KONPAI! (CHEERS!)

Spontaneously written by one of my students.  At my school, students only need 40% to pass their classes.

Sunday I was invited to my first enkai, a work-mandated drinking party.  It's not uncommon for an entire Japanese office to go out and get completely trashed one night, only to show up barely sober the next morning, making no mention of the fact that your boss danced on a table and told ribald jokes all night, or that your most uptight coworker was spotted flirting outrageously, and later puking profusely in a sink.   It's a good way for everyone to let off steam and bond, especially if you are the gaijin.  Although, it should be noted that the policy of "what happens at the enkai, stays at the enkai" only applies to Japanese people- if you're the gaijin, you're fair game for gossip and jokes in the years to come. 

Drinking is not required; in fact, a lot of people don't drink a drop because they have to drive home, and in Japan, there is a ZERO alcohol policy when driving.  Even if you've only had a sip of beer, if you get pulled over and register even the most minute BAC, you're looking at tens of thousands of dollars in fines...at the very least.  I thought, being the new gaijin teacher, and what's more, the only woman at this particular enkai, I would start out with a beer, just to be social, and then I'd switch to tea or soft drinks.  Thus began my gradual undoing.

If you have ever gone drinking with me, you know several things: 1) I don't drink often, because 2) I can be a bit of a lightweight (save for those weird nights when my Scots Irish genes kick in and I can throw back 6 beers and a couple of whiskey shots and barely feel a buzz), and 3) when I do become inebriated, I either a) fall asleep, which is neither entertaining nor fun for my friends, or b) quickly become sick, which is not fun for anyone.

Keeping this in mind, I let my fellow teachers order me a beer, which I nursed for about half an hour.  Worried that I didn't like the beer, they ordered me something else- a drink called Calpis (pronounced Cal-piss, which sounds disturbingly like Cow-piss).  Calpis is a lemon-lime soda that is popular in Japan and looks milky, even though there is no milk in it.  The drink arrived, and they tried to exchange my half-drunk beer for the Calpis. My pride (moreover, my German pride) could not permit this.  To chuck away perfectly good beer? Nein!  So insistent were my coworkers in taking back the beer, though, that I had to gently pry it from their grips, and then chug the whole thing in one gulp. At this juncture I should probably tell you that I was sitting with DL, the other JET, our supervisor, the head of the English department, several Japanese teachers of English, a couple of other miscellaneous teachers, and...kocho sensei, our illustrious, sweet, and gentle principal.  As I drank, I thought "This could be a really terrible, unladylike and rude thing to do, and I may have just made myself "that teacher" that the staff will talk about long after I'm gone." Silence settled around the table. I put down my glass.  "YATTA!!!!!" ("YEAH!!!")  Applause all around.  Said my buddy, Vegetable Sensei (after he brought me vegetables from his garden, which I blogged about a few weeks ago), "Ah, so! I am thinking that you are Japanese! You are not mottainai ("wasteful").  This is very good!  Like Japanese person!"  All around, it was decided: I am Japanese.

The rest of the night passed quickly.  The Calpis, I discovered after a big gulp, was actually a mixed drink.  The base was umeshu, a sweet plum wine.  Assuming that I did want to drink because of my initial choice of the beer, the teachers ordered me a succession of libations: sake, more umeshu, a kind of Korean sake, some sort of gin thing, and a whiskey.  All things told, I had about 7-8 drinks, ate a whole bunch of food, and then went and sang karaoke with everyone for a couple of hours before making the last train home.  All because I said yes to one beer.

A gift presented to me by the faculty at the enkai: indoor slippers for winter.  Research was done into my shoe size and favorite color.

PRESERVING THE WA

The situation: DL and I are invited to eat okonomiyaki* with a couple of teachers one day.  The vice principal*** suggests that we go eat tempura donburi** instead, which he thinks is better. 

The rub: The okonomiyaki place was chosen as a gesture to DL, who loves the dish.  However, it would be an affront to not heed the suggestion of the vice principal.

Suggested course of action: From one of the Japanese teachers of English: "If I may suggest one thing.  You see, the vice principal thinks you should go to eat the tempura donburi.  But the teachers don't want to disappoint DL.  So I am thinking that maybe you should maybe go to eat the tempura donburi for lunch, and then for dinner we will go eat okonomiyaki. Is this OK?"

This kind of compromise is called preserving the wa (harmony), and is an important cultural aspect in Japan that manifests itself in different ways.  It could involve changing your lunch plans because your boss thinks a different restaurant is better, or stepping down as prime minister because the country has lost confidence in your political party after your response to the March earthquake.  It pops up most frequently, however, in interactions with Japanese people where they refuse to say "no" or assert a strong opinion on a topic.  Even when asked a direct question, such as, "Do you want me to light this room on fire?," a Japanese person will respond, "Well, I am thinking that, you know, maybe it would be better if you put the matches down and read a book instead."  The key word in that sentence is "maybe." "Maybe" serves as a great qualifier, much like "but" does in a sentence like, "Yeah, that sounds great, but..." When I hear someone say "maybe" it is usually an indicator that they mean "No, and what I'm about to suggest to you is a better idea, in my opinion."

Thus, negotiating with the Japanese is difficult.  Take last week, when I was discussing my lesson plans with one of the teachers.  We were talking about our third year (senior) students, and he told me that the curriculum needed to focus on improving students' oral presentation skills in English, specifically through a long term group project. What would be a good idea for a project?

Me: "Well, we could invent a fictional country and have each group present a speech campaigning for leadership of the country and what they would do if they were elected."

Japanese Teacher of English (JTE): "Hmm, well, I really don't want them to focus on Japanese politics."

Me: "Oh, well, it wouldn't be about Japanese politics.  I would be a fictional country, and we wouldn't assign them specific political party platforms- they would have to come up with those themselves."

JTE: "Ah.  Yes. Well, you know, maybe it would be good to have them think about politics because they do not care, but we are about to elect another prime minister, and it would be good if they knew more about Japanese politics."

Me: "OK, but this would be a fictional country.  I was thinking that we could build their vocabulary regarding business, agriculture, politics, religion, etc.  And a campaign speech would give them a nice format for their presentation, so they have some structure."

JTE: "Mmm. Well, you know, maybe a better idea is that they all have to come up with an advertisement.  We have done this before.  But I do not know.  Maybe you have other ideas that are good.  Please be thinking and let me know."

Me: "OK, would you rather do the advertisement project? That sounds good."

JTE: "Well, be thinking and let me know what you think is best."

*a pancake layered with meat or fish, fried noodles, bbq sauce, spices, bonito flakes and drizzled with mayonnaise

**a rice bowl topped with tempura

***Side note: Interestingly, someone told me that the vice principal was a yakuza (Japanese gangster).  I was a little skeptical (all of his fingers are intact, for one thing, and most yakuza have had one of their pinky fingers chopped off), but intrigued.  Maybe 5 drinks into the enkai, I sidled up to my supervisor and asked if it were true that kyoto sensei was a yakuza.  He chuckled and said, "No, that's not true.  Kyoto sensei used to teach at rough school, and so to promote discipline, he let it be known that he had ties to the yakuza.”  In reality, he’s a nice guy who plays a lot of golf.

THE STRANGE AND THE WONDERFUL

MY NEIGHBOR STRIKES AGAIN

Last Sunday around 5PM, I heard a knock at my door.  I opened it to find my 84 year-old neighbor wheezing on the stairs as though he'd just run a mile.  Through the Japanese, I understood "fireworks," "[the name of my town]," and "8PM."  I translated this to, "Hey, there are going to be some fireworks at 8PM tonight.  You should see them."**  I thanked him; he shut the door and left.  At 7:30, there was another knock on my door.  I opened it, still chewing my dinner.  Guess who?  Apparently what I missed in the earlier deluge of Japanese was that he planned to pick me up to go see the fireworks.  Brilliant.  He tells me to put on pants and close-toed shoes (I am sweating comfortably in my running shorts and tshirt ensemble), and off we go.  We walk 15 minutes to a baseball diamond behind the train station, which is filled with booths of food, games and questionable items (such as terrariums of beetles that appeared to be for sale).  We walk around for a bit, eyeing the merchandise, as my neighbor starts handing things to me.  First, kokigori (a giant snow cone), and then, when I linger at a barbecue stall, a whole grilled squid on a stick.  Yum.  He is clearly enjoying himself.  The only thing that mars this lovely picture of a grandfather and his granddaughter going to the town fair is the fact that he keeps telling me to wear the oversized baseball cap he brought with him. Is he ashamed to be seen with me?  We will never know.

The fireworks were lovely.  If one were to compile a book titled, "Things Japanese People Like," fireworks would be on page 10 after "rice," "curry," "butter cookies," and "sweat towels."  I have seen some pretty spectacular displays, with everything from lanterns being sent down a river to full orchestras to laser shows. 

**Apparently I would have known this already if I understood Japanese, given that our local PA system made an announcement about the fireworks that morning at 7:30AM.  Yes, 7:30AM on Sunday.  I definitely heard an announcement, given that one of the PA speakers is right outside my window, but I had no idea what they were saying.  I asked my predecessor about it, and she said that the local government frequently makes announcements about anything from local events to public service announcements to "Time to wake up and go to work!  Better eat your breakfast!" (no kidding- she told me she heard an announcement like that one morning).  Sometimes instrumental music is blasted for several minutes, as though we are in the yard at Shawshank Prison with Tim Robbins on the loose. 

JAPANESE KRYPTONITE

If you want to completely freak out and befuddle a group of Japanese, just offer them a package of Twizzlers to eat.  The Japanese have a weird love-hate relationship with sweet things.  Some say that Japanese people do not like sweets.  I don't think that's true.  Certain kinds of tea that are sold here make your teeth ache more than McDonald's sweet tea, and a lot of foods served at mealtimes have a fairly sugary bent.  What they don't seem to enjoy are sweets that don't fall within the following categories: fruit (natural), green tea or red bean.   If you go to the Krispy Kreme in Osaka, most of the flavors are orange, peach, melon jelly, etc.  Cookies are infused with citrus, peach or apple flavors.  That's pretty much the taste gamut. 

DL brought a jumbo pack of strawberry Twizzlers for our ESS club members as an icebreaker.  Personally, I am not a huge fan of Twizzlers (they have the taste and consistency of a candle, in my humble opinion), but I've never known an adolescent to turn down processed sugar until last week.  First of all, the girls weren't really sure what to do with it.  Were they supposed to tie a knot?  Were we going to melt them down into something?  They held them away from themselves, sticking up from their clenched fists, as they shot panicked looks at one another that said, "What is this, and how soon can I drop it?"  So I grabbed a rope and chomped down on it, thinking they would follow in suit.  They did.  And that was the last bite they took. 

A similar scene ensued when DL placed the bag, now 6 pieces of candy lighter, in the faculty room for general consumption.  Sensing free food, the teachers quickly huddled around the bag, but stopped dead when they saw what was inside.  "It's candy," I said, "American candy.  From DL." (All right, I admit, I in no way wanted to be associated with the Twizzlers.)  They quickly conferred, and eventually a guinea pig was chosen to try a piece.  He took a bite, and in his halting English (which I think was more a result of his trying to think of what to say, as opposed to his actual linguistic ability, which is pretty good), said, "This....is....strange."   The Twizzler posse started tittering, and a couple of other people took tentative bites.  In the flurry of Japanese, I made out the words "weird" and "candle."  Not our best export, guys. 

VOGUE VOGUE VOGUE VOGUE

I had heard that Osaka (which is 40 min away by train from me) is an excellent place for people watching, as Osakans take fashion very seriously.  I was not disappointed when I visited on Sunday.  Really, I could probably dedicate an entire blog to Japanese fashion (and people do!).  Long, baggy tie-dyed bell-bottom pants are in (for men and women). Women are into Daisy Duke shorts with platform gladiator sandals, reddish-orange hair, thick, fake eyelashes, and lots of rouge.  Men have huge hair (bigger than the women) that's usually dyed orange, and some sort of angular, close-cut dark suit, with a skinny tie loosened casually. 

From fashion-model.info

The most spellbinding look is the "Lolita" or "Goth Lolita."  It's sort of a mix of Victorian fashion and Strawberry Shortcake dolls.  I'm going to defer to Wikipedia to provide more background and history, but it's an interesting form of female empowerment.  I'm sorry that I don't have original photos because I was too chicken to ask people to let me take their photos, but I promise to be braver next time.  This you gotta see.

From chipskgaa.wordpress.com

WHOSE LINE IS IT, ANYWAY?

What with communicating in different languages and meeting new people, I've heard some pretty great one-liners.  Every once in a while I'd like to share these wonderful statements with you.

This week, it was tough to choose just one.  I thought I had an outright winner until DL and I were invited to lunch by a teacher at another high school.  So, I'll share two, just for kicks:

WINNER: "My wife thinks I'm bisexual. But I'm not." -1.5 hrs into lunch with a Japanese teacher (no, there was no drinking involved).

RUNNER UP: "The monkeys have got to stop making such a mess in my driveway.  I can't take it." --Yes, there are wild monkeys in Japan, and apparently they like to wreak havoc on peoples' property in the mountains.

"I'M MELTING, I'M MELLLLTIIIIIINNNNG!"

Running errands in my supervisor's car during the heat of the day, listening to "Afternoon Delight," the local post-meridian radio program, I've witnessed the many ways in which the Japanese dress for the sweltering summer weather.  The highs have been in the upper 90s with 80-90% humidity since I arrived, and yet Japanese modesty and fear of UV rays cause them to walk, bike and drive around swaddled like mummies.  Skin color is very important here as a measure of beauty; specifically, how light your skin is.  I suppose this dates back to imperial Japan, when skin color was an indicator of social class.  People with darker skin were likely laborers and farmers, exposed to a great deal of sun, while the upper classes had more delicate pigments.  Not very different from Victorian England, really.  

Everyone wears what are called sweat towels around their necks, looking like boxers who have just stepped out of the ring after a particularly grueling match.  Men dress fairly uniformly for work: short-sleeved white dress shirts and black pants.  Women, on the other hand, wear numerous layers of camisoles, tshirts, cardigans, sheer long-sleeved overshirts, etc. Most women seem to wear pants to work, but if they do wear a skirt or, in rare cases, long shorts, they also wear long leggings (usually stirrup leggings, or ones with the toes or feet cut off) or knee-high socks or stockings.  Sunglasses, a huge floppy hat, and elbow-high gloves (fingers intact or cut off) complete the ensemble.  Oh, and the ubiquitous umbrella to guard against the sun.  It's like they're all channeling Helena Bonham Carter.

Since the earthquake in Eastern Japan back in March, the entire country has been making extra efforts to conserve power.  We had a scheduled blackout at school last week for an hour, and air conditioning, which is limited to the faculty room, is shut off until after noon.  Even then, the thermostat is set to 28 degrees Celsius (lower 80s Fahrenheit), to further save power.  Thankfully, I do have AC in my apartment. 

GETTING TO KNOW YOU, GETTING TO KNOW ALL ABOUT YOU...

I've started to meet some of the students I'll be teaching this coming year.  Even though it's technically summer vacation, students have been popping in and out of the school, attending baseball practice, rehearsing skits and performances for the big school festival in September, studying for exams, and other activities.  Many of them seem eager to speak English and to improve their language skills.  All of them are incredibly polite.  Driving on to school grounds takes on an almost ceremonial significance as students stop on the road to bow if they recognize a teacher.  This kind of royal treatment is amusing; I admit, I do get a kick out of the fact that students bow to me in the hallways.  It may be difficult to return to the States, where people barely acknowledge each other in the halls at work.

Last week three members of the ESS club took me and DL on an all-day tour of the nearby town of Asuka ("Ahss-ka").  We visited the Japanese Stonehenge, the local archaeological museum, and a couple of Buddhist temples.  The girls chattered away, sharing their love of pop culture, such as High School Musical and Glee, but also were instructive on Japanese culture.  One of our stops was the gorgeous Okadera Buddhist temple.  We walked in, and the girls led us to a fountain to the left of the entrance to begin the purification rituals before going on further.

Some of my students!

They instructed us to take a ladle and fill it with water, and then pour water using our left hand into our right, and then to switch the ladle, and pour water using our right hand into our left.  You then pour water into your mouth, swish it around, and spit it out (no swallowing!).  With our hands and mouths thus purified, we went on to the temple itself.  The vast wooden structure is beautiful in the trees, and the girls eagerly pointed out things like the rack of papers tied to strings (which they referred to as "the oracle," though I don't know where the prognostication comes in).  Each paper is a wish- at some point, when the rack is filled, the monks will come collect the papers and burn them as they pray. 

The "oracle."

A bulletin board at the temple lists the ages for which 2011 will be an unlucky year.  It won't surprise the New Years crew to know that at 26, I dodged the bullet of misfortune.  However, the girls told me that my next unlucky year will be when I'm 33.  Yeesh. 

To ward off any unluckiness or evil spirits, we burned incense at the shrine.  After the incense is lit, you must stand in the smoke for a few moments and let it wash over you.  Having purified my hands and mouth, and now been fumigated against evil, we moved on to the temple bell.  Ringing the bell is said to purify your heart.

Here I am, purifying my heart.

And if none of that were enough, there is a small statue of the Buddha, which you can rub.  If you rub a certain part of his body, and then rub the corresponding part of your body, you will be healed.  Take care, though: I rubbed the Buddha's chest around his solar plexus, and the girls thought I was trying to heal my bust (or maybe augment it).  I swear, I was aiming for the heart.

Having met and spent time with various JETs over the years, I would think that students and teachers would kind of have a "been there, met that" attitude.  That if you've met one American, you've met them all.  So far, that hasn't been true.  People are eager to know where we're from in the States and what it's like there, what our hobbies are, what music we like, etc.  Though few people have actually been to the United States, there seems to be a consensus about the places they want to visit: Los Angeles and New York.  Or, if they're currying favor, Texas or DC.  One girl told me she likes the Mariners, so she wants to go to Seattle.  They seem to be equally comfortable with me and DL, although they're quicker to comment on my appearance (apparently my pasty white skin is a plus).  Often, random students will pop into the faculty lounge to ask questions of various teachers.  When they catch sight of me or DL, they stop, surprised.  Sometimes they show up in giggling groups and will yell "Hello! Hello!" from the doorway.  When we return the greeting, the giggling ratchets up several notches, the door to the lounge closes, and we can hear them shrieking in the halls, "KAWAAAAIIIII" ("CUUUUUUTE!").  No word yet on who is more kawaii, me or DL. 

LESSONS IN THE ART OF ZEN

Japanese stereotype number 1,071: Everything is efficient.  Gross overstatement.  Trains run punctually, people show up early for meetings, social engagements and work.  But if you try to open a bank account, exchange currency, or get a mobile phone, bring something to read, and 24 hours worth of provisions.  Getting my cell phone was an ordeal.  We had been told that if we presented 2 documents showing that we had a bank account and that we were registered aliens, we could get a phone in 2-3 hours, no problem.  In my case, it was 5 days, with 2-3 trips a day to the cell phone provider's store and at least one phone call to them per day.  For a while, I was convinced I was in some weird alternate universe where somehow, instead of applying for a cell phone in Japan, I was somehow applying for one in Latin America, or maybe Italy or France.  Hoops we didn't know existed popped up everywhere: we needed to apply for a Japanese credit card (NO ONE accepts credit cards in this country), we had to pay up front for the phone, we needed a different form of identification, etc.  God bless every hair on my supervisor's head- he stuck with us throughout, shuttling us back and forth to the store, negotiating and translating, making phone calls on our behalf, filling out paperwork, and staying late a couple of nights to help us wrap everything up.  I practiced my hardest-acquired skill from my days in Latin America, where, when faced with every conceivable frustration or inconvenience, you retreat into a Zen-like state of resignation and resolve to get through it.  Still, the sneaky hate spiral snuck up on me when DL told me, "Well, this will be good for us.  It will teach us to cultivate some patience." It was all I could do to not throw my hands up in the air, and start running in circles, foaming at the mouth, screeching: "I AM PATIENT! I AM THE POSTER CHILD FOR PATIENCE! WE'RE JUST BEING JERKED AROUND! AAAAHHHHHHHHH ALWJ:ALKWJ:ANWLEJ:AWEJAL!"  As a beloved friend once said to me, "I am too German for this." To which I would only add, "I am too German for this shit."

But hey, as of 72 hours ago, I have a cell phone.  Huzzah!

MORE KINDNESS COMES MY WAY

Here's the story of how I found myself praying with a Buddhist monk and an elderly couple in their home.

This coming week is special in Buddhist culture, called obon- a week of honoring ancestors.  Families reunite to visit graves, cleaning them and leaving flowers.  I'm sure there's a fair amount of feasting that goes on as well. 

Saturday I was wandering around my neighborhood, the temperature a balmy 97 degrees, when I ran into the neighbor who lives across the street from me.  He is very friendly, and does not speak any English.  When he learned that I had just been to our neighborhood temple, he invited me into his house to meet his wife and see the small altar they have set up in their front room.  They had clearly just bought fruits and other foods to leave as offerings on the altar, and were burning candles and incense.  I was taken to the back room for a glass of ginger ale, as I tried to communicate with the couple.  It should be noted that nothing has changed since my last post: I still don't speak Japanese.  At one point I thought that I was going to be let out as I was ushered back to the front door.  Instead, I was shepherded back into the front room, where I was startled to find a Buddhist monk kneeling on the tatami floor (really, it was hard to tell who was more surprised, him or me).  So I sat with this older couple, behind the Buddhist monk, as he chanted and sang and (I assume) blessed the offerings.  We prayed together as I attempted to be inconspicuous.  Sweaty and wearing a bright red shirt and running shorts, I'm not sure that I was successful.  After the monk left, I "chatted" with the couple for a little longer before trying to make a graceful excuse to exit.  At the front door, by the shoes I had left by the stairs in order to enter the home, was a shopping bag of cookies, a peach and a pear that the wife had left for me as a parting gift.  (Fruit, incidentally, is insanely expensive here and quite coveted.) Furthermore, her husband was, I think, trying to ascertain if I had a bicycle, and if not, was trying to loan me theirs.  Moral of the story: I really, really need to learn Japanese in order to properly show my intense gratitude.  Here's a photo of the latest kind gesture (by the way, the orange cloth in the photo is the sweat towel my supervisor bought me in preparation for my outing with the ESS club):

As one of the top 5 cheapest people I know, living in Japan has been an adjustment, especially given how weak the dollar is ($1 to 76 yen, last time I checked).  I cashed in a small amount of travelers checks early in August (a slightly lesser ordeal than getting my phone), and have been pinching every penny until pay day next week.  Once my paycheck (I'm getting paid in yen) rolls in, expect the food and traveling adventures to follow.

FLAMINGO HAS LANDED

All right, people- get hydrated, use the bathroom, get a snack. This is going to be a long post.

AND SO IT BEGINS

My Japan experience started out with three days of orientation in Tokyo, which quite frankly I think is just a means for the program to give us a few last words of wisdom and allow us to get over our jet lag a bit.  Otherwise, orientation was completely uneventful (unless you count the 6.1 magnitude earthquake that awoke me our first night, followed by two slightly lesser after shocks over the following couple of days).  That said, I have no complaints about being put up in a swanky Tokyo hotel for a few days.

A BEAUTIFUL DAY IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD

I live in an old school Japanese neighborhood, about a 20-25 minute walk from school.  When I say "old school," I mean that the houses are in the traditional Japanese style:

The street I live on is stone, suspended above two streams that flow on either side down from the mountain.  I suspect these are irrigation lines for the rice fields and gardens around town.  The acoustics of my room are such that I can hear the water burbling at night and in the mornings, which is wonderfully Zen-like.  Up the hill is a gorgeous Buddhist temple, which includes a small graveyard: 

Up the mountain, about 3.2 km, is a castle, which is said to have a magnificent view of the valley.  I attempted to head up there on Sunday, but got lost around kilometer 3, and had to return home.  Castle - 1.  Me - 0. 

My apartment is quite spacious, with three rooms: the kitchen, a sort of living room/office, and my bedroom.  Off of the kitchen is a small (think airline bathroom sized) bathroom with a toilet, sink and shower, and a tiny washing machine.  Yes, everything is smaller in Japan.  The kitchen and the living room are western style, which means that even though they have beautiful paper screen doors, the floors are wood. The bedroom, on the other hand, is Japanese style, again with the screen doors and windows, and a tatami floor.  I really, really love my apartment and the area it's in, and having compared it to the living spaces of other JETs in the vicinity, I think I've lucked out beyond imagining.  

The kitchen

My airline-sized bathroom

Le boudoir

The living room

CULTURE SHOCK

Before coming to Nara, I had been warned about culture shock at orientations pre-departure, Tokyo and Nara, not to mention the stack of program materials that were sent to me over the course of the summer.  I listened to JETs, past and present, talk of being reduced to tears over mix CDs their friends had made for them, getting lost while riding the train, or simply being overwhelmed by the heat and a new job and trying to figure out life and establish a routine.  I was fairly confident that culture shock wouldn’t be an issue for me.  My reasoning consisted of: I am so happy and excited to be here, how could anything go wrong?  I was essentially made impervious by my love of Japan.  This, of course, is the kind of hubris that tempts the gods to smite you.

When I breezed into my local grocery store on my second day in the prefecture, I was first struck by how small it was, and then by the fact that everything was in unintelligible Japanese.  In retrospect, I realize that this should have been fairly obvious, seeing as how I live in Japan.  However, I had thought that I could guess what things were based on pictures on the packaging.  Instead, I found myself staring at coolers of strange fish, inscrutable sauces, and trying to divine if the bag I was holding contained salt or sugar.  I paced relentlessly through the (4) aisles of the store, and am confident that I freaked out more than a couple of people when I stood frozen for several minutes, clutching a bottle of what I thought could be soy sauce, inwardly spiraling into a black tizzy of despair.  How was I going to feed myself? I saw my future spanning before me, a continuum of carrot sticks and grilled chicken UNTIL THE END OF TIME. 

It’s no small thing that the source of my meltdown was my weakest point: my stomach. For those of you who don’t know, I. Love. Food. And I defy any (hungry) person to not feel a sense of despair when they realize that they are going to face seemingly insurmountable challenges in fulfilling one of their primary human needs: to feed themselves. Think about the vague nervousness you feel when you’re about to choose a chocolate from an assorted box, but have no idea what’s inside, and amplify that to an infinite power. It’s enough to make you go catatonic. Eventually I calmed down.  I bought a few things I recognized and could cook, and resolved to do more research into kanji before returning to make my next purchases.

That said, if the Japanese language were Jeopardy!, I'll take Japanese foodstuffs for the win, Alex.  I can't say "I don't speak Japanese" in Japanese, but I can pretty much name every type of fish, noodle, dumpling, fried food and other miscellaneous ingredients that come my way.  This is the one area in which I have an edge over the other JETs, many of whom speak excellent Japanese, but for whatever reason can't tell red bean paste from sweet potatoes. 

A, B, C, D, E, F, G....

As you may have surmised from my anecdote about the grocery store, I don't speak, read or understand any Japanese.  I'm working on this, slowly but surely.  Japanese has FOUR sets of characters: kanji (seemingly infinite in number, very formal, and related to Chinese characters), hiragana and katakana (fewer and more informal than kanji), and romaji (the Roman alphabet).  JET offers a correspondence course starting in November (yes, November) to help JETs learn Japanese.  However, all the materials are in romaji, which makes them effectively useless since ALL THE THINGS here are in kanji or, if you're lucky, hiragana/katakana: signs, labels, computer keyboards, etc.  I'll break this down for you further.  Romaji would help me the most to retain Japanese, since I'm a visual learner, but even if it helped me build my vocabulary, I still wouldn't be able to navigate the country on my own.  Alternatively, the truly best way for me to learn would be to memorize hiragana/katakana first (which will only allow me to read maybe 40% of everything), and then slowly work my way through kanji.  But honestly, it's all just a bunch of squiggles to me.   There is a rock and a hard place, and I'm sandwiched in between, gibbering in a weird Japan-glish mix that often features random words from Spanish and Mandarin (which is really weird, since my Mandarin knowledge is nonexistent). 

SUMIMASEN!

Day 1 of work can be summed up in one word: "Sumimasen" ("Excuse me").  As new teachers, but more importantly, the new gaijin teachers, the faculty is eager to meet me and DL, offer assistance, and for us to like them.  We are approached  3-5 times a day, with someone saying "Sumimasen...," even when they are doing us a favor, like dropping a small snack on our desks.  Each sensei  (teacher) has a different level of English proficiency (which in many cases is nil), but we somehow manage to communicate.  I'm pantomiming things to a point that it's become an aerobic workout.  Over the course of several conversations, I was asked multiple times about what my hobbies are.  As I swapped activities with the teachers, I realized that hobbies are the most Japanese way of expressing individuality.  In a culture that emphasizes community over the individual, one's hobbies are a modest means of signaling what you're interested in, and what sorts of skills you possess.  I feel very unaccomplished in comparison to these gardening, musical, artistic, and athletic people. 

JAPANESE CULTURE 101

In my first 3 days in my village, I found myself the recipient of a multitude of kind acts from virtual strangers.  First, from the teachers and school officials who took us to dinner and lunch, helped us register as foreign residents, set up our bank accounts, and this coming week will help us iron out Internet and cell phone plans.  Then from  Art sensei, who bestowed upon me a bookmark with a woodblock print of a samurai that he made himself. 

Then Literature sensei, who has offered to teach me to cook Japanese food.  Then Vegetable sensei, who brought me three large grocery bags of okra, onions, cucumbers and potatoes after I expressed an interest in his garden. 

Kocho-sensei (the principal), offered to take me and DL on a hike in the mountains later this year to see the fall colors.  One of the gym teachers invited us bowling this week.   And when we casually stopped by the library to say hello, the librarian brewed us apple tea and started stuffing us with snacks.

On Friday, DL and I explored my neighborhood.  We bowed and said "Konnichiwa" to everyone we encountered.  I greeted an older lady, and she handed me a plastic fan, said a few (to me, unintelligible words) and walked away. 

We went on further, and it started to rain, and neither of us had any rain gear.  We stopped to consult a map, and out of nowhere, a man came up to us from across the street.  We stood aside, thinking we were in his way, and he pressed an umbrella into DL's hand and said, "Present! Present."  And then hurried off. 

It strikes me that Americans pride themselves on being warm and nice.  Moreover, there's a significant contingent who pride themselves on being good Christians.  And yet I can't envision anyone in America acting with such unprovoked good will towards not only perfect strangers, but even stranger than strangers, foreigners.  I've always heard the Japanese characterized as reserved and polite, but they are demonstrative in their own way.  And in a small town, where everyone could easily be suspicious of us, the people we've met have been nothing but gracious and welcoming.  I'm humbled and a bit mortified by everyone's generosity, kindness that I haven't warranted and can't fully repay.