“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.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Saturday, September 5, 2009
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
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
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
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
+and+General+director+of+the+BOE+Nagafukata.jpg)
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
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
+and+General+director+of+the+BOE+Nagafukata.jpg)
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Aboard with Captain Matsunaga
Hello all.
It is just after lunch and I feel a bit lethargic, so please excuse any incoherent rambling, grammatical mistakes and the like. I have actually been enjoying lunch lately. Since I started work at the Akune Board of Education (BOE) I have taken a short walk or bike ride back to my apartment everyday for lunch, either to heat up some leftovers or to whip up a quick meal. I did this for a few reasons: it is always nice to get out of the office; I like cooking; I enjoy the wind in my face, aside from that one experiences when wheeling around one’s work space in an office chair; and I didn’t feel quite comfortable stuffing my face in front of my co-workers (usually I enjoy my meals with proper manners, but after five hours of not eating I do, at times, loose sight of my etiquette). There were definitely drawbacks to going back and forth from the BOE to my apartment everyday, though. Of course time is was factor, but the more than anything else I could not stand the heat anymore. The combination of racing back to my apartment to satiate my hunger and sluggishly lurching back to the BOE in the dank heat of the afternoon left me in a state of utter exhaustion, and with the humidity that has been around 70-90% or more, I was damp with perspiration. Then I had a revelation. It came in the form of bento.
The bento culture in Japan is unparalleled. (Sorry Mom, your packed lunches were fabulous and nutritious, but they don’t quite measure up to the aesthetic, gastronomic beauty of the bento) There are volumes on the subject and I have even read an essay or two during my stay at Ritsumeikan. The bento is, like any lunch can be, a symbol of a mother’s love for their child. On the other hand, what set this lunch item apart from the rest is that the bento can also serve as a very telling aspect of a family’s makeup and functionality, the door left ajar through which one can see if mom does her shopping regularly or if dad lost his job recently. In other aspects, the bento can be seen as a microcosm of a Japanese child’s likes and dislikes. If a child cracks open their bento to find a ground beef patty with ground daikon shavings on top or curry rice the day is a golden one. On the other hand, it is common knowledge in Japan that Japanese children, for the most part, cannot stand and absolutely condemn green bell peppers, known to the British as capsicums-what’s next alumminium?- and in Japanese, ピーマン (pronounced pee-mahn). Despite this well-known hatred, children often find the loathed vegetable in their lunch box, the stench and sight of it putting a damper on their whole day. Now that is what I call love, food culture and anthropology (conveniently packed in a bento with a cute design on the top).
In the past couple of days I have been very happy with my bento. I eat in the centre of my office on the big comfortable leather sofa, stare at the lush mountains and receive copious complements (from the women) and looks of utter disbelief (from the men and women) from my co-workers. Today was a good bento day: grilled salmon; kimchi; broccoli; and a special bottom layer of rice cooked with Satsuma sweet potatoes. I was still a bit uncomfortable, though; kimchi has an odor not to be reckoned with. Maybe next week I will try making designs in my rice with different coloured pickles, I saw it once in a cartoon and the kids were stunned with jealousy.
After eating my bento yesterday, I was approached by one of the first acquaintances I made in Akune, Captain Matsunaga. Perhaps you may recall the name Captain Matsunaga (referred to below as, the Captain) from the Midokoi Matsuri, the one who took me under his wing of brotherhood and booze and showed me how to party like a real citizen of Akune. (I would find out later that day that the Captain himself founded the Midokoi Matsuri, which explains his enthusiasm, justly) The Captain was eager to tell me that he had someone he wanted to introduce me to. He said that one of his best friends in Akune is deeply involved in ceramics (陶芸, tougei or 焼き物 yakimono) and that he wanted to show me his friends studio.
“So, what time are you done here anyway?” the Captain asked.
“About four-fifteen, why?” I said.
“Come down to my office, I’ll take you to meet him, it’ll be great. By the way, do you have a map?”
I pulled out the Akune road map that I had been using to map out my commute for the upcoming year.
“Here, in the mountains, you see? There aren’t any roads listed, but that’s where he lives. He stays in an old elementary school.”
“I look forward to it. See you in a bit“, I said as I bowed to the Captain. I was excited. I could barely sit out the rest (30 minutes) of my day, thinking about where this school might be and what else, if anything the Captain had in store.
About an eighteen minute ride south and east of the BOE, half of which took us on roads barely wide enough for his Japanese compact, brought the Captain and I into the midst of lush bamboo and pine forests. According to Captain Matsunaga, the hills that he and I were driving through used to be laden with houses and busy with villagers of southern Akune. Then around the 1950’s the distance away from the city, and possibly the lack of water and electricity I’m guessing, led to a massive exodus from the hills and into the more urban, if you will, parts of town.
“It’s a ghost village now”, cackled Captain Matsunaga, his cigarette shaking between his teeth.
‘I really like this guy’, I thought.
A couple of quick turns later and I found myself in the parking lot of what used to be an elementary school. Shiso leaves were growing everywhere, two cute dogs were barking and a quaint, seemingly empty school stood to the left, the rushing river too profound to be just a white noise. A giant tree claimed a prominent position in the centre of the plot. Unfortunately, the resident of the old school was away at the time, but the Captain insisted that I poke my head inside to take a look; I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Miniscule chairs lined the walls and equally small desks were pushed together in the centre of the main room, recently trimmed bowls and cups lay on the floor in precise rows and before stepping down from the schools entry way I saw, in the back of what I realized was an amazing potter’s studio, huge racks of fired pieces and finished products. Adjacent to the main building was a covered area under which two huge outdoor kilns had been built from the ground up. Having already seen the inside of the studio, the sight of these incredibly unique kilns brought me back to my days at Summit K-12 (for life) in Karen’s studio, throwing pots till my blue and yellow (Summit colours) Adidas were covered in clay. I was awe inspired by where the Captain had taken me and what he had introduced me to.
“This is outstanding”, I said looking around before getting back into the car.
“Oh yeah? My house is pretty great too, you know. It’s a dome house. You ever heard of one of those? (I shrug and smile) I built it with my own two hands. Let’s go!” Go with the flow.
Readers, who ever and how many you are, Captain Matsunaga’s house is unbelievable; everything a dome house should be and nothing you could have ever possibly conceived. The high ceilings of the dome was a feature I was drawn to and it was something I had been really been missing. The triangular skylights, another unique feature that accommodated to the geometrical design of the house, reminded a lot of my house in Seattle and, coincidentally, one my favourite spots on the planet, Jody’s cabin in Hood Canal, built by the man himself. When I was introduced to the Captain’s wife she excused herself first to wash her hands. No, this is not another Japanese custom. She had just finished making a batch of fresh honey. What? The Captain took me out back and showed me the two bee hives that he and his wife use to harvest. He told me about Japanese honey bees. The main differences, he said was that Japanese honey bees are, for one, very obedient and do not require to be smoked out of their hives in order for the harvester to extract the honeycomb (I had seen this once at Vashon Island with my good old friend Andrew). Moreover, and more interesting in my opinion, is that Japanese honey bees do not collect nectar from one flower exclusively. Rather, they collect from many flowers all around the area, collecting different flavours and, apparently creating a tantalizingly potent batch of very healthy honey, known as ‘hundred flower honey’, 百花蜜 (kyakkamitsu).
As I sat in the cavernous living room of the Captains dome house, I conversed with he and his very charming wife about travel, language, my future and other worldly matters. All the while I was fed peaches, amazing bean curd desserts and coffee with a spoonful of the best honey I have ever tasted. Now when I order coffee, I usually only drink half of what I ordered, or I just sip off of whoever just bought one (thank you Chloe and Laura). This was not the case yesterday. I was poured cup, after cup, after cup of coffee almost unknowingly. I supposed that if this is way Captain Matsunaga takes a coffee break, than I might indulge as well. When I stepped outside of the dome house to a beautiful sunset the caffeine boost from nearly a half kettle of coffee kicked in and this Japanese proverb came to mind:
郷に入ったら、郷に従う。 When in Rome, do as the Romans do.
It is just after lunch and I feel a bit lethargic, so please excuse any incoherent rambling, grammatical mistakes and the like. I have actually been enjoying lunch lately. Since I started work at the Akune Board of Education (BOE) I have taken a short walk or bike ride back to my apartment everyday for lunch, either to heat up some leftovers or to whip up a quick meal. I did this for a few reasons: it is always nice to get out of the office; I like cooking; I enjoy the wind in my face, aside from that one experiences when wheeling around one’s work space in an office chair; and I didn’t feel quite comfortable stuffing my face in front of my co-workers (usually I enjoy my meals with proper manners, but after five hours of not eating I do, at times, loose sight of my etiquette). There were definitely drawbacks to going back and forth from the BOE to my apartment everyday, though. Of course time is was factor, but the more than anything else I could not stand the heat anymore. The combination of racing back to my apartment to satiate my hunger and sluggishly lurching back to the BOE in the dank heat of the afternoon left me in a state of utter exhaustion, and with the humidity that has been around 70-90% or more, I was damp with perspiration. Then I had a revelation. It came in the form of bento.
The bento culture in Japan is unparalleled. (Sorry Mom, your packed lunches were fabulous and nutritious, but they don’t quite measure up to the aesthetic, gastronomic beauty of the bento) There are volumes on the subject and I have even read an essay or two during my stay at Ritsumeikan. The bento is, like any lunch can be, a symbol of a mother’s love for their child. On the other hand, what set this lunch item apart from the rest is that the bento can also serve as a very telling aspect of a family’s makeup and functionality, the door left ajar through which one can see if mom does her shopping regularly or if dad lost his job recently. In other aspects, the bento can be seen as a microcosm of a Japanese child’s likes and dislikes. If a child cracks open their bento to find a ground beef patty with ground daikon shavings on top or curry rice the day is a golden one. On the other hand, it is common knowledge in Japan that Japanese children, for the most part, cannot stand and absolutely condemn green bell peppers, known to the British as capsicums-what’s next alumminium?- and in Japanese, ピーマン (pronounced pee-mahn). Despite this well-known hatred, children often find the loathed vegetable in their lunch box, the stench and sight of it putting a damper on their whole day. Now that is what I call love, food culture and anthropology (conveniently packed in a bento with a cute design on the top).
In the past couple of days I have been very happy with my bento. I eat in the centre of my office on the big comfortable leather sofa, stare at the lush mountains and receive copious complements (from the women) and looks of utter disbelief (from the men and women) from my co-workers. Today was a good bento day: grilled salmon; kimchi; broccoli; and a special bottom layer of rice cooked with Satsuma sweet potatoes. I was still a bit uncomfortable, though; kimchi has an odor not to be reckoned with. Maybe next week I will try making designs in my rice with different coloured pickles, I saw it once in a cartoon and the kids were stunned with jealousy.
After eating my bento yesterday, I was approached by one of the first acquaintances I made in Akune, Captain Matsunaga. Perhaps you may recall the name Captain Matsunaga (referred to below as, the Captain) from the Midokoi Matsuri, the one who took me under his wing of brotherhood and booze and showed me how to party like a real citizen of Akune. (I would find out later that day that the Captain himself founded the Midokoi Matsuri, which explains his enthusiasm, justly) The Captain was eager to tell me that he had someone he wanted to introduce me to. He said that one of his best friends in Akune is deeply involved in ceramics (陶芸, tougei or 焼き物 yakimono) and that he wanted to show me his friends studio.
“So, what time are you done here anyway?” the Captain asked.
“About four-fifteen, why?” I said.
“Come down to my office, I’ll take you to meet him, it’ll be great. By the way, do you have a map?”
I pulled out the Akune road map that I had been using to map out my commute for the upcoming year.
“Here, in the mountains, you see? There aren’t any roads listed, but that’s where he lives. He stays in an old elementary school.”
“I look forward to it. See you in a bit“, I said as I bowed to the Captain. I was excited. I could barely sit out the rest (30 minutes) of my day, thinking about where this school might be and what else, if anything the Captain had in store.
About an eighteen minute ride south and east of the BOE, half of which took us on roads barely wide enough for his Japanese compact, brought the Captain and I into the midst of lush bamboo and pine forests. According to Captain Matsunaga, the hills that he and I were driving through used to be laden with houses and busy with villagers of southern Akune. Then around the 1950’s the distance away from the city, and possibly the lack of water and electricity I’m guessing, led to a massive exodus from the hills and into the more urban, if you will, parts of town.
“It’s a ghost village now”, cackled Captain Matsunaga, his cigarette shaking between his teeth.
‘I really like this guy’, I thought.
A couple of quick turns later and I found myself in the parking lot of what used to be an elementary school. Shiso leaves were growing everywhere, two cute dogs were barking and a quaint, seemingly empty school stood to the left, the rushing river too profound to be just a white noise. A giant tree claimed a prominent position in the centre of the plot. Unfortunately, the resident of the old school was away at the time, but the Captain insisted that I poke my head inside to take a look; I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Miniscule chairs lined the walls and equally small desks were pushed together in the centre of the main room, recently trimmed bowls and cups lay on the floor in precise rows and before stepping down from the schools entry way I saw, in the back of what I realized was an amazing potter’s studio, huge racks of fired pieces and finished products. Adjacent to the main building was a covered area under which two huge outdoor kilns had been built from the ground up. Having already seen the inside of the studio, the sight of these incredibly unique kilns brought me back to my days at Summit K-12 (for life) in Karen’s studio, throwing pots till my blue and yellow (Summit colours) Adidas were covered in clay. I was awe inspired by where the Captain had taken me and what he had introduced me to.
“This is outstanding”, I said looking around before getting back into the car.
“Oh yeah? My house is pretty great too, you know. It’s a dome house. You ever heard of one of those? (I shrug and smile) I built it with my own two hands. Let’s go!” Go with the flow.
Readers, who ever and how many you are, Captain Matsunaga’s house is unbelievable; everything a dome house should be and nothing you could have ever possibly conceived. The high ceilings of the dome was a feature I was drawn to and it was something I had been really been missing. The triangular skylights, another unique feature that accommodated to the geometrical design of the house, reminded a lot of my house in Seattle and, coincidentally, one my favourite spots on the planet, Jody’s cabin in Hood Canal, built by the man himself. When I was introduced to the Captain’s wife she excused herself first to wash her hands. No, this is not another Japanese custom. She had just finished making a batch of fresh honey. What? The Captain took me out back and showed me the two bee hives that he and his wife use to harvest. He told me about Japanese honey bees. The main differences, he said was that Japanese honey bees are, for one, very obedient and do not require to be smoked out of their hives in order for the harvester to extract the honeycomb (I had seen this once at Vashon Island with my good old friend Andrew). Moreover, and more interesting in my opinion, is that Japanese honey bees do not collect nectar from one flower exclusively. Rather, they collect from many flowers all around the area, collecting different flavours and, apparently creating a tantalizingly potent batch of very healthy honey, known as ‘hundred flower honey’, 百花蜜 (kyakkamitsu).
As I sat in the cavernous living room of the Captains dome house, I conversed with he and his very charming wife about travel, language, my future and other worldly matters. All the while I was fed peaches, amazing bean curd desserts and coffee with a spoonful of the best honey I have ever tasted. Now when I order coffee, I usually only drink half of what I ordered, or I just sip off of whoever just bought one (thank you Chloe and Laura). This was not the case yesterday. I was poured cup, after cup, after cup of coffee almost unknowingly. I supposed that if this is way Captain Matsunaga takes a coffee break, than I might indulge as well. When I stepped outside of the dome house to a beautiful sunset the caffeine boost from nearly a half kettle of coffee kicked in and this Japanese proverb came to mind:
郷に入ったら、郷に従う。 When in Rome, do as the Romans do.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
In Japan, stamina and size matter
Hello all.
It is a pretty balmy day in Akune today. The temperature is an even 30 degrees and the humidity has climbed up to almost 96%. Some of you may be asking yourselves, ‘Isn’t that like living in an open air sauna, all day, everyday?’ What I am thinking is, ‘Hey, stop reading my mind.' Yes the weather is a factor, among other things, of my new life in Kagoshima, but I thank my lucky stars everyday that prior to coming to Akune this year I had already experience a Japanese summer, and a Kyoto summer at that.
Whenever I mention the heat, I, more often than not, hear in response, “At least we’re not in Kyoto.” It’s true, honestly. Two summers ago in Kyoto I would wake up to the piercing sound of a thousand cicadas and it would already be 30 degrees out. After biking to school and shedding a quarter of my body mass in perspiration it would start to rain, torrentially. Finally after it stopped raining, around lunch time, it would be 35 degrees and I would ride the wave of heat exhaustion all the way home to the safety of my air conditioned cocoon that was my dorm. Much like in Kyoto, Akune summers require perseverance, thin under layers, endurance and durable sweat rag, preferably a dark colour. What happens, though, when it seems like one may actually be melting into one’s tatami mats during dinner? What does one do when their air cooler has been on so long that one fears the next electric bill? How can one beat the heat?
Honestly, to beat the heat, I had to go head-to-head with it: when I wanted a dinner of cold ramen noodles I had to boil them first, and with a small apartment the heat from my gas range took no time at all to diffuse throughout my whole kitchen creating an environment reminiscent of Eilat in Israel; when I wanted ice cream and fruit to make a cold smoothie with the sweet blender I just found last week (yeah!) I had to bike through the dank streets of my neighbourhood to the grocery store with my back pack, nearly becoming my fifth appendage. As I said before, endurance is the key. A perfect example was my trek out to 脇本海水浴場 (Wakimoto Beach) last weekend.
I had a lazy morning in my air-conditioned tatami safe haven, watching Japanese baseball on T.V. (the fans never stop cheering, N-E-V-E-R stop) and decided that the nearly lifeless breeze coming from my air cooler was not going to be sufficient to tackle the heat that the forecast had predicted for the day. I needed an ocean to cure my heat exhaustion blues. I shouldered my MEC back pack (thank you Laura) filled it with fruit, water, flip-flops and a bottle of sunscreen (thank you Mom) and hit the scortching concrete on my way to Wakimoto beach.
With a squinty-eyed look that could put a grandfather in the back row of an I-max theatre to shame, I head north on route 3, hitched a louie on to the 365 and twenty five minutes later I was basking in ocean on the spacious, sandy stage of Wakimoto. I soon learned from a localsporting a skin-tight technicolour getup that I was lucky to have come on that day for if I had come a week later the beach would have been closed due to the start of クラゲ（水母・海月 or Sea Nettle jellyfish） season. Having received that invaluable advice I decided to make the most of my day at Wakimoto and bodysurfed till I could feel the sunburn on my shoulders and face; I have a great tan. The water was the perfect temperature, just like Tel Aviv. The beach was vast and flat, much like the Oregon coast, all I needed was a skim board and I would have been an even happier camper. The waves were just perfect for bodysurfing, but unfortunately did not provide the excitement of the surf like San Diego or Sayulita; there is almost nothing like being pinned to the ocean floor by a surging wall of sea water.
After my utterly revitalizing swim I packed up and headed back to Akune, arriving back home only to discover that I returned even sweatier than I had left. ‘Embrace the heat,’ an omniscient voice beseeched me, ‘and drink plenty of water.’
I made an epic journey yesterday. Well, in comparison to Wakimoto outing it paled in comparison, but it was epic, nonetheless. I took a short bike ride to the Green Sports Centre-‘We Love Sport’-to check out there golf practice range. As I slowly rolled through the independent agricultural operations leading up to the Green Sports Centre I was greeted by the ‘ping’, ‘thwack’ and ‘pitch’ of the range. I had come unarmed, carrying not a single club, under the assumption that I could rent clubs. Luckily there was a huge selection of (tiny) clubs for me to choose from and there was a special going on that evening: 1, 2, or 3 hours, all-you-can-drive. I opted for the one-hour package and hit the range with a tiny pitching wedge and a super retro 3-wood, made out of wood, unheard of to this modern, titanium loving man.
The range was surprisingly full at six o’clock. To my left and to my right, stood tiny Japanese men, chain-smoking and hitting balls as for as the 190 meter fence would allow them. Whoa. I noticed they were hitting it every time. I looked a bit closer, although I didn’t really have too, and noticed that these men, who were maybe eye level with my chest, toted some of the largest drivers I have ever seen. Callaway Big Bertha? Step aside. These men were absolutely creaming these balls with Japanese Godzilla-sized drivers; the sound was amazing. I managed to hit the fence just as high as those around me with my slightly shady Shillelagh. It is, after all, all about the motion in the ocean.
In the face of a wildly different repertoire of golf clubs, chain smoking neighbours and all-you-can-drive deals at the range, unheard of at the Univeristy of Washington or Puetz range, I was reminded of this Japanese proverb:
所変われば品変わる (tokorokawareba, shinakawaru); So many places, so many customs.
It is a pretty balmy day in Akune today. The temperature is an even 30 degrees and the humidity has climbed up to almost 96%. Some of you may be asking yourselves, ‘Isn’t that like living in an open air sauna, all day, everyday?’ What I am thinking is, ‘Hey, stop reading my mind.' Yes the weather is a factor, among other things, of my new life in Kagoshima, but I thank my lucky stars everyday that prior to coming to Akune this year I had already experience a Japanese summer, and a Kyoto summer at that.
Whenever I mention the heat, I, more often than not, hear in response, “At least we’re not in Kyoto.” It’s true, honestly. Two summers ago in Kyoto I would wake up to the piercing sound of a thousand cicadas and it would already be 30 degrees out. After biking to school and shedding a quarter of my body mass in perspiration it would start to rain, torrentially. Finally after it stopped raining, around lunch time, it would be 35 degrees and I would ride the wave of heat exhaustion all the way home to the safety of my air conditioned cocoon that was my dorm. Much like in Kyoto, Akune summers require perseverance, thin under layers, endurance and durable sweat rag, preferably a dark colour. What happens, though, when it seems like one may actually be melting into one’s tatami mats during dinner? What does one do when their air cooler has been on so long that one fears the next electric bill? How can one beat the heat?
Honestly, to beat the heat, I had to go head-to-head with it: when I wanted a dinner of cold ramen noodles I had to boil them first, and with a small apartment the heat from my gas range took no time at all to diffuse throughout my whole kitchen creating an environment reminiscent of Eilat in Israel; when I wanted ice cream and fruit to make a cold smoothie with the sweet blender I just found last week (yeah!) I had to bike through the dank streets of my neighbourhood to the grocery store with my back pack, nearly becoming my fifth appendage. As I said before, endurance is the key. A perfect example was my trek out to 脇本海水浴場 (Wakimoto Beach) last weekend.
I had a lazy morning in my air-conditioned tatami safe haven, watching Japanese baseball on T.V. (the fans never stop cheering, N-E-V-E-R stop) and decided that the nearly lifeless breeze coming from my air cooler was not going to be sufficient to tackle the heat that the forecast had predicted for the day. I needed an ocean to cure my heat exhaustion blues. I shouldered my MEC back pack (thank you Laura) filled it with fruit, water, flip-flops and a bottle of sunscreen (thank you Mom) and hit the scortching concrete on my way to Wakimoto beach.
With a squinty-eyed look that could put a grandfather in the back row of an I-max theatre to shame, I head north on route 3, hitched a louie on to the 365 and twenty five minutes later I was basking in ocean on the spacious, sandy stage of Wakimoto. I soon learned from a localsporting a skin-tight technicolour getup that I was lucky to have come on that day for if I had come a week later the beach would have been closed due to the start of クラゲ（水母・海月 or Sea Nettle jellyfish） season. Having received that invaluable advice I decided to make the most of my day at Wakimoto and bodysurfed till I could feel the sunburn on my shoulders and face; I have a great tan. The water was the perfect temperature, just like Tel Aviv. The beach was vast and flat, much like the Oregon coast, all I needed was a skim board and I would have been an even happier camper. The waves were just perfect for bodysurfing, but unfortunately did not provide the excitement of the surf like San Diego or Sayulita; there is almost nothing like being pinned to the ocean floor by a surging wall of sea water.
After my utterly revitalizing swim I packed up and headed back to Akune, arriving back home only to discover that I returned even sweatier than I had left. ‘Embrace the heat,’ an omniscient voice beseeched me, ‘and drink plenty of water.’
I made an epic journey yesterday. Well, in comparison to Wakimoto outing it paled in comparison, but it was epic, nonetheless. I took a short bike ride to the Green Sports Centre-‘We Love Sport’-to check out there golf practice range. As I slowly rolled through the independent agricultural operations leading up to the Green Sports Centre I was greeted by the ‘ping’, ‘thwack’ and ‘pitch’ of the range. I had come unarmed, carrying not a single club, under the assumption that I could rent clubs. Luckily there was a huge selection of (tiny) clubs for me to choose from and there was a special going on that evening: 1, 2, or 3 hours, all-you-can-drive. I opted for the one-hour package and hit the range with a tiny pitching wedge and a super retro 3-wood, made out of wood, unheard of to this modern, titanium loving man.
The range was surprisingly full at six o’clock. To my left and to my right, stood tiny Japanese men, chain-smoking and hitting balls as for as the 190 meter fence would allow them. Whoa. I noticed they were hitting it every time. I looked a bit closer, although I didn’t really have too, and noticed that these men, who were maybe eye level with my chest, toted some of the largest drivers I have ever seen. Callaway Big Bertha? Step aside. These men were absolutely creaming these balls with Japanese Godzilla-sized drivers; the sound was amazing. I managed to hit the fence just as high as those around me with my slightly shady Shillelagh. It is, after all, all about the motion in the ocean.
In the face of a wildly different repertoire of golf clubs, chain smoking neighbours and all-you-can-drive deals at the range, unheard of at the Univeristy of Washington or Puetz range, I was reminded of this Japanese proverb:
所変われば品変わる (tokorokawareba, shinakawaru); So many places, so many customs.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Akune’s Summer Festival: hot, hot, hot
Last weekend marked Akune’s highly revered annual Summer Festival, the Midokoi Matsuri. Matsuri is the word for festival, I know that much. However, I was not able to get a clear answer from my colleagues at the city office as to what Midokoi actually meant. For one, Midokoi is a word that is derived from the regional dialect, Kagoshima-ben (ben meaning dialect, or for the jargon lovers, the colloquial vernacular). It was only after I donned my ceremonial yellow and green robe (‘happi’, sounds like happy), white shorts and a red and black polka dot headband, drank a few beers, had a few shots with my cohorts and marched to the centre of the city in the streets that I heard over the loud speaker the essence of Midokoi: to bask in the wealth of good food, good drinks, great music, close friends and prosperity. All in one festival? Sure.
I received a crash-course lesson in traditional Midokoi dancing before hitting the streets. The moves that are essential to dancing in the parade consist of motions similar to that of shutting and closing a cabinet with both hands, at eye level; smiling and slightly bowing is also more than welcome, especially if you are the new foreigner in town. After a couple of drinks at the city office, my place of work, one mini drink and a couple bumps of Akune shochu (the best hooch in the country) I was ready to hit the road with the staff that runs the inner workings of the city, including Mayor Takehara himself. If my readers have not noticed already, Akune-shi does not hold back on their drinking. In response, I practice the most humble form of discretion: say no once, and then say kampai (cheers) once more.
I was truly amazed at how organized the parade was that Saturday evening. From the pre-school marching bands, who rocked out hard, to the freshest of the fresh middle school dance troops, I was among a highly trained-or so it seemed-group of Akune festival-goers. I was relieved when I heard the loud speaker call out the first break in the parade. Wait. Break? In a parade? For what? I was whisked away by the primary security officer at the city office, Matsunaga-san, who insisted that I call him Captain Matsunaga (he is a class 1 Captain, license and everything), and the next thing I know I was in a crowded bathroom with another mini-Asahi in my hand. I, at last, understood what the break was for: a peeing and drinking break, combined, genius. After the third or fourth block of parading, I got the hang of the dance and was overjoyed at the sight of those who crowded the sidewalks, clapping their hands to the beat of the taiko drums and rocking back and forth to the steady plucking of the shamisen. During the second and third leg of the parade I was summoned to the front row to dance with Mayor Takehara, who, like me at times, enjoys the spotlight more that hates it. Night had fallen by the time the parade portion of the Midokoi Matsuri was concluded. It was still around 28 degrees with very high humidity.
Sunday was no different from the day before, for it was a blazing 30 plus degrees before noon when I was on my way to Akune’s port to see the community performance. I arrived at the port and was greeted first by the rank smell of fishnets, the beautiful smell of the sea and a port full of onlookers at what seemed to be a very lively gathering for the final day of the Midokoi Matsuri. A variety of dance groups, accompanied by taiko drums, shamisen and old men-who could really wail some great bass notes-was the main attraction of the afternoon events. I wandered over to the seaside of the stage and bumped into one of the front desk ladies at the city office, Mayumi. She and I stood and chatted for a while before she started flirting with me. I think she liked my hair. She is hilarious. So hilarious that she treated me to lunch, twice. Before coming home from the port I made sure to pick up some fresh saba (mackerel), a local favourite, delicious and a breeze to cook on my new, handy dandy gas range grill.
That same night was the firework show, also held at the port. I learned a lot during the firework show: babies do not enjoy fireworks; fireworks will set off sensitive car alarms within a seven-block radius; fireworks are breathtaking and captivating, on any given night-except in cloudy Seattle, that is.
Today I attended my first speech contest. In other words, today was my first venture into the world of Japanese Junior High School, puberty at its finest. I actually felt more self-conscious than most of the kids giving speeches today. The weight of two hundred pairs of eyes when I walked through the entrance to Akune Junior High’s gymnasium is something I will never forget (please, if you like films, especially old films, research ‘Twenty-four Eyes [二重四の瞳, Nijushi no hitomi]’, by Keisuke Kinoshita, 1954). The speech contests’ intention was to give students a chance to state their opinions, openly, and on any subject that they sought fit. For example: what we can do about global warming; my hometown; the importance of friends; and the weight of our words, which went on to claim first place. There was one speech that I thoroughly enjoyed.
The smallest boy on stage, Yanaka-san, delivered his speech with gusto and took command of his audience. Yanaka-san spoke about how he learned from an injury he had last year in the spring. Yanaka-san, much like I had done roughly six years ago, broke his arm and soon learned how important having two functional arms is. The point that Yanaka-san devoted the majority of his speech to, though, was one that resonated with me as well as the audience, or so it seemed. Yanaka-san, standing just over a meter tall, learned that those who take care of you when you are in need, those who truly understand the magnitude of a friends’ hardship, those are your true friends. Well done, Yanaka-san.
What an opportunity. To be able to speak in front of one’s entire school, one’s entire community is something that I did not quite expect to witness my first day at school. However, as soon as the prizes and honourable mentions were distributed, the kids dared not come near me, even to utter their first and last name. I guess they still have a bit of summer vacation left before English class starts.
In light of the moving and opinionative speech contest today, I leave you with this, very telling, Japanese proverb: 出る杭は打たれる, The nail that stands up, gets hammered down.
I received a crash-course lesson in traditional Midokoi dancing before hitting the streets. The moves that are essential to dancing in the parade consist of motions similar to that of shutting and closing a cabinet with both hands, at eye level; smiling and slightly bowing is also more than welcome, especially if you are the new foreigner in town. After a couple of drinks at the city office, my place of work, one mini drink and a couple bumps of Akune shochu (the best hooch in the country) I was ready to hit the road with the staff that runs the inner workings of the city, including Mayor Takehara himself. If my readers have not noticed already, Akune-shi does not hold back on their drinking. In response, I practice the most humble form of discretion: say no once, and then say kampai (cheers) once more.
I was truly amazed at how organized the parade was that Saturday evening. From the pre-school marching bands, who rocked out hard, to the freshest of the fresh middle school dance troops, I was among a highly trained-or so it seemed-group of Akune festival-goers. I was relieved when I heard the loud speaker call out the first break in the parade. Wait. Break? In a parade? For what? I was whisked away by the primary security officer at the city office, Matsunaga-san, who insisted that I call him Captain Matsunaga (he is a class 1 Captain, license and everything), and the next thing I know I was in a crowded bathroom with another mini-Asahi in my hand. I, at last, understood what the break was for: a peeing and drinking break, combined, genius. After the third or fourth block of parading, I got the hang of the dance and was overjoyed at the sight of those who crowded the sidewalks, clapping their hands to the beat of the taiko drums and rocking back and forth to the steady plucking of the shamisen. During the second and third leg of the parade I was summoned to the front row to dance with Mayor Takehara, who, like me at times, enjoys the spotlight more that hates it. Night had fallen by the time the parade portion of the Midokoi Matsuri was concluded. It was still around 28 degrees with very high humidity.
Sunday was no different from the day before, for it was a blazing 30 plus degrees before noon when I was on my way to Akune’s port to see the community performance. I arrived at the port and was greeted first by the rank smell of fishnets, the beautiful smell of the sea and a port full of onlookers at what seemed to be a very lively gathering for the final day of the Midokoi Matsuri. A variety of dance groups, accompanied by taiko drums, shamisen and old men-who could really wail some great bass notes-was the main attraction of the afternoon events. I wandered over to the seaside of the stage and bumped into one of the front desk ladies at the city office, Mayumi. She and I stood and chatted for a while before she started flirting with me. I think she liked my hair. She is hilarious. So hilarious that she treated me to lunch, twice. Before coming home from the port I made sure to pick up some fresh saba (mackerel), a local favourite, delicious and a breeze to cook on my new, handy dandy gas range grill.
That same night was the firework show, also held at the port. I learned a lot during the firework show: babies do not enjoy fireworks; fireworks will set off sensitive car alarms within a seven-block radius; fireworks are breathtaking and captivating, on any given night-except in cloudy Seattle, that is.
Today I attended my first speech contest. In other words, today was my first venture into the world of Japanese Junior High School, puberty at its finest. I actually felt more self-conscious than most of the kids giving speeches today. The weight of two hundred pairs of eyes when I walked through the entrance to Akune Junior High’s gymnasium is something I will never forget (please, if you like films, especially old films, research ‘Twenty-four Eyes [二重四の瞳, Nijushi no hitomi]’, by Keisuke Kinoshita, 1954). The speech contests’ intention was to give students a chance to state their opinions, openly, and on any subject that they sought fit. For example: what we can do about global warming; my hometown; the importance of friends; and the weight of our words, which went on to claim first place. There was one speech that I thoroughly enjoyed.
The smallest boy on stage, Yanaka-san, delivered his speech with gusto and took command of his audience. Yanaka-san spoke about how he learned from an injury he had last year in the spring. Yanaka-san, much like I had done roughly six years ago, broke his arm and soon learned how important having two functional arms is. The point that Yanaka-san devoted the majority of his speech to, though, was one that resonated with me as well as the audience, or so it seemed. Yanaka-san, standing just over a meter tall, learned that those who take care of you when you are in need, those who truly understand the magnitude of a friends’ hardship, those are your true friends. Well done, Yanaka-san.
What an opportunity. To be able to speak in front of one’s entire school, one’s entire community is something that I did not quite expect to witness my first day at school. However, as soon as the prizes and honourable mentions were distributed, the kids dared not come near me, even to utter their first and last name. I guess they still have a bit of summer vacation left before English class starts.
In light of the moving and opinionative speech contest today, I leave you with this, very telling, Japanese proverb: 出る杭は打たれる, The nail that stands up, gets hammered down.
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