Ooooooooo-kay. First, I dedicate this blog entry to Uncle Ben (who, I'm sure, was just waiting for me to post something completely and unabashedly ~all~ about food. Go ahead. Comment away) and Abby (who gave me that little bit of dangerous assurance that someone's out there reading the blog and interested in recipies).
Before cooking commences, here's the back-story. I had kind of a shitty evening tonight-- got completely walloped by one of the elementary 1st graders in kendo... she didn't really pay attention when I said that what she was doing hurt (hey, I was wearing protective gear), but now I'm nursing a line of small wealts and a hand-sized bruise. I don't think anything's broken... but man... boys beware when this girl becomes a teen... she can take care of herself!
... and so I came home and baked cookies and now feel much better ^^ It must be a Granville (my mother's side of the family) thing.
This is gingerbread a la Japan. By which I mean it includes ingredients that can be found in Japan (hey, if I can get them on the island, any of ya'll mainlanders should be able to dig up this stuff too) which, I must point out, does NOT include molasses, brown sugar, or ground ginger. That's right. No ground ginger necessary. But how, you ask, will you make gingerbread men cookies without ground ginger? The answer, my friends, is 'cuz we've got the real stuff over here. That's right. Scary, twisted brown ginger root strong enough to knock you into next week or at least Korea (hey, it's only 53 kilometers away). You may be able to find it in the states (or outside of Asia) in fru-fru healthy/organic grocery stores or Asian food markets.
And, before I forget, a big hand to Tulip Girl for posting this recipe (www.tulipgirl.com/mt/archives/000930.html)... it's nice to know there are people out sharing the Japan-friendly recipe love. (if you want a copy of the recipe without my crazy, distracting, and possibly superfulous comments, then go to this link for a clean, undisrupted copy of the recipe :)
A brief pre-cooking warning: This is going to be messy. Verrrrrrrry messy. Possibly more messy than your kitchen has every been before (with the exceptions, perhaps, of my mother... even though that whole cover-the-floor-with-flour thing was my fault, and I was probably old enough to know better... and Adam of the South... I'll repeat it again, you're way lucky to not have a bug problem ;) SO. By the end of this recipe, expect to have flour dusted half-way across the kitchen, splatters of dough everywhere, and your clothes a mess. Please dress accordingly.
First step: turn on the festive holiday 'tunes. Yes, do it now. I speak from experience. You will be incapable of it later. If you aren't in holiday music mood or you just love these cookies so much that you're making them in non-holiday season, then get out the hard rock music. It will make things interesting mid-recipe.
Next, gather together the following ingredients:
4 cups flour (plus an unexpected shitload more... have 4 more cups just to be safe)
2 cups sugar
1 teaspoon baking soda
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1 teaspoon salt
4 full teaspoons chopped or grated fresh ginger (3+ inches of ginger root)
(optional: 1 teaspoon ground ginger)
250 grams butter (that's 8 oz for you non-metric folks)
4 small eggs
2 teaspoons honey
Ready? Okay! (don't throw your pom-poms at me yet. we haven't even started.)
Ooooo, you'll need one other thing too. A giant-ass bowl. Like, huge. At least twice the size of the one I used. Maybe big enough to fit two large heads of cabbage. Comfortably.
So, mix the flour (the 4 cups; hold the rest in reserve for later) in your gigantic bowl with the baking soda, cinnamon, and salt. Using your sparkling clean hands (because I know you washed them before you started cooking. We're hygenic, aren't we?), rub in the butter.
[Now, I ~know~ that if anyone who reads this and actually tries it will probably just melt the butter in the microwave. It's easier, saves time, and is less messy. But I do believe there is a difference between melted and hand-mooshed butter.]
So rub the butter into the mixture until everything gets all crumbly. Then add the sugar and rub that in. Grate your ginger or cut it very finely. Beat the 4 eggs and add the ginger, eggs, and honey. Mix everything throughly with. your. hands!
[Now... I hope you turned on the festive tunes at the beginning if you wanted to. Do you see now why it's impossible mid-recipe?
For those of you who opted for the hard rock music at the beginning... this is the point at which you can make your meanest, snarling face, raise your hands our of the bowl of dough, and do a great impression of the Mud Creature from Scooby Doo. Really!... the sticky, dripping brown dough and everything... it's classic].
...added your 4 cups of flour? Okay. This is where your "unexpected shitload more" of flour comes in. You need to add enough flour so the dough is roll-able. What, it's sticking to your hands like you're the Mud Creature from Scooby Doo?! Well then... just keep adding flour ^^
... as you're adding endless amounts of flour... this is the point in the recipe where those brave enough to consume raw eggs (or those who just never grew up) can taste the dough. On the grand scale of cookie dough goodness, I'd give this a 4/5. I don't know if much can beat classic chocolate chip cookie dough, but this is less salty (so less of a gaggy aftertaste even after you've eaten too much) and the raw ginger gives it an extra-special zing. Try it, you'll like it ;)
Next... according to the recipe, once the dough is roll-able, you're supposed to roll it out on a surface that is first cleaned and then dusted with flour. The dough may then be cut into shapes. You could do that, I suppose. Or, if you're lazy like me (and don't have access to cookie-cutters anyway), you could roll bits of dough into a small balls (each 1-2 walnuts large) and smoosh them flat. Voila! ..you've just avoided a bigger mess and saved a bunch of time.
Put a bunch of these smooshed balls on a greased tray and bake them at 180 degrees C (that's ~350 degrees F) 15-20 mins.
And enjoy :) ...I'd recommend a nice glass of Hokkaido full-fat milk to accompany. Great for dipping.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Time Warp Back to August
I was digging through old computer files today and ran across an unpublished partial blog entry from August 9th, about 4 days after I arrived in Tsushima. It probably never got posted because it took awhile for the internet to get set up in my apartment. Most of the points made were discussed in later blog entries, but for posterity's sake, here it is, a retrospective look at my newly-newbie JET days:
This last week has been insanely busy—running around to orientation events in Tokyo for 3 days; spending nearly a full day to get to the island; and dashing about to fill out paperwork, set up accounts, and meet tons of people who will directly or tangentially be part of my life in Tsushima. It’s been exhausting.
Which is why I’m taking immeasurable pleasure today in completely loafing about. There are tons of places to explore in Kamitsushima, the hamlet-like section of Tsushima where I live, but my transportation options are rather limited at the moment. I don’t have a car yet (more on that later), the bike my predecessor left has a flat tire, and my apartment’s really set back from the main part of town. I wandered around a bit on foot a few days ago and came across an ancient Korean burial ground—if I read the sign correctly—near the end of my street. Tsushima is close enough to South Korea that the port of Busan can be seen on a clear day. My supervisor took me to a look-out point, complete with a Korean-style building, as a break from paperwork. It was a little foggy, but I could still make out the outlines of a few tall buildings across the water.
I’m enjoying getting acquainted with my apartment; it has some quirks that take getting used to. Before coming to Tsushima, I’d heard about the poisonous-but-not-deadly snakes, but my real enemy here is much more insidious and difficult to combat: mold. Because the island has such incredibly humidity, it is, perhaps, inevitable, but still a pain. Despite someone’s best efforts with de-humidifying products (mostly absorbent beads in a container designed to suck all of the water out of the air), a few of the walls are horribly moldy. I want to throw the doors open to air the place out, but that would only bring in more dastardly humid air. Mold’s also taken a hold on some things in the bathroom that I’ll have to deal with eventually—I’ve been trying to work up a little courage, it grosses me out too much at the moment—and, sadly, my hot-water appliance (a little larger than a blender, it keeps a supply of hot water ready for tea at any moment). This will also have to be dealt with at some point.
Of course, I’ve also met or learned of other island foes in the past few days, such as cockroaches (one was waiting for me on the outdoor wall of my apartment when I first arrived) and mukade, the nasty species of poisonous centipede. My supervisor also pointed out the driving dangers of deer, Tsushima mountain cat (indigenous to Tsushima and on the way to extinction with ~80 individuals remaining… apparently feline AIDS is running rampant through the population, and they aren’t expected to make a recovery), and wild boar. Last night as another ALT was driving me home from an all-island ALT get-together, we saw a group of maybe 8 baby boars scrambling up a hill next to the road. Totally adorable, but I wouldn’t want to meet their mother in the middle of the road.
-----
That's it. Man... I almost wish I had to worry about mold again (it's a spring/summer-only phenomenon). I guess the choice in Tsushima is "Mold or Cold." And as with most things, the grass is greener on the other side.
This last week has been insanely busy—running around to orientation events in Tokyo for 3 days; spending nearly a full day to get to the island; and dashing about to fill out paperwork, set up accounts, and meet tons of people who will directly or tangentially be part of my life in Tsushima. It’s been exhausting.
Which is why I’m taking immeasurable pleasure today in completely loafing about. There are tons of places to explore in Kamitsushima, the hamlet-like section of Tsushima where I live, but my transportation options are rather limited at the moment. I don’t have a car yet (more on that later), the bike my predecessor left has a flat tire, and my apartment’s really set back from the main part of town. I wandered around a bit on foot a few days ago and came across an ancient Korean burial ground—if I read the sign correctly—near the end of my street. Tsushima is close enough to South Korea that the port of Busan can be seen on a clear day. My supervisor took me to a look-out point, complete with a Korean-style building, as a break from paperwork. It was a little foggy, but I could still make out the outlines of a few tall buildings across the water.
I’m enjoying getting acquainted with my apartment; it has some quirks that take getting used to. Before coming to Tsushima, I’d heard about the poisonous-but-not-deadly snakes, but my real enemy here is much more insidious and difficult to combat: mold. Because the island has such incredibly humidity, it is, perhaps, inevitable, but still a pain. Despite someone’s best efforts with de-humidifying products (mostly absorbent beads in a container designed to suck all of the water out of the air), a few of the walls are horribly moldy. I want to throw the doors open to air the place out, but that would only bring in more dastardly humid air. Mold’s also taken a hold on some things in the bathroom that I’ll have to deal with eventually—I’ve been trying to work up a little courage, it grosses me out too much at the moment—and, sadly, my hot-water appliance (a little larger than a blender, it keeps a supply of hot water ready for tea at any moment). This will also have to be dealt with at some point.
Of course, I’ve also met or learned of other island foes in the past few days, such as cockroaches (one was waiting for me on the outdoor wall of my apartment when I first arrived) and mukade, the nasty species of poisonous centipede. My supervisor also pointed out the driving dangers of deer, Tsushima mountain cat (indigenous to Tsushima and on the way to extinction with ~80 individuals remaining… apparently feline AIDS is running rampant through the population, and they aren’t expected to make a recovery), and wild boar. Last night as another ALT was driving me home from an all-island ALT get-together, we saw a group of maybe 8 baby boars scrambling up a hill next to the road. Totally adorable, but I wouldn’t want to meet their mother in the middle of the road.
-----
That's it. Man... I almost wish I had to worry about mold again (it's a spring/summer-only phenomenon). I guess the choice in Tsushima is "Mold or Cold." And as with most things, the grass is greener on the other side.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
The Lead-up to Christmas
The holiday season is upon America, and the season for explaining holidays is upon me. Really, when you think about it, Christmas is kind of complex-- there's Santa, who really has no relation to the birth of Jesus Christ (a hold-over from Paganism, perhaps? .. but I don't remember any fat men in red suits from my Greek myths. He certainly doesn't show up nativity scenes.. maybe his book from the Bible was just lost somewhere. "The Gospel of God According to Santa." .. which would go something like "merry are they who bounce small children on their laps" and I'm sure would make the Bible even more idiosyncratic and misunderstood than it already is. But I digress.)
Anyway, it's hard enough to get my fellow teachers and students to understand what my idea of Christmas is like, a holiday my family has celebrated every year, much less about lesser-known holidays like Hanukkah or Kwanzaa. Heck, I wasn't even entirely successful in explaining Judaism to one of my teachers today (as part of explaining that not all Americans are Christian and therefore not everyone celebrates Christmas... but some non-Christian, non-Christmas-celebrating Americans do celebrate other holidays in December).
I was, however, completely successful in letting everyone and their Vice-Principal know that Americans in general do not eat Christmas cake. If there's one thing that the Japanese do for Christmas, it's to eat Christmas cake. ..where they got the idea to decorate a fluffy sponge-like cake with fruu-fruu frosting topped with out-of-season strawberries next to a plastic Santa and maybe some reindeer, I'll never know. But most of my teachers think that that's what people do on Christmas. Thus my re-education process begins with the small and tangible. We ain't got no Christmas cake in America, guys. You made that up yourself.
It seems like the past week has been spent endlessly repeating the story of Christmas in a variety of comprehension levels (so far from 2nd grade through 9th grade), and I am starting to long for a bit of a Maine holiday... replete with bucketloads of snow, icicles precariously hanging from the eves, Christmas music playing ad nauseum on every single freakin' radio station, horrendously oversized and ugly lawn decorations, a live evergreen tree sprinkling its needles everywhere, and the cats drinking water from the tree's bottom and batting at bits of ribbon wrapped around the presents.
I think Tsushima took a little pity on me and offered up a rare sight-- the first and possibly only snowfall of the year, last Friday. According to some of my taxi drivers, it only snows in Tsushima about once every 2-4 years. I got lucky; the school I was at on Friday had a 'marathon' (different age levels ran different distances; the poor 9th grade boys had to run a 5K), so everyone was outside. I was part of the cheering squad and was waiting for the last of the 9th-grade boys to come by when the first flakes started to fall. I thought that might be it-- a few spits of snow-- but, to Tsushima's credit, there was actually a half-decent flurry for a few moments. No accumulation, of course (which probably would've caused an island-wide panic complete with mothers showing up at the school and demanding their children return home), and the snow-filled cloud soon passed over. There were other scattered flurries throughout the course of the day, though, which all made me very happy. The kids were so elated too-- at the end of the day during last period, it suddenly started flurrying relatively hard. I was standing at the back of the 9th-grader's class (during their end-of-the-day meeting) and made a surprised sound when I noticed through a crack in the curtains. Everyone looked at me, of course, and I guestured to the window. One of the 9th-grade boys stood up, a grin filling his face, and he dashed out onto the 2nd story verandah, leaned over the raining, and stuck his tongue out to try and catch a snowflake on it. The kids kind of went wild for a moment, but the homeroom teacher soon called everyone to order again. By the time they were let out of class, though, the snow had pretty much stopped again. It is strange for snow to be rare-- that same boy who dashed outside tried to explain that what I was seeing out the classroom window (flurries swirling around Tsushima's evergreen-covered mini-mountains) was a "vision." I wish I could import snow for them to get a real experience; I want all of my elementary kids to be able to make a snowman.
The snow picked up soon after school was out, and as soon as I got home I hopped on the bike to go to the beach. I wanted to work off some aggression from earlier in the day, and I wanted to see the beach in snow. It was lovely; all to myself, the water as blue as ever, the bonzai-like tree on a rock in the surf looking quite confused about the white stuff coming down from the sky. Heading out from my apartment on the bike, I ran into one of my neighbors coming home, and she rolled down her SUV window to say, "Be careful! It's cold!" ..I agreed but couldn't help but laughing later. Somehow snow makes it seem less cold and, anyway, there was no way I was going to stay indoors while such a miraculous thing happened outside. I needed to see the snow to swirl around me, feel it hit my face, melt into my sweatshirt (layered underneath with polypropaline, of course). It was such a beautiful, cleansing snow.
Also, I have decided that the best way of catching a snowflake on your tongue is from a bike. I should tell that 9th-grade boy the next time I see him.
Random bits of news from today:
--it was 11 degrees celsius in the hallway outside the teacher's room at today's school. I used an online metric converter, and that's about 51 degrees fareinheit. Really?! .. it feels so much colder...
--when I arrived at school today, the first thing on my daily schedule, third period, was "Training for taking refuge from intruder." This needed a little more explaining, and I found out that it was running through the school's drill for when a weapon-wielding stranger enters the school premises. Which, frankly, I think is amazing. The elementary school only has about 30 kids and, if you asked me, isn't at a very high risk of attack, but the teachers and staff are very serious about protecting them from every danger. The school had 3 police officers come in at a designated time (the teachers knew when but the kids didn't); one was dressed in dodgy clothing and was the 'intruder' while the other two were present to help direct the kids to the designated safe location. I believe everyone managed to get out without 'injury,' and then the principal and policemen then talked about safety in general and what to do if there is a weird stranger about or you think someone is trying to abduct you. (Both sited recent news stories from the Chiba and Tokyo areas, and there was a story awhile back about an elementary girl murdered near Fukuoka, so there is some credence to their fears).
I didn't understand at first-- jeez, we didn't do this in the states, and America has such a worse reputation for having problems in school with weapons-- but then I started to appreciate that despite Japan's reputation for safety, the policemen and schools are still anticipating the worst. Which, really, is the whole point of safety training. It's to be ready for that one-in-a-million chance. On top of last week's earthquake drill (like fire drills in the states except the kids were instructed to bring a textbook or other flat object to hold over their heads as protection from falling debris... which, frankly, was totally adorable), I think we'll be prepared.
Anyway, it's hard enough to get my fellow teachers and students to understand what my idea of Christmas is like, a holiday my family has celebrated every year, much less about lesser-known holidays like Hanukkah or Kwanzaa. Heck, I wasn't even entirely successful in explaining Judaism to one of my teachers today (as part of explaining that not all Americans are Christian and therefore not everyone celebrates Christmas... but some non-Christian, non-Christmas-celebrating Americans do celebrate other holidays in December).
I was, however, completely successful in letting everyone and their Vice-Principal know that Americans in general do not eat Christmas cake. If there's one thing that the Japanese do for Christmas, it's to eat Christmas cake. ..where they got the idea to decorate a fluffy sponge-like cake with fruu-fruu frosting topped with out-of-season strawberries next to a plastic Santa and maybe some reindeer, I'll never know. But most of my teachers think that that's what people do on Christmas. Thus my re-education process begins with the small and tangible. We ain't got no Christmas cake in America, guys. You made that up yourself.
It seems like the past week has been spent endlessly repeating the story of Christmas in a variety of comprehension levels (so far from 2nd grade through 9th grade), and I am starting to long for a bit of a Maine holiday... replete with bucketloads of snow, icicles precariously hanging from the eves, Christmas music playing ad nauseum on every single freakin' radio station, horrendously oversized and ugly lawn decorations, a live evergreen tree sprinkling its needles everywhere, and the cats drinking water from the tree's bottom and batting at bits of ribbon wrapped around the presents.
I think Tsushima took a little pity on me and offered up a rare sight-- the first and possibly only snowfall of the year, last Friday. According to some of my taxi drivers, it only snows in Tsushima about once every 2-4 years. I got lucky; the school I was at on Friday had a 'marathon' (different age levels ran different distances; the poor 9th grade boys had to run a 5K), so everyone was outside. I was part of the cheering squad and was waiting for the last of the 9th-grade boys to come by when the first flakes started to fall. I thought that might be it-- a few spits of snow-- but, to Tsushima's credit, there was actually a half-decent flurry for a few moments. No accumulation, of course (which probably would've caused an island-wide panic complete with mothers showing up at the school and demanding their children return home), and the snow-filled cloud soon passed over. There were other scattered flurries throughout the course of the day, though, which all made me very happy. The kids were so elated too-- at the end of the day during last period, it suddenly started flurrying relatively hard. I was standing at the back of the 9th-grader's class (during their end-of-the-day meeting) and made a surprised sound when I noticed through a crack in the curtains. Everyone looked at me, of course, and I guestured to the window. One of the 9th-grade boys stood up, a grin filling his face, and he dashed out onto the 2nd story verandah, leaned over the raining, and stuck his tongue out to try and catch a snowflake on it. The kids kind of went wild for a moment, but the homeroom teacher soon called everyone to order again. By the time they were let out of class, though, the snow had pretty much stopped again. It is strange for snow to be rare-- that same boy who dashed outside tried to explain that what I was seeing out the classroom window (flurries swirling around Tsushima's evergreen-covered mini-mountains) was a "vision." I wish I could import snow for them to get a real experience; I want all of my elementary kids to be able to make a snowman.
The snow picked up soon after school was out, and as soon as I got home I hopped on the bike to go to the beach. I wanted to work off some aggression from earlier in the day, and I wanted to see the beach in snow. It was lovely; all to myself, the water as blue as ever, the bonzai-like tree on a rock in the surf looking quite confused about the white stuff coming down from the sky. Heading out from my apartment on the bike, I ran into one of my neighbors coming home, and she rolled down her SUV window to say, "Be careful! It's cold!" ..I agreed but couldn't help but laughing later. Somehow snow makes it seem less cold and, anyway, there was no way I was going to stay indoors while such a miraculous thing happened outside. I needed to see the snow to swirl around me, feel it hit my face, melt into my sweatshirt (layered underneath with polypropaline, of course). It was such a beautiful, cleansing snow.
Also, I have decided that the best way of catching a snowflake on your tongue is from a bike. I should tell that 9th-grade boy the next time I see him.
Random bits of news from today:
--it was 11 degrees celsius in the hallway outside the teacher's room at today's school. I used an online metric converter, and that's about 51 degrees fareinheit. Really?! .. it feels so much colder...
--when I arrived at school today, the first thing on my daily schedule, third period, was "Training for taking refuge from intruder." This needed a little more explaining, and I found out that it was running through the school's drill for when a weapon-wielding stranger enters the school premises. Which, frankly, I think is amazing. The elementary school only has about 30 kids and, if you asked me, isn't at a very high risk of attack, but the teachers and staff are very serious about protecting them from every danger. The school had 3 police officers come in at a designated time (the teachers knew when but the kids didn't); one was dressed in dodgy clothing and was the 'intruder' while the other two were present to help direct the kids to the designated safe location. I believe everyone managed to get out without 'injury,' and then the principal and policemen then talked about safety in general and what to do if there is a weird stranger about or you think someone is trying to abduct you. (Both sited recent news stories from the Chiba and Tokyo areas, and there was a story awhile back about an elementary girl murdered near Fukuoka, so there is some credence to their fears).
I didn't understand at first-- jeez, we didn't do this in the states, and America has such a worse reputation for having problems in school with weapons-- but then I started to appreciate that despite Japan's reputation for safety, the policemen and schools are still anticipating the worst. Which, really, is the whole point of safety training. It's to be ready for that one-in-a-million chance. On top of last week's earthquake drill (like fire drills in the states except the kids were instructed to bring a textbook or other flat object to hold over their heads as protection from falling debris... which, frankly, was totally adorable), I think we'll be prepared.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Kendo Coolness, a Peanut-Butter Thanksgiving, and Yarn Yarns
I have fully committed to the art of kendo. With the onslaught of cold weather-- which I am told will get worse-- the kendo practice space, usually a school gym, is freezing. Proper kendo garb requires bare feet and a cotton robe and split skirt; while I hide polypropaline long underwear under the skirt, there is no saving my feet. One must love this practice to do it all-season (I've also heard it's just as bad in the opposite extreme of summer heat). Wikipedia lists the "Purpose of Kendo" as:
To mold the mind and body.
To cultivate a vigorous spirit,
And through correct and rigid training,
To strive for improvement in the art of Kendo.
To hold in esteem human courtesy and honor.
To associate with others with sincerity.
And to forever pursue the cultivation of oneself.
This will make one be able:
To love his/her country and society.
To contribute to the development of culture
And to promote peace and prosperity among all peoples.
To mold the mind and body.
To cultivate a vigorous spirit,
And through correct and rigid training,
To strive for improvement in the art of Kendo.
To hold in esteem human courtesy and honor.
To associate with others with sincerity.
And to forever pursue the cultivation of oneself.
This will make one be able:
To love his/her country and society.
To contribute to the development of culture
And to promote peace and prosperity among all peoples.
...and, y'know, I think I can suffer through the heat and the cold for the above, especially if some of the first-grade elementary kids I teach can. One of my kendo instructors once said that kendo can't be done alone; while I think he was referring more to the fact that you need a partner to practice the moves with, the moral support helps too.
As part of my commitment to kendo, I invested in a bogu, or kendo armor. Along with the fluid movements, I think the armor makes kendo really intimidating. I would not want to be on the wrong side of one of my kendo instructors when they're all geared up. It was really scary to approach them at first to try to whack them with my stick for practice; opponents hold their practice swords so that they point directly into their partner's eyes. While it's part of practice for an opponent to move their sword aside for their partner to practice a move, it's still intimidating to step toward that practice sword aimed directly at your eyes.
Here is a picture of me in kendo garb and another with two kids who regularly beat me, both first-year elementary kids that I teach. The dangerous munchkin on the right in white is a girl whose father is one of the kendo instructors; the fierce fighter on the left in dark clothing is a boy. (They were both overjoyed that I bought armor because now they can thwack my head on a regular basis, without warning, without causing any damage aside from that to my nerves).
...the armor consists of:
1. A wacky helmet (called a 'men') that appears to have wings (shoulder protection)... this is quite stiff when new and, frankly, I couldn't lift my arms at first, which was a bit troublesome. I felt kind of like an armored penguin until they loosened up a bit. The metal grill is colored red on the inside... which is a little creepy. Why red? ...to hide all of my opponent's blood that gets spattered inside? ...we are thwacking each other with pieces of bamboo tied together, it'd be really tough to draw blood even if you were trying.
2. Long padded gloves (called 'kote') which make holding my practice stick difficult but are good protection against attack.
3. A breastplate-y thing which vaguely reminds me of half of a turtle's shell made of laquered wood wrapped around the front of my body. (called a 'do,' pronounced 'dough')
4. Okay, this is my favorite... a very strange hemi-skirt of stiff fabric which covers the frontal area below the 'do' and has my name written (in Japanese katakana) over, as I believe I mentioned earlier, an area vital for reproduction.
In other news, my second Japanese Thanksgiving was rather intriguing. While two years ago my JYA program provided a turkey dinner (with sushi for our host families just in case they didn't go for the whole roasted-bird-on-a-platter thing), I was completely on my own this year and without access to any of the traditional tidbits. It was also a school day, but thankfully school lunch was rather inoffensive (which can ~not~ be said for the next day's lunch, which included what I believe was battered, deep-fried chicken liver hidden among the seaweed salad and almost made me throw up). I got the chance to try to explain Thanksgiving to my kids, though, which was fun. I even think the 3rd-year students understood; when asked what they were 'thankful' for (a new vocab word), most said normal things like family and friends.
I was scheduled for my first taiko practice Thanksgiving night, so I didn't have much time to make a fancy dinner and instead settled for hand-made tortillas with peanut butter. Hey, it was a step up from a plain 'ole PB&J. The next day the island ALTs were gathering for a "Thanksgiving" get-together/drinking party, so I brought the left-over tortillas and we had a Mexican-themed night. Next time I make tortillas myself I'll get chicken and make quesadillas; the assembled ALT forces put together grilled chicken quesadillas, which were delicious.
This past weekend I also finally re-connected with the woman who runs the yarn store-- her store is only open on an erratic schedule which seems to be subject to whim-- and spent a very pleasant afternoon talking with her and working on my fingerless gloves... which, by the way, are far more complicated that I could have imagined. I didn't realize that each finger is knit individually, and trying to juggle 8 stiches in the round for the pinkie was insane; slick bamboo needles sliding everywhere, nearly-lost stitches edging into non-existance, needles crossed and twisted and madly clicking in disarray. I felt like a newbie knitter again, perhaps in part due to the company I was with. It was amazing to chat with the store owner, who opened the store when she was 25 years old, about 37 years ago. She rides to the store on a motorbike nearly every day (like most of town, the store is closed on Sundays).
I love the feel of the store, which, in addition to hanging out to get instruction on the tricky knitting bits, is why I camped out there for 4 hours. The open-to-the-public portion of the store is really just a hole in the wall, maybe the size of 6 tatami mats. The customers are more like friends than customers; she offers advice as readily as free patterns. And she was perfectly happy to let me occupy the store's second chair and knit away as long as I wanted. I even got semi-put in charge when she ran to the bathroom... although I was a rather ineffecive assistant. Only one person came in while she was in the back, and the visitor was apparently such a long-time customer/friend that she just charged through the store into the bathroom area to have a conversation through the door.
In other day-to-day news... since the weather's getting colder, I've been spending more of the time I am at home underneath my kotatsu (the table with a heater built in underneath and which has a blanket inserted between the heater and the top so heat is trapped inside), which is a very toasty place to be. Staying under the kotatsu, however, is by necessity sendentary. I'm probably getting enough exercise with kendo and taiko, but coming up with things to do while under there is problematic. So I am composing a list of kotatsu-friendly activities:
--making lists ^^
--blogging/e-mail/other internet activities (the ethernet cable stretches far enough)
--jigsaw puzzles
--knitting
--reading "War and Peace," which was recommended by a 2nd-year ALT as a good Tsushima winter read. I'm about 150 pages in and already can't keep the characters straight. It does seem like a slowly-unfolding plot, though (the Russians have only just gotten orders to move into the war), so maybe I'll have some time to get aquainted with the characters before things get really entangled.
Let's end with some random news stories from today:
--the 0 ("zero") series of shinkansen ("bullet train") was officially retired today after 44 years of service. Thousands of people crowded onto train platforms to take pictures and videos and bid farewell to the trains. Many train and government officers officially thanked the trains for their hard work.
--a Hokkaido zoo ordered a male polar bear to be loaned to them to mate with their female polar bear, but the bear that was sent turned out to also be female. The zoo is now searching for an alternative, authenic male polar bear, possibly from the Osaka zoo.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Social news update
Whoa.. when did it get to be November? ..and not just November, but MID-November?!
Hmm.. so there's been plenty of news lately, most of it not postable (non-postable items include things I believe would be offensive to someone and things I don't want the entire world to know). If you want clarification, e-mail me.
In postable news... I'm still working at making Japanese friends, which is going slowly. I've decided to start calling people on those "Oh we should do ~~~ some day" comments and pinning them down with specific dates. This includes my cool kendo instructors with their ambiguous "We should have dinner sometime" and the obaachan owner of the knitting store who promised she'd help me make open-fingered gloves (which I think will be essential winter non-heated-classroom garb). I've been away for the last few weekends (Izuhara Halloween and then the Nagasaki mid-year conference), so this weekend I settled back in the Hitakatsu area and roamed around on my bike for awhile smiling and saying "Konnichiwa" to people-- the nice thing is they have a social obligation to respond and I feel like I made contact with someone. (The bad thing is.. well.. how pathetic is it that a chorus of "hellos" from a bunch of random strangers is the closest I can get to human contact most days?)
...and thus my idea to search for a furry companion. I think if I had a furry companion waiting for me to get home, it wouldn't matter so much if human contact is limited. However, furry companions in Japan are quite expensive and present many other complications. So it may not happen... but even the dream of a furry companion has made the last month better.
While during my darker days I sometimes think that making Japanese friends is a hopeless goal, I haven't given up. Heck, I received my first vegetables this weekend. You know, that landmark that rural JETs always talk about.. sure, it may get old after I get 20 pounds of giant radishes, but right now it's awesome. Someone's giving me vegetables! They like me! Yeah! And now I can make soup!
I also finally made contact with the taiko people this weekend. The Shushu momiji matsuri (maple leaf festival) presented an excellent opportunity to track them down since they were performing. They seemed excited to have me as part of the group, so I gave them my contact info and someone will let me know when the next practice is. Some of the taiko members seemed younger, too, so perhaps my "There are no young people between the ages of 20-35 near Hitakatsu" statement wasn't entirely true. Young people are really rare, though... maybe they're all hiding out in the taiko group, practicing in someone's garage. Hopefully I'll find some more potential-friends in the taiko group.
Hmm.. so there's been plenty of news lately, most of it not postable (non-postable items include things I believe would be offensive to someone and things I don't want the entire world to know). If you want clarification, e-mail me.
In postable news... I'm still working at making Japanese friends, which is going slowly. I've decided to start calling people on those "Oh we should do ~~~ some day" comments and pinning them down with specific dates. This includes my cool kendo instructors with their ambiguous "We should have dinner sometime" and the obaachan owner of the knitting store who promised she'd help me make open-fingered gloves (which I think will be essential winter non-heated-classroom garb). I've been away for the last few weekends (Izuhara Halloween and then the Nagasaki mid-year conference), so this weekend I settled back in the Hitakatsu area and roamed around on my bike for awhile smiling and saying "Konnichiwa" to people-- the nice thing is they have a social obligation to respond and I feel like I made contact with someone. (The bad thing is.. well.. how pathetic is it that a chorus of "hellos" from a bunch of random strangers is the closest I can get to human contact most days?)
...and thus my idea to search for a furry companion. I think if I had a furry companion waiting for me to get home, it wouldn't matter so much if human contact is limited. However, furry companions in Japan are quite expensive and present many other complications. So it may not happen... but even the dream of a furry companion has made the last month better.
While during my darker days I sometimes think that making Japanese friends is a hopeless goal, I haven't given up. Heck, I received my first vegetables this weekend. You know, that landmark that rural JETs always talk about.. sure, it may get old after I get 20 pounds of giant radishes, but right now it's awesome. Someone's giving me vegetables! They like me! Yeah! And now I can make soup!
I also finally made contact with the taiko people this weekend. The Shushu momiji matsuri (maple leaf festival) presented an excellent opportunity to track them down since they were performing. They seemed excited to have me as part of the group, so I gave them my contact info and someone will let me know when the next practice is. Some of the taiko members seemed younger, too, so perhaps my "There are no young people between the ages of 20-35 near Hitakatsu" statement wasn't entirely true. Young people are really rare, though... maybe they're all hiding out in the taiko group, practicing in someone's garage. Hopefully I'll find some more potential-friends in the taiko group.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Those precious moments
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.
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.
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 :)
Sunday, September 28, 2008
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.)
... really, it doesn't look that dangerous, does it? ^^
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? ^^
Friday, September 26, 2008
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:
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.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
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 :)
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 :)
Thursday, September 18, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
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.
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.
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