Something Amazing

I witnessed something amazing. I woke up early the other morning to the sound of rain, the clear sound of rain pattering on the thin, tin-like roof of my apartment. I was up early for the annual grand gate gold tournament in Akune. As I expected, not ten minutes after I rose from the warm depths of my futon did I receive a call from my advisor Momokita-sensei informing me that the gate-golf tournament had been cancelled, do to the rain, of course. Too bad, I thought to myself, tired and shivering in my cold apartment.

I decided not to go back to sleep. Instead I whipped up a quick breakfast of a left over tofu omelet that I ordered at Harmonican the night before. Breakfast is what keeps me connected with my bread, cheese and egg-eating Western roots.

On the way home form a short excursion to the drug store for a ridiculously expensive-nearly twenty dollars-10 gram tube of cortisone cream I witnessed something amazing, something that one would only witness in a small port city like Akune: I turned on to my street, and was walking in front of a fish restaurant where the owner and a fisherman happened to be doing business right out in front. It was just around nine o’clock in the morning; the fisherman must have come back at that moment from his morning out at sea. As I neared the restaurant’s front, I peered into the open back of the fisherman’s truck. There was a beautiful payload of vibrantly colored fish, many different kinds, all packed in wooden boxes and filled to the brim with ice. I saw something moving in the bottom of the truck and thought to myself, ‘Now that’s fresh.’ After taking a closer look, I realized that I was looking at a fish filleted completely in half, from the mouth to the tail, still squirming with a surprising amount of energy. I couldn’t help but stop and stare. Wiggling and pulsing in its ice bed, this fish would just not give up. I turned to leave when, in a moment sheer endurance, the fish flipped itself 180 degrees to show me its scales, for the whole time before I was looking at its unidentifiable fleshy inside. ‘Huh, kampachi (yellowtail),’ I thought to myself.

It had become noticeably colder in Akune over the past weeks. As a result, the schools’ temperatures have plummeted, bringing on the season of kerosene heaters in the faculty room; there is nothing like the taste of bitter canned coffee with a slight aroma of kerosene in the air. As for my apartment, it is also, unfortunately, thermally challenged. When I come into through the doorway I just don’t seem to fell the surge of warmth one usually does when entering a home with proper heating and insulation. I have noticed that my towels hanging out on my veranda in the sun just do not seem to dry as quickly as they used to. When I get dressed in the morning for school my white dress shirts chill my skin. On the bright side, however, I can now leave all my beer on the living room table with full confidence in the fact that it will be a perfect 10 degrees celsius when I go to drink it.

There are a number of ways to tackle the heat, though, and I have been trying my hardest to follow the strategies of my local neighbors. For instance the other day after finishing my only two morning classes on Wednesday, I played hooky and went over to Captain Matsunaga’s house for coffee (recently brought back from his trip to the Dominican Republic) and a quick lesson about how to make a simple miso soup. The coffee was great and the miso soup really did warm me up, but what really did the trick was the Captain’s pickled ginger. With just a little bit of vinegar and sugar you can turn ginger into a very tasty pickle that truly warms up the body.

It just occurred to me that it has been nearly a month since I posted an entry, and not just any regular month. This past month has been busy with all kinds of events, expeditions, and escapades. Allow me to fill you in on the happenings of last month in Akune.

In late November Captain Matsunaga’s daughter Juno and the son of Ms. Matsumoto (the cooking class leader), Shigehisa (the owner of Harmonican) were joined in holy matrimony. The date of the wedding was on the very auspicious day of November 22nd: The character for 1 in Japanese can be read as “i”, which sounds like the “ee” of bee; the character for 2 can be read as “fu”, like the “fu” in Mt. Fuji, thus making 11/22 iifufu, which in Japanese means happy couple. I joined the new Mr. and Mrs. Matsumoto at the after party held at Harmonican and enjoyed delicious food made by guest chefs from Okinawa in the company of the newlyweds’ close friends and family. It was a pleasurable night, one only fit for the debut of my new bow tie (thanks Mom and Dad).

At the end of November there spread a new gossip around Akune, a rumor that always seems to emerge around this time of year: hakusai cabbage is getting cheaper. I first heard it form the Mama at my local yakitori joint, Otone, then I heard it from my fellow teachers. Finally, after hearing enough cabbage chitchat I went to the store myself to see what all the fuss was about. Wow. They were right, 90 yen for a whole cabbage? That calls for kimchi. After gathering the ingredients for a kimchi mix I researched at Akune library I high tailed to the store for a head of cabbage and this started the third kimchi excursion this year.

As I was marinating my cabbage in its four-hour salt water bath I though to myself, ‘In the amount of time it takes for my cabbage to cure, my Mom could make one hell of a Thanksgiving turkey.’ This thought then reminded me of the fact that I wasn’t in fact going to miss out on this year’s Thanksgiving festivities, for I had just recently been invited to a little gathering in the town of Togo just one hour south on the Orange Railway. The weekend following the wedding I headed down to Togo with a Tupperware container full of steamed vegetables, my contribution to the potluck, anxiously anticipating what kind of warm atmosphere awaited me at the end of my train ride. Nearly 15 English teachers showed up to the Thanksgiving gathering, each with their own dish and thoughtful words about what makes them thankful. I was thankful for the fact that although I was so far away from family, I could still feel, in the presence of everyone, a sense of family. I was also thankful for the Scottish girl who brought real bread and cheese as well as my friend who brought Star of David cookies.

With all the gorging I had done on the Thanksgiving I was glad to accept my friend Gata’s invitation to participate in the upcoming walk rally from Izumi to Minamata. Gata is one of my good friends from Big Up NPO and the guy that has really connected me to a lot of people in Akune. In other words, if Gata says that I should consider participating in something, it is most likely going to be a good time. As for the walking rally, it was nothing but a testimony to my belief in Gata’s intuition.

When Gata told me that I was going to be dressed up as a Samurai and walk along the Satsuma seaboard (a route that merchants used for hundred of years during the Edo period), I though he was pulling my chain, as he often does. However, after he called me into the office to get my measurements to send off to the fitting company, I realized I was in for a walk rally like none other.

Before I thought that I was stared at a lot. Whether I was walking down the streets of Akune, shopping in the grocery store, teaching at school or even in my workplace, I always felt the weight of someone’s stare. Imagine how many heads I turned when I lead a walking rally of nearly 500 people in full Samurai attire. At the end of the 14-kilometer walk rally in my exceptionally heavy Samurai garb, I had certainly strayed from the head of the pack, but I finished the walk nonetheless.

It took nearly a week of massaging my own thighs, going to the onsen and stretching to rid myself of the soreness caused by the walking rally. As the pain finally seemed to have escaped from the deepest parts of my muscle tissue, I got a call from Mami-san reminding me of my promise to go hiking with him and the boys from Big Up this Sunday. Oh yeah, hiking, I said. The night before the hike was the first time I slept in the sleeper car hostel that Big Up manages. It was a really fun experience, and by fun I mean I went to bed at 0100, cramped in small sleeping quarters with small blankets only to wake up 3 hours later to go for a four hour car ride.

The hike was a real challenge, but in the same way it was truly rewarding. The mountain, Hijitake, was extremely cold and the trail was poorly marked, which made us heighten our senses to the sparse pieces of yellow and red tape in the midst of our beautiful surroundings. When we neared the summit of Hijitake, the clouds became thick and the wind strong. A frosty, frozen coating of ice blanketed the mountainside as the moist air blew through the thick foliage. It was getting colder. When we finally reached the top the rice in our bento had become cold and almost impossible to grasp with the disposable wooden chopsticks from the convenient store. After sacrificing the feeling of our hands to feed our hungry stomachs we all took a moment to soak up the serenity of the surrounding mountains, got a chest full of crisp mountain air and headed down for the frigid descent. The onsen never felt so good.

I was not nearly as sore from Hijitake as I though I was going to be. This was a relief to me, especially because the following week I had a number of obligations that required me to be on my feet: cooking class and Akune’s annual Bontan road race.

This month Ms. Matsumoto was kind enough to cater the cooking class to my Kosher eating habits, so instead of a making a juicy pork roast, we made a seasonally savvy meat loaf. The side dishes were my favourite part of last cooking class though. For the salad we used renkon (lotus root) and daikon (gigantic white radish) and mixed it with mayonnaise, sesame paste and horseradish, which made for a very fragrant and crunchy side. But it was the soup side that enticed my cooking interests. Instead of soba noodles in soup we made soba dumplings. If you add just a bit of boiling water to a cup or so of soba powder you can make a fancy looking, nutritious soup.

Although this month’s cooking class was a truly savory session, it helped me get into the health conscious mind-set that I needed to complete the annual Akune Bontan Road Race, which was fast approaching. What is a bontan? Commonly known as the Shaddock fruit and looking similar to the pomelo fruit, the bontan fruit was introduced to Japan in the Edo period (1602-1867) after a Chinese merchant ship washed ashore the Satsuma region on the island of Kyushu (my current location). After being rescued by the friendly people of Satsuma, the captain of the merchant ship, named Buntan, offered an abnormally large, yellow citrus fruit as a token of his appreciate and gratitude. And so, as humans all over the world did for ages before and do so well now, the people of Satsuma cultivated the bontan fruit and have been harnessing its deliciousness-and shipping it across Japan-for centuries.

Akune is particularly famous for its bontan and to make sure everyone in the region remembers that, the city sponsors an annual Bontan Road Race, which consists of full and half-marathon, 10-kilometer, 5-kilometer and 3-kilometer races. I opted for the 5-kilometer race seeing as I have not hit the pavement running in the literal sense since my second year of university.

I ran the 5 km with a slow steady pace, coming in 7th place for the 29 and under bracket. After crossing the finish line all runners, including myself, indulged in the free baked potatoes, pickles, grilled fish and, of course, bontant provided by various farms, fisherman and the like, all local eats.

Just as I thought I was running out of fuel for this term Chanukah-or however you wish to spell it-came along to remind to burn brighter and longer even in times of doubt. It was a fabulous Chanukah, although I was lacking a few things: family; friends; latkes; and the lingering smell of latkes the week after Chanukah. I managed to light the menorah and sing a couple songs in my chilly apartment, but, needless to say, it just was not the same. I was thinking of a way to bring Chanukah to Akune and possibly even to school when I remembered the joy of dreidles. Of course, I thought to myself, dreidle tournament in class.

When I tell people in Akune that I do not celebrate Christmas, they do not really get it, they cannot seem to grasp this fact of religious diversity. However, this creates a great opportunity for me to tell the world-of Akune-about Chanukah as well as Judaism in general. The day that I introduced Chanukah to the kids the classroom was silent. The kids’ eyes were locked on the chalkboard as I wrote “Nun”, “Gimmel”, “Hey” and “Shin” in big bold script. I told them of the miracle that Chanukah celebrates and in response received this reply, ”Heeeeeeeeh?”, which is the equivalent of an American, “Ooooo, aaaaaah.” When it was time to make dreidles the classroom erupted in a frenzy of the laughter, mixed with a bit of confusion, but always followed by a pump of the fist, at least for those who landed on gimmel.

I made mochi (rice cakes) today at Omaru kouminkan, my neighborhood community centre. Mochi is one of the staples of New Years food and it is a tradition in most places to make this sticky, hot confection in the warm company of family, friends or, like today, close neighbors. For such a soft and delicate morsel, mochi requires an immense amount of strength. After cooking glutinous rice has been steamed it is emptied in a stone pestle (some people use wood pestles, but with the amount of pounding that is needed to make the mochi, the wood version can only withstand so many years of punishment, sweet delicious punishment). Then with a large wooden hammer, the piping hot mochi rice is pounded and turned nearly 50 times until it becomes smooth as silk, hence the Japanese phrase, mochi skin. The fresh mochi was delicious and if you put a little bit of anko, sweet bean paste, in the center the mochi becomes a delectable dessert.

As I sat on the porch of the community center, I pondered to myself how lucky I was to have been able to participate in such an in-group event like mochi making. I thought today, and not for the first time, that I was getting to Akune pretty well. Then a young man sitting beside me, slurping his instant noodles turned to me and asked where I came from. I made a joke and said Omaru (my neighborhood). He laughed, thank goodness. I told him I was from Seattle and he immediately replied, as all Japanese do.
“Oh, the place where Ichiro plays baseball, right?”
He then inquired how long I plan on staying in Akune.
“Well, my contract is one year”, I started, ”but I do have a chance to stay longer if I wish.”
To this the man replied in a way I would have never expected a young man to do so. I would like to share this mans words with you:

石の上にも三年 (ishino uenimo sannen)

Literally translated, this Japanese proverb means, “Sit on the top of a stone for three year.”
How the young man explained it to me today, however, was something more along the lines of, if you don’t try something, live somewhere, or commit for three years, you have no idea of what that thing, place or job truly is.

Thank you, young man.

Until next time.

Thanksgiving Dinner



Soba dumplings in the pot and renkon salad in the bowl



Preparing the garnish for the meatloaf



My Saturday lunch: Soba noodles with cured plum, green onions and wasabi, peanuts with miso katsuo flakes and mirin and shiitake sauteed with garlic stems



Kimchi



Hijitake



Summit of Hijitake



At the Wedding party, with the bride



The final product



Bringing Chanukah to the classroom



The first night



Bontan Road Race



Harvesting bontan at the Captain's older sister's house

Admittedly Autumn

Hello all.

I woke up last week well before my 6:30 am alarm clock; it was 12 degrees centigrade in my tatami room. The night before, I fell asleep to a slightly different, never-ending screech of small insects. And now as I peer out of the third-floor window of the obnoxiously lit board of education office, I can see that a beautiful pallet of yellow, orange, red and brown has appeared among the trees. For a city that is said to not change very much during fall, Akune is surely showing its autumn colours well.

There are many things that come to mind when I think of autumn in Japan: the changing of the leaves, especially in Kyoto; weather reminiscent of Seattle; hot pot parties; neck ties at work, rather than summertime polos; and, of course, the seasonal harvest, which includes: chestnuts, sweet potatoes, sanma (Pacific Saury, fish) and delicious shiitake mushrooms. In the coming autumn and winter months, I am looking forward to good eats, nostalgic rain showers and sporting my new tie clip (thanks Dad). Notice I did not mention Thanksgiving or Halloween. The lack of Thanksgiving and Halloween in Japan is understandable, but that is not to say that the two go completely uncelebrated.

As world-class consumers, the Japanese (from what I have observed in my experience) do, to a certain degree, latch on to parts of American culture that are consumable: music; clothing; art; food; and even English to a certain, vulgar-and-or-incoherent-phrase-on-the-back-of-a-T-shirt, degree. For this reason, it is definitely possible to find a few households with some Halloween decorations or a turkey dinner on the table in the autumn season. Even as I was driving home from school on a rainy day a few weeks ago, I spotted a few fake spider webs, Jack’o Lanters and the like in the front windows of a few houses in Akune. All the Halloween décor looked a little out of place, though. Just imagine, driving by a well-designed Japanese house with a ceramic tiled roof, laundry hung to dry blowing in the wind, a beautifully kept bonsai tree in the entryway and in the midst of all this a bright orange, store-bought pumpkin head in the window.

This year I was lucky enough to be teamed up with a teacher at one of my schools who has been to America several times and is a big fan of Halloween. Tashiro-sensei and I, for two weeks in a row (two classes in all), introduced Halloween to the fifth and sixth grade classes of Akune Elementary School: the surprising long history, rooted in Celtic culture; the world of goblins and ghouls; and of course the skills one needs to fill their pillow case with tooth-rotting sweets. It was surprising how little I actually knew about the history of Halloween. The kids had a very fun time trying on costumes and practicing their trick-or-treating skills. Later that week my English conversation class was conducted with a Halloween theme and we all shared our thoughts about Halloween, our favourite candy and I shared my favourite Halloween memory, or rather the one that I remember the clearest. I told the story of the witch house in the central district of Seattle. The house at which every year I was scared out of my little costume. It was at this house that the same women sat every year, in a creaky rocking chair, holding a bowl of candy in her lap waiting to release her blood-curdling scream in the face of any trick-or-treater who dare come near. I can still hear it sometimes.

The night of Halloween this year was very different from the last. Last year I hit the streets of Vancouver as Bob Ross, my favourite televised painter of the 1980’s, and had a hell of a time at the UBC’s various beer gardens (or ‘bzzr’ gardens as they are advertised on campus). I think October 31st, 2009 was the first Halloween that I did not celebrate in some way, shape or form. Instead of getting trashed on campus in a denim suit and admiring the numerous naughty nurses, police women and the like, I volunteered with Big Up to help launch a fairly sizable event, the Bamboo Concert.

About twenty minutes away from the centre of Akune is a nice neighbourhood by the name of Tashiro. I commute to Tashiro once a week to teach a class at Tashiro Elementary; with a total of nine students at the school, Tashiro has become one of my favourite school visits of the week. Tashiro is a very mountainous area and as such it is dense with bamboo forests, which are a wonder to look at on a morning commute. Big Up decided to showcase Japanese artists from across the country in a local spot as a way to highlight the beauty of the bamboo forest and accentuate the tranquility of a naturally serene setting. With a few well placed lights deep in the bamboo forest, a couple dozen handmade bamboo benches along with some Japanese pop, Enka (Japanese classical pop music) and ocarina (yes, ocarina), Big Up was able to gather nearly one hundred audience members for the Bamboo Concert. I was very proud to be a part of what was later called a complete success.

Bamboo Concert


Aside from my involvement with Big Up, I have been filling up my schedule with a number of other fun and exciting activities. At the end of October I was asked to judge an English speech contest for junior high school students. I was glad to accept the invitation and even more delighted learn later that I too would have the opportunity to speak as a representative of the Akune Board of Education (BOE) as well as the only foreigner in Akune. The prompt for my speech was predetermined by advisor at the BOE, Momokita-sensei: “Japan as I see it”. As my first writing assignment since graduating from university, this speech was somewhat of a pleasure to write. I did, however, have some difficulties starting, as always, and since I was to deliver the speech in Japanese it wasn’t the easiest piece to prepare. I ended up presenting a speech about my encounters with and impressions of Japan throughout my life-starting with my first origami class in Tom’s 1st grade class, to Karen’s raku firing, my first girlfriend, world history class, studying Japanese with Tashibu-sensei and finally coming to Japan-and how those experiences came to form the image of Japan as I see it.

My experiences in alternative schools writing, making art and truly putting my creative tools to the test, I felt that I had to express a little of that side of me in my speech. Since I was writing, I felt that it would be apt to use some of my creative writing skills (shout out to Mr. Nolet, you were in this speech). I wanted to use a metaphor to tie up my whole speech. I honestly want to use the mosaic metaphor: all the experiences I have had with Japan are what make up the mosaic that is Japan as I see it. I ran this metaphor by my supervisor, who vaguely understood the figurative conclusion that I was so desperately trying to articulate in Japanese, but in the end Shinsaka-san gave me the verdict that I thought he would:
“You mean a jigsaw puzzle? It’s like a puzzle, right? Just say puzzle. You have to remember one thing, you’re speaking to junior high school students.”
I would only find out later, from another source, that when said with Japanese pronunciation, mosaic is often associated with a popular brand of adult entertainment videos.
“[…]In a way, Japan as I see it is a living jigsaw puzzle, made up of all the experiences I have had, the people who I have talked to and the images that I have had in my head ever since I was a child […]”
The above is a rough translation of the clincher of my speech. I was very happy with how my speech was received by the audience; the gymnasium was barely a quarter full the day of the speech contest.

Speech Contest


Last week I went on a couple of independent study adventures in Akune. On Saturday I went to a pottery studio in Tsurukawauchi (a neighbourhood) with a few friends from Big Up and Akune Public Hospital and had a great time practicing one of my favourite forms of art in a whole new whole in a very special environment. With the skills I learned throughout elementary and middle schools in Karen’s ceramics class at Summit K-12 (for life) I was able to thoroughly enjoy myself last weekend at Warabe Kobo (Warabe studio). It was my first time throwing pottery in a while and the fact that we were using small, hand-powered wheels, which I had never used before, turned a fun Saturday afternoon at the studio into a true test of my ceramic skill. After we finished forming, trimming and glazing our pots, a phenomenal accomplishment for a two hour class, we all sat around and shared tea while the people of Warabe Kobo, a lovely family of potters, talked about my afro.

Warabe Kobo




Last Sunday I went to my first-and definitely not last-cooking class at Ms. Matsumoto’s house. Ms. Matsumoto is the mother of one of my friends in Akune, Shigehisa-san. Shigehisa-san owns Harmonican, a very chic restaurant that I frequent on the weekend for delicious lunches with local ingredients. Ms. Matsumoto lives in an amazing house right next door to Harmonican that I believe I mentioned in an earlier post.

I showed up at the cooking class-having just borrowed a must-need apron from Harmonican next door-and was greeted by the warm smile of Ms. Matsumoto. She led me through the fabulous wooden genkan (entryway) into a nice sit-down dining room, something my unaccustomed knees have been missing for almost four months now. At the dining table I introduced myself to the small class of young and middle-aged women and without a second’s delay the tea had been poured and the class was underway.

First, Ms. Matsumoto read carefully over the menu, our course material for the evening. The menu for the evening sounded great on paper: shiitake, kinoko, maitake and eringi shisosuki (four-mushroom hot pot); three side dishes, including a small cabbage salad, baked miso-stuffed shiitake and deep-fried peanut konjac; and for dessert, a soymilk pudding. The kitchen was a bit crowded, but with all the hands we had, we were able to whip the meal together, for seven people, in less than ninety minutes. I was not alone as I sat, more than satisfied, basking in the lingering aroma of mushroom soup at the beautiful dining table. It was interesting to work in another kitchen-as apposed to my kitchen counter that comes up just past my thighs-,see how other people store and prepare ingredients and of course it was a pleasure to enjoy the fruits of a collective culinary effort.

The genkan


Mushrooms with Ms. Matsumoto


A culinary collective


I would like to leave you with a gastronomically themed proverb:

医者と味噌は古いほうがいい。

Doctors and Miso are both best when aged.

Until next time.

The Sword in the Stone

Hello readers from across the pond.

Excuse my aloofness in the past few weeks. My weekdays are now full with both elementary and junior high school visits for English class; the initial phase of giving my self-introduction has just come to a close. I feel situated now, driving the winding the country roads to and from school. In a way I am blessed with a busy schedule that takes me to eleven schools in Akune and the smaller peripheral towns. It hasn’t even been three months and I feel more than confident on my commutes throughout the week. Who wouldn’t in a miniscule white Mazda. I have even gone as far as taking the occasional short cut, finding the more interesting nooks and crannies of the city.

I have also branched out in the area a bit in the past couple of weeks and visited places in Kagoshima I have yet to explore. This has all been possible due to the help of friends at the Big Up Non-profit Organization. Big Up has a small, quaint office adjacent to Akune Station, home of the Hisatsu Orange Railway. The office is the hub for numerous volunteer opportunities in Akune as well as a very unique hostel. The hostel is unique in that the rooms advertised are actually old train cars, hence the name, Big Up STAY-tion (get it, station, as in train), a very cool concept in my opinion. Since making the acquaintance of the head managers of the office on separate days at two different bars, the Big Up office has become a spot that I look forward to visiting at least once a week, either for drop in volunteer work, dinner or the occasional adventure.

Last week I visited Big Up and sat in on a meeting that covered the upcoming events in October. Since the meeting I have already made chairs out of bamboo for the office and incoming quests and fired up a barbeque multiple times for road tripping families and Harley-Davidson riding he-men, and that is only the beginning. After the meeting that night, however, I was invited on an adventure. One the guys at Big Up, Mami-san, asked me if I liked hiking and if I wanted to come climb a mountain in with a couple of friends this coming weekend. I was humbled, happy and took no time to hop on the opportunity. I went home that night with my imagination running wild about what the weekend might bring, except I forgot to ask Mami-san where exactly we were going, all I knew was that it was going to be chilly and that I needed hiking shoes or shoes with plenty of grip.

It’s hard to work any job with a mountain climbing adventure looming just a few days ahead. This is what I thought to myself as entered class on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and finally, at last Friday. I paid a visit to Big Up on Saturday, the night before the hike. Since I was on my way home from grocery shopping, I couldn’t say I was upset by the fact that I had walked in on a sukiyaki (beef, vegetable, amazing hotplate family style feast) party. As I kicked back on the tatami mats and drank in the warm atmosphere of new friends, newer acquaintances and, of course, my fair share of sukiyaki, I had another one of those, ‘man am I in the right place at the right time, again,’ kind of moments. Despite the slight sukiyaki daze that, I needed to keep my eye on the prize, the hike the following day. By the end of the night I learned from Mami-san that our hiking destination was well far away from Akune and that we all needed no gather at the Big Up office early in the morning, 0700 hours sharp. We were heading to 高千穂峰 (Takachihonomine) in Kirishima.

Whether it was my usual morning daze or my slight sukiyaki hangover, I am not quite sure, but what ever helped me survive the two hour car ride cramped in the back of an old Toyota sure did the trick. I started to come to when the landscape changed from flat rolling country hills to switchbacks and mountain roads. The smell of the air was different, rotten eggs. Sulfur, of course. We were getting close. Kirishima is known for it’s volcanic mountains and thus famous for it’s spectacular onsen (hot spring) getaways. Looking out the window through that arching branches of the vibrant red pine (赤松、aka-matsu) I could see natural spouts of steam emerging from the forest, filling the air with fast-disappearing clouds of white and that recognizable, pungent stench of sulfur.

It seemed as though we were never going to clear the tree line until we turned the corner right into the parking lot from where we would depart on our hike. There were five men in the group that day and five tired men made it back safely at the end of the day (sorry to ruin the potential for excitement). As we embarked on the hike I found myself shoulder to shoulder with Mami-san, receiving an historical lesson in thick Akune dialect about the site of the day’s hike. From what I gathered Takachihonomine is a very notable destination in Japan for many reasons: the very first honey moon in Japan occurred on this mountain; there used to be a shrine at the base of the mountain that was destroyed by a volcanic eruption a thousand years or more ago; and it is a beautiful and friendly hike. The most interesting aspect of Takachihonomine, however, Mami-san saved for last. Takachihonomine was where Japan all started, the point from which the land of the rising sun came to be. Thousands and thousands of years ago the sun goddess and a principal Shinto deity, Amaterasu Omikami, descended from…well…the sun. It is said then that with the force that only a sun goddess can truly posses Amaterasu Omikami thrust a sword into the Earth and from that point Japan emerged. And if you go up to the summit of what is now know as Takachihonomine, you can see for yourself the sword, but no matter what strength you may come with, it is impossible to remove the sword from the grips of the Earth. I guess Amatersau Omikami never met King Arthur.

Takachihonomine Ridge


With that extremely motivational historical lesson still lingering fresh in my mind, I steadily scaled Takachihonomine’s volcanic slopes, taking extra time to look at the deep red, brown and black colours of the rocks beneath my feet. I glanced behind my shoulder ever ten paces or so to check out the scenery. The immediate view was a vast forest of red pine in every direction over surrounding hills, mountains and winding in between villages. In the distance the faint silhouette of Sakurajima helped maintain my sense of direction, however much it distracted me from my actual progress up the mountain.

In a little over an hour I caught the first sight of the Japanese flag waving in the wind, the one I had seen all the way from the parking lot, with strong binoculars. And as I rounded the last boulder I could finally make out the faint shape of a sword, sticking right out of the very top of the mountain. It was a thrilling summit. After the whole team reached the top we all took a walk around the peak and found a nice spot to break open our bento and dine in the clear, crisp air; it was chilly that day; and I decided to wear shorts.




I never felt more satisfied from a convenient store-bought bento and as I looked around and surveyed my hiking team, I had a feeling they might have been thinking the same thing. Before starting our descent, we all gathered in front of the sword in the stone to take a commemorative picture. As always there is bound to be someone left out of the picture so I volunteered to take the follow up shot of the group. When I turned my back to the beautiful view to take the picture of my crew I heard something that nearly took my breath away:

“Asher!” in perfect, native English.

I turned around and saw Eli, a fellow JET participant from the Minami-Satsuma city. We had a brief exchange at the top of Takachihonomine, it even feels weird writing about it now. It is needless to say, but seeing Eli was a great way to start my descent, the beginning of the end of my trip to Japan’s earliest beginning.

I could have heard Mami-san’s story of Takachihonomine any number of times and only wonder at what awaited meat the top of that mountain. For all I knew, mami-san could have been tugging my chain. After all, though, as soon as I laid eyes on that sword, extremely weathered, yet still straight and steadfast in rock, I understood quite well how magnificent beginnings can truly be and how humbly we look back upon them:

百聞は一見に如かず (hyakubun wa ikken ni shikazu)
Hearing something one hundred times can never compare to seeing it even once.



Until next time.


Dinner:

Salmon


Eggplant


Chipotle chicken

Hit the highways, it’s Silver Week

Hello all.

This past week’s multiple-day holiday was something of a rarity in Japan. Falling every year at mid to late September, Silver week, the shinier, (and in my opinion) more appealing relative of the spring holiday Golden Week, is much like the mysterious mid-winter break that is observed religiously and with great joy by my mother and her cohorts in the Seattle School district. Silver Week is composed of two holidays: Respect for the aged day-some people say that Silver Week got its name from the silver coloured hair of the people that the holiday commemorates; and the Autumnal Equinox. Interestingly enough, these two holidays are separated by one day, a void that the Japanese government graciously granted to the nation as Citizen’s Holiday. Usually this annual string of holidays begins on Saturday, leaving Monday as the only weekday vacation time for Japanese people all across the country to, well, go all across the country. However, this year Silver Week began on a Monday, resulting in a five consecutive days of vacation that is expected to occur a mere twelve times in the next ninety years. Yes, the stereotype of the Japanese as diligent workers does come from somewhere. I am indeed impressed and often times humbled by how well my co-workers and colleagues at school perform. However, I must say, that when the entire nation is set loose for Silver Week no time is wasted in taking advantage of a blank agenda.

My sights were set on South Korea. A good South Korean friend of mine from my days at Ritsumeikan University (Rits) in Kyoto had just returned home to Seoul so I thought that Silver week would be a perfect opportunity to pay her a long overdue visit. At this time of year, airfare to Korea from Fukuoka airport is far cheaper than, say, a trip by plane to Tokyo, unbelievable, right? After some thought and a quick conversation with my friend, though, we both decided that the five days was too narrow a window to do a legitimate trip to South Korea. With the thought of visiting old friends still fresh in my mind, I did not hesitate to start researching the best way to get to Kyoto. Before Silver Week it had been almost exactly two years since I touched down in Japan to start my year abroad in Kyoto; it was about time to return.

I was amazed at how expensive the Shinkansen (Bullet Train) fares from Fukuoka to Kyoto were so I sought out the means of travel I knew best, the night bus express. After making my reservation online I proceeded to the convenient store to pick up the hard copy of my ticket. Yes, you read it right. I picked up my bus tickets at Family Mart (a 7-11 style store) at the electronic machine right in between the disgustingly graphic cartoon pornography and the ice cream cooler. With the touch of a button, the drop of some bills and a bow at the waist I was on my way to Kyoto. I left my apartment on Saturday the 19th just a couple minutes past five o’clock, thus started my fifteen hour voyage to the former capitol of Japan and my former home.

Before catching my 2100 night bus I had to make my way north to Kumamoto Prefecture’s capitol city of Kumamoto, a former castle city. First I took the Akune’s infamous Hisatsu Orange railway to Izumi city. A trip on the Orenji, as it is referred to by locals, takes you for nice slow ride through the countryside in a one-car train, constantly packed with commuting students either gabbing about social happenings, slathering make-up on their faces or, the most popular, sleeping with mouths wide open. From Izumi city I took a short Shinkansen ride to Yatsushiro, the city where my dear friend Daniel Norton (another Rits acquaintance) worked as an ALT for two years. Since the new Kyushu Shinkansen is not completed as of yet, passengers bound for Kumamoto city must transfer to a relay express train. The system is pretty seamless, actually. When I lifted my head up after doubling down to get out of the Shinkansen there, just across the pristine platform, was my express train waiting just for me, and hundreds of other vacationers. As the sunset in a cloudless sky behind the tile roofs of Yatsushiro city I basked in the reassuring and accomplished feeling of catching a connecting train.

It was already dark when I arrived in Kumamoto city. I took a long walk along the local train line to the bus station where my night bus was waiting; I had two hours to explore Kumamoto streets in search of food and beer; aside from stale air, stale bento and fuel, beer is up there on the list of consumables aboard a cross-country night bus. I wanted a somewhat of a simple meal so I walked into one of the first noodle houses I saw.

I don’t eat ramen much, but I was on the verge of conversion after I took the first spoon-full of soup to my lips. I order a black sesame ramen. The soup was, you guessed it, a deep, dark colour, almost reminiscent of gunmetal and looked like the consistency of motor oil, appetizing, right? The soup had such a rich flavour and the small sesame granules added a very pleasing texture to what I expected to be the usual watery broth. With my hunger satiated and teeth tinged black with sesame I chatted with the master of the ramen house over a cold bottle of Asahi beer. It was time to catch my bus. I was pleased to discover that my seat reclined almost all the way back. However, I soon realized that the backward reclining freedom would be at the cost of precious legroom.

The night bus experience is like none other. The blinds of the bus are closed all throughout the night. The liberal air conditioning makes you squirm and reach desperately for more of your blanket that just isn’t there. The bathroom, sunken into the middle of the cabin as if it were some sort of trap, is miniscule even to the most petite persons. In the midst of constantly interrupted sleep your joints slowly loose their range of motion, your eyes become nocturnally acute beyond explanation, the roar of the bus and cars on the highway vanish and the space around you becomes void, the surrounding passengers complete enigmas.

“Good morning everyone, we will soon be arriving at our final destination, Kyoto Station.”

I felt such a wonderful rush walking through the crowded innards of Kyoto station. Passing by the packed restaurants, the seemingly endless train ticket lines and the sheer number of people, Japanese and foreign travelers alike, made for long awaited, cacophonous homecoming. I strolled out of the main exit and my instincts kicked in. Without thinking I found my place in line at the 26 bus stop headed for the northwest of the city. The slow ride through the crowded and bright morning streets of Kyoto was just what I needed after perplexing night bus adventure.

At last, the bus reached the Utano Youth Hostel stop. My travels were over. As I shouldered my backpack, roller bag clunking after me in a graceful dismount from the bus, a smile formed across my face, ear to ear. I ducked under the metal gate of Ritsumeikan International House II (I-House II) and walked with my chin high and chest full of pride down the driveway to the card key entryway. There on the other side of the glass door, waiting for me as promised, was Kuri-san, dear friend and fellow student at Rits. When the door was swung open I said the greeting that I had planned on saying since the day I left I-House II nearly a year and a half ago: “Tadaima (I’m home).” And to my great joy and appreciation, Kuri-san responded with, “Okaerinasai (Welcome home).” Kuri later told me that he had planned on greeting me so and that he only saw it appropriate.

It was, to say the least, a trip walking through the hallways of I-House II. I was honestly expecting a cathartic return, but I soon realized that I was surprisingly at peace at the sight of all the dorm rooms filled with a different mess of clothes, the first floor hallway lined with last year’s worth of junk (ie. my new calligraphy set, score) and the kitchen crowded with jetlagged bodies and the aroma Japanese renditions of world cuisine.

Over the next few days I visited my favourite places and people in Kyoto, all the time dodging tourists left and right; I have honestly never seen so many shoulder shrugs, furrowed eyebrows and fanny-packs (yeah, that’s right Dad) as I did last week in Kyoto. On the day I arrived I took a nostalgic (understatement) stroll through Rits’ campus, ate at my favourite teishoku (set menu) restaurant-and ran into some Japanese exchanged students form UBC-walked the zoo-like sidewalks of downtown Kyoto and made a truly spiritual pilgrimage back to the sacred Satonoya Yakiniku (Korean barbecue) restaurant where I reunited with three great old friends from my Rits days and delicious cold Yebisu beer with all the beef, rice and kimchi you could handle in 90 minutes.

Monday seemed like it was going to be even more crowded than the day before, considering the 21st was when the actual holiday started; enough fanny packs already. Accordingly, Kuri and I hoped a train to the town of Yamazaki to take a tour of the Yamazaki whisky factory. To make a long, delicious, deeply aromatic and emotionally moving-with a free Yamazaki rock glass-story short, Yamazaki whisky factory was a Monday afternoon well spent. In the evening, that is after the whisky buzz had started to fade, I met up with Akira, old friend and owner of Rakuraku home kitchen, for some yakitori and some awesome chocolate cake and coffee at a machiya (literally, town house +100 year-old house)-turned French café. Akira is one groovy dude. He lives a life full of love, love for food, love for music and love for people who are involved in either.

The morning I left Kyoto I had a plan to meet with a group of my old Japanese teachers that taught me while I was a student at Rits. It was such a pleasure to see them again, and what’s more, almost all of them showed up. For the better part of two hours five of my old Japanese teachers and I shared coffee, stories of the past year and of course of the past few months I had spent in Akune. It goes without saying that I have a newfound respect for educators everywhere (Mom, Barbara, Ms. Tashibu and the rest, kudos just do not suffice).

I spent the last hours in Kyoto with Kuri catching up on the last year of our lives; Kuri had spent the last year in China on exchange and told me some pretty amazing stories, the one about how the Chinese government makes it rain when necessary was particularly intriguing. I want to thank Kuri for letting me sleep on his floor, taking me out to the whisky factory and sending me off all the way to my bus at Kyoto station. Thanks Kuri, I’ll see you again this year.

“Good morning everyone. Are you tired? We will soon be arriving at our final destination, Kumamoto bus terminal.”

I really enjoyed the Shinkansen ride from Yatsushiro back to Izumi. Let me tell you why: usually the Shinkansen attendants are robotic and do not smile, nor do the make eye contact with the passengers. As I gazed out the window, glossy-eyed and dreary, wondering, ‘How can JR (Japan Railways) sacrifice service for personality?’ a dashingly handsome attendant entered my car; he turned and faced the passengers with such precision and at gracefully slow pace; his uniform was immaculate. As the attendant rose, again very slowly, from his bow, I saw the smile that I had been wondering about just moments ago, my doubts about JR vanished. When he took my ticket he made eye contact and thanked me for my service in a refreshingly crisp voice. What a nice ride home on yet another cloudless day.

I would like to leave you with a poem, rather than a proverb. There is always a beautifully handwritten poem outside of this temple (whose name escapes me now) up the street from I-House II. The poem changes every month. I saw this haiku as the 26 bus hauled up the road from I-House II on my way back to Akune last Tuesday night:

曇りなき
心にできぬ
ことはない
(kumorinakikokoroni dekinukotoha nai)
At a glance I translated this poem as follows: A cloudless heart is capable of anything. However, after getting all the way home to Akune I found a message Kuri had sent me, correcting our interpretation:

If one can do what one believes in without doubting oneself, anything can come true.

Until next time.

Mr. Mayor, meet Mr. Rob Noble

“Mr. Mayor, meet Mr. Rob Noble…”

Last week I returned to the city office from my first day of school and found a number of sticky notes on my desk. A majority of them were written by one of my advisors, Momokita-sensei, in very nice kanji characters: “Class will be cancelled at Akune Elementary on the afternoon of Tuesday September 7, 2009 due to rehearsal for the upcoming Sports Festival.” Almost all of my classes at junior high school have been cancelled as a result of the Sports Festival, a very sacred event for elementary, junior and senior high school across Japan. I made note of the cancellations in my agenda that I have at the ready on my desk. I then looked to the remaining sticky note.

The characters weren’t as clear as the two other notes-and this one was mint green, the other two were pink-so all I could make out were the dates of this indecipherable notice. I also gathered that the memo had something to do with Australia. (Australia, as with other foreign words that were imported into Japan in their original form, like computer, coffee, and image up, are written in a phonetic alphabet called katana.) I asked Hirata-san, my pleasantly friendly desk neighbour if she could help me read the note.
“Oh, it looks like the Mayor is requesting you to assist him at a meeting this coming Tuesday.”
“What kind of meeting”, I inquired apprehensively.
“I think the a former vice-Mayor from Australia is coming to meet Mayor Takehara", Hirata-san explained, ”They need an interpreter.”

I have never interpreted before in my life. Well, I have toured my family around Japan, throughout which I was called upon to make hotel and train reservations, order meals and navigate the streets of crowded tourist districts. However, successfully booking a night’s stay at the Toyoko Inn, a Bullet train from Tokyo to Kyoto or ordering a meal at kaitenzushi (conveyer-belt sushi) do not measure up to the issues one might expect to encounter at a meeting of two local government officials. I only hesitated for a moment before accepting the job.

After finishing school at Akune elementary on Tuesday morning I headed back to the city office to spend the rest of the day relaxing before my interpreting debut. As I anticipated, there was a delay in the start time of the meeting, so I ended up staying at my desk much later than usual. This was actually pretty interesting. When the workday ends in Japan the work does not stop. Although the workday is said to conclude at 1615 everyday, most people in my office stay at work until 1900 or 2000 everyday. Interesting. I spent the short time waiting for the meeting to start by reading a blog about bicycles (bikesnobnyc.blogspot.com, check it out). It was not long before the general director of the board of education Nagafukata-san called me down to the Mayor’s meeting room. I entered the room with Nagafukata-san and was introduced to Mr. Rob Noble, a former Executive of local governments in Australia who currently manages a leadership development organization; his Australian accent was surprisingly pleasant. I sat adjacent to Mayor Takehara and across from Mr. Noble, who insisted I call him Rob. It felt like a pretty natural set up for this casual meeting.

The subjects covered in the meeting ranged from simple greetings to questions about lifestyle in Japan and Australia, exchange of political hopes and dreams to worries about the waning spiritual and philosophical consciousness of younger generations in Australia and Japan. There was also some humour involved, which, thanks to Mayor Takehara’s slight grasp of English, added some well-deserved laughs to this casual exchange. Almost one hour had passed when Rob said it was time for him to go and meet his wife at the Akune Grandview Hotel. I received a nice pewter koala pin from Rob as a token of his appreciation. Little did he know that I am an avid collector of all things pewter. I was thrilled with Rob’s kind gesture, though I was much more thankful for the valuable opportunity to interpret for Mayor Takehara and Nagafukata-san.

After signing off for the day, finally, Nagafukata-san offered to take me out for “dinner” to show his appreciation for my cooperation. We went to my favourite spot in the town, Otone yakitori, where we shared some delicious meat on a stick, a nice cold beer and some genuine Kagoshima shochu on the rocks with water (makes it super smooth). After a while Nagafukata-san called Captain Matsunaga to come out and have some drinks at a different spot, 24 Office. There we met the Captain and shared a couple more glasses of shochu and salty snacks. It had not even been an hour before we were off to the next, but not final, destination of the night. This time we went to a karaoke bar, which is managed by a group of women from the Philippines. Very short skirts, very weak drinks but amazing karaoke.I was about cashed when we left the Filipino bar, but the Captain insisted that we visit his daughter’s fiancé’s restaurant, Harmonica, just across the Takamatsu River, right in my hood.

Harmonica is a stunningly beautiful restaurant. The sleek front counter and finished wood table setup gives off a slight air of modernity, but a large handmade wood table in the entry way and the open kitchen creates an atmosphere that reminded me of a throwback classic diner. It smelled delicious. While we waited for the Captain’s daughter to show up I was introduced to a large parties of 20-somethings, all acquaintances with the owner and therefore Captain Matsunaga. Shigehisa, the incipient groom, came out with our drinks and sat with Nagafukata-san, the Captain and I for a moment then, as if recalling something extremely important, eagerly offered to show me his home next door. I am always humbled to be invited into someone’s home, especially within such a short time of being acquainted with one another, it communicates that a certain sense of trust has been established.

I ducked through the small sliding door and took off my shoes, finally lifting up my head to observe my surroundings. As I stepped up the hand made, finished wood genkan (entry way) my jaw dropped through the tatami mats. I had just been escorted into an extraordinarily pristine old-style Japanese house. I was toured through the ground floor and soon learned that the house and most of its furniture have been in the Matsumoto family since the Meiji era (1867-1912). You could feel the history with each step, around every corner and up every stairwell. The most intriguing history, though, came from the most inconceivable place.

Nagafuakata-san, Shigehisa-san and I all sat around yet another magnificently handcrafted wooden table as Ms. Matsumoto took out an decrepit box from a prominently placed lacquer cabinet-'Is this actually happening?', I thought to myself-and took out stacks of old paper. I took a closer look and listened carefully as Ms. Matsumoto started to explain what it actually was that she had pulled out for us to see. Money. I am not talking about your run of the mill 1000, 5000 or 100000-yen note, but bills that have been out of print for nearly one hundred years. The graphics on the money were remarkable, the colours astonishing. Before getting up from the seiza position (sitting on your knees, a truly leg-numbing experience), Ms. Matsumoto insisted that I take a few of the bills as keepsakes. I bowed deep, extended both hands and humbly received the more than generous gesture. I was speechless and moved by this brush with Akune’s history and tangible Japanese culture.

The Japanese proverb I have in mind for this entry is only apt for my experience at Harmonica and the breathtaking Matsumoto residence. It also, however, has a greater significance to why I am in Japan and why I have continued to follow passionately my study of the Japanese language.

When I was about to enter high school I had two important decisions to make: where to go and what foreign language to study. That is all I talked about with my friends at Summit K-12 (for life) in the spring of 2001. One friend decided on Latin. To this day no one knows why. A couple of friends went for French, but for the most part everybody was excited to continue taking Spanish-who wouldn’t after taking Cora’s beginning Spanish class anyway? I took Spanish with Cora (hey Ma) and I will never forget it, especially the day when she took my little finger skateboard and threw it out the window, ay caramba! Despite my memorable Spanish experience I did not really want to follow the flock. I soon registered at Roosevelt, but I was still at loss in the foreign language department. That was until I heard about the energetic and humorous Japanese teacher at Roosevelt from one of my sister’s friends. Japanese it is. I had never crossed my mind, to study Japanese. I had always enjoyed Japanese art including sumi painting and Karen’s annual raku firing, but I never thought about pursuing the language.

I remember the first day of Sensei Tashibu’s class like it was yesterday. A handful of round tables around the room created a noticeably different classroom atmosphere, not to mention the posters of famous Japanese sights, art and kanji characters. For the first activity, Sensei taught us how to spell our names in katakana.
“Ok, next”, Sensei said in a commanding yet kind voice.
“Asher.”
“アッシャー”, was what Sensei wrote, lightning fast on the whiteboard.
“Good luck with that one kid”, said the upper-classman sitting next to me. I tried my best.

I would like to extend my genuine and heartfelt congratulations to Sensei Tashibu for receiving this year’s National Japanese Teacher of the Year award. An award of this caliber is only apt for a teacher and passionately driven mentor as Sensei Tashibu. 先生、おめでとうございます！

足下から鳥が立つ (ashimoto kara tori ga tatsu), Many things happen unlooked for.

Back to School

Hello All

School has begun. My life changed last Thursday. I no longer have a desk job. Now I have a conduct-a-room-full-of-shy-yet-eager-students-sitting-at-desks job. In other words, I am thrilled to not be sitting at my desk for eight hours straight in the fluorescent-lit city office, day in and day out. Needless to say, I did appreciate the time that I spent at the city office. I was able to keep in touch with family and friends until I set up my internet connection at home, I had the opportunity to become familiar with my coworkers at the board of education and I cannot complain about the air-conditioned office. Now that school has started, I only spend the last hour of my day at the office, chatting with colleagues about my classes and students and staying up to date with the few blogs that I now read (thanks Laura).

Before checking in at the city office this past Thursday I had my very first day of class, or as many of my coworkers referred to as my ‘debut’. My debut outfit: a fresh, short-sleeve white shirt; a blue silk tie (thanks Dad); breathable black slacks; and to top it all off, slippers, provided by the school, roughly size 6. I soon realized, while shuffling around the halls as if I had ankle cuffs on, that my schools and my apartment by the water had a common theme: everything is small. I should have guessed from the start, because when I entered the school, ducking almost a foot down to avoid blasting my head on the doorframe. The principal notified me, after he chuckled at my doubling over to enter his office, that the Japanese architectural standards for most buildings, especially schools, dictate that all doors must have a 180cm clearance. I am 190cm. My tall stature, however inconvenient it may be for easy living in Japan, is very helpful in establishing a good first impression. Upon entering any building in Japan, whether it is my own house, the city office or my new schools, I inherently bow, thus showing respect. How nice of me. This has definitely been useful thus far.

My first class was with the fifth grade elementary students of Nishime elementary, which is about ten minutes south on route 3, the main highway that runs through Akune. As soon as I stepped into the faculty room I was greeted warmly with a bow and a cool cup of mugicha, barley tea. (Mugicha is a lifesaver in the summer and luckily all of my schools have a cooler of it at the ready in the faculty room; nothing rejuvenates one more than a cup of chilled barely tea and a cracker in between classes) There are less than ten fifth grade students at Nishime elementary, which made the classroom atmosphere very cozy and less intimidating, at least for me . After I had set up my powerpoint for my first presentation I turned around and was face-to-face with what I had been waiting for almost one year: a classroom of children, smiling, anxious to learn.

Nishime Elementary


I started the class with my jikoshokai, the fundamental first step of the getting-to-know-you phase of any relationship in Japan. A jikoshokai usual includes basic information about one's background, including your home country, home town, family, hobbies and the like. Presenting my jikoshokai was very exciting for me because the kids were on the edge of their seat the whole time. Whether it was in excitement or confusion, I could not quite tell. I brought along my computer with a simple powerpoint presentation. The kids really got a kick out of the picture I showed for my “I like hiking” slide. The picture is of me doing a handstand on the top of a mountain from when Laura and I climbed to the Third Peak of the Chief in British Columbia last spring. The classroom erupted with the sound of the typical Japanese expression of surprise or disbelief, ‘HuueeeeeEEEEH!’ (Mom, Dad, you know what I am talking about). So from this I took a cue and decided to do a headstand demonstration in everyone of my classes last week as a part of my jikoshokai, it really gets the blood flowing and the kids laughing. From my first class on Thursday at Nishime elementary, I proceeded over the next two days to Yamashita, Ozaki, Tashiro, Okawa and Tsurukawauchi Elementary schools, honing my jikoshokai skills and loving every second of it.

The kids were also a huge part of what I think was a very successful debut. Aside from being very attentive and good listeners, the children were very good participants. However apprehensive they may have seemed in their seats when they were called to come up to the front and introduce themselves to me, each child was beaming on the way back to their seats. They may not have even noticed themselves, but the students certainly showed a sense of pride in their stride on the way back to their miniscule desk. Before all of this happened though, they had to overcome their extreme sheepishness.

How can these children be so coy? All they need to do is say their name and if they do or do not like bananas, dogs, strawberries, baseball and shake my gargantuan hand. What’s so bad about that? This is what I was pondering after the teacher asked who wanted to introduce themselves to me. The room fell dead silent. All I could hear was the feeble whir of the electric fan, shuffling footsteps down the hallway and the eternal buzz of the cicada outside the open doors. I wondered and wondered, how can this be? I tried to put myself in the kids’ shoes (I was already in a size 6 so I was almost there). At that point I remembered what it was like, how it felt to step in front of the class and bear all with the weight of your class mates eyes sucking your lungs dry of air and emptying your brain. Failure. The most feared outcome of any academic endeavor in the world is undoubtedly failure. I had had a feeling that the potential for failure would haunt my students, but I did not expect it to start from day one. Luckily, though, after seeing the smiles on the kids faces and feeling the positive energy in the classroom I do not foresee the looming shadow of failure lingering for too much longer.

My first class this past Friday was at Tashiro elementary. I taught first period. When I arrived to the school, nestled in the middle of the mountains, surrounded by old houses and right next to a cool stream, I was greeted by the vice principal and the JTE (Japanese Teacher of English) who made me cup of hot instant coffee, just what I needed (?). The JTE told me that were were going to conduct in the gymnasium and that I would be giving my jikoshokai in front of the entire school. What an opportunity, right? I already knew before I came to Tashiro that morning that the student body wasn’t the biggest in all of Akune. In fact, I knew it was the absolute smallest. I stepped into the gym, only to be greeted with the brightest smiles I had ever seen, all nine students, right in row. After my introduction was over, the first, second and third grade students went back to their classrooms, leaving the JTE and me to teach the five remaining students. We practiced the months of the year, which I think are especially difficult for the children because the months are referred to simply with numbers in the Japanese. At the end of the day the kids were beginning to become comfortable with their own birthday months and that of their classmates, a fine accomplishment for my debut at Tashiro elementary.

When I got back from the gym to my desk in the Tashiro faculty room, the vice principal was busy preparing another cup up coffee for me, this time it was what I needed. He and I spoke for a while. He questioned me about what I think of the school, the teachers and then the students.
“The students really put on an air shyness that I have never seen before anywhere else”, I commented,” but I can definitely see, in each one of them, that they want to try their best. I think they are scared of making mistakes. I want to tell them it is ok to make mistakes and that it is the key to learning languages.”
“You know there is a saying in Japanese”, the vice principal added, “失敗は成功のもと, Failure is the root of success.”

As my admirable, bright and kind-hearted first grade teacher from Summit K-12 (for life) Tom Rawson used to say, “If you can’t make mistakes, you can’t make anything.”

Enjoy these pictures
(If you would like to see a bigger version of the pictures, just click on the image)

Dinner: Yakisoba, Kabocha, baby Bok Choy


Sunset, the view right outside of my front door


Lanterns floating down the Takamatsu River, The closing of Obon Festival


Akune Municipal Library


The Mazda A-Z Wagon, my new ride

Pictures for you

I am connected to the internet at my apartment now. It has been almost a month and a half without freely accessing the internet in the privacy and comfort of my own living space. I feel like analog man, being reborn into the cyber world, if you will.

I have compiled, below, a number of photos that I have taken since coming to Japan in late July. Please, enjoy.

Tokyo's urban sprawl from the 34th floor of the Keio Plaza, the site of the 2009 Tokyo Orientation



Orientation at Keio Plaza



Okawa Swimming area, ten minutes south of my house my bike and where I went for my birthday swim



Birthday sashimi feast



At the MIdokoi Matsuri with Mayor Takehara, centre, and Director General of the Akune BOE Nagafukata-san



Seperate your garbage



Midokoi Matsuri Fireworks



Ningyo no ishi, a rock formation that look like two people. In my opinion, I think it looks like two monkeys. Doesn't this remind you of the praying monk in Phoenix though?



The Captain, the dome, the house



Sakurajima



Ladies and gentleman in a Yukata



24hr Charity



More pictures and movies to come.

I hope all of those who read this blog are enjoying a what they see. It is a pleasure to share my initial experiences in Akune with all of you. this is a great to process of the intense amount of stimuli as I settle in to my new surroundings.

I would like to do a little throw back to my old blog them from Kyoto and give a shout out:

Shout out to my Aunt Barbara, who just moved to NYC. And Shout out to Sensei Tashibu. I am thankful everyday for the language and culture you introduced me to so many years ago.


Peace