its tea and onsen. Of course we sampled both of those, too.

Sign on the way in for the onsen--

After paying our entrance fee, we were told that there was an intro-to-the-park thing happening in a few minutes. We decided to stick around. It turned out to be a semi-faux-magic show done by this samurai. I don't know what balancing and throwing a stick has to do with being a samurai. I don't think he knew, either. (But it was kind of fun to watch :)

As we walked around the ninja park, we could look down at the town and some of the tea farms. Here's what rows of green tea look like:

Winding our way uphill through the park (to the ninja show and good games which are far from the entrance), we got to see a ninja-ish old house complete with a thatched roof. I really can't resist thatched roofs....

...they're so intricate and home-y inside! ^^

We finally made it to the shuriken game that Jess had raved about. And I've got to say it was pretty awesome. Here we are ready to do battle with our respective paper ninja targets positioned about 20 feet away:

Possibly because the park was so deserted on the Saturday we went, the lady who was running the shuriken-throwing stall let us throw as many shuriken as we wanted (generally you only get, like, 10). I was pretty warmed up after about 30 and managed to hit my target between the eyes AND on the little yellow "bull's eye" that we were supposed to be aiming for.

Jess had a more difficult time.

Here's her target:

...but the nice lady kept bringing us stacks of shuriken, finally telling us to just grab as many as we wanted off of her table. And, eventually, Jess got her victory.

We also went to the ninja show. It was epic, 30 minutes of awesomeness with the requisite secret scroll and long-standing rivalry and trapdoors and many fight-scenes with crashing music and flashing lights. Actually, we went to see it twice. And then we got one of the leads to pose with us outside ^^

...I was trying to copy his secret ninja hand-signal but it came out more Charlie's Angels.

Jess and I then made our own ninja show on an empty outdoor stage. She's got the tape of it somewhere.

Afterwards, it was off to the onsen to wash off the sweat (being a ninja is hard work, especially in late July) and then onto my birthday dinner at my fave restaurant in all of Nagasaki prefecture: Mike's, in Sasebo! I mentioned this Tex-Mex quasi-chain many blogs ago as somewhere I went during my mainland Okinawa trip; it can be found around some US naval bases in Japan. Mike's gets top prize in my book because it's got real sour cream and margaritas.

Last July, Mike's had a special Kiwi margarita special too ^^

Here is Kiwi with her Kiwi special:

Although we debated hitting up a slightly risque karaoke bar afterwards, by the time we dragged ourselves back to her place, we were both ready to crash.

I was leaving in the afternoon the next day, but we managed to play a bit in Fukuoka first. We went to Ohara Park because I really wanted to ride in a swan boat. I'd seen them the last time I went to Ohara Park, but then they were all rented out for hours. No problems in late July, though! It was very fun foot-paddling out to the furthest point in the pond and letting the current take us. Really nice weather.

Ready to embark (in our swan with a red bow-tie):

Chillin' in the middle of the pond--

--feet propped up!

On our way to ramen, one of the subway ticket-taking machines had broken and this guy was operating on its innards. I'd never seen one opened up before; it's a lot more complicated than I thought!

For lunch, Jess introduced me to Fukuoka/Hakata ramen. We went to Hakata Ippudo. It wasn't ramen meditation but, rather, a communal ramen experience. At this particular ramen joint, you sit at a big table with other parties (unless you come in with, like, 10 friends). It's loud with people chatting, waiters calling out orders to cooks, and lively music playing. There's always a long line, but, like most famous ramen places, it moves fairly quickly and is worth the wait.

Here's my rather spicy Hakata ramen:

And thus ends last year's birthday-weekend adventure ^^

Arirang Festival

While it isn't my personal favorite, Tsushima's biggest and most famous festival is probably the Arirang Festival in Izuhara. It's always on the first Sunday in August and celebrates friendly relations between Tsushima and Korea. Thousands of people come to it, including many Korean tourists (and many Korean performers, too). I was finally able to go to the whole festival last August.

The day kicks off early with traditional Tsushima boat races. It's not really rowing, although I've never done crew so I couldn't tell you the technical differences. The 'oars', they use, though, are basically thin sticks of wood. There isn't a scoop-like shape on the end; the boat only moves forward in a straight line if everyone is pulling on their 'oars' at the same time with the same amount of force. That's why there's usually a crazily-dressed mascot in the front of the ship yelling in beats and sometimes waving festive sticks. (I think crew has something like this but is a little more toned-down... these boat races are a rare chance for Japanese men to step outside of gender barriers acceptably, as the man below does by dressing as a young elementary-school girl, complete with her standard tough red leather backpack).

The Arirang Festival's main event is a parade meant to recreate the festivities of an epic meeting between Korean dignitaries and the ruling Tsushima So clan, way back when. The Korean dignitaries were on their way to the mainland for trading purposes (according to them) or to pay tribute to the Emperor (according to the Japanese peeps). In any event, it was a long haul from Korea in those pre-jetfoil years, so after their arrival in Tsushima there were many days of rest, feasting, and entertainment. Here are some pictures of the parade:

The mini-Tsushima horses make their appearance, of course!

There were a couple of musical groups in the parade, including one with interesting Korean instruments.

These Korean ladies are smiling and look happy, but watch out...

...they do a sword dance!

This is the man playing the chief Korean dignitary.

Doesn't he look dignified?

I loved the conches. Yes, they really played them!

There was a whole train of ladies in traditional Korean dress. With fans!

...and adorable little girls mixed in, too.

The colorful dresses made me think of flowers on parade.

I think this guy's trying to blend in with the local scenery.

More swords! ^^

...and more fans :)

The parade ends at the main stage near the harbor, at which point there are speeches in Japanese and Korean between the Tsushima So clan leader and the head Korean dignitary, basically exchanging greetings and hoping for a good future relationship. For history buffs or international relation peeps who understand Japanese (or Korean), this is probably exciting. But when it's the height of summer, there's no shade anywhere, and the speeches (with translation) seem to drag on forever... well, it's a comparatively slow part of the festival. An excellent time, I thought, to go hit up the okonomiyaki or shaved ice stalls.

Thankfully, the festival picks up again after the speeches with taiko (a southern Tsushima group, sadly, not mine... althought hat group is comprised of about 15 young men performing sans shirts, their chests glistening with sweat after the first set, so the crowd of obaachans and mothers with little kids probably enjoyed them more than they would've my colorfully-but-conservatively-dressed taiko group).

Then there's performer after performer until well into the evening, mostly Korean performers doing traditional dances with percussionists tucked into a corner of the stage. The dances were all different and beautiful. I loved seeing the joy radiating from each face, but it was very difficult to get a good picture because the dancers were always twirling or dashing around in patterns. It was quite different from Japanese traditional dance, which in Tsushima is mostly done by obaachans in movement-restricting kimono and focuses more on slow, elegant movements than the energetic bounding of these young Korean ladies.

Here are some of the Korean dancers:

There was one dance between a man and a woman that told the story of their romance.

Oh, and sometimes the dancers not only danced, they played Korean drums while dancing!

My favorite dance was a solo sword-dance. This woman was seriously spinning all over the stage.

And looking very dashing while doing it.

With so much continual movement, I thought it was easier to take a picture of the sword dancer's shadow than the dancer herself.

...how fantastic is that? I'd be happy if my shadow was half as cool.

The Arirang Festival ends with a grand display of fireworks. For a small island, it was quite impressive. I won't be able to go to the festival this year (my work contact and visa both end before then), so I'm glad I was able to see so much last year!