Longwinded Haiku

The Joys of (a) Winter (coat)!

2012-01-19T12:23:00.000-08:00

Yes, I am back! I am well aware that a new year is under way and I have been absent in posting for the past three months or so. What can I say except--finals and the holidays happened, and my time was so precious and demanded of me that keeping regularity with these journal entries became difficult.

However today, I was so inspired on a walk home that I felt I just had to write! What inspired this, you ask? Well, I will simply say that it was a -warm- winter coat. Now, don't get me wrong--I have coats--nearly three, to be precise. Yet all these other coats are made out of wool and just don't suffice when the daytime temperatures reach just above freezing. Now, I have been making the best with them--wearing sweaters and layers and long johns and leg warmers--but still, I wasn't what you would call "warm." What is "warm" do you ask? Well, to me--as I discovered today at least--warm is when you don't keep your head tucked into your neck and only look up when necessary. Warm is when you don't always keep your hands in your pockets, or walk as quickly as you can to get to your destination. No--warm is when you can look around, enjoy your surroundings, recognize that it is cold but not be suffering in pain from just how frozen your hands and toes are.

I finally had this today when I pulled out THE BIG winter coat. Not the most fashionable, no--in fact I look like a caramel dipped Michelin Man--but still it is warm. Warm is what counts in cold climates, as I am discovering the more I observe people in my altered state. You can recognize the walk of a cold person (short, hurried strides) and a warm person (more leisurely and lengthy). One huddles and one merely continues on as if it were the other three seasons.

In a warm coat, you can truly appreciate the bright blue of a winter sky, the cold dark forms of black-bottom clouds sailing by. There is a bright harshness to the sun after the solstice, and although weak compared to that of summer, there is something cutting about it so that it changes the edges of buildings into something much sharper, as though you have adjusted the camera lens.

You notice the fat squirrels playing amongst the tombstones, the chirp of birds that have chosen to winter it out--the muted browns, greys, greens and slate blues that all the buildings have been painted with. You see the buds on the trees, waiting resiliently. There is no sign of spring, no sign of life--everything is hunched down, close to the ground, bare and stripped of their winter coats. My god, they look cold--but aren't they beautiful?

Insects Tucked Away

2011-11-09T06:12:00.000-08:00

November 1st - 5th

Compared to Japan, I certainly wouldn't call New England an insect capital. Infact, I don't think I've ever really seen to much here in the ways of insects. A fly here, the sound of a cicada there...but never really much more than that. Where are they all hiding--even during the summer? Maybe I just haven't gotten far enough out of my urban Bostonian jungle to have really seen what kind of things go on out in the wild. Of this I have no doubt. How many humongous bugs am I really going to get around here?

In Japan this time of year, bugs are certainly on the way out and have been for a while. Probably from mid October it is rare to see much of anything except for butterflies and dragonflies. Dragonflies are actually quite prolific in Japan during summer, you can see them flitting over the fields of grass or hovering over the water. This talk of dragonflies recalls that YES, I have seen insects in New England--and those that I saw were dragonflies and crickets during a brief day trip to Cape Code. This again proves my fact though that in general, in Boston, one is not privy to too much exciting wildlife sight-seeing.

Getting back to Japan--the dragonflies in particular can be seen during September through October, and are often artistically paired with the blooming cosmos. However, come the middle stage of November, the nights have grown to cold and the days too short for them to do much of anything. If they do not die, they bury themselves deep beneath the earth and wait through the long dark months for spring once again.

It's not just insects who are tucking themselves away. Humans are too. This week the clocks "went back" here in Boston, and we have one less hour of sunlight to our day. By five o'clock it's like night--and that makes sitting in class during these last few balmy days even more intolerable. Our wintertime habits are beginning though--thoughts of buying a few extra pairs of socks, cleaning out your old thermos to carry your warm beverages--and so on.

Leaves Turn Yellow

2011-11-01T06:22:00.000-07:00

October 27th-31st

The peak has arrived here in Boston. While I see a variety of trees still green, for the most part color outnumbers them. Interestingly though it hasn't been the color that has been room for discussion these past days, but more the weather. While we have had some truly lovely, sunny mild days--the most dramatic of all was a freak snow-storm which hit the area Halloween weekend. Even before that the region was bathed in slush from another weather system that rolled through the area. Yes, winter is on its way, folks! Winter is on its way.

It's quite amazing though, how strong plants are. Even with a couple of inches of snow piling up in below freezing weather, the plants still survive into the next day and even now seem rather untouched by their recent experience.

This cold weather is good for the leaves, I'd say. It seems to preserve their color longer, and just as long as we can have a few nice, crisp sunny days for a bit longer, I will be a satisfied autumn servant.

So yes, the leaves are turning yellow...! But also red, gold, orange, and scarlet...

Wolf Sacrifices Beast

2011-11-01T06:17:00.000-07:00

October 22nd-26th

Autumn is such a fleeting season. It seems as though once it has only just begun, so the winds and rains of winter come to take it away.

This time's entry is "Wolf Sacrifices Beast"--another mystery post, that leads one to think good and hard about the natural world and how such a seasonal divide could have ever come about with such a title.

First lets think about how things are changing here in Boston and around the North East. In most other parts of the region the "peak" is roughly about this time, or a little before even. Boston is one of the last places for the autumn foliage to peak, and this is because it is temperature regulated by the sea. Other parts of the country, more subject to lower night temperatures, have already seen the reds and oranges flair up, and are now revealing in faded glory.

Here, Boston is still flushed and aglow with promise. Particularly striking now are the red hues to shrubs and ivy that border houses and climb the brick walls. It gives everything an feel of being drenched with color, which is simply lovely.

I often find myself thinking back to California. The type of seasonal display we are seeing is something that wouldn't happen until late November to mid-December. That some trees are already bare --and it isn't even November seems somewhat strange. The temperatures are also similar to the kind we would get at the beginning of winter, rather than at the middle of autumn.

But now, back to that whole wolf sacrificing beast bit. What of it? Well, here is how I have rationalized it: the wolf represents the howling winds of winter. The beasts? The animals of autumn, grown fat on nuts, berries and mushrooms. The wild versus the mild, you see? So far we have been in a mild season, but at this juncture so the wild winds of winter begin to sacrifice the milder animals one by one to the hard ways of winter. Perhaps such a statement like this is a mental preparation for us to hurry up and enjoy the splendor while we can, because very soon rather than a carpet of leaves, it shall be blankets of snow.

Chrysanthemums Yellow

2011-10-21T06:03:00.000-07:00

October 16th-21st

No confusion with this calendrical divide! Now is certainly the season for Chrysanthemums yellowing--oranging--or redding, even! In Japan, yellow chrysanthemums in autumn seem the tradition. Actually, it is November not October that is considered the "month" of these flowers--not necessarily because they have a later blooming time, but more because the emperor's birthday is celebrated in November, and the symbol of the imperial house is the chrysanthemum itself. The chrysanthemums of November are usually not the small, plain variety grown in the states--but bred for size and presence. Something like this:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Chrysanthemum_morifolium_November_2007_Osaka_Japan.jpg

Chrysanthemums in Japan have the connotation as flowers for the dead, and can be regularly seen adorning tombstones. It is always the same bi-colored bunch--that of yellow and white.

In America, I think that chrysanthemums are definitely considered an autumn flower--even though there are spring blooming varieties of well. My guess to this is because these flowers can be somewhat hearty and bloom late into the season. Americans have also bread a variety of 'autumn colors' such as deep reds, oranges and yellows. In fact, most everywhere you go these days seems to have chrysanthemums out on full display. It's quite a cheery site.

Although I technically have two more posts before the end of October, it seems like the month is already gone. How quickly the subtle months fade away, and the approaching reality of winter begins...

Sparrows Become Clams

2011-10-19T06:36:00.000-07:00

October 11-15th

Lord if I knows what this means. Not knowing though isn't much of an excuse, really, because I am sure that this calendrical divide had some sort of meaning the thousands of years ago it was created. So, here I go--trying to tackle the meaning behind sparrows become clams.

First off, I suppose you could argue that the autumn is one of the better times of the year for seafood. I know that around Boston, the seafood town, talk of delicious catches seem to be more the buzz than usual. After a bit of research online, it seems mid to late October marks the opening of the "razor clam" season--a type of clam found all throughout the Pacific and Atlantic Ocean. These clams have a distinctively long and narrow shape--much like the wing of a bird. Mid autumn certainly seems like an enjoyable time of year to gorge oneself on seafood.

Given all this nice weather we've been having lately, it seems fit that one should go to the beach and enjoy the last of the pleasant strolls along its sandy shores before it become completely freezing and violent come winter.

Another possibility is the　birds themselves gorge on said claims, to aid in storing up fats for the winter and their long flights down to warmer climates. Although I have never known sparrows to try to eat clams, perhaps it was the idea of even small creatures in nature feasting as much as they could in preparation for the long winter ahead.

Wild Geese Guests

2011-10-11T06:13:00.000-07:00

October 6th through 10th

About a month ago we had "Wild Geese Come"--and now it is "Wild Geese Guests." The only difference I could think of was perhaps that the geese have now overstayed their welcome like a guest stayed too long.
When I wrote that first post in September, I complained about seeing little to no bird life here in Boston. And, even upon going to some more isolated spots outside the city and even the cape--I have yet to really observe any wild flocks of geese. Even in a beautiful woodland pond, I could find no birds lazily floating atop the water! This leads me to ask--do geese fly over Massachusetts? One could argue in favor of it--mainly because some species may follow the coastline down to Florida. However, I am inclined to believe that most birds may stay inland--where the weather may be less capricious and feed available more recognizable to them.

When I think of wild geese I am reminded that behind them, however many days and weeks away it may be, the North Wind and cold follow. To see the wild geese is a thing of beauty, though a reminder of the upcoming winter. As a personal aside, many Bostonian I have shared a few words with over the past week have all mentioned how lovely it would be if the weather could last--but alas! We are all doomed. Perhaps the geese echo this sentiment in their mournful calls?

Waters Dry Up

2011-10-11T06:05:00.000-07:00

October 1st though 5th

Compared to somewhere like California, Boston naturally has a wetter climate. The east coast is blessed with rain in spring, summer, and fall. In the winter the rain turns to snow, but that is another matter. This segment--Waters Dry Up--gets me thinking about the types of rain one gets throughout the season. No doubt, a spring time shower is quite different from a sticky downpour of summer. Then, what about autumn? And what about the waters that will soon dry up?

Thinking about the change of the seasons, autumn is usually not the time of year that one associates with 'gushing rivers' running down the mountain. No, autumn is a resigned type of year, more subtle and melodious. We do not hear the splash of a torrent of water rushing through a mountain ravine; instead, we hear something much more rhythmical and decided. The way is already decided, not being discovered. Whereas spring and summer seem a season of verdant growth, autumn finds its beauty in the process of maturation. The apples hang on the bough, ripening day by day, their juices dried up from what we can see on the surface, though their sweetness lies hidden within.

Literally speaking, Boston has not seen much rain as of late. The rain, if it has fallen, has been brief, mild and misty. The bulk of the days have been fine and cool; the very best of autumn weather. Here and around Cambridge the trees are turning. While certainly not at the height of their beauty, there are many pockets here and there of those early changers that have now lost their leaves. The coldness of winter touches some things sooner than other, but thanks to that, we can enjoy their beauty uniquely and individually--as they do not blend in with the crowd.

Towards the middle of autumn, there seems a calm that falls over the world. A pause, where one looks around wondering what we have stopped for. Now is just such a time. February and August are also such times--the point at which the season cannot progress too much past, or else the end is begun. The beginning of October is that calming stretch of time before the plunge down into the "holiday" season, the celebration of harvest, and Yule. The gushing waters of time have dried up momentarily, and in this pause you can truly see the beauty of the season.

Beetles Wall Up

2011-10-01T19:31:00.000-07:00

September 26th-30th

Beetles wall up. What exactly does this mean? Looking at this phrase, I am at somewhat of a loss as how to relate it to the natural world around me. Coming from Japan--a land known for its variety and volume of various sorts of insect life--I find the East Coast somewhat lacking in this department. I'm certainly not complaining, though.

It does make this week's journal entry somewhat difficult. I tried to keep an eye out for insect life on my walks around the neighborhood, but couldn't find much to speak of. I guess this means that, yes, insects are beginning to "wall up" and have either died, or are beginning to go into hibernation. Earlier this week on a rather warm day, I could have sworn I heard the cry of a cicada--even though it seemed completely too late in the season for it to be alive. Perhaps he was a late bloomer? This idea is plausible, though if true, I would feel bad for the poor guy as all his potential mates are no longer around.

I think that things are beginning to shift from that phase between the 'beginning of autumn' into a more 'true' feeling of autumn. Leaves have noticeably begun to turn, fall, and cover the ground. Green trees seem fewer, and more tinted in yellow. It is expected to cool down for a few days next week, and I think that this change in temperature will bring an even bigger change to my surroundings. I have to remember that I am quite north, and the seasons here change more rapidly than one would expect. Already the light has a quality to it that I would expect during sometime in late October of early November out in California. Nights are long here up in the north, and pretty soon I'll be like the beetles, all walled up in my little dorm room, looking out through my window at the greying skies.

Thunder Pipes Down

2011-09-25T15:55:00.000-07:00

September 21st-25th

Ah, the cusps of the seasons are certainly capricious. While only a few weeks ago we had a sudden unexpected cold snap, this past week we have gone back to the rainy, humid days of summer. People tell me that autumn is quite 'grey' here, despite all the color. Autumn to me certainly does seem a season of clouds and mists, and occasional puddles--but it is certainly not one of humidity! It is a time for crisp air hitting against your cheeks as you set outdoors in the early morning. I have no doubt those days will be upon us soon--after all, October is but a week away! What an exciting thought that is.

Signs of autumn increase day by day--and I think many of my facebook friends are finding my incessant picture posts of changing leaves and ripening fruits rather dull. But, there it is! Early changing trees have begun in earnest--some already orange and red. Ivy on the wall and fences are beginning to tinge copper and rust, and it isn't uncommon to come across a tree slowly releasing its leaves one by one. People have pumpkins lining their porches, and today I saw a girl drawing a face onto one with a sharpee marker.

This weekend I visited the Harvard Arboretum (which is nowhere near Harvard, I might add). It felt good to be out in a place where there were no buildings--only fading summer flowers, turning trees, and falling acorns and nuts. I discovered what the fruit to the walnut looked like, and even grabbed one to take home and experiment upon. The fruit turns quite a black color--and I wonder if that is where the 'walnut colored' for staining wood came from. Probably. It also seems you can make ink from the fruit itself as well! I really hope to go back there once the autumn has really begun to take off and the cool days are upon us.

While thunder has not piped down upon us exactly, we certainly have got a lot of rain and clouds this week, and for the foreseeable next. Right now seems neither summer nor autumn, but somewhere betwixt and between.

Currently in Japan, according to their calender--it is the middle of autumn and the spider lilies are all out blooming along the rice paddies. The heat of summer should be beginning to wear off, and cooler nights beginning. The days of sweltering have ended, as the humidity has begun to drop off. No doubt the rice fields are being harvested around now, and the landscape of the golden sea has become one rather forlorn full of evenly spaced stumps of grass. In those fields, the frogs, crickets and snakes are adjusting to their new surroundings--no doubt wondering where their lovely protective walls have spirited off to.

Flocks Gather Grains

2011-09-21T06:05:00.000-07:00

There seems to be much reference to fowl in these Chinese calendrical titles, and I feel that the past couple of weeks my responses have been somewhat lacking. This is mainly because the amount of fowl I see out here in Cambridge is limited to the flocks of brown sparrows, and occasionally a blue-jay. These posts remind me that I am indeed in an urban environment, and many of the creatures may have long ago abandoned this place in search of greener, cleaner pastures out in the country.

Today is the autumnal equinox--and what a beautiful day I believe it will turn out to be! The mists hung over the lawns this morning, permeating through the neighborhood. While I took my morning jog, I was reminded how I have always loved these mists of autumn--the way they cast the morning into a gentle grey, and how, when touched with sunlight they seem like fading gossamer.

Although the temperature changes day by day, the hints of autumn have truly begun at last. Trees in the Harvard Yard are beginning to be tinged with slight hues of yellows, oranges and reds. The leaves on smaller shrubs have turned as well, beginning to scatter the ground with their leaves. The birds and squirrels seem hard at work, eating as much of the little grains and nuts as they can. I wonder--will the birds leave us too, by and by?

This past weekend I chanced upon an event to 'Welcome in Autumn.' We stood on the banks of the Charles River in the fading light of day, singing unknown and yet seemingly familiar songs. They were songs that could appeal to everyone, both young and old. Standing there, I was struck almost to tears; at the goodness and relative simplicity of man that is often so long forgotten. It was like a slip back in time, when the power of song and singing together was a form of entertainment and camaraderie. There, on the lawn, sat old, the young, and the very young. Some dancing, some singing, some laughing, some saying nothing at all. It was a moment that truly made me love where I live.

Swallows Leave

2011-09-13T18:52:00.000-07:00

September 10th - 14th

Swallows leaves sounds truly like the beginnings of something. As opposed to my last post which was 'wild geese come'--which invokes the feeling of an incomplete journey, this title invokes the spirit to the start of a journey for the creatures of our local habitat. Rather than the outside forces affecting our surroundings, it is us which affect our outside forces with our own decisions and resolutions. It is not the greater and the prouder beast that sets out on a journey, but a humble spirit that we as humans see in our everyday lives.

I noticed yesterday just how tired some of the leaves are beginning to look. Certainly a bit of a change compared to the lush land I was first presented with upon my arrival. Although the days are still warm, the humidity in the air has greatly decreased. Another rain storm is anticipated for tomorrow, and with it, I am willing to guess the arrival of autumn. According to the whether report, once the storm has passed, autumn temperatures in the mid sixties will begin.

It makes sense that helpless little swallows should leave a land before the dew turns cold.

Wild Geese Come

2011-09-11T16:43:00.000-07:00

September 5th-9th

In California around this time of year is when you begin to hear the evening cries of geese migrating down from the north. Where we happened to live was next to protected waterways for such birds, and over the years it has become an established migratory path. There is nothing like sitting outside in the last vestiges of summer, when the nights are beginning to cool down, and in the twilight hear the echoes as one V-formation of birds and then another sail by.

In Massachusetts, I have not yet seen any form of bird bigger than a sparrow--although sparrows we have in plenty. They seem to be everywhere; cleaning themselves off in fountains, hiding in the yew bushes, and scowering the grass for small seeds. A few days ago it was quite windy, and while I was watching a big gust of wind stirred up a large wave of brown leaves. When I looked more closely, I realized the leaves were not leaves at all, but the small birds that so frequent our campus.

Wild geese have not come yet, but with the cooling nights I have no doubt that on some occasion I will hear their cries ringing out soon enough.

Rice Ripens

2011-09-05T11:21:00.000-07:00

8/31-9/4

August has ripened into September, and with its coming there is a sense of change and anticipation in the air. Yesterday, I saw my first "autumn-themed" advertisement--Dunkin' Donuts "Fall Back in Love with Cider" campaign. Pretty soon those cups of iced tea will be replaced by warm mugs, and the bright fruity flavors of summer will give way to the rich, spicy scents and tastes.

In Japan, this is the season when the rice begins to ripen. Fields that began as a sea of watery mirrors in June, a verdant grassland in July and August, have now turned golden in September. Rice heavy on the stalk in fields once so slushy, are now nearly dry--the fishes and water-snakes replaced by land-frogs and crickets. The rice ripening is the first hint of the end to the heat, and soon enough the Japanese people will put aside their chilled noodle, cucumbers and greens, to enjoy freshly harvested rice; the beginning of autumn. It is still too early yet, but the golden-green seas are the first sign in Asia to the changing of the seasons, even if the oppressive heat continues.

While here in Massachusetts growing rice is not the principle crop, the idea of "ripening" or "past ripe" is during this cusp. In people's gardens over-ripe peaches fall to the ground, and a zucchini forgotten is now discovered amoung the dark leaves. The harbingers of autumn's cooler days--the fig--is now to be seen readily at supermarkets and at farmer's markets. The sweet, ambiguous flavor of the fig with its musky insides is a strange fruit, and the beginning of the long line of more stranger arrivals like gourds and pumpkins. The tomato season is reaching its end too, although the farmer's markets are still full of bright roma and large heirloom tomatoes. People celebrate these flavors in salads now, but pretty soon those ripening and ripened crimson orbs will be not for eating, but for canning.

In Japan the growing season would be winding down around now, the morning-glories tired and spent, and the eggplants still producing but not with the same spunk that they held earlier in the season. The streets seem dusty, hot and dry--though perhaps not as humid as the days of August had been.

Here in Cambridge, some of the trees have a withered look to them--as the tips of their leaves begin to crisp up from the strong rays of sun. Other trees, like the ones in the lawn directly across my street, have begun to tint with a mellow beginning of yellow. Signs of change begin subtly, and are begun during this season. The weather of the past few days has been capricious and indecisive between summer and autumn--muggy and hot one day, windy and warm the next, and finally just down right chilly. The fruit of summer has ripened, and is now hanging from the bow almost ready to drop.

Heaven and Earth Strict

2011-08-29T13:42:00.000-07:00

August 26th-30th

"Heaven and Earth Strict" implies some great dramatic force from the atmosphere harping down upon humans. These past few days, the weather has been particularly dramatic. The latter part of last week was a "strict" stint of balmy, sunny days with white poofy clouds floating along. The weather was the typical kind that one expects during the waning days of summer. However, the end of summer and the beginning of September is a notorious season the world over for extreme weather. In Japan, the Indian Summer days of September are those most likely to bring a tropical storm or "typhoon/taifun" down upon the island archipelago. The American equivalent would be a tropical storm, which often times develop into hurricanes--depending on the amount of momentum they pick up over warm waters.

Living now in the North East, where one thinks of maple trees and crisp days out on a cape--a hurricane coming so far up the coast. Most people were taken by surprise. Not only a week ago there had been an earthquake in the nation's capitol (a very rare occurence), but now Boston was being put on alert for a hurricane.

Heaven and Earth certainly have been strict--strictly adhering to strange weather. "strictly" summer one day, "strictly" storm the next. As it so happens, the hurricane had dwindled down to merely a tropical storm by the time it hit the north-east. This isn't to say that there wasn't damage--toppled tree-limbs, mudslides and major flooding in the western part of the state at the least. As for us humans, we remained strictly indoors this weekend, having been warned of the insane amount of damage this hurricane might actually cause. Although the storm just blew by yesterday, today has already reverted back to it's normal weather pattern for the end of August--sunny, balmy weather prevails again!

Nevertheless, it is this time of year that the atmosphere begins to gurgle and change as autumn, and eventually winter, begin to make themselves known.

72 Seasons Project: Raptor Sacrafices Bird

2011-08-25T13:40:00.000-07:00

August 21st through August 25th:
Raptor Sacrifices Bird

This is my first of such seasonally orientated entries, and I will try to remain as faithful and regular in writing them as I possibly can. One thing about the Chinese seasonal almanacs is that the meanings behind each seasonal division's names are somewhat unclear, and through much of this project I feel I will be relying on guess work. This week is one such example.

Speaking of a week, it was almost a little over a week ago that I arrived here on the East Coast. Going from Japan to California and at last to Cambridge seemed a whirlwind of emotions. Now that I have finally settled in the community I will be calling home for the next two years, I find myself begging to study a natural landscape that is completely foreign to me. Throughout these journal entries, I will be comparing the seasons, weather, topography (etc) between California and Japan.

August is a warm time of the year anywhere you go in the Northern Hemisphere. In Japan the senses would be overwhelmed with never-ending days of extremely high humidity, the roaring sound of cicadas, and the large thunderheads that form off in the distance come afternoon. The gorgeous seasonal flowers of summer would be slowly coming to an end, and little color would be able to punctuate the dense green of overgrown grasses, cedars, bright bamboo and overgrown kudzu. In Japan, August is a merry month with numerous summer festivals to perk oneself up from the oppressive heat. However, according to the Chinese calender, we have already been in autumn since August 6th. Granted, in these modern times our calenders are based off the sun, so if we wanted to be truly accurate September 6th would be considered the beginning of autumn in accordance to the lunar callender.

Whatever way you want to look at it, the end of August is a time of transition. The summer plants are tired and worn out, and the autumn ones are beginning to liven up, waiting for cooler weather to showcase their blooms.

As I am just arrived to this strange new world, I know little of the flora and fauna surrounding me. Contrary to the dry, worn-out sort of look I was expecting to find this late in summer, the cool climate of the North Eastern United States has kept the surroundings quite green and lush. There is no sense of seasonal exhaustion, the tree-lined boulevards are not dried out and weary, and all seems a healthy deep green of maturation. The weather, though warm, is temperate in summer--with thunderstorms every few days. I happened to visit Concord, MA a few days ago and was surprised by the glorious array of golden-rod, Queen Anne's Lace, and some other variety of flower that gave off gorgeous purple blooms.

Here in the city, it is harder to notice what is going on with the more "local" plants--as opposed to those being reared in people's backyards, but I did notice all along the Charles River the amount of green overgrowth. Within that tangle I managed to recognize only a trumpet vine type plant (in Japanese, I would say "Hirogao" or Day Glory--the cousin of the Morning Glory), as well as small almost highlighter bright yellow flowers and small pinkish-purple flowers that almost looked like a piece of corn on the cob.

More so than flora--this Chinese calendrical division speaks of fauna. While I am at a loss to say what the original means, my theory is this: that in these crepuscular days of summer, when the heat is most strong and weary, the animals themselves find themselves exhausted and lethargic. The raptors, in their exhaustion of the season, sacrifice themselves from their prey in order to conserve energy. Another theory may be that the end of summer brings a rich harvest of fully grown plants and animals, and birds of prey like the raptors reap the bounty of the season.
As far as the birds here in Cambridge, I have seen no raptors as of yet--but many common sparrows have been having a ball searching out seeds in the blue grass, and cleaning themselves in fountains and puddles.

---------------

For a complete list of the Chinese calendrical divides, check out: http://www.lizadalby.com/LD/72_seasons.html

Also, if anyone could recommend a good Massachusetts native plant reference book or website, I would greatly appreciate it!

Back in America and Thinking Green

2011-08-16T11:04:00.000-07:00

I tend to have long hiatuses in my journal posting, but this this time around the pause related not to my laziness, but that I have returned home to America and am about to venture out onto a new phase of life. I lived and worked in Japan for two years in rural, beautiful Shimane Prefecture as an Assistant Language Teacher--now I will live, study and possibly work in Cambridge, Massachusetts as an MA student at Harvard. I go from my small isolated island of Japan to a big city, in a part of the world I have never been to.

This new life style will be daunting, and it goes without saying that I am nervous about readjusting to life on my own in America, dealing adult financial matters, and washing off the rust to my academic skills.

This new phase of my life means many things, and I want to approach it with a fresh and inspired attitude. I want to take what I learned living in the "inaka" and as a member of Japanese society, and somehow use that knowledge to better my life as a graduate student.

Food is of major importance to me. I am a "foodie" plain and simple. My time in Japan not only forced more creativity in my cooking, but also adapt to a "get less for more" kind of budget. Food in Japan was expensive compared to that in America. Minus the lack of fresh fruit, I think that I ate very healthy and moderate portions while abroad. Although I will be living in the dorms and subject to at least one meal a day at the dining services, for the remainder of the time food preparation will be my responsibility.

Japan taught me the willingness to pay more for less, but in turn receive better quality ingredients. Sure, I only got two apples for four dollars--but the apples themselves were tasty and fresh. I hope to continue in this mindset by trying to go to Organic and Cooperative grocers whenever possible. Additionally, I will attempt to eat food as seasonal as possible. That means--no raspberries in March--and possibly (we'll see though) no bananas! Sure, this means spending more money on ingredients--but it will also force me to be more exacting in the food I buy. It will control my portions, support local farmers and a chemical-free environment. We will see how this venture actually goes, but for the time being I am looking forward to this new dietary alteration.

I've become quite interested in the "Slow Food" movement--something which not only advocates organically raised crops and livestock, but also an appreciation for the natural world, and promotion of many "heirloom" type of vegetables and livestock which have been bread out of the market in favor of vegetables that can support long distance shipping, or turkeys who are so heavy with their own meaty flesh that they cannot support their body. I recommend anyone else interested to read a recently published book that I am greatly enjoying called, "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle" by Barbara Kingsolver.

The Last Week

2011-07-22T20:42:00.000-07:00

There is only one week remaining before I depart the place and the people that I have called home and friends for two years. I can say now, with most of it behind me, that I will cherish these two years I have spent here in Japan. There have been good times and bad times, happy times and lonely times, frustrating times and times when the wind was smooth in my sails.

These past few weeks have been in a continuing holding pattern, and as the days have gone by, so have I disentangled myself and my emotions from my life in my small corner of Japan. It has not been easy, and there have been moments were I have cried in front of my students. Contrastingly, there have been times when I wanted to say farewell to everything in an instant and begin a new path in life. This is my impatient side coming through, I have no doubt.

I ask myself--have these two years turned me off from Japan? While I can honestly say "no" I will truthfully say that there is a "but" to that statement. Just as there is a "but" when I say "I like America...but..." It is not a question of like or hate, black or white. Can I admit that there are things that I have come to dislike about this culture? Yes, of course I can. Contrastingly, there are things I have also learned to love on a deeper level. I don't want to become numb towards this country, and learn to live in it regardless of culture--because for me, once I take that mindset, it is as though something is lost. I do not want to be lost in my own indifference, for indifference towards life, and one's surrounding is something I cannot stand whether I am on the shores of the Sea of Japan or the Atlantic.

I will admit that much of my dissatisfaction towards this stint in the country was not based on any particular growing dislike of Japan--but my dislike of my job and the limitations it presented me. Perhaps I am an ambitious person. At the very least, I am a person who wishes to be felt useful, needed, and with a sense of achievement in my job. If someone were to ask me whether or not I had a good time in Japan these past two years--I would answer, yes, certainly--but I like so many adults, I have come to not live for my job, but for my time outside of it. My most precious memories here have not been the time I have spent with my students at Culture or Sports Festivals, but time spent with cherished people, enjoying beautiful places, interesting food or epic adventures of some sort. Perhaps this is just life in general--because at one point or another, a person will take a job they dislike. In fact it is very likely that most humans work a job they dislike--and it is for the time outside their job that they secretly yearn.

Perhaps because my life has been in a holding pattern since roughly May of this year, I find myself not evolving and not as motivated as I once was. I am a person who thrives on being busy, being productive to be happy. By being productive, I can enjoy the "down times" even more.

In any case, this past week has been filled with goodbyes--coupled with the wiping away of two years of buildup in my apartment. The time for goodbyes is almost upon me, and as I make my way further and further from my former home, I think to myself just how many changes these two years have brought upon me, and how much I have evolved as a human being.

Untangling Myself

2011-07-16T18:43:00.000-07:00

This week marked my last week at my various schools, saying goodbye to a total of six. The whole process was rather emotional, as I took pictures with each of the students, received hand-written messages, and gave a farewell speech. While some of the obligatory letters I received said typical things like "Thank you for these two years" and "Your lessons were interesting," there were also more personal thoughts and feelings written down. Especially at the elementary school level, I am dubious of the impression I made on the students, although I think it was a good one. My time with the elementary schools was less than with the middle schools, but contrastingly, I think my students at the elementary level got to know me better as a person and teacher, as I was the one mainly in charge of class.
At the middle school level, I have only as much control over the class as the Japanese English Teacher allows. Although I speak Japanese at elementary school, and am effectively the "Japanese English Teacher" and "Assistant Language Teacher" rolled up in one, in middle school I refrain from using my Japanese. This is for the benefit of the students of course, although I personally have suffered, annoyed when my English or personal messages I try to give the students is translated into something trite and banal, lacking much of the original emotion I put into it in the first place.
Even though I lacked control at the middle school for the most part, it was there that I spent most of my time, and there that I have known the students best. When it came time to say goodbye to these schools, I was an emotional mess--particularly at my last school this week. The farewell to my students is not only a farewell to them, but a farewell to the life I have lived in Japan, the friends I have made, relationships I have forged, and myself as I have existed in this country. It is a sad thing to say goodbye, to know that I will never return to what I have had in my small corner of Japan. While I know hope lays on the horizon, it would be cruel and thoughtless of me to not morn all I have come to treasure during my time here. To not feel would mean that these past two years have not meant anything at all.

Four Months

2011-07-11T03:32:00.000-07:00

It has been four months to the day since the Tohoku Earthquake and tsunami. It was only this Sunday that we in Japan and around the world were reminded again of nature's power with another earthquake in Northeastern Japan. While I don't know how much coverage the recovery process is receiving on overseas news, not a day goes by where there is something that is affected or related to March 11th.

To begin with, there is the "setsuden" or "power conversation" that the national government is pushing for this summer. Tokyo in particular is having the worst of it, as the Fukushima Power Plant was one of their principle sources of power. While not having it as nearly as bad out here in Shimane, we are still encouraged to conserve energy so the excess can be channeled off to other locations in Japan.

There is also the issue of the nuclear power plant located near Matsue, the prefectural capital of Shimane. Not surprisingly, a large controversy has begun over whether or not to continue to use this as a viable source of power and to seek other alternatives.

Then, there is the issue of politics themselves. Our current Prime Minister Kan has a 16% approval rating, with many Japanese anxious to see him out of office. People are not satisfied with his ability to get things done. In the same way that Bush did not address the issue of New Orleans promptly enough, so believe many Japanese people. (I would argue that Kan has certainly done a better job of it so far and deserves more time to make things right, but that is another post about the capriciousness of Japanese politics...)

On the news it was reported today that the death toll has been marked at about 20,200 people--with the remaining 100,000 living in temporary housing. I was surprised to learn that on the news tonight that many people who live the housing do not even know their neighors' name. What an even more isolating existence it must be for them...

Then, there is food. The story this week is the contaminated beef that was found at a processing plant in Tokyo. While officials managed to discover and apprehend this shipment on time, apparently another order of beef that came from the contaminated area has already been distributed and sold. This only affirms the fact that I buy local--and for the time being, do not buy beef.

In the same vein, many schools in Tokyo have begun to monitor the ingredients used for school lunches for radioactivity. The impetus of this procedure came from a demand from the local community.

Treating the radioactivity and storing it seems to be the biggest problem. Japan is not nice and big like America, and finding somewhere to deal with large quantities of radio-active water or ash for example, is a very difficult task.

To put it simply, it's been four months--and everyday it still echoes in our minds.

Banana Battle

2011-06-29T15:50:00.000-07:00

Us foreigners in the town hosted our second Iron Chef show-down. The first one was done last autumn at my apartment, with myself and another ALT battling for the title of "Iron Chef." At that time, mushrooms were the secret ingredient. The battle itself was quite challenging, as we used the limited space and equipment my apartment offered. Still, all things considered we managed to make a go of it with three dishes per chef.

I personally love to cook, and enjoy these types of challenges. However, finding other ALTs who have the same passion as mine is difficult. It was then that I met a young chef who is apprenticing at the local French restaurant that I host my English conversation class at once a month. I broached the idea to him, and he accepted. This time, we even had received permission from the restaurant owner to use her facilities as "Kitchen Stadium." As it was a bigger playing field, we were allowed a sous chef each. Mine was my former competitor in the previous Iron Chef Battle. Together, we equaled Team USA.

The secret ingredient turned out to be banana--something I usually use in one of three forms: banana shake, banana bread or banana pudding. I never really cook with it outside of these realms, and it presented a real challenge to us. Still, it was fun because we were able to experiment with dishes just for the heck of it. Of course, we wanted to get stuff right and tasting good--but as we usually don't work with the ingredient extensively, we decided just to have fun.

So, what did we come up with, you ask? Quite a few things.

1. Banana-Mango-Loquat lassi: banana, yogurt and milk mixed together then put through a sieve. At the bottom of the drink there was mango and loquat pulp.

2. Banana-Ginger Soy Soup: A lot of things went into this soup--soy milk, avocado, banana, ginger, yellow pepper to name a few. It ended up somewhat thick and reminiscent of a Thai coconut soup.

3. Sweet potato-banana latkes: bananas and sweet potato based batter with the addition of corn and adobo spices for some contrast. Ideally, I wanted to serve the item with sour cream, but I ran out of time. I would add that although the end product came out tasty, using regular potato might have been better for giving it a more "savory" rather than sweet flavor.

4. Lime chicken and banana-watermelon-cucumber pico de gayo: A simply cooked chicken with essence of lime vinegar, topped with the pico de gayo. The ingredients for the pico de gay were: banana, watermelon, corn, tomato and cucumber that were tossed with a simple rice vinegar dressing. I liked this dish the best, as it was cool and refreshing.

5. Bananas foster: batter dipped and panko coated bananas topped with cream, kuromitsu molasses like topping, nuts and cinnamon. The opposing team made something similar, but I have to say I like ours better.

All these dishes were completed according to the allotted time of 90 minutes. Although I am not sure of the score, I am proud to say that Team USA's cuisine reigned supreme! Hopefully I can do similar challenges in the future.

June into July

2011-06-26T20:37:00.000-07:00

This week marks the last week of June, and the beginning of July; my time here in Japan under the auspices of the JET Program is coming to an end. It has been roughly one year and eleven months since I started this adventure out here in the rural countryside. The anxious, nervous girl has emerged from this swirl of bamboo and textbooks--although battle-scarred, I feel I have become more composed person, more confident in themselves and their abilities. I have taken the sweet and the bitter, and attempted to learn from both. In a little over two months, I will beginning a new adventure in the urban jungle of Boston (MA), where I will be attending graduate school, and entering a completely different world where life will once again revolve around benefiting the growth of my own intellect, rather than those of my students. Although I move on, a piece in my heart will remain forever during this time, with those relationships and people.

Nearly every day I find myself looking back on the time I have spent here as an ALT, and all that I have learned about life, life in Japan, and myself. In a way, the time spent here has hardened me and prepared me for the realities of life in a workplace, those un-achieved ideals, and the way that one attempts success by working around the system, trying their best for themselves and their students. I feel that, thanks to a variety of factors, I have become an adult. While I may still be idealistic, and even sometimes silly at times-- this time away from my family, in a place where I am dependent on creating my own happiness and feel of inclusion in the community, has taught me many important life lessons.

I have no doubt that when I return to the states, I will be asked that generalized question of “How was Japan?”—where I am expected to sum up two years of experience, highs and lows, struggles and successes, into neat one or two sentences at most. What would I answer? Probably it would be something along the lines of, “It was great. I learned a lot about myself, and what life in Japan is like as a member of society.”

This just only scratches the surface of what these two years has meant to me.

Painting the Town Red

2011-05-14T05:38:00.001-07:00

Now, I am not one for excessive drinking binges by any means. What I do enjoy is getting together with people and having a few drinks, relaxing, having ridiculous conversations, and maybe some karaoke. Yesterday night was just such an opportunity, and we painted my little city red.

It begins with the placement of the city I live in. I may have mentioned that I live in Shimane Prefecture, along the coast. The placement happens to be that it is sandwiched between two larger cities. As Shimane is long and narrow, with not much to go to in the mountains, most of the socializing takes place in these larger cities. This isn't to say that I live in a particularly lonesome area, it just is the case that our downtown and drinking district is nothing compared to those of the cities we are between. If there is an event happening, especially at night, it is not in our city.

Last night was different, and instead of us going there--they came here. Now, partying it up in my city is a lot more difficult. To begin with, there are few dining establishments. Of these establishments even fewer are vegetarian friendly. Finally, most are mom and pop joints that could hardly hold a crowd over ten, let alone twenty. As far as other entertainment establishments go, of the two karaoke parlors, the one closest to the station and most accessible recently closed down. This leaves the other one half way across town. Nevertheless, given these circumstances, us ALTs here decided to host an event one night--to paint the town red.

An event like this could not have been possible a year ago. The relationship between us ALTs was not the best, and there would have been little desire to host something like this. As the deadline for our departure draws to a close, we found ourselves thinking that there should be at least one night where we were the hosts and hostesses--and have an evening of drunken merriment.

Now, I certainly won't go into the details of the night--although all things considered, it was pretty mild mannered and ended a little after twelve thirty. What strikes me most about the whole situation is this strange sense of fulfillment, accomplishment and resolution of my stay here in Japan as a "JET." It's coming to a close, and a situation that started off rocky on many levels has gradually smoothed out. Resolution in the sense that if someone asked me, "Did you have a good time on JET?" I would say "yes." Or if it was inquired, "How did you and the other ALTs get along?" I could say, "It started out rocky, but in the end we understood each other and became friends." It is a nice feeling to know that you have progressed and changed, and hopefully, become a better person.

I find myself having more and more of my thoughts of late as a I reminisce about my JET sojourn.

The Changes During Golden Week

2011-05-07T03:35:00.000-07:00

In Japan, Golden Week is the period of time from the end of April to the beginning of May where there are successive national holidays. With the weather finally warming up, people tend to take off time--generally taking the entire week or more off. For my Golden Week holidays, I traveled up north to Hokkaido and went on a road trip around the eastern edge. It was an amazing trip, and one that I plan to write about further. This post however is merely to put down some thoughts I had on my ride home from the airport.

First off, when I left for my Golden Week (GW) adventures, my remote little city was still somewhat in the clutches of winter. Hot food, a kotatsu, tea and heating my bed were still necessary. Even though the sakura had come and gone by the end of April, it was still unseasonably cold and the hills bare and gray. It was the cusp of spring, and now when I have arrived back--I find to my delight the hills that were once grey and brown are covered with patches of bright, brilliant greens. Their forms are soft and welcoming, fresh and alive. Although the pink of the sakura has gone, the mountain azaleas in deep magenta and pinks--and the mountain wisteria in its soft sprays of purple adorn the scene. It really seemed to me that spring--and almost summer has come. The drive home reminded me how much I like the feeling of early summer in Japan; the mirror-like rice paddies flooded and waiting to be planted, the bright green to the hills, and mistiness to the mountains. The air is warm and somewhat sticky like summer, but still bearable and comfortable. Going from the cusp of spring, back to winter, and back in to spring is kind of throwing me for a shock.

Coming back and having the weather so warm, reminds me, yet again, how short my time is here. It's something like 85 days left here, and so many things to do both practical and pleasurable before I leave. This GW trip of mine was my last major trip to take during my time in Japan. What a wonderful trip it turned out to be.

Not the Destination, but the Journey

2011-04-25T01:12:00.000-07:00

You often hear that life is not about the destination, but the journey. Oftentimes, I forget this--as I can be somewhat of an impatient disposition--always looking toward the possibilities of the future. I think this is something that most people do; anticipating the weekend when it's Monday, thinking of Christmas when it's October. However, this type of anticipation and uneasiness about the present can lead to dissatisfaction with one's life, as one can never be satisfied in the here and now. Personally, I think I go through waves of happiness with the everyday, and anxiousness for the next stage.

Lately, I have had some problems, for I have mentally "checked out" of my job in a way. It is hard to motivate oneself when the next step has already been decided and the wheels are turning towards that inevitability. However, as of late I have found myself pleasantly preoccupied with a task which combines my anxiousness of the future, and the ability to be satisfied with the present.

That is, namely, planning. I am a big planner, and you can ask most any person I know and they would say that I am a thorough person in most everything I do. I am currently planning for Golden Week, where I am go on a ten day road trip around the eastern part of Hokkaido. While I say "planning" I should also mention that this planning relates to packing. As far as the details of the day to day go--(besides having a guaranteed place to stay at night) I am unconcerned with the details during the day. My hope is to let freedom and adventure take control, while having a warm place to sleep.

No, it is the planning of packing to which I speak. This trip has been particularly challenging as the weather of Hokkaido may be quite varied--from warm, mild days, to snow possibly falling in some parts. I must be prepared for anything and pack for both cold and warm weather conditions. Additionally, I must pack light--as my last trip to the far north proved that I had brought way too much stuff than needed (though I will say, my snow boots took up a lot of room and I had to use another bag precisely because of that) and had the painful experience of lugging it everywhere. I was told that this time--pack light, as we will be moving from place to place practically every day. The final challenge is to try to bring somewhat attractive clothes, instead of looking like the abdominal snow man. Beginning Thursday, my adventure in Hokkaido begins--but for the time being, I am enjoying packing, putting products into smaller, more compact containers, and figuring out what still needs to be done.

East Wind Melts the Ice

2011-04-19T21:10:00.000-07:00

East Wind Melts the Ice is a title of a book I read the summer before I came to Japan. Liza Dalby, who is an scholar of Japan, as well a nature lover, composed this book following the traditional Chinese Almanac seasonal divides. In Western countries, we have a similar system of division with the most known ones being "solstices," "equinoxes"--and pagan and agricultural traditions, more commonly referred to as the "Wheel of the Year." However, the Celtic tradition of dividing the year has an event roughly every month and a half or so. Even the Japanese seasonal almanac only carries 24 seasonal divisions. The Chinese seasonal almanac, by comparison, has 72 different seasonal demarcations, a new one occurring every five days or so.

Upon my arrival in Japan two years ago, it was my hope to try as Liza Dalby had done to document the seasonal changes around me while consulting the Chinese almanac. Unfortunately, I forgot to bring the book with me. This is not to say that I have forgotten about my ambition.

Come summer, I will be embarking back to America, and beginning a new life on the East Coast of the United States. Having never visited the area at all, I will be able to see my natural surroundings with eyes unclouded and with a fresh perspective for my first year. The second year of my stay, my hope is to probe deeper on what I will have hopefully written the year before. This may not happen, but I look forward to being able to document my time and the seasonal changes of yet another new place for me.

For more info on East Wind Melts the Ice, and the Chinese Seasonal Almanac visit:

http://www.lizadalby.com/LD/72_seasons.html

Currently, we are in the period when "Rainbows First Appear." This means there must be both rain and sunshine for this to occur. Recent weather conditions have been similar to this state.

Furari

2011-04-12T16:45:00.000-07:00

With cherry trees in full bloom, the petals fluttered by a cool wind under bright blue skies, I feel at last that winter has ended and spring has come. Compared to last year, the spring has certainly been late in coming with practically no false starts. Even the sturdy plum blossoms had been delayed by the continuously cold weather. While the winds were not nearly as bad as I remember them being last year (although it may be that I have gotten used to the climate here more), it was just plain cold for this part of Japan. Spring didn't really come until about two weeks ago, and for that I am thankful. Now that it's here, the cherry trees have burst into a gentle bloom--and the mountainsides are now speckled with a mist of pink.

Last year around this time, I had forgone local events and headed to the tourist spot of Tsuwano, seeing Yabusame--or, archery as performed from atop a galloping horse. While a wonderful, and very Japanese experience, I felt that once was good enough. Instead, I kept it local and visited my town's street fair that only happens once a year. They call it a "furari" which in Japanese means "aimlessly"--but probably means something closer to "leisurely." Essentially, it is a street fair that is held in the old district of town, where buildings from the Showa Era still exist--the old city hall and post office the most prime example. Unlike the street fair image that is associated in America, with a variety of crafts and games for children--to me this seemed a truley adult event centuring on the gourmet and handmade craft offerings of Gotsu. Most tents that had been errected served high end, somewhat foreign dishes--coffee from Italy, handmade crepes, tofu-chicken potstickers, curry from India, couscous, import beer, fresh dango and the like. Their craft options included hand made bags, jewelry, small potted plants, and my personal favorite--local pottery.

Being a beautiful sunny day, many people attended the event. Some of the other ALTs from the neighboring town decided to attend. The fair was crowded with acquaintances, many who remembered me very well--while I only had a half recognition of their face. That's the thing, living here, you meet so many people--and as a foreigner, you are pretty much instantaneously remembered by the Japanese. On the other hand, unless it is a person I work with, or see regularly every month or so, the likelihood of me being able to place a face is most difficult. This kind of interaction happened many a time to me, and even to some of the other ALTs.
Then there were my students who attended the event, and who constantly called my name and waved to me. While this is not to say I dislike my students in anyway, I like to feel the freedom of the weekend, and that barrier of living a private and independent life away from the prying eyes of those who ask me later questions like "Was that man your boyfriend?" or "Did you see me at the furari?" I know their intentions are good, and I certainly can't begrudge them for wanting to talk to me. I guess it is that I finally understand why so many teachers of mine during high-school did not live in the city they worked in. Being liked and known can be a little stressful sometimes!

The furari itself was very nice though. Live bands from the schools played, and it was wonderful to just soak up some Vitamin D after months of avoiding the outdoors. Sadly, as these types of events are few and far between in my little corner of Japan, when they do occur, they are amazingly popular. Consequently, if you do not get there early--practically when the event has just started--the chance of you getting food is very limited. While there were all manner of food options, most of them had sold out by the time we arrived and we had to settle for the local hole-in-the-wall restaurant I frequent.

All in all, it was a good day. I felt part of a community, and also proud of it to be able to hold such a charming event.

Spring Vacation at the BOE

2011-04-06T05:15:00.000-07:00

The last week of March marks the beginning of spring vacation for most schools in Japan. For ALTs, this means that instead of making their normal rounds to school, they are expected to go to the Board of Education. According to our contract, it is necessary that we come in to the “BOE” during times of no school, but of course depending on the region and town, this policy differs. There are some ALTs that “work from home” and others that must go into the office. When it comes to the work that the ALT does at the BOE, it can’t necessarily be said that there is much to be done there. An ALTs’ job comes from being an Assistant Language Teacher, and if there are no classes to teach, there can be no job. Even lesson planning yourself cannot be done, as you inevitably have to get the approval from a teacher. As many teachers in Japan are being forced to relocate, or are preparing for the new school year, it could easily be said that spring vacation is the busiest time for Japanese teachers. The last thing on their mind is dealing with the hassle of arranging and planning lessons with ALTs, when they are still trying to remember their new coworkers name—or the way to the grocery market. Many ALTs realize this, and spend the chilly spring vacation traveling.
For ALTs that don’t chose to travel during this season, it means that instead of commuting to school, you commute to the BOE—where you are not allowed to be late! The atmosphere is much different from school, being somewhat quiet and reserved, with no students constantly coming in and out, in and out of the staff room. It feels like a real job with decision making skills a necessity for the staff. Just like at school, the staff is divided into groups and work together as a unit—struggling and succeeding together as a team. Unlike American cubicles, there is no sense of privacy and the workers can see over their desks and to what everyone else in the office is doing. That means, it is difficult to doze off at work—and I imagine the productivity level is quite high. As an ALT with no real desk of our own, there is no guarantee that you will get internet access during the two weeks you spend at the BOE. However, if you bring your own work and study that does not involve the internet, you can be quite productive by the end of your time. For some, being at the BOE can be a productive time—for others, unbearable.

Gain and Loss in Japan

2011-03-31T16:01:00.000-07:00

This spring break I decided to print out pictures for a photo album of the time spent here on JET. I know that when I return to America in summer, I will be too busy to do so, and it would be nice have something already made to bring along to graduate school. Rather than facebooking pictures, I hope to enjoy turning the pages to a book in an old fashioned way, remembering the fun I had in Japan. This process has made me look at many pictures of myself over the one and a half year stint in Japan. During this time, I have seen many versions of my body.
I arrived in Japan rather skinny. I had been extremely nervous about JET for well over a month, so nervous that I had stopped eating as much. Additionally, it was summer time, a season where everyone loses weight. I kept that weight off through the beginning of November, and from about the midpoint of the month on I began to gain. In hindsight, I can blame this on several factors. Firstly, I was packing my own lunches--which usually consisted of a large Tupperware full of rice and meat/vegetables or pasta/meat/vegetables. I figure I would have gained even more weight if I was forced to eat Kyushoku every day. However delicious kyushoku may be, it’s a very calorie rich meal. As for making my own bentos, while nothing I made was particularly bad, I believe it was the portion and carb size I would give myself that was a possible cause of weight gain. Oftentimes there was a little pasta left over, or I had made too much--and rather than waste it, I would eat it.
My second problem was also that November and December were full of baking delicious things for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Not having a family nearby to which I could give my sweets, I ate them myself. My weight continued to climb through the dark cold winter months, as lack of exercise, living under my kotatsu, and eating were what I did 5 out of 7 days. I remember that it was around February of last year that I weighed myself at an onsen, and found that I had gained 5 kilos since the last time I checked. Come to think about it, my pants were very tight--even the larger sized ones my mother had bought me from America. It wasn't until March or so that I decided to start to go jogging. At first, I only went twice a week--and I did this for a month and a half or so. However, results were not coming. I tried to cut back my portion size as well, but again, this was to little avail.
It wasn't until I had an encounter around June, where a guy told me flat out that I needed to lose weight, that I took the issue seriously. At the time I thought the person rather cruel for saying so, but I have now come to believe that he said it as a hopeful impetus for change. I began to go jogging nearly every morning for about thirty minutes, gradually lengthening the distance. I have never been that big of an athlete to begin with, so when I say jogging--it was extremely slow and on a mainly flat surface. Even though I hate jogging, I grew to enjoy these daily jogs, watching the neighborhood as it slowly woke up, lit up with the sun, or the different plants that bourgeoned and faded. I also decided to more drastically modify my diet to a “non-carbohydrate diet”—or something similar to an Atkins Diet. This is more difficult than it sounds, as you have to think of dishes that you do not need or believe a starch is essential to. However, it tested my cooking abilities and forced me to think outside the meat + carb + veg lifestyle, into a meal that combined meat and veg, but was satisfying. In the beginning I was quite harsh with my diet, but recently as I have reached a healthy maintainable weight, I have allowed myself a little more freedom to eat a certain amount of starch.
I still avoid starches in general, particularly at dinner—when it is nearly impossible to burn them off before bed time. In this way, between June and December I lost the five kilos that I had gained, and have kept it off to this day, holding my weight between 68 and 71 kilos.
For those interested in losing weight, these are the things I did and my recommendations for those living in Japan and dealing with a Japanese diet.
1. Embrace Asian food. Not only is it cheaper to make, but usually more healthy.
2. If you are attempting an Atkins like diet, my recommendation is to eat lots of vegetables. Low calorie vegetables include Gobo Root (Burdock Root), cabbage, spinach, hakusai (Chinese cabbage), and bean sprouts. Bean sprouts are great because they are dirt cheap. In the winter in particular I would make myself lots of “nabe” or just Chinese style brothy soups. Soups are a great way to get lots of vegetables. Also the liquid can fill up your tummy, though you do tend to slosh a bit when you walk.
3. In Japan, meat (and even fish) is expensive. I recommend eating mainly tofu (cheap), eggs (cheap) and chicken (note: chicken breasts are cheaper than thighs here. Go figure.). If you like fish cake, chikuwa (cheap) is also pretty good and can be given more flavors very easily. Pork on occasion (with the fat cut off) is also good. There are many delicious things you can make with these ingredients to make a satisfying meal.
4. If you can handle it, eat konyaku and shirotaki—two kinds of food made from the “devil’s root plant.” Konyaku in particular has a rather bad smell, but if you par boil it, it goes away and absorbs the flavor of the food. In general, just cook it like another form of meat or as a vegetable in soup. The texture is rather gelatinous and gummy. Same thing for the shirotaki noodles, but these are a bit better with the smell, and can be turned into a possible pasta, yakisoba, etc dish. However, both are of miniscule calories that they practically count as no-calorie.
5. Popcorn. Now, I don’t know if this is particularly “low fat” but compared to other snacks, it is healthy and low fat. Of course, buying bagged popcorn or putting butter on it is NOT healthy. If you buy plain kernels and pop them in a pot with oil, it’s healthy, low calorie and a good snack. Also, I recommend googling a recipe for kettle corn online. You can make a batch of popcorn with roughly 2 tablespoons sugar—a small amount considering—which will give the popcorn enough sweetness to satisfy your sweet tooth.
6. Lots and lots of tea. Unsweetened, of course. I drank lots of “genmaicha,” “hojicha” and “bancha” in addition to herbal teas. I went through about two or three pots a night. The tea has lots of anti-oxidants, but also keeps you regular and fuller longer. It also makes for an alternative to coffee, milk or water.
7. Vinegar. Vinegar is good for the metabolism. For a while I was drinking vinegar beverages, but it was too tough on my throat. I recommend buying vinegar pills if you have the option.
8. If you want your starch, eat other forms of it like potatoes, barley, sweet potatoes, or couscous.
9. Be experimental with cooking. The thing with Japan is—they don’t have a lot of frozen meal options, “dieters options” etc, and what they serve in the stores or combini is oftentimes fried food or EXTREMELY calorie heavy food. You have to make your own food in Japan, or you won’t survive.
10. Use small dishes when serving. It looks like you have given yourself a lot, when you have only given yourself a little. It’s a matter of playing tricks on the mind.
11. Start reading the caloric content of your food. You’d be surprised just how much calories there are in the things we eat. There is this idea that Japan is full of healthy food—and it is, but that is home cooking that isn’t usually served at konbini. Don’t calorie count, but keep a rough idea in your head of how much what you have eaten is.
Now, by no means am I writing to say I lost a miraculous amount of weight, nor did anything so totally unheard of. This is just a story of what I attempted, and information about a diet plan I have been able to maintain in general (although I take a break on my diet when traveling, when my boyfriend is over—and sometimes on the weekend.) This diet plan is more about choosing the unsweetened Japanese tea over the caramel milk tea at konbinis, it’s about treating yourself to Haagen Daaz on the weekend, and during the week eating slightly sweetened popcorn for your sweet tooth craving during the rest of the week. It’s about trying (though not always succeeding) to go on walks on your lunch break, or wake up earlier in the morning to squeeze in a short jog. Through this diet, I have to say I have gained a deeper appreciation of food and what I put in my body. I oftentimes find myself physically unable to stomach some of my favorite American staples now (no matter how hard I try), as they are just too rich for my tum-tum. No doubt, when I return to America my body will adapt. But, for the time being—for people living in Japan, this is just a bit of standard information about dieting in Japan.

Shaken.

2011-03-12T22:24:00.000-08:00

Life can change suddenly--in an instant. This Friday, I received a phone call saying an earth quake had occurred. Knowing that one had happened just earlier this week in the same location, I was worried, but didn't pay it too much mind. It is Japan, after all, the land of the earthquakes.

After, I had checked the news, and what had once been mild anxiety turned into a sense of panic. The images that I saw on the screen shocked me--and would only get worse as the day deepened. I saw on live on TV cars being swept away, cities and towns being destroyed--life gone in an instant. Some of these places, such as Misawa and Hachinohe in Aomori, were places that I had just been a few weeks previous. It seemed surreal that they would now be undergoing such damage.

Luckily, most of the people I know in Japan are in the southern region and I was able to contact them fairly quick--and with relative ease of mind, knowing that they were not near the earthquake epicenter, nor in danger of tsunami. However, one person in a particular, a very special person to me--was very close to the damage, and was in an area eminent to be struck by a large tsunami. While other regions were in yellow, or even red--where he was was red-white--the highest alert level. Since Friday afternoon, I have felt nothing but worry, doom, dejection and my desire to not be alone--to be somehow able to help.

While I was touched by all the communication I received from friends and family wishing I was well, it still does not help the current situation at hand. Suddenly my life feels very frivolous, and it is a strange feeling to feel that people within the same country I am living--in places I have visited, are in such pain. New Orleans wasn't so long ago, but for a person from California with no emotional connection to the place (same thing for New York, a place I had never visited), I was always disconnected. Now, here, in this country--with places I have been to, near people that I know, I feel at once that my life is buried in a cloud of guilt and frustration over my own inability to help or change the natural course of this disaster. It is a sunny day outside, but I personally feel in a fog that cannot be easily dispelled.

The country has been thrown in to turmoil, anxiety, grief and a general feeling of panic. People do not want to venture far from their homes--myself included. The thought of travel, excursions or enjoying the weather seems almost like a slap in the face for my northern neighbors.

The worst thing about this tragedy is that it may occur again at any time. There is no ability to know if another earthquake won't strike next week. Additionally, it is a natural disaster that will take much time, energy, and strife to overcome.

Signs of Spring

2011-03-07T04:09:00.000-08:00

It may still be too early to write this post officially, but I couldn't resist. Spring is on its way here to Japan! I don't know if last year's spring was early, but this year's spring feels late.

Around this time last year the plum blossoms had already come and gone, and it was possible to see the flash of hesitant cherry-blossom pink among the mountainsides. The wild narcissus had been at their height at the beginning of February.

The order for flowers in Japan seems to go like this. Camellia around the new year, narcissus (January), plum (February), na-no-hana(rapeseed) (in March), cherry blossoms and bulb flowers (April). This year, in early March, the narcissus have finally reached their peak and can be seen growing along the road, in abandoned fields, and along the river. Unlike what the typical image I have a narcissus (better known as a daffodil), which is completely yellow, the majority of them here have green-white petals and a yellow center. While beautiful, they have a more subtle elegance--which does not exactly shout "dull winter is over with, and in with cheery spring." Instead, they just serve as a gentle reminder that, yes, spring is on it's way.

The plum have at last begun to bloom. It will be about two weeks yet until they are at their peak. Neighborhood plum trees of pink, white and red are beginning to make the scenery somewhat colorful.

There are other signs of life as well. Besides seeing leaves of bulbs pop up from under the ground, I have also noticed the amount of "weed action" lately. Today I detected that underneath the dead, dry grass, an army of new growth weeds are waiting for better weather before they overtake their fallen autumn comrades. In the meantime, they stay close to the ground for warmth.

Yomogi, aka, Mugwort, is beginning to send out new sprigs of green as well. Mugwort is used in Japan for mochi making, and can also be used in tempera. It apparently has herbal remedies as well.

(http://botanical.com/botanical/mgmh/m/mugwor61.html)

Speaking of herbs, the ones growing inside my house, have begun to look a bit more perky in recent days.

I take all these signs with the hope that this Saturday, graduation day at one of my schools, will be sunny--and by two weeks from now, the weather will have improved just enough to get the plum blossoms truly under way.

Memories of Me?

2011-03-03T15:46:00.000-08:00

I often wonder how I will be remembered when I return back to my country. No doubt I will stay in contact with the friends I have formed here on JET through the internet. Yet what about my colleagues? My co-workers? What will they remember about me after I have become merely an ALT of years past?

I have an idea, and that is, I will be remembered for my food and my desire to inform others about the creativity that comes with using (what to them seems foreign) ingredients. I have come to this realization through two recent incidents.

The first was a Valentine from one of my teachers. Although she gave me cookies, as is typical here, I had the unexpected pleasure of receiving a wrapped zucchini on which was written "You have been a great help." The teacher later told me that when she was at the grocery store, and saw the most rare of vegetables in these parts--the zucchini, and immediately thought of me, buying it as a playful Valentine. I wonder if, from now on, whenever my teacher sees a zucchini--will she think of me? Considering the various conversations I have had on how to prepare zucchini, my complaints that there is no zucchini in Shimane, and my failed attempts at trying to grow it last summer--there is no way she could forget!

Another instance of my being remembered, or associated with food, is with my Japanese teacher. She had the rare fortune to find a blackberry plant for sale many years ago, and has had it growing in her garden ever since. Of course, she did not know how to eat the blackberries (which, sadly due to the Japanese climate do not grow very sweet), and was often stumped with what to do with them, save put sugar on atop and eat with yogurt. Enter myself, who for years has been going wild blackberry picking in my hometown--making jams, cobblers, pies and the like with the sweet fruit. It was therefore arranged last summer that my teacher would gather the blackberries (at first she just refrigerated the blackberries, but I later told her to freeze them)--and give me small amounts at a time. I incorporated these into a peach-blackberry cobbler and a blackberry cake for her. She only just told me yesterday that whenever she goes out into her garden and sees her blackberry bush, she thinks of me.

It also isn't just blackberries with this teacher. Having given her some of my homemade candied yuzu rind a while ago, when she received some large citrus from a friend, she thought of me immediately and saved all the peels. At my next lesson, I was then greeted with the fruit and the instructions from her that I was to make more candied peels!

Aye-Aye, captain!

All this said, I may be just another ALT. In some ways, though, I think my memory will live on past my time. It's a nice thought to know that I won't be regarded (by some) simply as a living tape recorder, but as a person who loved life, in particular, food.

Shimokita: A World Apart

2011-02-28T15:37:00.000-08:00

This past week I had the opportunity to travel up to the snow country of Aomori, and more precisely the isolated peninsula of Shimokita. This trip would mark my second time to this isolated section of Japan, a place often forgotten in guide books and Japanese variety shows. While Aomori Prefecture is known well enough for its apple production and lively Tsugaru Shamisen, the remote corner I visited is almost an after thought to many Japanese citizens themselves.

Shimokita is by all means a world apart from the Japan I currently reside in. While my residence is isolated, by comparison to the snowy north, my region has a much more firm foundation in what one accepts as "traditional Japanese culture." To me, Shimokita seems a place that is at once Japan, and at once not. While it subscribes to the traditional ebb and flow prescribed from Tokyo and the traditional Japanese calender, its connection to the accepted culture is like a piece of string that connects a floating balloon to the hand, and thereby the body of power: the main island of Honshu.

Shimokita is for all intents and purposes an island. No doubt it is a beautiful, harsh and snowy island that conjured up for me images of New England rather than the bamboo, lush Japan I had come to accept as "normal." This brings to mind the question of--what is normal? For indeed, though Japan is an island country that prides itself in the homogeneity of culture, this trip showed me that if anything Japan is decidedly regional. What is Shimokita, really? Is it a part of the prefecture of apples, or is it more closely related to it's nearby brother Hokkaido, known for its wild, untamed history? The truth is that Shimokita lies somewhere in between more conventional Aomori and more differential Hokkaido.

Shimokita is a grey in a land of black and white--a place where people seem to hide or simply remain, when the promises of Tokyo fall short. People seem content with their lot, surrounded by icy waters, abundant onsens, and a hard-working, if not slightly defeated, mentality. As was said to me, Shimokita is where things of Japan that would not be permitted in other areas, end up. As it is an afterthought of a place, no one really minds if Nuclear Power Plants, military bases and the like wind up there. In fact, the residents of the far north seem to thrive off accepting in to their community what the rest of Japan firmly keeps at arm's bay.

All this said, Shimokita is a beautiful place--if not, a sad and somewhat isolated one. In my head, Shimokita reminds me rather of an Icelandic Fishing Village. It is a place at once quaint and charming, a place that is enjoyable to visit, a place that has unique and singular appeal. That said, it is personally a place I could not spend the rest of my days in, and this is mainly for the cold that dominates its slopes six months out of the year.

My journey to the far north was a magical one to be sure. However, seeing the snow-transformed scenery, wandering through the supermarkets hailing sakura-mochi even though the plum blossoms hadn't even begun to bloom, it got me thinking about the question of "What is Japan, and where does Shimokita fit into the puzzle?"

My Neighborhood Part III

2011-02-12T17:01:00.000-08:00

The railroad tracks lie about three or four blocks away from my apartment, close to the ocean. I hear the trains shuffle by on the tracks countless times a day, by now, a sound I have grown familiar with. The last train heading south departs at eleven pm, and the last train from the south heading north to where I am, is at ten thirty pm. This means that a "late night out" is a rarity for me, as the train stops fairly early, and drinking and driving is strictly prohibited.

As I said, the ocean is quite close to me--and some nights, if I listen very closely, I can hear the crash of the waves upon the shore. In general, the ocean near my house can be quite tumultuous--except for during the summer time, when it gets so calm that it almost seems like a lake gently lapping. The scenes I enjoy most are when the stormy sea is roaring, and the sky is bright blue. These kind of days are rare where I live, as my region is especially cloudy for most of the year.

Last year they built a "sand wall" to protect the sand from flying in from off the beach and gathering on the road that borders it. I do admit, it would create quite the obstruction for cars, and they would be forced to move about the edges into the opposite lanes. To build the wall, they had to cover up a particularly magnificent view, that I always enjoyed while I was taking my morning jogs. However, at the time, I figured that the sand was rather a problem, and I could put up with an obstructed view if it did some help. Of course, imagine my surprise when the winter winds came and blew sand on the road anyways! Of course, the wall won't be taken down, so there isn't much point complaining about it. The nice part is that they added a door, so one can still gain access to the beach, just not see it from the street.

Near to this wall is an outcropping of rock. there is a small tori gate (two actually, though one is half way destroyed), and a statue of a "jizo" to protect the fisherman who dock a few boats in the small, natural inlet. It's quite a magnificent piece of rock, and you can go climbing up to the top to survey the lovely view and watch the waves crash below. I have taken several of my friends up to the top of this outlook, where you at once feel a sense of freedom, and of the other, isolation. A few scraggly pine trees grow atop too, a safe haven where sea-faring birds come to land or build a nest in the brush. I particularly remember the first time I went climbing out atop that peak, and a large kite (the bird) was perched upon the top of the tori gate. I stood for a moment staring at it, hoping it would not fly off.

Scrounge Chef Presents: Sweet and Sour Stir Fry

2011-02-07T01:02:00.000-08:00

It's been a while since I have posted any recipes to this blog, but that certainly isn't because I've stopped experimenting around with things. Actually, I think I have began experimenting more ever since I officially decided to try to cut out a large chunk of eating carbs out of my life. To be sure, it is more difficult than it sounds, and it is a diet that I usually break on the weekends, and occasionally at breakfast where, gosh darn it, a piece of toast sounds delicious.

This whole diet thing has forced me to become creative, and make meals that don't need to have a starch to accompany them (though you can add them if you wish). One of my recent favorites that has made it into the "regulars" list is an adaptation of sweet and sour pork. I first had this in kyushoku, and was struck by how tasty the sauce was. Still, the pork was deep fried, and there wasn't enough vegetables to crave my healthy nature. So, I went online and found a recipe from a Japanese cooking site and adapted it to my needs. The nice thing about this recipe is that you can pretty much use whatever vegetable or protein you have on hand. So far, I've made this dish with chicken, tofu, and pork--all delicious!

Sweet and Sour Stir Fry-- Lexi style

1/2 block firm tofu, cut in chunks
1 chicken breast, raw, cut into chunks
5 inches worth of lotus root cut into thickish slices (I used the already peeled, bagged variety)
1/2 cup bamboo shoots, cut into thick slices
1/2 stalk celery, cut into thick slices
1 medium carrot, peeled and cut into thick chunks
1/2 bag bean sprouts
1 green pepper, sliced thickly
1/2 onion, sliced thickly
mushrooms (to taste)
sesame oil
sesame seeds (optional)

Sauce

3 tablespoons ketchup
3 tablespoons sugar
1.5 teaspoon soy sauce
2 tablespoons mirin
1 tsp rice vinegar (or more or less to taste)
1 tablespoon cornstarch

1. In a heavy bottomed skillet, fry the tofu. Use a combination of sesame and vegetable oil, to flavor. Set aside. Do the same for the chicken, set aside.

2. With the same hot skillet, add all the listed vegetables EXCEPT bean sprouts, and saute on medium high heat. Add sesame oil and regular oil.

3. While vegetables are cooking, prepare the sauce. Add ketchup, sugar, soy sauce, mirin and rice vinegar to a container. Blend together and add about 1/2 cup water. Then, add cornstarch, and whisk mixture again until all the cornstarch is incorporated.

4. When the vegetables are done cooking through, add the already cooked tofu and chicken, as well as the beansprouts, to the mixture and mix together on low heat. Then, add the sauce mixture and turn up the heat to high while stirring. Within a few moments the sauce should begin to thicken. Stir until all are coated with a nice layer of sauce. Garnish with sesame seeds if desired.

5. You can serve this with rice, or any other protein. However I just eat it straight, getting the protein and fiber I need from the vegetable!

For those who can read Japanese, here is the Japanese recipe as well, a slightly altered form of mine:

http://cookpad.com/recipe/57816

January Haiku Post

2011-01-31T04:30:00.000-08:00

1/13/11

Driving through the icy mists
and frost-glazed trees, I do sense
the harsh winter ways.

1/18/11

More precious than gold
Is the hesitant sunlight
Of a winter day

1/21/11

Reawakening
After this great cold.
Soon, blue skies once more.

1/24/11

Although just a glimpse
I saw today the rapeseed
with its fragile blooms.

1/26/11

Camellias in bloom
Yet, among the fallen red
the narcissus peak.

The cat always waits
Forlornly by the front door.
Here, tuna for you.

The Hopping Time in my Town

2011-01-28T18:17:00.000-08:00

Out here in the Japanese countryside most stores open at ten and close by six or seven. Even grocery stores operate under this same time scheduling. It seems amazing that people ever manage to eat at all, as most of my co-workers don't get home until at least seven. Within a twenty mile radius, I know of only one grocery market open past seven--and that is in the "large mall" which boasts it is open until nine. Restaurants, even fast food restaurants of which there are two, close their doors at nine as well. The idea behind all of these late openings and early closing must be based upon two things: first, they wish to give their employees reasonable working hours, and not force them to stay late. Second, especially with places like grocery stores and restaurants, when it reaches a certain time a certain activity "should" be over. Why would one want a hamburger at ten o'clock at night, when dinner time ended at nine at the latest? Now in the bigger cities places are open later--because there may be more night owls to frequent them. Out here in the countryside, the major customers are people over the age of sixty-five, and no doubt they go to bed by nine.

This brings me to the inspiration for this post--when is the "happening time"? When people are out doing things, places crowded, and the streets filled with traffic? I have calculated it to be between nine and eleven in the morning. I largely base this calculation on the scattered instances which I have been productive and gone grocery shopping, done errands, etc, during these times. Today, at the grocery market, I had to wait in line for ten minutes, the parking lot was almost completely full, there were abundant cars on the road, and inching their way along on the sides of the road were throngs of senior citizens. Such is usually never the case when I return from work in the later afternoon; there is never such a flurry and sense of impatience about this sleepy little town. Now, perhaps I may get impatient (being a young American, and all), but to see the old Japanese ladies being so lock-jawed and cool in their behavior is a sight to see. No doubt early people are early to bed, early to rise, which explains this rural phenomenon.

My Neighborhood Part II

2011-01-21T15:43:00.000-08:00

Before the cold and dark hit, I was running most every week day through my neighborhood. I first started back in February or March of last year, while the weather was still pretty wild. Last year, I remember, the wind was particularly bad. Every day the wind would blow so hard that even if the weather wasn't so bad, the wind would just cut you to the bone so it was better to stay indoors. On those windy days and nights my rooftop would turn into a symphonic cacophony. The roof would flap up and down in the wind, and even my loose ventilation grate would slam against something hard and noisy--so that if the noise wasn't coming from above, it was the kitchen. For the latter, I figured out a way to stuff a small towel inside the fan grate to act as a cushioning and pad it just a bit. This means, however, that when my kitchen may happen to get smokey, I must take out the towel to work the fan, or simply suffer the smoke.

While I wouldn't say that I am by no means a master of my neighborhood, jogging around on my familiar path and occasionally taking walks to new parts, has helped me to get to know certain areas better. Allow me to describe my jog:

I go down the stairs, and in a small area in front of my apartment I do a few stretches and warm up exercises. Then, I walk to the next house (which happens to be a kimono shop) and then begin to slowly jog. I continue until the next intersection, and then turn. For a while, nearly every day I went jogging, there would be an old man outside his small small little house smoking. I'd always say "Good morning" and he'd reply back in turn, "Genki da ne" or "How energetic you are." I'd continue down a way and then cross the major street separating what seem to me to be the old part of the neighborhood and the new. I enter into the old part, where houses do not have any front yards, but instead are smashed up against each other like houses in San Francisco. They are all about the same height, one story, with tile roofs. In a way, it reminds me of the houses of the Tokugawa Era. There is even a small doctor's clinic, "Ogawa Clinic." This is a long narrow street only big enough for one car. When I think of this part of my neighborhood, I think of cats. This is because last autumn I was walking around the narrow back alleys and stumbled upon an abandoned house that seemed completely overrun with cats! (Most of them, black)

My Neighborhood Part I

2011-01-16T03:33:00.001-08:00

My current neighborhood in a small, windy town in West Japan along the Sea of Japan, is someplace that at this very moment I know with my eyes closed. Over the past year and a half we have become very close, through my walks and jogs throughout the neighborhood, my farming experiences, as well as just getting to know the locals.
Who knows how long I will be able to remember this place? Unlike my old neighborhoods in Tokyo, who knows if I will ever be able to visit my small town again after I have left?

My apartment lies next to a very busy national highway. When I first arrived to Japan it took me about a month to get used to the noisy trucks going by in the middle of the night. As it was the middle of summer, I couldn't even open my windows to try to get the cool evening air as the sound was just too great. However, starting last year in June the expressway between my city and the town over became free. This meant that the trucks started taking the alternate route instead, as it was much faster. Since then, I have not had any problems with the truck sound. However, from summer to winter last year there was massive road construction taking place late at night. This was heavy construction they were doing, digging deep into the earth with large machines. My apartment would shake because of the noise, and earplugs were once again necessary.

When I think to myself--what will I remember about my neighborhood? Well, there are any number of things. Farewell-to-Summer, a type of pink transparent flower, grows in the cracks leading up to my apartment. They begin to bloom from June until about October, and are very cheerful to watch as I walk up the steps.

There is a neighborhood cat here, who I have known from day one. We have never really gotten close, no matter how many times I have tried to get to know him! He doesn't seem to be a cat that enjoys to be petted. He is big and round, with white fur and orange spots on him. I call him "Moon" because he is big like the moon, but also because he reminds me of the arrogant cat featured in my favorite movie: Whispers of the Heart. The people (who aren't very friendly either) that live across the street seem to take care of him. I think it is his sister who lives inside their house, as they look very similar. How unfair that one cat gets the outdoor life, and the other the indoor! Moon, I noticed this past summer, seems to enjoy sleeping underneath my car. Perhaps it is warmest? Or maybe the coolest? Who knows.

The neighbors next door I hardly know. When I first arrived and myself and the other ALT in town went over to formally introduce ourselves, we were invited indoors. The husband is a former English teacher, and he showed us his guitar collection. He is an avid fan of Simon and Garfunkle. He was oddly shocked to hear I knew of the two singers. No doubt he is a child of the sixties. Since then we have never visited, and every time I see him I have an awkward sense of guilt.
Their backyard is a great expanse of asphalt which functions as additional parking--parking spaces we are not allowed to use. It's rather ugly to look at. I have a parking lot for a view on one side of my house--and the other side as well. Although I live in the countryside, my view is not so green. The one thing I like about my view is that I can just barely see the sunset behind the houses in summer. It is one of the things I enjoyed--standing washing dishes at my sink in the humidity, bathed in the orange glow from the sun, and watching it slowly sink behind the thunderheads.

Inspiration

2011-01-14T04:50:00.000-08:00

I find that inspiration comes to me from everywhere I look. Some days, I am more inspired than others--but I do not believe there has not been a day that has gone by, where I overlook my surroundings, and drift into idleness. In fact, I believe my mind is constantly at work--thinking of things left to be done, and in some cases, not done. There never seems enough time to do it all, enough time to enjoy things properly.

Now, it is winter, a dark and cold time for people in the Northern hemisphere. And, though the cold bothers me, and forces me to retreat to my warm covers and in-between dusty books, it does not frighten me. I still appreciate the bare branches standing against a stormy sky; the changing smoke and feeling of the smoke-stacks above, whether the sea is blue or gray today.

Perhaps I am getting older, arriving to that point in my life where I am looking to slow down, and really bury myself deep in a place. Sometimes, this comes in forms of planning out my future kitchen, and the type of china I would have. Other times, I am imagining replacing the doorknobs and growing herbs. I think about my study, and the images framing the wall, the roses climbing up house, and watching the maple leaves fall. I look forward to feeling the seasons in and around my house, and great every one with open arms.

No doubt, this life of china sets and growing herbs is a fantasy, that, should it ever occur will not be for many years to come. However, I am satisfied for the time being--gathering whatever information comes my way and seems useful. It always seems to me that there is so much to learn in this world, and everyday seems so short. I used to think the opposite of course, but these days, I think to myself--will I ever be satisfied with who I am? Undoubtedly, no. It is meant to be this way I think, because no one is neither perfect or all-knowing. There is always more to be learned, discovered and explored. Even if you think you know your humble little town, you always stumble upon something new and unexpected. Then, there are times when you go away, and you find what you were longing for most was just to be at home.

While I am not sure where or what this post is leading to, I no doubt feel a sense of ambition and enthusiasm for the next year to come. It's scary to think that this year I will turn 25, and I believe that I must make the best of it--not just because I am turning that dreaded age, but because I want to be able to say at the end, "Life was good to me, and I was good to it."

Hong Kong in Haiku

2011-01-08T18:14:00.003-08:00

Over the New Year's holiday, I journeyed with my boyfriend to Hong Kong. This was his first time out of Japan, exploring the wider Asia. For me, it was my first time to "China," having visited Taiwan and Korea last year. Around Christmas, I had bought myself a small book meant for writing haiku in it (though I suppose any book would have done). I decided to record this trip of ours via haiku. The following are the haiku themselves, as well as further commentary on that point in the journey.
---------------------------------------------------------
12/26/10

Biting winds of old
tossing across the wild sea,
bringing in the new.

Flying through the snow,
looking far beyond the clouds,
we embark tonight.

(These two haiku were written the night we departed, a bitterly cold, snowy and windy night in Japan. The first leg of our journey was aboard the local train.)

12/28/10
"At the Tea Shop."

My tea is flavored
by warm rays of winter sun
and the chirps of birds.

12/29/10
"Tai Mei Tak Journey"

A Hong Kong train ride
ripples my mind's calm water
I remember home.

(This, our second day, was another bright and beautiful day. We had gone to visit a natural area in the suburbs of Hong Kong, and I was struck how similar the landscape was to that of my native California.)

"What Josh Said"

The distant mountains
That have no trees on their tops
Must have shaved their heads.

"Sunny Temple"

Here, buzzing of flies
There, warm gentle wind giving
Such humble, sweet gifts.

(On this same journey, we came to a small temple hidden away in a field of sorts. Although newly constructed, the building had beautiful artwork, and a sense of tranquility in its cheerful location.)

12/30/10

"Antique Alley"

Faces of strangers
Music of a bygone age
OLD PHOTOS FOR SALE.

(Cat Street, Hong Kong.)

"Man Po Temple"

Unsure what to do
The smokey temple beckons.
We light our incense.

(Although not our first temple in China, this was the first one we had entered with people in it. Unsure of what to do, I followed the lead of the other Chinese people who flocked to the place.)

12/31/10

"Pacific Place"

Oh, such finery
The shopping malls of Hong Kong
How we are dazzled!

(A shopping mall in Central, entirely brand label goods)

1/1/11

In half-lit darkness
Sharing a kiss we stood
Welcome, the New Year!

"Disneyland"

Alit fireworks
Recall to me innocence
Of childhood days

(New Years Day the two of us went to Disneyland for my first time in about ten years. Needless to stay, I had many moments of nostalgia)

1/2/11

"Lantau Peak I & II"

Nothing but sky and trees
With each sigh and hum of wind
The great peak watches.

Distant barks and chirps
Atop lookout rock they stand
Afloat in the wind.

(This day we went to Lantau Island to see the Great Buddha there. Perhaps the best experience of that day was when we went out and found an isolated rock atop a wind-blown hill, and looked out upon the grey scenery.)

1/3/11

"High Tea"

Silver tea sets
Apricot colored roses
We drink in the scent.

(We went to The Peninsula Hotel for afternoon high tea. Their decor was apricot and cream colored--a very, very lovely place.)

"Union Taylor"

With broken English
They live in a fabric world
Bolts the very walls.

(This is where we had a custom made English style coat made for a very reasonable price. The shop was entirely coated in fabric, and the husband and wife team of Wong seemed very at home in the world they had created.)

1/4/11

"Macau"

A misty cold day
Turns us into wet blankets
We must dodge puddles

"At the Casino"

Oh, where did it go?
That measly five dollar coin?
It's owner demands!

(An incident that took place at the Sands Casino that lead me to drink pina coladas at the bar. J's persistence to get his cash proved successful in the end, as he received not only his money, but a free beer.)

1/5/11

"Drinks in Macau"

The night adventures
Did not cross the ocean well.
They spoiled by dawn.

"That night."

Upon wakening
Her lively body had turned
A viscous liquid.

(Long story short...I fell ill, my last day in the city)

1/6/11

"Osaka Bus"

Returning to cold
Distant clouds showered gold rain
As though in welcome.

(Though it was a cold Japan we returned to, I must say the sky put on quite a scene for us that we enjoyed all the way into Osaka.)

"Hiroshima Bus"

Sailing through the night
Engulfed in a snowy scene
Intertwined they sat.

"J's Haiku"

A chill towards home
Keeps me focused on the goal
A hot cup of "joe"

"J's Haiku II: Omiyage"

I'm bringing back home
Suitcases of memories
Treasures for the soul

"J's Haiku III: Retrospective"

A deep-fried dream land
Chicken claw soup for the soul
Hong Kong was unique.

(This last haiku by myself was composed upon a cold snowy platform in Western Japan, at, roughly, 10:45 pm)

They began again
From right where they had started
On a cold train ホーム*

*ホーム　（Homu)： Japanese for "platform" as in station platform.

------------------------------------------------

Looking back at this trip, I realize it was probably my best trip outside of Japan. I think that traveling with another person can sometimes be the way to enjoy a place, and to not be overwhelmed by loneliness. It also helped that Hong Kong was an English friendly and easy to get around city. I enjoyed my adventure thoroughly.

Now, on for the next~whenever that may be.

2010 In Retrospect

2010-12-25T23:56:00.001-08:00

For posterity's sake, I have decided to list by month, major occurrences that took place during 2010. In modern Japan, although it may officially turn the year in January, many events such as the start of school and business begin April 1st. In fact, my pocket-calender itself starts in April, rather than January first, making it more difficult to recall the first three months of the year. All things considered, I'll give it a shot, and try to remember the major milestones that occurred during 2010, the Chinese Year of the Tiger, and the year I was born under.

January: Began the New Years in Gunma, staying at my friend Keika's. Anxious to experience a "traditional Japanese style New Years," I soon found out that if you are not Japanese, it doesn't comprise much of anything at all. Returning back to stormy, cold, Shimane--I experienced my first English camp in the neighboring town.

February: I remember February was a hard and cold month, although half way through we had a week or so of extremely warm weather. I participated in a high school English camp, and also received word that I had not passed JLPT Level 2. I began to jog toward the later half of the month, though it wouldn't begin in earnest until later in the year. Also, finalized borrowing a piece of land to have a go at a vegetable garden, and began growing seeds (too early) within my house.

March: Attended the graduation of two of my junior high schools, as well as the enkai of one. First ever art show in the prefectoral capital of foreign artists organized in bulk by myself and one other ALT. Half way through the month, entered into spring vacation which was spent in bulk at the Board of Education. I did, however, have an extraordinary three day trip to Shikoku and Iya Valley, with Betsy and Saori.

April: This month I was steadily on my garden, as well as my Japanese studies. Cannot remember too many specifics.

May: The highlight of May was traveling to Korea for a week during Golden Week, and the rest of the month financial recovery.

June: The weather really began to warm up and wet up in June. The seasonal activities I enjoy began to reemerge as being out-of-doors became more pleasant. I participated in ceremonial rice planting, as well as brewing my own plum wine.

July: The first weekend of July was the JLPT, which I would later discover I would pass. This time around, compared to the winter, I was much more stressed and hardly slept before the test. I also went on another weekend trip to Amano Hashidate in Kyoto with Saori and Kayo, experiencing the beauty of one of the three top most scenic spots in all Japan.

August: The major highlight of summer vacation--a week and a half long trip to Hokkaido and Tohoku. There, I met who would later become my boyfriend, as we traveled around the Tohoku region, festival hopping from Nebuta in Aomori City down to Kantou Matsuri in Akita Prefecture. I was particularly impressed with the beauty of Hokkaido, and would like to revisit this wilds to this island more so than any of the cities. I returned home, and kept things rolling with a Dragon Boat Race in the local river, and stress fully executing my first (and hopefully last) English camp, and being helpful and informative at the prefectural orientation for all the new-comers to JET. Finally, I began my second year teaching floating down the river in an inner-tube for an unforgettable afternoon.

September: The beginning of the month was marked by Sports Days, and the later half by my parents first ever visit to Japan. While stressful most every day, I must admit that I was happy to show my family around the country that for so many years has intrigued and inspired me. The following week after their departure, I climbed Mt. Sanbe.

October: The season of fruition, I harvested perhaps the only prolific crop that survived the summer-sweet potatoes with the other JETs in my town. I also competed in a Japanese-Apartment version of Iron Chef with Betsy. The secret ingredient was mushrooms.

November: This month was marked by Culture Festivals, and a desperate scramble to get extra vacation days. The later half, Thanksgiving celebration.

December: The beginning of the month saw Christmas carolings at the station, much feasting, decorating of trees, and other such seasonal activities. From the mid point and on, I experienced living with my boyfriend for the first time, and the later half (where I currently am writing this post from) a journey to Hong Kong.

Wow. 2010 was certainly busy and awesome. Let's hope 2011 is just as good.

A Restless Soul

2010-12-10T18:17:00.000-08:00

As I may or may not have mentioned on this blog, this year will be my last in the JET Program. Although I haven't turned in the paperwork (I am oddly delaying it for some reason, though I am 90% decided on my decision unless something terribly drastic should happen), I am already mentally planning to ask my contracting organization for time to pack here, vacation days there, cherishing the school events and other JET events--as I know there won't be a second time, or a way to repeat this experience.

Many other JETs I know are re-contracting again this year. Re-contracting, in a way, might be the smarter thing to do. More time and money to travel, a stable job in the current economic climate--living the dream. However, I suppose my desire to move on stems from a deeper tendency of my personality. Namely, I a restless person.

As a child, I remembered wanting to always be in the next grade; high school, in college, have a real job. It wasn't that I wasn't satisfied with the status quo (although sometimes that WAS the issue), but I have always wanted find that sense of achievement, contentment and confidence that the next level may hopefully bring. I remember being embarrassed of being young, and having the upper class-men around. As I was always mature and tall for my age there was always a personal sense that I didn't fit in with those at my current level.

I like to think that there is some perfect job out there for me that I can do my entire life, that I would never grow tired of. However, if I really think about my personality, I doubt such a job exists as I am always trying to better myself. Continuing on another year of JET would offer another year of the possibility of getting better at Japanese, but it wouldn't propel my career, my contacts in fields or industries that interest me (as most things I am interested aren't located in Shimane), it wouldn't better me personally either--as those who are dear to me are far away, and meeting new people inside or out of JET is difficult in such an isolated community.

Is there anything wrong with this personality, I wonder? On the plus, it means that I am always self motivated towards my future. On the downside, it means that part of my heart will always be elsewhere, planning other things.

Thanksgiving Past and Present

2010-12-02T22:49:00.000-08:00

This year marks my second year of spending Thanksgiving, and soon to be Christmas, in Japan. So far, both have or will be better than last year by far.
With another year under my belt, and that initial hesitancy to my situation wearing thin, this year I have found myself taking a more proactive role in my life here. My attitude is--if I cannot be at home for the holidays, doing the things I like to do--then I will try to do the things I like here and those who wish to join me may. I have never been afraid of doing things on my own, and it has been my experience so far that in general, people like to do similar things--or at the very least enjoy them.

Thanksgiving was a much more organized affair compared to last year. Rather than 5 pumpkin pies and no mashed potatoes or turkey, this time pretty much everything was represented (except maybe the turkey) at our spread. I made stuffing for the first time in my life, and although it started out as only instant--I added vegetables and dried fruit to give it some life. I also made two different kinds of sweets.

I find that the urge to bake has been returning to me as of late. Or, perhaps, the urge to eat sweet things. When December rolls around, it seems only natural that a candy dish appear, or eggnog be stocked in the fridge, or some such sweet thing to tempt you. However the sweets sold in Japanese stores, while delicious, do not tempt the heart of one who is looking for something a little bit more seasonal. What is to be done? Do without, or make them yourself. Of course, things like anise flavored biscotti, fruits such as pears, plums, nuts, and berries are also off limits. It is an effort, a hunt, to find something that you not only can make, and want to make.

But, I digress. Thanksgiving, despite its annoying transportation issues, was a good time. While the entire evening was filled with shallow and forced conversation, there was a sense of comradeship as people from all over the prefecture and of all different nationalities got together to enjoy in the celebration of thanks. The idea of being thankful, and having a prescribed holiday for such a thing, is a wonderful idea, and a holiday that as an American I can be proud of.

One of Those Days

2010-11-14T21:57:00.001-08:00

It was one of those days, here where I live in the Japanese countryside.

Of course, it started well enough with getting out of an obligation early, and having time to have a lengthy conversation with my family. The house was cleaned and all ready to receive guests.

The plan was a Make-Your-Own-Pizza-Party, where I make the crust, and others bring sauce, cheese, and toppings of their choice. My tummy quite emptied, and anxious to starting the pizza making, I made the crust before they arrived and had the oven warming up. My oven, being electric and quite an electricity sucker for my apartment, has caused power surges in the past. This is what I thought it was at first, when the power went out. Normally this has only happened if I simultaneously use the microwave, which I had been sure not to use. When time passed and the electricity didn't return, I realized something slightly more serious must have happened.

Noticing the sounds coming from outside, I went to inspect. It turns out a construction company was working on the electric lines. Inquiring from an inspector how long it would take for this repair to completed, he stated that it wasn't scheduled to end for another two hours or so. This made baking pizza difficult. Not only that, the crust was not supposed to rise and be baked immediately after making. Sticking the dough in my quickly warming fridge, I notified my friends.

Everyone was hungry, and we decided to go try to check out a Chinese restaurant. I had tried once before, but was closed. I hoped that 2:15 on a Sunday afternoon would prove successful. No such case. We went to another restaurant I knew--also closed. Finally, we stumbled upon a small ramen shop and checked it out.

This shop is connected to a small karaoke parlor that didn't even look in business. I had my doubts immediately upon walking in, and felt that the situation was only getting worse and worse. Still, sitting down, we consulted the menu. The cook and server was of a terribly brusque personality that rubbed us wrong. Still, we ordered--myself bifun noodles, and chahan and ramen for the other two. Turns out they were all out of bifun, and they could not add an extra gyoza to our order so that it would work out evenly of 2 gyoza per person. Watching him prepare the food, more and more regretting our choice, we realized that probably everything we were about to eat came out of a bag from the freezer.

The yakisoba was weak and had little sauce, along with being rather dry. The chahan was bland and not spiced up whatsoever. At least the ramen (which was most certainly instant) wasn't so bad. Half way through eating, the waiter walked up and took a set of chopsticks out of our chopsticks holder, to use them for another order he was cooking. This is pretty much the equivalent of a waiter taking an extra spoon or fork off of someone's table in America. The three of us only looked at each other, trying to restrain our groans and laughter.

Although the karaoke was called "Karaoke Heaven" the food was certainly hellish.

We set off for the nearest onsen, enjoying the autumn foliage and fading sun of a sunny day. The onsen, literally out in the middle of nowhere, was cute the last time we visited it. No one was in the bath but us, and perhaps because it was early in the day, it was clean. This time, we had to wait for three grannies to leave before us--and the ground was covered with bits and pieces of hair. Getting into the bath, it was not a feeling of relaxation that overwhelmed me, but a feeling of being in granny soup. Not only that, we were pestered by all the local old people--when all we really wanted to do was just get in the bath and forget about that terrible meal we had just had.

Once we finished the bath, we high-tailed it out of the onsen, even though I think all of them were hanging around to talk to us. We just wanted to make some good food, and forget about the terrible food and now terrible onsen.

It was being around other people, and keeping a good attitude that made the situation something humorous. After all, if you can't laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at?

At least the pizzas came out delicious, once the power came back on.

The First Storm

2010-11-08T15:52:00.000-08:00

Yesterday evening marked what I will call our first "Winter Storm" of the year. I forgot what these sounded like. They are loud affairs, causing the world to sound as though there is a hurricane going on outside. The eves outside my apartment must have suffered in the thirty years this building has been standing, as every time a particularly large gust of wind blows, they tremble and bang precariously. My kitchen exhaust fan does the same thing, as it rattles VERY noisily (to the point I can't sleep because of it). I have developed a method that, if I stuff a small hand towel into the crevice of the fan, it doesn't disturb me. I shall have to tell my predecessor my tricks to the trade, living in this apartment.

This storm reminds me of just what winter entails--a lot of wind and thereby, a lot of noise. Yesterday's storm was the first of the season, and it reminded of me of jogging around the neighborhood last February in gale force winds. It also reminded me of how I sleep worse in the winter. However, at this point I don't mind too much. It's just the change of the season, and personally, I think we got a couple of good autumn weeks remaining before winter really sets in.

Winter in Japan conjures up these meanings for me:

1. Living under the kotatsu
2. Forgetting to turn off my kotatsu, or mattress heater pad
3. Lots of tea
4. Lots of nabe
5. Lots of mikan
6. Seeing my breath most times within my house
7. Extending my visits to the toilet, to enjoy the heated seat.
8. Stop caring about appearance as much. (Will try to be better this year)
9. Keeping a steaming kettle on the stove to heat and moisturize the house.
10. Listening to Christmas music well before and after the holiday season.

Apple Picking in Yamaguchi

2010-11-04T23:47:00.000-07:00

Nothing says autumn to me like the smell of smoke and the taste of apples. Of course, apples in Japan are quite different from the tart flavors I am used to back in my home country. I suppose this stems from the fact that apples are generally consumed raw and as a snack, rather than baking with them.

I first stumbled across the apple orchards of Yamaguchi this February, when I was on my way to the Yamaguchi Flea Market. Just past Tsuwano, you cross a mountain barrier and arrive in an elevated mountain valley for about 50 kilometers. The area is scattered with apple orchards, advertising apple pie, juice, jam (aka: applesauce) and the like. Of course, back in February everything was under a glittering layer of snow and frost, so there wasn't much business going on. I vowed to myself then that I would make the return trip to this valley, if not for the apples, but for the lovely view.

In late September, again on my way to the Flea Market, I was reminded that the season for apples was almost upon us. I mentally prepared myself for an autumn excursion. It turned out that it only ended up being myself and one other who went on this flurry of leaves and apples, but it was a good trip nonetheless.

We got a very early start, treating ourselves to the only McDonald's in the area that serves breakfast, and then stopped in the town of Tsuwano to see if we could do a bit of shopping. Walking around the idyllic town in the early hours of an autumn day, the air crisp and hinted with the scent of smoke, our breath slightly visible in front of our noses, I was reminded of just how much I love this season.

Following the directions, we arrived in the "apple hub" of the Yamaguchi valley, and looked around. We never did find the U-Pick farm we had designated, and when we finally did stop, and pay to enter for U-picking, we found out that only one type of apple was available! Every tenant we asked (a total of three) said--only Fuji was in season. I know this is not to be true, as I visited another apple orchard in Japan the exact same weekend the year before. Granted the weather was quite different this year, as opposed to last--but who wants to go apple picking when the only thing available is the same type of apple you get in the store?

Trying our luck at a place we had noticed when we first entered, we inquired there. Not only did they have Fuji but another, green variety, Ouran. Our journey ended, we checked out the apple farm. I have to say, I am a hard person to please when it comes to such seasonal pleasures--I have a high standards by which I measure such establishments. However, this place was everything a U-Pick apple stand should be and more. Four over-sized friendly dogs were romping around the front desk, the chicken smoker was smoking in the front yard, the apple pies, homemade bacon and apple jam were lined up, and last of all, their wood-burning pizza kitchen was firing up pizza pies. It was truly a wonderful little place.

We set to work picking and chomping into apples, but I made sure to save room in my stomach for the pizza I hoped to consume later. Finding good apples in Japan is as hard as finding good pizza: this pizza looked good, and the apples tasted good.

Learning my lesson from the year before, when I picked too many apples and ate them for two weeks, I held back this time--only picking enough to make a decent batch of applesauce to have for breakfasts. Along the way we met some slightly annoying English enthusiasts, and I got my picture taken by Japanese more times than I can remember in recent memory. Even while we were enjoying our food at the pizza stand, we were pestered for English practice and the like. My poor Japanese friend, who often gets mistaken as foreign when she hangs out with us, was again, branded as a Californian when the blog post about us was to come out later that week.

The visit ended on a sweet note with a small "apple pie" for each of us. The Japanese have a problem with cinnamon for some reason, which seems odd to me as an American, as apples and cinnamon go together like milk and cookies. The cinnamon-less apple pie was quite tasty in itself, though slightly bland for a westerner like me. Still, it satisfied my yearning for something sweet.

On the return ride home through the stormy mountainsides of Hamada, I saw my first live wild boar piglet on the side of a road--more scared of us than we were of it, I do believe.

Autumn will be over soon--my favorite of the seasons, and yet the shortest.

Not Without Weeds: Sweet Potato Harvest

2010-10-23T01:58:00.000-07:00

I decided back at the beginning of September that my gardening experiences would have to end. The heat during the summer, as well as traveling and being away from my town for extended period of times meant that I did not have the energy or inclination to give my garden the attention it deserves. I remember coming back from Orientation and seeing my garden filled with weeds. It was at that point, I knew--my garden, for good, or bad, was over.

But, one crop still remained--the sweet potatoes I had planted back in June in the middle of a storm. Of all the crops I had planted, this one survived the heat best. I placed all my hopes on their harvest, and was not disappointed.

I had planned on harvesting them at the beginning of October, but I was later told by a neighbor that the end of October is the time to do the harvesting. Waiting, and biding my time, I managed to get the help of the other two ALTs in my town.

We set out with a large bag, bucket, gloves and a shovel I had borrowed from one of my schools. I had been told--loosen the ground on both sides of the sweet potato mound. This task was left to the only male member, while myself and the other female ALT pulled the sweet potatoes out from the ground. I was later showed that one should wack away the unnecessary foliage, leaving only the stem. So, while one shoveled, one got the potatoes, I wacked. It worked pretty well, in the end.

The harvest was quite more than I expected--with not only two varieties of sweet potato (regular, and the smaller, sweeter "carrot sweet potato"), but various large and smaller sizes. The sweet potatoes that had the good fortune to grow closer to the street, where there seems to be more water, grew AMAZINGLY large. You could probably live off one of these things for a week.

Finishing cleaning up my garden, we brought our load back, cleaned them up, and divided them. Thank goodness I had the extra help, but also someone to take some sweet potatoes off my hands.

High School Memories

2010-10-16T17:31:00.001-07:00

Remembering High School

The days of high school seems worlds away, and no doubt with the passage of time this distance will grow. I was reminded of high school one Saturday night as I lay in bed, my computer resting atop my stomach. It reminded me of all the late nights I had spent in similar fashions, though I was working on writings much more enjoyable than graduate school applications. I really was creative in high school, drawing more doodles on my notes than actual words.
I suppose the period of my high school life I remember best is the last two years after I moved. The first two years of high school, I remember, yet not quite in the same way I do the last. The first two years I was an average student, though in a select academic program. I had no computer of my own, and I lived in a green tea colored bedroom, with a green tea colored futon. We had three cats then; Shadow, Violet and Yum Yum. Luna, the neighborhood stray who would later die from fluid in her lungs, lived under our front deck. On Saturday and Sunday mornings my parents and I would sit in the front yard, drinking coffee—them reading the newspaper and I the Sunday comics.
I created a video about earthquakes for my science class in high school. We demonstrated tectonic plates using the sofa cushions, and filmed a slow-motion apocalypse sequence in the court behind my house. During lunch, back when we still had open campus, we would go for burgers at the burger shop located right next to the school. Sometimes we’d walk into the quiet downtown area and go to the Asian store. I remember buying lots of sweets, but never lunch. They’d serve a chiq-a-filet sandwich at my school that I also loved.
At my first school, we had lockers. I liked that.
I would often go over to my friend’s house for the day—to watch movies and be silly. However, drama ensued as it always would, and some friendships couldn’t be repaired. I remember only being “the anime girl” or thought only to “like Japan.” Probably, I came off that way. Probably, I was like my students right now who write about AKB48 or Arashi. Japan was like that to me. When you’re a kid you’re into that stuff.
When I moved schools I still had that—Japan girl, anime girl. But, I was also Ms. S, the daughter of Mr. S the 6’9” history teacher. I was a student of recognition besides just anime. My grades improved, though never math—still got Ds there. Poor Mr. Wernsman. At least I tried and was polite. I had classes with rougher kids. Since the 7th grade I had been with AP type students, and being around a normal crowd was good for me. Taught me how to interact with others better. Made me realize that there are going to be all types of people to put up with.
I remember I wore baggy clothes. My hair was also very poofy.
French was difficult my first two years, but became easier (not because I understood it) at the new school. Madame C was a fun teacher, but too kind. We had crepe parties, and I realize in hindsight what a hassle it must have been organizing it. I took photography there, learned how to develop black and white film, roll film, load it correctly in a camera. It was fun. I always enjoyed that class. I also took pottery and made all sorts of useless stuff. It’s rare and expensive to have a pottery class, but I enjoyed it a lot and made all sorts of things.
I joined academic decathlon my last two years. The first year we studied the ocean. I learned about Jacques Cousteau from that. The next year—Lewis and Clark. Learned that it is pronounced Sa-kah-ga-weh-a, not Sack-a-ja-wee-uh. That journey across the continent always impressed me.
My class color was purple.
My junior prom dress was deep scarlet. I went to my old school prom and my new school prom. I realized, going to my old school that everyone had moved on without me. My senior prom, I did not attend both. My senior prom dress was white and black satin. I still have it, and it fits me now (may be a little big)—I would not be embarrassed to wear it at some formal event. It’s quite beautiful.
I made a graduation speech. Still can’t believe that, really. Graduated at Raley Stadium, the local minor league baseball team.
I miss all those notes I passed, and the doodles I used to be able to draw. I never get to doodle any more it seems. I also remember walking to the library after school. This was at my old school. I walked in all kinds of weather—but I remember autumn and spring the best. Spring in particular—rainy days, quiet houses, but bright yellow daffodils blooming out. Autumn I remember the big maple leaves on the streets and the sound as I crunched through them. I also got rides home sometimes when dad couldn’t pick me up. I lived on the other side of town, but they were always nice enough to drive me. No one lived near me.
At my other school, I would go in really early with dad. This was before I could drive legally. I would sit in his green chair at school and sleep in the morning until school would start. I took driving lessons at my high school, and I remember driving in downtown traffic and being really scared. My first car was a Nisan Altima that I called the Prune, because it was an ugly purple color. It was a good car. I raced it once at eleven o’clock at night. Drove it to the city once without my parents knowing. I had a Mt. Fuji plush and “No Face” from Spirited Away hanging from inside. No Face freaked N. out, and she would always hide him behind the sun flap. N. sat in the front and K. and J. in the back. That was how it was. Felt weird, otherwise. J. could handle K. and all his dead baby jokes.
We’d drive to Chuck-E-Cheese to play DDR. We’d go to Arby’s to get their roast beef sandwiches. We went to Harry Potter book and movie releases together. We went to lame ass anime conventions together. K. was never very nice, but we liked him even still. Liked to rattle my chains. We’d go over to J.’s house and play DDR and to eat her mom’s spicy Korean chicken. Mm, that stuff was good. Even though she gave me the recipe, still never comes out quite the same.
I remember cold November mornings driving to school. The mist would be just lifting off the fields. We didn’t get that kind of mist (technically, tulley fog) in F. In F, it was windy, and I remember the sound and yellow poplar trees in our big back yard. Back in F, my mom would drive me into school. Sometimes, we’d go for McDonalds—as we both love a good egg mcmuffin. Other times, we’d go and gab at Rosannas over coffee and bear claws. Those times were our special times. No one could get at those. Just me and mom.
Just a few memories.

The Best Laid Plans

2010-10-11T19:13:00.000-07:00

A week has passed already since I have said farewell to my family. Although near enough in my memory to remember the reality of everything that happened on our travels, the specifics are beginning to grow blurry around the edges. The fact of the matter is, you can never plan for everything when it comes to parents. Traveling with them is by no means the same as traveling by yourself, with a friend, with a lover, in a group--it is an experience unto its own.

The trip started off well enough with me meeting them in Narita Airport and being immediately questioned by the cops. However, the heat of Tokyo soon got to my family, making our ability to travel in and around the mighty city somewhat more difficult. That leg of the journey was the most relaxing, looking at it in hindsight. This was most certainly because I had someone on my side of the ring, helping me through it all.

We left Tokyo in the middle of a storm, the turning of the seasons from summer into autumn. Kyoto was wet and coolish, but that evening the moon revealed itself enough to be enjoyed at the Daikakuji Moon Festival that we had the good fortune to attend. The rest of our time in Kyoto was marked by annoyance at the public transportation that did not suit my parents, and at length we were driven to take taxis most every place. The weather in Kyoto was cool and abiding, perfect weather for visiting the temples and shrines.

Osaka was a brief fluster of walking, Korean food, Mexican food, Osaka Castle and getting back on the bullet train. Hiroshima, even shorter, was the beauty of Miyajima combined with the sorrow of the Peace Park and Atomic Bomb Museum.

We at last arrived into Shimane, with a craving to return home that I had not felt before. It was good to be back in the countryside, somewhere were things made sense, somewhere my family would perhaps be a little comfortable. There is no denying that there were bad moments, but there were also good ones as well: dining with friends, driving on a wet and wild Sunday to Yamaguchi, visiting the schools and my hyperactive students, my mother's first onsen and the search for Iwami-yaki.

Now they are back home and my quiet life has returned to normal. Perhaps this trip was the physical realization that I have grown into a different person than my parents, and that, despite my love for them, I can never go home again.

Mom and Dad Do Japan

2010-09-14T16:05:00.000-07:00

I've been trying to get my parents to go to Japan for ten years. For ten years I have been "in to" Japan, buying products, forcing us to go to Japanese restaurants, making them watch Japanese movies. For ten years.

And now, finally, they are coming to see me this Saturday.

To put it mildly: I am thrilled and terrified. Thrilled, because this is something that I have wanted them to do and experience for so long. Thrilled, because for once, I will be in control of the travel situation. Thrilled, to at last show my parents the country I have loved for so long. However, I am also terrified. Terrified, because I will have to be their personal translator. Terrified, over how I am going to balance out time between them and my boyfriend while in Tokyo. Terrified, for any mishaps.

But it'll be an amusing trip, to put it lightly. After all--a 6'9" man in Japan? He's sure to part crowds like the Red Sea.

Wish me luck!

A Magical Birthday

2010-09-13T04:52:00.000-07:00

September is known for moon viewing in Japan. September also happens to be the month of my birthday. Last year, I held a beach bonfire moon viewing party. However, that day it was rather rainy--and finding both dry wood and a glowing moon was difficult. Managing with a sputtering blaze, we composed haiku about the lack of moon and the surrounding night scenery.

This year I prepared a little better, and the weather cooperated more than last year. Buying two small bunches of firewood, we set up a pretty roaring blaze that evening. The sky was clear and starry; off in the distance a sliver of a moon hung low on the horizon. As the night progressed, it fell lower and lower. By the time we actually began to write haiku, its red-stained crescent form had almost slipped beneath the waves. This year, rather than a moon hidden by clouds, we had a moon running away from us. The poems' themes also befitted the occasion.

Another difference this year, was the sheer number of people who attended--roughly close to fifteen. Eating pizza under the starry skies with heat lightening flashing off in the distance, we all chatted amiably with each other. A swarm of merry monkeys, were we.

Much later in the evening on our way home, my friend and I were mesmerized every few seconds by the flashes of heat lightening off in the distance. Coming from California, where these types of meteorological phenomenon are rare, if not unheard of, I suggested we head out to the beach near my house to watch the lightening flash over the sea.

So, nearing two in the morning, we arrived at the sea and gazed out upon the mighty force of mother nature. It was a sight I don't think I will ever forget. The Milky Way, Big Dipper and Orion's belt were glowing proudly above us--while off in the distance, quiet as a mouse, the clouds talked to each-other in flashes of light.

It was a truly magical birthday.

Inekari (Rice Harvesting)

2010-09-07T22:20:00.000-07:00

September is known of the month of three things--typhoons, rice harvest, and moon viewing.

Driving around the countryside as of late, I have noticed the golden glow that most of the rice fields have taken. Some are already bare, filled with the stumps of former bunches of rice. In the unharvested fields, the rice hangs thick on the stalk, forcing the the plant downward, giving their form a heavy and tired apperance.

I was invited to attend the annual rice harvest, or ine-kari, at my smallest elementary school which is scheduled to be closed down next year, due to lack of students. Not only was it rice harvesting, but the last rice harvesting where the people of the community would join hands with the elementary school students, in one unified action.

I arrived at the school under threatening skies. A typhoon was on its way, that I knew. According to the weather report, the rain wasn't supposed to start until later in the evening. Though droplets scattered my windshield, I considered it a passing shower. Yet by the time we got out to the paddy, scythes in hand, long rubber boots on our feet, the rain was coming down in a solid stream that only increased as we progressed along the fields.

The group was given a brief instruction on how to harvest the rice--but it was pretty straight forward: cut away from you at the base of the plant, then arrange the severed ends evenly.

Slipping down into the small rice paddy, rain water trickling down our necks, we began. One handful, cut, add another handful, cut. After about five or six handfuls--I would toss them into a pile, becoming the work for those instructed to rope them into bundles.

The more we cut, the more I realized how full of frogs the field was. They hopped around like bugs on the ground--some no bigger than my fingernail--others as big as my fist. They worked their way into the rice bundles, and hopped out at us from their homes in the grass. With their merry activity down below--great red dragonflies swarmed overhead. It was a countryside scene--our companions not only the farmers, but the bugs, amphibians, and even the heron watching the frogs' movement with a greedy eye.

By the time we finished the field, the rain had eased some. We lifted the piles of rice to the railings of the gymnasium. There, we hung the bundles, then covered them with tarp and net so that they would not begin to mold, and birds wouldn't eat the entire crop. The older people were left to this task, while the younger children fled indoors to change out of their wet clothes.

I was told at the end that the rice was for mochi, which undoubtedly they will be serving at their Cultural Festival in a month.

In the mean time, I will just enjoy the experience of harvesting rice with the same students I planted rice with back in June.

To every season, turn, turn, turn...

There and Back Again to Iya Valley (extended edition): Part II

2010-08-31T19:57:00.001-07:00

Part II: The First Leg of the Journey

The first leg of the journey began with Saori and I meeting Friday evening after work, loading up the car with luggage, and setting off for a short, hour-long journey to the next major town up the road, where we would meet with the third member of our party, Betsy.
The weather was fair and brisk that evening, unusual in our part of Japan for the time of year. I took the fair conditions as a good sign, and a little after five in the evening, we set off down the road. Driving along Route 9, the artery of the Sea of Japan side of southern Japan, we exchanged local gossip and discussed our own confusion over the route to Iya Valley and what exactly we would do when we got there. The two of also discussed the details of the establishment we would be staying at while in Iya Valley, and its somewhat confusing statement on their website in regards to food. By the sounds of it, it seemed as though we needed to bring our own—especially if we wanted to eat any meat for our meals. Saori, in particular, is a fan of meat. Perhaps this comes from her living seven years in Montana; meat country if I ever heard of it.

We arrived in town of Oda close to seven in the evening, parking at a large mini-mall. Betsy, who was waiting for some local friends, phoned us to say that she was running late and our meeting time would be postponed for another forty minutes. Killing time we went into the large supermarket and bought all variety of snacks that are terrible for the body, but great for a road trip. Finding that forty minutes were almost at an end, we climbed back in the car and headed for the Chinese style food chain, “Osaka Osho.” Again, Betsy called us to tell her that she was having problems meeting up with her friends and she would be delayed again. This time, having no supermarket and mini-mall to entertain ourselves, we headed inside the restaurant, scouting out seats. Unfortunately, the only thing available was Japanese style—where one is expected to sit on the floor with no back rest. It is even worse for women, as ideally, we are to sit “seiza” style, with our legs tucked underneath them. However, my legs can only handle seiza for about ten minutes before they go numb…and then begin to pulse with pain.

Saori and I killed more time in the restaurant, our stomachs grumbling, our eyes looking at the menu longingly. By the time Betsy arrived another half an hour later, we had mentally decided all the foods we would order. Over our potstickers, Chinese style chicken, fried noodles and the like, we heard the whole juicy tale of what had delayed our third member of the party, who arrived at the restaurant alone, without the other members of her promised party. Once the situation had been explained, and our stomachs happily full, we idled over our dessert of mango and almond pudding, discussing our game plan for the next day.
The plan was to drive to Betsy’s house that evening, stay over, and get an early start the next day. Roughly, at six in the morning. From her house would take the prefectural road up to the express road, and begin our journey to Shikoku. The estimated time of the driving was to be seven to eight hours, with myself undertaking the entire journey as captain. Although I would have preferred to have equally shared the driving burden, because of a car insurance logistic, only I was allowed to drive my car during our journey. Though I secretly dreaded the length and difficulty of the drive, by the end of the trip I would be thankfull for it.

Paying for our meal, we followed Betsy to her house—located deep in the mountains, right next to the headwaters of the Go no Gawa River. The roads we drove were small and covered with fallen shrubbery—which was particularly bothersome with the roads completely unlit. But, at last, we stumbled up her steps and into her small apartment.
It was then, and only then, Betsy mentioned that she had problems with her hot water heater.
Part III: An Unclean Start
Dawn came quickly the next day, but sleep had come late to me the evening before. Perhaps it was a combination of excitement and sleeping in an unfamiliar place that made it so difficult for me to fall asleep. Regardless, the next morning I was tired before rising from my futon. One thing that perks me up in the morning is a nice hot shower. Betsy had warned us of her temperamental water heater the evening before, but there were encouraging sounds from the bathroom where she was currently showering.
Once she had finished, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee perking me up a little, I too headed to the shower and stripped down. Saori had tried to shower the night before, but there had been no hot water then. Yet with Betsy freshly steaming from the nice hot water, I thought, “Surely, there would be no problem.” Just to be sure, I ran the tap and waited for the scalding goodness to flow out.
I waited. And waited. And waited. And still, it would not come.
“Betsy!” I called. “Um…there’s no hot water.”
“What!? How can that be!? I just took a shower.”
Still standing in the nude in the quickly cooling shower, I said, “I don’t know…but it isn’t happening.”
Throwing back on my clothes, and allowing Betsy enter to ascertain for herself, I heard her mumble a groan and grumble. It was official no hot water for either Saori or I.
“Saori!” I said, returning to the tatami room, “No hot water.”
“What!? But Betsy just took a shower.”
“I know.”
“Now I am going to be stinky Saori.”
“We’ll have to stop at an onsen.” In the meantime, I washed my face and brushed my teeth in ice cold water. Ice cold water is another way to wake me up in the morning.
At least my morning cup of coffee was hot.

There and Back Again to Iya Valley (extended edition): Part I

2010-08-26T18:53:00.000-07:00

Note: A special person I know read my aloud their travel accounts of a two day, one night journey down the Columbia River on a sail boat. It was a detailed account, yet nevertheless one that kept my interest (despite the technical terms that were slightly over my head), and really gave you a feeling of the pace and atmosphere of the trip. Looking back at all the different adventures I have had this year, perhaps one that stands out the most is my journey to Iya Valley, spanning over the course of Friday evening to Monday afternoon. I have decided to attempt a more detailed account of that trip.

--------
Part 1: Iya and I

I had prepared for this journey for roughly three months, since my return from Taiwan during winter vacation. In truth, you could say that I had planned this trip for roughly five or six years, but until then, I had never had the opportunity or funds to make my way into one of the three hidden valleys of Japan, tucked away in the center of Shikoku Island, namely--Iya Valley.

My first encounter with Iya Valley began when I was a third year in college, and read the book I had bought some two years earlier. The book, "Dogs and Demons" by Alex Kerr was a dark account of the construction state industry in Japan, in particular relating to the negative environmental affects. Within this book Alex Kerr's 17th century farm house was mentioned somewhat briefly. Yet, inspired from that beginning, I searched out the companion book to "Dogs and Demons," entitled "Lost Japan." Lost Japan, as the title suggests, discuses about aspects of traditional Japanese society that are fading from modern day culture. However, one sucess story was the detailed account of the painstaking process of restoring an old farm house using all but forgotten methods of thatching and carpentry. The details of the house were so lovingly described that I knew this certainly was a place I had to visit at some point in my life.

At that time I was studying abroad in Tokyo, and had a few friends who traveled down to Iya Valley for a camping trip. However, not having the funds for such a trip (and more importantly, no car or international drivers liscence) I had to postpone it, and bid my hopes on the future.

The time finally presented itself about eight months after I had begun a new life in the rural Japanese countryside. With ample salary and a working car, the thought of Iya, and the farmhouse, Chiiori, became a possibility.

Traveling the Japanese express roads can be quite expensive if you go by yourself. In an effort to decrease the cost burden, and also have some good company for the lengthy drive ahead, I asked various people if they would be willing to join me on a short weekend trip. At last, after much hunting, I found my newly made Japanese friend, Saori. The second, a girl named Betsy, an English teacher like myself.

The date was set for a three day weekend in March, just a few days after Chiiori had officially reopened after the winter season. ..

Making Up With September

2010-08-24T21:07:00.000-07:00

I always hated being born in September. Of the twelve months out of the year, I always considered it rather dull by comparison. How could September compare to October, the month of apples and Halloween; April, the month of flowers and verdant growth? Even July seemed more exciting, if not extremely hot.

You can tell that September is an under appreciated month when you look on calenders. October is always full of autumn leaves and pumpkins. April is full of shamrocks, tulips and large poofy clouds. July has the sunny beach. September? Usually something rather bland...or somehow related to the start of school, or faded, sun-beat plants. A month known for the start of school and heat exhaustion--not very exciting.

However, I realized that September is the month of beginnings and ends. At the beginning of September, you still have the bounty of summer--melons, pears, peaches, late blooming flowers and the like. You can continue on with summer activities--playing in the river, having BBQs, sitting outside on warm evenings. Yet, as the month progresses, the beginnings of autumn begin to slip in. The fields of sunflowers have become dry, the barley and wheat turned gold, the sun begins to set earlier and earlier, giving you that sense that autumn is really on its way. Sometimes the mornings and evenings become a little cool, so that you can't sleep with the windows open like you did back in August. Day by day the thought of pulling out the heavier linens, scarves and jackets, becomes a little bit more a reality your mind, so that the time September is over, autumn has truly begun to arrive.

September is a season of anticipation, where you can relish the dregs of summer, and look forward to the next season ahead. In September, despite what later downfalls and blips in the weather forecast may occur, your vision of the future autumn is a perfect one.

Thereby, September is a season of the future, filling the present with happy anticipation.

That doesn't seem so bad to me.

Going On A Walk

2010-08-21T18:36:00.000-07:00

Summer is soon drawing to a close here in Shimane, and already the first signs of autumn are on their way. The early ripening rice is beginning to be harvested, and in the store autumn fruits like figs are beginning to make their appearances. This summer finds me looking back to last summer, and how much has changed and passed over the last year. One thing that is certainly different this year is the hotness that is baking the country day after day. Last year we were blessed with many rain storms and cooler temperatures, but this year I find myself confined into the only room of my house with air-conditioning. I sleep, eat and live in this one room.

However, too much breathing of air-conditioned air and looking at a computer screen can give one a headache. It can also cause you to become rather dormant and not move, for at the slightest sign of movement, rivers of sweat begin to flow.

The need to be somewhat active overrode these anxieties yesterday evening, and I decided to go on a walk. My destination was "Ogawa Shrine" located about fifteen minutes walk from my house, tucked away into the side of the hill.

I set out from my apartment while the sun was low in horizon, casting weak orange light across the neighborhood, fighting a losing battle against the deepening purple shadows of evening. As I positioned myself towards the shrine the sun became weaker and weaker, so that the sky nor sun were orange any more, but fading to a gentle shade of lavender. In the evening 'cool' large, fat dragonflies whizzed about high overhead, or hovering above the ripening fields of rice.

As I turned down a small, one way street I noticed the variety of plant life bordering the streets. I couldn't remember the last time I had walked along this narrow, one lane alley. What had been sweat peas growing in a flash array of curly tendrils and soft transparent leaves, had now been taken over by more sturdy blue and purple morning glories. Running along some walls were the faded orange color of Chinese lanterns, with zinnias growing out of cracks and crevices. Despite all this color there was a sense of exhaustion and tiredness that pervaded the scene. This isn't surprising, as it hadn't truly rained for over a month and a half.

Turning down an even narrower road, I remember the time during the early spring when I had discovered a patch of peppermint growing along the riverbank and harvested some for stomach-soothing tea. As the houses gave way, and the small, locally tended fields of rice began to appear, I also was surprised to see up-close just how much the rice had ripened. It has simply been a marshy sea of verdant green in June, but now it had faded, grown heavy, ripe and golden in the late stages of summer. Though a gentle breeze was beginning to pick up, the stalks of rice remained motionless--their burden of grain a heavy one.

The trickle of water and the occasional distant shouts of neighborhood children were gradually drowned out by the whirling, buzzing and humming sound of insects. As the road approached closer to the hillside the frogs of the rice-fields were replaced by the cicadas. In early summer I had visited this area in my car once at night, hoping that the waters of the small stream would be pure enough to promote firefly activity. While there had been one or two winking about the pitch dark woods, the whirl of the other bugs (moths and mosquitoes) had been much more prominent.

The road I walked along goes deep into the hills, gradually becoming smaller and smaller, pavement one moment, rocks and gravel the other. The end of my walk is usually signified by arriving at the small shrine, where I had happened to watch Kagura by firelight a cold evening last October. At that time it was full of energy, my students in their hip-casual best chatting with each other, highschoolers casting fervent looks and scuttling away to a dark area, the pulsation of the drum beat and occasional whoops and shouts of the performers. Now, the shrine stood silent--quiet, as though building its energy for the performance that would happen within a few weeks.

By the time I had reached the temple, and touched the shrine gate as the finishing mark, I turned back. The bugs were still singing just as strong and loud--but the scene had developed a sadder, quieter feel with the setting of the sun. Lavender had become purple, and another hot, dusty day of summer had drawn to a close.

Kanto Matsuri

2010-08-08T21:27:00.000-07:00

Back when I was fourteen years old, the world of the internet was just beginning. At that time my fascination and love of Japan was at its height; I even had a small shrine set up to the idealized country, located in my dark depths of my large walk in closet. It was something vaguely reminiscent of the shrine created by Helga Patakie for her beloved Arnold, two characters from the classic Nickelodeon cartoon popular during my youth. It was there, tucked away in that closet, that I had my anime figurines, random pieces of paper with Japanese words on them, my manga collection, and my incense-scented Random House Japanese-English Dictionary.

Although my first email address had been somewhat an embarrassment (not to be publicly mentioned ever again), I wanted my first America Online Instant Messenger User Name to be a shining representation of both coolness, individuality and JAPAN.

The method for choosing a name was various, but finally decided to do that tried and true method of flipping through the dictionary in search of words that "sounded cool."

I stumbled upon the word "Kanto Matsuri," described simply as a "lantern festival." The idea of a festival devoted to lanterns entangled my romantic heart, and from that point on, and for many years after, my handle was the illusive "Kantou Matsuri," which probably no one understood back then save myself.

Though my screen handle of Kantou Matsuri has long ago been abandoned for other creations, the idea of a lantern festival has always in the back of my mind. It was that nostalgia that inspired me to take a journey to the far north this summer.

Getting from where I am, to where Kantou Matsuri is, is no easy task. Located car trips, airplane rides, and train journeys away, it lies in the deep north in Akita Prefecture. Nevertheless, through much help and journeying, I arrived the hot and steamy Akita City last week, preparing myself for something I had prepared myself for years.

Of course, your notions of something and the reality are two different things. In truth, I can't say what I expected--namely just a festival with lanterns, but beyond that? I knew vaguely of large, heavy polls being balanced precariously by the male participants--however, as to the height, the skill involved, or the potential for these polls to collapse, I knew not.

To see such a festival by oneself is one thing, an experience I have done before. However, to see the floating lights and lanterns, hear the roar of the drums, the chanting pulsating through the crowd, all underneath a starry, sticky night sky is another thing entirely. You at once don't feel alone, and can fall into the ebb and flow of the festival just like any other participant. I was thankful and happy for that company.

The lanterns were the same in size and shape, more or less. The difference lay between the design printed upon the illuminated paper. Sometimes there were traditional Japanese family crests, words in kanji, while others coca-cola or the name of a convenience store. It was an amalgamation of modern and traditional, but somehow it still managed to capture the flair and festivity that has made this festival as popular as it has become.

The lanterns are attached to high poles, roughly 50 feet high in the air--balanced only by man and a bamboo pole. These poles and lanterns can reach up to 60 kilos, somewhere in the ballpark of 100 pounds. To balance them requires skill, and the more skill you have, the more you are able to fan yourself with a fan, or twirl an umbrella while simultaneously balancing the bamboo pole on your hip. Sometimes, you fail, and the lantern poles tumble to the ground--seemingly in slow motion, when watched from a distance. As it was said, looking for a falling pole is like looking for lightening--one must be ever vigilant and aware in order to see that falling rush.

Allowing for a bit of time to pass, I can look back at the Lantern Festival with a feeling of pride and contentment. For nearly ten years I have carried the idea of this world, this idea--and at last, when I am old enough to appreciate more than my pre-teen self, have seen it.

One Year Later

2010-07-28T03:59:00.000-07:00

The new JET arrived in my town today, and one of my other JET friend departs today. These events bring feelings of nostalgia to my head. It was nearly one year ago that I set out for this adventure in the Japanese countryside. Despite my background and knowledge of the country, I have to say it was one of the most nerve-wracking things I've ever done.

One year ago I was on a bus, sitting next to a guy from Oregon, nervous about my new town, the possibility of loneliness and homesickness, my future unknown friends, job details, the possibility of fainting, and a myriad of other worries. I was trying to keep calm, cool and collected--trying to be prepared, and face what needed to be faced.

Now, one year later, I look at my situation and compare just how much I have grown since then. To begin with, though only a recent development in itself, I have found a deep connection with someone--though it took almost a year to find out, and it turned out to be right at the beginning. While this situation is foremost in my mind these days, I also have to look back at my other triumphs and tribulations from the past year.

My triumphs outweigh my tribulations, I think. To begin with, although having failed the Japanese Language Proficiency Exam back in September (failure) and having to sit it again only a month ago (results, unknown), I believe my Japanese ability has improved greatly since I arrived. I believe this is because I have made an effort to be involved in the local community, not just simply the foreign one. I have made efforts with my vegetable garden, Japanese language conversation partner, as well as building friendships from other avenues like my English Conversation Meeting. I have also had to hold myself back, restrain myself from activities in an order to study. However, as I have a goal in my head (namely to pass the test), I know this is reason enough.

Moving on...One of my mini goals while in Japan this time was to go to all four main islands in Japan: Honshuu, Kyuushuu, Shikoku, Hokkaido. To date I have succeeded in three, and starting tomorrow I will be setting course for the last and final--Hokkaido.

I admit that I spend time in solitude much more than I did in America. The last time I was in Japan I dreaded this solitude and isolation, but this time around I have a new-found strength. By no means a hermit, I admit that lately, I haven't wanted it to be just me around here anymore...

My failures, if I can really call them that, come in different forms. I certainly feel like I haven't become closer with my fellow foreigners. Partially the reason lies in choosing to isolate myself, and the other reason not being able to find a deeper kind of platonic friendship, which is the one I am looking for.

While my Japanese ability has grown, it hasn't grown to a level that I am satisfied with, and I wonder how well I can improve in this next year to come. I can only keep on studying, keep on going the course towards language proficiency.

Finally, I feel that while I have been involved with the community, part of me has remained aloof, preferring to study or cook over socialization. It is my hope to pick up some kind of more traditional skill this year, perhaps taiko or igo--two things I have always wanted to experience more than I have.

To end, one failure and sucess lie in the same place--namely the issue of weight. While I did increase my weight dramatically over winter break, in an effort to lose it and more, I have started a more healthy lifestyle--healthier probably than my time in America.

To end on a simple note, I will grade year 1 of JET, and I would give it a solid B. Maybe even a B+.

Amanohashidate

2010-07-20T03:49:00.001-07:00

This past weekend was what you call in Japanese a "renkyuu," or in English "a successive holiday" or in actual English, "a three day weekend." Part of my life in Japan is figuring out how to get the maximum amount of enjoyment on taking the least amount of vacation days. This three day weekend seemed to me a good chance to get out of the countryside and go on a road trip.

Destination: more countryside.

But, as opposed to where I am, this countryside is famous. It is in fact one of the "scenic trio" of Japan, designated since time immemorial. The first scenic area is Sendai's Matsushima (pine covered islands), the second Miyajima of Hiroshima (the famous shrine gate in water), and finally the third, Amanohashidate.

Amanohashidate literally means "bridge of heaven," and has been considered a treasure since the Heian period, some 800 years ago. The spot is a narrow spit of pine-covered land that extends across a bay, pretty much dividing the bay in half.In my opinion it is certainly a geological wonder. The surrounding bay is calm and quiet, so that it actually seems like a great lake, rather than anything connected with the rough and wild Sea of Japan.

Additionally, though a tourist spot it doesn't have the same vibe as going somewhere like Tokyo Tower or Kiyomizu Temple in Kyoto. It's popular and beautiful, but just doesn't get the tourists like the other places. Amanohashidate is where the Japanese tourists go to travel, not foreigners (on the whole).

Must be the whole being out in the countryside thing.

It took about 8 hours one way for us to arrive at the town, along the way stopping occasionally. We lunched at the town of Izushi, famous for their (endangered) oriental cranes and buckwheat noodles served on small plates. We then continued along valleys and mountainsides of verdant green, more than once finding an emerald colored cove along the seashore.

After checking into our hotel we bought the roundtrip boat and lift ticket, then headed on a bus to a scenic temple. The boat skimmed along the water at an enjoyable speed, the wind picked up cooling our heated brows from the hot summer weather. Upon disembarking we took the tram up to the top of the very steep hill, meanwhile noticing that there was something similar to a ski lift, which we vowed to take on our return journey.

Paying an additional fee, we boarded a bus to the temple. While the temple had quite a nice look-out, it was the pleasure of Amanohashidate that we came for. After admiring the grounds and the view from atop this mountainside retreat, we quickly returned to the mid section of the hill, taking many scenic pictures with the bridge of heaven as our backdrop.

The day began to fade upon our return to the base of the hill, but not before the three of us enjoyed a traditional summer time treat--shaved ice for the two (ramune and green tea flavor), and black bean flavored soft cream for myself (admittedly, not my favorite flavor).

Though not as touristy as Kyoto, as it was a three day weekend, the town was more hopping than usual. This being the case, a local restaurant was suggested to us, but upon driving out to where it was, we discovered that many others had been recommended as well. As we had to get to the only onsen in town by 8:30 pm, and it was almost 7 as it was, we were pressed for time.

We headed in the other direction, and gorged ourselves most piggishly on yakiniku and other Korean delights. As my friend pointed out, if we had taken the train to the first failure restaurant, we would have been stuck in a place with nowhere to eat. Then, we would haven't been able to go to the onsen...
How quickly things have the potential to unravel.

Proceeding to the onsen, I knew it was a good one almost immediately, as they served milk from vending machines. So far, the best onsen are those that serve milk--at least in my opinion. That usually means they have a regular clientele, which means they have many redeeming features. After all the sweat, heat and long hours of the day it was bliss slipping into the scalding water.

We turned into the lobster trio.

The next morning we woke with the sun, quickly threw on some clothes and annoyed the innkeeper by borrowing bikes early in the morning. Our goal? Bike the length and back of Amanohashidate in an hour. We proceeded magnificently, enjoying the cool and mild light producing inky shadows on an early summer's morning. I think I will truly remember that experience for a life time--the sense of happiness and carefree is not something I usually encounter. Yet this instance, the three of us biking along the flat wooded terrain, occasionally ringing our bells at pedestrians, stopping to take pictures, play in the water...ah, pure bliss.

We then immediately set out for the long journey home. We amused ourselves singing songs along the road when I, the driver, became sleepy. We also had one hell of a time finding a decent place to eat--but where we did stop along the road had real culinary delights in this country--a live cilantro plant and juicy nectarines!

We arrived back in Matsue by 3:30, in time for some soumen nagashi at my newly discovered restaurant, tucked into a hill and fed by an underwater spring. Then, we completed the day by allowing ourselves to be consumed in the magic of Studio Ghibli, and their latest release: "Karigurashi no Arietty."

All in all...a wonderful, unforgettable trip.

Soumen Nagashi

2010-07-11T01:59:00.000-07:00

Japan is big on the seasons, and that is one of the reasons I love this country so much.
There are always different aspects experience each season, things available for a limited time. This even trickles down to the seasonal drinks, candy and snack flavors found in convenience stores.

This past weekend I tried something both traditional and somewhat wacky at the same time. That is: soumen nagashi. To explain soumen nagasahi, first imagine yourself at a water park. You are in an inter-tube, going down the artificial river. All you do is float along with the current, the course usually being a large circle. Now, imagine that current and water as a machine. Next, imagine that machine shrunk and able to stand on-top of a table. This idea is the foundation for soumen nagashi.

Soumen itself is a thin wheat noodle, usually eaten chilled during the summer as a method to stay cool. The noodles are usually served with some sort of fish-soy based dipping sauce, or chilled vegetable.

Soumen nagashi combines the seasonal idea of cold, chilled noodles with the idea of water currents. The idea is to put cooked soumen noodles into the water current, and as they come around towards you, you dip down your chopsticks into the water. The noodles, being thin, easily get caught in the barrier--and within second you have a large mouthful of noodles. Oftentimes soumen nagashi is done in long bamboo shoots as activities at school. During the summer seasonal restaurants open up--advertising ice cold soumen noodles served in the nagashi (current) contraption.

Last summer was when I first heard about this eating practice. I was watching the local NHK channel, and they talked about a local soumen nagashi restaurant in Matsue. Of course, there are these types of restaurants that seem to pop up like mushrooms during the season. However, this one in particular was special. Located somewhat outside of the city center and tucked into the side of the hill, the water used comes from an underground spring. Therefore, the water cold, sweet and delicious.

When I set out to visit the restaurant, I was struck not only by the quaint aspect to the location, but the structure to the building. As is typical in Japanese architectural designs, the walls had been taken away to allow a breeze to pass through. Being tucked into the side of a hill, shaded by trees, the atmosphere was pleasant and shaded. Not only that, but the water of the spring itself tumbled down along the side of the building, creating a cool, moist feeling to the air.

It being my first time for soumen nagashi, I thought it best to experience it alone. Sometimes, going with other people who have a different sense of appreciation, can not allow you to enjoy the actual experience itself. In this manner it became just myself and one other old man slurping down the ice cold noodles and listening to the soft tinkle of the wind bell.

The Unsharpened Knife

2010-07-07T16:36:00.000-07:00

In recent weeks I have begun to wonder if I am growing dull. Not necessarily in the sense that I am growing stupid, but that the knowledge I possessed in not only my academic discipline but other facets of life, is gradually growing more and more hazy, or in the case of a knife, more and more dull. The knife of my knowledge still works, still cuts, but not with the precision that it may have only two years ago.

One could argue that life experience has made other knifes in my collection sharper, but as for the knife of my academic knowledge, I feel the rust slowly beginning to set in.

Perhaps this is simply the issue of not being a student, not going to classes, not having knowledge slowly inserted into my brain. If this is the case, it is undoubtedly something that every person in the world experiences--this gradual distancing of oneself from school, from the world of academic knowledge.

Yet I don't particularly remember this being the case when I lived ta home in America for a year. Granted, I had only just recently graduated from college and the information was still fresh in my mind. However, I think it is more an issue the circumstances of where I lived. Where I lived information was readily available, with a medium and means of easily access. If I had an interest I could pursue it with relative ease. However, here in the countryside, the areas where my interests lie are greatly separated you are left to live in a sort of repetition of your past interests without being able to expand them. Not to mention the fact that once graduated from an academic institution you lose access to their information.

A Life Besides Gardening

2010-07-02T05:58:00.000-07:00

I realize, in looking over some of the more recent posts, that the subject of gardening has begun to dominate the themes. And, while I do do a lot of gardening, my soul existence here in Japan certainly isn't it. In truth, these last couple of months--besides going to Korea during Golden Week, have been spent doing more local activities around Shimane. I go to my language conversation partner, my Japanese tutor, my English Conversation Group, my International Cooking class, and various other things. Of course, one could say I have gotten out of the habits of writing about such things because so much has become rather normal to me.

This isn't to say that I don't have new experiences...but instead I would say that lately they have been rather at a limit. I hope to be able to post more during this summer vacation. Look forward to posts on: Amano no Hashidate, Tohoku and Sapporo, Go no Gawa Festival (Prt II), Possible fishing stories, English Camps (Oh...yay), as well as a possible article on Iwakuni or Tomonosado.

An "Oh, Those Japanese" Moment.

2010-06-26T16:12:00.000-07:00

The weekend usually provides me with a bit more time to attend to my garden. On an ideal day, I am out there by nine thirty and wrap up by ten thirty before it gets unbearably hot. As the day before I had stayed up late, I awoke later than usual. This was fine, I decided, as all I really wanted to do was some weeding. Additionally, later on in the afternoon a group of friends were coming over to my house, and before all that happened I had to call my parents. So, in effect, I was just "squeezing" in a bit of gardening.

I get out to my garden, and who do I see but my garden neighbor, Sone. First thing off she asks me if I would like to plant some sweet potatoes. Sure, I say. At that time I obviously didn't understand the complexity of sweet potato planting.

The area she wanted to plant the sweet potatoes was in the side of the garden I had designated as "the desert." I had pretty much abandoned it to the ravages of weeds, as not many things could grow there as it is plunged into shade in the afternoon. While arguably a good spot for the sweet potatoes, the weeds were thick and deep.

First we set off to weeding. No problem there. Then, her husband comes out and starts digging a foot down and upturning the soil--and we pick out the roots one more time. We do this for about forty five minutes. In the mean time the light rain turns to downright rain. Not only do I begin to get all muddy, but the ground does as well. Not to mention more heavy.

From there, we have to even out the dirt. Okay, that's fine I suppose--but by then I was beginning to wonder about time, as it had been my intention to only stay out in my garden for roughly an hour or so.

Well, we continue on and the dirt is leveled. We then dig a trench, fill with fertilizer, cover it, and then build mounds. By this point it was already noon, and I was quickly running out of patience. The rain was coming down harder than ever, and I could only think of all the other things I had to do.

After being explained the proper way to plant a sweet potato plant, I plant a full row and at last beg to be excused. They, of course, were happy to let me go (or so it seems). Part of me feels bad for abandoning them half way through a project that they started for me, but the other part of me feels they must understand that I am busy and I had no original plan of spending so much time out in the garden that day. I didn't even get a chance to weed the rest of my garden...

When I returned I was literally caked with mud and the shower ran brown.

It was certainly an "Oh, Those Japanese" moment...

Not Without Weeds: Decidedly Gardeny

2010-06-23T01:40:00.001-07:00

June has been kind to my garden.

I mean, compared to my neighbors', my own is still somewhat of a sad affair...nonetheless, things are growing! Progress is being made! I will mention that I decided to abandon half my garden, as it fell into shadow in the afternoon--causing nothing to grow. I now call it "The Desert."

In Japan each season, and even down to the month, has seasonal words. These are called "kigo" I learned a new kigo this month, and that is, believe or not, tamanegi--or onions! And boy, have people been pulling these suckers out of the ground. Even driving around they seem to decorate peoples' houses like earthy fairy lights. There being so many of these vegetables around, I have invariably received many from my farmer friends. Now, in my kitchen, are perhaps around 20 onions--red and white together, whose uses I am trying to think up.

As for the garden, the zucchini I planted from seed (after killing roughly 6 seedlings back in March), are doing well. The farmer next door, a Mr. Hirayama, even grew some from seedlings for me, and so, in total, a whopping 6 plants. Presuming these don't die too, it's going to be a zucchini paradise this summer!

I also planted some sunflowers, which seem to be growing well, even with the lack of sun these days. There's nothing as cheerful as a sunflower in summer time.

Perhaps the biggest shock of June was arriving at my garden one day to do some weeding, and to find a large bamboo structure mysteriously erected. It turns out it was the work of Mrs. Sone, who went out bamboo picking and decided to make it for me. She also generously donated six bean plants (which she admitted, she thought possibly doomed at the time). Though not as bushy and robust as others, they certainly aren't dying and seem to be growing well.

All in all, my garden is becoming decidedly gardeny.

Progress check: carrots: alive and kickin'.
Basil: it's shot up so much, I've had to give some away already.
Tomatoes: producing fruit...but strange bugs are eating it while still green.
Cosmos: first one bloomed this week!
Radish: They are growing very robustly. I'll have to thin them out soon.
Cilantro: growing very weird and freaky. Also, the ants love it! Why?
Salad mix: I fear I may have let it grow to big and now it is inedible.

Fireflies

2010-06-15T05:28:00.001-07:00

I am a native Californian, and as such, many people don't know that California does not have fireflies. While many people have fond memories of catching fireflies in jars on warm summer nights, there was no such thing in my case. Maybe watching moths instead.

Though this is my fourth time to Japan I have always arrived in August, and just missed the firefly season. I did have an opportunity to see a grand total of three fireflies two years ago when I went and visited my sister in Missouri. But, again, the season was almost over and the fireflies I had hoped to see were lacking.

That's why when I realized sometime back in March that I'd be able to see fireflies this year, I pestered everyone I knew about going to go see them. Fireflies are one of the pleasures of the countryside, I suppose you could say. You can't find them in big cities, and even out here they are only found in isolated spots.

Looking back on it now, my first experience--like anyone's first experience, was the most magical. I had asked two friends of mine, priests at a Buddhist Temple, to show me around their native home when it became firefly season. They followed through on their promise, and one night early in June when the heat of the rainy season had yet to descend, we set out into their car for the town of Atoichi, some five miles away in the mountains. Apparently, Atoichi is famous for their fireflies, attracting people from the region. Fireflies, or at least the fireflies as found in Japan, only will live near clean water. It is for that reason that I can't go out walking in my neighborhood down by the seashore and see them glowing, as the water has become too polluted for them.

Atoichi, like many mountain towns in Japan, is a dying breed. Most of the inhabitants are probably over the age of sixty, and young people, if there are any, soon move away. The town was black and closed up when we arrived, first parking by a small stream. And, though I was excited to see one or two winking forms hovering over the water, it wasn't quite like what I had expected or hoped. We stood there in the dark for some ten minutes, thinking about the fireflies and composing haiku. Then, we decided to continue our search further out.

This proved to be a good idea.

We turned off the main road and down a small side road, lined on either side by rice paddies. The road then crossed a small river, but we parked the car along the side of the river and disembarked. What we saw truly was an image that will last in my head for a lifetime--so many small wispy forms of light glowing together that they seemed to make a small, quiet river themselves. For as far as the eye could see, their forms hovered over the river. Sadly, the light from a nearby gymnasium was obstructing our view so we followed the gravel road on foot a little further into the mountain. It was very, very dark, and had I been by myself I would have been truly scared.

There in the pitch one could not only see the fireflies twinkling below, but the great starry sky overhead. In the following days I would try to visit the spot again, the beauty would never match that starry night. The frogs, undisturbed by traffic and humans, were croaking in voices that seemed almost like the cry of a bird.

We stood there for some time, quiet, trying to capture the beauty of the scene in haiku. And, even though we managed to some degree, the truth of the matter was the beauty of the night spoke for itself.

Hana Taue: Ceremonial Rice Planting

2010-06-07T05:03:00.001-07:00

What says rice more than Japan? I certainly don't know. The Japanese love this stuff in all forms. Sweets are made from rice, noodles are made from rice, bread is made from rice, and even rice is made from rice! Therefore, it isn't surprising that the Japanese have developed various rituals based on the planting, harvesting, storing and usage of the rice.

This past weekend I was able to participate in just one of those traditions, namely, the ceremonial planting of the rice. Nowadays "taue" or "rice planting" is done mostly by machine, producing neat, evenly spaced and aesthetically appealing rows. However, back in the days there were no such things, and it was all done by hand. When planting by hand and using a measuring gauge that is subject to the slight of human hand, the rows become rather warbled. But even today many people continue to plant by hand. Then, that being the case--what is the difference between a farmer planting rice (taue) and "Hana Taue"? Well, Hana Taue is also special because it is a more traditional and special occasion, when the planters adorn special festive costumes and traditional chanting and taiko accompanies the planting process itself.

I was invited to this taue ceremony by one of my country schools (to be closing next year due to lack of children in the community). This event, known as Hana Taue, has been going on for the past eighty years, with the elementary school part of the "musical entertainment." Judging by the age of many of the spectators, they may have been around since before the tradition started.

I arrived early in the morning to the designated spot, still bleary eyed and wishing to be back in bed. The old ladies I met must have been up for much longer as they had already prepared most of the bento to be sold later that day.

Being too big for much of any of the clothes, I first found that the tabi (socks) did not fit. I was then squeezed into a kimono (which kept coming undone because I have hips), followed by protective arm and leg wear, and hat. By the end of it I looked quite the rice planter, though rather large in size compared to everyone around.

The ceremony commenced at ten in the morning. We lazily and slowly made our way through the back roads of the rice paddies, my feet coming undone from the sandals that only fit half my feet. Then, in true Japanese fashioned, we listened to a half an hour of speech and another half an hour of song. At last, when nothing more could be done, we descended into the paddy. By that time it had gone from warm to downright uncomfortable.

I have never stood in a rice paddy before. Infact, I don't think I'd ever been as close as I had been as I was at that instance. Standing there in a foot or more of mud, I watched amused as the pollywogs and leech-looking things swam by murky shallow water.

Our work took roughly two hours. We proceeded row by row, each person planting roughly five plants per row. Listening to the music of the elementary school students, followed by the taiko drumming, was actually quite comforting. And, though I would later be extremely tired from my efforts, while the actual planting took place, I was surprised at how much I was enjoying myself.

When it was all over we were rather bathed in mud. Trotting back along the country road (this time, the more direct route), we bathed in an nearby ditch. The cold running water felt so good against our dirty skin. It was only upon changing that I realized how hungry I had become and quickly wolfed down the bento the ladies had been kind enough to make for us participants.

As I ate, I looked out over the vista down into the rice field. Compared to the other ones, it certainly wasn't as straight or as pretty. Yet, it was something we did together under the warm sun of June. It was an experience I'll never forget, and even though I'll probably never eat any of the rice it produces, it's nice to know that in some small way I participated in protecting a tradition in a land where they are fast disappearing.

Homemade Spinach Ravioli

2010-05-27T18:43:00.001-07:00

Using home made ricotta out of household ingredients, I created this recipe. No ricotta cheese is necessary for this dish.

Homemade Spinach Raviolis

Ingredients:

2 package spinach, cooked (seasoned with garlic and had the water pressed out)
2 cartons milk
½ cup apple cider vinegar
1 small container Parmesan cheese (probably about a cup)
Italian seasonings
2 eggs
salt, pepper

gyoza wrappers
tomato sauce/pesto sauce

Recipe:

1.Heat milk till just about to boil. Then, turn off heat and add vinegar. Let cool to room temperature—then separate the curds from the whey.
2.Using the curds, crack two eggs in, seasonings, salt, pepper and cheese in. Mix well. Then, add spinach and mix well.
3.Using two wrappers per ravioli, fill the center of one and seal with the other.
4.In boiling water, add raviolis carefully and cook until done.
5.Drain, and top with pasta sauce and Parmesan cheese.

PS: you can easily half this recipe.

Not Without Weeds: With Weeds

2010-05-20T15:51:00.000-07:00

May-June

Before Golden Week I left Japan with the hope that I would find a completely transformed garden upon my return. Having asked several people to help water the plants, I knew that I wouldn't come back to a dry, wilted shadow of its formal self. Instead, I imagined great verdant growth stretching higher and higher--perhaps a flower or two?

I got verdant green growth all right, just not in the form I wanted. No, instead of the warm, sunny weather inspiring my little seedlings to grow big and strong (which they marginally did compared to their growth before) it was the weeds that burgeoned.

Doing a quick "drive by" on my way home I was shocked to see I couldn't see my garden any more through the weeds. It looked like I was trying to grow a lawn. A sinking feeling of doom overwhelmed me, for I knew that long hours of labor were in store.

The weeds in my garden are various, but the most annoying and difficult to eradicate is a type of grass with deep growing and interconnected roots. The roots connect to a little "ball," and if this is not taken than the weeds will simply grow again. My garden, originally fallow land for the past several years, is worse than most other gardens in the area. As the weeds were allowed to grow freely, their system is well built and complicated.

I spent a total of five hours one weekend, digging up the weeds with my trowel. After five hours I had only managed to clean out about 1/4 of my garden. Later during the middle of the week I went out again, and a neighbor dropped by. She had been so concerned over my plight of picking weeds she had come out to show me the tool she used to pull them out. It was, she said, much better than using a trowel to dig them up. Voluntarily she stayed at my side pulling weeds for about an hour. Then the two bordering farmers gave me some of their freshly harvested onions (which I made into the sweetest French Onion Soup I have ever made). That day, I truly felt the love of the Japanese.

The next day I went out and bought the tool she used (a small sickle) and another tool recommended by the farmer next door (also sickle-like).

The following weekend Greg of Misumi (and soon to be of Matsue) came out to help me pull weeds. By this point things were getting manageable and we proceeded amiably. It was really quite nice for him to come out to do something as back breaking as weeds.

With the fine weather followed by a warm rain I was anxious for my vegetables which seem to be doing better as of late. However, upon checking up on the garden a few days ago I found the weeds back to their usual business and popping up just where I pulled them out. This garden certainly isn't without weeds.

Progress check:
Bought some tomato, watermelon and basil that seem to be doing nicely.
Cilantro is gradually getting more robust.
What I thought were green beans, but may actually be zucchini, produced a flower which I nipped off--I want the plants to get more hearty before they start bearing.
Carrots are almost ready to start thinning.
Zinnias and flowering plants are gradually getting bigger.
Will sow some radish seeds this weekend, as well as more basil and watermelon.

Not Without Weeds: 陰気な山陰　Gloomy Sanin

2010-04-25T04:45:00.001-07:00

April-May

It's the end of April, and the weather is only now getting its act together. From everyone I hear, this year has been abnormally cold. This coldness is evident in the slow progression of my plants' growth. Having been sprouted from seed sometime back in February, I was certainly expecting more progress between then and now. Technically my plants can still be called seedlings, though some have at last begun to cast off their initial leaves and grow slightly more "plant like."

April was marked by my impatience. The situation with growing plants in my apartment was a Catch Twenty-Two. With no sunlight, the seedlings grew weak and withered; but put outside the strong salty wind off the Sea of Japan and lack of sunlight even outdoors (Thanks, Shimane) fared no better with them.

Still, the bulk of my plants have now been officially planted outside with only a few varieties still within the confines of my apartment. Here is a status report:
1.) The pumpkin sprout I originally planted withered outside, so I was forced to grow another one which seems to be doing better. I also planted more pumpkin seeds in the gravesite of its kin.
2.) The zucchini, as befitting the hardiness of the plant, are doing the well. Though their progression is minimal, they seem to have a fighting spirit.
3.) Sadly, the tomato sprout-lings withered and are officially dead. It's okay, because tomato plants are easily available here.
4.) The basil sprouts have not grown at all, but at least are not dead.
5.) The green beans seem to be doing well enough.
6.) The seeds I planted out of doors, consisting of carrots, salad and spinach have all popped their little heads out of the ground and seem to be doing fine minus their territory being encroached upon by weeds that are multiplying by the day.
7.) The star to this entire venture is the cilantro. Originally, they were the weakest and sickliest of all plants I grew from seeds. However, they now stand proud and tall and are beginning to shoot off leaves. I am already beginning to mentally plan the Mexican food summer will bring.

I will be gone in Korea for a week, but luckily have found a person willing to water my plants. When I return, I am going to try some different weed-killing methods. I'd like to avoid as much herbicide as possible. Besides picking them out by hand (impossible with the amounts I have), does anyone have any alternate suggestions?

Let's hope by next months post I can stop using the word seedlings and move onto plants. Baby steps. Baby steps.

Sansai Adventure/Wild Mountain Greens Picture

2010-04-24T16:36:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we drove to Yasaka, a small isolated mountain town. There, they constructed an "Experience Center," a place where you can experience traditional Japanese activities. For example: soba noodle making, mushroom hunting, firefly watching, and what we chose to do, wild herb and green picking.

In Japan spring is the time of "sansai"--wild mountain greens, while autumn is the time of mushrooms. As soon as I heard of sansai, I knew it was something I had to do. Being somewhat of a forager myself back home in America, I was happy to see that the tradition was continuing along in Japan.

The problem with sansai are two things: firstly, you don't know where they are and secondly, the easily accessible ones have usually been picked. Keeping those truths in mind, the first part of our tour was somewhat of a disappointment as we could find very little to pick. However the end of the tour was truly the highlight, where they showed us the "guaranteed" spots for sansai. Who knows, maybe they planted them themselves and let them grow "wild" over the years?

The weather that day was beautiful--just my favorite type: a bright blue sky with white poofy clouds sailing along. Quite lovely~

Here is what we found in the end:

1.) Kogome

2.) Warabi

3.) Tsukushi

4.) "Cresson" aka: watercress

Yabusame: Horseback Archery in Tsuwano

2010-04-12T01:42:00.000-07:00

When I first became interested in Japan, I rented, borrowed and bought anything I could about Japan. One of the images I particularly remember from that period was the segment on horseback archery, "Yabusame" from a video I rented from the library.

In all my visits to the country (now a total of four) I never had an opportunity to see the silken-clad samurai warriors ride by full-speed on a galloping horse aiming at a wooden target. But now, I can say that I have.

Yabusame is actually only practiced now in a few special places in Japan, and usually about once a year. I am blessed to live about two hours away from such a place, Tsuwano at the base of Shimane prefecture. It's a very cute town, known as Little Kyoto.

The actual day of the event proved to have very Shimane-like weather, namely rainy and cloudy. Luckily the rain was not heavy enough to cancel the archery, and it proceeded on schedule--though much of the pomp and circumstance was cut out. This was fine by me, as it meant I got to see more of the meat to the show--namely, the firing of arrows and galloping horses through the mud.

I would say about 1 in 3 shots was successfully fired. From my vantage point at the first shot, of about 20 contestants or so it seemed less than half managed to hit the target. The more you watched, the more one could tell whether or not the archer would be able to hit. If the horse was galloping too quickly, too violently, if the archer did not bring out the bow, or have the correct hand position the couldn't even release the arrow.

Watching Yabusame was one of those experiences that occur from time to time here in Japan--when I feel I am coming full circle, back to a person and self of thirteen years old, and at last experiencing the reality of my idealizations.

There and Back Again: Chiiori

2010-03-24T05:15:00.000-07:00

Chiiori stands out upon the cliff like a gray, wizened old hawk. Thinking about it, this building is probably older than America, my own country. It has stood the test of countless storms, winds, snow, hail, smoke and the like. Yet unlike many of the buildings you find today, it was built strong and solidly. Additionally, it has been lovingly restored for countless years to reach its current state of beauty.

The inside is essentially stepping into a shadow. All the surfaces have been stained the color of smoke, a dark deep black, shining from natural oils and age. The roof is made of thatch and takes up nearly one half of the house. It seems a great vault that towers over us, giving depth and air to a relatively small space. However, as the roof is hatch, it easily rots away from the wear and tear of the natural elements. One method to preserve the thatch is to coat it in a binding layer of smoke and ash. While this process preserves the roof, it also explains why the interior has become so black during the year. As I was told at Chiiori, the fire is necessarily—practically everyday, to maintain the stability and endurance of the thatch. In fact when we cooked dinner one of the rolls of a person was to maintain the fire, even though none of us were in the room and no fire was necessary at the time.

Through the years Chiiori has been divided—essentially the kitchen area and living area. In the evening the group of us would gather over the burners and sinks, preparing food, then return to the other room to sit around the hearth and enjoy. Until bedtime people read, used the internet, stargazed, what have you. I found living on the mountainside for those two days meant that I went to bed earlier and woke up earlier, for as once night falls you are restricted to the house and once the dawn breaks you can continue on with life.

Personally, I found Chiiori best enjoyed from the veranda—soaking in the view of the opposite mountain and watching the play of light and shadows upon their varied peaks. Yet night was also good. While we were there a great storm crashed over head, and even with my weak earplugs I could not hear it—the roof and storm doors were simply so solid. The next night, the exact opposite of the first, was bright cold and clear. I was able to see more stars than I had ever seen before, but the moonlight reflecting off the clouds made it difficult to track down the illusive Milky Way

Chiiroi is, as I said, surprisingly liveable. There is internet, phone reception, electric plugs, hot and cold water, gas burners and what have you. There is even a traveling salesman bringing the benefits of the supermarket to the hill people with the basic supply of daily goods. It was simply a time slip. However Chiiori is nothing but isolated, an homage to a way of life that is rapidly becoming abandoned as more and more people head to the sparkle and culture of a big city. Even for a person who has studied Japan for many years, Chiiori seemed another world to me. Yet, it was for another world for which I came, and I am happy in what I managed to find among the wilds of Shikoku.

There and Back Again: Iya Valley

2010-03-22T17:47:00.000-07:00

I first heard about Iya Valley when I read the book "Dogs and Demons: Tales from the Dark Side of Japan." The book itself focuses on many environmentally destructive industries. Within this book Alex Kerr, an expatriot practically raised in Japan, goes into length describing the deforestation affecting the area surrounding his property located in the remote Iya Valley.

In his first book, "Lost Japan", there is an entire chapter devoted to his property and more specifically his purchase and restoration to a farmhouse he later named Chiiori. Chiiori is itself a traditional thatched roof farmhouse that when first purchased was in a state of disrepair and abandonement. However, through years of painstaking labor and attention the Tokugawa era farmhouse (roughly 1600s) was returned to its former glory. It is now open to the public as The Chiiori Trust, where anyone willing to take the time and effort to visit it can do so for the day or stay the night.

Having read the lovingly detailed descriptions of Chiiori in Alex Kerr's book, I found myself drawn to this place instantaneously. However, getting to the Iya Valley is another thing entirely. It's nickname is Japan's Tibet, as it is located in a quite out of the way area of Japan. Having studied abroad in Japan from 2006-2007, I desired to go to this place--but without a car and a larger travel expense budget, Chiiori remained allusive.

Now working as a JET with a more substantial salary and access to a car, I took the opportunity this past three day weekend to drive over to Shikoku (my first time to the island) and discover the beauty and wonder of both Iya Valley and Chiiori.

The ride there went smoothly enough, three girls in a car--one of them Japanese and able to guide us along the slightly confusing express roads. After eating some dissapointing udon, we continued along the narrowing valley floor with cherry trees blooming amoung the nearly verticle mountains.

Living in a mountaineous area in Japan myself, you wouldn't expect to find much difference between one mountain and another. However, the mountains of Iya were just spectactular--taller and more sheer, made up of large amounts of limestone. Because of the blue green color to the stone, all the river beds glow like jade or emeralds even with no sunlight.

The rivers and beautiful rock formations were really the first hint to the beauty and majesty that awaited us. The further we progressed the more we noticed that as the mountain valleys grew narrower and narrower, the houses location grew higher and higher on the mountain until it seemed that there was more village five hundred meters above our head rather than at ground level.

The houses are stacked upon the mountainside, much like the rice paddies you think of in China. Narrow roads without rail guards follow the natural countour to the land, leading ever higher and higher until you reach dizzying heights and breathtaking views.

Stopping at what we were later told was not one of the best onsen (hot springs) we sat in an outdoor bath six stories above, watching the strong wind from an incoming storm toss and turn the trees, rippling the blue water.

Nervous of arriving at our destination before dark, we continued forth along the road that seemed to grow more narrow and more sheer. As we progressed further into the heart of the mountain, we kept on saying things like, "Wow, this really is Japan's Tibet" or "And we thought we lived in the country..." Meanwhile I became increasingly nervous and stressed about the road heights, and if my car would overheat from the vertical climbs. The worst by far was the mountain road up to Chiiori, taking about 4.7 kilometers. With no guard rail, and merely a one lane road, if anyone would have been behind me they probably would have become very annoyed by the slow speed to which I drove. Meter after meter we climbed, the view becoming more breathtaking and me becoming more and more freaked out. Would we ever reached Chiiori, we thought?

When we began to go down hill and seemingly descend the mountain, we realized we had gone too far. With no cell phone reception and no one literally seen for miles, we turned round. Stopping at a small hut that seemed to be inhabited we found that indeed we had been mistaken and gone too far. After some direction and descending the most narrow drive yet, we found ourselves at Chiiori amongst rapidly clouding skies.

To be continued.

Not Without Weeds: A Subtle Form of Gardening

2010-03-18T02:41:00.000-07:00

I can say nothing but the fact that I was officially fooled.
The sunny skies and mild temperatures of February convinced me that spring was well on its way.
But, like the old saying, “March came in like a lion” and remains as ferocious and in-climate as ever. Perhaps by the time this article is published, the clouds may leave the scene like the lamb they're supposed to become.
Where February was marked by much physical labor and enjoying the days out-of-doors, weeding, throwing out found potatoes and narcissus bulbs, and having a generally productive feeling; March was marked by a much more subtle form of gardening.
Namely, growing seeds.
As I discovered this past month, growing seeds into sturdy seedlings is no easy feat. Especially when you plant them too early in the season. Even to this day, I still struggle to encourage a more robust seedling, rather than the rather weak ones I have produced.
The fault of my struggles lies in factors that are beyond my control. Namely, the weather. While the Kanto/Kansai region is blessed with albeit cooler temperatures like Shimane, they at least get the sun. (It must be the affect of Amaterasu, the Sun Goddess housed at Ise.)
However, for us on the Sea of Japan side, we are under the control of Susano, known for his capricious moods and gloomy weather. Gloomy weather just about sums up my problems.
While my seedlings made terrific progress during the sunny February days, the gloom of March created sun deprived seedlings, that in an effort to get any form of light, grew long and stringy, stretching towards my one window which receives strong afternoon sun (if there is any, that is.)
The length and stringiness of the seedlings became such a problem that I had to move a lamp into the kitchen and plant it right on top of the sprouts. For two days straight I assaulted them to this light, forcing their stalks to turn upwards, not at a nearly ninety degree slant. To some degree, it worked—but lamp light, especially from a typical light bulb, is not nearly as beneficial as the real deal the sun offers.
So, the seeds sprouted in February are of a strange variety. Those planted later in March, being beaten down upon by the lamp every day from seven in the morning till about ten at night, have grown much more straight and robust.
Having been given quite a bit of seeds from my mom, and finding that the hyaku-en shops carried seeds—I went a little crazy and was forced to give seeds away to the farmer vice principal at one of my schools. While I'd like to grow all my seeds, I find that intentions are no good if you have no space. Already, I bought another shelf and transferred my rice cooker, blender and planting supplies to it. My kitchen already seems to be bursting at the seams with plants, but with no space close enough to the sunlight, it's a precarious balance.
So what comes next? After doing some research, I found the next stage to growing seedlings is “hardening them up” and gradually introducing them to the temperature differences between inside and outside. However, as the weather has been so in-climate and the rate of growth been so slow, the plants development is still too fragile to inspire going on an outdoor field-trip.
So, I wait every day, trying not to over water, and praying for better weather.
Needless to say the gramps and grandmas of the neighborhood must wonder where I disappeared to. I was so active during February, but now with the poor weather, I have gone into a second form of hibernation.
Let's hope spring comes soon.

The Sad and Sorry Truth

2010-03-10T14:46:00.000-08:00

For those who don't know, the Japanese educational system works like this: A teacher gets their degree, and goes to teach at a school for three years. At the end of the three years, they transfer to a new school within the prefecture.

To be sure, this system has its pros and cons. The pros are that you see more of the prefecture, and acquaint yourself with new areas. You learn to be flexible and to adapt to any type of lifestyle. If there is a problem between staff members, only three years have to pass before one of them will eventually move on.

The cons: If a teacher is posted a significant distant away from their current job, they either have to a.) uproot their family every three years b.) commute very long distances or c.) sever themselves from their family and go live by themselves. Neither of these options sound very appealing. It also means that in general, a teacher cannot own a home. As they have to constantly reestablish themselves, it means starting from scratch all over again--not only learning a new city, but new people as well. To me, it sounds down right stressful.

I didn't really realize the power, force and hardship caused by this system until my head English teacher told me in secret that she was to leave. Earlier that year she had taken and passed the test to be a vice principal. She was not mentally expecting to leave until another year had passed, as she wanted to continue her life as an English teacher for a little while longer.

But, helpless against bureaucracy, she was assigned a new job as a vice principle in a small isolated mountain town, over two and a half hours away from where she currently lives. She has lived in our town for over twenty years--and that being said, she is certainly not young. Nevertheless, she is forced to severe herself from not only her house, town and children, but her husband as well. She will live by herself in this small mountain village, having paid the price for ambition.

Sadly there is nothing she can do, and no way she can get out of this predicament. As she told me, she expects to live there for three or four years. While I am sure it will have its upsides, moving and transplanting is for the young, not the old.

I am perhaps one of the only ones who know this secret at school, and yet by observing her behavior it seems as though nothing is wrong, even though she told me she cried straight through for two days when she received the news. She has to be strong and preserve the tatemae (public face) while her true feelings (honne) are suffering.

I don't know what to think about the entire situation. While in general I understand that this is the way it is done in Japan, I find it regrettable that a woman in her fifties must uproot herself as though she were a twenty-something and begin a new life far away from everything and everyone she knows and loves.

I've decided to paint her a picture of the sea, as she says she'll miss it up there in the mountains.

Scrounge Chef Presents: Spinach Couscous

2010-03-07T03:04:00.000-08:00

I had some spinach in my fridge that I needed to eat pronto. I could have made a soup with spinach, but I wanted to make something I could eat as a starch tomorrow's for lunch. I came up with Spinach Couscous. The recipe below is as follows:

Spinach Couscous

1/2 package spinach
1 cup plain couscous
garlic powder
salt
pepper
olive oil
Parmesan cheese (optional)

1. Cook the spinach in a heavy bottomed pan with olive oil. When the spinach is fully cooked, take it out and chop it up. Return spinach to pan.

2. Add 1 1/2 cup water, stir in couscous.

3. Add generous amounts of garlic powder (per your preference), salt, and pepper. Bring couscous to a boil stirring constantly.

4. When the couscous has doubled in size (around 5 minutes), turn off heat and serve. While still hot sprinkle cheese on top.

Until Today, and Till Tomorrow On

2010-03-06T19:23:00.000-08:00

I do a lot of driving around for my job, and consequently I listen to a lot of radio. Not only is it good Japanese practice, but I also learn a lot about older Japanese music (which I actually tend to prefer to the more recent).

One song that I have heard any number of times on the radio is "Until Today and Till Tomorrow On." Words and lyrics are by Yoshida Takuro, a famous singer during the 1960s and 1970s. Given the positive economic boom that Japan was beginning to experience during that time, the contents are rather dark and ironic.

What is most interesting to me about this song are the lyrics, and the number of times it is played over the radio. The song itself repeats the phrase, "I tried to live until today, and decided to live until tomorrow on." The song is essentially is about struggling with suicidal thoughts.

So why is it played so much on the radio? Is it just that popular? Or, is it kind of like a reminder for those struggling with life not to give up? All those hard-pressed salary man living in Tokyo, the land where nearly once a day someone jumps in front of a train. Has this song turned into an anthem to the poor and struggling in this country?

Somehow, I think it has...

Romaji Title: kyou made soshite ashita kara
Kanji Title: 今日までそして明日から
English Title: Until Today, and From Tomorrow On

私は今日まで生きてみました
時には誰かの力を借りて
時には誰かにしがみついて

I tried to live until today
At times borrowing power
At times clinging to someone

私は今日まで生きてみました
そして今私は思っています
明日からもこうして生きて行くだろうと

I tried to live until today
And I decided
To live until tomorrow on

私は今日まで生きてみました
時には誰かをあざ笑って
時には誰かにおびやかされて

I tried to live until today
At times sneering at someone
At times intimidating someone

私は今日まで生きてみました
そして今私は思っています
明日からもこうして生きて行くだろうと

I tried to live until today
And I decided
To live until tomorrow on

私は今日まで生きてみました
時には誰かに裏切られて
時には誰かと手をとり合って

I tried to live until today
At times betraying someone
At times taking someones' help

私は今日まで生きてみました
そして今私は思っています
明日からもこうして生きて行くだろうと

I decided to live until today
And I decided
To live until tomorrow on.

私には私の生き方がある
それはおそらく自分というものを
知るところから始まるものでしょう
けれどそれにしたって
どこでどう変わってしまうか
そうですわからないまま生きて行く
明日からのそんな私です

I live life my way
I've known myself from
the beginning
Yet I long for something
to change
But I don't know yet what it is
So I will just continue
The way I am now

私は今日まで生きてみました
私は今日まで生きてみました
私は今日まで生きてみました

I tried to live until today
I tried to live until today
I tried to live until today

私は今日まで生きてみました
そして今私は思っています
明日からもこうして生きて行くだろうと

I tried to live until today
And decided
To live until tomorrow on

***

Give a listen to the song yourself, here at youtube:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MMvMKQdL6C4

Half Cooked Ideals

2010-02-24T01:53:00.000-08:00

It was to be my last class with the ninth graders before graduation and I wanted to do something special. It was decided that we would attempt a western-style cooking class with both recipes and guidance provided by myself.

Cooking with my students had been one of my ideals when I entered the JET program. Nothing says cross-cultural understanding more than eating another country's food. Or so I thought.

After much deliberation, I decided to go with potato pancakes and applesauce. My factors for choosing these dishes were several. Firstly the ingredients themselves are quite western: onions, potatoes and apples. Secondly, though apples are one of the more expensive fruits in Japan, in comparison to buying large quantities of meat or ingredients for baking, they are relatively cheap and easily available. Thirdly, neither items require an oven. Fourthly, I have much experience cooking the two dishes and would have confidence in being able to assert the students in the right direction.

Or, so I thought.

The root of the problem began with using the name for "potato pancakes." I should have just called them "latkes" and let the students and teachers reach their own conclusion of what they consisted. By using the word 'pancakes,' it led to the idea that the dish is itself the consistency of a pancake. In hindsight, I realize 'potato-onion-hashbrown-with-some-flour' may have been more apt.

The beginning signs of worry began with the students slow and unpracticed knife-skills. Forgive me for being sexist of my own kind, but I carelessly thought that the Japanese girls would be able to wield knifes with more dexterity than they presented. Normally, in America, I make latkes from frozen hash-browns, which speeds up the entire process considerably. However, Japan is not a land of frozen hash-browns. This meant that each group had to peal and thinly slice the potatoes. What was supposed to be at most 1/4 of an inch in size ended up being at least 1/2 of an inch in size.

Trying to ignore the bulky potatoes, I continued on. When it came time to make the batter was when the real problems began. In my recipe I did not give exact measurements for flour, as potatoes are of varying sizes in Japan,and it is hard to say how much quantity they will yield. Students went flour happy, turning what is supposed to be a light coating of flour into something almost the consistency of pound-cake batter. Despite telling each group multiple times that their batter was the right consistency, as soon as I turned away, there they went adding more flour.

Why? Remember the pancake idea?

Next came frying. I yelled multiple times "Medium low heat and make sure they are cooked in the middle" many a time. I know the Japanese teacher repeated it for me as well, but in the excitement of cooking it was somehow lost.

This meant the results were moderately aesthetic looking latkes, but because their insides were flour heavy, they needed longer and lower heat to cook. It was only discovered upon us attempting to eat them that this was the case.

Eating the pancakes was interesting too. Knowing that the Japanese may be finicky about eating latkes and applesauce together (the way it is traditionally ate), I brought ice cream and explained (again, multiple times) that if they did not like the latkes and applesauce together, they should also try the ice cream and applesauce as dessert. Though the teacher insisted that the students knew that, I was dubious. So, when it came time to eat the literal pancakes, the students topped them off not only with applesauce but vanilla ice cream as well. I'm not sure how good half-cooked latkes and vanilla ice cream tasted, but the students didn't seem to mind too much.

I can't say whether anyone enjoyed the latkes, as they came out pretty terrible by all means. Even I, who have gotten used to eating some pretty funky things here in Japan, couldn't handle the amount of raw that was going on.

With clothes smelling like smoke, we cleaned the room and I said my final farewells. For all the trouble we went to for such a sad end product, I think the students enjoyed themselves. Half-cooked ideals are better than studying in class any day, it seems.

This lesson has taught me that the Japanese are a meticulous people. When you say 'pancake' they stick with the idea, mainly because they don't have a concept of the reality. I have also learned that any cooking class I attempt in the future will have exact measurements by which to abide by.

All in all, it was an interesting day by far. And heck, it got us all out of class.

Not Without Weeds Presents: Getting off the Ground

2010-02-22T02:03:00.000-08:00

February-March: Getting Off the Ground

This entire idea of a garden began on the premise of three factors. The first: despite living in the second-least populated prefecture, my house is next to a noisy national high way and in-between two parking lots. Secondly, being somewhat of a foodie, I was dismayed to find that my number two go-to vegetable, zucchini, was not regularly available in supermarkets (to date, I have found it once.) There were two options: do without and complain (which I continue to do), or start a garden. And thirdly, to some degree I have always been a nature-child.

Starting a garden isn't as easy as it sounds. To begin with, where does one get the land? Sure, there are vacant lots nearby all over the place, but their vacancy usually stems from being land for sale. I'm sure the neighbors wouldn't have been happy if their ALT turned squatter. So then, how can I acquire rent-able land within walking distance from my apartment? Over the course of a few months I casually asked the Japanese I knew about how this was to be done. None seemed to know. Not even the local JA Bureau. It was a mystery.

I even went so far as to ask my BOE for help, but as a vegetable garden isn't something crucial, it was not put high on their to-do list. Finally, I went to the big boys: city hall. First believing I wanted to grow rice in a field, they offered me a parcel about thirty minutes away. I then re-explained that all I wanted to do was grow vegetables (particularly zucchini). Giving my address and phone number, they said they'd ask around and see if they could arrange something. After that initial meeting, I felt productive and proactive.

Literally within thirty minutes I received a call saying they had found a spot. I was overjoyed. The next day I went to inspect the map and agree to the location of the plot. Although about ten minutes walking from my house, it was certainly doable. We arranged to meet with the land owner the following Monday for an official inspection. Monday came about, and when I arrived at the designated time I found a small mosh-pit of Japanese grannies and grandpas. As it was later explained to me that the neighbors decided the original plot was a.) Too far b.) Too windy. c.) Too lonely. d.) Sometimes dangerous. Taking all these factors in mind, they had found a plot right in front of the Community Center about five minutes walking from my house.

As this entire process taught me, breaking into the community isn't easy and getting a plot of land certainly had its challenges. However, these challenges will be nothing compared to the reality of growing and maintaining a garden. To keep myself motivated, with the permission from the Black Taxi, I have decided to start a new series focused on my agrarian adventures in the inaka. Please follow me through the trials and tribulations of starting a garden (literally) from the ground up.

February-March:

My plot of land is big and hasn't been used in many years. Though still winter, it was covered with a tangle of new weeds and dead grass. Armed with my Daiso trowel and shovel, I set to work clearing. After about 45 minutes hard work I had cleared a fair amount of land, perhaps three feet by four. I also understand how all these Japanese grannies become gnarled like a tree trunk after years of garden work. As it still gets dark relatively early these days, for the time being I decided to only visit the patch sporadically during the week and as much as I can on the weekends.
Several days later, while attempting a morning jog, I stop by my garden to make sure the weeds hadn't re-invaded the freshly-cleared territory. Though seven thirty in the morning, the nearby grandmother (now to be referred to as Granny Sone), instructs me to borrow her gardening tools any time she likes. I go through less than the usual amount of declining before eventually accepting, for as my early experience in the week taught me—bigger tools are better when clearing land.
Perhaps, invigorated by exercise, I find myself returning that same afternoon to continue weed cleaning. Granny Sone sees me out again, and decides that before I proceed any further, we must go and do our official duty: introduce ourselves to the neighbors.
Most are well over the age of seventy, and sadly I have difficulty understanding their Japanese. They seem interested and welcoming enough, and we leave the houses with good results. The final person Ishihara, is a retired salary-man turned farmer and though seemingly shy, as I would later discover, was willing to offer guidance and assistance to the newbie of the ag world. The evening ended with politely declining a meal of oden (not one of my favorite Japanese foods) and heading home. I had a feeling that things were looking up, even if I never got around to weeding.
The following Saturday dawned bright, clear and beautiful. Though I had been in my garden but a few days ago, like a woman who reaches a certain age, I could feel the biological clock working against me: setting up a garden by oneself with no know-how or decent tools is challenging and time consuming. All week I had been checking the weekend's weather, praying we wouldn't have the snow-flurries we'd been having all week. Under the sunny skies I attempted weeding with the borrowed hoe and then later a shovel. Weeding is the most grueling of all, but through my efforts I find some treasures:
My plot is filled with narcissus and iris bulbs. There was a particularly large clump of iris that had been abandoned and the roots grown so tightly together that I had to dig out the plant with all my flimsy strength. I now have masses of iris bulbs, and with that, a new project of planning out a flower garden in addition to my vegetable garden. How the list grows.
Also, during this day I found remnants of my garden's past glory: skimpy potatoes, sweet potatoes and mint. Excited at the prospect of using them, I was quickly told by the shy Ishihara that these remnants are no good to use and should be thrown away. This same farmer was quite helpful, having investigated an entire list of Japanese-English technical farming terms. Things like: fertilizer, crop rotation, and neutralize. There is no way my Japanese could handle that, and in normal circumstances it wouldn't need to. It reminds me how thoughtful Japanese people can be, and how some of them have a strong desire to communicate with westerners.

Though only working in my garden less of a month, I already feel not only healthier but more like a member of the community. Not thirty minutes goes by that one of my students, a work acquaintance, or curious Japanese passes by with a greeting. I can feel my hibernation under the kotatsu slowly coming to an end—being replaced by the warmth of the sun and the buzzing of newly hatched mosquitoes in my ears.

Scrounge Chef Presents: Saag Tofu

2010-02-14T00:58:00.000-08:00

Ethnic restaurants are somewhat at a premium out where I live. Despite Korea being ridiculously close, there is not one Korean restaurant within a thirty mile radius, as far as I am aware. Don't even bother trying to find Chinese or Indian food!

But, when you're really desperate for something satisfying and flavorful, you can always make it yourself. This recipe I experimented with upon a few weeks ago, and am already hoping to make some more soon. Low calorie, healthy and delicious!

Saag Tofu:

Ingredients:

1 bunch spinach (houren sou)
1 block firm tofu in desired size
plain yogurt
1/2 onion, chopped
garlic powder
curry powder
masala powder
bullion cube (2)
salt
pepper

1. Steam spinach in a heavy bottomed fry pan until reduced in size. After slightly cooled, attempt to squeeze moisture out of the spinach. Then, if no food processor or blender is available, chop up spinach into fine bits. If blender is available, blend spinach until smooth.

2. Saute chopped onions until transparent. Add spinach and allow flavors to blend, say for five minutes. Add about 1/2 (or more) water. Turn the heat on high and allow the water to evaporate somewhat.

3. Flavor with garlic powder, curry and masala to taste. Add desired amount of yogurt, salt and pepper. Turn the heat to low and occasionally stir. You want to cook the mixture long enough so that the 'yogurty' flavor goes away. After several minutes add bullion cube.

4. Add tofu, mix. Allow to simmer a few minutes more. Taste and adjust to personal preferences.

5. Serve over rice, cous-cous or with pita bread.

Making Chocolate

2010-02-11T02:11:00.000-08:00

Here in Japan, as in most other places in the world that celebrate, it is almost Valentine's Day. Japanese "tradition" revolving around this holiday states that it is a time of year for the girls to give the men chocolate as a sign of affection. Then, one month later, on March 14th, a holiday entitled "White Day" was created. On this day it is expected that men give reciprocal chocolates in return for the ones they received.

I believe none of this hog-wash, and firmly believe that woman should be given chocolates instead of men. Yet, I ascribe to this changed dynamic while in the country.

As a Westerner, it always seemed to me that Valentine's Day was the sacred day of the year for men to cast off their embarrassment or fear, and give their chosen lady some chocolate delicacy of choice. But, Japan being a patriarchal society, has latched onto the idea that a woman is to make home-made chocolates for her special man.

Though I lack a "special man" I decided to ascribe to this tradition, for the sake of creating deeper bonds with my co-workers by bringing in homemade chocolate. Unfortunately, homemade chocolate being a tricky beast, mine came out looking more like poo rather than anything edible. Still, the flavor is there--chocolately delight with the crunch of walnuts. I'm also sure I'll get points for effort.

Going over to a Japanese friend's house, I made fudge and the two friends made cream-cheese chocolate candy and roll cake. None of our creations were perfect by any means: I found the cream-cheese chocolates to be rather flavorless, my fudge looked like poo, and the roll cake had no cream in the middle. However, all were edible.

Cooking the chocolate itself was interesting, as my friend's house wasn't equipped with a spatula or even mixing bowls. Keep in mind that this is the family house, not the scarcely furnished apartment of someone living alone. I am also amused by the extreme measures the Japanese take to avoid using an oven--cooking cakes in fry pans or the microwave is good enough for them. One of the reasons I chose fudge as my recipe of choice was because it didn't require an oven.

But, all in all, today was a good day. A perfect day to make chocolate, in my estimation: a cold, rainy February day.

Sewing the Seeds, Putting Down Roots

2010-02-07T00:02:00.000-08:00

In two halves to the plastic container my eggs came in, I finished planting six basil, six tomato, six pumpkin and six cilantro from seed.

Though winter still has a tight grip on us during February and into March, there are signs that spring is in the air. Yellow and white narcissus (in Japanese, suisen 水仙) border the roads and rice paddy--and early blooming trees, such as the plum (ume 梅）　and peach (momo 桃）, are helping to get the feeling of spring in the air.

Now is the time to sew the seeds, not just in the garden, but in your life as well. Don't wait for the warm weather, for by then everyone else will have made their plans. The time of winter hibernation is reaching its end, and the time to look forward to the pleasures and pastimes of the warmer weather has come. Already I am thinking about not only spring break plans, but forward to Hanabi, wild herb gathering, my first rainy-season, bird watching, Hikaru-Mi (Firefly watching), and possible camping trips.

But it's not only fun with the JET community that I feel I must think about, but also establishing roots deeper in the Japanese community. For many first year JETs, the time of "Stage One" and "Stage Two" has passed, and now it is time to bring on "Stage Three": fitting in to your new life style, while keeping both the present and future alive in your heart.

I'm always one for plans, and in the same way one plans a garden, oftentimes planning things out can bring the best rewards. Of course, somethings can't be enacted perfectly, and there may be one or two distractions or weeds that find their way into the mix, leaving you slightly frustrated at yourself and everyone around you. Still, as we transition from winter to spring--now is the time for action, come rain or shine!

I feel that since the winter holidays, I have been taking a lot of action (some more effective than others.) I have tried, and will keep on doing so. Take for example last week: I felt as though my roots were given loads of fertilizer. After months of asking people about where to acquire land to start a vegetable garden, I finally went to the source itself: City Hall. What I had pondered endlessly about, they managed to find an answer within half an hour--namely, a plot of land ten minutes walking away from my house.

I also received an answer for my call of a Japanese language partner that I had posted at my local cafe. Originally, I was slightly dismayed to find it an elderly retired man, but as one out of every four persons in the area is over the age of sixty-five, this seems reasonable. I was pleasantly surprised to find that he is studying the art of wood-block carving, a traditional art form I have a vested interest in.

The point to both these stories is that neither would have been accomplished if I had not put myself out there to the public, forced myself upon them, so to speak. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, after all. When I came back from Tokyo over the holidays, I felt rather glum about returning to the countryside--but those feelings have changed, and I anxiously await the warm weather when I can plant my roots even further.

Rome and roots weren't built in a day.

Day in the Life of an ALT

2010-01-25T03:58:00.000-08:00

Many people who read this blog probably wonder what it is I actually do everyday. This post is meant to enlighten all those into what my job entails.

My day begins at six thirty. 90% of the time I make myself a box lunch, aka: bento. Most ALTs are provided with lunch at their schools, especially if they teach at an elementary. However, lucky for me, my two main schools do not have school lunches, so I bring mine in. This is not to say that I don't enjoy school lunch, but I would rather bring my lunch free. Not to mention the fact that when I do eat the school lunch, they serve me outrageous portions which are the bane of a female ALTs watching their figure.

Ideally I like to be at school by eight, and the closer the school is, the closer to eight I arrive. But no matter how hard I try, for my schools that are about twenty minutes drive away, I can't get myself out of the house much early than I am already. (Note: My contract time technically begins at 8:30)
The reason for my early arrival is because I like to attend the morning staff room meeting. Most of the time, I can understand over 50% of the conversation, and it's nice to feel that you are somehow involved in the school.

Depending on the size of the school, number of staff, and school activities, these meetings can be long or short. This is also the time for the staff members to voice concerns or announcements. As far as personally making announcements myself, the closest thing I've gotten to is saying that I made banana bread for everyone.

It is when I arrive at school that I find out my schedule for the next few days. The number of classes ranges on the size of the school, whether it is middle or elementary, and what time of the year it is. I teach anywhere from 1 to 6 classes a day, generally averaging around 4. Because my time at the school is not constant, there is little that I can do to prepare ahead of time, and I am informed of the class agenda a few minutes before class. Literally.

This lack of responsibility can be both liberating and restricting. For, while I have none of the wearisome responsibilities of correcting tests or massive amounts of homework, I also have no power or control to the way the lesson flows. I am effectively a leaf floating along the river of knowledge.

In the classroom it is expected that the teachers stand for the entirety of the lesson. In summer this can be particularly bothersome, especially if you are one like myself who faints easily. I also think it tires out the teachers more quickly.

Here are some general observations I've made about the different grades to middle school:

1st years: Students are either extremely "genki" (enthusiastic) about English, or couldn't care less. Yet, overall their level of absorption and involvement is much higher than other grades. This makes sense, as the most interesting and fun time to learning a language is at the beginning. The older you get, the more technical it becomes. As 1st years are still young themselves, it's easier to teach in a "silly" and "goofy" teaching style, which, once you hit 2nd and 3rd years, doesn't go over as well as it did.

2nd years: Even the best of my classes seem to be populated half by zombies. A few students (usually male) answer all the questions, while most of the time I never hear the voices to the other students. Despite no level of scolding and guilt-tripping, they remained ever tight-lipped in their studies. I also have noticed that 2nd year is when the girls stop talking. In 1st year they are noticeably quieter than the boys, but still are a presence in classroom discourse. However, whether it's hormones or lack of interest, the girls are as tight-lipped as an oyster.

3rd years: This year ranges on ability, level and maturity. Whereas 1st years are genki, 2nd years are quiet, 3rd years are either rude or genki or quiet. The rudeness comes mainly from the boys, and the quietness mainly from the girls. Also, the class genkiness derives from whether or not the 'cool' students find English 'cool.' If not, it's more than likely the class will be difficult to teach.

I have lunch after fourth period (usually around 12:40), and my day officially ends by four thirty. However, I occasionally attend the art club at one of my junior high schools. Clubs in Japan are a tricky thing, for if you join them seriously, you are expected to participate every day. This is logistically impossible for me as my schedule is so fluid. Also, for a not very physically active person such as my self, with clubs limited to soccer, baseball or basketball, I tend to refrain from participation.

All in all being an English teacher in Japan ranges from time, place, grade and temperament. I can say that my experience is certainly not the same as others who work in my own town. Still, for myself, this is the day in the life.

Scrounge Cook Presents: Sweet Potato

2010-01-17T00:37:00.000-08:00

Sweet potatoes, or "satsumaimo" are an autumn and winter food in Japan. Starting from about October "roasted sweet potato" stands can often be found within super markets, convenience stores, and as street stalls near the station. They are good, simple and hot.

In America, while we have sweet potatoes, and while they are consumed, I certainly don't think they have reached the level of consumption as in Japan. These tubers are one of the set seasonal food, and probably till around March or April they can be found as an adorning side dish.

Being Western, I break the rules a little and eat Japanese food a little different. One time, I cooked up half a kabocha pumpkin in some soy sauce, and having too much left over, ate it as my main starch in my box lunch for the next two days. Japanese would never think of eating pumpkin instead of rice. It just doesn't compute.

As for sweet potatoes, I find myself eating them more and more, mainly as a healthy snack or sometimes as breakfast. I have developed three ways to eat them.

The first, bake or cook in the microwave with everyone else. Butter is not necessary, just eating plain is good enough.

The second, bake in the open or microwave. When cooked, slice thickly and brown in a fry pan with vegetable oil, a sprinkling of salt, pepper, and garlic power. Finally, eat topped with ketchup. Yep, sounds weird. Yep, sounds really American with that ketchup! But, I find it pretty tasty.

The third, a sweeter version, is a bit more time consuming, but worth the effort.

Peel 1 large sweet potato and boil until tender. Be careful not to overcook these suckers, as they have a penchant for disintegration. Then, after drained, mash in the pot. Add four tablespoons sugar and milk, two dashes of cinnamon, a dash of nutmeg, two tablespoons butter and a little over one fourth teaspoon vanilla extract. Blend well. While still warm, add one egg yolk and stir. While the mixture is thick and hard to form into any shape, I suggest putting it into a plastic baggie and cut out one of the corners to work like a tube. Form small long hills with the tube, about an inch wide and two inches long. Gloss the tops with the left over egg white or egg yolk for a nice finish. Bake in a preheated 180 (about 350 F) oven for twenty minutes. These are a delicious, easy, and cheap snack that I highly recommend.

Hopefully for the rest of the winter I get my sweet potato on in some form.

Making Up With Tokyo

2010-01-07T04:18:00.000-08:00

It was almost with unwillingness that I set out on my travels this winter vacation. I was by no means dreading visiting my friend in Taiwan or my friend living near Tokyo, but for some reason, did not feel as enthusiastic as I ought.

Having studied abroad in Tokyo in college, I thought I knew all the delights Tokyo had to offer. I knew the backstreet district to Shinjuku, or Kabukicho, as it is called. I knew the loud and rather shallow Shibuya with its 109 fashion building. I even knew the Ueno region with its quaint park and boisterous marketplace of Ameyocho.

Still, my most recent visit to Tokyo taught me the lesson that one should occasionally re-learn; namely, that there is something new to be discovered everywhere, even in a place you thought you knew well. Additionally, in a place you least expected, you can find yourself.

The story, as all good Tokyo stories (or at least 1980s anime), began in Shinjuku. As it boasted a Kinokunia with an extensive English section (for those times when studying Japanese became too oppressive), any number of movie theaters, good eateries and was free on my student pass, I visited often. And, while I had never gone into the seedy seductive shops of Kabukicho, I had certainly walked by them a couple of times and thought there was nothing to offer.

Therefore, I was surprised when my Japanese friend guided me through the maze of red light district shops, stopping before an alleyway I would have hardly ever noticed. Adorned with rather dingy Chinese figures and lettering, it was different, but certainly not something that would stop and shout, 'Look! Something interesting!' Instead, it seemed more seedy and possibly like the place you could get mugged, if mugging in Japan existed.

But low and behold, a couple of steps brought us to the front entryway to a small, dirty restaurant, similar in fashion to the makeshift signs above the alleyway had been. A small, fair skinned, but rather loud woman stood up and greeted my friend with smiles, "Long time no see!" she shouted several times.

Long story short: the food was the best Chinese food I've had anywhere; America, Japan or Taiwan. Everything they served was flavorful and succulent, without being overly greasy and soggy the way some Chinese food can be. Each dish came out hot and steaming, more delicious than the last. We spent two and a half hours in this small back alley shop, working our way through plate after plate of delicacies. It was a meal to remember; an experience to remember. Soon after we returned to the world I thought I knew; the sleazy shops, and then, as the station loomed closer, chain restaurants and eateries grew around us. That experience in the backstreets of Kabukicho taught me once again that not everything I see is as it seems, and that every once in a while exploration is needed. Sometimes, even bravery.

Another instance happened two days later. I had the city to myself, but finding most things closed for the New Year's holidays, I decided to see a movie. The movie of my choice was only showing in two locations--Ginza and Shibuya, both two districts I knew rather well. However, as I had already been to Ginza three times during four days in the city, I opted for the Shibuya location. However, due to poor time management I missed the movie by a matter of minutes. Deciding to kill time until the next showing, I bought a ticket and explored.

The theater itself was housed inside a building called The Bunkamura, but the easiest access point for a newcomer was through a passageway in the connecting Tokyu Department Store. While the Tokyu Department Store was like any type of its variety, selling designer school uniforms and offering Chanel scarves, by the time I reached its top floor, I could tell there as something different here.

To begin with, unlike the rest of the atmosphere in Shibuya, it was calm. It was then that I noticed the posh galleries and stores at the top of the building. While I knew that it was a common practice at many department stores to have such galleries, this was the first legitimate one I had found. And somehow, it struck me as even more special to find such a beautiful place in my least favorite district of Tokyo. It was as though my flimsy, preconceived notions had been quietly crushed.

If Tokyu was a shock to the system, then The Bunkamura was like a whole different world for a culture vulture like myself who had been living her existence out in the rural countryside. Upon entering The Bunkamure I found myself surrounded by art, beauty and culture in a very nostalgic way. In the Bunkamura, the art they held was by the greats: Murakami, Kate Greenway, Warhol and even fabulous Mucha prints with gold-leaf. All around I was wrapped in my element, the warm familiarity of refined culture. As is just the icing on the cake, classical music murmured in the background--something I always notice, regardless of the store, as so often one is bombarded with musaq or J-pop.

The question becomes: Was The Bunkamura, with its enclosed gardens and outdoor cafe filled with old couples drinking afternoon tea and sweets, all that great? Or, was it merely a scene filled with an environment I'd been deprived of for so long that I romanticized every aspect?

I argue that indeed the formerly unknown Bunkamura is as wonderful as I make it out to be. Not only was it showing a European costume drama in its one and only theater (soon to be playing, I <3 New York), but soon to be housing one of my favorite Japanese composers, Hisaishi Joe. Any establishment that houses him automatically earns cool points. Finally, the building had one special place in my heart, as it had previously housed artworks to one of my favorite modern Japanese artists--Inoue Naohisa.

The point to this part of the story is that I, with my Tokyo experience, presumed to know everything an area had to offer, and then suddenly, in a paradigm shift, I discovered a whole new world, a world of beauty and loveliness to what I had just considered mundane, shallow Shibuya.

The final, quiet ending to this story happened on the last leg of my journey, the morning I was scheduled to depart back to Shimane. Thanks to New Years, many places I would have liked to visit were closed. However, that morning marked the reopening to the gallery "Art Space" located in Hongo, just a dash away from the Todai Campus.

Though the space itself was more office than gallery, it held a few examples of the artwork by the previously mentioned Inoue Naohisa. They also had, as I found out, works created by the fans of his art. While some may consider this "fan art" in the same way that people reproduce art to popular series, like anime, manga, science fiction, what have you. However, I would argue that what I saw was more than just a copy, but a tribute, and silent affirmation (at least to me) that there are people out there in the world similar to myself. For a person who continually feels estranged from her peers, this realization was an unexpected gift.

I often find myself thinking "The Japanese don't understand our Western traditions, they just copy aspects of the West without knowing the history." And, while these thoughts make for gross generalizations and assumptions that even Westerners know their own history, I wait for myself to be proved wrong. In the case of the artwork of Mr. Inoue, it was as if our mutual understanding, our hearts, our love of fantasy and wonder crossed the cultural boundaries and met, at least for a small time, in the hidden office building in Hongo.

While my vacation had many stresses to be sure, what with the logistics of traveling, I believe in the end it was a vacation of introspection. I was reminded that there is always something new to discover and learn. I will try to take this knowledge back with me to the countryside and during the cold, long, hard winter months mull over its truth.

It's Only Just Begun.

2009-12-20T01:17:00.001-08:00

This week marked the beginnings of the snow season here in Japan.

Thanks to a cold front rolling in from Russia across the Sea of Japan, temperatures dropped, winds increased, and winter is officially upon us.

A native Californian, snow is somewhat of an oddity to me. It is not something I have ever had to really 'deal' with, but more something I had the option of experiencing if I chose. All that was required to escape to a winter wonderland was a two hour drive in a car up to the mountains. However, even visiting snow country was a rare occurrence in my family.

This background is required to understand how ill equipped I am to deal with colder temperatures.

I suppose I should consider myself lucky. Although I live on the Sea of Japan coast, notoriously known for its cold winters, living in the southern region makes the winters a little more tolerable. While many of the more northern cities are piled beneath feet of snow, my town has remained relatively free from piles of snow. As the Japanese say, here on the coast "It doesn't pile." However, if one drives about twenty minutes into the very nearby mountains, about two inches has already piled up, making the world into a magical winter wonderland.

All this snow and cold makes one realize just how poorly designed to cope with the winter cold Japanese houses and apartments are. Though I have braved a Japanese winter before, when living in Tokyo, it never seemed to me to be as cold and windy as it is here in my little town. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that my apartment is much larger and older compared to my Tokyo apartment--with more rooms to heat and less unsulation, its down right frosty. The heaters installed in the apartment just don't really cut it either--the temperature never rising above 13 or 14 degrees Celsius. While not a fan of the popular kerosene "stoves" utilized in most schools, I have to say that those suckers can put out a blast of heat.

This drop in the climate means that I have certainly become more sedentary. While I prefer not to go outside, I can't say my apartment is much warmer. In a way, I'm looking forward to the large, warmly heated shopping malls of Tokyo I'll be visiting in a few short weeks.

In the mean time, layers upon layers of clothes, my kotatsu and a bowl of mikan will have to serve me just as well as they do every other Japanese.

How I Became A School Lunch

2009-12-07T03:27:00.001-08:00

In my job I find that food is a conversation that unites people. Everyone likes talking about food. It doesn't matter what kind of food it is, people will talk about it: how delicious, or on the other hand, how disgusting it is.

Here in Japan, I often talk to my coworkers about the nostalgia of food. I usually tend to focus on the fact that "I would make this but...a.) I can't find the ingredients, or b.) the ingredients are too expensive. I also talk about the experiments I have successfully or unsucessfully completed. (Highlights: curry carrot croquettes, apple pie, grape pie, kimchi nabe// lowpoints: sunken banana bread, gobo soup). I like to think that my Japanese coworkers get a kick out my struggles in the kitchen, but also the fact that I approach food from a completely different angle than they.

I am used to having the 'food' conversation at school (why are there no zucchini!?), and coworkers asking for recipes or cooking ideas. However, at Higashi Elementary (the same school, which, in a previous post turned me into the Black Demon), one woman decided to take a more proactive stance. Her name was Kato, and she was in-charge of kyushoku, or, school lunch.

Kyushoku is served at all elementary and (most) middle schools in Japan. Compared to American cafeteria lunches, it is healthy, fresh and relatively tasty. I've eaten my fair share of funky kyushoku, stuff that I don't think my sushi-loving sister could touch (Oh yeah, eating the entire fish body...that includes the eyes. Delish?) But, for all its extreme funkiness, I'm a fan of kyushoku. There are two downsides to kyushoku though: massive amounts of rice and the expectation that one is to eat the lunch in its entirety. For this reason, I'm glad I don't normally eat kyushoku, as I've heard it is the cause of much weight gain for western females living in Japan. It's all that rice.

I digress. Kato-sensei suggested that we have a Lexi Kyushoku. I was to think of things we could eat that would be traditionally American. However, they had to not utilize massive amounts of meat, fruits or foreign veggie. Additionally, they could not be baked. After much pondering, I came up with: pork chops with apple sauce, potato-leek soup, bread, salad and chocolate pudding. I wrote down the recipes in Japanese to the best of my ability (my knowledge of cooking terminology is rather limited), and gave it to Kato, in the process, reexplaining each of the foods several times.

The pork was to be simply pan-fried with salt and pepper, the applesauce slightly flavored with cinnamon, the soup thick and chunky, flavored with rosemary and celery. These were the key points.

Two weeks before the day, I came to school and was given the test taste. The results were surprising, mainly in a positive way. The potato-leek soup was thick and good, also flavored nicely, the applesauce was sweet and spicy. This left only the pork, where she had used fatty thin cuts. In America, we usually avoid the fat on meat--and go for the meat. However, I didn't tell her that--I merely explained that you needed a thicker cut of pork or it'll just come out dry. Anticipating my next visit and the turn out of the food, I left.

A week went by, and I arrived to school that day armed not only with Christmas decorations, but my camera as well. The classes went by and at last lunch arrived. Kato-sensei warned me that she had made the soup too thin (which was too bad, as she got it spot on the first time!). Still, everything tasted good. She had selected a thicker cut of pork and somehow managed to roast the sucker, although the entire piece was about the size of my big toe. Even though there was a minuscule amount of applesauce, what there was tasted good. The soup, for all its thinness and having grown cold, was tasty. Even the bread was not your regular 'shokupan,' there being a sweetness and almost whole-grain texture to it. Minus the broccoli I was forced to eat, it was a good meal. They even managed to throw chocolate pudding into the mix.

Then came the interesting part: watching the kid eat it. Of course, being kids, they're picky. End result? The pork was good, but not to be eaten together with the applesauce. The applesauce (by itself) was a big hit. The soup was tasty (though it needed to be warmer), and the chocolate pudding was also good, but half frozen. Funny part is that although I had been looking forward to this event, showing not just my English classes, but the entire school a little bit more about America--the kids just took it in stride. No one was blown away or even particularly excited. No one came up to me and said how great it was, instead I had to ask every kid--what did you think? What did you think?

Long story short: no matter how hard you try to teach someone about your culture, it will always be seen in their eyes and under their jurisdiction. On the one hand, there were certainly the elements to an American style meal, but on the other, its presentation and enjoyment were uniquely Japanese. The adults were more excited by the event, but perhaps that's because they have the knowledge to understand the rarity of what just occurred. To the students, it's just a slightly different kyushoku. Still, that's also half the fun: seeing how they're going to change it from the normal to the unexpected.

My hope is that at least one of the recipes I shared will be adopted into their regular menu of items, so at least a flavor of me will remain long past when I have returned home.

That is the story of how I became a school lunch.

The Hard Nut

2009-11-25T00:43:00.000-08:00

Or, the Story of Greed.

About a month ago, I went to visit a very nice friend of mine in Okuizumo. My purpose was to see the autumn foliage and experience an autumn adventure. While we did have an autumn adventure eventually, the plan was at first delayed by an extremely late Japanese person. In an effort to kill time and not have an exploding Lexi, my friend took me to a cute store.

Among the treasure troves of local produce and handicrafts, there were large bags of walnuts for 200 yen each. For the amount of walnuts you got, there could be no disputing it: they were a bargain. I originally bought 1 bag, but, after I had acquired a nutcracker from the 100 yen store, I went back and bought 2 more bags.

Excited with my purchase, I tested out the nutcracker...only to have it shatter on the first try. I suppose this was to be expected, the nutcracker being made out of flimsy wood. Not completely disheartened, I decided to try to go home and hammer them out.

I arrived home and hammered. I hammered in the kitchen, I hammered outside on the cement. The nuts would not open. At school, I used a small metal anvil and a large hammer. One in every four or so would crack open, meanwhile the hammer slamming down on my fingers as well.

I have decided that the only walnuts worth buying are those sold in America, which have a larger, thinner shell with more meat inside. The Japanese walnuts are small, and built like a tank, with only a measly amount of meat inside--meat that needs to be picked out with a metal stick.

Long story short, my greed of nuts leaves me where I am today. 3 bags worth of Japanese walnuts taking up room on my counter.

Any takers?

Winter's Fall

2009-11-22T15:50:00.000-08:00

As a child I attended a Waldorf school for a little over a year. Though my time at the school was short, it drastically effected the person I am today. Seasonality is one of the key elements to the Waldorf world, and in that sense, very similar to Japan. When we attended, my sister learned a song for their Christmas festival. Lately, given the weather, the chill, the gloom, the winds, the rain, I have been thinking about this song, and it oftentimes pops into my head while I'm driving along.

It goes:

Winter's Fall

Grey are the clouds, Gone are the leaves
Cold winter shrouds, the North Wind weaves
Snow on the rise, ice on the lake
Dark stormy skies, the walls do shake.

King, queen, or knave, lady or knight
Pass round the brave, bright candle light
Sharing the flame, warming us all
Come join the game of Winter's Fall.

The tune itself is slow, melancholy and sung in a minor chord. In it, you can really hear the dispair of winter, the isolation and starkness. As a Californian, I can only imagine what their winter was like. However, these melancholy elements are a part of winter; one must celebrate the light and the dark to the season. After all, holidays wouldn't be so special if they didn't keep the bleakness at bay.

The past few weeks much of the sky has been bathed in gray, and it's rained more often than not. While driving up north this past weekend, I even saw a layer of snow upon the top of Mt. Sanbei. Apparently, this year is to be a harsh winter--if one analyzes the large amounts of kamemushi (stink bugs) we had this autumn. Of course, winter will be long, cold and treacherous--but it will also be amazingly beautiful, as only a hazy, wintry sky and hazy winter landscape can be.

I find that winter is a time to look in, rather than out. Partly, this is done because there is no other option--as keeping physically active is as difficult as keeping warm. Instead, I enjoy winter as a time to ponder myself of the past year, and think back. Has this past year been a good year? Have I accomplished something? What do I want to accomplish? Winter is a time to come together with family and friends, a way to fight out the cold demon of your heart; yet, perhaps it is also a time to come face to face with those demons, and confront them when you are most vulnerable. When you succeed, it will make your efforts all more worth the while.

As the grass fades from rich brown to grey, and the last of the autumn foliage begins to drop to the ground, I look towards the winter. Both the physical hardships, but also with anticipation. For me, winter has often been my most prolific season artistically. Perhaps in studying the wintry landscape in this foreign land, I will find creativity where I least expect it.

Instead of passing round the "brave, bright, candle light," as I may do at home with our fireplace--instead, I'll stay under the kotatsu.

Culture Day Part II. (Or: How I Became a Demon)

2009-11-21T20:44:00.001-08:00

This story begins about two weeks ago. During that time, one of my two middle schools were preparing for their Culture Day. As they had canceled many classes for the preparation of this event, I was often left with time on my hand, most of it spent studying.

Usually, in addition to my middle schools, once or twice during the week, I visit an elementary school during the morning. As it happened, the elementary school closest to my middle school was putting on a play. To be exact, Momotaro in English.

Most elementary schools have this type of Culture Day; rather than having a variety of events, performances, etc, each class puts on a play. It seemed that the 5th year teacher was quite keen on English, and thereby, wanted to tell the story of Momotaro in English. (When I say in English, I mean phrases, two syllable words, and a garble of Japanese.) This high level of English study required my presence--being the top source for English pronunciation in the city. The teacher asked if I might come by to help out, the day before my normally scheduled appointment. Having no classes in the afternoon, and after okaying it with the middle school English teachers, I set out to Higashi Elementary School.

The teacher was ecstatic, to say the truth, at my arrival. I first recorded the voices to all the roles, with classic lines like, "Hello! I'm at the river washing now." "Wow! What a big peach!" "I go Onitaiji!" and "Please give me kibidango." The next day I watched a rehearsal, giving my input on their performance. The teacher was so pleased, and I had casually mentioned how there wasn't too much for me to do at the middle school at the moment, that she asked if I could come again. Long story short, I went to Higashi Elementary four out of five days that week and became their acting coach.

Towards the end, the teacher then decided she wanted me to be in the play--not just the coach. In an effort to not to have to work on the weekends, warned her that she should contact my superior at the Board of Education. Without their approval I could do nothing.

I had heard nothing until Friday evening. By that point, I had figured no play and no acting. As I happened to be at a seminar two and a half hours away from my town, I relished the idea of relaxing and sleeping in the next day. Then, I receive the notice: I was expected at Higashi Elementary at 8:30 in the morning. Now, in truth, I rather dreaded the entire experience. I am not normally super happy and "genki" (aka: energetic), but when you're around kids, you have to be.

Still, bright and early I pulled myself out of bed. The transformation from English teacher to demon (oni) began. Wearing all black (as I was the Black Demon), I arrived at school and added to the mix a pair of tiger skin boxers, and Richard Simmons bright red hair with two horns sticking out. Walking down the school halls I heard 1st and 2nd years whispering and giggling to each other about me. "Look at Lexi-sensei!" "She's a demon!" "Woah, look it's Lexi-sensei!" Heck, it felt good, like being a mini celebrity for teeny-boppers.

My kids were nervous for their big debut, and even I was a little. Still, being on the JET program has taught me a certain amount of self-possession, as I have had to do more nerve wracking things to get on the program, and during my time here so far. Acting silly and making stupid, ugly faces was no big deal.

The play went smoothly, and I even got an applause and laughter from the audience when I made my grand entrance onto the stage, looking like a troll or Orc out of Lord of the Rings. I said my lines, over acted up the wazoo, and genuinely had a good time.

Just goes to show you; sometimes, the things you dread turn into better than you expect.

I will end with my lines, so you can get a flavor of the action.

"Hello! I'm Black Oni!"

"No no no no."

"We are strong."

"We are are very very strong."

"Let's fight!"

"I'm sorry."

"Present for you."

"Good bye."

And in a way, the experience was a little present for me.

****

More information on Momotaro:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Momotar%C5%8D

Culture Day

2009-11-17T14:34:00.000-08:00

It feels unfair to have written a long, detailed post about Sports Day and then not write an article about its sibling, Culture Day. To me, Culture Day seems the less grueling of the two events, but perhaps that is because I have always sided with the mental over the physical. Culture Day includes performing arts and fine arts alike--it is day is meant as a reminder of creative possibilities that await one.

My role in Culture Day was limited. Unlike Sports Day, where I had to stand outside in the hot sun--at Culture Day I was permitted to remain (relatively) warm indoors, entertaining myself (mainly with studying). While Sports Day seems to be implemented by teachers, Culture Day is 85% the work of the students. While I had the ability to depart at the normal time, the students stayed working till probably six or seven o'clock at night.

And what of the final product? The Culture Day itself? Well, like anything rehearsed, practiced and performed by middle-school students, it was certainly rough around the edges. During many of their recitals a student dropped a baton or drumstick, the singing certainly wasn't smooth, and during the school play fits of giggles broke out in-between the extremely long scene changes. Yet, there is still something charming. While sometimes the irresponsibility and immaturity of my students annoys me, at other times I am overwhelmed with nostalgia to the point of tears. Culture Day was an instance of that.

In America, an activity such as Culture Day may last for the morning or afternoon--certainly not all day long. As I sat on the uncomfortable fold-out chairs with my rear falling asleep, I thought to myself as I studied the parents attending, "My parents wouldn't stay for that long. Physically, they couldn't stay for that long!" With a father with a bad back, the school chairs certainly wouldn't cut it. Not to mention the fact that the auditorium was left unheated in the middle of November...

There were several acts: the most memorable being "zen-in daiko," which is where a class of students play "taiko" drums, but on the floor. The key to this activity is not the sound, but the formation and unison to their brightly colored drum sticks. By coincidence, one of the songs they were practicing was one I had learned at Obon Odori in years past, the Coal Miner's Dance. As a surprise, during the encore, three other teachers and myself danced around the front of the stage to the amusement of all.

Next, there was a chorus challenge, with all three classes singing and the teachers judging the best. Though in truth I wasn't impressed with any (having watched the national junior-high choral competitions on the TV here), the 3rd year students were by far superior. I guess age gives the the confidence to sing more loud and clear.

There were two other different drum contests, one where the drums were the centerpeice and the other where a mock kagura play accompanied it. I enjoyed the latter by far, as they were dressed head to toe in traditional attire--something I get a kick out of. The music was also not limited to drums, as members of the community had come out in support--offering their vocal and musical abilitities with flutes and percussion instruments. This performance also happened to be the best rehearsed and executed. Maybe it is something about getting to those costumes that makes people take their craft seriously...

The afternoon ended with a play, "The Children Who Didn't Know War/Senso ga Shiranai Kodomo." While I believe it was trying to be a serious play with a serious message, the repeated forgetting of lines, giggling, and extremely long scene cuts featuring Studio Ghibli music completely missed the whole point. On the other hand though, it was amusing to see a representation of a foreigner (BIG blond hair and a BIG chest) and see that they (kind of) tried to promote English/international exchange. Another benefit to the song was that I learned about this nifty song and the singers:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yyShX0kIqYc

By the time the play ended and the Closing Ceremony was complete, it was practically three thirty. I was ready to move on, and feel the return of blood to my rear. One can only sit for so long during the course of the day. However, leaving school when you want to is not so easy. While on the one hand think it is beneficial for students to have to clean the school, I also just wish that sometimes, once an event is over, I can leave with a clear conscious knowing that someone else will take care of the work. But, as effort was required to put on the event, so if the effort required to take down.

All in all, I'd say Culture Day was a success. I learned more about my students, saw some more traditional aspects to Shimane, as well as picked up a dirt cheap sweater at their mini bazaar...

物は言ってみるもん aka: Ask and You Shall Receive

2009-11-12T04:42:00.000-08:00

物は言って見るもんだ。 (mono ha itte miru mon da)

Presuming I got it right, this phrase roughly translates to "You'll never know until you try" or "If you never ask, you'll never know" or "the question is the thing."

I learned this phrase while at the post office a few days ago.

The story starts back over a month ago, when I was hurriedly applying for the Japanese Language Proficiency Test. Not expecting the application deadline to be as soon as it was, I found out the week before it was due. Though Japan is an advanced country, they have not yet proceeded to the next level of having online applications. They also make the application processes very difficult. Especially, when you live out in the countryside, like I do.

On the JLPT website, it says, "Applications should be available at most major bookstores." Problem was, there are no major bookstores in Shimane. The only (and I do mean only) place that sold the applications was two and a half hours away from my house. As I could only go on a weekday, there was no way that I would be able to drive two and a half hours and back during the middle of the day, as I was expected to be at my job. Luckily, my Japanese teacher happened to go to the "city" for work, and brought me back an application.

Our plan was this: she hop out of the train on her way back, and give me the application, and then hop back on the train before it left the platform. So, standing on the platform one Monday night, I watched for the approaching train. Previously having discussed where she would be (in the rear) and where I should stand (towards the end of the platform), I knew I had only about a two minute gap to get the application. Sure enough, when the train pulled up, I saw her face peak out and, rushing to the door, she gave me the application. I accepted it, and bowed in thanks like crazy until the departing train until it was out of sight. I was later told that the application was literally the last one in the prefecture. There were no others left. That, right there, is pure luck.

Then, after receiving the application, the real fun began. They don't make it a simple thing of filling in a form and mailing it off. Passport pictures are required, and even more annoying, an electronic funds transfer that can only be done at the post office before two in the afternoon.

Still relatively new on the job, I began to fret. What would the teachers say to me going to the post office in my lunch hour (even though they do it all the time?) I panicked, but in the end decided to just go through with it, and face the consequences later. (Longterm goal vs. possible short term awkwardness) Teaching two schools that day, one in the morning and afternoon, I tried to call the school I would be teaching in the afternoon to tell them that I would be stopping at the bank before I arrived. Yet, the three times I carefully timed my calls, my teachers were all out. So, instead I moved to plan B and asked my morning school for permission to leave a little earlier than usual. When I explained the reason, they kindly told me that there was a much closer post office than the one I was originally planning on going to.

Speeding through small streets, nervous I would get lost, I found the small post office, and arrived in a flurry of stress and agitation. I had never done a funds transfer through the post office, and I was concernedthat my letter wouldn't be post marked in time. There were two people working the shift, one middle aged man and woman.

You could tell that they didn't get many customers out were they were. The shop was deserted, and they even had the TV going for them to watch. I hurriedly explained my troubles, and they kindly helped turn everything in on time.

Fast forward to a few days ago:

I decided to mail off a letter in between going from my morning to afternoon school. As I knew I literally had no classes to teach that afternoon, I figured they wouldn't be upset if I dropped by the post office. Coincidentally, it was the same post office as before I went to.

Now, in recent weeks, I've been gathering gifts for my family for Christmas. One thing that I had seen around in people's houses, schools, what have you, were these cute coin banks in the shape of an old-fashioned Japanese post box. Now, perhaps for the Japanese, they may not think anything of it--but really, these post boxes, still in use around Japan, are something quite Japanese and unique.

As I was mailing my two letters, I inquired, "Where can I buy those banks I see everywhere, in the shape of the post box?"

The same man and same woman were working again, and the man, on his lunch break popped out of his room and said, "Oh, those? I'll give you one."

"Oh, really? I don't mind paying, actually!" I said, "Because you see, I was thinking of buying about three of four of them."

"Well then, I'll give you three or four. What colors would you like?"

Still trying to insist I pay, I eventually told him that I preferred the traditional red color. I left the store minutes later, flustered and pleased by the experience, and promising to come back and buy the end-of-year postcards, another Japanese tradition.

Right before I was about to leave (and right before the older male clerk casually let it be known he was single, and of the eligible age of forty), he said, "物は言ってみるもん." I didn't know what this meant, and we eventually got the meaning clear that the meaning of this saying is that: nothing will ever happen unless you speak up and ask. The thing itself is the question.

My four coin banks only prove that fact: mono ha itte miru mon.

So, from now on, I won't be afraid to ask. I don't want to suffer in silence, and waste a possible opportunity.

I Love Trash.

2009-11-07T16:51:00.000-08:00

Or, at least the Japanese do.

The Japanese love trash a lot. They love it so much that there are generally no trashcans in this country, as it is expected that one will take their trash home. They love their trash so much that they have devised complicated and extensive ways to its disposal. The longer it takes to separate the trash, the longer they have to be with their beloved.

But, before we get into my complicated relationship with trash, I suppose I should tell you a little more about the trashing-loving system in Japan. We begin with the two major categories: burnable and nonburnable. Burnable includes mainly paper products (why these are not considered recyclable, I don't know) and food by-products. In my neighborhood, burnable garbage is picked up on Tuesdays and Thursdays. In America, if trash day was the next day, you'd put your garbage out the night before. After all, in any country, the morning is a busy time of day--and the last thing you want to think of is "Did I put out the trash?" That is where the Japanese are different. They want to think about trash all the time, so they strictly (and I mean strictly) adhere to the rule that you can only put the trash out the morning of the designated trash day. When I did not adhere to this rule, my supervisor promptly received a phone call from the old people in the neighborhood: they did not like my trash relationship.

Next, we have non-burnables, which includes mainly plastics, batteries, glass, what have you. Non-burnables, aka Recyclables, only have one day a month to deposit these things. One day! If you oversleep, forget about it, you will literally be living in two months of trash in your apartment. Bags will pile up, and your kitchen will no longer be for food but for illicit trash love. In general, you and your trash have a pretty long relationship, so it is good to make sure everything is sealed and washed thoroughly, or else it'll just be you, the fruit-flies and trash. But, I digress. Not only do you have non-burnables, but you have categories to each variety; bottles, plastic bags, Styrofoam, PET bottles, the wrappings to PET bottles, the caps to PET bottles all have their own separate bin in which to dispose of them. On the last Recyclable day, I literally stood out in the rain separating out my plastics from my plastics. It was a difficult break-up.

Now that I've lived in Japan a few months, I'm learning the type of relationship expected between you and your trash. When I lived in Tokyo, I had a rather illicit trash affair--as I rarely separated and put it out days before the schedule. Yet, being a big city, it was some how more lax. Here, out in the country with a plethora of retired old people with nothing better to do all day, you have to be much more careful. If I do not write my name on my trash-bags the heavens rain down with vengeance. Appearances are everything, and responsibility in your trash-relationship is as well.

The trash disposal lot is also located by a house with a woman who keeps her kitchen window (which looks out onto the trash area) open at all times. More than once she has called to my neighbor and I, pointing out our faults and what we must do to correct them. Now, whenever I dump off my trash, I tread very lightly over the gravel expanse, hoping not to catch the dragon's attention.

I've talked over this problem with both foreigners and natives alike. All agree that the old people in my township are particularly strict. I even had a Japanese person show me how to sneakily dispose of my garbage. Apparently, you line the burnables bag with newspaper, creating a shield. The newspaper both blocks smells, but also makes it impossible to see through the clear plastic into the contents of the bag. The old people like to look at the contents to see if anything is amiss, but legally they are not allowed to open the bag. The newspaper hinders any investigative action, and also means I can put a few improper disposable items in there without them knowing. I'm beating the system with the knowledge of those who know the system. Like people who have been around the block or two, the novice in their trash relationship is being taught by the masters.

To date, either I, or my fellow next-door neighbor (also a foreigner) have been called on our trash habits a total of three times. Next week is recycle day, and I can only hope that I put it out right. We'll see.

An Amusing Moment of Recognition

2009-10-20T16:20:00.000-07:00

Living in the countryside, you are used to being an outsider. In a way, it can be a kind of comforting feeling--being recognized wherever you go, being stared at like some movie star. That is, of course, if you look your best and are presentable. There's nothing worse than being accosted at the grocery store, when all you wanted was some milk and to return quickly back to the comforts of home.

Sometimes, these moments of your "foreignness" are subtle or obvious. I often feel particularly foreign when I have to attend enkai (pre-planned, work-related parties). The food there is of the extremely traditional Japanese variety, so that invariably even after several hours of eating, I still leave the hungry. Another example deals with clothes, and the fact that sometimes a men's size may fit better than a woman's. It's the small details like that in "everyday" living that remind you, "Yes, I'm not from Japan." And that, of course, is part of your charm.

Then there are instances which slam you right in the face--as though a whole mob of people is staring at you, yelling, "Foreigner! Foreigner!" I had one of those experiences last week. I don't regard the experience in a particularly bad light, more just one of amusement. What happened to me is something I have heard tell tale of, but in my four times visiting this country, never experienced.

Namely, I was stopped by the police.

Even in America, my home country, with much higher crime rate and violence, this has never happened. Funny, then, that it should occur in a rural Japanese town, on a well-lit shopping arcade street, when I was looking perfectly presentable (and dare I say, cute in my autumn attire?)

I had arrived to my Japanese lesson about twenty minutes early (as is my style), and decided to explore the shopping arcade near her house. The street had caught my eye before, as it seemed to be a thriving section of the city (something rare, out here in Shimane.) I was about half way down the arcade when I heard someone approaching me. I glanced back and saw that it was a man in a business suit, looking at me in a hesitant, nervous way. I mumbled, "Good evening," in Japanese. My first thought was that this was a drunken salary man, who had gained liquid courage through alcohol to talk to me. I kept walking.

Then, the man called "Excuse me," and I glanced over my shoulder. With a flash he opened up his badge, instantly squashing any possibility of him being some sort of pervert. He asked me a series of questions. "Are you here to travel?" "No. I work here." "Can I see your foreigner's card?" Luckily, I had it on me. As I dug it out of my bag, he said rather apologetically, "Yes, there's a lot of people recently who have been overstaying their visa." A likely story.

As this entire scene unfolded, I was calm and relatively amiable. It was for the luck of the police man that I had a good day at work, and was feeling relatively calm and easy going. If they had caught me on a bad day, I probably would have said something like, "Why do you need to see my card?" and thereby opening a can of worms.

The conversation continued. "When did you come to Japan?"
"In August."
"And do you work in *****?"
"No, I work in ###."
"Oh. I see...and you are an English teacher?"
"Yes. Actually, my Japanese class starts at 6:30, so I was just walking around."
"You're studying Japanese? Hm."

This was the bulk of our conversation. He studied my "foreigners' card" and returned it, as my conversation seemed to match up with the contents of the card--at least, for now. After walking away from the episode, I couldn't help but smile. I felt bad for the police man, at having been so bored with his post that he was forced to pick on innocent foreigners.

That experience, was to me, just another sign of being a stranger in a strange land. Like Gulliver visiting the Lilliputians, I stick out quite noticeably, whether for good or ill. Most of the time, having such star status works to my benefit. On other instances, it serves as a reminder that I am a guest in this country, and if they so choose, they could kick me out.

I don't dwell on it too much. Instead, I just add it to my list of amusing stories of living abroad.

Autumn Food in Japan

2009-10-17T16:23:00.000-07:00

It is officially autumn here in Japan. Without a doubt, everywhere you look, everything you feel, is autumn. Coming from the seasons deprived state of California, I relish the dramatic changing of the seasons here in Japan. I have longed for more than just two weeks of autumn weather, usually at the end of November, right before the winter weather kicks in. By contrast, in Japan, you have at least a month and a half of autumn weather. It begins towards the end of September, and gradually deepens through October. Usually by mid-November, the autumn displays are at an end, and the weather and country officially go into "winter" mode. Advertisements displaying autumn foliage are displayed by winter snow/ski trips.

One well-known fact about me is that autumn is my favorite season. Probably within the first or second meeting, people learn this. If asked to describe Lexi, most friends would answer "She loves autumn." I won't go into the reasons I love autumn, for indeed there are too many. However, I would like to comment on the differences between a "Western/European" autumn and an "Eastern/Asiatic" autumn.

Growing up in America, the image of autumn connotes apple pie (or just apple products in general), richer, hearty foods, spicy drinks and baked goods. It connotes maple leaves, piles of leaves, maple syrup, acorns, large LARGE western style pumpkins, dried stalks of corn, Halloween, Thanksgiving and the list goes on and on. In Japan, autumn is persimmons, roasted sweet potatoes, pampas grass, autumn festivals, and rice. (They actually have entire books devoted to the seasonal imagery in this country.)

For me, I often feel the food is simultaneously the barrier and bridge between East and West. Although the difference between the food doesn't bother one on the surface, at times, it has a way of encroaching onto your lifestyle. For example, I would desperately like to make a plethora of apple product baked goods. However, in Japan, only two or three types of apples are available--usually "table apples," light and mild in flavor, meant to be enjoyed raw. However, in America, it seems like the apple varieties are endless, and even at the most pathetic of stores there is a nice, tart green Granny Smith just waiting to be turned into a pie. Not only is there lack of choice, but making anything that requires large amounts of fruit in this country is problematic, as most of the time the fruits start at USD $2 per peice.

One must adapt to a new way of life, after all. So, in place of my beloved apple products, I will try new things. I have already attempted persimmon cake and am pondering a grape pie. Even though these aren't the flavors I'm used to for this time of year, there is something satisfying in challenging yourself.

The Japanese are known for their seasonality, and this is one of the reasons I have continued to love the culture. Though the seasonal festivals and changes are often connected with the sophisticated past of the Heian Period, I believe that more often than not these traditions were adapted from the lower class and refined. Now, we have the opposite: events and goods for mass consumption. Again, this aspect of traditional Japanese culture is best noted through the seasonality of its food.

In America, we are used to a seasonal products, though in reality, most type of fruit or vegetables can be found in any supermarket all year round. In Japan, this is not the case. When fall comes the supermarkets stock up on kabocha (pumpkins), sweet potatoes, yams, root vegetables, persimmons, apples and grapes. All other vegetables take second place, or have vanished entirely from the store.

The seasonal changes trickle down to the konbini (convinience stores) as well. My personal favorites are as such: kaki no tane (literally: persimmon seed, but actually a type of rice cracker in a unique shape, available all year round), Lipton Double Shot Maple Tea Latte (wish they sold this in America), Haagen Daas Maple Cookie icecream, and Maple Bread sticks. I've also heard tell tale of caramel apple icecream as well. These seasonal delights have a very short lifespan, so in a way, one must eat as much of them as they can before they are discontinued. My beloved Maple Muffin from Mr. Donuts is a victim of such ruthlessness, being a delightful winter option only two years ago, but now discontinued for who knows how long.

Long story short, the food here in Japan both frustrates and compels me. On the one hand, I hate the limited variety and availability of ingredients, due in part to their rather ethnocentric culture. On the other, I enjoy the importance they place on seasonality and the way they have developed the culture surrounding the seasons (again, due to their ethnocentrism). Everything calls for adjustment, so I must remind myself of that. Autumn in Japan is not the same as it is in the West, and perhaps my longing for that type of autumn is because I have an idealized picture of it in my head. But like most idealized things, the reality is far different from the imagination.

So, long live autumn! Now, excuse me while I tend to my edamame.

Change...Cycle?

2009-10-17T06:50:00.000-07:00

Here in Japan the seasons are changing. Where did October go? It seems that it's slipping and sliding out from under my feet. There are signs of change in Japan, and not just the fact that I turn on my heater pad at night before I go to sleep. Gradually the vending machines are replacing the plethora of chilled drinks with a large selection of heated options. The smell of roasting sweet potatoes and burning field crops fills the air. There is a chill mist in the morning, and every station seems to advertise the best places for autumn foliage (or 紅葉 / kouyou) viewing. The world is slowing down, beginning to look in, rather than out. After all, the long winter is before us: it's time to stock the shelves and invest in more undergarments.

The change of season brings to mind the word "change" itself. Right now the world is changing from the vibrancy of summer to the (relative) death of winter. But, can we really say that the world is "changing," when "change" is something that happens every year? Rather than use the word 'change' I think 'repetition' would be a better way to describe life.

You often hear the question, "Do you think you have changed from when you were a child?" Perhaps, most people answer, "Yes, I have." Of course, physically, if you compare your adolescent self to the current reality, the answer would, of course, be yes. Mentally, do you believe you have changed? And if so, what have you changed from?

Personally, I feel the older I get, the more I find myself living in the past. If asked, "Do you think you have changed?" in general, the answer would be "No. I'm still the same person I always was." However, the difference between the past and the present is that I have gained confidence in who I am, both the benefits and the detriments. I think that during pubescence, one tries to cast off the mantle of childhood, and create a new identity--usually for the purposes of "fitting in" and "trying to be accepted." For me, I used Japan to attempt transformation. Through an interest in a completely foreign and new culture, I made a new name for myself, determined not to lead the same existence I had in elementary school.

Yet, the passage of time can sometimes cause fissures, and you find yourself returning to the core--the person you were before you cared about "fitting in". Your adolescent interests can be stifling, wane, or (when extensive studying is involved) become burdensome. In more recent years, I have begun to return to the core and embrace the person I was as a child, though manifest these interests in a more "mature" way. It seems that no matter how hard I try, my heart remains the same as it was in the second grade, where I would traverse the school grounds, lost in the fantasy of my own imagination. (I'm certain that one or two of you have experienced this feeling as well, when standing in the back of the classroom, staring out the window.)

Based on my experiences thus far, I believe that there is no such thing as change, only repetition and growth from each cycle to the next. Figuring out what kind of person you are is always a daunting task, but if you look to your past, you may have your answer: you are the same person you always were, and whether you like it or not, you're here to stay. It's just like the seasons: though they change, they have never changed.

Goodbye Hello Osaka

2009-10-12T00:10:00.000-07:00

Recently, I have been reading The Makioka Sisters by Tanizaki Junichiro, a story set in the Kansai region of Japan. In fact, the story is so filled with various references to Osaka and Kobe, I felt that I had to visit the region again to get a flair of what Tanizaki was writing about, since on my previous visit I did not have much of an opportunity to properly explore the city.

Though I lived in Tokyo for six months as a foreign exchange student, I have discovered that I enjoy the Kansai (Osaka) region as opposed to the Kanto (Tokyo). It is said that Tokyoites are cold, and in truth, I'm inclined to agree. There is a reason for such coldness, of course--living anywhere in a city so big, with so many varieties of people, makes one rather immune to everything. It is not to be helped. Even I grew cold living there.

Somehow Osaka thaws you out. Let me elaborate:

When I first visited Osaka, I stayed for only three days. On my first day I ran into a foreigner living abroad who invited me to a local hospital to practice English with a few Japanese. Normally, an extremely paranoid type, I would have never accepted such an invitation. However there was something genuine and trusting about the man, so much so that even I accepted. Though I only knew this man and the students for one evening, the warm memory remains.

The next day, while touring Osaka Castle, I picked up a pamphlet of Peruvian street performers after purchasing their CD. The pamphlet included information about a South American restaurant, and, finding the place close to my hostel, I decided to go. Coincidentally, the girl who had passed me the flier (a native Japanese), happened to work at the restaurant. We quickly got to know each other, and for the short remainder of my trip I went to the restaurant every evening. In my three days in Osaka I had found what I had longed for so ardently in Tokyo--a place that felt like home.

The most current trip to Osaka was to visit that same girl I knew two years ago. In November she is to pack her bags and move to Peru. While I just did a very similar thing recently (moving to a foreign country), at least I had a better grasp of the language as well as being sponsored by a nationally funded institution. Contrastingly, the Japanese girl goes there alone to marry her Peruvian husband--who doesn't speak any Japanese. Could I do as brave a thing as she is about to do? Certainly not. Yet it just goes to show you that it takes all kinds to make the world, and all kinds can become friends.

Can a Nipponophile and a Peruphile become friends? In Osaka, they can.

Going to Osaka over the weekend felt like the ending of one chapter and the beginning of another in my life. While I am sadly far away from my favorite part of Japan, I know that the city with its foreign foods, amazing nightlife and entertainment will always be there waiting. And not only that, I know the people themselves will be waiting to warmly welcome me as well.

Taifun: Typhoon

2009-10-08T01:39:00.000-07:00

It was coming, they said.

Up from Okinawa, I heard.

A typhoon. Number eighteen, to be precise.

Perhaps the last time I lived in Japan for an extended period of time, I never took much notice of the weather as I do now. Still, I find it hard to believe that during my six months of living in Tokyo, I wouldn't have heard about a typhoon or experienced one. That said, number eighteen is my number one, my first typhoon.

Although I have upcoming plans to go to Osaka this weekend, and the thought of traveling in rain and high winds isn't very appealing, I must admit--there's something exciting about typhoons (as there is about any extreme weather). A rainy hurricane, is pretty much what it is.

Japan is a land of natural disasters, and the last major accident I took note of was a road crumbling somewhere in Hyogo Prefecture over the summer due to heavy rains. Could this, would this happen for me? Who knows. Every Japanese person I talked to about these fears just seemed to laugh it off. "The road won't crumble while you're on it!" they insisted.

The typhoon hit last night around ten in the evening. My house started to shake, the eaves started to slam, and it felt like a storm was under way! Armed with earplugs (to ensure a good nights sleep), I was lulled into slumber by the moans and groans of mother nature.

I went to bed with the expectation for pandemonium this morning. Fallen trees, flooded roads, impossible conditions.

Instead, it was just windy. No rain, no clogged gutters, no traffic jams, no loss of lives. It was practically boring.

Well, there goes my hopes for my first typhoon. Let's hope the next one is more interesting.

A Sunday of Food

2009-10-04T04:06:00.000-07:00

"How about a fried banana? Only 200 yen! Sweet and delicious Jamacian food!"

This was my mantra, for I was a seller of food this Sunday, if only for a short time. With my fellow foreigners, we became as cheerful and high-pitched in voice as every other Japanese salesperson. Our goal? Sell fried bananas and "Jamacian Jerk Chicken" (or as close as the Japanese can get to it.)

Having signed up to volunteer with a friend at what I thought would be a local flea market, I was ready for anything. Bringing my slightly soiled apron and sunglasses I prepared myself for a day behind the counter, combined with browsing the rows of stalls and shops that would be at this event.

But, when you live in a small town, sometimes your expectations are higher than reality. What they say is festival is really a small collection of food stalls, probably about the same amount seen at a high school home-coming game, but scattered throughout the narrow, sunny streets. What you take for "flea market" is people selling accessories (earrings, necklaces, stationary) and produce. Everything is clean and organized; there are no stalls filled with bricka-bracka, no old men decidedly ignoring you as you study a used food-processor, no throng of people and crowds.

What you do have is a quiet, charming atmosphere. Isolated vending stalls of food and jewelery scattered throughout the old, usually quiet neighborhoods. There was a festive atmosphere in the streets that day, replacing the usual still. Local artisans with their pottery and handicrafts stood by expectantly, ready and waiting to may a sale. But most of all, you have food. Food in abundance, so much so that all you can do for entertainment is to eat.

I began the morning with a cup of coffee, a half a slice of mikan (tangerine cake) and a piece of toast. This was followed by two pieces of chicken, a free sample of an anko-cake, burdock root soup (surprisingly delicious), a bottle of water, a bottle of oolong tea and three gyoza. I could have bought more--like pita pockets, kimichi sandwiches, cakes, cookies, cups of coffee, bento boxes, 100% fresh tangerine and muscat juice (sadly overpriced), something that looked like curry, onigiri, sandwiches, walnut pie--the list goes on and on.

After snacking all through mid-morning, by the time midday rolled around, it felt like it was four in the afternoon. Such is the power of food! Still, the event was charming in it's own right--and displayed that depth to this small little community if you simply probe the fathoms a little deeper.