Season of endings

December in Japan is the month of official ends. New Years is arguably the biggest holiday here, and with it comes two responcibilities: officially close the year propperly, and open the year in the best possible way. Being that I can't speak of what my new year will be like I`m going to focus on the closing ceremonies here.

Every club, work place, group of friends, or group of willing participants has what's called a Bon Enkai (Year end party). These are a chance to reflect on the year, eat a huge course of food, drink with your coworkers (my other high school teachers love this part), and generally bond with those you spend the most time with outside of family. The food is always better at a Bon Enkai, and when your supervisor comes to you and hands you a beer it is one of the only times in Japan where I have been able to geleam any honest constructive critisism on my teaching. This year Susaki High School will have a very speical guest at it's bon enkai. My dear friend (sister via unofficial adoption) Alice is bound for Japan from Cape Town as we SPEAK, and I am all a quiver with anticipation. Alice and I will be traveling extensivly (expinsively . . . ew, traveling within Japan is REALLY pricey) through out the kansai area of Japan. More to come on that after it's done. She'll also spend about 6 days puttering about Kochi getting to know my day to day, and spending Christmas with all the cool kids you hear about so frequently who are not off traveling for their holidays. This reunion and vacation are much needed because I am one tired guy. Between school, PA, free English lessons, taiko, and attempting to maintain a social life and presence I really came dangerously close to burning out. After a week of returning to daily workouts and health minded diet (get them greens in) I am feeling almost back to myself.

In other news. I am back on the baking wagon as chocolate chip cookies are now officially in season. My Christmas tree is up (major life goal of having a live tree achieved thanks to a local hardwear store sellign small potted evergreens) and the den is looking quite festive, if I do say so.

Two weekends ago I went into the city to see Mia's band, Wind Beat, play a big show on the night of the lunar eclipse. Fantastic! They are a really tight group, and the crowd was bursting with bunches of friends. It was a fun night of great tunes and good banter.

With my new found unbusy days (these will not last I assure you, so I am cherishing them) my mind has been wandering about to thoughts of future plans and reasessed goals. . . but they are neither fully formed nor coherent at this moment, so you'll have to wait to hear about those thoughts. In other news I BOUGHT A BANJO! I have always loved the sound of clawhammer banjo, and after the ever musical influence of some loved ones here (and realizing taiko doesn't really push me musically) I said what the heck. Internets meet Mary Margret.

MORE TO COME!

Knot Tied

My taiko instructor's youngest daughter, Aika, got married two weekends ago. I have spent a lot of time with these lovable taiko folks, and have watched the family plan this wedding for months.

The planning was worth it, because the wedding felt more like a Las Vegas show then a wedding. The most interesting thing was the mock chapel ceremony. I asked a friend who understood the Japanese being spoken what type of ceremony it was. The asnwer - a white wedding / unity candle celebration, held in the quaint chapel atop the swankiest hotel in Kochi City. A violin and cello duet played less dancey versions of such wedding classics as "Beauty and the Beast". There was even a "Minister", though I was told he didn't mention God, Jesus, the bible, or any of the other trappings of what might be said at a wedding. We never bowed our heads in prayer, and yet the bride walking down the red carpeted isle and the image of a classic small chappel wedding was preserved and cultivated. Just after the white wedding ceremony the bride and groom were whisked away for their first of three costume changes, this one from white dress and tux to traditional Japanese kimono. After the reception started and the families had their grand enterences, the bride and groom disapeared again to change into the relaxed dress part of the night (think prom night but with more spacklies). There were home movies set to high tension anime theme songs, and flaming swords used to light candles on every guest's table. It was quite the night:

Theatrics aside, it was beautiful. Weddings are such a process in the States as well, but the ones I have always felt most comfortable at were the ones that were not grandiose, and focused more on the joy of two people admiting their love for one another. Cheers, well wishes, drinks, good food, tears of happines, and the hope that the passion of their promiss will last through the trials life attempts to throw at them. The hope that they`ll always wear the smiles spawned from the laughter shared the night of their union. I can`t imagine anyone felt any other way at Aika's ceremony. Filtered through my cave man Japanese I only caught simple ideas within the various speaches read: "Mom, Dad, thank you for loving me. I love you."  or "I'll do my best for her." (that one is a rough translation), but the point is waylayed by the semantics of translation and linguistics. There is a definate universal language to be shared in joyous smiles. . . and a few too many celebratory sips.

More to come.

Hustling Culture

A is for active, B is for busy, C is for Culture [festival], and that's where I'm at, or rather was last week. In the Japanese education system there are two standard events the students spend years looking forward to and simultaniously dreading: Taikusai (sports festival) and Bunkasai (culture festival). Both of these celebrations take up months of the student's and teacher's lives. They meet every day after school and exams, club activities, or home lives all get pushed by the way side for the glory and perfection that must be these events. Now, you may be imagining, much as I was, that culture festival would be based on paying tribute to the richness of Japanese culture (or at least pay tribute to it!). It isn't. Not even close in fact. What it is, is a break from the monotony of lecture and test preparation the students shuffle through, and much, much more.

Last Tuesday afternoon my classes were cancelled to help prep the school for this monster that had been lurking in the flickering flourecence of Susaki's High School's storage rooms and long locked coradoors. The school is rarely as bustling as when all the students are clearing class rooms, decorating towers of stacked desks, and transforming the plane everyday walls of virtually ever part of the school with color, and hand made signs, and balloons! It felt like we were preparing for a huge party. I was conscripted by various favorite students to come help them with the more vertical problems that popped up. . . hanging curtains, wrapping colored plastic over florecent light covers (to set the mood?), and killing hornet infested upper corners of previously mentioned long locked or neglected classrooms (horrifying yes?). After all of this making ready the whole school went home quite late, a bit tired, and ready for the day one of the culture festival.

*Enter RAIN [center stage].

The next day came, and with it the constant drip drizzle of a not so cool, humidity inducing, rain that only just let up yesterday. The first day of the festival can be summed up by my students responces to my question of "How are you today?"

Answer 1: I`m so, so.

Answer 2: I'm tired, and hungry.

Answer 3 (most poppular of the day) : I am bad. No funs. Not fun!

This is quite the reply to hear, and as it turns out Wednesday was't meant to be fun. The first day of Bunkasai is a practice day. You see, Bunkasai roughly translates to culture festival, but it is really more like a giant team building excersize for each home room class and club. They plan, decorate, create, and manage a means to make money in a festival setting held at the high school. Wednesday was like the trial run without anyone there to practice on. A dry run to iron out all the wrinkles, and, let me tell you, it is a good thing they did this (despite overly bored responces from students) because the actual event went off flawlessly. Delicious festival foods were eaten, fun carnival games were played, classrooms turned haunted mazes were staggered through, and three of my mountain dwelling taiko friends managed to come meet some of my students too. The photos say more than my words will, but it was really a very well thought out and suprising event that, for me, highlighted the importance of solidarity and group effort. This event worked so well becaue the students work together and don't want to let their fellow effort oozing friends down. I am talking 100% participation. The smiles say it all if you ask me.

As always,
More to come



(up next: the wedding)

One to Catch you up.

Well over two months ago I returned home on the anniversary of my first year in Japan. Fourteen hours on a plane, 5 full length feature films, two episodes of airplane TV, 1.5 warmed over cardboard tasting meals, and the seemingly mandatory unpleasantly rude and crowded two hour stagger through US immigration put me finally in the familiar embrace of my two very best friends.

(Now, you’ll notice, if you are an especially aware reader, that I went home way back in the beginning of August. Since we’re now to the late middle of October, I obviously have been a miserably undedicated narrator these past months. I hope to write another post with great haste to bring back the great and grand times of my past months, but let’s get back on track with the story at hand.)

My parents are simply put the best, and somehow my excitement to see them and the rest of my family destroyed the ever talked about trials of jetlag. I adjusted quickly to the time, and spent two weeks in Parkersburg (hence forth referred to as “The Burg”). I ate like a king for days on end. All the trappings of flavors long desired and seldom seen in Japan: salamis, cured meats, blue cheeses, cheap watermelon (this was fantastic), Mexican foods, Grandma’s angle food cake, and GOOD BEER (oh how I have missed good beers).

While the food was fantastic, the company was the real treat of being home. The time spent with my grandparents was especially wonderful. I finally got a chance to photograph my grandfather’s old cars and barns (I have been waiting for the right camera for this job for years it seems, and my Nikon really came through).

It was so great to spend those two weeks soaking in my family, but for all the greatness of my visit there was the undeniable strangeness of returning “home” to America. This can perhaps be best outlined by a shopping excursion to Sam’s Club. I never realized how different the shopping layouts and personal mannerisms of the crowds that surround you can affect you. Everything and everyone in Sam’s seemed huge and ridiculous to me. From the giagantor sized cuts of beef, pork, and chicken to the cheapness of the produce. From the towering ceilings to the super sized waist lines I saw, EVERYTHING WAS HUGE! It took my breath away, and blew my mind. My world was rocked. There were 100 times these realizations as I drove, walked, and looked upon my home town through the eyes of the me that has been living in Japan. This is something we’re told at every orientation meeting, and that I experienced personally when I returned from living in Nagasaki for a semester. Reverse culture shock is such a challenge for some, and for me I think it was made stronger by how much I adore my life here in Japan. NOT THAT I DIDN`T, OR DON`T, love my life back home, but my life here in Japan is so vastly different in so many ways that were I to return to living in The Burg it would seem like a great loss of many things I find comforting now. I won’t list those things, and know that many of them are the fantastic friends I’ve turned into my family away from family here, but it is safe to say that whenever I return to the States in a permanent way I predict it will take time to readjust to all the Americanisms.

I must be clear that I am not saying Japan is better than America, or that one place has it right – rather, I am saying that I clearly love my memories of home, and the bonds of friendship I have with my family are the foundation of all that I am, but flying back to Kochi felt a whole lot like coming home. This is the longest I have lived in one place since High school (without substantial breaks like there are in college). Nothing more, perhaps, then thoughts on a cloudy fall day. Home was indisputably wonderful, but I really can’t wait to share my new home with my parents and see their reactions to the world that has become so familiar to me over this past year.

More to come

Nude

Ok folks this one’s a doozey. So; strap in, get a beverage of your choosing befitting your time zone and mood, maybe a handful of salted almonds or some other munchy nibblings, and get ready for a read.

Last weekend was perhaps the most uniquely Japanese experience I’ve had to date. Five ALTs from Kochi forged out a chapter written in the book of my life to be forever told down the family line, a story of the mysterious and strange practices - of a culture from the other side of the world, a festival for purity and luck, and more than anything else - nakedness. The festival is called the Okayama Hadaka Matsuri (Naked Man for short ).

Check the link here (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hadaka_matsuri) for some more information. I signed up with Colin, Jon, Matt, and Jamie E. long ago, and had been doing nothing but reading about it, and getting progressively more and more worried over the distinct possibility that I could be trampled in what, for lack of a more refined description, is a 9000 naked man mosh pit. Why a mosh pit? Why naked? Why WHY WHY? Well. The best way to answer that is for me to recount my tale as it was experienced.

Phase one of naked man:

Ask other JETs you know from home about things not to be missed in Japan. First time hearing about Naked Man. Upon getting an e-mail about naked man attempt to get your friends to sign up for Naked Man, because no one wants to be naked and alone.

Phase two of naked man:

Spend two to three weeks chatting with friends about various tid-bits of information filtered through various sources of how crazy it will be. Doubt your decision to attend for the first time. Listen to horror stories from other JETs about wearing a fundoshi (the Japanese sumo style loin cloth).

Phase three:

Send in payment for naked man registration.

Phase four:

The week has finally arrived, you have hotels booked, your bus tickets arranged, and a ball of anxiousness and modesty bouncing about your stomach like a spiny peach pit accidentally swallowed whole. Despite the aforementioned nervous peach pit, traveling with friends goes well. Hotel bookings work, and suddenly you are on the bus nervously sipping on a beer, and tapping your fidgety fingers as you and your Kochi friends listen to the overly consumed chants of people still lingering a bit too much in the shadow of Belushi`s interpretation of Bluto Blutarsky.

Phase five:

Arrive at the event and spend about two hours walking about familiarizing yourself with the temple layout. Listen as you are told where you will be sprinting through cold cold COLD pools of purifying water. Watch the incredible taiko group in red uniforms and feel the rattle of the drums in your chest as you chomp down a stick of yaki niku (meat on a stick). [I would like to take this time to say that out of all the many snack, junk, festival foods in Japan (and not discounting my unyielding love for all forms of takoyaki, grilled onion pancake, octopus balls of joy) there is little more satisfying than a good kabob of well peppered beef or pork a drip in its own fatty juices and sweated soy sauce.]

Phase six:

Buy the dreaded fundoshi (roll of cloth to be wrapped about one’s privates for some semblance of modesty). So now, the event is explained in full just as we are about to walk into the changing tent. Listen as you are told that you will be competing for a “magic stick”. There are approximately 20 thrown out from the sealing of the temple at 10:00 as the lights are turned out. Before that happens hoards of mostly naked men will run a loop around the temple chanting, “Wa-shoi!” as they run. You will sprint through the previously seen waist deep purification pond, then up to the main temple to pray, then through the viewing section where you will have ice water thrown at you, pray again at second temple, then sprint out and through the streets, and repeat until the officials tell you to go line up around the temple. Once there you are told that the crowed will grow slowly at first until you are crushed, unable to put your arms down, unable to turn around, and unable to have much of any say as to where you go at all for the remainder of your night. Stare blankly when you hear that the crowed will potentially sway up to seven feet. . . once again ease away the thoughts of doubt swirling about your head, after all – you already bought the loin cloth.

Phase seven:

Awkwardly undress in giant makeshift locker room. Write your name, address, and phone number on identification card to be stuffed into your loincloth. Wait naked in line with fundoshi for Japanese man to help you put on the large cloth diaper.

Phase eight:

Real in horror as you are chosen to be the first of your friends to be wrapped into the fundoshi.

Phase nine:

Receive the worst wedgy of your life. I am talking lift you off the ground, take your breath away, OH DEAR JESUS that’s not going anywhere mother have mercy.

Phase ten:

Smile with vindictive amusement as your friends all receive the same atomic wedgy from hell that you just suffered through. Now, to your astonishment, you are ready to run the course and from here on out it’s all kinda gonna happen quicker than you will believe.

So you tear off through the gates into the February chill, and there are already chanting teams of Japanese men running about. With a Kochi, Kochi, Kochi cheer you see your friend give a quick, unsure, kiss to his girl friend (the others anxiously pat one another on the back and stare wide eyed), and then your off jogging in rhythm to chants. Your feet are less offended by running essentially barefoot on cement and gravel than you thought they would be. It’s a good pace, one you could keep for hours. The crowd cheers for you all. Hands extended out for high fives from the gargantuan white men, all pale and big nosed. You get to the purity pond, and the breath goes out of you as you plunge in up to your waist. And then it’s over. Out, pray, shower of cold water from fans, pray again, out and around the temple, and repeat! Again, again, and again! Seven, eight, maybe even nine times you all run through with the coolness of the water lessening with each pass, and your chants getting more and more vivacious. The temple starts to pack in, and you want a good spot away from the steps (they are steep and made of stone. You’d hate to fall down them as the masses heave). You think . . . this isn’t too bad. It’s like a rock concert. Then another wave of runners hits, and another, and another and like the sea it flows in and then pulls back, and with each swelling of this fleshy sweaty tide it crushes you a little more till you are forced to put your arms up for fear of loosing use of them, and you stagger on tip toes to keep from falling (even though you’re wedged in so tight you couldn’t fall were you to loose your feet). You maintain eye contact with your friends, and look about wide-eyed as you hear that there is still about an hour to go before they throw the sticks. So, you stand and sway, and sweat, and watch as the steam from body heat billows out from the epicenter of this man mass. (You take a second to think . . . oh god, gross!) Then the lights go out and suddenly there are tiny bundles of sticks flying. The pressure breaks as fights and shoving matches for the single big luck (big money) stick break out, and your feel your friend poke you in the side with something small and wooden and hear him say, “I don’t know if it is the one, but help me.” Friend shoves would be magic stick in loin cloth, you push him out avoiding agitated old crotchety men gnarled like trees with whipping leathery arms. He makes it out, and you return to the fray to search for your other friends, and then . . . it’s over. You dress, hug your other friends who just watched . . . and go home to your hotel room where you shower and just think, “ well damn”.

So that was naked man. The stick that my friend Carter got was a fake one, still lucky, but not worth any money. A team of older men came away with the big luck (40,000 dollar stick). It has all the feelings of a cleanse. The sweating, the difference in temperature, the hours of physical exertion, and the fact that the whole time you are discarding any sense of modesty or self-consciousness you had (because you are birthday suiting it all through the town and PEOPLE ARE EXCITED ABOUT IT!?) The younger Japanese men give you vigorous high fives, and you even get a few hugs. There is the sense that they are as freaked out by it as you were, and that even though you never felt like you were going to die . . . you wouldn’t really want to do it again. The older generation still looks at you with skepticism a bit. Perhaps a quick smile if you were to wave, like they are saying, “yeah, you can be here, but you are never going to get that lucky stick”.

And that was that, we returned home, and I went back to work. Tonight I’ve made a Chinese style steamed fish (thanks for inspiring me Michelle Wigs this thing was delicious at Chinese new year so I’m doing it again).

My days at school are still boring, and I am still reassessing what I want my time in Japan to be like, but over all I am still having a really great time. After meeting the other, very frat boyish, JETs from other prefectures I am so happy to be in Kochi with the family dynamic we have created, but I will save that revelation and pontification for another post. I think this one’s given it all it can give. Sorry I don't have any photos of me actually at Naked Man, but the photo of the crowd should give you some idea of exactly how packed it was. Lastly cherry blossoms are starting to come out.

More to come.

The Recovering of Time (the great catching up session):

Well after a long day of sitting at my desk filling lesson plans, transcribing interviews, and helping Sakamoto Sensei grade some tests I finally have the chance to attempt to commune with the blogosphere once again. It’s been too long my silent friend, and while I could say I’ve missed our conversations . . . I always end up doing all the talking. Lots of ground to cover, and I have a meeting about some Jr. High Schoolers coming to visit my class in 40 minutes. I’ll start with a brief reflection on Sports day.

Almost three weeks ago now I awoke on a Saturday at the all too early hour of 6 and hazily ate a bowl of cereal and nursed a coffee. I donned my yellow bandanna, yellow shoes, yellow wrist guards, and specially crafted team banana jersey (yellow of course). Took the early train to school, and paced about for a good long while, wile the opening ceremony took flight. The ceremony, like all opening ceremonies in Japan, had at least three speakers, and concluded with the slightly over dramatisized touching of the three team flags and pledge of sportsmanship from the team captains. The games of the day were a spattering of relay races and more traditional Taikusai (sports festival) games. These are games that largely seem to fit more into Kingsley Pines, summer camp crazy fun than a judged competition that takes months and months of planning to execute. For example there is the game Happy Wedding: In happy wedding the team captains sit atop a small four wheeled cart and is pulled by two small girls around a sand track. In five different places around the track there are pieces of a brides wedding gown. The two girls must drag their soon to be emasculated captain around and piece by piece dress him in as their bride.

There is also the game called BBBBAAAAAAANNNN (yes it is really spelled that way in all capital letters). BAN is played by pitting girls against boys, the boys dawn hardhats with neon balloons taped to the tops while the girls are given bats made from tightly rolled newspapers. The wining team is the team with the last boy still running about with an unpopped balloon. These games sound childish and fun, but the students, and teachers, take the day very seriously. The cheering was perhaps the most impressive event of the day. Each team prepared a ten to twelve minute cheer/dance/jingle to be judged by high ranking community officials, the vice principals, and the principal. Needless to say, after a fantastic performance of thriller, a much anticipated triple back flip by the team captain, and excellent clapping coordination the yellow team immerged victorious on all accounts. Many of the other teachers assigned to the yellow team burst into tears, and upon given the excuse (for lack of a better word) man of the students from all three teams began to cry.
Emotion is not something to be shared in Japan, at least not openly (especially in the older more traditional crowd). Events like Taikusai give students (much like booze at an enkai, work related drinking party gives teachers) a “get out of jail free card”. It allows the heavy-handed social norms to be set aside. I think of my school as being a fairly relaxed environment with trace amounts of silliness oozing over into my daily interactions with students and faculty alike, however the level of acceptable silliness was unquestionably increased for Taikusai, and the Enkai that followed afterward. NEVER thought I would see my vice principal so red faced, dancing about, saying, “I don’t a understand Japanesu. We all mustu mustu speak Engrish to me” [stumble slightly, chorus of laughter from all]. . . . Twenty minutes later asleep on the izakaia floor with his pink raincoat draped over him.

So Takusai reasonably taken care of, onto the Henro. Henro means religious pilgrim. Shikoku is perhaps best known for the Hachijuhakkasho Meguri, or 88 sacred temple pilgrimage. The journey was originally made by Kobo Daishi, who achieved enlightenment and transcendence while on the journey, and people in modern times begin the trek for any number of reasons. These days the pilgrimage can be made by car, tour bus, public transit, or the more traditional left foot right foot. Having recently procured a fancy new pair of hiking boot I have chosen to walk the 88 temples. Unfortunately, I will not be able to walk them all at once, being that the 88 temples circumnavigate the entire island of Shikoku (the trek takes about 45 days solid walking to complete). I cannot take this much time off work; my friends and I must make the hike betsu betsu (peace by peace). My henro henchmen (henchwomen I should say) are Michele and Kavita. We’re all doing it for different reasons, and I won’t speak for them by attempting to paraphrase their reasons for wanting to embark on a journey meant to strengthen one’s spiritual awareness. My reasons, however, can be quite easily stated. I am a lover of many, many things. I am not a Buddhist, and to be honest do not aspire to become one. I did not, and will not, attempt to say the lengthy heart sutras typically chanted by the Japanese Henro. I am a guest both in this country, and especially on this ancient path that has been walked by many more people than I can imagine, and with that comes the inherent sensation of being the humbled outside observer. I have always been fascinated by places of great spiritual power and importance. Religion is not a piece of my reality, but that doesn’t mean I am not inspired by those who have faith (without fanaticism). To watch and experience the incense soaked air, the ringing bell to announce one’s arrival at the temple, or the rhythmic nature of the heart sutras delivered in unison by the couple set out on the pilgrimage because they just learned they will soon change from two to three.

I also love to hike, and what better way to really see Japan then by walking the winding roads of the pilgrimage all around Shikoku. The first day of our trek it rained all day. Luckily my rain gear proved it’s worth, and I stayed as dry as possible when hiking about 19kl in a continuous strong drizzle. The first temple is where one acquires the henro uniform, one conical bamboo hat with sutras scrolled across it, one staff (meant to be the physical embodiment of Kobo Daishi himself), one white shroud (meant to be your death shroud should you die on the pilgrimage), and one stamp book (each temple has a signature written over orange stamps and collected as proof of completion of that leg of the trek). These items are certainly not required to make the pilgrimage, and it modern times people of all capabilities and levels of faith do pieces, fragments, and chunks of this tradition as they see fit. It’s a personal adventure of the soul and the body. However, I will say that after experiencing vast amounts of unprecedented kindness due to the fact that I was wearing the Henro gear I WOUL STRONGLY ADVOCATE TO ANYONE SETTING OUT ON THE TRACK TO GET THE GEAR! We hiked through the rain through three small towns near Naruto City in Tokashima Prefecture. It is the flattest area of Japan I have ever visited, and though mountains could be seen in the distance, it felt very strange to be that far away from them (especially after living in Kochi where the cities are placed amidst the narrow valleys making fish bowl hamlets and a very clear division from town to town). The path is blazed with small red arrows, and cute stickers of cartoonish Henro, so it’s a bit like a 40 plus kilometer game of hide and seek.

Each of the temples (despite different gardens and typically one major unique building) are largely the same. The main shrines are barely discernable. A pilgrim can count on the temple’s main gate being unique.

On day two we hiked from 6 to 10. Along the way we learned that even though the guide book is very useful there are some changes in the route each year, and as the sun set we found ourselves being kindly told by a recently 83 year old gentleman blaring Mozart from his car that we were about an hour and a half walk away from the Henro Hut we were to stay at that night. When someone offers you help while Henroing it is important to note that they believe they are actually helping two people, you and Kobo Daishi. The Henro’s staff is believed to be a physical embodiment of the enlightened spiritual leader, and therefore by offering us a ride the kindly old man was actually helping three kids and three embodiments of a very potent spiritual being. He graciously gave us a ride (to which we were astonished at how far we still had to go). He also directed us to an onsen (Japanese bath house) where we could stay for free. To go to a hot bath spa after two days of damp hiking IS UNDESCRIBABLY WONDERFUL! I haven’t slept that soundly in quite some time. All in all, the hike was fantastic, and the banter (both comical and serious discussion) between Michelle, Kavita, and I was fantastic. In a few weeks we will be embarking on Henro part II #11-15, which is supposedly the most difficult portion of the entire hike.

Sense Henro there have been two weeks of absolute chaos. I am in a taiko group, and we’ve had three practices a week for the past two weeks in preparation for two performances. Both performances went well. One was at a candle festival in the mountains where rice fields are illuminated with something like 1,556 candles. I am sorry to say I have no pictures of this being that I was participating the entire festival, but it was quite the sight. There is a definite chill in the mountain air now, I love it! The second performance, which happened this Saturday, was in Susaki at a recently reopened shopping center. Less formal atmosphere, no great setting, but we sounded WORLDS better! No mistakes were made, and everyone generally felt that we rocked it this past week. Now we’re back to once a week practice, and hopefully I’ll up my songs from two to three by the next performance in late November.

My classes continue to grow in number and level. I have one class who remains obstinate to my attempts at making English fun. They don’t speak, besides to each other, and often when asked to speak English reply with “No, Andoriyu Nihongo onagaishimasu.” (Andrew learn Japanese Language Please). So . . . . they make my head want to explode, but they are late in the day on Monday, and my weeks seem to quickly recover from their frustration. I’m very VERY into the flow of my life here in Japan, and absolutely adore the new friends I’ve made. However the trials of distance from my family and friends at home does set in from time to time. My mother often asks if I miss home yet, and I think its very relevant to say I don’t miss West Virginia – I miss those morning conversations with my dad over two cups of coffee before going out to tend the garden, I miss fixing lunch for mom during her lunch hour (or the even more fun Panera bread lunch) where I ask her of her day (and typically try to make her smile), I miss driving out to Grandma and Granddad’s for political banter, breakfast, and stories of California, I miss driving and listening to music, and I miss all my family of friends from KP, Wooster, Holl’s, and older still (Nic, Chris, and Sam that ones for you). The time difference makes the level of communication much less than I would often like, and the feeling of community and family I have developed here would not exist if I spent all my time communicating with home. Travel, on the level that I have committed to travel, is a sort of double-edged sword in that manner I suppose. With the potential for incredible gain comes also the natural but highly undesirable chance for great loss as well, but perhaps friendships are never lost. They always live on in memory, and though people and places phase in and out of lives they remain in our memories, a testament to the human ties we all need to feel whole. I always feel lucky to have such great friends and family all over the world. Here’s to the adventure we’re all on eh. Different paths and different journeys, but so long as we’re all moving there will be bliss and discovery.

Sorry for the great delay. More dependable and regular updates to come.

Six Cups of Coffee for Safety (an old post finally posted): September 28, 2010

Well folks it’s drawing near the close of the first of two very long days. Last week I was asked to help participate in Safety Week at Susaki High School. Safety week basically means teachers take turns being crossing guards with giant flags and neon yellow plastic jackets (plastic so as they may hold in the maximum amount of body heat without allowing any of that nice breeze in to cool one’s quickly drenching upper body). So I awoke a little after 5 to catch the first train into Tosa-shinjo (the station my school is closest to). I stood in day glow yellow, hat, and jacket while cheerily saying, “Ohio Gozaimasu!” to any and all students brave enough to cross at the far side of the street near the giant hairy man.

That being said the rest of my week has been spent largely in preparation for Taiikusai (Sports Day). Taiikusai is one of two culturally culminating events in a high school students life here in Susaki City. While I love my school and realize that the teachers do their best (as all teachers should) to get the students excited about education and learning, Susaki Koko is not what one could accurately call an academic superpower. I have been told on many occasions that most of the students here will not go on to college, but will probably attempt to take the equivilent of the American Civil Service Test. The dreams jobs of most of my students is to be an office employee in one of the many city or municipal buildings in or near Susaki (or any other similarly sized city in Kochi). I can count the number of students who have told me they want to leave Kochi Ken to go to college on one hand. . . they are all young women who want to be computer programmers. Knowing this, what is a student’s typical day like then, you man ask?

Well, up until recently, their days have been consumed with sports club meetings, and classes missed in order to better plan, practice, and talk about Sports Day. Sports Day is an event that happens once every other year. If it isn’t a Sports Day year then is will be a school wide Culture Festival. (I must clarify that this is specifically for my high school not all of Japan). The school is divided up into three teams: red, blue, and (my team) yellow. It is done seemingly arbitrarily based on your homeroom assignment. These teams then must practice many traditional Japanese Sports Day events and make up an 8 to 10 minute cheer that will be judged by the Kocho, Fuku Kocho, and Kyoto Sensei’s of the school (so that’s principal, vice principal, and head of teachers for those Japanese challenged). The students are granted time off of class for these practices, and should it actually rain on Sports Day (heaven forbid) school would be cancelled in order to make room for Sports Day. Needless to say I’m very excited to see this event that has been steeling my students attention and time away from my classes.

More to come, as always.

Surprise!

Well it’s been ten days since I last posted. What have you been doing you might ask? Why haven’t great, glorious, and fantastical things been happening to you? I’ve actually been quite busy, but until yesterday none of it seemed. . . worthy of telling. So I’ll push through a quick summary of the droll. Don’t worry there’s sensationalism to come soon.
I had last Thursday and Friday “off” work so that I could attend the mandatory Kochi City Orientation. This was a large meeting with all of the new JETs from groups A and B. It was they stereotypical group meeting in Japan: an overly florescent room, the repetition of information we’d all heard maybe twenty times (although this was most entertaining presentation of all that information), and the overwhelming sensation that the meeting was secondary in importance to the multitude of fifteen minute breaks where one must take all the time they can to talk to any and all other JETs. It’s like an instant family. “Oh you’re apartment was completely empty when you got there too? You still don’t have Internet? What do you mean your predecessor transferred all her accounts to your name, lucky!?” and many a similar conversation, which always evolve beyond the basics into deeper communications. Each night there was a planned after orientation party. There was good food, bad beer, and what are very quickly becoming dear friends. Sunday I attended another fantastic frisbee practice, and the new comers to the sport have improved vastly sense just last week. Hizzah!
I took one of my summer vacation days (as a JET I get three extra each summer) and recuperated from a busy weekend of socializing, making my way through the long list of domestic items that living on your own requires: laundry, dishes, mop the floors, clean bathroom, groceries, ironing, and the like. This week I learned how to throw away broken kitchen utensils and my recycles, and I also successfully went to the city offices and picked up my Alien Registration Card and Japanese Health Insurance Card.
Now that we’re through with the lead up, on to the thrill and chill! It’s Wednesday, and Susaki City has been in a long three-day heat spell. The typical daily rain disappeared Friday and, unfortunately, has still not returned. This causes beautiful clear blue skies, a gentle but mostly irrelevant breeze, and a choking sticky heat that is multiplied in its intensity by the glaring sun beaming down upon us as though we were the anthill under a vindictive child’s magnifying glass. It’s hot, does not describe the cloudless days here. Needless to say after walking from the train station to my school I’m a sweaty unpleasant Merican mess. The teacher’s room however, where all desks are located, has AC. It’s glorious. So it’s Wednesday, about 11:25, and I’ve cooled from my morning unpleasantness. My Kyoto Sensei (vice vice principal, or head teacher) comes up to me and says, “Andrew san kanuing wa darume no ikimashtaka?” . . . in so many words and after much translation from my JTE, “Andrew, our high school has two boats racing in the high school dragon boat battle today. We need someone to stand in the boat and keep the pace by beating on a large metal drum. You leave at 12:15 please take lunch now.” How could I refuse an offer like that? So in my business attire dress pants and tucked in long sleeve shirt I spent my day bare foot goading young high school girls from the Susaki high school volley ball and soft tennis (your guess is as good as mine as to what that is?) clubs into greater feats of dragon boating strength. We did very well. Out of 12 teams my boat was the only boat with girls, and we came in 4th place. I returned a sweaty mess, and agitated that I didn’t have my camera for the multitudes of fantastic photo opportunities the day presented. None the less a great time. As always more to come!

And So it Begins

Greetings fervent readers. I never know how to start a blog. . . The first entry should be something monumental right? A declarative passage outlining your goals and reasons for spilling your inner thoughts into the digital data super highway for everyone to read, should they stumble across your tiny slip of a web-sight. Well my goals are two fold. Firstly and bluntly I am a teacher of English living in Japan, and a very happy participant of the JET (Japan Exchange and Teaching) Program. I teach, or will teach rather (once my students return from summer holiday), at Susaki Senior High School in Susaki City. I’ve been in Japan a grand total of nine days now, although it’s not my first time in the land of the rising sun. According to the Japanese government I am here to assist a Japanese Teacher of English (to forever more be referred to as a JTE) in the teaching of conversational English. All of the classes I teach focus on oral communication paired with cultural exchange.

On a somewhat more personal, and I suppose less practical, level I am back in Japan to experience some kind of awakening. No, that’s too divine sounding. When I last spent time here I lived in Nagasaki for three months, and it was a life altering experience. Japan holds an indescribable ability to change the way certain people view the world that surrounds them. There is simply something embedded within Japanese culture that once experienced leaves an unforgettable sense of longing. And so, I’ve returned. After three full years I’m back, but this time no English speaking roommate, no Japanese culture classes in English, and no host mom doing my cooking, laundry, cleaning. My first giant step towards independence, hell of a step hu? Maybe we’ll call it a jump.

So all the new JETs of group B (as in Boy) flew into Tokyo on Sunday August. it was a surprisingly quick 14 hour flight. Tokyo orientation is a blur of meeting someone new every five or so seconds, jet lag, and copious amounts of sitting and listening. There are multiple workshops put on by current and former JETs. Some of these, Budgeting Your Money, and Career Building and Management, were quiet helpful. Others, Japanese Pop culture, were . . . less than thrilling in their presentation, but given its ups and downs Orientation was a chance to really meet new JETs and also feel very grown up. As a 23 year old working his first “serious” job after college it seemed somehow relevant that for three days I was required to wear a suit and tie. However, Tokyo felt nothing like Japan. with around 800 other fresh JETs all eager to get to their placements Tokyo Orientation is a bubble of English, which is quickly shattered upon arriving at one’s placement.

Please don’t mistake my use of the word shatter. . . I LOVE MY PLACEMENT. My apartment (though lacking in air conditioning) has a beautiful view and is huge. Susaki High School has a great staff of friendly faces who always try so very hard to carry on conversation with me in gesture, laughter, and smiles. Very few speak English. Those that do are modest about it, and shy despite there very capable comprehension level. The students I’ve met so far giggle at me uncontrollably and sprint away, leaving me waving at them saying, “wait, wait, what’s your name?”. I look forward to teaching them, but certainly hope we are able to move past this shy giddiness.

With the help of my JET PA (Prefectural Advisor) and my predecessor (who decided to hang around for a while) I have thrust myself right into some incredible experiences. I immediately joined a taiko, Japanese traditional drumming, team that practices from 7 to 10 on Wednesdays. It felt really good to be reading music again. I haven’t seriously played/ practiced anything sense I unfortunately dropped piano after my senior year of high school. It’s a very physical activity though. One play’s taiko with a crouched wide stance that brings a slight burn to your thighs, the sound rumbles down into the floor in great vibrations that shake up into your bones and come echoing into your gut, and up humidity and lack of air conditioning in the theatre where we practice simulates a cleansing sauna. Unfortunately the group is going on holiday until the 25th so I’ll have to wait to get more involved with that experience.

Sunday morning I met a Chinese Dragon Boat team compiled from friends, family and patrons of two local bars in my neighborhood block: Kaijia (a delicious and very swanky Chinese influenced Izakaia) and @ Home (a smoky, over priced, western style bar). They apparently were informed that I was a rower in high school, and thustly a spot on the boat was reserved for the giant gaijin who used to row. None of the rowers spoke English very well, but it seems less and less necessary. Through gesture and broken Japanese I was able to learn quite a bit about the various patrons, employees, and family members of these two establishments. The actual rowing is quite different from what I’m used to. Crew is 80% legs, 10% arms, and 10% back. Dragon Boat races are 100% arms. Boats filled with 25 people taking fast short strokes and three crewmen beat drums and chimes to keep everyone catching at the same time. To have proper technique one must also yell “YA!” every time one’s paddle blade hits the water. This all took place on a beautiful lake cradled amidst green green mountains dotted with country houses and rice patties. My boat made it past our first heat, and came in a close 3rd in our second heat (which wasn’t enough to move on to the other races). Interestingly instead of water or perhaps Gatorade being given to the teams to keep them hydrated Kirin Ichiban Beer is distributed by the case to each team. I watched as at 9:00 a.m. my team, and hundreds of other’s on many other teams cheered kampai! and drank a prerace brew. This continued throughout the day, and left many is a hysterical state of semi intoxication (which lead to them trying to speak some very interesting English). When I chose green tea instead of beer right after we got off the water I received many questioning glances. . . “what do you mean you don’t’ want a beer after sprinting 1000 meters? WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?” I won’t lie, I drank the beer offered, and it was cool and refreshing. All in all it was a wonderful experience. To be surrounded by people who only speak a few words of you language is something hard to imagine being a mostly inclusive feeling, but somehow I left feeling as though I was a part of this team. We all smiled when the race was over, and a suppose it goes to show you that gratitude and kindness transcend even the most difficult of barriers. There will be much much more to come. After all it’s only the beginning.