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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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):
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