Head First

Life is Hard in Philadelphia

2007-03-31T11:16:00.000+09:00

When I was growing up, every time I complained my dad would say, "Life is hard, and then you die." This was one of his favorite jokes but at the time I did not find it funny. Despite my lack of appreciation for the subtle humor, the phrase entered itself into my everyday vocabulary, and when things are a little rough I sigh and say, "Life is hard."

Coming back to America has had its ups and downs. On the "up" side, being with my family and old friends has filled a deep need. Moving in with my boyfriend has made these past few months an adventure instead of a letdown. And it's nice to be able to understand what people are talking about instead of nodding and smiling while they jabber away in Japanese or Thai or Vietnamese.

On the downside my current apartment is in a borderline area, my 2 part-time jobs are less than fulfilling, and sushi is really expensive.

almost home

2006-11-22T22:37:00.000+09:00

Me with Travis (the main reason for my lack of posts), hour 36 of the 40-hour journey back to America. Note the bleary eyes.

Rice Paddies in Pai, northern Thailand

2006-11-22T22:35:00.000+09:00

The waterfall from the movie "The Beach"

2006-11-22T22:32:00.000+09:00

Our guide Jip in Khao Yai national park claimed he looked like Leonardo DiCaprio.

Railey Beach, southern Thailand

2006-11-22T22:30:00.000+09:00

in the red light district in Bangkok

2006-11-22T22:29:00.000+09:00

Bantay Srei

2006-11-22T22:28:00.000+09:00

Angkor Thom

2006-11-22T22:26:00.000+09:00

Angkor Wat

2006-11-22T22:25:00.000+09:00

Leave your shoes at the door

2006-11-22T22:23:00.000+09:00

in front of a classroom

Cambodian school girls

2006-11-22T22:22:00.000+09:00

High School in Takeo, Cambodia

2006-11-22T22:20:00.000+09:00

and some birds.

2006-11-22T22:19:00.000+09:00

Cambodian street vendor

2006-11-22T22:17:00.000+09:00

In Cambodia, ladies like to wear shrimp hats.

Offerings of incense in Saigon

2006-11-22T22:15:00.000+09:00

Hat Maker

2006-11-22T22:12:00.000+09:00

THE RETURN

2006-11-22T10:22:00.000+09:00

I thought that subject line deserved all capital letters. Yes, after a prolonged absence (23 months) and extended wandering (9 countries), I have returned to the United States, my country of birth. It was a challenging journey, both emotionally and physically. Tears were shed and hysterical laughter was heard during my 40 hours' trip from northern Thailand to suburban Massachusetts. But I'm here and I'm thrilled to be here despite a distinct lack of sticky rice.

My apologies for the lack of articles and photographs from the rest of Vietnam, Cambodia, or the last leg in Thailand. My social life took a turn for the intense and sucked up every minute of my time. I will post some pictures etc in the coming weeks. After that I cannot guarantee the future of this blog's life - is ellie in America worthy of a website? We'll have to wait and see.

The Good Life

2006-10-20T08:42:00.000+09:00

Our group leader Scott calls Hoi An "the Luang Prabang of Vietnam." What that means is that like Luang Prabang in Laos, Hoi An is a quiet, small town with a laid-back, traveller-friendly atmosphere. French-style cafes and pretty hotels abound. The beach is a bike ride away, and motorists use their horns infrequently unlike all the other cities I've seen in this country. The buildings are French colonial style with two or three stories, large windows, and balconies. At night the streets and restaurants are lit with the bright colored Vietnamese cloth lamps, making the whole town look like a Christmas tree.

Besides wandering, beach bumming, and eating, the main activity of Hoi An is having clothes tailored. There must be a hundred different tailor shops that turn out suits, dresses, shirts, and leather shoes in 12 hours. You can go into any store and choose a design from a book or magazine or even draw one yourself. Then you select from the overwhelming shelves of fabrics. I think every one of the people in my group wants something made, myself included. I won't be getting the traditional ao dai though - I had two made last spring in Saigon. I liked the ao dai tunic and pants set so much I almost bought a third one in the airport, but I managed to hold off. Three traditional Vietnamese ensembles is probably overkill.

Tomorrow we will be meeting children from a local orphanage. We were supposed to do a cooking lesson with them, but a typhoon here a week ago tore the roofs off of all their buildings. Instead we will be helping them survey the damage and make a list of necessary materials so their home can be repaired. On Sunday we fly to Saigon, and a couple of days after that we head to Cambodia.

Sea Kayaking

2006-10-19T08:31:00.000+09:00

Carrie and Danielle, kayaking in a lagoon.

our floating home

2006-10-19T08:16:00.000+09:00

The boat had 7 cabins, a dining room, and a deck with lounge chairs. The dining room had a TV and stereo that the crew liked to commandeer to play bad techno and watch porn. Once in a while they let us choose the music. The cabins were air-conditioned overnight. The meals were huge and delicious, and the chef carved fruits and vegetables into elaborate flowers. If they hadn't been so good they would have been too pretty to eat.

3 Days in Halong Bay

2006-10-19T08:05:00.000+09:00

I didn't know a natural landscape could be a UNESCO site, but Halong Bay certainly deserves the honor. So much of southeast Asia is graced with the impressive beauty of limestone coastline, but in Halong Bay the amount of limestone is astonishing. The cliffs and the carsts go on and on - there are hundreds of them. The 15 of us got to spend 2 nights on a chartered boat cruising in and out of them. We swam in the blue-green water, went sea kayaking to quiet beaches and through black caves, and feasted on fresh seafood caught by the local fishing families. We floated past whole villages with schools and pet dogs that are permanently on water. Chinese junks and oyster boats navigated the craggy bay. At night we played games and had a group skinny-dip in the phosphorescence. Our time felt far too short - I could have lay back and watched the scenery go by for days. Halong Bay is yet another place I hope to get back to.

On Top of Mt. Fancy Pants

2006-10-14T11:46:00.000+09:00

This picture does not do justice to the Mount Fan Xi Pan (which we immediately renamed Fancy Pants). Summary of the adventure: Leave at 10AM on Wednesday to arrive unexpectedly at our camp at 1:30 PM. Spend the next 8 hours waiting in the simple A-frame until it is late enough to go to sleep (rain and wet shoes holding us captive inside). Wake up in the middle of the night to hear one of the seven hikers run outside and vomit. Leave at 7:30 the next morning for an 8-hour roundtrip hike to the summit through rain, plummeting temperatures, mud, and plant life covering the steep trail. Reach the summit at noon (see picture). Wolf down a lunch of flat baguettes and hardboiled eggs before hurtling down the hill to warm up. Return to find the vomiter at 3:30. Take the last 2 hours of the trip at a veritable sprint to make it back before nightfall. Eat an enormous amount of pizza. Wake up at 2AM to commence vomiting/diarrhea. Spend the rest of the day in bed.

Parts of the adventure were a nightmare. Most of it was really fun. Scooting off to Hanoi's Women's Museum now; more later.

My Little Hmong Buddies

2006-10-14T11:39:00.000+09:00

In Sapa, Black Hmong girls hang out in front of the hotels to try and sell handbags and jewelry to tourists. I met these two while on a walk to a nearby Hmong village. They came up and started chatting to me - at first they were just trying to sell me bracelets, but then we started talking and walking together. They posed for a million pictures, took pictures of me with my camera, told me about their lives and families, taught me some Hmong, and made me toy horses out of grass and a hair wreath. We spent the whole morning together and it was one of the more interesting moments of the trip. I did buckle and buy some handicrafts from them; they certainly earned it after entertaining me for so long. They didn't abandon me after that either, but followed me around town and one of them even bought me a doughnut. I made them copies of the photos later. (That's Lala on the left and Ah on the right.)

Travelling Saleslady

2006-10-09T09:32:00.000+09:00

In Hanoi, you can buy pretty much anything from the ambulating vendors: baskets, fruit, spring rolls, bras, toothpaste.

The Ubiquitous Tuk-tuk

2006-10-09T09:19:00.000+09:00

This is a major form of hired transport in Thailand and bigger towns in Laos. The driver stands by his cart and tries to solicite passengers, yelling "You want tuk-tuk?" to foreigners within eyesight.

The Oldest Temple in Luang Prabang

2006-10-09T09:09:00.000+09:00

Built in the 1560's, this temple has been in continuous use.

Breakfast for monks

2006-10-09T09:01:00.000+09:00

Each day, the teenaged monks from the 6 temples in Luang Prabang collect alms from the townspeople. They eat the sticky rice and cakes before noon, after which they fast until the next morning. Some of the orange-clad teenagers looked VERY sleepy at 6 AM when they had to get up.

Cheers!

2006-10-09T08:53:00.000+09:00

This is my friend Brendan holding up a bottle of scorpion whisky, which we drank. Not recommended.

The Long Route through Laos

2006-10-04T11:27:00.000+09:00

In Laos, every route is the long route. Songtao (passenger truck) journeys travel up and down mountains over muddy or dusty roads. Boats float down the Mekong at a gentle pace. There is a lot of walking. I've been in Laos for 7 days now and this is the first time I've seen a computer. The country is over 200,000 square kilometers but the population is only 6 million, a tenth of the population of Thailand. That is because the land is so mountainous and so many people live in rural areas. 75% are subsistence farmers. It is very poor and there is so little infrastructure, but it is one of the most beautiful and untouched places I have ever seen.

Our first stop was a two-day trek into minority villages. We walked all day and arrived at Ban Nam Goy in the afternoon, a tiny hamlet of 100 people in about 20 bamboo huts. The village was eerily quiet. I thought it was because all the men were off working, but later I was told that Ban Nam Goy has a crippling opium problem. The children however were perky and smart. We played games and then I wound up giving them a mini-English lesson (old habits die hard). The people survive with almost nothing. There was a poster decorating the travellers' lodge, and the children came in to stare at it because it was the only drawing in the whole village. It feels odd to go see a village as a sort of tourist attraction, but there are benefits for the people who live there. It brings a lot of money to them, and our leader Scott said in the past three years the villagers have gotten much healthier-looking. Fewer people seem zoned out on opium, and no one has goiters any more. Also the villagers have to build a toilet and provide soap for the visitors, and this has led to an increase in their use by everybody.

We next spent 3 days traveling in boats down the Mekong, first in cramped longtails then a large, comfortable ferry. There was plenty of time to soak up the scenery. Yesterday we arrived in Luang Prabang, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It is a town of temples, a palace, and French colonial buildings.

So much has happened but I'm running out of time this morning, so enjoy the pictures. I am having more fun every day, and my sense of wonder is getting a constant workout.

Children of Ban Nam Goy Village, Laos

2006-10-03T20:28:00.000+09:00

River boat on the Mekong in front of the Pak Ou Caves

2006-10-03T20:25:00.000+09:00

Trekking in northern Laos

2006-10-03T20:22:00.000+09:00

In the marketplace, Luang Prabang, Laos

2006-10-03T20:16:00.000+09:00

I wanted to buy these parasols, but I already have 2 at home. I can't justify buying one and carrying it through 3 more countries.

The Military Coup

2006-09-25T11:27:00.000+09:00

Oh yeah - there's been some big news since I came to Thailand. On the first day of our trek we learned that the Thai military has dissolved Parliament. They marched into the government building in Bangkok and put all the officials on house arrest. The Prime Minister has been ousted and fled to London. The king has pledged his support of the military so the country is not in turmoil. This didn't affect me in the slightest: our trek still left as scheduled, and we haven't seen any evidence of the change except in the newspapers. The country had a public holiday following the coup so banks and schools were closed, but now it's business as usual. The army has promised that there will be democratic elections soon.

Basically this happened because the Prime Minister has been accused of major fraud and is extremely unpopular. There hasn't been a military coup since 1991, but this situation should be resolved soon.

Phase II

2006-09-25T11:15:00.000+09:00

When planning my trip last spring I decided to join a group tour that runs from September 16 to November 12 and covers four countries. I knew I could go to all the places on my own, but I thought 6 weeks would be enough solo travel, and it would be nice to have all the accomodation and transport pre-arranged. I did worry that I would be overwhelmed by the group dynamic and annoyed at the lack of freedom. But as of now, 11 days into the group thing, I am happier than ever that I signed up.

I loved travelling alone - I had a lot of time to think and do whatever I wanted and I met a ton of interesting people. But I now have a group of people to talk with about oue experiences, and so far they haven't complained about my Japan-nostalgia. The accomodation has been much nicer than what I found for myself, and getting from one place to another is simply a matter of boarding the pre-booked van. I'm glad I had a chance to travel alone, and I am thrilled I don't have to do it for two more months.

We've also seen and done things I wouldn't have on my own. Our first stop was Sukhothai, Thailand's first capital, where we visited old temples on bicycle and stayed in teak bungalows. We then spent 3 days trekking from Umphang to Mae Sot. On the first day we floated down a river on rafts then hiked 3 hours to a campsite. The next morning we visited an enormous waterfall - 300 meters high, the 6 tallest one in the world. Then we hiked to Kho Tha, a village of the Karen people, one of Thailand's hilltribe minorities. On the third day we rode on the backs of elephants for four hours (not as romantic as it sounds). Now we are in Chiang Mai, a northern city famed for its night markets and 300 temples. Today we are doing a cooking class then chatting with Buddhist monks in orange robes.

Tomorrow we head for the Laotian border which we will cross early Wednesday morning.

Pictures!

2006-09-15T22:41:00.000+09:00

Here is the first set at long last. I finally filled up my camera and was able to empty it onto a CD, so this is a sample of the collection. The next ones will go up when I fill the camera again, probably in a month or so. It definitely won't be sooner because the process takes a long time and is boring and expensive. My money has much better uses right now. This first one is of me and my beach buddy enjoying the sunset (and our Singhas).

Aren't they Lovely

2006-09-15T22:34:00.000+09:00

No, these are not actually women, these are Thai Lady Boys performing in a cabaret in Bangkok. Except for the Adam's Apple they are quite credible, until they get off the stage and you see that they are 6 feet tall. It is not surprising to see Lady Boys in a cabaret of Lady Boys. It is surprising for a Westerner to see Lady Boys working in the opticians' or in the doctor's office, dressed in a crisp white uniform. There are a lot of them in Bangkok. One wonders why, or why there aren't so many in, for instance, America. My thought is that perhaps it is acceptable to be gay in Thailand if you actually want to be or dress like a woman. In America, it is more acceptable for a gay man to dress like a man. Drag queens are a rare exception and usually a part-time pursuit.

Unbelievable...

2006-09-15T22:31:00.000+09:00

Can a sunset really be this pretty? Or is it my camera? I do recall this particular sunset being the most amazing one I saw on Koh Phangan, but it was happy hour and my friends and I had been drinking a few Thai Singha Beers. You be the judge.

That Really Tall Volcano

2006-09-15T22:27:00.000+09:00

Here is the crater at the top of Mt. Sina-something-or-other in Berestagi, Sumatra. It appears that certain brave/crazy individuals scaled the crater itself to write their names in the mud (lava?). Too scary for me...

The Jungle People

2006-09-15T22:22:00.000+09:00

Orang: People. Utan: Jungle (in Indonesian). These orangutans are tamer than those in the isolated wilderness, but not all of them were friendly like this one I saw in Sumatra. The infamous "Mina" makes a habit of fighting tourists and trying to steal their backpacks. Our tour guide made us run away from her, so I don't have a photograph.

I love Hindu temples.

2006-09-15T22:07:00.000+09:00

I learned a lot more about the Hindu religion while I was in Kuala Lumpur than I ever knew before. This was from hanging out with a cool Hindi from London named Soonruchi (took me ages to remember that onw!) and from visiting the Batu Caves. The Caves are a gorgeous natural phenomenon of monstrous limestone caverns, made more interesting by the construction of elaborate Hindu temples to various gods. This picture was taken underground in a temple still being built today. Sure wakes you up, doesn't it! The paintings and statues like these go on without interruption for hundreds of meters.

The Party Island

2006-09-11T19:30:00.000+09:00

One of my favorite hobbies is dancing, particularly to the strains of ear-splitting techno. This type of music is not to everyone's taste, but it certainly is mine, and it was therefore fitting that I head to Koh Phangan for the Full Moon Party. Every month for the full moon an estimated 10,000 tourists descend upon the island for a night of dancing on the beach in front of a string of outdoor bars.

I worried that the party would turn out to be awfully cheesy and overpopulated with drunk lecherous backpackers. I also thought that Koh Phangan had a high likelihood of being dirty and poorly maintenanced. But when I arrived I was pleasantly surprised by the beach and the bungalows, not to mention the other guests at my resort. Down-to-earth, friendly travellers gathered daily in the cafes to eat excellent food, drink a couple of beers, and watch the sunset. My new group of friends provided protection from the inevitable leches.

The Full Moon Party itself was also a blast, but I always have a good time when I get a chance to go dancing. My feet are still torn up from dancing barefoot on a bit of gravel but I don't mind that injury in the slightest.

I spent a total of 10 days on the island, far longer than I expected, doing very little. This was a drastic change from my previous level of activity. I also ate an enormous amount because the Thai and Western food at my resort were excellent. It was run by the kindest and most indulgent Burmese family, overrun by goofy toddlers, and occasionally serenaded at night by insane cats.

This morning I left and came to Koh Tao for a change of scenery. It's a smaller island 2 hours' ferry ride away. Tomorrow I'm going on a full day snorkelling trip.

I will at some point post pictures, but I still have some space on my camera.

The Sumatran Wilderness

2006-09-02T17:29:00.000+09:00

I was worried about traveling alone to Indonesia, based on the lack of infrastructure and the fact that it is somewhat off the main tourist trail. I suspected - and time proved me right - that fewer people would speak English and it would be difficult to get around. But my curiousity overcame my misgivings and I'm glad it did because Sumatra was amazing. I did an overnight trek in Bukit Lawang where I saw orangutans (that means "Jungle People" in Indonesian), long-tailed macac monkeys, Thomas monkeys, and a gibbon, plus some toucans and a monitor lizard. I was seranaded by funny Indonesian men who all wanted to know if I was married. I told them I was engaged, which stopped a few of them from flirting outrageously. The others remained harmless if ardent.

Next I went to Berestagi to climb a volcano. The hike was far steeper than I expected and roundtrip took 7 hours - much of which was done on hands and knees, effectively rockclimbing. On the way back to the hotel, the opelet (minibus) broke down. The driver then proceeded to fix the broken spring with a piece of rope and told everyone to get back on again. The rope actually held for a few kilometers, but inevitably popped and we all had to board the overloaded opelet driving behind us. I sat in front with two old ladies and the driver. In the back were about 18 women in children sitting in seats for 10. And on the roof, 13 men clung to the barriers. Then it started to rain. The middle-aged Australian I'd hiked with told me that as soon as he pulled his raincoat out of his bag, two of his neighbors on the roof invited themselves under it. Everyone shares.

I'd had enough Sumatran bus rides and excessive male attention at that point, so 3 days ago I started making my way to Koh Phangan in Thailand. The island is the scene of the monthly Full Moon Party, a dance party on the beach. In order to get there I had to take a bus from the volcano to the ferry, take the ferry from Medan to Penang, Malaysia, and a bus and a ferry from Penang to Koh Phangan. It took the full 3 days. I don't want to talk about it. I'm here, and it's lovely.

Slightly less summary...

2006-08-22T20:56:00.000+09:00

I am rather unsatisfied with my last post as it simply relayed the facts and none of the juicy details. To counter, permit me to elaborate on the recent journey between Kuala Lumpur and Penang 2 days ago:

Purchased a bus ticket from a private company on Sunday. The day before I had been told that tickets were 15 ringgit but they jumped to 27 when I arrived because it was Sunday. All companies charged the same price or more, I checked. "It's a holiday," the ticket seller said, "So the bus is full, so more expensive." My ticket was for 8:30 AM but the bus was NOT full until 9:30 or so, when it finally departed. No matter, the seats were enormous and reclining and I had a good book. All was well for the first 2 hours. Then suddenly the air conditioning stopped working and all the customers started to complain. The windows were sealed and couldn't be opened to let in air. Babies were crying, Muslim women in headscarves had sweat pouring down their faces. Not a pretty sight. Finally we stopped in the outskirts of Ipoh where the bus driver tried to find out what he was supposed to do. He couldn't, so we left. But then someone radioed in some directions to him so he drove us (after much circling) to another spot in Ipoh where we waited for another hour. We were told someone was going to come fix the bus. When the repairman never showed, the bus company finally alloted a new bus to us. We had to wait a few minutes for them to sell the last seats to newcomers though...

The bus moved on and the air con worked (sort of). Finally we were on Penang Island and the bus driver announced, "Penang!" I got off. The bus depot was in the middle of nowhere. I asked the taxi drivers how much it would cost to get downtown, and they said 25 ringgit - the cost of my bus trip. Instead I waited with 2 travellers from Finland for a full, slow local bus which we all boarded, knocking the unfortunate locals on the head with our backpacks.

The bus made its leisurely way into town, which was only a few kilometers (not worth 25 ringgit - everyone says the taxis are a ripoff in Penang!). Suddenly it stopped and the ticket-taker had a lengthy, irritated conversation with a would-be rider. The rider "won" and boarded the bus, but not until he'd loaded about 15 large pieces of carpet remnants and 6 enormous plastic bags. The ticket-taker helped him with the loading to speed things along. Also, as far as we saw, the man and his cargo didn't pay for the ride. Maybe he bartered a piece of grotty carpet?

The journey was longer and at times less pleasant than I expected, but I talked with some nice Penang residents on the way, ate a marvelous lunch of jackfruit curry and spicy soy beans, and was witness to the spectacle of the carpet seller. I found a decent hotel (not without its creepy crawlies, but what can you do), washed off the road grime, and settled into my stay on this interesting island.

The town's architecture reflects its rich multicultural heritage: there are mosques, Hindu shrines, Chinese Buddhist temples, and an Anglican church within 5 minutes' walk from one another. Malays, Indians, Chinese, and British colonizers all lived together at the turn of the 20th century. You can tour the houses of rich Chinese merchants, visit the British fort, and buy a sari from the Indian tailors. (No sari for me though, no shopping till November!) And then there's the food, a marvel for a foodie like me: dim sum, South Indian vegetarian feasts, and the best bread I've eaten in months.

Tomorrow I'm buying a ferry ticket for Sumatra! Jungle trekking, orangutans, & volcanoes. And a new currency.

And an update!

2006-08-20T21:17:00.000+09:00

As frequent readers will remember, my habit up till now has been to take a trip, wait three weeks, and then write a blog entry about it. But this trip just seems to keep going on and on! I have not yet had three weeks back home to process, upload photographs, and write a comprehensive summary.

Therefore I will give a brief outline of my activities thus far:
2 days in Singapore: Went to the Modern Art Museum, wandered around in the blistering heat, visited the Raffles Hotel (did not drink a Singapore Sling though). Went to the Ministry of Sound nightclub and spent the following morning sleeping. In the afternoon, went to my First Beach of the Summer! Sentosa Island, an artificial landscape (beautiful though) at the south of the city. Shopped. Tried unsuccessfully not to buy any clothing. Went to the movies.

Long, slow train to Kuala Lumpur.

1st visit to KL: stayed in Bukit Bintang, in the buzzing Golden Triangle market & shopping district. Ate a lot of street stall food. Went up the futuristic Petronas Towers, visited the National Museum, and toured the National Mosque. Hung out with some funny Malaysians I met in Thailand last New Year's and went to one of their birthday parties. Went to the movies. Twice. I love movie theaters.

Bus & ferry ride to Tioman Island.

Spent four days swimming, reading trashy fiction, hiking in the jungle, and getting bitten by bugs. Ate lots of fresh grilled fish and peanut butter & banana sandwiches. Did not talk to many people as they were all coupled up or in young families. Almost everyone was French.

Bus to Taman Negara National Park.

Ate some sketchy food the first night and almost fainted the following morning. Decided to risk a 2-day trek rather than lose my money, so went with the 11 hikers (mostly French) and 2 trek guides into the jungle. Almost fainted again, but didn't. Instead merely slowed everyone down a lot. Every step was torture. Slept in a really cool cave and woke energetic, though the shooting stomach pains continued. Day 2, successfully walked at normal speed. Opted to return to KL for some recovery time.

Bus to KL.

Stayed in Chinatown sharing a room with a cool girl from London. Slept most of the first day and woke up feeling healthy. Went clubbing with said cool girl. Had my handbag stolen by a passing motorbike. Death grip on handbag caused me to follow motorbike onto highway for 3 meters, causing mild abrasions and aggravating a twisted ankle. Spent the next day on a wild goose chase looking for the Tourist Police. Finally filed a report in order to collect my travel insurance for the cash stolen (Luckily I hadn't been carrying anything but $100 cash, and a prized collection of purikura). Checked my insurance only to discover I am covered only for medical. Cried. Ate some Chinese sweets and bought myself a new handbag. Felt better. The next day, went to the Islamic Arts Museum and the incredible Batu Caves, a colorful Hindu shrine in an enormous limestone cave.

Bus to Penang.

Now I am in Penang. My hotel room has a shower in it. I am in heaven.

Don't worry about the theft, sickness, or injury. The theft was minimal, the sickness is over with, and the twisted ankle isn't so bad.

Photos to follow when my camera is filled.

Sayoonara

2006-08-02T09:40:00.000+09:00

Well, that's that... I survived the season of goodbye parties, scrubbed down my apartment, and managed to relocate my house key after I packed it in a box. As a side-note of one final annoyance about Japan, I will be getting none of my $1400 apartment deposit back. This is normal in the country; landlords fill out a nice, detailed form about how they are going to use the money to clean up the apartment, and smilingly screw you out of thousands of dollars which they are unlikely to actually use much of. Recently in Tokyo a law was passed that said landlords could only keep the deposit if they had a REALLY GOOD REASON, but that hasn't happened in Miyagi yet. My supervisor said, "Yes, that is annoying, but that is our tradition in Miyagi. Maybe we are too nice to landlords." Hmm. Well, I'm not going to worry about it. The money came out of my paycheck a long time ago. And in a year's time I should get a fat check back from the Japanese government for my pension refund.

The last couple of weeks were some of the most fun and the most emotional of the past two years. I went to great parties every day and cried just about every day too. This I think is normal, because yesterday I finally realized: these past two years have been the best of my life so far. But perhaps the best is left to come.

Genki de!

Some words of advice...

2006-07-10T14:26:00.000+09:00

On your way to the Sanjikai (3rd party), do not carry your Chu-hi (Korean liquor cocktail) in your purse. It is likely to spill and destroy your cell phone. This happened to me and I will therefore remain phoneless for my last 3 weeks. At least it was the cell phone and not the iPod that died.

The first weekend of farewell parties (6 of them) is now complete. My sleep schedules are entirely reversed and I haven't been to the gym in ages. I have one day off before the farewell party with my coworkers at Sendai Higashi. Ganbarimasu (doing my best).

The Last Weeks

2006-07-07T12:40:00.000+09:00

I am typing this on a school computer, which poses the following problems:
1. I can't save anything on it
2. All the Blogger settings pop up in Japanese.

But I'm going to give this entry a shot anyhow. It is Friday afternoon & I'm done teaching for the day, which means I only have 2 weeks of classes left. On Monday I have my first farewell lesson. On Tuesday I have my second farewell speech. And from here until the end of July almost every evening is another party or meeting or dinner or trip or something. Tonight for example is dinner at a gyutan restaurant (grilled cow tongue, a Sendai specialty) then my coworker Curtis' last DJ gig in Sendai then a possible trip to a karaoke room. Tomorrow is my friend Ben's farewell party, during which he will hook up his elaborate internet setup and "Skype" our friend Fran - a JET from last year. "Skype" is some kind of internet phone. Sunday is a tempura party at my Japanese teacher's house. She will teach me how to make it; one more thing to check off on my "to-do" list. Tuesday: Leaving Party with my school. Friday: farewell to Curtis and his girlfriend Renee. Saturday: Miyagi JET massive farewell party on an islad up north. And on. And on. And on.

The only other thing on my "to-do" list that I can think of is visiting Kamakura, a temple town south of Tokyo. That's planned for right before I leave. Then packing & moving, but those things don't count.

I'd write more but I'm needed desperately by my school's English Club so they can hold a farewell party for me and Curtis.

Holly in Ellietown

2006-06-23T15:39:00.000+09:00

(yakitori is great, and we are very cheerful after 3 hours of karaoke)

Holly came to my school last Friday and impressed my coworkers with her still-EXCELLENT Japanese. To join in the conversation I then spoke in the language myself, astounding my vice-principal and the other members of the staff. As a first-year JET I was encouraged to speak in English as much as possible in the staff room, a habit I continued as my studies progressed. This is due largely to my desire for quiet and privacy in a 60-person staff room, an illusion I can barely maintain.

We went out for really good sushi, and in the evening sang karaoke and ate yakitori. Then Holly carted herself off to her study-abroad home. She comes back today, when I will take her to the Miyagi JET art show. Tomorrow we're going cherry picking and to Zao with my tutor, and we will spend 3 days in Tokyo next week.

This entry will be necessarily short as I have to go find the girl now. Holly is perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but she has NO CELL PHONE which in Japan is a state paramount to extreme hardship!

I will be sending my laptop home with her which is going to cut seriously into my internet time at work. I should be able to update this blog still, but photos are unlikely and email will be sporadic at best.

Sayonara... and thus ends my last missive from my dear Apple laptop.

Packing List

2006-06-15T13:37:00.000+09:00

(written initially for the Miyagi JET magazine, "The Drum."

Things to take with you when you leave Japan:
10. Paper fans. Remarkably effective and inexpensive temperature regulators.
9. Sakura or wine-flavored Kitkats. Excellent omiyage for the folks back home… and so much more interesting than a plain old chocolate bar.
8. Yukata. Totally impractical, but you know you want one.
7. Kaitenzushi. It may not be the best quality sushi in Miyagi, but as fast food it sure beats McDonald’s and won’t turn you into an obese American.
6. Socks. This country has undeniably the best selection and quality in the world.
5. Sake. It does make a great gift, even though it’s kind of gross.
4. Purikura. Making it is one of the most bizarre experiences to be had for 400 yen, and then you get to keep it. Try doing some naked (but be prepared to run from the arcade employees).
3. Hanami. What is not to love about a festival where all you have to do is sit under a pretty tree and eat and drink until you can’t move?
2. Toilets with heated seats and warm water massages. They make a commonplace hygiene ritual a genuine pleasure.
1. Nomihodai. Responsible for much of the quality-of-life satisfaction of the Miyagi JET Community.

Things to leave behind:
10. Kerosene. Effective, comparably inexpensive, but potentially fatal.
9. Desiccated squid. If you can’t chew it in less than 10 minutes, it isn’t food. It does make excellent omiyage though, if you simply want to terrify the folks back home.
8. Your long underwear. Completely practical, but totally stupid-looking.
7. Sandwiches from the 711. That is not bread, people. At least they are so bland you’ll never eat enough to get fat off of them.
6. J-bras. This country has undeniably the most ridiculous, lumpy, unattractive lingerie in the world.
5. Happoshu. Just as potent as the real thing, in taste somewhat comparable to Asahi, but far, far more lethal.
4. Japanese porn. There’s really no point if you’re going to pixelate the good bits. Go out and make some naked purikura.
3. Dontosai. What is there to love about a festival where you have to run half-naked for miles down the streets of Sendai carrying a rolled-up paper in your mouth? In mid-January, no less?
2. Squatters. They make a commonplace hygiene ritual an unnecessarily complicated affair. And forget about throwing up in one.
1. Nomihodai. On second thought, worst thing that ever happened to the livers, reputations, and self-restraint of the JET Community

Plastic Food. Yummy!

2006-06-12T15:44:00.000+09:00

Big Bird, eat your heart out.
photo credit mlle. emilie izquierdo

Four Days in Hollytown

2006-06-12T14:27:00.000+09:00

When I was growing up, Japan was a place that barely registered on my radar. It is undeniably far from Philadelphia, and my only childhood connection to it was watching “Big Bird in Japan.” Big Bird and all his Sesame Street pals go to Tokyo. When they are greeted with a friendly “Ohayo,” Big Bird thinks they are saying “Ohio,” and he corrects them by saying “No, Sesame Street.” Then he tries to eat the plastic food that restaurants display in their storefronts.

After watching that quality film at the ripe old age of 6, I promptly proceeded to forget all about the country. Then suddenly I was reminded about its existence when my younger sister decided to study abroad there. “Japan?” I said. “But it’s so far!”

But Holly went anyway, and soon I was getting letters from her on beautiful Japanese stationary. It came in vibrant colors and had funny cartoon characters and words like “Sweet Elephanto with bright flower! With my small wishes…” Who wouldn’t be fascinated with a country that had stationary like that? I was also treated to photographs of my sister wearing kimono or summer festival attire. Holly seemed to be having a marvelous time.

This helped spark my own interest in Japan, which contributed to my eventual landing. Over the years between Holly’s stay here and my own, a close friendship has sprung between her host family and my own family. Avid readers of this blog will note the frequent helpful comments by “Shun,” who was Holly’s exchange father. Shun and his wife Suzuyo took good care of Holly while she was in Japan, experiencing the incredible challenges of an exchange student in high school. Shun has since kept in close contact with all the members of my family. He came to visit me once while I was at work, and my father, stepmother, and grandparents were able to meet the Sawadas when they came to Japan.

And finally, after the snows melted and before rainy season began, I was able to meet Shun and Suzuyo at their home in Niitsu. A four-hour bus ride took me straight from Sendai to Niigata city, and I then rode the train to Niitsu as my little sister used to do so often. Shun greeted me at the train station and drove me to his home, which was more beautiful than Holly had ever described. It’s a two-story traditional Japanese home, with tatami floors, sliding panel doors, and wide glass windows. Their garden is a yard of soft green moss broken by bumpy rocks, green reeds, and flowering trees.

Shun chatted with me in his impeccable English, perfected through many years as an English teacher and during extensive travels abroad. He took me to several famous places in Niigata: a botanical garden, a mountaintop shrine, the home and garden of an old oil tycoon. Suzuyo taught me a few things about Japanese cooking and served excellent meals: tempura, cold somen noodles, the Okinawan bitter goya omelette. She makes everything herself from scratch, including strawberry jelly, pickled Japanese plums, and cheesecake.

On the last day we all went to the Niigata historical museum, an enormous mansion that housed one of the premier families in the region. Up to 60 people lived on the property one time, and hundreds more worked in the fields every day. There were two teahouses on the same land, and the garden had taken 4 years to complete the design. It was a museum to rival any of the sights of Kyoto, with the added advantage of being quiet instead of jammed with tourists.

I had to say goodbye after just four days with the Sawadas and come back to my home in Sendai. I had a wonderful time with them, enjoying their company and seeing a part of Japan that was new to me. Best of all spending time with Holly’s “second family,” and seeing the places that she once walked through every day. It was a way to channel my younger sister, whom I miss very much… but not for long! Holly will be be here for a visit starting next week, for her first trip back to Japan since she left four years ago.

Pictures to follow once I recharge my camera.

2 Things That Are Gross

2006-05-18T09:19:00.000+09:00

1. On the way to school, a big bug committed suicide on my shirt. It was a white shirt. Now it's a white shirt with a brown and red stain.

2. At 1:00PM every day, one of the new teachers performs a daily hygiene task at his desk. He takes a very long Q-tip and carefully cleans both of his ears. The first time I saw this, my face must have registered some kind of shock because he glared at me. Teachers brush their teeth, shave, and clip their fingernails in plain sight, but the ear-cleaning reaches a new low.

I have heard tell of a teacher who clipped his nose hair at his desk. This I have never seen. Thank God for small favors.

The Scourge of JTV

2006-05-16T12:07:00.000+09:00

Every few months or so I get a knock on my door. When this happens I run around frantically turning off my TV set and sliding closed the screen to my living room because it is probably one man: the NHK guy. This is a fellow whose job it is to go from house to house and collect the fees for using your television. Foreign to the United States, this practice is current in places like England and South Africa, so certain of my co-gaijin do not find this at all odd. I on the other hand was shocked the first time someone asked me to HAND OVER CASH to use my TV.

The first time this man appeared I had no idea what was going on, as he was speaking in Japanese and the door-to-door collection practice was new to me. But when a friend of mine later explained it, I felt no more inclined to pay the fee. So up until now I haven’t given them a single yen.

Technically this amounts to “stealing” the service, but I can’t bring myself to feel any guilt. At first I justified my non-payment by the fact that I almost never watched television. When I first came to Japan, I didn’t understand a word of what was said on my set, and the jabbering on unintelligible voices was more than I could bear. But eventually I started to use the TV as a learning tool. I would watch TV for a few minutes a day, diligently looking up and recording any words I heard but didn’t know.

This phase however did not last very long. As I got more and more knowledgeable about Japanese programming, I realized it was terrible. At first I thought that I would like it more once I could understand it, but the more I learn the stupider it gets. Here is a partial listing of the kinds of shows on public television:

1. The Variety Show. 6 hosts sit around a table and interview B-list stars, for hours and hours and hours, about 10 hours per day.

2. The Domestic Travel Show. A sprightly young tourist boards a train and gets off at some town in the mountains. He then proceeds to look at the landscape and sigh at the beauty. Then he goes to an onsen and says how good it feels. Then he eats a traditional Japanese meal and says how delicious it is. Then he gets back on the train. The music swells in the background.

3. The cooking show. Typical Japanese food is prepared in a slightly modified manner. The four ingredients are: miso, tofu, dashi sauce, soy sauce.

4. The Night-time Drama. A smart lawyer solves an unconvincing murder case.

5. The Health Risks Program. A rare debilitating disease is presented as a likely possibility.

6. The News. Tame exposes about Japanese corporations.

7. The Piano Lesson. A famous piano instructor teaches a pupil. The pupil is forced to play single bars of beautiful music again and again and again so home viewers can hear them fix their mistakes.

With TV this terrible, I think asking me to pay for it is a sin. Especially since there are at least as many commercials as in American television. At prime time the commercials are as long as the programs.

Actually, the ads are more interesting than the programs they interrupt. They combine drama, high-energy action, color, and music. They have all the creativity that is missing in the shows.

the magic lakes

2006-05-16T12:04:00.000+09:00

My Golden Week

2006-05-10T16:02:00.000+09:00

Bandai san is between seasons right now. It’s too hot for skiing and too cold for proper hiking, and camping at night is a distinctly frozen affair. This did not stop us however and 5 brave foreigners toughed it out for a vacation under the stars.

Okay, technically we weren’t under the stars, we were under tents. The first night we were under tents. The second night we were abandoned by two frigid, underdressed English teachers, and three of us rented an unheated cabin. I was warm as toast in my 3-season sleeping bag but the two remaining campers shivered the second night as well.

Despite sub-zero temperatures and sleep deprivation, spirits remained high and we got our fill of fresh air and scenery. At the foot of Bandai san lies the Goshikinuma: 5-colored lakes. A series of water bodies small and large covers the national park. The lakes’ colors change from cobalt to sea green to orange to midnight blue based on the time of day, the available sunlight, the plant life, and your line of sight. A 4km nature trail highlights the best of these, and is frequently filled with cheery photo-snappers and day-trippers escaping their urban homes.

We jostled our way through the sightseers, who did nothing to detract from our enjoyment of the lovely surroundings. The nature trail spilled out to a visitors’ center on one side and the great mountain on the other. We turned left and went up the mountain. Suddenly we were alone. We scaled the steep snowless ski-trail to the first summit, giving us a spectacular view of the valley and the largest lakes below.

The true summit of Bandai san was a couple hours’ hike higher, but we were stopped at the midway point by melting snowdrifts. So our day hike turned into a half-day hike, but that was no matter. We’d had plenty of exercise in the steep ascent, for which we were rewarded with a fabulous onsen. Urabandai-town at the base of the mountain hosts one of the nicest onsen I’ve ever seen. It is set in a modern, elegant hotel, and has several baths both indoor and out. The outdoor onsen (rotemburo) is bright orange from the copper. It looks out over the large lake and provides a view of the climb we’d done a few hours before.

Our simple dinner of Cup Noodle ramen and mackerel on Ritz crackers tasted better than I could ever have imagined.

On Friday morning we parted ways and I went by train to another town in Fukushima prefecture, a place called Shirakawa. My friend Reiko’s parents live there, and she’d invited me to visit them and see the sights of their town. They asked me if it was my first “home stay” in Japan and I realized that in fact it was. I’ve stayed in ryokan and at foreign friends’ houses, but it was the first time I’d slept in a traditional Japanese home. Reiko’s parents happily showed me their portable shrine and their wooden house gods. They then took me to Shirakawa shrine and castle, and a Japanese tea house and garden. They fed me homemade sushi and tempura made with local mountain vegetables.

Most of my vacations have been much longer, further, and more involved. I was really pleased to have the opportunity to see some sights closer to home and to steep myself in Japanese culture while I still can.

I’ll put up some photos once I figure out my new camera. In preparation for the big trip, I bought a fancy 7.1 megapixel bazillion gadgety finicky digicamera. “Point and click” is no longer an option.

What's your Japanese subculture?

2006-05-09T15:39:00.000+09:00

You Are a Kogyaru!

If it's cute, you'll wear it. Fake and bake, hair bleach, and bright makeup line your bathroom cabinet.
As for clothes - anything that's short and cute ("kawaii!").
You are the prize object of all sorts of men - but you are really looking for a rich foreign guy.
He'll find you out hanging out in Shibuya shopping at the 109, text messaging and sending photos over your cellphone.

What's Your Japanese Subculture?

Golden Week

2006-05-02T11:36:00.000+09:00

In a cruel twist of calendar, "Midori no Hi" (Greenery Day) fell on a Saturday this year and we were one holiday shorter. 2005 and 2006 have seen SEVERAL such non-holidays, which are not replaced because Saturday is considered a working day. However that is unfair, because most Japanese workers have to work on holidays anyway, or else they don't work on holidays. For instance many schoolteachers will be coming in all through Golden Week to supervise club activities or sports games. Since I'm not allowed to log overtime hours, I greatly resent the few national holidays being taken away.

But we still get Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday off for Consitution Day, Unspecified holiday, and Children's Day. Thursday's holiday is a random day off that is given to link the break. Next year the Japanese government has decided to move Greenery day to the 4th so they don't also have to give off April 29th. Somebody decided the Japanese workers aren't working hard enough. Children's Day used to be boy's day, but now it is Children's Day. Girl's Day (the doll festival) is still reserved for the x-chromosome.

I am going on a 5-ish days' camping trip in Fukushima ken's Bandai Asahi national park. 5 of us are going to sleep in tents, hike Bandai san, and visit the 5-colored lakes. It will be a nice break, and a good chance to get out of the city. Also it will be very cheap. I am trying to economise these days for my extended fall trip.

Survey Says...

2006-04-26T12:49:00.000+09:00

Thanks entirely to your helpful input, I have made my decision about what to do after August 1st. I will be packing one backpack, tying my shoes tight, and wandering across southeast Asia until I run out of money. The projected itinerary includes northern Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia, northern Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore, and then possibly Indonesia and/or Australia if finances & terrorist warning levels allow. I will return to the United States sometime between Thanksgiving and Christmas, at which point I will make my rounds of the East Coast until I find a job or internship in an NGO.

It will pain me to say goodbye to Japan but I think it is time. Unfortunately it is not time yet and staying motivated is a challenge when you already have a proverbial foot out the door.

But between now and then there are: camping trips, trips to Tokyo, parties, festivals, and plenty of places in Japan to explore.

Saigon's cool kids

2006-04-14T15:43:00.000+09:00

Oh, the food!

2006-04-14T15:42:00.000+09:00

...a rather striking altar

2006-04-14T15:40:00.000+09:00

a dollar a bullet

2006-04-14T15:38:00.000+09:00

Cheap Highlights of Vietnam!

2006-04-14T15:34:00.000+09:00

On the last day of my trip, I had my hair re-styled, an impulse-purchase at a salon in Mui Ne. I went in for a $3 manicure and came out with a pedicure, a haircut, and highlights as well. The dye-job and cut were only $10, so I figured I would try it and if I hated it, have them redone in Sendai. The raccoony streaks are obviously unnatural. I kind of like them anyway for their high school punk-rock charm. The young friendly woman stylist who spoke good English talked me into having them done. It was only after my hair was wrapped in foil that she told me “Most salons in Vietnam cannot do these kinds of highlights. The Australian girl showed me how. She did it a lot.” Apparently my stylist studied under the auspices of a traveling Australian hairdresser. No expensive formal salon school for her. But after she took off the foil and blow-dried my hair, I saw that it was not a disaster, and I guess I’ll keep the cut-rate highlights, at least for now.

Vietnam is a fabulous travel destination, particularly for English-speaking Westerners from Western economic backgrounds. Everything is really cheap and really well organized, and the people are friendly. I don’t know how they did it, but the tourism industry in the south is excellent. They are well-timed, easy, fun, and there is little obligatory souvenir-shopping.

My friend Maggie and I arrived in Vietnam and quickly found our ride to the hotel. It was rush hour and the streets were rivers of motorcycles. Men and women commuted from work to home, one on a bike, two on a bike, in Western dress or in ao dai (women’s tunic and wide trousers). They wore conical straw hats or baseball caps and covered their mouths with surgical masks or large kerchiefs. Lining the roads were buildings of all colors: green, blue, pink, peach; with balconies and pillars and French doors. There were few tall buildings and no skyscrapers; instead the architecture was a Technicolor continuation of the Colonial structures from 80 years before. We arrived at our hotel “Bee Saigon” in the backpacker’s district, an area of tourist cafes, guesthouses, shops, and travel agencies. Sidewalk noodle stands, fruit sellers and silk tailor shops added local flavor.

We spent our first day exploring Ho Chi Minh City on foot. The name was officially changed from Saigon after the Vietnam War in the 1970’s, but local people often still refer to it by its old name. Ho Chi Minh is actually the nickname of the revolutionary leader Nguyen Sinh Cung, which translates to “Bringer of Light.”

Our first stop was the Reunification Palace, the home of Vietnam’s last president and the site of his handing-over of power. It was built in the 1960’s and is a fascinating example of 60’s design combined with royal splendor. Underneath the structure are bomb shelters, tunnels, and war rooms for the president and his officers. Next we went to the War Remnants Museum, a gruesome and horrifying collection of artifacts and photographs of the country’s bloody history.

In the afternoon we continued our pedestrian tour, a plan that was perhaps unwise as we overheated and got really cranky. To soothe our nerves and cool our brains we took refuge in the zoo & botanical gardens, and watched the zookeepers entertain one another by playing with the elephants. As the sun dropped we walked along Vietnam’s canals and side-streets, passing markets and schools and coffee shops. We chatted with some 8-year-old boys flying kites and smoking cigarettes. One of them wanted my watch. We gave him some bananas instead.

The next day we boarded a minibus bound for the Cao Dai temple and the Cu Chi tunnels. Cao Dai is a religion created in the 1920’s with the principle that all religions have one same divine origin. It combines elements of Buddhism, Confucianism, and Taoism, with influences from Christianity and Hinduism.

The Cao Dai Holy See, about an hour from Saigon, is a beautiful building that looks like a gingerbread house in white, pink, yellow, and green. It is decorated with flowers and lions and big eyes carved in wood. Each day there are five services, attended by monks in red, blue, or green and the congregation dressed all in white. Music is played on the balcony and the faithful kneel on the floor to sing and chant. Above them, tourists observe and snap photos, removing much of the sanctity of the noon service, but the followers of Cao Dai seem used to it. I wouldn’t go so far as to say they don’t mind, but at least their four other daily masses are private.

Next we traveled in the hot, full minibus to the Cu Chi Tunnels. Over 75 miles long, these tunnels were a haven and means of transport for the Vietnamese during the war with the Americans. Men and women hid and traveled in these tunnels as they picked off the enemy one by one. Visitors to the site can shoot an AK-47 rifle for $1. I tried it. They didn’t give me any headphones (“No problem!” our guide said) so it hurt my ears. I don’t think it’s damaged my hearing any more than my years of clubbing though. We also saw handmade traps and weapons used against the American soldiers. Pits filled with spikes were hidden under swinging doors. Knife-covered balls were dropped from trees. Next we were able to crawl through the 3-meter-deep tunnels ourselves. They were humid and pitch-black, and a couple of the larger tourists didn’t quite fit. I can’t imagine spending hours down there. A few minutes were sufficient to cause claustrophobia in the heartiest visitors.

Thankfully we are not soldiers, so we got to climb out of the tunnels and drive back to our air-conditioned rooms and showers. The next day we left for another excursion, a 2-day trip into the Mekong Delta. This is a rural region of rice farms and fishing villages, floating markets and cottage-lined canals. The first day was a slow, meandering journey deeper and deeper into the delta. We boarded skimmers and canoes and visited a coconut-candy factory, a banana wine shop, and listened to musicians play Vietnamese folk songs. In the evening we stayed in a hotel in Can Tho. Maggie and I ate dinner with two other Americans: steamed crab, morning glory salad, and farm-raised rat. I only took a bite of the rat so I could say I’d tried it. It tasted fine, sort of like marinated pork. It is full of bones though, so I can see why more aren’t raised for human consumption. It’s not worth the effort.
The next day we were awoken at 6 so we could reach the floating markets at their peak. We got on the river and steered past the families selling potatoes, cabbage, pineapples, and carrots off their boats, which double as their homes. When the French were in power they taxed the markets on land, so floating markets opened to keep prices low. Subsequent generations of families have inherited the family boats, so the practice continues to this day.

One thing about growing up on the river is that it limits the options of the residents. In Vietnam, school is not free. Most children go to school until about age 10, but their parents stop paying after they can read and write. The young children of the Mekong Delta have to walk to school across the sometimes dangerous bridges. Last year 3000 children drowned on the way to school. It’s too far, too expensive, and too risky for their parents to send them to high school or college. Many of them will stay on the river their whole lives and continue the traditions of their parents.

Maggie and I spent the last few days in Mui Ne, a lovely beach resort 4 hours north of Saigon. The beach is blessed with white sand, coconut trees, sand dunes, and red canyons like a Martian landscape. The resort is popular with kitesurfers thanks to the high winds. Kitesurfing is exactly what it sounds like: you stand on a surfboard and propel yourself with an enormous kite high in the sky. It looked exciting but I didn’t have time to try it. Another time, perhaps. I do want to go back to Vietnam as soon as possible. I only got a taste of the country, and it served to whet my appetite. But you’d never know my trip was short based on my suitcases: I filled an extra two bags with inexpensive souvenirs. Vietnam is cheap but it stops being cheap when you buy six of everything. At least I have plenty of coconut candy and potent espresso to share.

The Princess Goes to Disneyland

2006-03-14T08:55:00.000+09:00

Guess what was on the news this morning? Princess Aiko, only child of Crown Prince Naruhito and Crown Princess Masako, went to Tokyo Disneyland for the first time yesterday. There has been a lot of talk about the royal family recently. Prime Minister Koizumi has suggested banning the law that bars women from becoming Emperor. A big reason for doing so is the fact that there is no male heir apparent. Aiko has no brothers, and her younger cousins are also girls. Despite the fact that there is precedent for an Empress (Japan had one in the 19th century), the suggestion to allow this again has met with a good deal of Parliamentary opposition.

But now Naruhito’s sister-in-law Princess Kiko is pregnant with her third child. If she gives birth to a son, the prince will be first in line for the Chrysanthemum Throne. With this in mind some conservative members of Parliament are suggesting that the debate be put on hold until Kiko gives birth.

This was not the subject of this morning’s news program however. The story was about Princess Aiko going to Disneyland. But the show didn’t talk about her going on roller coasters or meeting Mickey Mouse. Instead the newscasters showed a video collage of Princess Aiko’s first purchases of omiyage. She bought a Minnie change purse, a tote bag, and Disneyland cookies in several flavors. She will give these to unnamed friends and relatives who were left behind at the palace. Princess Aiko is learning quickly the rules of Japanese social grace and obligation.

Let's Take a Survey!

2006-03-08T10:53:00.000+09:00

It is now March. This is the month during which I have placed a self-imposed deadline on deciding whether or not to stay in Japan for a 3rd year. Although if I can't decide, or if I decide not to and then change my mind, it doesn't matter. Still, it would be nice to have some idea of where I will be after August.

With this looming decision in mind, I have decided to open the polls. Which of the following options do YOU think is the best one for me next year? Please leave your response as a comment or email it to me personally.

Should Ellie:

A. Move to Tokyo and study Japanese intensively while working part-time.
B. Stay in Sendai and study Japanese intensively while working part-time. The advantages of this over Tokyo are: 1. the International Center provides a good, *FREE*, Japanese class for foreigners. Also I already live here so moving would not be a problem, and some of my friends will still be around. I would not be as poor as I would be in Tokyo.
C. Travel in southeast Asia until my money runs out (approx. 3-4 months) then move back home and begin studying for a career in international relations or public policy. I intend to go into that field eventually. The main question is whether or not I want to study Japanese first.
D. Other. Ideas, anyone?

I will take all advice and suggestions into account.

Smoking and Sodium

2006-02-27T09:10:00.000+09:00

The goodbye party for my friend Tiffani was the standard progression of dinner – karaoke – club. As weekends in Tokyo tend to do, this one had the usual effects of sleep deprivation and a serious strain on my finances. In between sleep and play, I did visit a museum in Shibuya called the Tobacco and Salt Museum. It is indeed dedicated to Tobacco and Salt. Here is how the museum is set up:

Floor 1: a collection of historical Western smoking implements, a century’s worth of foreign cigarette packs, and information on the spread of the tobacco trade around the world.

Floor 2: a collection of Japanese tobacco-related objects: pipes, boxes, hand-painted cigarette advertisements from the 19th century, a model of a family-run tobacco shop from the Meiji era, and commemorative cigarette packs with names like “Hope” and “Peace.”

Floor 3: what seems to be an incongruous addition of displays of large rocks of salt. Perhaps the salt industry is tied to the tobacco industry in the Japanese government. I don’t know. All the information was in Japanese.

Floor 4: This floor is dedicated to temporary exhibitions. Right now the exhibit is a tribute to one of the most influential tobacco gurus in Japanese history. You can see photos of him and his family, artifacts from his shop, and various awards and certificates for his hard work and business acumen.

The Japanese government gets a lot of money from the tobacco industry. Unlike in America, where anti-smoking campaigns are rampant, in Japan the closest thing is a smoking-etiquette campaign. Smokers are encouraged by well-designed billboards to avoid poking people in the eye with their cigarettes, and to pick up their butts after themselves. It was only last November that it became illegal for teachers to smoke in the school buildings. Now the smokers take smoke breaks by walking out of the building and just past the school gates. You can still see them through the windows.

One less reason for smokers to quit is that cigarette packs cost about 300 yen, or less than $3. This has caused my British and American friends who smoke to justify their habit by claiming that they are "saving money." This logic is dubious.

Shink, glorious shink

2006-02-23T11:35:00.000+09:00

I LOVE the shinkansen with a force in proportion to its speed. The plush seats are lovely, the temperature is always perfect, and the weird circulating-air smell has a cloying quality that I find mildly intoxicating. I love watching the funny hostesses push their carts of bentos, beers, and snacks. They wear a pastel aproned uniform that reminds me of a subdued German dierndle. It's fast. It's classy. And it makes Tokyo so close. I'm going to Tokyo tomorrow for a friend's "leaving Japan" party, and I can leave after work and still be in time for dinner. We're going to an all-you-can-eat, all-you-can-drink party restaurant for some nostalgia and naughtiness, to be followed by karaoke or dancing or whatever the guest of honor requests. This picture is of an unexplained insignia on the side of one of the bottle-nosed shinkansens, taken from the Sendai platform.

Winter Camp, Take Two

2006-02-20T11:05:00.000+09:00

Winter Camp was more successful than last year, due to the reduction of the English Course size (from 80 students to 40). Instead of having 10 groups of 8 students, each visiting ALT worked with 5 students. All the kids got a lot more attention, performance times stayed within schedule, and everything ran smoothly. Except for myself, Friday morning, trapped in the depths of a killer hangover brought on by an excess of fake beer. One of the late-night (school-approved) ALT parties went a little late and a little out-of-hand, and I was glad my Japanese wasn't being tested the morning after.

Japan has 3 grades of “beer-related products.” The first is “real” beer, made with malt and barley and whatever other natural ingredients go into the beverage. The second grade, happoshu, has all kinds of weird stuff added to it so it is no longer classified “real” beer – this allows manufacturers to avoid the high beer tax. The third has yet another name and chemically resembles beer very little, but a person who has already been drinking probably can’t tell a difference in taste. That person is also in for a real treat the following morning, because the morning-after effects are exponentially worse as you go down the quality/cost line.

Friday’s hangover notwithstanding, Winter Camp was a blast. We traveled to Akiu Onsen by bus on Wednesday morning and counted down en masse to “English Only.” Student groups were in competition, and any time they were overheard speaking Japanese they had points deducted from their team score. We played an interview game then a series of vocab games: pictionary, actionary, Jeopardy, and a scavenger hunt. In the afternoon they prepared for their performances, and at night we saw students’ karaoke-style dance routines.

Thursday brought “Around the World” presentations: workshops by the ALTs about their home countries. In my “America” room, we played a trivia game, learned some new slang, danced the Macarena, and ate PB & J. In the afternoon we saw the students’ skits, which they’d written and practiced in the weeks before camp. Most of them were based on Japanese cartoons. Two had for theme the nerdy Manga culture of Akihabara in Tokyo. The winning skit was a surreal story of a woman who fights a war with a water gun, dies, and goes to Hell.

On Friday the kids had a debate on English education in elementary schools. They had done research beforehand and were armed with highly competent arguments. We followed with an awards ceremony and went back to school before lunch. The kids were still speaking English to one another, even though camp had ended. In my closing speech I said, “Now Winter Camp is over, so you no longer have to speak English. But we hope that in the future you will WANT to speak English. Winter Camp forever!” A bit cheesy, but the kids cheered, and I hope it got my point across. These kids are great, and Winter Camp is the ideal time to get to know them when they’re at their best: cheerful, motivated, and having fun.

Upcoming Events

2006-02-10T12:56:00.000+09:00

Next week brings us Sendai Higashi's annual English Winter Camp. That means three days of English activities, games, and performance with 40 goofy students, 10 ALTs, and 3 Japanese teachers. It takes place at a swank onsen hotel in Akiu Hot Springs, a place called Hana-No-You with 14 onsen (indoor & out) and an abundance of poky food. Most of my working minutes are therefore currently spent WORKING, in preparation for this overnight field trip.

This is a picture of one of the rowdier moments from last year, when the karaoke-style "music and performance" evening turned into a spontaneous dance party.

Speaking of dance parties, I will be travelling to Iwaki shi in Fukushima prefecture tomorrow for the sole purpose of going to one. And to check out Iwaki, see its little art museum, and meet some friends-of-a-friend who come recommended as "good people." The main reason actually is to get OUT OF MIYAGI, which I haven't been able to do since my return from Thailand. Not that Miyagi is a bad place; it just feels stifling when it's cold, because I am trapped indoors in my cubicle of a house and unable to get much fresh air. The only recent changes of scenery were during "Peter Pan" rehearsals, but they were held in a hideous and cold community center in the middle of nowhere. I spent most of the last few weekends riding the train to get to them.

"Peter Pan" was a blast. As Wendy I had an excuse to buy and prance around in an uberfeminine flimsy white nightgown, wear pigtails, and strip my personality of any superfluous IQ. We're putting it on again in March, which was the first time we could get a venue in Sendai instead of the middle of bumble-inaka (countryside).

I will also be skipping town the following weekend, to visit a friend in Iwate ken, and the weekend after that to go to Tokyo. My friend Tiffani from Haverford College will be leaving Nippon March 1st, so I am travelling down to see her off Tokyo-style. She was a JET two years ago but hated it and took a transcription job in the capital. Her JET experience was lacking the things that make mine ideal: a wonderful, supportive school, an urban setting (well, semi-urban), and nearby crazy JETs to play with. I do complain a lot, but despite the ice I'm really quite lucky. I'm particularly lucky today, because this morning I flipped off my bicycle and landed on the main road, my head in the street. Not only did I manage to avoid getting injured I also was not killed by a car. So, hooray for me. AND it's Friday so I can go out and celebrate.

Another low-grade-disgusting post

2006-02-03T13:38:00.000+09:00

*Warning: This episode contains reference to urination.*

Two years ago I wouldn’t have bothered to write that sentence. It wouldn’t have occurred to me. Two years ago I’d never been to Japan. I grew up in a somewhat relaxed household, where most bodily functions were considered a natural, normal part of life. We didn’t get embarrassed about having to pee.

This is diametrically opposed to the urination habits of Japanese women. Public toilets are frequently outfitted with “modesty soundtracks” – with the press of a button, simulated sounds of rushing water fill the stall, allowing bashful visitors to pee discretely. In low-tech restrooms such as the one at my high school, this is accomplished by the water-wasting and concentration-challenging act of constantly flushing during the entire toilet visit.

When I first arrived I refused to permit Japanese shame to penetrate my crass Western psyche. I peed freely, confidently, not ashamed of this act that humans perform an average of six times a day. But over time, the sounds of the flushing toilets got to me, and I too became embarrassed about my normal pee. I obstinately refrain from flushing in the high school stalls, but in public toilets I press the modesty button and pee away, masked by the imaginary waterfall rushing the room.

It is important to pay attention to what button you press. In toilets equipped with the fancy modesty soundtracks, other aspects of the experience are not neglected. There are buttons to warm the seat and to wash the various parts of the body involved in the process. Spurts of warm water bathe the nether regions at a rate determined by the settee. You can listen to the simulated sounds of water rushing as a real-life waterfall squirts away all your cares.

But as you can see in this photo, less well-endowed toilets do not possess a heated bidet. This photo of Sendai Higashi’s toilet shows the traditional form of the “Japanese-style” toilet – affectionately known to the gaijin population as a “squatter.” A person wishing to use such a device must perch above the hole, facing the hood and flusher. This requires a certain amount of flexibility of the heels and a sense of balance. I have been told that this form of toilet is considered more sanitary than the communal seat of the “Western” style. It causes no problem for me, but I’ve heard many complaints from Western men, forced to squat to the ground to relieve themselves. I say there’s no need to complain. Men have it easy because they can always just pee outside. On weekends on streets by the entertainment districts, drunk men take this truth to heart.

Yum.

2006-02-03T13:25:00.000+09:00

This is a photo I pilfered off the internet for a school project. I had the students make presentations on foreign countries, and I did one on Thailand as an example. At the end of my speech I showed this picture and told students how in Thailand, a favorite bar snack is bugs instead of edamame. This elicited mostly blank stares, but a few gratifying giggles.

But coworkers were suitably impressed with the bugs, and we soon started talking about the weird things other countries eat. I told them that Americans sometimes eat chocolate covered ants ("ari"), but mostly as a joke. The French eating snails and frogs' legs was mentioned and nodded gravely over. "The Japanese never eat bugs," said my neighbor.

"Oh, yes we do," said the next teacher down the line. "It is very common."

A few hours later I found out how common when this same teacher handed me a present of "tsukemono." Usually tsukemono, Japanese pickles, are made of cucumber or daikon or cabbage. But these tsukemono, packed lovingly in his bento by his wife, were crickets. To his great satisfaction I ate them. They were cooked in soy sauce, fish broth, and brown sugar - crunchy, sweet, and quite good. They definitely beat the desiccated squid rings, too tough to chew properly - you have to gulp them down with Asahi beer.

Smurfette & A Sparkly Fairy

2006-01-25T09:25:00.000+09:00

Photo hosting is back up again, so here is a photo of me & my friend Renee from Halloween. Therefore not chronological, but perhaps amusing.

The most amusing part of Halloween was riding my bicycle in downtown Sendai in full-Smurf wear. I have never gotten more astounded and confused stares at one time in my entire life. I could barely make it uptown because I was giggling so much I almost fell off my bike.

Coconuts for Christmas

2006-01-24T15:51:00.000+09:00

It’s been a couple of weeks since my return to Japan. I spent the winter holidays in Thailand, a drastic and soul-satisfying change from Sendai. To be perfectly honest I do not feel as if I’ve “done” Thailand the way I’ve “done” some of the other Asian countries. What I mean by this is that although I did a certain amount of sightseeing, the majority of my trip was spent relaxing and recharging my batteries.
Faithful readers of this blog will understand and agree with the fact that I needed to soak up a lot of sunlight, sleep, and unwind after a trying season. And so upon my arrival to Bangkok, where the weather was unseasonably cool, I imposed my will upon my traveling companions and rearranged our itinerary. Rather than head north to Chiang Mai for temples, architecture, and museums, we made a beeline for the south and for Krabi Province.
On the morning of Christmas Eve, we arrived at a bus depot in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere. A friendly Thai man immediately scooped us up and took us to his inexpensive and remote bungalow resort. We settled in to our tiny cottages, complete with armies of ants and grinning geckos. We then promptly dropped ourselves on the beach and didn’t move for two days.
That is a slight exaggeration. We did move from the sand to eat, drink, swim, and sleep. The food at the resort was surprisingly delicious, surprising because of the remoteness of the location and the inexpensive prices. We ate banana-filled pancakes, pineapple fritters, fried squid, green curry, and whole fish in juicy vegetable sauce. We drank coconut milkshakes and bottles of Chang beer, charmingly decorated with cartoon elephants.
After 36 hours at this quaint but friendly establishment, we decided to go somewhere where there were actually other people. Krabi province hosts a plethora of sport and other forms of activities, but none of them are based from the middle of nowhere where we first landed. We repacked our bags on the second morning and took a pickup truck into town, then hopped on a motorized longtail boat headed for Railay Beach.
As we came around the first bend, Railay’s remarkable scenery took my breath away. The white sand beaches are flanked on all sides by enormous limestone cliffs hundreds of meters high. The craggy caves are red, orange, brown and cream, with holes and caverns and high unreachable flat tops.
We plopped our bags down in the first available rooms and got down to the serious business of lying on the beach. Many swims were swum, books were read, fruit cocktails were drunk, and naps were taken. Railay peninsula can only be reached by water due to the high limestone cliffs, so the village has the feel of an island.
I soon discovered and tested out one of Railay’s main draws: rock climbing. There are about 6 professional rock climbing schools in the town and each of them will take novices, tie them up and allow them to suspend themselves from tiny hand holds 100 meters high. Secured by a quality safety rope, I got to climb the cliffs I’d admired so much from the bottom. It takes an enormous amount of energy to hoist yourself up each time, and the rocks scrape your hands and make your fingers bleed, but it is one of the most thrilling things in the world to reach the top of a climb and look back down, and look across the bay at the sun setting over the hills.
We also kayaked through mangroves, watched monkeys at play, and snorkeled in underwater caves with bright tropical fish. As our skin went from pasty to slightly tan, I forgot entirely my winter grumpiness and the stress of fall and December. Sendai and my “real life” seemed infinitely far away.
We had to leave Railay eventually, and a few days after New Year’s we headed back to Bangkok. As my head was clearer and my body felt reenergized, I was ready for some proper city exploration. I visited Ayutthaya for the ancient capitol temples, the National Museum for art and artifacts, and the Weekend Market for some intense retail therapy. We ate at upscale European restaurants and people-watched by the touristy Khao San Road. And then it was over. Satisfied, comfortable, and warm I boarded the plane headed back to Tokyo, and the following morning I was back on the job. Which I like still. Though I already miss the beach.

Men On Order

2005-12-15T14:39:00.000+09:00

One of the facets of Japanese society that in my eyes is the strangest is the so-called “hostess bar.” This is an establishment where a moneyed male clientele goes to sit and be entertained by pretty young women called "hostesses." After a formal party or business meeting, a late-night after party takes place at one of them. They do not come cheap: at a fee of about $60 to $80 an hour, the men sit in the bar and intensify their prerequisite drunkenness.

Other than more drunk, what do the gentlemen get for their money? The opportunity to sit and chat with women who are not their wives. These hostess bars are NOT prostitution rings. The clients are paying for conversation, attention, and flattery. That’s all. Sometimes the financed relationships do extend behind the hours and doors of the hostess bar, but that is not a given nor a guarantee of the hostess trade.

I never understood the appeal of these places. In Sendai, the hostess bars are mostly located on one street, Kokobuncho Dori, at the heart of the nightlife scene of the city. Every evening the street is lined by women in pastel suits or cocktail dresses, hair curled and coiffed to towering heights. They stand smiling at the front doors of their bars, inviting the wandering businessmen to come in for a drink or a chat. And the men come, and they pay. It always struck me as a lot of money for a dubious form of entertainment. I do not approve of prostitution but I do understand what causes it, whereas the hostess bar trade seems like a poor return on a man’s money.

It may also strike the Western reader as sexist. Why do men get all the paid entertainers? But much to my surprise, the system is in fact bilateral. I learned last weekend that Sendai is also home to three host bars, sandwiched between the hundreds of hostess bars. Also much to my surprise, I went to one.

Last weekend was the birthday celebration for my American cohort Maggie. We started the evening in the standard way, with dinner and drinks at a restaurant called “Asian Kitchen.” The next activity of the night was dancing at a hip hop club which turned out to have less-than-satisfactory live performers. We followed up with a short visit to the Irish pub, frequent haunt of Sendai’s foreign community.

When the bar closed at 2:00 I walked with Maggie and our friend Jae down Kokobuncho street so we could eat steamed dumplings and hail a taxi. Halfway down the road I heard Jae’s voice from behind me. “Guys,” she said, and we stopped to look at her. Jae had been hooked by both elbows by two spiky-haired men in sharp business suits. “These guys want us to go to a host bar with them. Can we please go?”

I never understood why it was that Jae wanted to go so badly, but when I found out it was only 3000 yen for two hours, I wanted to too. $30 seemed a small price to pay for what would surely be a unique experience. So the three of us went downstairs, escorted by our well-heeled companions, and entered the Soul Club.

The Soul Club is a new host bar that has only been open a month. When we arrived shortly after 2 AM, there were only two other tables occupied. One had a single woman attended to by her host for the night. The other had a drunk-looking woman and her very excitable boyfriend. Maggie, Jae, and I became the center of attention for a group of three ever-changing 19-year-old hosts. They poured our drinks, talked to us in simple Japanese, and told us we were pretty. They also kept switching as soon as more customers came in. In order to keep the company of any one single host, it is necessary to buy more and more expensive drinks. Since we didn’t do that, we had to put up with the less popular or the newer hosts, who were perfectly nice but somewhat more awkward.

Maggie very much wanted to dance, even though it certainly wasn’t a dance club. I asked one of the hosts for her and he kept saying “Later, later.” Finally the club started to fill up. The clients who entered were mostly attractive women in their early 30’s, dressed beautifully, coming alone. By 3 many of the tables were full. At this point the club managers decided it was time for the floor show, so two of the hosts got up on a low stage and did the worst floor show I’ve ever seen. They had their shirts unbuttoned halfway and they did a poorly choreographed, terribly unsexy dance. Meanwhile “our” hosts encouraged us to dance next to our table. After a minute or two of this, they told us to go up onstage. Hesitant at first I went up, much to the shock of the two poor stage dancers, but to the great amusement of the front-row Japanese clientele and the other hosts. After one song we were cheered and then very adamantly escorted back to our seats. The bar had been amused for one performance, but it was clear by the way they sat us down, poured us more drinks, and sat around us blocking us in that we weren’t being encouraged to continue.

The rest of the night continued much the same way, though the level of conversation dropped as time passed. At 4:30 our time was up and we were presented with our bill, 3000 yen each as promised. I’d been a little worried we might have accumulated surprise extra charges, but we had not. The manager came to our table and grilled us on who had been the best host. I was unable to give an answer when pressed because I couldn’t remember any of their names. Even while they had been sitting with us I had trouble distinguishing between them. They were all dressed alike and had nearly identical hairstyles.

When we left just before five, still giggling but a little the worse for wear, the host bar was still going strong. Those poor men – boys, really – work long, late shifts. I don’t pity them though. I felt a little like *I* was being taken advantage of instead of them, paying for the flattery and the superficial attention. But all in all it was a fun and eye-opening experience, though not one I am likely to repeat. I hope the regulars at the Soul Club feel satisfied with their “relationships” with the hosts there. I fear it may leave some of them terribly lonely when the bar closes, and the hosts send them back to their homes, alone.

A little background info...

2005-12-05T13:12:00.000+09:00

My mother has asked me a few questions about Sendai Higashi High, so I'll try to answer them here for anyone's benefit.

1. Do the students wear uniforms?

Yes, the students wear uniforms. All junior and senior high school students in the whole country wear uniforms, I think. At my school, the summer uniform is a white collared shirt, a ribbon and a grey skirt for the girls and a necktie and pants for the boys. In the winter they add a navy blue blazer or a grey, blue, or black sweater. My school is not particularly strict about the details, so girls frequently wear school gym shorts or sometimes even pants under their skirts. The skirts are designed to go nearly to the knee, but fashion dictates that the girls roll their skirts at the waist until you can almost see their underwear. No one seems to mind about this. The ribbon/necktie seems to be slightly more important, as recently posters have gone up around the school saying "Don't forget to wear your ribbon/necktie!" However this has not resulted in an increase of neck attire.

In order to personalize their outfits, students decorate their slip-on Keds with handwriting and drawings, hang toys off their bags, and dangle charms off the ubiquitous cell phone. Sometimes the charms are 3 or 4 baseball-sized stuffed animals awkwardly hanging out of a back pocket. The tiny, high-tech cell phones are overpowered by their adornments.

2. When do I get to speak Japanese?

At school, almost never. Never in class, and the 14 English teachers speak English quite well. Sometimes I chat a bit with the other teachers in Japanese. However, because the staff room is so small and crowded, we don't all chat very often because it is rather noisy and distracting. 50 people work elbow-to-elbow in the same room, so if we were all talking all the time the din would be unbearable.

I speak Japanese with my Japanese tutor and with a few Japanese friends. I only see my tutor once a week though, and my friends are very busy. The work situation for young people in Sendai is very bad. There aren't many good jobs, and when a person gets hired they are obligated to work many overtime hours for no pay. I have a lot of acquaintances who are moving to Tokyo to find work.

3. Do the students speak English/French well?

Some of them do. I can hold almost-normal conversations with some of them in English. They do not speak French well because they can only study it during 2nd year, so they simply never acquire the vocabulary. The kids this year are much better in French than last year, because last year I was such a terrible teacher.

4. Do I meet any of their families?

I saw a mom or two at Bunkasai (school festival), but parents of high school kids are generally hands-off. As long as their kids pass the tests, they don't get involved. Although they are invited, no parents ever visit classrooms on school visiting day. The teachers, particularly the homeroom teachers, bear the brunt of the responsibility for the students' welfare. Sometimes this extends far beyond the limits of the academic. One of my teachers was once asked by a parent why her son didn't eat miso soup. The mother wanted the teacher to get her son to eat the soup. Although he is a good teacher, he wasn't able to change the son's diet.

If you have any more questions, please post them or email them to me and I'll put up my answers.

The First Warm Day

2005-12-01T09:24:00.000+09:00

Today is the first day the Miyagi high schools turned on the heat. It was not a moment too soon. The staff room has been comfortable though smelly for a while now, but the students have been suffering in their classrooms since the temperatures dropped. This week has been the worst of all. Not only has it been very cold, but the 2nd-year students have been taking exams in the cold classrooms. They've been huddling under their cartoon-printed blankets, rubbing their frozen hands, trying to get their hands mobile enough to write their kanji.

Normally all students take exams at the same time. This term is different because 2nd year students are about to go on a class trip. In American high schools, students take several day trips a year; in Japan, there is just one big trip during high school. The "ninenseis" (2nd years) from across the country swarm en masse onto shinkansens, visiting famous places such as Tokyo and the Kansai region, or Kyoto.

Three quarters of my schools ninenseis will go to Kyoto this year. For four days they will trek from temple to temple and sleep together in massive tatami rooms. The 80 English Course students get to go to Hawaii. They have been planning for months to meet their high school exchange partners, visit war memorials, and go shopping in American shopping malls.

I don't get to go with them, unfortunately. Usually only their homeroom teacher goes with them. There are two English Course classes, so my ninensei Team Teaching partners should be going with them next week. One of them is. However, the other one has suddenly had a change of plans. Two weeks ago, he was unexpectedly called into the school office. The principal and vice principals offered him the opportunity to take a teaching seminar for three weeks in December. "You will learn many useful teaching techniques," they told him. "This is a great opportunity. You ought to go. Please decide right now."

Put to him that way by his superiors, of course he said yes and stamped his hanko on the dotted circle. So this morning he said goodbye to his family and travelled by train down to Tokyo, where he will learn about English teaching for three weeks straight. He is being housed on a training compound that technically he is not supposed to leave. In the meantime, another teacher had to be roped in to take his place on the school trip. His students, rather devoted to him, are disappointed. When they get back we will be taking over all his classes until Christmas vacation. He is finished the seminar the day before classes end.

Unfortunately his vacation won't be much of a vacation. He has opted this year to help teach a winter cramming session for students preparing for exams. Four English teachers will spend the holidays drilling students on grammar points. Meanwhile, I will be at the beach in Thailand, sipping sweet cocktails from coconut shells. I must say, I don't envy him.

Thanksgiving Recipe

2005-11-24T15:21:00.000+09:00

Mix 6 Americans, 3 Japanese, 3 Irish, 2 Brits, and a New Zealander with:
chicken in white wine sauce (no turkey in Japan),
cornbread,
macaroni and cheese,
3 gallons of mashed potatoes (brought by the Irish guests),
homemade stuffing,
canned cranberry sauce,
cannelloni beans with leeks & bacon,
Spanish omelette,
ratatouille,
pumpkin pie,
apple crisp,
and Squid-ink cookies from Okinawa.
Moisten liberally with imported wine & beer.
Serve. Eat. Repeat.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

The Miyagi Winter

2005-11-18T11:46:00.000+09:00

I love living here. I really do. But in the past few days, I have become totally reaffirmed in my decision to LEAVE SENDAI after this year. That is because in the past few days, the temperature has dropped. I know, I know, I spend what sounds like far too much time whining about the cold, but it really is serious, and it really is painful. This year, because the average temperature has been warmer than last year up till now, the Miyagi Board of Education decreed that we can’t heat the classrooms until December 1st. Yesterday I wore long underwear, pants, a tank top, a long-sleeved shirt, a sweater, a jacket, a scarf, and I covered myself in a blanket while I was sitting at my desk. I still had to sit on my hands to warm them up. I have to ride my bike through the cold, which during the daily snows becomes a highly dangerous task. It is dark at night before I get home.

When I do get home, my house is as awful as my workplace. There is no central heating, so I have to heat the thing with a smelly kerosene heater. My kerosene heater has a few problems and frequently refuses to light. I have to press buttons randomly for several minutes to get the damn thing to ignite. Also, I can’t sleep with it on. It might kill me. Last night I slept with a 10-inch-thick comforter, covered with 2 other blankets. I wrapped my head in a scarf for the painful moments when my head poked out from the covers while I was asleep. I do intend to buy some electric heaters, but transporting them home on my bicycle is a problem. I bought one last year but it’s so weak I have to place my feet directly on it to feel anything. This also presents a risk of my feet catching on fire.

Enough of that. In order to combat my winter blues I have decided to be proactive, and take part in as many fun activities as I can to keep up my good spirits. The first and foremost of these is the Miyagi JET Pantomime, an annual theater production put on by the JETs for the community. It’s done in English with a Japanese narrator. This year the play is “Peter Pan.” I’m going to play the part of Wendy. I haven’t done any acting since high school. Wish me luck on my return to the stage!

Autumn's Last Splash

2005-11-16T13:18:00.000+09:00

Every tourist site in Miyagi seems to be one of the “three best” of something. Matsushima is “one of the three most scenic spots in Japan.” Akiu falls is “one of the three best waterfalls in Japan.” I’m not sure who makes these decisions. It might be the tourist bureau. I suspect the decision depends on the prefectural lobbyists’ success. I’m not sure what Zao qualifies as, but if I were to choose I would call it “one of the three coolest crater lakes” as well as “one of the hardest places to successfully visit.” The first category is self-explanatory, but the second probably requires illumination.

Zao is the highest mountain in both Miyagi and Yamagata prefectures. It bridges both prefectures, and both sides claim it. It can be accessed by roads from Sendai City and Yamagata City. At least, during part of the year it can be accessed from both sides. Between late October and early May, the road from Miyagi is closed due to the threat of snow drifts. On a clear day you can see the mountain from most of Miyagi prefecture, but you can only reach the top by hitting it from the west.

Given that you are determined enough to make the journey, you can either drive or take public transportation. Trains and buses run from Sendai to Yamagata, and there are four buses daily from Yamagata City to the town of Zao Onsen. If driving, you can putz around the local highways or splurge and drive on the overpriced expressway. The expressway is the fastest route, and gets you from downtown Sendai to the hot springs resort town in a little over an hour.

After paying about 10 million tolls, visitors to Zao finally reach their destination. Sort of. In the summer, you can drive directly to the peak, but the Zao Echoline highway is closed on both sides after November. This means you can only get most of the way up. You are forcibly stopped and parked in the onsen town, and must make your way up by ski lifts or on foot.

This is not a great hardship. Zao Onsen is a charming place to visit most times of the year. In the summer there are apparently a lot of flowers. In the winter it’s a skiing town. But last weekend was peak koyo season – the period for fall leaf-viewing. I was equally astounded by the fiery colors as I was last year in Naruko. The onsen town was nestled in a forest of orange and red, all decked out for the off-season visitors.

But it was a clear day, and rather than stay at the town level and wander around the leaves, we wanted to see Zao’s main attraction. Because of the detour into Yamagata it was near noon before we got on the mountain, so we didn’t have time to hike the whole thing. We paid the exorbitant 2500 yen fee to ride the cable cars up to the top. They dropped us at the spot where, almost a year ago, I went to see the “tree monsters” of frozen ice. This time it was clear and snow-free, with not a cloud in the sky. It was the perfect day for a hike.

An hour and a half later we finally reached the crater lake, a giant green hole in the peak from an old volcanic explosion. Supposedly the lake changes color over the course of the day, depending on the quality of light. Tohokuites therefore sometimes call it the “5 Color Lake.” It was in fact beautiful. It was in fact worth the hype, like so many other great things in Japan. I was glad I’d splurged for a trip back.

Because actually, I’ve been to the crater lake before. About 3 weeks ago, before the roads were closed, I went with a friend to the top of Zao via Miyagi. However the day which had started sunny got cloudier and cloudier as we approached the top. Ominous shadows chased us up the mountain, and when we got out of the car, turned into a thick freezing fog. I had a brief glimpse of the lake before the fog rendered it totally invisible. Apparently this is a common occurrence. Japanese daytrippers frequently pay large fees to ride in tour buses, only to arrive at a fog-scape instead of a landscape. Zao spends most of its time blanketed and invisible.

Not to mention the high winds, brought on by the high altitude. Last winter when we came for the snow monsters, the winds were so strong we could barely open the doors of the lodge. It was almost physically impossible to get out and look at Zao. It was cloudy then too, and only by squinting could we see the creepy shapes made by the wind blowing the frozen trees.

But last weekend conditions were perfect, just at the time of our hike. We got plenty of pictures and a great view, and I feel like I’ve finally “done” Zao properly like a good Miyagi resident. And then, really cold, we went back down. The three hours on the peak managed to numb my hands and exhaust me thoroughly, but the brisk air and the lovely view left me with a euphoric fatigue.

Plus, back at the bottom I was able to chase out the chill in an in-house onsen at the ryokan. It was the hottest one I’ve ever been in, and turned my skin bright red even after I poured gallons of cold water into it. Then I crawled into bed, but not before eating the washoku – Japanese home-style cooking, of the little hotel. The place was called “Boku no uchi” – my house – and staying there really was like staying in someone’s home. The mama-san served us lamb yakiniku, beef and root vegetable stew, persimmon salad, and 5 or 6 other little plates of country cooking. We ate and ate until we were stuffed, were muzzled by the family Golden Retriever, and watched a karaoke show on TV. It was friendly, cozy, and best of all, warm.

The weather on Sunday was not quite as beautiful, but the rain held off and we went hiking again. This time we stayed closer to the bottom and walked for several hours along a wooded path. We were alone except for the yellow, red, and gold maples, and the local birds. Fall is a magical time of year in Miyagi. The explosion of color is like one last hurrah for the outdoors. Soon after the leaves fall, the temperature plummets, and Miyagi’s inhabitants go into hibernation. In the past week this has happened. I’ve cranked up the kerosene heater, put on my long underwear, and resigned myself to many months spent indoors. But I will be able to look back on an autumn well spent, and look forward to the spring thaw and the flowering trees. Both ends of the painful Miyagi winter are a feast for the eyes and other senses.

It can’t happen too soon.

No News is Good News

2005-11-08T09:41:00.000+09:00

Please recognize my silence as a sign of a well-spent life. I don't know where all my work came from, but I feel as though I am far busier at work than I was last year. I think that I've gotten much better at planning lessons, but I've learned that a good lesson plan takes a lot of time. Also my Japanese study is time-consuming. The books I am using now have all the grammar explanations written in Japanese. It takes a lot of effort for me to read and understand them.

Last night I had my first Japanese-language dream. Actually, it was trilingual; my friend Emilie from France was back for another visit, and I went to a food shop with her to try and buy a picnic. It was immensely difficult to translate back and forth between Emilie and the shopkeeper. I kept repeating the word "mizumi," or lake, as I tried to tell the Japanese man where we'd just come from. I'm sure this was because last weekend I went to a lake in Mount Zao - a giant crater lake formed by the now inactive volcano. More on Zao later.

North of Sendai

2005-10-13T15:22:00.000+09:00

There’s actually a whole prefecture north of Miyagi! It’s called Iwate, and I can reach it from Sendai in just over an hour. Iwate has lots of stuff too, just like Miyagi. It also has its own JETs and its own community, though they’re a bit colder and a lot more spread out. I went up there for the first time last weekend, for a change of scenery and a change of pace. I hiked a mountain and went to an onsen, and on Monday went to the temple town Hiraizumi.

Hiraizumi used to be a major hub of northern Buddhist activity, and there are two large temples still standing. Chusonji is one of the major tourist attractions of Tohoku, and with good reason. The 800 year-old temple houses myriad shrines, a gold-leaf altar, important dead people, and even a Noh theater. It is set high on a hill, at the end of a cedar-lined trail.

It also has a cool soba restaurant, where the buckwheat noodles are served in many interesting ways. In addition to the typical soba soup and cold soba dishes, the restaurant makes black sesame soba, soba candy, and even soba sushi! I like temples, but as I am uneducated in Asian architecture and Buddhist symbolism, all the Japanese temples are starting to look the same. However eating two of my favorite Japanese foods, soba and sushi, surprisingly combined, was a treat well-worth traveling for.

This description will probably strike you as a bit short and lacking in detail. I noticed that as well. That is because as time passes, I am more and more accustomed to living in Tohoku. As I've written before, it feels like home. I have trouble describing the things that no longer feel novel to me.

In the place of my sense of wonder, I feel instead the sensations of comfort and of pleasure. I am quite happy here, and not at all homesick (though I miss my family and friends dearly). This fall I have come to love teaching, and I feel affectionate towards my students and coworkers. The friends I've had so many months feel like life-long ones.

But now, just as I am starting to feel so comfortable, I have to think about going back. I want to return to university, and that means I have to apply this fall. Yesterday I received my recontracting form for the JET program. I don't have to sign it until January, but I am almost sure I have to check "no." The thought of doing that is already causing me pain. It must be done though. And though I love my job now, a third year would likely seem stagnant. I have gained a ton of responsibility this year but there is not much more I am legally allowed to do. I do have to get on with my life, and that means change. At least that means there's only one more Miyagi winter ahead of me.

The Middle Country, Phase 4: The South Capitol and Back Again

2005-10-07T15:44:00.000+09:00

Nanjing, which means “South Capitol,” is a small, old city with canals, gardens, palaces, and markets. It is home to the Confucius Temple, a city nestled between mountains and rivers, protected and limited by its geography. I liked the size and the feel of the place best of all the cities I visited in China. It is comparable to Xian in these factors, but as Xian was where I got food poisoning, I liked Nanjing better.

I stayed in a youth hostel, where within minutes I became acquainted with four girls who just left the JET program. They’d each spent the last year or two as ALTs in Hokkaido, and were embarking on a five-month tour of Asia. China was the first leg of their journey, and as we compared our itineraries it turned out we’d taken almost the same journey. In fact one of them thought she’d spotted me in the same hotel as her in Luoyang. Two of them also shared the digestive affliction I’d acquired in Xi’an, and we swapped war stories of ling nights on overnight trains with no toilet paper. The girls were just as fun and sweet and energetic as the JETs in Miyagi, and they adopted me and we toured Nanjing together for the next two days.

On the first day, which was thick, muggy, and overcast, we boarded several buses in an attempt to locate the Purple Mountain Lake. After a few missteps and misunderstood transfers, we found ourselves at the park complex, which houses a lake for swimming, mountain trails, and the burial grounds of former emperors. The most interesting part for us on that muggy day was the chance to swim, and we hopped in the water with the locals. One of the older men there swam over to us and led us in a singalong of American folk songs. We floated on the water and sang “Que sera sera” at the top of our lungs, grinning contentedly.

The next day I went to the Presidential Palace, the governmental seat through many empires, rebellions, and 20th century presidencies. The building had gone through many transformations through its hundreds of years of existence. Most interesting was the Throne Room of the self-declared brother of Jesus Christ, ruler of the Kingdom of Heavenly Peace. This Christian evangelist led an uprising of Chinese peasants in 1851, who established their own government in revolt against the emperor. The king held frequent Christian ceremonies in the throne room, wearing gold robes and accompanied by his Christian wife and his five concubines.

Most beautiful in the Palace were the Palace gardens, with a lake, pagodas, and bumpy rocks. The Chinese believe that contemplating stones can bring peace and wisdom. After staring at enough of them, integrated in the scenery of the garden, I am apt to agree. Nanjing’s gardens were the most lovely I saw in all of China.

The afternoon brought a far different experience. I went to the Nanjing Massacre Memorial, the museum that houses the skeletons and relics of the thousands killed by the Japanese during World War II. It was a grisly scene, with the same solemnity and sorrow of the Holocaust Museum in Washington, D.C. Growing up, I did not learn much about Asian history. Only since coming to Japan have I learned of the tensions between the Japanese and Chinese, and the Japanese and Koreans, and their causes. It saddens me, and it embarrasses me that I could have lived so many years so completely oblivious to the history of this part of the world. The Nanjing Memorial was a difficult place to visit. But the part that brought tears to my eyes was the photograph of the Japanese-Chinese Friendship Society visiting the memorial together.

***

I ended my trip to China with two final days in Hong Kong, pelted by heavy rains and shivering from the humid chill. I went from mall to museum to movie theater, unable to spend any time outdoors. I did do one more “cultural” activity – I went to the folk museum, where I saw amateur Cantonese opera. The costumes were sparkly but the music was hard to bear, particularly since the amateurs did not have the skill level of professional performers. The museum exhibits on Cantonese opera were more rewarding, and allowed me to examine the costumes up close without the shrill scream of the female vocalists. The costumes involve huge feathered headdresses, beads, sequins, and jewels. The makeup is elaborate and dramatic; the actors wear white faces with darkened eyelids and deep red lips. The photography is stunning, revealing dance moves and fight scenes of intense skills and strengths. The music, however, is whiny and nasal, and difficult for a Westerner to appreciate for very long.

The rest of my time was spent eating and watching films. I watched one Hong Kong movie, a romantic comedy about two people who open a restaurant. I ate one bowl of Chinese noodles. I also watched “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” and ate pastries and sandwiches. I then took the marvelously high-tech underground shuttle to the airport. I boarded the plane and was ready to come back – back to Japan, back to the place I have begun to think of as home.

The Middle Country, Phase 3: The Capitol City

2005-09-22T08:37:00.000+09:00

(My apologies for the long delay in posting this section. The month of September has been inordinately busy, with school festival, class observations, a visit from my family, and exams. At long last, here is the entry on Beijing. The final leg will be up soon.)

When our first day in Beijing began, the sky was an unusual shade of tan. Thick clouds hung over a heavy atmosphere. The sky followed through on its promise and broke into torrential rains shortly before 9AM. In addition to making our downtown sightseeing a thrilling adventure, this had the added boon of chasing away the heat and many of the tourists.

While the less courageous hid in their hotels or in breakfast cafés, my mother and I clutched our umbrellas tightly and fought through entrance to the Forbidden City. Its name comes from the fact that until the 20th century, commoners were not allowed inside the walls of the Imperial Palace compound. Only the emperor, his wives, his servants and underlings, and his 9000 concubines could enter the grounds. Today it is a museum open to the public, protected on the outside by a giant portrait of Mao. Inside the palaces and temples and halls and treasure houses, with red painted walls and green and gold roofs, are several days’ worth of exploration.

Like most important structures in China, the Imperial Palace is designed on the principles of feng shui. It runs north to south, with the ceremonial entranceways leading straight north towards the Emperor and seat of power. As you pass through the gates and the archways you move from public hall to private residence, with the protected homes of the royalty tucked away behind the official courtyards.

It is an awe-inspiring example of royal pomp, each edifice minutely decorated, every eave finished in high detail. There are dragon and phoenix statues at every turn, symbols of the all-powerful emperor and his wife. Up to 100,000 people could be accommodated on the grounds, making it a true city within a city, protected from the outside by the thick walls.

The rain let up slowly as we wandered the twisting paths. Little by little, the tourists returned, and the biggest attraction of Beijing soon filled to its usual level. We were fortunate to have come through the heavy rains because as the sky lightened and the air warmed, thousands upon thousands of visitors came down the ceremonial stairs. My mother and I left the peaceful gardens and the somber halls as the visitors returned the Forbidden City to the buzzing activity of its heyday.

In the afternoon, we explored the hutong (small alleys) surrounding the Forbidden City. As it had been during the reign of the emperors, the conspicuous consumption of the palace is in sharp contrast with the modest homes of the local residents. Today, the homes look clean if small, but most still do not have indoor plumbing. Many of the people of Beijing depend on the public toilets on every block for their daily needs.

A posh new nightlife zone has popped up to the north of the Forbidden City, with yuppie restaurants lining the river that runs through the downtown. Picture windows reveal the appealing modern décor of the cafes and bars, establishments that would be equally at home in New York or Paris as well as Beijing. There is even a Starbucks, placed near the bar called the “Sex and the City.” Tiny paper Chinese lanterns light the pedestrian path along the shops next to the water. It is a picturesque and dreamlike setting, marred only by the aggressive cart drivers who want tourists to ride in their vehicles.

We had dinner on a wooden boat, paddled by a driver with one long oar. A local restaurant supplied our picnic of sliced beef, spicy cucumbers, and summer vegetables. The boat had a canopy, which was well-appreciated as the rains began again. We sat under a bridge and watched the sheets of rain and the lightning until the skies cleared again.

The next day we took an organized tour to the Great Wall at Mutianyu, a reconstructed site slightly off the main tourist bent. It’s about an hour’s drive from Beijing, but it took us about 6 hours due to some required shopping stops along the way. First was a visit to a local tomb site, a spot not particularly interesting but with some fascinating history. Deceased emperors in the Qing Dynasty used to be buried with a few concubines who “won” a lottery. The women were buried standing up in a deep well. This practice was finally halted in the 17th century. Next we were taken to a jade jewelers, where exquisite statues, knickknacks, and bracelets are carved. The sales pitch was an effective one and we did not leave empty-handed. After, we were forced inside a shop of Chinese medicine, where a “doctor” looked at our tongues and prescribed expensive herbs. I have nothing against Chinese medicine, but I am dubious of a doctor who examines patients for 10 seconds and refuses to furnish details of what he is selling. The final shop, after I was thoroughly irritated at all the commercialism, was a giant warehouse of Chinese souvenirs. We were required to spend an hour and a half looking at the most expensive carpets, vases, Cloisonné, jade bracelets, and silk dresses I’d seen in the whole country.

I told off the obsequious tour guide on the way to the Wall, who attempted to soothe my annoyance without actually apologizing. But no matter. The Great Wall itself turned out to be spectacular, with hardly any visitors and a stunning view. We walked along it for a couple of hours, drank a cold beer with an elderly Chinese salesperson, and rode a 2 kilometer giant slide back down. My mother was then accosted by trinket peddlers who we successfully bartered with for bags and tee-shirts. Back to the city, then dinner, then straight to bed.

The following day we explored Beijing, visiting the Temple of Heaven and the shops downtown. The Temple of Heaven is due south of the Forbidden City and Tiananmen Square, pointing to the emperor’s palace for blessing and protection. Inside there are shrines for good harvest and giant marble prayer circles. Surrounding the huge temple are miles and miles of public gardens, where the locals gather for impromptu opera singalongs or for T’ai Chi.

In the evening we went to see the Beijing Acrobats. Very bendy youths aged 5 to 20 flipped over each other, folded into pretzels, and dropped 10 meters to land straight on their feet. They didn’t lose their concentration even as the brazen audience flashed digital cameras. In the past I’ve wanted to run away and join the circus; I did not have that urge during this performance. Watching the uber-flexible girls my back hurt in empathy. I do not want to learn to touch my forehead to the backs of my thighs!

The next morning my mother and I parted ways. She went home to America while I flew south to Nanjing, China's sometimes capitol.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

2005-09-07T12:25:00.000+09:00

My first reaction to the Chinese of the north was that they were brusque, loud, and unfriendly. I soon realized they were not unfriendly – they were simply loud. Many a taxi driver appeared to be yelling at me when he was just trying to clarify my poorly pronounced directions. In fact, I have rarely encountered so much kindness and eagerness to help from strangers. Our hotel managers went out of their way to direct us, help us choose restaurants, and reserve train tickets for us. People on the street frequently started conversations or jumped to look on our maps. However I soon discovered a major problem: the Chinese have a lot of trouble reading the alphabet. I met a lot more Chinese in the large cities who spoke English pretty well, but very few people could decipher the written language. My knowledge of Chinese characters helped a little though, at least when looking for north or south, searching for a restaurant, or trying to get a foot massage.

The fact that my mother did not register the loudness/brusqueness I perceived reminded me again of the differences between Japan and other countries. In Japan, people generally speak quietly, use discrete hand gestures, and try to pass through crowds without disturbing anyone. China was quite the opposite. Watching traffic, it seemed that no one had right of way; lines marking lanes were merely suggestions, and passengers crossing streets on a green light were honked at by speeding buses. There were no rules about using cell phones on the subway, and the normally loud Chinese speakers turned up the volume of their voices to be heard over the din. But you got used to the noise. After a week or so, the tourists stop reacting to the auditory assault, and take on the same nonplussed expression as the natives. You walk. You get honked at. You avoid the vehicles and eventually get where you’re going.

Our first stop was the Terracotta Warriors in Xi’an, built around 200 BC. The powerful emperor Qin spent a fortune having over 10,000 life-sized troops and horses built to protect his city and his tomb. Then, following his own private logic, he buried them so no one could see them. They weren’t discovered until the 70’s by some peasants digging a well. Since then, the Chinese government has been actively recovering and restoring the incredibly detailed, lifelike soldiers along with their valuable weapons.

The excavation sites themselves are impressive, and so are the hordes of tourists descending and the aggressive souvenir hawkers accompanying them. It’s really a zoo. I started to feel a bit ill at that point, which I attributed at first to an allergic reaction to souvenir peddlers, aggravated by the pollution hanging over the city. To my great distress I soon discovered it was instead a minor case of food poisoning brought on by a cheap version of the “Xi’an hamburger” – chopped greasy pork in a dense wheat bun. Normally a fabulously decadent local specialty, low-quality versions of the sandwich are sold by street vendors of ill repute. It’s quite silly and really a shame that I ate it, especially since so much of the food in Xi’an is high-quality and made in clean conditions.

One of the reasons for this is that Xi’an has a high Muslim population. There is a large Muslim quarter with lamb kebob vendors and traditional sweet shops. Xi’an also harbors a gorgeous mosque. Dedicated to Allah and the practices of Islam, the buildings are nonetheless designed in typical Chinese style, with pagodas, archways, and curved roofs. The combination is a surprising one, especially to a person like me who didn’t know there were so many Muslims in China. It reminded me of my surprise at the Mauresque architecture in southern Spain: Catholic churches and cathedrals built by devout Muslims. On occasion these construction workers in Seville snuck in messages of their own faith, writing “Allah is Great” in Arabic on the church walls. The juxtaposition of Chinese tradition in a Muslim structure was much the same.

Xi’an has modern department stores and fancy coffee shops side by side with noisy markets and 14th century towers. The downtown is surrounded by a thick wall marking the old city limits. Today the city sprawls out far beyond the wall, and it is at times crowded, smelly, and unclean. The regional trains and the train station remind the traveler that she is not in the most developed of nations.

The toilets are not installed with plumbing. Instead there is a large tunnel cut out of the floor with river water gently washing through it. Like in most of China, the sink has no pretense of soap or towels, and does not look like it has been washed recently. To get on the jammed trains, Chinese travelers line up for hours to get the best standing-room spaces. My mother and I had reserved seats, but they were hardly better – after a few hours of travel, the aisles were so crowded many many rear ends were squashed onto our shoulders.

We did survive the train ride out of Xi’an, and five hours later emerged in the much calmer city of Luoyang. Our hotel, an old building with the charm of West Philadelphia rowhouses, was calm and quiet and cool. I spent much of our stay in Luoyang recovering from my food poisoning and from the train ride that aggravated it. Fortunately my slightly shaky condition didn’t keep me from enjoying Luoyang’s best tourist spot, the Longmen Grottoes.

Like the Terracotta Warriors s UNESCO World Heritage Site, the Longmen Grottoes are Buddhist relics from the 10th century. Nature provided the local monks with hundreds of tiny caves; the monks took advantage of them and carved more of their own. Inside each of these caves they cut thousands of statues of Buddhas and gods. The statues range from just 2 centimeters to 20 meters tall. In some caves there are as many as 15,000 Buddhas cut into the wall. It’s a stunning site, with sand-colored walls and a wide river running alongside. Across the river is a temple, pilgrimage site of emperors for centuries.

It was one of the hottest days of the year when we visited, and the sun baked us as dry as the sandstone Buddhas. We survived with only minor heatstroke, though my mother was bright red and worried me a bit. A bag of peanuts and many bottles of water kept us going during the day. Nonetheless I was happy to return to the cold hotel, after an hour-long bus ride with no air conditioning. We’d already checked out of our room, but no matter – the hotel housed a spa as well, with a public bath and massage therapists.

$1.50 for a shower and $8 for an hour-long massage – there was no better way to spend our last afternoon in Luoyang. The massage took place in a darkened room with pink lights and tasteful fake flowers. There was also a large television screen with a movie playing. Incongruously the film was an action film, and the hour went by accompanied by the sounds of bullets being shot and people screaming. I thought the sounds would bother me, but I was so comfortable it didn’t rattle me in the least.

That night we boarded another train, an overnight train destined for Beijing. This time, the train was clean, quiet, and there was only one person per sleeper. I slept like a baby.

The Middle Country, Phase I: Hong Kong

2005-08-31T13:26:00.000+09:00

I enjoy airplanes. I find the controlled environment soothing. For a few hours all responsibilities of feeding, hydrating, and entertaining yourself are removed from you. Your only duty is to sit quietly while something transports you and someone anticipates your needs. I therefore appreciated the flight to Hong Kong, with its reasonable in-flight film, prepackaged dinner, and gentle hum of the tons of whirring engines. But the flight turned from merely pleasant to great as we approached the city. The block-like and staggered skyscrapers were illuminated in cheerful, appealing blues, yellows, reds and whites, bright enough to match a carnival but without its garishness.

My spotless, air-conditioned guesthouse in downtown Kowloon was near the Ladies’ Market, a night market for clothes, handbags, crafts, and even wigs. When I arrived after 11 PM, the area was as bustling as Times Square at noon. Kowloon is lacking the slick, modern feel of the new Hong Kong neighborhoods, but has far more character and feels active and authentic. The cafés lining the streets range from McDonalds to sweets shops specializing in mango coconut “Bird’s Nest Floats.” On my first night I went straight to bed, after encountering the unusual elevator. Each tall building had at least 2 elevators side by side, and each one serves different floors – in my building the left elevator went to the even numbered floors, and the right one to the odds. I am not sure how this is more efficient than having two elevators that stop on every floor, but this system was common throughout the city.

The next day was a lot of walking. And it was HOT. I walked from the hostel to the southern tip of the peninsula. On the way I wandered into the Tin Hau Temple, a small structure dedicated to the goddess of the heavens and of the sea. She was housed in a mostly red altar, protected by four frightening fiberglass demons and blessed by hundreds of burning incense cones, hanging from the ceiling. Elderly neighborhood residents hung out in the shaded garden outside. A few hundred meters further was the Jade Market – two covered buildings with scores of merchants peddling jade jewelry, Buddhas, and even chess sets.

I passed the Mosque, ate a lunch of Indian curry, and reached the ferry which took me to Hong Kong Island. I then rode the Peak Tram, which is a trip every tourist takes – an old-fashioned tram lifts passengers to the highest point of the island. The ride, so steep it is nearly 90 degrees, takes you through jungle-like forests and past expensive apartment towers. The view from the top is indeed spectacular, despite the permanent haze hanging over the city in August. The heat quickly chased me into a coffee shop in a high-end shopping mall, conveniently placed for idle tourists.

Instead of shopping I walked down the densely wooded mountain until I reached civilization and the longest escalator in the world. It is one-way, but changes direction based on the time of day – down in the morning and up in the afternoons to accommodate commuters. It’s a 20-minute ride, and lined with fancy shops and yuppie bars to distract the wealthy workers. Hong Kong is littered with pedestrian underpasses and overpasses, designed to ease the intense traffic of all varieties. There are subways and trams and boats and buses, shuttling millions of people everywhere every day. It is incredibly easy to navigate, with signs well-marked in two languages, and many streets bearing English names. This left me ill-prepared for the rest of China, where much of travel involves a lot of guessing for the English-speaking out-of-towners.

Hong Kong’s British influence is obvious. The neighborhood of Lan Kwai Fong, the hippest nightlife district, has only foreign restaurants at three times the cost of Chinese food. There are Japanese, Malaysian, Thai, Singaporean, and Vietnamese establishments, along with British, Italian, and even Mexican outposts. To get noodles or a plate of dumplings you have to leave the block.

The next morning I joined an 8AM Tai Chi class, one of the free culture classes the city holds for foreign visitors. The teachers were friendly and highly skilled. Tai Chi is a slow series of movements, a bit like yoga, a bit like dance, a bit like martial arts. It’s all about controlling your body and the flow of energy. Throughout China I saw it practiced frequently, mostly by older people in public squares.

The heat was as bad as the day before, so I spent much of Wednesday inside museums. The modern, clean, and best of all cool art museum held exhibits on old jade and gold ornaments, as well as modern works by Chinese artists. Most striking for me was an entire room dedicated to carved rhinoceros horn. It was usually made into wine cups, and the horns were graded based on their luster and hue.

The next day’s breakfast was one of the highlights of my stay in Hong Kong: a dim sum feast. I went to a place called the London Restaurant, recommended by the guesthouse manager. Over a hundred round tables filled a simple banquet hall, most of them occupied by middle-aged or elderly Chinese customers. Only two other foreigners were present, this restaurant not being in the tourist books. In between the tables, waitresses pushed carts of different kinds of food: sweet pork dumplings, savory turnip cakes, shrimp paste rice paper rolls, sweet egg tarts, spring rolls, dumpling, and rice flour cakes. My new favorite was sticky rice baked with meat and vegetables in a 12-inch lotus leaf. The bill was under $6 a person, almost the cheapest and definitely the best meal I ate in the city.

I went afterward to another free class for tourists, this one on feng shui. This is a theory of designing your home based on energy flow and the patterns of the stars. I discovered that my bed has been lying in the “sickness” zone of my house for the past year, which may explain the severity of my winter colds.

In the afternoon, after a post-dim sum recovery nap, I boarded a ferry bound for one of Hong Kong’s outer islands. Causeway Bay is filled with small, subtropical islands of various sizes, marked with beaches, palm trees, and seafood restaurants. I swam in the warm water off Lamma Island, a bohemian expat stronghold with European-style coffeeshops, hippie clothing shops, and footpaths leading to quiet temples. For dinner I ate an island specialty: roast pigeon, that I pulled off the bone with my fingers to dip in sea salt and vinegar sauce.
I wanted to make the most of my final morning, so I rose early to see the Wong Tai Sin temple in northern Kowloon. This temple, though aesthetically interesting, is clearly not intended for tourists. There are no explanatory signs or plaques of historical information. Instead thousands of practicing Buddhists, Taoiosts, and Confucianists get down to the serious business of prayer. People light clouds of incense, wave it before shrines, and stick it in oranges, making it difficult to breathe. They get down on their knees and prostrate themselves. It is very unlike the tame experience of visiting a temple in atheist Japan, where visitors sometimes go through the motions of worship as long as they don’t get in the way of others.

My final visit that morning was to the Bird Garden, where I learned that the Hong Kongese are also serious about their pets. This small park is the place where older men gather daily, carrying their pet birds in cages, to show off and admire the pets of their friends. As far as I know it’s the only place in the world where people take their birds for a walk. It was a quaint look into another side of Hong Kong, apart from the modern, Europeanized culture. It was then off to the long distance train station, where I boarded a 24-hour sleeper destined for Beijing, capitol of mainland China.

A "Japan Party"

2005-07-21T14:43:00.000+09:00

You'd think that after almost a year here, my tastes for Japanese culture would have changed. Yet there’s still nothing I love more than really good sushi, which I suspect is the subconscious reason I came here. Last week my friends and I got together to revel in each other’s company and to eat some excellent food. We have dinner parties most Thursdays, but last week was special as it was the last time we could be with some of the departing JETs. My friend Lisa invited about 10 of us over to eat her homemade Temakizushi, hand roll sushi. Following the techniques her Japanese chef aunt had taught her, she vinegared her rice and baked a sweet omelette. Then she set out bowls of black nori seaweed; sliced tuna, squid, salmon, and fish eggs; slivered cucumber, avocado, wasabi, and soy sauce. We washed it all down with sake and plum wine, and a little Bordeaux because it was Bastille Day as well. Dessert was mochi – pounded rice balls on sticks flavored with adzuki beans, black sesame paste or sweet soy dip. And those of us who had them busted out our yukata and djinbe, traditional summer cotton clothes. Of course mine, black with white mizutama (polka-dots) and the red obi is hardly traditional. But like the yukata’s design, I’m an import, so I think it’s very fitting.

Undoukai

2005-07-21T14:29:00.000+09:00

The rainy season finally kicked in, and hung around for longer than usual. For almost three weeks we were showered daily by frequent storms, accompanied by unseasonably cool weather. This gave me a small case of Seasonal Affective Disorder but had one positive effect: students refrained from passing out from the heat in class.

However students and teachers alike began to fear that the midsummer rain storms would affect an important tradition: the annual Undoukai, or sports festival. Weeks in advance sports teams kicked up their training, teachers rearranged the class schedule, and students designed and ordered class shirts. The week of, teachers planned with heavy hearts a backup plan in case of thunderstorms. If necessary, the festival would be postponed, then if it rained again, outdoor activities would be cancelled. This was told to me in a tone of great concern and trepidation, because all the teachers were looking forward to it as much as the kids.

Last Thursday morning the sky was dark and grey, but it wasn’t raining so the festival was on. It was chillier than most years but that didn’t dampen anyone’s spirits. Soon after the morning meeting, I joined the teachers on the sports field to watch the students’ opening ceremony. All 1000 kids were lined up on the track by class, each class decked out in their self-designed tee-shirts. Each class had a different color, and with the 25 classes it was quite a collage. Some of the students had tricked out their shirts even more, cutting them up and re-sewing the neckline, adding extra writing in pen, and tacking on bright plastic flowers.

They were not the most colorful characters though. That distinction was earned by the senior boys who had dressed in wild costumes for the opening ceremony. There were construction workers, superheroes, and a strange green lizard riding a wheelbarrow. They waved flags, joked to the crowd, and got the kids more excited than they already were.

Soon after the games started. Thursday was devoted to totally silly and strange relay races. There was the “caterpillar,” where 5 students had their ankles tied together like a chain gang as they ran around the track. There was a contest in which one girl sat on the shoulders of four others, and tried to steal visors off the head of other girls in the air as she protected the hat she was wearing. There was a tug-of-war and a blindfolded piggyback race. All the games were accompanied by much screaming and laughter as the kids bonded with their classmates and released the tensions of the school year.

The games on Friday were more “serious” sports – soccer, volleyball, kickball, basketball, and softball. The kids were pitted class against class and grade against grade. The kids were excited to compete against one another, but the inevitable losses were always met good-naturedly. It was sunny and hot out that day, the first time in the school year, and everyone was just happy to be outside and run around. They ate ice cream, splashed each other with water, and joked with the teachers in athletic clothes. We even got to play with the kids a little – the women teachers played a game of volleyball, which we lost miserably. I tried to get the teachers to play soccer but they just thought I was being funny. I had to content myself with watching, which turned out to be great – I got to see my students doing something other than studying English. I know them a little differently now. Maybe next year they’ll let me join the “caterpillar.”

Le Foot

2005-07-01T15:43:00.000+09:00

Looks like I can add images now without messing up my formatting. This is a picture from last weekend's soccer tournament. We went to Sugadaira in Nagano ken again, and as always I had a great time. I did however get injured by the soccer ball smacking me in the chest, and by being hit later in the same spot by another player. I didn't crack any ribs but there are some serious sub-bone bruises. My doctor prescribed me some painkillers and banned me from soccer for a few weeks. The picture directly below is from Gyeong-ju in South Korea.

2005-06-30T11:37:00.000+09:00

The Deadly Weather

2005-06-23T11:33:00.000+09:00

If you spoke with me anytime during the long Miyagi winter, you surely heard me complain. Now, a few blissful days into summer the memories seem surreal and unbelievable, but living through the winter months was one of the most difficult experiences I’ve ever had. Honestly. Every day leaving my house was like torture. Every night I struggled to accomplish normal tasks like showering and getting into bed.

Why, you might ask? The average temperature of Sendai really isn’t much lower than that of Philadelphia. Snow falls a lot more frequently, but we don’t get the huge 3-foot snowstorms here like we did in Pennsylvania. It was not the temperature alone that left me miserable for an entire season. It was the temperature coupled with the unheated Japanese buildings.

There is a theory floating around that the Japanese don’t heat or insulate their structures because of the threat of earthquakes. Like much of the rest of Japan, Sendai lies on a major fault line, and therefore houses and schools are built quickly, cheaply, and without the plan of having them around for very long. Another theory is that traditional homes were built of thin materials such as light wood and paper, and the Japanese architects never got around to using heavier stuff. Whatever the underlying cause, the result is that when the outside gets cold, the inside does too. And when the inside gets cold, the inhabitants can never fully get the chill out of their bones.

I spent the winter wearing four layers every day: an undershirt, a long-sleeved shirt, and two sweaters. On my legs I wore stockings and two pairs of socks under pants. I didn’t venture out of the house without my jacket underneath my wool winter coat, a thick scarf and a large wool hat. And yet, I still shivered. I rode my bike to school when it wasn’t too snowy, and on the way the wind would cut through my shoes and freeze my toes. In school I was mercifully placed near the heater, and spent the first 20 minutes of every day standing over it to thaw.

I loved the heater by mid January, but when it first arrived I couldn’t stand it. It was a giant kerosene heater powerful enough to warm the entire staff room. When they first turned it on it made me feel nauseated. I was convinced that the fumes were poisoning me and that I was being slowly killed. Little by little I got used to the smell, and developed an unhealthy affection for the machine. I wanted to hug it, but that probably would have set me on fire.

Mid January was the time that I started using one at home too. I’d scorned the use of the kerosene heater in the fall, fending off the brutal cold with a weak electric wall unit. But when I came back from Christmas in America, I fell asleep on the couch under several blankets and woke up stiff and crying from the cold. I bit the bullet and hauled my plastic kerosene container down the street to have it filled, lugged it back and plugged the heater in. With a puff of noxious smoke the heater chugged on. I bundled myself up in front of it and sat until my body was no longer in pain.

At night you have to turn your heater off though or you may never wake up. I used the wall heater and several layers of blankets. The worst moment of each day was taking off my clothes and getting between the freezing cold sheets. Or maybe it was the following morning when I had to get out of my then-warm sheets and change my socks. Or maybe it was leaving my house and getting on my bicycle. In any case I was never happier than the first warm day with sunshine, sometime at the end of March.

So the winters are tough. Next year I will begin mine with kerosene and an electric blanket. A little extra preparation might make things easier.

But winter is not the only rough season. When I arrived last summer Japan was in a heat wave, the worst in years. I relish heat and am used to humidity, but drinking 2 liters of bottled water a day was a little expensive. I couldn’t drink the school’s water because it tasted like mold. It still does. So does the water at my house, but I bought a filter and no longer suffer that particular problem.

Mold does however affect the lives of those living in Japan, thanks to the period called the rainy season. For weeks at a time starting in mid June, Sendai is bathed daily with storms ranging from gentle mist to hurricanes. Miraculously this season we haven’t seen much rain yet, but last summer Japan experienced a record number of typhoons. My school principal nicknamed me the “Typhoon ALT” because after my arrival there was one after another. I don’t know how many times I came to school soaking wet, 45 minutes late like all the other teachers and students. The rain slowed traffic to a crawl, overcrowded the buses, and made it impossible to bike. Even walking through the wild rains and heavy showers was a challenge.

That said, since it isn’t raining, living in Sendai is a dream right now. We are far from the peak heat of the season, and everyone is more cheerful and energetic. Except the students, who get overheated in their sweaters and long sleeved shirts. The “summer” uniform looks uncomfortably hot. It is far better than the opposite, when girls in miniskirts bike an hour to school in subzero winter temperatures. Maybe the teachers think hardship builds character. Maybe school administrators simply like Japanese students’ legs. Whatever the reason, I am grateful that teachers in Japan are released from the nearly universal law of imposing uniforms on all members of society.

A Speedy Getaway: My Weekend in Nikko

2005-06-22T15:37:00.000+09:00

Travel in Japan, if you disregard the cost, is remarkably simple and practical. Last weekend I was able to take advantage of this. After some test-related frustration at work, I made a last-minute decision to get out of town. I took a last-minute trip, hastily organized the night before, to Nikko, a temple town an hour north of Tokyo. It was possible to do so because Sendai is well-linked by train and shinkansen to all major cities in the country, and shinkansens leave every twenty minutes of every day. After a late night of enkais on Friday and a quick soccer practice Saturday morning, all I had to do was grab my toothbrush and hop on the subway, and I was off for a weekend journey.

One hour later my friend Maggie and I arrived in Utsunomiya, where we transferred to a local train that took us to Nikko in 50 minutes. Total travel time from my house to Nikko Station: 2 hours 30 minutes. Maggie called the owner of the Rindou-no-ie hotel, a charming little ryokan run by a middle-aged married couple. The husband came to pick us up at the train station and talked to us in Japanese about Nikko. He’d lived in the 12,000-person town his whole life, and pointed out the temple sights, the river, and a small restaurant run by a friend of his.

The ryokan was located on a residential street, 10 minutes’ walk from the temple complex. It was a 2-story building with just 5 guest rooms, each of which was laid out with futons for the guests. Our room was lined with large windows that faced the river, exposing us to the soothing sounds of a mountain spring. The building was all of fresh, clean wood, and the bed sheets were luxuriously heavy cotton. Our hosts appeared thrilled to have us stay with them, and were eager to give us advice about where to go in town.

Maggie and I took a 45-minute walk along the river, in search of the Nikko Spa. It was a small public bathhouse with two sex-segregated bathing rooms. The women’s room overlooked an azalea garden through steamy windows. The other bathers, elderly women from the town, shared their shampoo with us and extolled the health benefits of hot baths. They were thrilled to have foreign guests to talk with and chattered endlessly in fast Japanese. They didn’t think we understood, so they answered the questions they posed by themselves, and were totally amazed every time I formulated a sentence.
For dinner, the Lonely Planet directed us to an okonomiyaki restaurant a bit further up the river. Okonomiyaki is a bit like a savory omelette or pancake. It is a combination of different meats, seafood, and vegetables with an egg and a thick floury batter. In this restaurant, we were able to grill the dish on the heated table in between us. I had one with pork, squid, and shrimp, and Maggie ordered the one with yuba, a fine tofu-like substance. When the food is cooked on both sides, you cover it with brown sauce similar to Worchester sauce, dried seaweed, and bonito flakes. After dinner we went to the Skylark restaurant next door, an American themed diner that serves mostly Japanese food. They do carry chocolate cake in addition to the red bean jelly, so I had a thoroughly Western dessert.

Back at the ryokan, we tasted locally produced blueberry wine before taking another bath. The ryokan owners had heated their enormous tub for us and it seemed polite to use it. The tub was bigger than my kitchen in Sendai, almost as large as a full-size Jacuzzi. The ofuro at the Nikko Spa had actually been too hot to sit in long without turning red and becoming light-headed. I preferred the tub, which relaxed me and prepared me for a sound sleep.

Sunday morning we walked to a nearby waterfall, then had lunch while we waited to meet friends at the station. While waiting I discovered another wonderful Nikko specialty: deep-fried manju. Manju is a Chinese dessert of sweet adzuki bean paste in a palm-sized dumpling. In Nikko they make the pastry from sweetened yuba, and at one of the shops they then toss the dumpling in a deep-fryer. Not the healthiest snack, it nevertheless receives my full endorsement to any visitor to the town. At 12:30 we met up with another friend from Sendai and two buddies of his from college. Under a sudden downpour, we boarded a bus and rode 20 minutes to the temples, Nikko’s main attraction.

With two umbrellas between five people, we sprinted to the ticket booth and paid the entrance fee for the treasure museum, strolling garden, Toshogu Shrine, and Rinnoji Temple. To avoid getting drenched we first went in the temple treasure museum, which houses old scrolls of Buddhist scripture, silkscreens, and religious sculpture. As we perused the calligraphy and examined the other artifacts, the downpour ceased and the sun came out. We went out into the garden, crossed the footbridge over a pond of carp, and walked towards Rinnoji temple.
This temple, originally founded in the 8th century, houses giant statues of Buddha and countless other works of Buddhist art. It smells of old wood, lacquer and incense, and the statues are covered in shining gold leaf. One of the buildings is decorated entirely with flame and fire motifs. Rinnoji is one of the very oldest Buddhist structures in Japan. In the 8th century Nikko was a major center of the then-new religion. Over time it slowly became slightly important, until the construction of the Toshogu Shrine 20 meters uphill.

Toshogu was constructed in the 17th century. It is the mausoleum of Tokugawa Ieyasu, founder of the Tokugawa shogunate. It is unlike any other shrine in Japan because Zen architecture favors simplicity, whereas Toshogu is lavishly carved and decorated with animals and people painted in vivid colors. Every inch of surface is covered with texture and hue and shape. It is also the location of the famous “See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil” monkey sculpture, a theme intended to evoke the state of childhood innocence.

Stairs upon stairs and gate upon gate lead visitors closer and closer to the heart of the shrine, Tokugawa’s burial place. Every building and structure attests to the immense amount of labor and money poured into it, evoking the importance and the glory of the deceased ruler. It remains fully as striking as it was in the 17th century, and tourists pour into the town in hundreds to gaze at it.

Thanks to the rain we were not overcrowded, and we were able to see the sights at a comfortable pace. Thanks to the rain stopping we were dry, and didn’t have to walk back in soggy shoes. We were back at the station by 5PM and I was home before 8, in plenty of time to make lunch for the next day and watch a Sunday night movie. It was a most charming weekend, a well-needed change of pace in a period of grading exams.

An Impractical Language: Teaching French in a Japanese High School

2005-06-20T09:21:00.000+09:00

(This is an article I wrote for the Philadelphia Alliance Francaise newsletter.)

In many Asian countries, the students have an amazing command of the English language. This is not true of Japan, where in the past, English training was restricted to grammar exercises and translations. In an effort to address this problem, the Japanese government began the “JET Program,” hiring native English speakers to work in public schools. JET, which stands for Japanese Exchange and Teaching, recruits college grads with minimal teacher training but high enthusiasm and an interest in foreign languages. As a 22-year-old graduate of Haverford College, Pennsylvania, I came to Japan last August as one of the 6000 JET participants. We were brought to the country to assist in English education, motivate the current generation of students to take an interest in the outside world, and contribute to the internationalization efforts of the country.
One month before my arrival in Japan, I was informed about a special role that I would have: I was to teach French as well as English. Unlike American high schools, Japanese schools generally only offer English as a second language. All students begin learning English at the age of 11 or before, and study it all the way till graduation. Only a few schools in the country offer any other language training, and there is no government sanctioned or recommended program for teaching these languages. Because Japan is an island country, and thousands of miles from any countries that speak French, German, or Spanish, the practicality of learning these languages has always been difficult for the Japanese to grasp.
I arrived last summer at my new home, the city of Sendai, Japan. Sendai is the capital of Tohoku, the northern region of Japan’s main island. It is a city of 1 million people, home to the regional specialties of cow-tongue and sweetened soybean paste, and the proud owner of a brand-new baseball team, the “Rakuten Eagles.” It also has the best high schools in the area, and some students commute up to 3 hours each way to attend the highest-ranked ones. My school is distinguished as a “Super English Language High School,” one of 16 in the country. This means that students have the option of taking up to 14 English classes a week, participating in exchange programs, and entering speech or skit contests in their second language.
It also means that a few students are able to take French. The Board of Education has decided that if students are skilled enough in English, they will also be capable of learning French. So each time my school hires a new JET employee, it looks for someone fluent in French to teach the elective course. Last August, with no teaching experience or competency in Japanese, I became the head French teacher at Sendai Higashi High School. Armed with nothing but a terrible textbook and an attendance roster of hard-to-pronounce names, I was suddenly responsible for inventing lesson plans and introducing students to French culture in one 50-minute lesson a week. I had no assistance, and no one ever checked up on me. The kids didn’t take the class seriously, because no one in the school did. Most never brought their materials to class. At first they didn’t listen to me, they talked on their cell phones and occasionally removed their school uniform pants. Many days I finished frustrated and near tears.
But slowly, class atmosphere began to improve as I gained more confidence and figured out what interested 17-year-olds. The first good decision I made was to abandon use of the textbook. I made lesson plans based around simple conversations instead. I also began to incorporate TPR: Total Physical Response, a method in which students hear only French as they imitate the teacher’s physical actions. In French, I told the kids to stand up, sit down, walk, and touch their friends’ heads, as they watched me do the same.
As the year went on I added more and more cultural activities, bringing in photos of French cities and foods. They never learned much of the language, and the rebellious pants-removing students never once brought their pencils to class. But some of the students learned a few words, and by the end of the year they could all say “Je m’appelle…” (My name is) and “Je n’aime pas étudier” (I don’t like to study). That was about it. They never studied on their own, because French was an elective and their grade wouldn’t affect their futures. Most of them were taking French so they wouldn’t have to take math.
This school year, which started in April, is a much different experience. Some of the new students are simply trying to avoid geometry, but enough are motivated that the class is actually learning. Part of the reason is that I get to see them twice a week instead of just once. That gives a little more continuity to the class. Part of the reason is that this year’s textbook contains more information, is printed in color, and is a useful basis for my lesson plans. This means that students can follow along with my explanations and have a base text they can study. Another the reason is that the kids know me and like me and don’t want to disappoint me. They laugh as I hack up my French R’s like a dying cat, and then gamely attempt to imitate me. They giggle as I sing the alphabet en français and then sing along. But the main reason is that I am much better at teaching. The last 12 months have been an apprenticeship, and though I don’t consider myself to be an excellent teacher, I can at least make a lesson plan and design a syllabus appropriate to the level, interests, and attitudes of my students.
Unfortunately, my class may be the only chance many students will have to experience French culture. Only second-year high school students can take the class, and they can only take it for one year. During senior year French is abandoned so students can spend all their time cramming for college entrance exams. Sure, in one year I can teach the kids “Bonjour” and show them pictures of the Eiffel Tower, but they cannot acquire a profound knowledge of the language or the country. Also, I’m not even French. Many of them have never seen a French person. They don’t know that their word for bread, “pan,” comes from the French pain. However, they are impressed that I can speak French fluently and that I’ve spent two years living in Paris. I therefore fulfill a JET’s duty of “internationalization”; I provide an example of a foreigner who has lived and traveled abroad. I’d like to teach the kids a little French this year, but I know they’ll probably forget most of it next year when they are forced to stop studying it in school. My main goal is to get the students interested in France and in Europe, a part of the world they may not feel affects them. Because it is not valued by their society, French will probably never seem like a practical course for high school students. But I hope the exposure will give at least a few of them a passion for the language and an interest in the world beyond their island nation.

a quick update...

2005-06-10T10:16:00.000+09:00

Just to let the curious know, I did well enough on the GREs that I won't have to take them again, which is a relief. So as long as I return to grad school in the next five years I won't have to study long division anymore. It was nice to discover that I am still capable of doing elementary school-level arithmetic though.

Asian Adventures: the Korean edition (part 3)

2005-06-03T09:26:00.000+09:00

My apologies to those who have been waiting patiently for the third installment. I have been studying for the GREs to the exclusion of all other intellectual and/or creative pursuits, not to mention minimizing social activity and maximizing sleep. I will be taking them tomorrow in Tokyo, so I have officially stopped studying as of 8:34 AM today. I will now attempt to complete the South Korea trilogy at a leisurely pace, one that will place no added strain on my rattled brain.

With a pinch of regret to be leaving the wilderness, but a pressing desire to shower and wash my hair, I boarded a bus and went to the ancient capital of South Korea, Gyeongju. Gyeongju, in the southeast, was the center of the Silla dynasty until the 10th century. In the past 30 years, the government has undertaken a massive excavation and preservation project in the town, turning the entire region into an outdoor museum. Right in the town center is a series of three parks dotted with large grassy bumps called “tumuli.” A tumulus is a giant tomb which from the outside looks like an unnatural hill. On the inside, however, lie important figures buried under complex stone structures, lying with treasures to rival the pyramids of Egypt.

On the first night we decided to treat ourselves to a Korean feast, a traditional meal of many fish and vegetable courses reserved for holidays and special occasions. We went to a restaurant nestled between the tumuli parks and ordered the “half course,” which for $15 a person was more than we’d spent on most meals. A few minutes later the smiling hostess arrived with about 5 plates of food to share. There were the usual salads and kimchee, a dish involving dried fish, and a big plate of scallion pancakes. The spread was probably enough for a meal, but it certainly was not a royal feast. Richard started to express a sentiment of mild disappointment. But then the second course arrived unexpectedly. Soup, noodles, meat, grilled fish, rice, shellfish, and about ten other salads filled our huge table. We were very glad we’d ordered the half course.

We found a DVD bang not far from the restaurant and watched a Korean movie with an interesting cover. I forget the title, but it turned out to be a hilarious “Matrix”-style science fiction movie about the love affair between an android and a human. It wasn’t actually supposed to be funny. Then we walked back to the hotel, a distance that turned out to be much shorter than we’d thought; Gyeongju’s downtown is only a couple of kilometers. The hotel was a bit run-down, but the rooms were big, it was cheap, and it had satellite TV.

The next day we went through all the main sites of Gyeong-ju: the interior of a tumulus, an old royal garden and pagoda site, an ancient observatory, the huge modern museum full of Buddhist art and artifacts. We wandered through a field of yellow reeds that looked like mustard and watched children doing archery in a public park by castle ruins. As the day wore on, the temperature dropped, and the evening brought heavy rain. I was happy we weren’t camping any more.

The next day we ventured out of the city to visit the main Silla attraction: Bulguksa Temple, at the foot of a forest-covered mountain. It is a huge structure with many levels of bright tile buildings, so many the complex seems like a maze. From the top level you can look down on the tiered collection of buildings below. Each one houses a small shrine with lamps, Buddha statues, candles, and incense. Each one is elaborately painted in rich tones of green, teal, red, and pink.

At the top of the same mountain is nestled Seokguram Grotto, a tiny temple with a giant Buddha hidden in a cave. On the day we went the fog was so thick you couldn’t see more than 20 feet in front of you, adding to the magic and the mystical quality of the place. The stone paths were covered with glistening mist, the grotto was hidden by a cold rainforest. And at the heart of the long, winding paths for Buddhist pilgrims, the giant statue glowed in a small cave filled with golden lights.

We left Gyeongju the next day, feeling as though we’d seen plenty of the city. The bus back to Seoul, a direct route across the entire peninsula, took just over four hours. It was our last day in Korea. I had been ready to leave Gyeongju, but I wasn’t ready to leave the country. We had a wonderful send-off, however. It was a week before Buddha’s birthday, and the city was gearing up for a huge celebration. The festival started Saturday night with a jubilant, colorful parade of huge groups of dancers, flag-carriers, animal masks, floats of Buddhist gods, and drums and music. The parade wended its way right down a street lined with art galleries, tea houses, and shops selling traditional crafts.

The night had to end though, and the next day we were back on the plane, then back in Japan before we knew it. Two hours later the shink dropped me in Sendai. The next day I was back at work. I’d had the foresight to leave myself detailed notes about what to do in all my classes, so I opened my notebooks and turned myself into a teacher on autopilot. I was back in my “real” life in Japan, but my mind was still on vacation in South Korea.

Wish me luck on the GREs tomorrow!

Asian Adventures: the Korean edition (part 2)

2005-05-24T12:02:00.000+09:00

After a painless five hour bus ride that cost around $15, Richard and I were deposited in Songnisan National Park. The name can be roughly translated to “Really Remote Mountains.” It certainly looked that way when we arrived – the Songnisan resort town looked like it was set up to accommodate thousands upon thousands of tourists, but we only saw about five. We set up my brand new hi-tech tent, a Christmas gift from my generous grandmother (thanks again Bam!) and went in search of supper. It wasn’t far. The restaurants were all open despite the lack of customers, and a cheerful plump restaurant owner quickly beckoned us to sit on her outdoor terrace platform.

Communication was as difficult as always, and the woman wound up deciding our meal for us. She brought us a big plate of vegetable and potato pancakes, a few kimchee side dishes, and a large earthenware pot of what looked like cold broth. After staring at it for a bit we finally served ourselves with the ladle, and discovered it to be unfiltered rice wine. It’s the Korean form of sake, and the leftover rice in the liquid makes the taste richer and sweeter. It’s also less alcoholic than Japanese sake, like an Asian version of hard cider.

After dinner we walked around the town, which was well-lit but eerily empty. The guidebook said that in season on the weekends Songnisan gets incredibly mobbed, but we were there early in the week before the peak. Due to the current political tensions between Japan and Korea, the number of Japanese tourists was lower than for most Golden Weeks. We were alone at dinner and alone at the camp site, except for the owls and other creatures of the night.

The next morning we set out for the park’s main attraction and the hiking trails behind it. At the foot of Songnisan mountain lies a Buddhist temple called Beopjusa, whose crowning glory is a 33 meter high gold Buddha. The temple is active, and all the surrounding pavilions and shrines were animated by constantly chanting monks during our visit. The chants and the music made it quite ethereal, especially in the small temple underground below the Buddha’s foot. That temple is 360 degrees, lit only by candles and decorated with carvings in the white marble walls.
After an hour at the temple, we began the hike, which started on a well-paved road. We were quickly overtaken by 40-some sprightly old men wearing matching hiking outfits. There was a tourist restaurant after a few kilometers where we stopped for lunch, eschewing our hastily procured tin of tuna for mountain vegetable bibimbap, kale soup, boiled peanuts, kimchee, and pickled peppers. Bibimbap is rice, vegetables, spice paste, and a fried egg mixed up together and eaten with a spoon. It sure beat canned tuna.

Just after the restaurant the hiking became more intense. The trail went abruptly from road to dirt path, and from flat to very very steep. We reached the peak in a few hours, which gave an amazing view of the unspoiled landscape, miles and miles of craggy irregular rocks above the tree line. It was very clear why the lookout point was surrounded by a wire fence; the wind was so strong up top it could easily blow a person over on a stormy day. We made our way back down and reached the camp at 7, ten hours after we’d left in the morning. We had no trouble sleeping that night despite the nocturnal calls of the wildlife surrounding us.

Asian Adventures: the Korean edition (part 1)

2005-05-17T13:01:00.000+09:00

My trip to South Korea: where to start? I went there during the vacation that the Japanese call Golden Week – in English – don’t ask me where the name came from! Thanks to Green Day on April 29th and three holidays in early May, I was able to take a 9-day vacation to explore Korea thoroughly. This will make for a lengthy description, so bear with me.

The logical way to tackle the task is to do so chronologically. I spent Friday night, Saturday, and Sunday in Seoul, traveled to Songnisan National Park for camping and hiking on Monday, and made my way to Gyeongju city the following Wednesday. It was enough time to see old palaces and ancient temples, hike a mountain, attend outdoor concerts, and eat a whole lot of amazing food.

But that is but the barest outline of my exploits. Contrary to what I’d heard from jaded Western travelers, Korea was far different from my experience of Japan. I’d been told that Seoul wasn’t that interesting, and that the culture of Korea was similar to that of Japan. I don’t know where those people went or stayed, but my trip was educational, entertaining, and satisfying to a level far beyond what I’d been led to expect. Perhaps it was a combination of nice weather, varied activities, and the fact that South Korea is the first Asian country I’ve seen outside of Japan. Whatever the reason, I had a marvelous trip and didn’t want to leave.

Arriving in South Korea was like my first arrival in Japan, minus the jet-lag. I was deposited in a country where I couldn’t say a single word, couldn’t read the alphabet, and didn’t know a soul. Except I did know one person, my friend Richard, who accompanied me on my wanderings and carried the guidebook. He accepted my dictatorial “suggestions” for our itinerary with commendable grace. He fortunately shares my love of nature and of spicy food, which made group decisions easier. Our first stop Friday night was a neighborhood restaurant to try some of the latter.

Japanese people love Korean food, a cuisine I have only been exposed to on this side of the globe. There are a million “yakiniku” restaurants in Japan, which translates to “Korean barbeque. ” A server brings a hot grill to your table and lights it. Diners lay thin strips of meat on the fire and cook it until its charred. It is then dipped in a light sesame dressing and eaten with chopsticks. It’s great, but in Korea it’s even better. The meat is served with a selection of vegetables to grill along with it, such as garlic, hot peppers, onions, and mushrooms. Instead of being eaten with chopsticks, you grab a lettuce leaf and wrap the meat in it, seasoned with a sweet and spicy red sauce. It’s a bit messy as the juices leak from the leaf and onto your hand. It makes for a friendly, informal meal, as it is eaten communally along with group bowls of soup, several kinds of salads, and many glasses of Korean beer.

The salads of Korea are quite particular. The national dish is called kimchee, a method of preparing spicy pickled cabbage or other vegetables. In Japan I’d only seen the cabbage variety, but in South Korea there are over 40 different kinds. When you go to a restaurant and order a plate of meat, the server will bring it along with 3 or 10 surprise side dishes. You never know what you will get, which gives you a chance to try many different kimchees effort-free. My favorite was kimchee made from a pungent green leaf the Japanese call shiso and my dictionary translates as “beefsteak plant.” Because of all the mysterious soups and vegetables, each meal becomes a feast, enough food to leave you constantly stuffed though it’s all incredibly healthy.

On Saturday we ran around like mad, taking in as many sights as we could. Our first stop was Gyeongbukkung Palace, the most famous sight in Seoul. It is a huge complex with flat, square buildings similar to old Japanese architecture and elaborately painted tiles lining every wall. When we entered the palace we were greeted by the sight of hundreds of men wearing bright traditional costume, carrying flags, and standing in formation. They wore long tunics of pink or red and interesting black hats with wide brims and thick beaded cord. Eventually we found out that these men were rehearsing for a coronation reenactment. One of them, who I first mistook for a monk, let me try on his hat.

The nearby Folk Museum displayed costumes like what the men had been wearing outside, so I could identify them as 16th century military costumes. The museum also housed displays of farming techniques, farming festivals, and a fascinating collection of shoes, hats, and jewelry. I especially loved the women’s ceremonial hairpieces, which are like little black boxes covered in trinkets to wear on top of the head. The colors of the clothes are much brighter than most kimono, reds and oranges and pinks in shiny satin. The skirts are much looser than kimono as well, allowing for more movement than the Japanese woman in an obi and geta sandals.

After a lunch of rice with mussels and 15 bowls of unidentifiable vegetables, we had a moment of Europeanism in a gallery at a Louise Bourgeois exhibit. We had stumbled into a chic part of town with bistrot-style restaurants, high-end clothes shops, and foreign art. A few blocks later and we were back in downtown Korea, passing traditional clothes shops and a barbeque bar on every block. We toured Changdeokgung Palace and its “secret garden” behind – acres and acres of forests, ponds, and flowering trees designed by a king to escape from the outside world. The only way to tour this palace is with a guided tour, overcrowded and led by an irritating guide. We spent our visit trying to sneak off from the group and laughing whenever the guards caught us and put us back where we belonged.

We walked through a municipal park after, which was packed to overflowing with elderly Korean people carting karaoke boxes and dancing on the square. Some women were dressed in the traditional costume and were clearly the leaders. They collected the spare change from the other dancers. The older people were hopping and dancing and having a fine old time. The spectators sat by the sides or ate at one of ten portable food stands, serving Korean rice wine and strange foods on sticks.

In the evening we went to a folk dance performance at Cheongdong Theater. There were seven pieces: four dances and three musical numbers. The instruments were stringed instruments I didn’t recognize, drums, flute and an oboe-like thing played by musicians sitting on the floor. The dances were spectacular. The first one was a court dance called the flower dance. The women’s sleeves hung down to their knees, and as they spun the fabric from their sleeves and their full skirts flared out like fat satin flowers. In another dance, women wearing bright pink and green à la Lilly Pulitzer danced with oversized folding fans, turning them into butterflies, clouds, and waves.

The most remarkable dance was the last piece of the performance. It was a men’s dance, and the 6 performers wore simple blue suits but highly unusual hats. They looked like fabric helmets. Out of each one came a tall stick. Five of the men had 6-meter ribbons trailing from their sticks. The final hat was capped with two giant white pompoms that seemed to float above the dancer’s head. The men whirled and spun around the stage, making the ribbons and the pompoms flick and spin in large circles around them. The finale was a solo by one man who incorporated breakdance moves into the folk dance, and twisted and kicked in spirals on the floor as he was accompanied by the other dancers playing drums.

The fast-paced Korean dance music got my heart pumping and gave me a burst of energy, which had its outlet in the activities of the rest of the night. When we left the theater, we were greeted by the sounds of explosions: the sky was filled with fireworks, thanks to the Seoul music festival that started Saturday night. When the fireworks were over, we walked past city hall, which had been transformed into a light and sound show. Projected photographs of strange masked figures, geometric light patterns, and huge floating fish meandered across the classical architecture.

We ended the evening at a street party. The Myeong-Dong shopping district had for the night been turned into an outdoor nightclub, and famous Korean house DJs I’d never heard of played records ‘till dawn. We danced till 2 or 3, which was long enough for hardcore sightseers, and also long enough to be photographed by about a million Korean press people. Foreigners dancing in the streets! We must have been quite a sight! I did make a lot of new dancing buddies, people I couldn’t communicate with verbally but who enjoyed the techno as much as I did. Hours later we hopped in a ridiculously inexpensive cab and went back to the guest house for well-deserved rest.

Due to the late night, Sunday contained fewer activities than Saturday, and many more naps. A Middle Eastern falafel lunch was followed by shopping then a trip to the impressive War Memorial museum. The architecture and the memorial statues are exquisite. Huge marble domes and pillars are surrounded by the greenest grass and also by military tanks. The outside garden and the inside historical exhibits remind visitors of the history of the country and the tragedies of war. Most striking inside was the account of the Korean War, which gave the chronological history of the conflict and explained the roles of all involved nations.

That night we heard a Chilean band play in front of City Hall, but ran away to dinner after a few minutes of an irritatingly perky Korean pop star. Dinner was ginseng chicken, a bland, soupy chicken and rice stew: typical, but not that interesting. Dinner was followed by another popular Korean pastime, a visit to a DVD Bang.

A DVD Bang is a business establishment where groups of 1 to 4 people rent new-release DVDs and watch them in a private room. They aren’t cheap; each person pays the equivalent of a movie theater ticket, but the price is worth it. You have the choice of the latest movies, so new they are probably obtained on the black market, and the rooms are spacious and comfortable. The sofa is wide and large enough to stretch out on, and the TV screen is as big as a couple of bathtubs. We rented a Korean comedy which we could watch with English subtitles. We also brought snacks; the employees said they didn’t care, so you could bring a full meal if you wanted. Or you could make out, which is apparently what most of the Korean youth do in there. We watched the movie, which was about a 30-something Korean woman wreaking Amélie Poulain-style revenge on her ex-boyfriends. Then, right to sleep, because Monday was to be the first day in our outdoor athletic adventure.

The New School Year

2005-04-21T15:37:00.000+09:00

Due to the surprise changes in the office staff, Sendai Higashi has been blessed or burdened with 17 new teachers, a new principal, and a new vice principal. This means my supervisors have changed and my co-teachers have changed, for better or for worse. One of the most interesting and nerve-wracking moments of the transition time was desk-change day, the annual moment when every teacher is required to move to a new place in the staff room. Every JET has some unanswered questions about her job; the reason for moving day was one of them. Japanese people are highly skilled at deflecting questions. When you ask a direct answer they often give an indirect response, change the subject without explanation, or simply answer with a blank stare. It is a rare, rare day when one of them will simply say “I don’t know.” When I asked “Why do teachers change desks every year?” the reason my supervisor gave was “Every year, we must change our desks.” My school is not alone to require the desk change; all my JET friends went through the same experience, and most of them on the same day.

On the official day of the move, my supervisor told me where I would be going and said to be ready at 12:00 PM. That day was another one of meetings I wasn’t required to attend, so I hoped to begin moving my things a little early during my hours of free time. The teacher whose desk I would be taking was leaving the school, so she had moved out already. However at 11:00 when I asked her if I could put my things on her empty desk, she said, “Oh no. Please don’t worry. You can move at 12 o’clock.” Again, at 11:45, I was told to keep still when I tried to carry the first books. Because the move was scheduled for noon precisely, I wasn’t allowed to start ahead of time. I carried a few books to my locker to have something to do. All through the staff room teachers stood around waiting, hovering behind their desks with their eyes on the clock.

At 11:55, the office suddenly burst into a flurry of movement. All the teachers started moving at once, chasing each other with huge stacks of objects in their hands and entire drawers-full of desk supplies. I had been prepared to move but not prepared to sprint, so I found myself being hurried along by my desk’s successor. She stood behind me looking flustered as I tried to carry my files as quickly as possible without dropping anything. In five minutes the staff had finished the mad rush to their new spots. Everyone, that is, except me. A few of the women helped carry my things because I was holding up my desk’s new caretaker and her own replacement.

Desk-change day was one moment of craziness, but the new school year has many other challenges as well. The biggest of these is the fact that I am expected to teach again after almost 2 months of inactivity. In February I was ill for a large chunk of the month, and then there were exams, then time off for students and administrative meetings that didn’t involve me. I was required to come to work, sit at my desk and look busy for 8 hours a day. I got a lot of emailing done. But as of last Thursday I’ve been back in the classroom, and this time in charge of most of the lesson planning. Each week I teach 14 classes of 5 different types, and am entirely responsible for most of the lesson plans. Two of my co-teachers are new to the school, and one of them is a first-year teacher. Both of them look to me to tell them what to do and how to run the class. Being a sempai is an ego-boost, but I feel disorganized and confused.

There are a lot of benefits to being in charge though. The greatest benefits are in my French class, which this year I get to team-teach instead of teaching alone. My co-teacher gives me no input on the lessons but he is willing to read dialogues along with me in reasonable French, and to translate things into Japanese when I ask. The rest of the time he stands behind the desk and stares off into space unless I address him directly. Even though he is not particularly active, I like having him in the room. It makes me feel more in control of the 27 students. My biggest challenge last September was arriving in a classroom alone with no knowledge of the students and no confidence in my teaching abilities.

In my other classes I feel like I can do whatever I want and my new coworkers will go along with it. I still feel inexperienced but by ignoring my lack of confidence, I am able to get the job done. By play-acting at being a teacher I actually am becoming one. Last summer I had qualifications for this job besides being an American. I am beginning to learn to inspire learning, and I am now actually earning my keep.

The World in Pink and White

2005-04-14T14:00:00.000+09:00

Most people in the world have heard of the cherry blossom festival in Japan. Each year, at the very start of spring, Japan bursts free from its gloom and grey into fresh pink and white splendor. I’ve seen cherry blossoms in America, specifically in Washington, D.C., where a generous Japanese emperor made a present of cherry trees to the United States of America. Flowering trees are great. They perk up a garden, provide accessories for young girls’ hair, and leave a soft, delicate carpet of petals on a grim sidewalk. So I was looking forward to April, with the flowers and the warmer weather. I knew that in the Tokyo parks there would be a lot of tourists, a lot of festival food, and sake everywhere. I couldn’t wait to experience my first hanami for myself.

There are things in the world that are purported to be so wonderful it is hard to believe they can live up to the hype. One of them is a visit to Kyoto. From the moment I stepped foot into Japan, and even in the years leading up to my arrival, I had heard countless times how wonderful a place it is, how it is the cultural capitol of Japan, how it is beautiful and remarkable and authentic. Of course that made me want to go, but it also made me a little wary of excessive expectations. No place could be as remarkable as Kyoto was said to be. And yet in my four day trip, despite the crowds and the modernization and the cheesy accommodation, I was so struck by Kyoto and its history I was surprised at myself. How could I still be impressed after being warned so often that I would be? It is a marvelous experience to be charmed to the full extent of the hype (for more on my trip to Kyoto, check the archives from November, 2004).

Hanami in Tokyo was another time I expected to be underwhelmed. I knew it would be beautiful. There is no doubt that cherry trees in bloom are beautiful. I knew the collection of hundreds and hundreds together would be spectacular and cheerful and prove once and for all that it was spring. But I also expected that the crowds would bother me, that all the elderly Japanese people photographing trees on their cell phones would get on my nerves. I thought the food sellers shouting at me would grate my nerves. I thought I would feel a little lonely and different for lack of an enkai to go to in Tokyo. I still planned to see my blossoms and eat my yakitori and drink my sake, and enjoy myself. I knew it would be interesting, in any case, and that I would have a good time.

My friend Emilie from France came to visit me, and before her return we spent the weekend in Tokyo. We stayed in a youth hostel near Asakusa and Senso-ji in the northeast of the city. I’d stayed there two weeks before, the weekend I met her at the airport, and had walked through the nearby Sumida Park where I’d seen the first blossoms that had opened. On that day, a few Japanese tourists were excitedly photographing the trees, and a fashion model was doing a shoot in front of the most full one. But mostly the park was deserted. It looked like a place waiting for a party, and the trees looked ready to put on the show, but it hadn’t begun. I was there too early, like the first guest at a house party who has her choice of chairs but no one to talk to. And I was worried that when I came back the party would be done.

That small fear turned out to be entirely unfounded, and Emilie and I fortuitously arrived at peak weekend for hanami. On Friday we ate lunch in Sumida Park amongst hundreds of happy Japanese tourists and businessmen emptying bentos under the trees. Food stands sold everything from fried octopus fritters to cotton candy to Middle Eastern kebobs. Busloads of people toured the park, following group leaders carrying flags. Despite the crowding, within the park the atmosphere was pleasant, and there was plenty of space to move around or sit.

In between museums and shopping, Emilie and I found ourselves near Yasakuni Shrine, a peaceful wooden structure in natural colors and sharp lines. But what must be a quiet and meditative spot was transformed by the season into a circus of merrymakers. It was here that I realized that hanami was at least as good as what I’d heard. The trees by the shrine formed clouds and carpets of blossoms, so beautiful my thoughts went straight to clichés. The scene fulfilled all the clichés and then surpassed them. In the public square nearby, open spaces and garden paths had been taken over by stands selling grilled seafood, crepes, beer, and chocolate covered bananas. Emilie and I sat and ate and drank, photographing passersby as they made their floral pilgrimage.

We left the park at 6:00PM, and as we were leaving the park became more and more full. We returned to the subway in the opposite direction as the masses still in their business suits descended the subway carrying armfuls of snacks and drinks. They were headed for the acres of tarps and sheets laid out that morning to reserve spaces for private parties. Back at the hostel, Emilie took a nap, and I went out again to Sumida Park to see what hanami at night was all about.

Accompanied by two fellow hostelers, each of us armed with a convivial can of beer, we sat on the sidewalk under a fat tree, nestled between groups of middle-aged revelers. The two boys I was with, an Australian and a Scot, were totally shocked at the experience from the moment we left the hostel. They had never heard of the cherry blossom festival, and they were surprised that in Japan, people are allowed to drink alcohol outside. Their jaws dropped at the sight of the throngs of party-goers picnicking among the petals.

After sitting on the sidewalk for less than a minute, an arm bearing peanuts reached around my new friends’ shoulder. Directly behind us a group of smiling elderly Japanese people had spread out their tarp, and were enjoying a buffet of snacks and Korean rice wine. “Doozo, doozo,” said the woman whose arm was holding the peanuts. “Please enjoy,” said a man sitting near her. When we graciously accepted the peanuts, the three people beckoned us to join their party. We did so, feeling a little awkward at first, but soon that feeling was washed away by the friendliness and generosity of our hosts. They plied us with food and drink, and I informed my companions that we were eating tuna jerky and desiccated seaweed. The other gaijin politely accepted everything they were handed, successfully consumed the seaweed, and expressed to me their total confusion and amusement at the entire situation. The oldest woman of the group ran off frequently to buy us more food, we sat and conversed at low levels in two languages, and watched the other partiers, the children climbing trees, and the fire eaters juggling flames. The fire eaters turned out to be members of the yakuza – the Japanese mafia. They coerced everyone forced to watch the performance to give them money. They didn’t disturb the merrymaking in any other manner, fortunately, and after bribing them the hanami picnics were left in peace.

The next day, Emilie and I made it to what may be Tokyo’s top hanami spot: Ueno Park. Probably the largest park in the city, and in a central location, Ueno Park is always bustling with tourists, performers, and people out for a stroll on the weekend. It is lined with more than five major museums, boasts a lake, large fountains, and several shrines, hosts concerts and open markets, and takes more than a day’s exploration on its own. But none of this comes close to the crowding during hanami season. Even two weeks before the peak, people were out under the not-yet-blossoming trees, determined to squeeze every hour out of the best time for parties. During peak weekend, at 6:00 PM when Emilie and I arrived, the park was swarming with revelers of a much younger age than the average at Sumida Koen. Tens of thousands of visitors came of every race and nationality, but the crowd was primarily Japanese, attesting to the festival’s continuing authenticity. There were so many people it was difficult to even see the trees, despite the fact that Ueno has hundreds and hundreds of them. But despite the crowding, despite the massive amounts of alcohol they were consuming, the people were considerate, polite, and Emilie and I were smiled at by many people enjoying themselves on the blankets.

I ate the best taco yaki of my life (yes, I do love my fried octopus fritters), and Emilie and I were again invited to an organized hanami party. This time it was a large group of young, hip investment bankers from Tokyo. They shared their fried soba and spoke to us eagerly in excellent English. They were all dressed down in trendy Saturday clothes, hip expensive jeans and stylish sneakers. Yet they all still adhered to a set of rules learned early on in life. They had scheduled their party until 8:00 PM, and when the next group of people came to take over their spot, they cleaned up perfectly and efficiently and moved off right away. After saying goodbye to us they ended their party in the same way my school ends official enkais. They stood in a large circle, clapped their hands three times, and gave a single, unison “Whoop!” to mark the end of the first party. I don’t know what nijikais or sankais followed, but the night was still young and there was plenty of hanami to be had. Emilie and I photographed the park and soon went to sleep, in preparation for her early Sunday departure. I wasn’t disappointed to end my Tokyo hanami experience. I live in Miyagi and since it is up north, our season is only beginning. Following the Tohoku shinkansen line, there are hundreds of parties, thousands of trees, and a nation of people happy winter is over and spring is here.

One Shoe Off

2005-03-23T15:22:00.000+09:00

This morning I was ready for school in plenty of time. I got to my door with all my things for the day, a long work day of no classes and plenty of emailing. It is spring break right now, which means that although I have to come to work, I have no official duties. I have to come on time and leave no earlier than 4:10, but as long as I sit at my desk for a reasonable percentage of the day I am free to do what I want. Next week things become even more lax and I can pretty much roll in at 10 and go home at 2; even the teachers will. This is beside the point of this entry though. The point of this entry is to convey my confusion at the moment of my departure.

What caused my 8 AM perplexity was the absence of one of my shoes. I wear these shoes every day, and I had them on last night as I returned home from the gym. When I got inside, I took them off, slipping my sock-clad feet out of them and leaving them behind on the genkan (shoe drop-off area in a Japanese house). My genkan, as has been confirmed by countless visitors, is the smallest one in Miyagi, measuring about 1foot long and two feet wide. This means I couldn’t have lost it in the genkan. It’s just a small piece of floor. My shoe, which had been on my foot at 9:00 PM, had vanished.

I then remembered hearing my next-door neighbor and his lady friend arrive around 10:00. I heard their voices as they passed by my door. Unlike many times this year, I did not continue to hear their conversation through my paper-thin walls until 3:00 in the morning. Maybe I was too tired. But many a night’s sleep has been disturbed by the tender nothings my neighbor murmurs in his lover’s ear. I have gotten full revenge, however, by listening to a daily dose of techno at 7 as I get ready for work.

Neither of us has mentioned to the other that we can hear everything that goes on next door. I politely put up with his nighttime chatter, resorting to earplugs on occasion, and he has never complained my predawn dance party. Actually, I haven’t seen him since the first day in August when I introduced myself to him. I don’t even remember what he looks like, other than that he is young, college-age, and smokes.

I have to wonder though if he and his girlfriend picked up my shoe last night. The only explanation for its disappearance, other than spontaneous combustion, is that it fell off the door after I slipped it off and I shut the door without getting it on the genkan. Maybe they picked it up to be helpful so it wouldn’t get caught in the rain. But based on our non-communication, I have a suspicion that he took it in a strange form of revenge for my morning wake-up call. I can picture him and his girlfriend gleefully finding my shoe and taking it home to snicker at.

I suppose it could be worse though. My coworker Curtis’ girlfriend has lost over 10 pairs of panties to neighborhood panty raids. Apparently this is a national phenomenon. In Tokyo one can even find vending machines stocked with women’s underwear, not intended for purchase by the fairer sex. I have lost nary a pair due to my second-floor habitation and the fact that I have only one next-door neighbor. Mystery-Talker-Maybe-Shoe-Thief might have some negative points, but at least he doesn’t have my underpants.