I don't know if anyone still actually reads this thing-- even Uncle B's patience might have worn thin after all these months-- but here's to taking another stab at being a regular blogger.
Things that have happened since last May (in no particular order):
--Halloween has come again, and instead of terrifying the kids (a la last year and the pirate costume), I'm opting for laughter. I've never seen anyone Japanese laugh so honestly as when some of my co-workers stroll into the staff room and see my brightly-painted clown face, replete with red foam nose and curly wig (thanks a ton, Aunt B!). It was worth every minute of hand-stitching the costume to see them literally double over with laughter. And a police officer came out of his police box to ask if he could take a picture with me (on the way to pay for my internet bill after a morning of elementary classes).
--I visited Korea, twice. Once to see M. in Seoul and get hideously drunk; I have so much more sympathy for all those poor souls I saw on the floor of Chapin's 4th floor bathroom and even a little understanding for the girl who scared the wits out of me once when I went in for a Monday early-morning shower. The second time was an almost completely sober trip for scuba diving on the southern island of Jeju (hey, a girl's got to have a post-dive beer once in awhile). Great nudibranches and the most amazing soft coral ever. Also an abundance of pro divers who can tell a frog fish from a stone fish at first glance (really, they look the same to me) but occasionally mistake a tube fish for a sea horse (which even I can tell apart... and it was a disappointment, too, because I really wanted to see a sea horse). Great dives, great people, but I did miss my former dive buddies. Ya'll rocked.
--I've tried to be consistent with getting back into running, or at least making myself sign up for races and then train for them. I ran a 5K in early July and then took a long hiatus during the insane heat (well, it wasn't so terribly hot this year compared with last year, but if you're talking about running it was still really hot). I've signed up for a 10K, running-shoe-gods help me, in late November and hope to sign up for either a 10K or half-marathon in mid-January. I recently discovered that running is infinetely easier to get hyped up for when motivated by good music and have been more diligent since starting to run with my iPod. And races exist even in backwards rural-ass Japan if you look for them (and insist that if there's going to be a race, it should be open to women as well as men). ....also, as a side-note, I think running has significantly increased my lung capacity and, subsequently, scuba diving ability. I did some pretty deep dives in Jeju (compared with Key Largo... average usually went to 30 meters, or around 90 feet deep) and still managed to make my air last for at least an hour and up to over 70 mins.
--I've become good friends with a cooking-buddy and have been getting lessons on Japanese cuisine in exchange for American recipies. We've been cooking together since about June, and so far I can make chawan-mushi (oh-delicious-eggy-custard-with-hidden-shiitake-and-other-treats-inside), namban chicken, Japanese-style mixed veggies, loads of sauces, sushi, different kinds of rice, gyoza, and something that greatly resembles American-style Chinese crab rangoons (which don't appear to exist outside of America and, as such, I have had immense cravings for). We've in turn made American staples like meatloaf (plus mashed potatoes and frozen peas... god it was a meal straight out of my childhood), yeast-based bread (challah!), mexican food (tortillas made from scratch and then used to make quesadillas, burritos, and enchiladas). We shall be moving on to sloppy joes next week followed sometime in the future by pizza and meatballs. On the Japanese side, I want to learn how to cook fish-- yeah, it's kind of ironic, I've lived in Japan for over a year and have yet to cook fish... I could say it comes up often enough in school lunch that I get my decent share, but honestly I'm a little scared. In general, fresh fish in the supermarkets don't come pre-beheaded and gutted, and I didn't want to take that plunge by myself.
--While still on the subject of food.... porridge. Oh my god, porridge. Never could I have ever imagined that adding milk to oatmeal could be so delicious. This is also the result of making stuff with my cooking-buddy (who wanted to see what all of the fuss was about in all those British books she's read). Here's a quick recipe that I've made frequently of late (1 serving):
3/4 cup water
1/4 cup powdered milk
1/4 cup plus 2 t oatmeal
1/8 t cinnamon
2 T raisins
1 egg
1/8 t vanilla
1/4 c milk
1 T brown sugar (or honey)
Basically, boil the water. Add in oatmeal, powdered milk, cinnamon, raisins, and stir. If using instant oatmeal, it's done in a few minutes. For the real stuff, it's 8-10 mins. When done, turn off heat. Mix in egg well (stir briskly immediately after dropping egg in), then add in vanilla. Put the oatmeal in a bowl and top with brown sugar (or honey) and milk.
..I found this recipe (with a few minor modifications) from a website that would get more credit if I could remember which one it came from. Also, Japanese cups are slightly smaller than American ones, so if you're state-side you can probably not worry about the extra 2 teaspoons of oatmeal.
--I've discovered many new beautiful scenic points on the island, including one today that was just up a path that I've been running by since last May. I also found an absolutely fabulous snorkeling spot; no need to pay the hefty local diving fees if I can get an experience as good by myself with a snorkel. Pictures to come.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
The Return of the Yamori, Mukade, and, of course, Me
I returned to Tsushima last week from a much-needed nearly 3-week holiday extravaganza. My optimism has returned, a welcome guest after the extremely dark months of February-April... during which I gradually devolved into a depressed stupor sustained only by cookie dough (and the occasional carrot... which, really, could only slightly off-set the insanely healthy if enormous lunch I got every day at school) and the furry friend I share my life with. I wonder if running out of vitamins had any effect on my mood. Certainly I was burned out and in desperate need of a respite from co-workers' incompetence and students' apathy.
In any event, those dreary days are gone. The sun has returned, and even the nights are warming. It's a blessed time of year to be outside. I've also gotten a few new JTEs from the mainland who seem to know what they're doing... and, while this leaves me scrambling to figure out what their idea of a competent ALT's job is, it's a welcome change. I wrote earlier about losing my favorite JTE, but having two good JTEs is better than only one. Now I'm only wishing I was elsewhere half of the time instead of 3/4ths of the time. My relationships have mostly deepened with elementary teachers who stuck around, too, so for the most part teaching at my elementary schools has also improved. Life is getting better.
Of course, with the warm weather come my favorite pests to complain about. The yamori (gecko) welcoming committee was just waiting for me to get back; there was a yamori clinging to the outter wall of my shower window all last week, sort of like a yamori stained glass window-- a rather disconcerting thing to marvel at whilst covered in nothing but soap suds. And, as I inevitably knew would happen, it was there to greet me in the shower this morning.
Luckily, I'd opened the shower door before disrobing because Miss Furry Thing loves romping in the shower before I completely soak it down. She immediately discovered the yamori but seemed unsure of what to do besides yowl at it... so much for my instant yamori disposal system. Not that I really approve of her eating geckoes, for the geckoes' sake (not to mention my sudden insecurity about whether or not geckoes are poisonous at all)... but it would've been nice if she'd gotten in there and done the job before I had to worry about it.
Especially since I rather botched the job-- call it lack of practice-- and may have maimed one of the gecko's feet. It was completely unintentional... the thing just wouldn't let itself be slipped onto my special broken-down milk carton gecko/other-creepy-crawling carrying tray. So even as I rescued it from possible death, I got a fresh dose of gecko guilt this morning.
I've also seen mukade scurrying around outside-- none inside, and I hope to my bug-eating yamori guard that it stays that way-- so the pests of warm weather have really returned.
In any event, those dreary days are gone. The sun has returned, and even the nights are warming. It's a blessed time of year to be outside. I've also gotten a few new JTEs from the mainland who seem to know what they're doing... and, while this leaves me scrambling to figure out what their idea of a competent ALT's job is, it's a welcome change. I wrote earlier about losing my favorite JTE, but having two good JTEs is better than only one. Now I'm only wishing I was elsewhere half of the time instead of 3/4ths of the time. My relationships have mostly deepened with elementary teachers who stuck around, too, so for the most part teaching at my elementary schools has also improved. Life is getting better.
Of course, with the warm weather come my favorite pests to complain about. The yamori (gecko) welcoming committee was just waiting for me to get back; there was a yamori clinging to the outter wall of my shower window all last week, sort of like a yamori stained glass window-- a rather disconcerting thing to marvel at whilst covered in nothing but soap suds. And, as I inevitably knew would happen, it was there to greet me in the shower this morning.
Luckily, I'd opened the shower door before disrobing because Miss Furry Thing loves romping in the shower before I completely soak it down. She immediately discovered the yamori but seemed unsure of what to do besides yowl at it... so much for my instant yamori disposal system. Not that I really approve of her eating geckoes, for the geckoes' sake (not to mention my sudden insecurity about whether or not geckoes are poisonous at all)... but it would've been nice if she'd gotten in there and done the job before I had to worry about it.
Especially since I rather botched the job-- call it lack of practice-- and may have maimed one of the gecko's feet. It was completely unintentional... the thing just wouldn't let itself be slipped onto my special broken-down milk carton gecko/other-creepy-crawling carrying tray. So even as I rescued it from possible death, I got a fresh dose of gecko guilt this morning.
I've also seen mukade scurrying around outside-- none inside, and I hope to my bug-eating yamori guard that it stays that way-- so the pests of warm weather have really returned.
Monday, March 30, 2009
The Obaachan Manifesto*
*To be updated as necessary.
Introduction
My experiences in Japan have already been colored by many memorable obaachan encounters. There are, of course, as many types and individual eccentricities of Japanese obaachan (literally "grandmother," more loosely "old woman") as there are types of any sort of person. It seems, however, that much of my contact with obaachans can fall into a group of distinct categories, which are as follows.
The Oh-You-Teach-My-Granddaughter/Grandson/Great-Niece-Twice-Removed! Obaachan
This category is probably the largest and has the singular ability to always catch me off-guard. I'm usually stooping to tie my shoe, fumbling for car keys, or sizing up a small farmer's stand to determine how many bugs are likely to be found in ~that~ particular head of lettuce. Out of all obaachans, they also understand the least rudimentary English and have the heaviest local accent, making communication all but impossible. This is particularly trying (for both of us) as they try to describe their particular distantly-related relative whom I teach. [In the obaachans' defense, I still don't know all the names of all of my students, and in my defense, there are >300 students whose names I'm trying to remember and many of them resemble each other]. These obaachans are always good-natured, however, and usually leave me feeling very positively about them, their relation, and the world in general. They sometimes also try to shower me with presents, from vegetables to small candies they'd tucked into their purses presumably for just an occasion.
The I'm-A-Million-Years-Older-Than-You-Are-And-Therefore-I-Know-How-to-Micromanage-Your-Life-Even-Though-We've-Never-Met Obaachan
This type of obaachan is the most frustrating for the duration of an encounter. Looking back, however, I get the most amusement from them, if only for their audacious persistence. I still chuckle sometimes, for instance, at the obaachan who peered into my shopping cart last fall, spotted the 500 yen small package of fresh figs among my other selections, and told me I shouldn't buy them because they were over-priced. (She didn't tell me where I could find cheaper ones, of course, because there were no other cheaper ones... they're the first fresh figs I'd ever seen in a grocery store and, indeed, were only available for a few weeks around the time of our encounter).
Oooo, I still get a little annoyed just thinking about it. That was nothing compared with the obaachan encounter of today, however. I was driving along a narrow side-street -- barely enough room for one car-- and discovered an obaachan walking in the middle of the road. Squeezing off to the side (next to the railing beside the river)-- since she did not budge from the center of the road-- I crawled at a snail's pace until she was past and then resumed normal speed. Soon I reached my destination but had trouble deciding where would be best to park.. there wasn't much room and I didn't want to block the street. I'd just reached the building I was heading for when said obaachan came barging over, stormed between me and the person I'd come to talk with, and started telling them how bad my driving was. She went further-- oh the drain of my usual bountiful reserves of patience -- to say that when she first saw me, she worried that it was my first time driving.
Now, I can almost ignore the rudeness of interrupting a conversation. But to tell someone in my presence that my driving is ~that~ bad? ... it's beyond rude, it's insulting. Maybe she didn't think that I'd understand her Japanese. It's a sad characteristic trait of this type of obaachan, though, that they speak with perfect clarity and little trace of a local accent. I nearly almost understand exactly what their beef is and how they think I should change my life.
In today's instance, though, there was not even a trying-to-be-helpful "Why don't you do X instead of your youthful and irresponsible choice Y?" comment. It hurt, too, because I take pride in being a careful driver (some would probably say too careful), but no one over here thinks that I can drive because of the driving-on-the-left thing.
To summarize... this type of obaachan is one of my main pet peeves. They get under my skin and stay there, although I'm sometimes later amused by their audacity. While I don't approve of their blunt methods or rudeness, I do appreciate their honest opinions. Much of Japanese speech is shrouded in polite nothings, like delicate wrapping that must be teased apart from a fragile package. These obaachans' speech can be a refreshing change from that norm.
The Farmer Obaachan
It should be noted at this point that any particular obaachan can, at different times, fall into many different categories. This is a manifesto of 'obaachan encounters,' not obaachans themselves. That being said, the Farmer Obaachan encounter is usually passive; I see Farmer Obaachans tending their fields, hauling their vegetables around in little carts, and shuffling down the road from one field to the next.
There are two distinctive physical attribute, the first being their walk. After decades of laboring stooped-over in fields, these obaachans are usually unable or unwilling to walk fully erect. They are permanently hunched-over, to varying degrees, and shuffle along the side of the road as if they used a cane (which they don't). I thought this was very sad at first, but they are generally happy and love to make plants grow, so they don't seem to mind the toll that the effort has taken on their bodies.
These obaachans' second physical attribute is their complete inability to color-coordinate. Granted, they're working and sweating in the fields most of the day, so one does not expect the fashionable name-brand clothing of the younger generations. However, even the all-for-comfort, anti-fashion-police little old me is forced to reject their blue-background, flower-patterned pants paired with a green jacket layered over a peach shirt, all topped by a deep purple-background, flower-patterned Little House on the Praries bonnet. It's simply too much.
However much I disapprove of their fashion statement in general, one has to applaud their individuality and creativeness. I couldn't dream an outfit like that up.
The Driving Obaachan
Japan is probably one of the few countries which makes identifying obaachan drivers easy. There is a special "Old People's Sticker" that obaachans (and ojiisans, or 'old men,' to be fair) can slap on the back of their car. It's tear-shaped -- appropriately coded for the reaction of the driver who happens to land behind them -- and half orange-red, half yellow.
In Tsushima's winding mountain roads, there are occasional turn-offs along the side of the road. They're meant to help in narrow areas for smaller vehicles to give larger vehicles more space to maneuver. Because passing can be dangerous and difficult, generally slower vehicles also pull over into these turn-offs to allow faster vehicles to pass. Driving obaachans, however, rarely if ever use the turn-offs. If you get stuck behind a driving obaachan, you are most likely stuck there for awhile. Since driving obaachans also usually drive at speeds well under the speed limit, if you get stuck behind one you will most likely be late for whatever you were trying to get to. One has to wonder if they ever check their rear-view windows or if their eyesight is simply too bad to make out the blur of a car behind them.
I can't currently think of anything good about driving obaachans. In addition to the above, they also have a tendency to pull out in front of moving vehicles with very little time for the moving vehicle to slam on the breaks to prevent crashing into them.
Conclusion
Obaachans have many facets and intriguing qualities. Sometimes I love them, sometimes they truly irritate me.... but they're always fascinating. I strive to find the uniqueness and the good that is in obaachans and make those qualities my own.
Introduction
My experiences in Japan have already been colored by many memorable obaachan encounters. There are, of course, as many types and individual eccentricities of Japanese obaachan (literally "grandmother," more loosely "old woman") as there are types of any sort of person. It seems, however, that much of my contact with obaachans can fall into a group of distinct categories, which are as follows.
The Oh-You-Teach-My-Granddaughter/Grandson/Great-Niece-Twice-Removed! Obaachan
This category is probably the largest and has the singular ability to always catch me off-guard. I'm usually stooping to tie my shoe, fumbling for car keys, or sizing up a small farmer's stand to determine how many bugs are likely to be found in ~that~ particular head of lettuce. Out of all obaachans, they also understand the least rudimentary English and have the heaviest local accent, making communication all but impossible. This is particularly trying (for both of us) as they try to describe their particular distantly-related relative whom I teach. [In the obaachans' defense, I still don't know all the names of all of my students, and in my defense, there are >300 students whose names I'm trying to remember and many of them resemble each other]. These obaachans are always good-natured, however, and usually leave me feeling very positively about them, their relation, and the world in general. They sometimes also try to shower me with presents, from vegetables to small candies they'd tucked into their purses presumably for just an occasion.
The I'm-A-Million-Years-Older-Than-You-Are-And-Therefore-I-Know-How-to-Micromanage-Your-Life-Even-Though-We've-Never-Met Obaachan
This type of obaachan is the most frustrating for the duration of an encounter. Looking back, however, I get the most amusement from them, if only for their audacious persistence. I still chuckle sometimes, for instance, at the obaachan who peered into my shopping cart last fall, spotted the 500 yen small package of fresh figs among my other selections, and told me I shouldn't buy them because they were over-priced. (She didn't tell me where I could find cheaper ones, of course, because there were no other cheaper ones... they're the first fresh figs I'd ever seen in a grocery store and, indeed, were only available for a few weeks around the time of our encounter).
Oooo, I still get a little annoyed just thinking about it. That was nothing compared with the obaachan encounter of today, however. I was driving along a narrow side-street -- barely enough room for one car-- and discovered an obaachan walking in the middle of the road. Squeezing off to the side (next to the railing beside the river)-- since she did not budge from the center of the road-- I crawled at a snail's pace until she was past and then resumed normal speed. Soon I reached my destination but had trouble deciding where would be best to park.. there wasn't much room and I didn't want to block the street. I'd just reached the building I was heading for when said obaachan came barging over, stormed between me and the person I'd come to talk with, and started telling them how bad my driving was. She went further-- oh the drain of my usual bountiful reserves of patience -- to say that when she first saw me, she worried that it was my first time driving.
Now, I can almost ignore the rudeness of interrupting a conversation. But to tell someone in my presence that my driving is ~that~ bad? ... it's beyond rude, it's insulting. Maybe she didn't think that I'd understand her Japanese. It's a sad characteristic trait of this type of obaachan, though, that they speak with perfect clarity and little trace of a local accent. I nearly almost understand exactly what their beef is and how they think I should change my life.
In today's instance, though, there was not even a trying-to-be-helpful "Why don't you do X instead of your youthful and irresponsible choice Y?" comment. It hurt, too, because I take pride in being a careful driver (some would probably say too careful), but no one over here thinks that I can drive because of the driving-on-the-left thing.
To summarize... this type of obaachan is one of my main pet peeves. They get under my skin and stay there, although I'm sometimes later amused by their audacity. While I don't approve of their blunt methods or rudeness, I do appreciate their honest opinions. Much of Japanese speech is shrouded in polite nothings, like delicate wrapping that must be teased apart from a fragile package. These obaachans' speech can be a refreshing change from that norm.
The Farmer Obaachan
It should be noted at this point that any particular obaachan can, at different times, fall into many different categories. This is a manifesto of 'obaachan encounters,' not obaachans themselves. That being said, the Farmer Obaachan encounter is usually passive; I see Farmer Obaachans tending their fields, hauling their vegetables around in little carts, and shuffling down the road from one field to the next.
There are two distinctive physical attribute, the first being their walk. After decades of laboring stooped-over in fields, these obaachans are usually unable or unwilling to walk fully erect. They are permanently hunched-over, to varying degrees, and shuffle along the side of the road as if they used a cane (which they don't). I thought this was very sad at first, but they are generally happy and love to make plants grow, so they don't seem to mind the toll that the effort has taken on their bodies.
These obaachans' second physical attribute is their complete inability to color-coordinate. Granted, they're working and sweating in the fields most of the day, so one does not expect the fashionable name-brand clothing of the younger generations. However, even the all-for-comfort, anti-fashion-police little old me is forced to reject their blue-background, flower-patterned pants paired with a green jacket layered over a peach shirt, all topped by a deep purple-background, flower-patterned Little House on the Praries bonnet. It's simply too much.
However much I disapprove of their fashion statement in general, one has to applaud their individuality and creativeness. I couldn't dream an outfit like that up.
The Driving Obaachan
Japan is probably one of the few countries which makes identifying obaachan drivers easy. There is a special "Old People's Sticker" that obaachans (and ojiisans, or 'old men,' to be fair) can slap on the back of their car. It's tear-shaped -- appropriately coded for the reaction of the driver who happens to land behind them -- and half orange-red, half yellow.
In Tsushima's winding mountain roads, there are occasional turn-offs along the side of the road. They're meant to help in narrow areas for smaller vehicles to give larger vehicles more space to maneuver. Because passing can be dangerous and difficult, generally slower vehicles also pull over into these turn-offs to allow faster vehicles to pass. Driving obaachans, however, rarely if ever use the turn-offs. If you get stuck behind a driving obaachan, you are most likely stuck there for awhile. Since driving obaachans also usually drive at speeds well under the speed limit, if you get stuck behind one you will most likely be late for whatever you were trying to get to. One has to wonder if they ever check their rear-view windows or if their eyesight is simply too bad to make out the blur of a car behind them.
I can't currently think of anything good about driving obaachans. In addition to the above, they also have a tendency to pull out in front of moving vehicles with very little time for the moving vehicle to slam on the breaks to prevent crashing into them.
Conclusion
Obaachans have many facets and intriguing qualities. Sometimes I love them, sometimes they truly irritate me.... but they're always fascinating. I strive to find the uniqueness and the good that is in obaachans and make those qualities my own.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Lessons in impermanence
I have been fortunate enough in the past 22 1/2 years to not have lost anyone close to me-- family, friends-- due to untimely death or other unforseen circumstances. In addition, most of the times I've been physically distant for long periods of time away from the people I deeply care about have been of my own choosing.
So these past few weeks have been wrecking havoc on my soul. Since I last wrote about graduation, I've bid farewell to three more middle school third-year classes. I've only been teaching them for about 7 months, and quite sporatically because of my school rotation schedule.... but I was surprised at how close I got to some of the students in that time.
Of course, graduation was inevitable. But in the past few days, I found out that a lot more people that I've gotten close to are going away, too.
Yesterday, notices for teacher transfers came out. I think I mentioned them before, but public school teachers in Japan can be and are transferred between schools on a fairly regular basis. There are a loose set of rules-- many non-island teachers usually only teach on islands for 4 years, for instance, and in my experience teachers usually stay in one school for at least a 2-3 years-- but the rules aren't always followed.
I still don't know-- and probably won't know for some weeks until I get around to visiting all of my schools again-- all of the transfers that are taking place. I do know, however, that my favorite middle school JTE is being transferred to a school in the southern part of the island. She always invites me to enkais, I've spent the night at her house, and we've even traveled to Fukuoka together for a weekend. I have a lot of Japanese aquaintences, but so far she is the only person who could qualify as a friend. [I'm working on changing this... but man... the language is such a huge barrier.] Knowing-- or thinking that I knew-- she would be around for another year was one of big secondary factors in deciding to recontract and stay in Tsushima another year. A girl needs lady-friends, and she understands me more than anyone else I've met here.
And now, completely unexpectedly, she's going away. Granted, it's only the southern part of the island-- 2 hours away and, really, no further than the southern ALTs with whom she'll now work-- but I so looked forward to the 3 days a month that I'd be at her school and we would teach together. It helped to keep me sane when I was at the other schools. I have no idea who is going to replace her... it's always good to keep positive thoughts, I guess. The unexpectedness is the hardest part... looking back and realizing that we've already taught our last class together... that we'll never again exercise together during breaks in the teacher's room. I will see her again-- I'm going in a few days to help her pack some of her things, and I've been invited to the farewell party-- but our working relationship is done.
I can now more deeply appreciate how graduation is meant more for family, friends, ~and~ teachers than it is for graduates. I had a farewell party last night that took the form of the departing teacher 'graduating'-- complete with parody speeches from the PTA and the local education authorities-- which was both touching and fun. I hope the farewell party for my JTE-friend goes as well.
On top of the graduating seniors and barrage of teacher transfers, quite a lot of students-- the children of various teachers, although I've only recently make some of the connections-- will also be departing this remote corner of the island, many for mainland Nagasaki. I've been hearing about those kids at odd moments, and it always throws me. Just today I was shopping-- picking up garbage bags, of all things-- and one of my most endearing kids, a 5th grade special ed student, came up to say hello. He also said that he was going to Nagasaki soon. In retrospect, he could have meant for a trip... I couldn't understand the particulars, and his mother pointedly ignored my presence... but his body language suggested a note of finality, like it might be the last time we saw each other. I tried to say good-bye, ended up waving madly, and made a dash for the cat food isle, where I promptly dissolved into tears.
Do teachers get used to this? Am I being overly-sensitive or worrisome about what will happen to my students? ...probably. I've always kept an eye out for my special ed kids, though, because they are so loving and open, and I don't want to see other kids excluding them or being mean. Most of my special ed kids wouldn't understand why they were being treated differently, if they noticed at all... but it's one of the few things that I can do something about. There are so many bad things that happen in some of my schools that I have no power to change... but I can include my special ed kids in whatever I'm doing.
If I had known that having so many students and teachers leave would be this difficult, I may have more seriously considered not recontracting. I couldn't even bring myself to ask my neighbors today-- all teachers at one of my elementary schools-- if any of them are leaving.
I'm thankful that it's a long weekend (the first day of spring qualifies as a national holiday) and I have some extra time to decompress and ruminate on the the deep but fleeting relationships inherent to a teacher's life.
So these past few weeks have been wrecking havoc on my soul. Since I last wrote about graduation, I've bid farewell to three more middle school third-year classes. I've only been teaching them for about 7 months, and quite sporatically because of my school rotation schedule.... but I was surprised at how close I got to some of the students in that time.
Of course, graduation was inevitable. But in the past few days, I found out that a lot more people that I've gotten close to are going away, too.
Yesterday, notices for teacher transfers came out. I think I mentioned them before, but public school teachers in Japan can be and are transferred between schools on a fairly regular basis. There are a loose set of rules-- many non-island teachers usually only teach on islands for 4 years, for instance, and in my experience teachers usually stay in one school for at least a 2-3 years-- but the rules aren't always followed.
I still don't know-- and probably won't know for some weeks until I get around to visiting all of my schools again-- all of the transfers that are taking place. I do know, however, that my favorite middle school JTE is being transferred to a school in the southern part of the island. She always invites me to enkais, I've spent the night at her house, and we've even traveled to Fukuoka together for a weekend. I have a lot of Japanese aquaintences, but so far she is the only person who could qualify as a friend. [I'm working on changing this... but man... the language is such a huge barrier.] Knowing-- or thinking that I knew-- she would be around for another year was one of big secondary factors in deciding to recontract and stay in Tsushima another year. A girl needs lady-friends, and she understands me more than anyone else I've met here.
And now, completely unexpectedly, she's going away. Granted, it's only the southern part of the island-- 2 hours away and, really, no further than the southern ALTs with whom she'll now work-- but I so looked forward to the 3 days a month that I'd be at her school and we would teach together. It helped to keep me sane when I was at the other schools. I have no idea who is going to replace her... it's always good to keep positive thoughts, I guess. The unexpectedness is the hardest part... looking back and realizing that we've already taught our last class together... that we'll never again exercise together during breaks in the teacher's room. I will see her again-- I'm going in a few days to help her pack some of her things, and I've been invited to the farewell party-- but our working relationship is done.
I can now more deeply appreciate how graduation is meant more for family, friends, ~and~ teachers than it is for graduates. I had a farewell party last night that took the form of the departing teacher 'graduating'-- complete with parody speeches from the PTA and the local education authorities-- which was both touching and fun. I hope the farewell party for my JTE-friend goes as well.
On top of the graduating seniors and barrage of teacher transfers, quite a lot of students-- the children of various teachers, although I've only recently make some of the connections-- will also be departing this remote corner of the island, many for mainland Nagasaki. I've been hearing about those kids at odd moments, and it always throws me. Just today I was shopping-- picking up garbage bags, of all things-- and one of my most endearing kids, a 5th grade special ed student, came up to say hello. He also said that he was going to Nagasaki soon. In retrospect, he could have meant for a trip... I couldn't understand the particulars, and his mother pointedly ignored my presence... but his body language suggested a note of finality, like it might be the last time we saw each other. I tried to say good-bye, ended up waving madly, and made a dash for the cat food isle, where I promptly dissolved into tears.
Do teachers get used to this? Am I being overly-sensitive or worrisome about what will happen to my students? ...probably. I've always kept an eye out for my special ed kids, though, because they are so loving and open, and I don't want to see other kids excluding them or being mean. Most of my special ed kids wouldn't understand why they were being treated differently, if they noticed at all... but it's one of the few things that I can do something about. There are so many bad things that happen in some of my schools that I have no power to change... but I can include my special ed kids in whatever I'm doing.
If I had known that having so many students and teachers leave would be this difficult, I may have more seriously considered not recontracting. I couldn't even bring myself to ask my neighbors today-- all teachers at one of my elementary schools-- if any of them are leaving.
I'm thankful that it's a long weekend (the first day of spring qualifies as a national holiday) and I have some extra time to decompress and ruminate on the the deep but fleeting relationships inherent to a teacher's life.
Monday, March 16, 2009
The Advent of Easter
...just wanted to share a funny little story from today.
Easter's coming, and armed with a few egg-dying kits and some crayons, I'm preparing to introduce the art of turning boiled eggs different colors to some of my elementary kids (assuming I can get some of my teachers on board with the idea). I was thinking of sending a little memo home with each kid the day before, asking their parents to pack a (safely-wrapped) boiled egg the next day if the kid wanted to participate. That way, I wouldn't have to provide the eggs and do the prep work.
One of my island colleagues is clearly much more dedicated to this particular project. This is his second year of boiling a vast quantity of eggs for some of his students. We had the following amazing online conversation:
me: isn't it pricy? .. buying 190 eggs?
The Dedicated ALT: hmm... I guess so
me: dude, where do you even find 190 eggs?
The Dedicated ALT: heh. I have to spread it out
like I'm buying drugs or something
me: omg
The Dedicated ALT: don't wanna arouse suspicion by focusing on one supplier
no, actually it's because I don't want to mess with their inventory
me: addicted to eggs. hehehe
The Dedicated ALT: if they start thinking they have to prepare for an extra 190 eggs sold each day, that'd overwork some chickens somewhere
so I buy 'em in batches of 40-60 from saiki [island supermarket]
me: that's insane.
...I personally think The Dedicated ALT should be given a prize. A golden egg would be ideal... but I think a well-prepared egg salad sandwich would also be appropriate. Assuming the ALT in question can stand looking at/smelling/handling anything remotely related to eggs after the ordeal of boiling 190 of them.
Easter's coming, and armed with a few egg-dying kits and some crayons, I'm preparing to introduce the art of turning boiled eggs different colors to some of my elementary kids (assuming I can get some of my teachers on board with the idea). I was thinking of sending a little memo home with each kid the day before, asking their parents to pack a (safely-wrapped) boiled egg the next day if the kid wanted to participate. That way, I wouldn't have to provide the eggs and do the prep work.
One of my island colleagues is clearly much more dedicated to this particular project. This is his second year of boiling a vast quantity of eggs for some of his students. We had the following amazing online conversation:
me: isn't it pricy? .. buying 190 eggs?
The Dedicated ALT: hmm... I guess so
me: dude, where do you even find 190 eggs?
The Dedicated ALT: heh. I have to spread it out
like I'm buying drugs or something
me: omg
The Dedicated ALT: don't wanna arouse suspicion by focusing on one supplier
no, actually it's because I don't want to mess with their inventory
me: addicted to eggs. hehehe
The Dedicated ALT: if they start thinking they have to prepare for an extra 190 eggs sold each day, that'd overwork some chickens somewhere
so I buy 'em in batches of 40-60 from saiki [island supermarket]
me: that's insane.
...I personally think The Dedicated ALT should be given a prize. A golden egg would be ideal... but I think a well-prepared egg salad sandwich would also be appropriate. Assuming the ALT in question can stand looking at/smelling/handling anything remotely related to eggs after the ordeal of boiling 190 of them.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Signs of Spring and Weekend Adventure
Here are a few backlogged pictures to go along with previous entries. First, a picture of my beloved Tobu middle school third-graders. Ahhh, I can almost hear them planning their next prank.
I promised some pictures of plum blossoms earlier. Here are a few shots of the ones outside of my Board of Education--
...and more from my neighborhood. There are some perks to being set back in the middle of the mountains. Beautiful backdrops for plum blossoms!
This is an amazing plum tree which overhangs the river that runs along my road--
...what's below the plum tree? Another sign of spring-- daffodils!
It's remained fairly cool lately, but today was surprisingly gorgeous weather. I'd planned to do a bunch of cleaning but instead biked to the beach... which is becoming my standard weekend escape-from-the-apartment excursion. I always find something new there.
I promised some pictures of plum blossoms earlier. Here are a few shots of the ones outside of my Board of Education--
...and more from my neighborhood. There are some perks to being set back in the middle of the mountains. Beautiful backdrops for plum blossoms!
This is an amazing plum tree which overhangs the river that runs along my road--
...and my favorite 'manicured' plum tree in a private garden on my road. I like how the branches are weepy like a willow or cherry tree.
...what's below the plum tree? Another sign of spring-- daffodils!It's remained fairly cool lately, but today was surprisingly gorgeous weather. I'd planned to do a bunch of cleaning but instead biked to the beach... which is becoming my standard weekend escape-from-the-apartment excursion. I always find something new there.
The water was a gorgeous blue today.
...and the tide was out, letting me explore the bonzai-tree island without having to wade. I'd never seen the rock formations while the tide was out and thought the shapes were really cool. You'd think a sometimes-island would eventually be smoothed over like a stone, but the tides have instead gouged out crevices and pockmarks in the rock.
...parts of the rock even look like they were carved away by in a fluid paintbrush stroke.
A busload of tourists came so I got out of their way and was meandering around the rocks off to the side of the beach when I ran into Joey. He pointed me in the direction of some excellent tidepools.
Out in the tidepools, I ran into a Korean biogeographer who was collecting hermit crabs to conduct a comprehensive study comparing the DNA of Korean and Japanese crabs. It made me kind of nostalgic for science. I made quite a few interesting discoveries of my own, though, even without a BA in biology.
...and the tide was out, letting me explore the bonzai-tree island without having to wade. I'd never seen the rock formations while the tide was out and thought the shapes were really cool. You'd think a sometimes-island would eventually be smoothed over like a stone, but the tides have instead gouged out crevices and pockmarks in the rock.
...parts of the rock even look like they were carved away by in a fluid paintbrush stroke.
A busload of tourists came so I got out of their way and was meandering around the rocks off to the side of the beach when I ran into Joey. He pointed me in the direction of some excellent tidepools.
Out in the tidepools, I ran into a Korean biogeographer who was collecting hermit crabs to conduct a comprehensive study comparing the DNA of Korean and Japanese crabs. It made me kind of nostalgic for science. I made quite a few interesting discoveries of my own, though, even without a BA in biology.
In one of the tidepools, I was lucky enough to spot a sea slug. It's not as colorful as some of the ones I saw while scuba diving last summer, but it was possibly cooler because I could study it without worrying about my air supply, the current pulling me away, or my safety buddy going off to examine other things.
The sea slug used the two feeler-like apendages to the left to examine its surroundings before moving forward. Its hind end is ribbony and flutters like seaweed moving with the current; highly effective at blending in, I may not have noticed it if it hadn't been in a tide pool cut off from the current. The sea slug was really amazing to watch.
I also found a ton of sea urchins.
...they weren't as interesting to watch as the sea slug (didn't move at all, actually), but for some reason this cluster of them reminded me of the animate dust balls in Miyazaki's animated films. I could see them taking part in "Spirited Away" 's furnace room, helping Chihiro chuck charcoal into the flames. 
The sea slug used the two feeler-like apendages to the left to examine its surroundings before moving forward. Its hind end is ribbony and flutters like seaweed moving with the current; highly effective at blending in, I may not have noticed it if it hadn't been in a tide pool cut off from the current. The sea slug was really amazing to watch.
I also found a ton of sea urchins.
...they weren't as interesting to watch as the sea slug (didn't move at all, actually), but for some reason this cluster of them reminded me of the animate dust balls in Miyazaki's animated films. I could see them taking part in "Spirited Away" 's furnace room, helping Chihiro chuck charcoal into the flames.This is a bit of seaweed that I just thought looked pretty. It seems almost flower-like and different from the other seaweed.
...that pretty much sums up today's seashore exploration adventure. ^^
End of the Year
It's nearly the end of the Japanese third semester, which means graduation. It's so much different experiencing the graduation process as a teacher rather than as a student... I was always sad, especially in college, when a particularly good course ended. The unique discussions and collective consciousness of that particular group of people would continue as memory in its respective individuals, but we would no longer be able to add to our shared experiences. I'd see members of the class and hang out with them, but it wasn't the same as the whole class being together, each member adding their individual perspective to whatever topic was at hand.
The end of the year was also sad because of senior friends graduating... not knowing when, if ever, I'd see them again. My own graduations were a bit frightening and a little sad (the saddest was college, marching in my starchy black gown surrounded by the wonderfully brillaint women I'd had the privilege to live with, knowing we'd all be scattered to the winds) but also exciting-- I always had post-graduation plans to look forward to.
Now my kids are going on to greater things and it's my job to wave and smile good-bye. They're nervous and scared, most not yet knowing which high schools they will be accepted into. Some have already taken their entrace exams, some will next week. I feel like I'm just getting to know some of my third-grade middle schoolers-- mostly good kids-- and now they're leaving. My 6th grade elementary kids will graduate but continue in the middle schools I teach at, so I'm not really losing them.
Last week I was at Tobu middle school, where I made a point to spend extra time with the third-grade students. We played English "Fruits basket" during recess. One person stands in the middle of a circle of chairs, enough chairs for everyone minus the person in the middle. They say a sentence, something like "I like blue," "I'm wearing white shoes," or "I ate rice for breakfast yesterday," depending on their ability level. Anyone for whom that statement holds true must vacate their seat and find a new one, while at the same time the person in the middle tries to steal a seat. Whoever is left in the middle must come up with a new statement. It's a rather simple game that my elementary kids love, so I was a little surprised when the middle school 3rd graders approached me and asked if I'd play it with them. It was great, though. The boys got a little rowdy as they got more comfortable with me being around-- I am probably more lax than their regular teachers-- and at one point, one boy accidentally yanked down another boy's gym shorts so I was briefly mooned. All involved were embarassed. During my last class with them, the boy who had his shorts pulled down gave me a farewell speech in English which went something like this:
"Thank you for teaching us so far. We learned a lot. Playing Fruits Basket during hiruyasumi [recess] was fun. I am sorry to show you my butt. You have beautiful hair. It is very nice. Please enjoy the future and come see us."
...he really did say "butt" in English, too. In short, his speech was wonderful and hilarious and I almost burst into tears. The speech came at the end of class, and my JTE noticed my attempts to hold it together and quickly hussled me out of the classroom. Class came before lunch, so our real good-byes were during recess. We played one last game of "Wild Middle School Fruits Basket"-- complete with some chairs in the hallway, others scattered in non-circle-fashion around the room, and in some instances with many chairs pushed together to make a bench-like area that players dashing from different directions could fight over. Yeah, I don't think that I'm much like their real teachers. The game was amazing, though, and at the end I even half-hugged one of the girls good-bye. I'm sure there are rules about no physical contact with students, but some teachers in my other, more rowdy schools actually hit their students, so I think a mini-hug was okay. I wanted to tightly bear-hug all of them, but the boys are middle-schoolers and quite horomonal, and I didn't think it would be appropriate.
So far I've only had to say good-bye to my Tobu kids. Next week will be my last classes at Nanyo middle school, and I'll have to say good-bye to one particularly exceptional 3rd-grade student who goes out of her way to interact with me during break time. Last Friday was technically my last class at Hitaktasu middle school, but the kids should be in school when I go next Friday. Toyo will be my final middle-school good-byes when I attend graduation in a week and a half.
Out of all my students I feel the closest to the Tobu kids, so hopefully the other good-byes won't be as sad. It was really heart-wrenching leaving them and for a few moments during the boy's speech and directly afterwards, I wasn't sure if I had the mettle to be a teacher long-term and continually go through the process of getting close to students and then having to say good-bye. I have the memories, though, and it's comforting knowing that the time we have spent together has in part prepared them for the exciting things they're going on to. I was reminded of my college class' commencement address by Margaret Edson, on the subject of classroom teaching (video and transcript at http://www.smith.edu/commencement/2008/index.php) ... my students may leave, but my love for them is here to stay, in me.
The end of the year was also sad because of senior friends graduating... not knowing when, if ever, I'd see them again. My own graduations were a bit frightening and a little sad (the saddest was college, marching in my starchy black gown surrounded by the wonderfully brillaint women I'd had the privilege to live with, knowing we'd all be scattered to the winds) but also exciting-- I always had post-graduation plans to look forward to.
Now my kids are going on to greater things and it's my job to wave and smile good-bye. They're nervous and scared, most not yet knowing which high schools they will be accepted into. Some have already taken their entrace exams, some will next week. I feel like I'm just getting to know some of my third-grade middle schoolers-- mostly good kids-- and now they're leaving. My 6th grade elementary kids will graduate but continue in the middle schools I teach at, so I'm not really losing them.
Last week I was at Tobu middle school, where I made a point to spend extra time with the third-grade students. We played English "Fruits basket" during recess. One person stands in the middle of a circle of chairs, enough chairs for everyone minus the person in the middle. They say a sentence, something like "I like blue," "I'm wearing white shoes," or "I ate rice for breakfast yesterday," depending on their ability level. Anyone for whom that statement holds true must vacate their seat and find a new one, while at the same time the person in the middle tries to steal a seat. Whoever is left in the middle must come up with a new statement. It's a rather simple game that my elementary kids love, so I was a little surprised when the middle school 3rd graders approached me and asked if I'd play it with them. It was great, though. The boys got a little rowdy as they got more comfortable with me being around-- I am probably more lax than their regular teachers-- and at one point, one boy accidentally yanked down another boy's gym shorts so I was briefly mooned. All involved were embarassed. During my last class with them, the boy who had his shorts pulled down gave me a farewell speech in English which went something like this:
"Thank you for teaching us so far. We learned a lot. Playing Fruits Basket during hiruyasumi [recess] was fun. I am sorry to show you my butt. You have beautiful hair. It is very nice. Please enjoy the future and come see us."
...he really did say "butt" in English, too. In short, his speech was wonderful and hilarious and I almost burst into tears. The speech came at the end of class, and my JTE noticed my attempts to hold it together and quickly hussled me out of the classroom. Class came before lunch, so our real good-byes were during recess. We played one last game of "Wild Middle School Fruits Basket"-- complete with some chairs in the hallway, others scattered in non-circle-fashion around the room, and in some instances with many chairs pushed together to make a bench-like area that players dashing from different directions could fight over. Yeah, I don't think that I'm much like their real teachers. The game was amazing, though, and at the end I even half-hugged one of the girls good-bye. I'm sure there are rules about no physical contact with students, but some teachers in my other, more rowdy schools actually hit their students, so I think a mini-hug was okay. I wanted to tightly bear-hug all of them, but the boys are middle-schoolers and quite horomonal, and I didn't think it would be appropriate.
So far I've only had to say good-bye to my Tobu kids. Next week will be my last classes at Nanyo middle school, and I'll have to say good-bye to one particularly exceptional 3rd-grade student who goes out of her way to interact with me during break time. Last Friday was technically my last class at Hitaktasu middle school, but the kids should be in school when I go next Friday. Toyo will be my final middle-school good-byes when I attend graduation in a week and a half.
Out of all my students I feel the closest to the Tobu kids, so hopefully the other good-byes won't be as sad. It was really heart-wrenching leaving them and for a few moments during the boy's speech and directly afterwards, I wasn't sure if I had the mettle to be a teacher long-term and continually go through the process of getting close to students and then having to say good-bye. I have the memories, though, and it's comforting knowing that the time we have spent together has in part prepared them for the exciting things they're going on to. I was reminded of my college class' commencement address by Margaret Edson, on the subject of classroom teaching (video and transcript at http://www.smith.edu/commencement/2008/index.php) ... my students may leave, but my love for them is here to stay, in me.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Where Did February Go?
It's been awhile since I last posted and, seriously, I have no idea where this month went. It fleeeeeeeeeeew like Michizane's plum tree to Kyushu. Which, by the way, should be in bloom now. Yes, it's plum blossom season, and I'll slap some pictures of local plum tree blossoms up as soon as it stops this awful drizzling rain. Some of the plum trees in my neighborhood's private gardens (viewable through fences or over walls) could pass for sakura, or cherry blossoms, which Japan is more famous for. Frankly, I prefer plum blossoms. Aside from their amazing connection to my man Michizane, they last longer than sakura and, in my personal opinion, have a stronger and more pleasant scent. They also come in an assortment of colors for all of your kimono-matching needs; there's a line of plum blossoms in front of my Board of Education that shows off the hues from white to dark pink bordering on red.
I took a few moments to admire this line of trees after getting out of the BOE on Friday and ran into a bunch of my elementary kids on their walk home. We smelled the flowers while waiting for her mother to come pick her up and collected fallen petals and a few rare fallen whole blossoms.
...aside from random encounters with students and their relatives, my life has been busy with my usual taiko and kendo activities. Tonight I'm busily churning out activities for tomorrow-- I was informed at the end of the day today that I would need to plan for classes first and second period tomorrow. At least I was given some warning. The lack-of-information gap between my JTEs and myself has grown increasingly more frustrating. I am learning to be more flexible and adaptable, but there comes a point where not informing me of scheduled activities is plain rude.
In some ways I have been treated like a third-class citizen since starting work here here-- at most of my schools no one usually tells me about changes in the daily schedule or even which class I'm eating lunch with. It's a constant struggle to obtain information necessary for daily functioning within the schools. Most of my schools are pretty good about telling me when I arrive in the morning when I have will classes or posting a list somewhere, but two of my middle schools still stubbornly make me beg for it... last week I thought I had only one class and ended up having three, the second of which I was only informed of 5 minutes before it was supposed to begin.
At some point, the bamboo reed will discover it's really an American elm twig, discontinue its attempts to bend, and pointedly bitch-slap all who have repeatedly refused to respect its basic needs. I'm still trying to work within the system at the moment, but really, is there that much of a difference between Japanese and American bureaucracy? The rules are made for the game to be lost.
Thank goodness February is so short, really, and punctuated by the start of plum blossoms. It's a depressingly cold month and enough to push this lonely homesick adventurer to her last ounce of compassion.
I took a few moments to admire this line of trees after getting out of the BOE on Friday and ran into a bunch of my elementary kids on their walk home. We smelled the flowers while waiting for her mother to come pick her up and collected fallen petals and a few rare fallen whole blossoms.
...aside from random encounters with students and their relatives, my life has been busy with my usual taiko and kendo activities. Tonight I'm busily churning out activities for tomorrow-- I was informed at the end of the day today that I would need to plan for classes first and second period tomorrow. At least I was given some warning. The lack-of-information gap between my JTEs and myself has grown increasingly more frustrating. I am learning to be more flexible and adaptable, but there comes a point where not informing me of scheduled activities is plain rude.
In some ways I have been treated like a third-class citizen since starting work here here-- at most of my schools no one usually tells me about changes in the daily schedule or even which class I'm eating lunch with. It's a constant struggle to obtain information necessary for daily functioning within the schools. Most of my schools are pretty good about telling me when I arrive in the morning when I have will classes or posting a list somewhere, but two of my middle schools still stubbornly make me beg for it... last week I thought I had only one class and ended up having three, the second of which I was only informed of 5 minutes before it was supposed to begin.
At some point, the bamboo reed will discover it's really an American elm twig, discontinue its attempts to bend, and pointedly bitch-slap all who have repeatedly refused to respect its basic needs. I'm still trying to work within the system at the moment, but really, is there that much of a difference between Japanese and American bureaucracy? The rules are made for the game to be lost.
Thank goodness February is so short, really, and punctuated by the start of plum blossoms. It's a depressingly cold month and enough to push this lonely homesick adventurer to her last ounce of compassion.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Backlogged pictures
I thought I'd already posted a picture of Miss Caterpillar but was mistaken. So for posterity and those who cannot easily imagine a 6-7 foot long colorful alphabet-branden insect, here is a picture:
...I also did take a few pictures of the Tendai Buddhist Setsubun ritual at Toyo's temple last weekend. I'm always a little hesitant to take pictures of deeply spiritual things for two reasons. One, I'm worried about offending someone, and two, pictures never do justice to the experience. A bunch of other people were fertively snapping away, though, and the experience was one that few people I know may ever have the chance to partake in... so, in an attempt to share more of what the experience was like, here is a picture of one of the head priests praying (during chanting with various musical instruments) and feeding the sacred fire with tablets people had bought and written their names on (for good health in the coming year).
After the indoor ritual was completed, everyone headed outside for the ritualized burning of the previous year's o-mamori, or protective amulets. I saw a bunch of special New Year's stuff in the pile as well as standard "bless this home" charms. When the fire was lit, the monks spread out in a circle around it and chanted, utilizing a few of the more portable instruments.
The monk in brown robes is shaking a mini metal replica of a monk's walking staff; it made a pleasant jangling sound.
The monk on the right in green robes has a small bell.
...isn't she adorable?
...I also did take a few pictures of the Tendai Buddhist Setsubun ritual at Toyo's temple last weekend. I'm always a little hesitant to take pictures of deeply spiritual things for two reasons. One, I'm worried about offending someone, and two, pictures never do justice to the experience. A bunch of other people were fertively snapping away, though, and the experience was one that few people I know may ever have the chance to partake in... so, in an attempt to share more of what the experience was like, here is a picture of one of the head priests praying (during chanting with various musical instruments) and feeding the sacred fire with tablets people had bought and written their names on (for good health in the coming year).
After the indoor ritual was completed, everyone headed outside for the ritualized burning of the previous year's o-mamori, or protective amulets. I saw a bunch of special New Year's stuff in the pile as well as standard "bless this home" charms. When the fire was lit, the monks spread out in a circle around it and chanted, utilizing a few of the more portable instruments.
The monk in brown robes is shaking a mini metal replica of a monk's walking staff; it made a pleasant jangling sound.
The monk on the right in green robes has a small bell.
...they're all standing far back because the fire was huge and very hot. I took these pictures and then backed away some more; even from several meters away, my face was uncomfortably warm while turned towards the flames.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Small-Town Buddhist Ritual and the Joys of Second-Graders
Continuation of the epic winter break trip to resume sometime in the near future with the conclusion recounting more than a week of sightseeing in Kyoto.
In the meaning, we return to our regularly-scheduled real-time blog.
Last weekend I had the rare opportunity to participate in a small-town festival. About 3 kilometers away from Hitakatsu, the metropolis of northern Tsushima (sort of the Maine equivalent of Fort Kent if nothing south of Bangor existed), is a small hamlet called Izumi. It's home to a tiny Tendai Buddhist temple that put on an early Setsubun festival. I was told that the temple only has one monk, but other monks from all over Tsushima gathered for this ritual, about 6 of them all together.
Setsubun is celebrated on the day prior to the beginning of a new season, the biggest celebration happening in spring. It's usually February 3rd according to the Japanese calendar. In order to prepare for the new season, people and homes are ritually cleansed. In order to send oni, or demons, away, beans are usually thrown outside or at some festivals thrown at someone wearing an oni mask. (See wikipedia for more info: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Setsubun).
The Setsubun ritual I went to started with everyone crowding inside, maybe 100 people kneeling on tatami mats before the temple's raised platform and altar. Babies were cradled on laps, children sprawled everywhere. One monk chanted a short sutra, and then it morphed into a chant with the other monks joining in with musical instruments. There was a small sending-vibrations-into-your-soul drum and a monkish-travel-staff shaped mini rattle among other things. The room was pretty packed and I was in the back, so I couldn't see very much. Once the chanting got going, at periodic intervals the main chanting monk would add wooden sticks to a small, contained fire in the middle of the platform. People had written their names and perhaps other information on the wooden sticks prior to the ritual; I think it was supposed to be a cleansing activity. The fire got pretty high, and it was beautiful to see the fire and candlelight dance across the monks' faces. All the other lights had been put out. I'd never seen a Tendai ritual before, and it was very different from the minimalist Zen rituals I'm more accustomed to. At times it seemed so raw, almost shamanistic. Of course I had no idea what they were saying, but there was a very powerful feeling coming from all the energy they were raising. I felt it even from the back of the room... intense and amazing.
The chanting lasted quite some time, maybe 45 minutes altogether without a break. In the middle, the main monk left the platform and ritualistically took out what looked like a sutra. It was an accordion-bound book that he skillfully fanned down, almost like a slinky, and neatly caught. Using this holy item, he purified/blessed a number of men sitting on cushions in front of the altar by tapping the book on different parts of their bodies while chanting. I got the feeling that they were important people and had paid a lot for this service. At the end of purifying them, the monk hit them on the back twice, very hard. I could hear the thumps. After all the men sitting on cushions were purified, the chanting resumed. When it finally stopped, I thought the ritual was complete, but then all the monks came down from the platform armed with accordion-bound sutra books and started purifying everyone. I was a little bewildered and not sure quite what to do-- I could've made a run for it or pretended that I'd already been blessed-- but then thought, what the heck. This could be my only chance to have a monk hit me with a sutra-book. If I get blessed in the process, why not? ...and thus I, too, got hit by a sutra-wielding monk last weekend. The last two thumps surprised me by their strength, and I felt like they really did something.
After everyone got whacked with a sutra-book (even the children and babies, although I think their last two whacks were a little less intense than mine), everyone went outside for the bean-throwing portion of the ritual. It had been raining in the beginning but thankfully stopped by the time everyone had been blessed. Instead of us throwing beans at someone dressed up like a monster, which was more along the lines of what I had been expecting, the monks threw packets of beans at us. It was like running for 4th-of-July candy thrown from parade floats; hands scrabbling everywhere and everyone trying to fill their little plastic baggie regardless of how many beans they actually wanted. Midway through the madness, I plucked a bag from where it had landed on an obaachan's back (she'd been hunched over going after the ones on the ground), felt a little guilty, and tried to hand it to her. "No, no," she said, hardly standing up from where she was still grabbing bean-bags off the ground, "that one's yours."
Eventually all of the bean-bags thrown and had been snatched out of the air or picked up from the ground, and it was time for another fire event: burning old mamori, charms of luck and happiness, wealth and fortune. I was surprised at how many had been collected; everything together made a bonfire the size of a small car. Watching the charms burn, everyone had a little tea and miso soup, chatted a bit (perhaps the Japanese version of post-church snacks and socialization?), and left. All in all, a fully-satisfying spiritual experience and one I won't soon forget.
In other news, this morning I went to one of my favorite schools, Hitakatsu Elementary. Just going into the school is fun; I bring along Miss Caterpillar, an insanely long stuffed animal with the alphabet printed over her different segments. Coming in from the parking lot, the kids see Miss Caterpillar from their classroom windows and wave to us. It's so amazing seeing their excitement before I'm even in the building. Going to the teacher's room, I can hear the kids talking to each other in the hallway-- "Kimberly-sensei! Kimberly-sensei's here!"
I ate lunch with the second-graders, which was a blast. I entered the classroom to applause. During lunch, all I had to do was look at them a little funny and they'd burst out laughing. One boy challenged me to try using chopsticks with my left hand, which provided more amusement. Although my taiko sensei/sempais say that doing things left-handed like using chopsticks will fine-tune my left arm muscles and make me a better taiko player, the 2nd-grader I was sitting across from agreed that it was impossible. Towards the end of lunch, as the stragglers munched on their little bits of apple, a crowd gathered around me to marvel at the color of my eyes. The majority of Japanese people have dark brown eyes-- although they insist on calling them black-- so any lighter color like blue, green, or hazel is rare. It's not the first time I've had staring contests with my elementary kids, but it was particularly fun to do with a few girls who almost got nose-to-nose with me.
Departing from the classroom was an event all in itself. There was the all-class "Thank you! See you!" which included mad two-handed waves, and then a few brave souls came over to give me high-fives. Making my way towards the door (still surrounded by the swarm), everyone else decided they wanted high-fives, too, and some repeatedly. Heading back to the teacher's room, I ran into a bunch of 3-4th graders who were cleaning up dirty trays, and they all wanted high-fives. The braver of the bunch, including a few of my kendo kids, jumped on my back for rides about, and then wanted to see how flat I could smoosh my nose. I'm not quite sure why. Maybe it was a contest... they could really get their noses pretty flat. I think my nose cartilege is fairly well-defined at this point and in no mood to go about taking on different shapes. But I did try.
Then it was time to head over to the Board of Education to pick up my paycheck, pay bills, and do other assorted tasks, so I gathered my stuff together, flung the oversized English-alphabet Miss Caterpillar (also known as "Kimberly-sensei's friend") around my neck, and attempted to leave the building. Of course then I ran into a bunch of 1-2nd graders who absolutely love Miss Caterpillar and spent long moments trying to remember her name. Miss Caterpillar waved back, got settled in the backseat (her head sticking out the window a la drooly dog), and off we went, the mad excitement of children waving good-bye from the playground receeding in the rear window.
Some days I really love my job.
In the meaning, we return to our regularly-scheduled real-time blog.
Last weekend I had the rare opportunity to participate in a small-town festival. About 3 kilometers away from Hitakatsu, the metropolis of northern Tsushima (sort of the Maine equivalent of Fort Kent if nothing south of Bangor existed), is a small hamlet called Izumi. It's home to a tiny Tendai Buddhist temple that put on an early Setsubun festival. I was told that the temple only has one monk, but other monks from all over Tsushima gathered for this ritual, about 6 of them all together.
Setsubun is celebrated on the day prior to the beginning of a new season, the biggest celebration happening in spring. It's usually February 3rd according to the Japanese calendar. In order to prepare for the new season, people and homes are ritually cleansed. In order to send oni, or demons, away, beans are usually thrown outside or at some festivals thrown at someone wearing an oni mask. (See wikipedia for more info: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Setsubun).
The Setsubun ritual I went to started with everyone crowding inside, maybe 100 people kneeling on tatami mats before the temple's raised platform and altar. Babies were cradled on laps, children sprawled everywhere. One monk chanted a short sutra, and then it morphed into a chant with the other monks joining in with musical instruments. There was a small sending-vibrations-into-your-soul drum and a monkish-travel-staff shaped mini rattle among other things. The room was pretty packed and I was in the back, so I couldn't see very much. Once the chanting got going, at periodic intervals the main chanting monk would add wooden sticks to a small, contained fire in the middle of the platform. People had written their names and perhaps other information on the wooden sticks prior to the ritual; I think it was supposed to be a cleansing activity. The fire got pretty high, and it was beautiful to see the fire and candlelight dance across the monks' faces. All the other lights had been put out. I'd never seen a Tendai ritual before, and it was very different from the minimalist Zen rituals I'm more accustomed to. At times it seemed so raw, almost shamanistic. Of course I had no idea what they were saying, but there was a very powerful feeling coming from all the energy they were raising. I felt it even from the back of the room... intense and amazing.
The chanting lasted quite some time, maybe 45 minutes altogether without a break. In the middle, the main monk left the platform and ritualistically took out what looked like a sutra. It was an accordion-bound book that he skillfully fanned down, almost like a slinky, and neatly caught. Using this holy item, he purified/blessed a number of men sitting on cushions in front of the altar by tapping the book on different parts of their bodies while chanting. I got the feeling that they were important people and had paid a lot for this service. At the end of purifying them, the monk hit them on the back twice, very hard. I could hear the thumps. After all the men sitting on cushions were purified, the chanting resumed. When it finally stopped, I thought the ritual was complete, but then all the monks came down from the platform armed with accordion-bound sutra books and started purifying everyone. I was a little bewildered and not sure quite what to do-- I could've made a run for it or pretended that I'd already been blessed-- but then thought, what the heck. This could be my only chance to have a monk hit me with a sutra-book. If I get blessed in the process, why not? ...and thus I, too, got hit by a sutra-wielding monk last weekend. The last two thumps surprised me by their strength, and I felt like they really did something.
After everyone got whacked with a sutra-book (even the children and babies, although I think their last two whacks were a little less intense than mine), everyone went outside for the bean-throwing portion of the ritual. It had been raining in the beginning but thankfully stopped by the time everyone had been blessed. Instead of us throwing beans at someone dressed up like a monster, which was more along the lines of what I had been expecting, the monks threw packets of beans at us. It was like running for 4th-of-July candy thrown from parade floats; hands scrabbling everywhere and everyone trying to fill their little plastic baggie regardless of how many beans they actually wanted. Midway through the madness, I plucked a bag from where it had landed on an obaachan's back (she'd been hunched over going after the ones on the ground), felt a little guilty, and tried to hand it to her. "No, no," she said, hardly standing up from where she was still grabbing bean-bags off the ground, "that one's yours."
Eventually all of the bean-bags thrown and had been snatched out of the air or picked up from the ground, and it was time for another fire event: burning old mamori, charms of luck and happiness, wealth and fortune. I was surprised at how many had been collected; everything together made a bonfire the size of a small car. Watching the charms burn, everyone had a little tea and miso soup, chatted a bit (perhaps the Japanese version of post-church snacks and socialization?), and left. All in all, a fully-satisfying spiritual experience and one I won't soon forget.
In other news, this morning I went to one of my favorite schools, Hitakatsu Elementary. Just going into the school is fun; I bring along Miss Caterpillar, an insanely long stuffed animal with the alphabet printed over her different segments. Coming in from the parking lot, the kids see Miss Caterpillar from their classroom windows and wave to us. It's so amazing seeing their excitement before I'm even in the building. Going to the teacher's room, I can hear the kids talking to each other in the hallway-- "Kimberly-sensei! Kimberly-sensei's here!"
I ate lunch with the second-graders, which was a blast. I entered the classroom to applause. During lunch, all I had to do was look at them a little funny and they'd burst out laughing. One boy challenged me to try using chopsticks with my left hand, which provided more amusement. Although my taiko sensei/sempais say that doing things left-handed like using chopsticks will fine-tune my left arm muscles and make me a better taiko player, the 2nd-grader I was sitting across from agreed that it was impossible. Towards the end of lunch, as the stragglers munched on their little bits of apple, a crowd gathered around me to marvel at the color of my eyes. The majority of Japanese people have dark brown eyes-- although they insist on calling them black-- so any lighter color like blue, green, or hazel is rare. It's not the first time I've had staring contests with my elementary kids, but it was particularly fun to do with a few girls who almost got nose-to-nose with me.
Departing from the classroom was an event all in itself. There was the all-class "Thank you! See you!" which included mad two-handed waves, and then a few brave souls came over to give me high-fives. Making my way towards the door (still surrounded by the swarm), everyone else decided they wanted high-fives, too, and some repeatedly. Heading back to the teacher's room, I ran into a bunch of 3-4th graders who were cleaning up dirty trays, and they all wanted high-fives. The braver of the bunch, including a few of my kendo kids, jumped on my back for rides about, and then wanted to see how flat I could smoosh my nose. I'm not quite sure why. Maybe it was a contest... they could really get their noses pretty flat. I think my nose cartilege is fairly well-defined at this point and in no mood to go about taking on different shapes. But I did try.
Then it was time to head over to the Board of Education to pick up my paycheck, pay bills, and do other assorted tasks, so I gathered my stuff together, flung the oversized English-alphabet Miss Caterpillar (also known as "Kimberly-sensei's friend") around my neck, and attempted to leave the building. Of course then I ran into a bunch of 1-2nd graders who absolutely love Miss Caterpillar and spent long moments trying to remember her name. Miss Caterpillar waved back, got settled in the backseat (her head sticking out the window a la drooly dog), and off we went, the mad excitement of children waving good-bye from the playground receeding in the rear window.
Some days I really love my job.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Winter Break Trip: Christmas
Christmas, Rose and I decided, should be kept busy. We didn`t want lots of down-time during which to think about how we could be at home with our families, surrounded by delicious food and loads of presents.
I did start off the morning with a quick call home; everyone was in the midst of Aunt Beth`s Christmas Eve bash, which sounded much more lively than in recent years past. The phone got passed around, and then I was off to catch a train to an indigo dying museum and factory just outside of town.
I love the dark blue of indigo. It`s the color of Tokushima`s mountains at sunset or just afterwards (and Tsushima`s, too). It`s also very calming and rejuvenates my spirit.
The indigo museum had many indigo-dyed artifacts, including old kimono. My favorite display was this hanging artwork, though, of variously-dyed shades of indigo. The translucent fabric seemed so light and airy, and it hung over the main room of the first floor (I`m on the second floor in the picture).
After wandering through various exhibitions on the process of dying indigo-- from planting indigo seeds to harvesting the leaves and mixing them with lye and other natural chemicals to reach a certain state of decomposition-- it was time to try it myself.
I dyed a bunch of handkerchiefs for omiyage (gifts for people who I`m indebted to). In order to create a few tie-die like designs, I tied a new handkerchief with knots in specific places. Then it was time to dunk them in the vat-o-indigo dye.
... for some reason, I really liked the smell of the dye. It wasn`t altogether a pleasant smell... properly speaking, it could only be described as the smell of decaying indigo leaves. So think along the lines of compost. It was rich, though, and very earthy. Later on, some of the dye would seep into one of my plastic gloves, so I got to carry the scent around with me for awhile.
After dunking the handkerchief for 1 minute, it was time to haul it out, squeeze out all the excess liquid, and expose it to the air, which was magical. At first the handkerchief would look dark green, but on exposure to the air it slowly turned blue. I had to open the handkerchief as much as possible (except for the knots I tied earlier) to maximize exposure to the air. After 1 minute of being out of the tub, the handkerchief went back in for 1 minute. Since I was going for the really dark indigo (see earlier picture with hanging fabric to compare different shades), my handkerchiefs got dunked a total of 5 times. Fewer times would create a lighter color.
...after dunking five times and rinsing the excess dye off, I ironed the handkerchiefs dry.
..the beautiful collection!...
I did start off the morning with a quick call home; everyone was in the midst of Aunt Beth`s Christmas Eve bash, which sounded much more lively than in recent years past. The phone got passed around, and then I was off to catch a train to an indigo dying museum and factory just outside of town.
I love the dark blue of indigo. It`s the color of Tokushima`s mountains at sunset or just afterwards (and Tsushima`s, too). It`s also very calming and rejuvenates my spirit.
The indigo museum had many indigo-dyed artifacts, including old kimono. My favorite display was this hanging artwork, though, of variously-dyed shades of indigo. The translucent fabric seemed so light and airy, and it hung over the main room of the first floor (I`m on the second floor in the picture).
After wandering through various exhibitions on the process of dying indigo-- from planting indigo seeds to harvesting the leaves and mixing them with lye and other natural chemicals to reach a certain state of decomposition-- it was time to try it myself.
I dyed a bunch of handkerchiefs for omiyage (gifts for people who I`m indebted to). In order to create a few tie-die like designs, I tied a new handkerchief with knots in specific places. Then it was time to dunk them in the vat-o-indigo dye.
... for some reason, I really liked the smell of the dye. It wasn`t altogether a pleasant smell... properly speaking, it could only be described as the smell of decaying indigo leaves. So think along the lines of compost. It was rich, though, and very earthy. Later on, some of the dye would seep into one of my plastic gloves, so I got to carry the scent around with me for awhile.
After dunking the handkerchief for 1 minute, it was time to haul it out, squeeze out all the excess liquid, and expose it to the air, which was magical. At first the handkerchief would look dark green, but on exposure to the air it slowly turned blue. I had to open the handkerchief as much as possible (except for the knots I tied earlier) to maximize exposure to the air. After 1 minute of being out of the tub, the handkerchief went back in for 1 minute. Since I was going for the really dark indigo (see earlier picture with hanging fabric to compare different shades), my handkerchiefs got dunked a total of 5 times. Fewer times would create a lighter color.
...after dunking five times and rinsing the excess dye off, I ironed the handkerchiefs dry.
..the beautiful collection!...
There was also an old samurai-style house on the grounds of the indigo-dying factory. What most impressed me where the really steep and numerous staircases: no less then 3. I thought it would`ve been a really cool house to play hide-and-go-seek tag in. Unlike old American houses, there weren`t any squeaky boards-- thank you tatami mats-- so it was hard to tell where someone else was in the house. While the house wasn`t very big, I lost Rose a few times in our wanderings and had a hard time finding her. Because the 3 staircases are in close proximity to each other (but leading into different upstairs and downstairs passages), sounds echoed in strange ways and it was difficult to tell where a voice was actually coming from. Here`s one of the staircases with beautiful patterned windows.
...whilst all of this was going on (and I was trying to master the more intricate hand-movements... there was a proper way of doing it, with the right hand moving at the same time as the right foot, which made me feel off-balance), the main male leader of the troup, who had earlier expounded upon the dance's evolution through history, swung a lei around my neck. I knew this wasn't a good sign... but at least I wasn't the only lasso-ed participant.
...and then I received a certificate of participation and a cool Awa Odori headband thing. Cute old man.
Outside of the gift shop were these three strange characters. Dressed up in indigo-dyed cloth, I thought they were adorable.
We rushed through the gift shop-- some lovely items, including a woven picture of mountains in various indigo shades that I bought as a Christmas present to myself-- and headed back to the city for the Awa Odori kaikan, a building with a museum and live performances of the Awa Odori (dance) performed in Tokushima city during Obon in August.
There weren't many other people about-- it was pretty cold and windy in addition to being Christmas and a normal working day-- but the special Awa Odori troupe associated with the touristy building still put on a grand performance. In the picture below, the woman are standing in front with the long roof-like woven grass hats, and the men are in the back.
.. after a few demonstrations, it was audience-participation time! Hatless, I gave it my best shot. First, work on the feet. Basically two mini-steps with one foot, then two on the other. The first step angles in and the second angles out.
After the footwork is down, it's time to put your hands up in the air....
...and wave 'em around like you just don't care! I should really try this at an enkai (work-related drinking party) sometime. At some point, the woman in front of me started moving and we ended up mambo-line-like grooving Tokushima-Festival-of-the-Dead style. Pretty amazing thing to do on Christmas, I think.
...whilst all of this was going on (and I was trying to master the more intricate hand-movements... there was a proper way of doing it, with the right hand moving at the same time as the right foot, which made me feel off-balance), the main male leader of the troup, who had earlier expounded upon the dance's evolution through history, swung a lei around my neck. I knew this wasn't a good sign... but at least I wasn't the only lasso-ed participant.
I was worried that we'd been chosen as the "Worst Dancers" -- such a thing was mentioned in my guidebook as something that happens during the actual festival-- but the lei was actually a compliment to mark the good dancers. After we were hauled aside, the rest of the participants were allowed to sit down. The "Best Dancer" (i.e. not me) introduced herself, joked with the male leader, and then ceremoniously received a fancy purple flag.
...and then, moment of horror, it was my turn at the microphone. I've had plenty of practice introducing myself but usually have some warning and a speech to fall back upon. It was scary and kind of exciting to be completely unprepared. Thankfully I understood most of what I was asked and could answer mainly in monosyllables.
...and then, moment of horror, it was my turn at the microphone. I've had plenty of practice introducing myself but usually have some warning and a speech to fall back upon. It was scary and kind of exciting to be completely unprepared. Thankfully I understood most of what I was asked and could answer mainly in monosyllables.
...and then I received a certificate of participation and a cool Awa Odori headband thing. Cute old man.The last part of the Awa Odori Kaikan experience was going from the roof up a cable car to an outlook of the city. Unfortunately it was starting to rain, so Rose and I didn't spend much time up there. We did get a few quick scenic shots, though.
...this is a little fuzzy but catches some of the 'beautiful Tokushima mountains' I was writing about earlier. The fading sunlight was just gorgeous; I love shades of grey, and with the clouds and various receeding mountains and pink of sunset... just beautiful.
...this is a little fuzzy but catches some of the 'beautiful Tokushima mountains' I was writing about earlier. The fading sunlight was just gorgeous; I love shades of grey, and with the clouds and various receeding mountains and pink of sunset... just beautiful.The city meets the mountains but does not take them over.
Our last Christmas event before getting some Kansai-style okonomiyaki (none of the Tsushima restaurants in my area have it, and I'd been craving some) for dinner.... was slightly unexpected. It was the infamous "Santas on a Boat" that I'd been hoping to see. I saw them-- a giant boat full of 8-10 santas speeding down the river, rock music blaring, swerving from riverbank to riverbank and chucking bundles of presents to the hoards of children, parents, and marauding teens who were sprinting along the sides of the river trying to keep up with the boat. It's a fantastic sight sure to get your blood pumping and your feet moving; you can't watch the hoard run past and not want to follow the epic Santas-on-a-Boat. And so, of course, I ran.
Our last Christmas event before getting some Kansai-style okonomiyaki (none of the Tsushima restaurants in my area have it, and I'd been craving some) for dinner.... was slightly unexpected. It was the infamous "Santas on a Boat" that I'd been hoping to see. I saw them-- a giant boat full of 8-10 santas speeding down the river, rock music blaring, swerving from riverbank to riverbank and chucking bundles of presents to the hoards of children, parents, and marauding teens who were sprinting along the sides of the river trying to keep up with the boat. It's a fantastic sight sure to get your blood pumping and your feet moving; you can't watch the hoard run past and not want to follow the epic Santas-on-a-Boat. And so, of course, I ran.Here they are. Fairly innoculous at first glance...
...but then they dance...
...and toss presents. This picture isn't the greatest, but night shots are difficult. There is a giant crowd of people over there fighting over the presents.
And thus ended my second Christmas spent in Tokushima, Japan.
...but then they dance...
...and toss presents. This picture isn't the greatest, but night shots are difficult. There is a giant crowd of people over there fighting over the presents.
And thus ended my second Christmas spent in Tokushima, Japan.Winter Break Trip: The Beginning
It`s been awhile since I wrote, partly due to an exciting 2-week winter holiday escape-from-the-island travel extravaganza ^^
The intinerary broke down something like this:
December 20-- wake up early, pick up Rose in the south, make our escape via airplane to Osaka.
December 21-23 Osaka
December 23-26 Tokushima (Shikoku)
December 26-January 3 Kyoto
...travels started off well and I arrived in Osaka only slightly travel-weary and in desperate need of a bath. Traveling about in airplanes, especially if I have to transfer, makes me feel very disgusting. Thankfully, Osaka has the perfect cure, a multi-floor complex called SpaWorld, which is the first place we hit up after dropping our bags at the hotel. There are two floors of baths, an Asian-themed floor and European-themed floor, each with many specialized baths. The floors are single-sex only and switch sexes each month. When I studied abroad, I had the opportunity to check out the European-themed floor, replete with Roman pillars, Grecian urns filled with mud (for a do-it-yourself mud bath... it was kind of awesome to be scooping out mud from the urn next to a obaachans), herbal baths, a milk-and-honey bath in a low-lit recreation of a cave, and an aquarium-themed bath with a glass bottom and a tank with sharks underneath. In other words, completely wild. So of course I wanted to go back, either to have a dip in the same baths again or, hopefully, check out the Asian floor.
Luckily, it was the ladies` turn at the Asian floor. Although not quite as unique as the European floor--many were Japanese-style baths, similar to onsen everywhere-- there were still many baths to sample. A few indoor Japanese-style baths made of different materials; countless outdoor baths (rotenburo) of varying temperatures, sizes, and materials; a few indoor mini-waterfalls perfect for standing underneath to pummel those tense neck and shoulder muscles; and many other baths, including one with a whirlpool.
Of course, this is public bathing Japan-style. You ditch your clothes in lockers and then run around with a mini-towel just big enough to drape over the unmentionables. But the water`s usually piping-hot and, in addition to coming out squeaky-clean (you completely scrub down before entering any of the baths), it`s great for working out muscle kinks and just relaxing.
Here`s some pictures of the SpaWorld baths (both European and Asian floors). ...for obvious reasons, cameras aren`t allowed inside, so I could only get a picture of an advertisements for the baths.
After getting clean, Rose and I were starving, so we went to have some real American food (okay, okay, I was after the sour cream that comes with the fajitas) at Osaka`s Hard Rock Cafe. Mmmm delicious.
The next day Rose and I got up relatively early to get to the Osaka`s aquarium. I`d never been before but had heard that it was one of the best aquariums anywhere. And, indeed, it was a huge complex with many different aquacultures, organized by region. Like Boston`s aquarium, there is one central gigantic tank which visitors spiral around... except Osaka`s giant tank is much, much larger than Boston`s and you begin the spiral from the top, working your way down. There are also so many more side-tanks, including ones with dolphins, seals, penguins, a coral reef system, Hokkaido`s deep sea (with crazy basketball-sized crabs, their legs at least a foot long when extended), and other Japan-specific marine ecosystems.
The beginning may be the best; a smaller aquarium tank wraps around the hallway covering all sides, except for the entrance and exit, and the ceiling. It`s like going inside an aquarium without getting wet, with fish swimming all around you. Very cool. I wasn`t able to get a satisfactory picture of that initial tank, but here are some others from later on.
...out of all sea life I`ve seen so far, sting rays are probably my favorite. They remind me of underwater birds... I`ve seen a few while scuba diving, and they so elegantly flutter the edges of their bodies to move along. Spotted stingrays have more of a flapping motion, but it`s very smooth.
...and the sea turtle was pretty cool, too. Bugger moved fast, though, so he was harder to photograph.
This is a little foreshadowing for later, but Christmas in Japan is crazy. I got a hint of that craziness coming around a corner and seeing scuba-diving Santa.
...he waved madly to everyone (which makes me think the glass is two-way and, indeed, makes me wonder what the fish think of us) and posed for shots. Only in Japan. (Please note that his tank is wrapped up like a sack of presents).
After spinning our way through the aquarium, we emerged to find it had started drizzling, so we made our way over to the IMAX theater. There was the traditional under-the-sea informational video as well as one on the pharoahs of Egypt; since we`d just spent much of the morning seeing fish, we opted for pyramids. The general audio was in Japanese, but we got special headsets set to English. Combined with the usual IMAX glasses... well, we looked pretty funky.
The next day was devoted primarily to shopping and a wonderful visit to see a Takarazuka show of The Brothers Karzmanov. Takarazuka is a group of all-female theater troupes that do Broadway-musical-meets-Los-Vegas-glitter-and-glam-line-dance shows. In a word, it`s spectacular.
Usually the shows are performed in Takarazuka, a small town outside of Osaka, or Tokyo. Because we were visiting in the off-season, though, there wasn`t much going on, and the few shows that were running were at small theaters in Osaka. The Snow Troupe`s `The Brothers Karzmanov` that we saw was a preview that will officially open soon in Tokyo. It was wonderful, though, and included a scene with priests spinning about madly and singing about love. There was also a troupe of peasants in brightly-colored clothing that would appear whenever something good happened (Russian tradgedy, so not that often) and gaily dance about.
Afterwards, a woman approached us and asked if we`d like to stay afterwards to see the actresses ceremoniously emerge from the dressing area after changing. Figuring we might not get the chance again, we were game, and about an hour later got to see my favorite actress (the main male-character lead in both `The Brothers Karzmanov` and an earlier Snow Troup production I`d seen, `Elizabeth`) in plain clothes.
So very suave. It was amazing to see her off the set and equally astounding to witness the official fan clubs. They set themselves up at strategic spots along the path that the actresses walk through when exiting the theater and kneel every time an actress emerges. Members of the fan club must swear to not do things like talk to the actresses or even take their picture. These rules are all meant to prevent scandals, which I heard have happened in the past.
...the morning after takarazuka, it was time to head off to Tokushima. Now, every Japanese person I told that I was going to Tokushima asked me why there. I can`t explain why, but the place resonates with me. Maybe because I had so many good experiences last time I went or because I discovered a new independence there... it`s hard to say. I just really love Tokushima. Outside of the eastern city (both the region, kind of like a U.S. state, and the main city are both called `Tokushima`), it`s mostly mountains.. but these mountains are not at all like Tsushima`s mountains. Tokushima`s mountains are huge and form ranges and have giant plains between the ranges were villages can form. You can admire the mountains from a distance (unlike Tsushima`s `rice ball` mountains which are small but so clustered together, so it`s difficult to escape from the middle of them to admire the bunch)... maybe Tokushima`s mountains are a little more vain. Tokushima also is famous for many handicrafts, including paper-making and indigo-dying, and the Awa Odori dance, which is performed every year during August and Obon, a holiday for honoring the dead.
...the morning after takarazuka, it was time to head off to Tokushima. Now, every Japanese person I told that I was going to Tokushima asked me why there. I can`t explain why, but the place resonates with me. Maybe because I had so many good experiences last time I went or because I discovered a new independence there... it`s hard to say. I just really love Tokushima. Outside of the eastern city (both the region, kind of like a U.S. state, and the main city are both called `Tokushima`), it`s mostly mountains.. but these mountains are not at all like Tsushima`s mountains. Tokushima`s mountains are huge and form ranges and have giant plains between the ranges were villages can form. You can admire the mountains from a distance (unlike Tsushima`s `rice ball` mountains which are small but so clustered together, so it`s difficult to escape from the middle of them to admire the bunch)... maybe Tokushima`s mountains are a little more vain. Tokushima also is famous for many handicrafts, including paper-making and indigo-dying, and the Awa Odori dance, which is performed every year during August and Obon, a holiday for honoring the dead.
One of the first things I noticed upon arrival was the different flora. I remembered palm trees (although it is cold and more nippy that one would expect of a palm-tree locale), but I was surprised to find the plants below, which are identical to an errant plant at home in Maine. There were whole clusters of them in bloom.
It took most of a day to travel to Tokushima and get settled, so Rose and I didn`t really get out to see much until the next day.
Which was Christmas Eve ^^. And what better way to spend Christmas Eve than trekking into Tokushima`s rural countryside to make paper? I`d been to the paper-making factory before and wanted to go again. This time, there was a special display upstairs of New Year postcards and calendars (entering into the year of the ox, so they were mostly decorated with oxen). There was also a very long sheaf of paper in a corner with descriptions of kendo gear and beautiful pictures.
The highlight of the factory, at least for me, was making my own paper. I think the process is so cool. There are vats of suitably broken-down tree-bark fibers emulsed in a water-and-glue mixture and wooden frames with mesh to catch the fibers.
First, you stir up a vat with a bamboo stick to mix the fibers evenly. Then you dip the frame in, shake gently (a 1-2 mini-earthquake on the Richter scale, not a 8-9) to get the fibers to settle evenly as the water drains through the mesh. Repeat a couple of times to achieve a proper thickness.
First, you stir up a vat with a bamboo stick to mix the fibers evenly. Then you dip the frame in, shake gently (a 1-2 mini-earthquake on the Richter scale, not a 8-9) to get the fibers to settle evenly as the water drains through the mesh. Repeat a couple of times to achieve a proper thickness.
Then it`s time for decorating! ...there were small tubs of colored, emulsified tree bark for pouring into a cookie-cutter design or making splashes of color across your future-piece-of-paper, as well as different-colored bits of more substantial tree fibers for fine-tuned designs.
I made a Christmas card postcard for Rose (complete with colored bulb decorations on the Christmas tree and a star on top), a night-time fireworks scene, a recreation of a paper-artwork I`d seen in the museum with a sunset sky and two flying birds, and then had some fun with random splashes of color.
After decorating, the future-paper is removed from the mesh of the wooden frame, quickly vacuumed by a special machine, and then rolled onto a hot sheet of metal to dry. The water was a little cold to work with and everything done standing up, but I could`ve spent all day making paper and deciding how to decorate it.
...we had other plans for the day, though, and headed back to Tokushima city for karaoke-- including many Christmas-y songs and ending with a resounding `We Are the Champions`-- and a nice Italian Christmas-dinner-a-little early. Since Christmas in Japan is more of a romantic holiday for couples than a family event, fancy restaurants would most likely be booked on Christmas day. For some reason Kentucky Fried Chicken is also a popular romantic Christmas destination... go figure. In any case, we celebrated early. The lasagna was delicious ^^
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