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

The Power of Omiyage

Hello All

I have just recently returned from a week-long orientation and training retreat in the capital city of Kagoshima prefecture, Kagoshima and Kanoya, a city in the middle of the mountains on the eastern peninsula of the prefecture, respectively. It was the first time all of the Assistant Lanugage Teachers (ALTs) had been together since the surreal limbo world that was Tokyo Orientation. I was very relieved to see some familiar faces, speak freely in my mother tongue and make use of sarcasm, which unfortunately doesn’t translate as well I wish it would in Japanese.

I woke up extremely early on Monday morning and for a moment recalled the dreadfully early morning blues that I felt as a Roosevelt High School student (soak up those last days of summer Mom). I planned on meeting two other ALTs in the nearby city of Izumi so we could all take the bullet train to Kagoshima city together. I had not ridden the bullet train since my family came to Japan in the spring of 2008. Needless to say I was thrilled to once again take advantage of one of Japan’s most efficient railways. When Katie, Badillo and I (three young strapping ALTs) hit the platform in our business attire the wind from the bullet train created the effect of some cheesy JR rail line commercial: my afro swayed slightly; Katie’s hair leaped in the air and over her shoulders; Badillo’s suit jacket danced behind his crisply creased pants. The pristine bullet train pulled up, as clean and quiet as I remember, and took us to our destination.

Kagoshima city was maybe one or two degrees cooler. However, in exchange for the lax temperature (not), the airborne ash from the active volcano, Sakurajima (Cherry Blossom Island) factored in as yet another weatherly wildcard of Kagoshima. Sakurajima is breathtaking and can be seen from most parts of the city, although most of the time obstructed by high-rises. Kagoshima city is often bombarded by thick showers of ash, since it is in the direct vicinity of Sakurajima, leaving a blanket of white and gray flakes all of the cityscape. It is not rare to see people totting umbrella for that exact purpose.

The Kagoshima Orientation took place at the prefectural office (kencho), a 25-plus-story building that resembles a robot from afar. The information at this two-day orientation was, unfortunately, the ugly triplet of the Seattle and Tokyo orientations that I attended before arriving in Kagoshima. I struggled and sweated, but, believe it or not, I learned something new: in the event of an earthquake, make sure to have a spare pair of clean underwear. Sarcasm aside, it was nice to hear the same information presented again from different perspectives. I always benefit from hearing the information I read in my JET handbook applied to firsthand experiences.

Throughout the two-day orientation I was put up in a hotel in the city, for which I owe the Akune BOE great appreciation and thanks. When I learned that I would be staying at the Toyoko Inn, however, I was even more ecstatic and ever more thankful. As my immediate family can tell you from experience, the Toyoko Inn is the tits of all business hotels in Japan, of which there are numerous. The service is impeccable, the rooms are comfortable (if you like hard beds and are not claustrophobic) and the Japanese continental breakfast is served hot (at 0730-0830, rice balls, miso soup, pickles and tea) every morning. After coming home late from a pirate themed banquet at the port of Kagoshima and a karaoke outing, I crawled onto my extra-firm mattress, flicked on the air conditioner and enjoyed the few hours of sleep before the next day’s orientation, anxiously awaiting the fresh rice balls. When I woke up bleary-eyed hungry I made the short trip down stairs expecting the usual, but I was absolutely blown away by the breakfast. Not only did they have the usual spread, but the miso soup had cabbage, onions and bean sprouts, the tea was black and better and to top it all off there was potato salad and butter rolls; I have never had a better Toyoko Inn stay in my life and as we all know, the stay is only as good as the breakfast. Thank you Toyoko Inn, I will be forever loyal to your guaranteed hospitality and rice balls.

After orientation at kencho was over all 40-some Kagoshima ALTs took a ferry ride to the eastern peninsula of the prefecture, the Osumi side-I live on the Satsuma-han side-, to make our way to the cultural retreat portion of the week’s activities. The boat ride was beautiful, especially because the course of the ship allowed for an almost perfect 180 degree view of Sakurajima. (Although its name insinuates that it is an island, Sakurajima is no longer a free floating landmass. Due to centuries of volcanic eruptions, the magma soon formed a land bridge that connected it to the Osumi mainland.) Our four-day retreat was held at the Kagoshima Asia-Pacific Institute for Agricultural Research Centre (KAPIC), a beautiful resort in the middle of the mountains of Kanoya, surrounded by a small lake and lush wildlife, including but not limited to gigantic moths, huge dragonflies, monkeys and beer-drinking foreigners in Kimono.

When we arrived at KAPIC, I picked up my name tag and noticed that it had a small, pink sticky note on it; ‘passport?’ was all that was written on the memo. I thought, ‘Oh, they must want to see my passport, you know, for confirmation.’ When I reached for my travel wallet, with my passport, bank book, insurance book, salary record and other memorabilia I noticed it was not there.
“Asher we have been notified that you left your passport bag at the prefecutural office in Kagoshima. Do not panic”, said one KAPIC staff member. I did not panic. In fact, it is surprisingly hard to panic when you can’t feel anything, when you are numb from having realized the fact that the livelihood of your existence was found in the bathroom of the prefectural office two hours and a body of water away. I called my supervisor, Shinsaka-san, he already knew. How did he know before me? I don’t want to ask. I called kencho.
“We have your passport”, a calm, ensuring voice said,” I understand that you are returning to the city this Friday, is that correct? [Yes] If you could, please come by the International Exchange Bureau on the tenth floor and we will return your passport [Thank you and please accept my apology].”
I picked up my passport on Friday and received this advice from my prefectural advisor, Shimoshikiryo-san: “It would be best if you did not lose this, again.”

For the most part of four days, I, along with 40 other ALTs, was immersed in Japanese language and culture in the very authentic setting that KAPIC provided: we took culture classes in which we practiced Zen painting; we tried on real kimono and yukata; we, or I should say must of us, enjoyed three balanced, regimented meals of Japanese cuisine everyday; and we enjoyed the company of our fellow ALT friends. Having studied Japanese for sometime before this orientation I was placed in a Japanese workshop class in which I had the opportunity to interact with Japanese Teachers of English (JTEs) working in Kagoshima. Our first assignment was to prepare a short (3-5 min) speech in Japanese. We would present this speech to the JTEs the following morning. And present we did. I had a lot of fun voicing my hopes and dreams for the year to the on-looking JTEs and was very gracious for the presence and input.

My homecoming to Akune was very exciting. Uneventful, but exciting nonetheless. What did I do to celebrate? I went to the grocery store, twice, then made chipotle burgers (that fell apart) and went to my trusty yakitori joint Otone; I haven’t paid for a meal there in weeks. Saturday, though was very eventful. I went to supermarket again, twice, and rented more books at the library. Right now I am reading Tezuka Osamu’s “Buddha” (#5) and things are getting very interesting; Buddha is spreading his word, starting with deer. On Saturday night I decided to go to a bar that I had never been to before. I am having trouble recalling the name, but it is right by Akune’s main train station.

I was greeted warmly by the two owners: a charming woman stood behind the behind the counter and her healthily intoxicated husband sat at the bar; a large party in the back tatami room provided the white noise. Two tiny girls came to join me at the bar just as the first dish of food came out, fried sardine with lime and a side of gobo (burdock root with vinegar). It was hilarious how much energy these two little girls had and they kept on telling me that the Mama (female managers of restaurants are often referred to as Mama) behind the counter makes the best egg dishes in the world; I did not have any eggs, but Mama makes a great goya with miso paste. As I enjoyed the delicate goya dish, a young sunburned man came out of the tatami room and struck up a conversation with me in English. Mukae-san studies English at Kansai Foreign Language University in Shiga prefecture, right next to Kyoto. Mukae-san was in the middle of a summer cycling tour. In other words, I met him in the middle of his tour from Shiga, in the middle of Japan, all the way down to the tip of Kagoshima, nearly an 800 kilometer round trip.

Mukae-san and I talked hip-hop, of all things, and drank beer for a while until a couple of older guys that I knew from Otone came in and started pouring shochu. Then Otomi-san walked in, a cute middle aged Japanese woman who runs a small hostel type project that houses motorcycle touring groups. The hostel is an emptied out, renovated train car and it is connected to a non-profit organization office that raises money for helping the elderly and research for children’s diseases all over the world. Otomi-san was quick to ask me if I would volunteer the following day for a twenty-four hour charity benefit. I had seen advertisements on TV for it, so I obliged and on Sunday morning, bright, hot and early I was decked out in a yellow shirt like thousands of other volunteers across the country, yelling my head off asking for donations. I surprisingly felt way more comfortable asking for donations in Japanese than I ever would have in English. What a day. I was out in the sun from 1000 to 1600; my right side is looking real tan now. After closing up shop at the charity booth a little ways from Akune train station, which is where the train car hostel is, Otomi-san and I shared tea and talked about other opportunities that I could get involved in while I am living in Akune. I may have just found something.

Today was my first day back at work from training and I was almost glad to sit down in my little leather desk chair and stare at the computer screen all day. Well, it was nice to see everyone’s face, but that certainly did not make the room feel any cooler or the fluorescents and milder.

At lunch I walked around to everyone’s desk and gave them a small treat from Sakurajima, little sugar cookies flavoured with one of Sakurajima’s specialty fruits, the komikan or the mini mikan, known in the west as the Satsuma orange. This was the second time I had practiced the omiyage (gift giving) tradition in the office. Gift giving is huge is Japan. It is undoubtedly one of the most ubiquitous practices in the country and one that I have taken a liking to throughout my experience in Japan. The atmosphere of the office changed immediately when I handed out the individually package cookies. Although it is completely expected of everyone to follow through with at least some sort of omiyage, when one actually gives omiyage, the notion that you had your co-workers in mind becomes apparent and appreciation is paid with a simple thanks, a comment about how delicious your cookie is or a genuine smile. As the crunching sound of wrappers and small giggles of delight filled the void of my office I realized the power of the omiyage.

In light of the terrifying shock I experienced when I misplaced my passport and the mysterious passage of information to my advisor, I give you this Japanese proverb: 悪事千里を走る、Bad news travels fast.