SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA, PART I

Home to 20 million people, Seoul represents the best of Asia: clean, high-tech, convenient, and modern, all while preserving its own unique culture.  It is quirky and sophisticated by turns, with a wide array of architecture and public art.  Moreover, though the city is busy and bustling, it never feels frenzied or overcrowded.  This is remarkable when you consider that the far more overwhelming metropolises of New York and Tokyo host populations of 8 and 13 million, respectively.  I went to Korea fairly ignorant of its history or culture, save for its status as one of the Asian economic tigers and the ubiquity of kimchi and metal chopsticks.  My Japanese coworkers commented before my departure that three days was a very short time to spend in Seoul.  "I know," I replied, "But I figure it will be a lot like Japan." I was so, so wrong. 

LAL may have put it best: "The Japanese are tolerant; Koreans are welcoming."  We were approached by numerous locals of all ages, each of whom spoke excellent, nearly unaccented English and simply wanted to know more about our story and how we were enjoying our trip.  "Welcome to South Korea!  You are very welcome here!" said an older man to us on the subway on day 1.  More than one restaurant presented us with complimentary food, and people happily gave us directions or offered recommendations for food and activities.  I confess there were times when we all wished aloud that we lived in Seoul, though we love Japan and recognize that every place poses its own challenges, Seoul included.  Still, we savored the variety of foods offered (I was staggered to come across two kebab carts and a hot dog stand in a three block radius), the artistic and sometimes subversive graffiti, the funky shops, the diverse faces, Caucasian, Indian, and black.  We were shocked by the PDA; couples holding hands or kissing, hugging and nuzzling and linking arms, and friends (girls) walking hand-in-hand down the street.  We noticed very few elderly people; everyone everywhere seemed to be young, so young, dressed like hipsters and wearing large glasses.  While Japanese youths can be fairly androgynous looking, there was no mistaking the Korean genders.  The men are tall and broad-shouldered (I understood why one student told me very specifically that she wanted a Korean boyfriend- so handsome!), and the women, while mostly petite, occasionally are rather rounded and chubby.  Several Korean couples were dressed in matching clothes; most often shoes, but also hats, sweatshirts, shirts, etc.  Paul, who lived in Korea for several years, told us that it's very popular for Korean couples to buy matching underwear, called manties and panties.  A premium is placed on personal appearance in general in Korea; people throughout Asia travel there specifically for various treatments, whether spa dates or plastic surgery.  According to the grannies, you can't be a (successful) politician in Korea if you're ugly, so a number of politicos have had at least some work done.  

Then there was the military presence.  Just a few days before we left Japan, North Korea fired a rocket that landed somewhere off the coast of the Philippines.  Their neighbors of course found this alarming, and we weren't sure what the atmosphere would be like once we arrived.  Seoul felt relaxed, but there were reminders of the war everywhere: soldiers in uniform on the trains and at the various tourist sites (including what appeared to be an entire regiment on a field trip to the War Museum), guards carrying automatic weapons, and even LEGO knockoffs of figures in uniform with anti-aircraft missiles and  AK-47s.  

LEGO gumball machine

However, the most sobering sight was the cases of gas masks located at every subway stop.  London eschews trash bins in the subway for fear of IRA bombs, the US stepped up security on public transport following 9/11, and I'm sure many other countries have instituted similar measures, but I've never seen anything like this.  I wonder if the South Koreans feel as though the war is constantly looming over them, or if they are able to ignore images like this because it's so normal for them.  

Gas mask station, Seoul subway

Gas mask tutorial

THE WAR MUSEUM

Our first day in Seoul was hampered by the weather.  Ice and slush were still pooling on the ground after a snowstorm the week before, and the skies were dark and rainy.  However, this made for perfect museum-going weather, so we trooped (splashed) our way over to the War Museum.  

The building is impressive; a huge granite structure with memorials to the Korean war (frankly, these looked rather Communist to me, with flag-waving youths, trailed by soldiers, the elderly and infirm, and women and children).

Korean War Memorial

Front entrance of the museum

The exhibits were really well curated too; very visual, and at times interactive and dramatic.  There was a great deal of information presented, including analysis of how different events during the conflict had shaped the outcome.  Overall, it was a project to be proud of in terms of the balance between aesthetics and informativeness.  And yet...it was the most jingoistic place I have ever been.  When you walk in the front entrance and make your way towards the exhibits, one of the first things you see is a brightly lit photo booth of two small islands.  You can pose and make it look as though you're standing there.  What is controversial about the islands is the fact that these are the Dokdo Islands (called the Takeshima Islands in Japan), and the two countries have been arguing over their sovereignty for years, though the Japanese control them currently. The accompanying plaque makes no reference to this dispute; it simply identifies them as South Korean territory.  A surprise given how many Japanese tourists flock to South Korea (albeit for shopping and eating; I doubt they are frequenting the War Museum).

Dokdo or Takeshima Islands, depending on who you ask

Moreover, the historical narrative of the museum is profoundly biased against the North Koreans (no surprise there), but with very little explanation of their perspective or rationale, or what possible role South Korea might have played in triggering certain actions.  The South Koreans, on the other hand, are portrayed as resilient victims of the vicious northern aggression...who for some reason are still passionate about reuniting the two countries into one Korea.  The more I learned about the war through South Korea's eyes, and the atrocities of the north, the less I understood why they would want to make nice with these apparent barbarians.   It's like a domestic abuse victim who just wants to go home to their spouse after being hospitalized.  

"Punish the Invaders and Achieve National Reunification!"...but why?

I'm going home for the holidays, so the rest of the Seoul narrative will have to wait.  Up next...the DMZ!  Happy holidays, one and all.

JAPAN IN THE NEWS

The past month has been an eventful one throughout Asia, with elections in Japan* and Korea (who elected their first female president), as well as the announcement of new members of the Politburo in China.  It will be interesting to see how these new governments will interact, and what kinds of policies they will put forth.  In Japan, the conservative Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) has assumed power under prime minister Shinzo Abe.  Though there doesn't seem to be a lot of hope that he will have any great effect on the state of the nation (the Japanese have long since lost confidence in politics and politicians), there's still a great deal of speculation in some quarters over what, if any, contributions and changes he will make.   One concern is Japan's relationship with China, which has become increasingly tense as China more aggressively asserts their claim to the Senkaku Islands, now controlled by Japan.  There is also a running dispute over the Takeshima (or Dokdo) Islands that has soured relations with South Korea.  Abe-san doesn't have a great track record with dealing with either of these countries (his first tenure as prime minister in 2006 was disastrous and lasted only a year).  There's also a chance that he could worsen matters by moving forward on efforts to change Japan's constitution and expand its military, which would anger many of its neighbors.  

However, Abe may help the Japanese economy if he can achieve his economic platform of counteracting deflation and devaluing the yen (a horrible thing for those of us transferring money home, but a boon to visiting tourists and Japanese businesses).  The exchange rates are already in flux, and the stock market seems to be responding well to his election.  Abe will officially take office on December 26th.  We'll see then if he is capable of action, or if his administration will be yet another reinforcement for Japanese political apathy. 

At least one positive thing has come from the end of the election: no longer will the campaign trucks with loudspeakers be trolling my neighborhood at all hours of the day and night, screaming their messages.  Sweet, sweet relief.

*An interesting factoid: why Japanese politicians (and sumo wrestlers) pose in victory photos with large fish.   

IN THE WORLD OF EDUCATION

I've been thinking a lot about this piece from NPR that friend AB sent me last month.  The segment focuses on the different pedagogical techniques and philosophies utilized in Asia and America.  It makes me reflect on my own experiences as a teacher in Japan (and my contrasting experience as a student in America), and the profound ways in which education teaches our kids what to prioritize, how they should learn, and what society expects from them.  

A couple of points in the article resonated with me and echoed what some of my Japanese coworkers have remarked, specifically that our students aren't terribly creative.  I find that my students really struggle with the creative projects I assign (envision your ideal vacation, and make a presentation on your itinerary; create an advertisement for a product, real or imaginary, and perform it in front of the class).  What's more, they don't seem to enjoy the assignments at all, not just because they have to give a presentation in English, but also because they don't seem to know how to imagine things.  In Japan, teaching involves lecturing, and learning involves wrote memorization.  Questions that seem fairly simple, like "What do you want to be when you grow up?" lead to blank stares.  One teacher told me that he supported me asking these types of questions and wanted me to pressure the students to think more about these topics.  "They don't really think about their future," he said, "Maybe they think about getting a good grade or going to university, but they don't think about their lives."  

For me, the most fascinating premise from the article was the following:

Obviously if struggle indicates weakness — a lack of intelligence — it makes you feel bad, and so you're less likely to put up with it. But if struggle indicates strength — an ability to face down the challenges that inevitably occur when you are trying to learn something — you're more willing to accept it.

I agree with this statement wholeheartedly; the problem is, convincing these kids that the struggle is worthwhile is, well, a struggle in and of itself.  There are certain stories that you hear over and over again when you talk to JETs.  One is what I call the "muzukashii" story.  JETs will give an assignment or ask a question in English, and the students will shake their heads and say, "Muzukashii," ("difficult").   That word is a death knell in any lesson, unless you can figure out some way to walk the students through what you want them to do.**  Otherwise, the class will give up and revert to a state of silent passivity.  For example, if I ask the question, "What will you do this weekend?" and wait for someone to volunteer an answer, I can wait the entire class period without anyone speaking.  I can ask the question a million times. I can shout. I can jump up and down.  I can address the students individually.  And all that can be heard is the sound of another teacher lecturing in the adjoining classroom.  If my students don't want to do something, they will simply shut down.  There will be no tantrum, no theatrical gestures.  They might not even say the word "No."  Instead, they will institute a silent rebellion that rivals Gandhi's protests against British imperialism.   

Still, their strength-in-numbers approach to classroom subversion is admirable, in its own way.  And this is something that the Japanese education system does really well: promoting unit cohesiveness.  No one gets special treatment.  Everyone must help during soji (a half hour period during which everyone cleans their classroom).  School events, like sports day, are designed to help students bond.  If there are interpersonal issues within the classes, the teachers work to change those dynamics.  The collective is what is most important.  


I see the differences between western and eastern students too in the ways my students change when they return to Japan following a period of studying abroad.  When they leave, they are often shy, quiet, and nervous about using English.  They are completely different people when they come back: confident, fluent in English, and full of slang and the bravado that characterizes most western high school students.  And while I'm thrilled that they've gained confidence and ability and had great, eye-opening experiences, I am a little saddened by how jaded they are, and how they clearly judge their Japanese classmates who haven't had the same experience.  The English comes in, but the innocence leaves them.    

Disciplinary styles are different in Japan as well.  Delinquent students are required to do extra chores around the school (mowing the grass, weeding the grounds, washing windows, etc.), or to attend in-school suspension.  The teachers are not shy about expressing their displeasure at students' behavior.  Some of the more "passionate" teachers can be heard screaming at the top of their lungs at students for late work, tardiness, etc.  Yet the relationships between teachers and students can also be incredibly close and meaningful as well.  Homeroom teachers are completely responsible for their students well-being at school and act as surrogate parents, whether that means disciplining them, providing counseling, discussing problems with parents, taking care of them if they get sick.  Teachers have an extensive knowledge of which students are having a tough time at home, and what those issues outside school are.  If a student gets picked up for pick pocketing or a petty crime, one of the teachers will meet with the police, and then the student and his or her parents.  They call to check on students when they have extended absences, sometimes even going to the student's home.  This is not to say that western teachers care less about their students; it's simply that the Japanese teachers I've worked with are more hands-on and involved as a whole than any teaching staff I've encountered.  Part of that may be because western teachers are encouraged to be more hands-off in some respects of student's personal lives.  However, I think the amount that Japanese teachers care for their students, and the amount of time and work they put into that care, is remarkable and laudable.  

Never was this more apparent than two weeks ago, when one of my third year students, N-kun, died very suddenly and violently.  The faculty, the staff, the students: we were all shocked.  This young man was so kind and sweet and smart and driven; he had just been accepted to a university, and was the captain of the aikido team.  In Buddhist tradition, there was a wake held for him, and a funeral the following day.  The school immediately sprang to action, organizing a route that students could walk from a train station to the funeral home to pay their respects.  Teachers lined the route, standing for hours in the cold, guiding students.  When N-kun's classmates broke down, some of them having hysterical fits, the teachers gathered around, covering students with their coats and trying to calm them.  Other teachers were called in to drive emotional students back to their homes or local train stations.  There was lots of counseling and individual meetings and talks with parents.  As with any tragedy, the community came together, and I felt so grateful to be part of such an incredible group of people.  

**On the other hand, if you walk them through the process and then praise them for their work afterwards, they are very pleased with themselves.  The key road block to them learning English is the same of learning any language: they are petrified of making mistakes.  One of my third year students wrote me a note on her final exam that said, "I didn't like writing in English until Eri-sensei told me that mistakes were OK.  Now I can write in English."

THE TWELVE PUBS OF CHRISTMAS

Japan has affirmed certain cultural stereotypes for me, one of which is that the Irish are always good for a good time.  Last weekend Paul (who is Irish) organized a pub crawl in Osaka titled "The Twelve Pubs of Christmas."  What followed was one of the most magical and memorable evenings of my life.  Between the hours of 6pm and 4am, we visited 12 "establishments."  [One "pub" was actually on the subway, and we all stood quietly sipping our beverages as our fellow Japanese passengers smiled at us with genuine good cheer and took sneaky photos.]

The fourth pub of Christmas

T'was also a night of Christmas competition.  Homemade Christmas jumpers (that's sweaters in Commonwealth English) were encouraged, and we kept a running tally of which one various bartenders/clerks/obliging passerby judged to be his or her favorite.  The contenders were impressive: some lit up, there was an arm wrestling Santa/snow man, two Christmas trees, hand-stitched bells, and a Santa face.  I wore an actual Santa suit, beard and all, and carried around a sack of "toys" for good girls and boys (whoever was the first to finish their drink that round).  Finally, we distributed stick-on bows for people to place on unsuspecting strangers.  The clear winner was a silver bow placed on the posterior of a girl who was outrageously drunk at 8pm. 

The sixth pub of Christmas

These were the twelve Christmas miracles of the evening:

1. No one died.  

2. No one got arrested.

3. No one got sick.

4. No one exposed themselves.

5. Everyone stuck together.  

6. Everyone made it home.

7. Everyone made it home either alone or with the person with whom they began the evening.

8. Everyone remembers what happened the night before (this may be the greatest miracle of all).

9. Everyone remained jolly.

10. While lustily singing "Angels We Have Heard on High" in an Osaka subway station, a highly inebriated Japanese woman heard us and joined in, words and all. 

11.  As we exited the 8th pub of Christmas (a local convenience store), it started snowing.

12. The twelfth pub of Christmas, though it had been closed for half an hour, still let us in for a quick, final drink.  However, had they turned us away, our tale would have had taken on Biblical parallels.

We came away from the night with a multitude of great stories, but my favorite involved two little Japanese girls on the subway, who were shocked to encounter a gaijin in a Santa suit.  They were clearly confused, but became very animated when they saw I wanted to speak to them, and their mothers were beside themselves with delight.  However, the jig was soon up: the youngest quickly pointed out, "You're not Santa!"  To which I had no response, but to chuckle heartily.  LAL gave them stickers (she's so thoughtful), and they gave us all high fives in return.  Go go Christmas magic! 

CHRISTMAS TIME IS HERE

Shortly before American Thanksgiving, Yosh-sensei approached me to discuss the oral exam for the first years.  Each student was to meet individually with me and DL, and Yosh wondered what the rest of the class would do while they were waiting.  "Well," I said, "I was thinking we'd do some sort of Thanksgiving worksheet or puzzle."  "Ah. Hmm," came the response with a side tilt of the head (a dead giveaway of disapproval).  I waited.  "I was thinking..." he said with a glint in his eye, "they could make CHRISTMAS cards!!" I opened my mouth to point out that it was still November, and then realized that this was a meaningless battle, and in fact, introducing Christmas before Thanksgiving was entirely culturally appropriate considering that most American stores had their Christmas decorations out before Halloween. So instead I said, "That sounds great.  I'll bring the paper and markers."   

And so I sit, with a stack of 120 Christmas cards on my desk, many of which are absolute gems.  Hallmark should market these, if not for the aesthetics, then for the wonderful wording and sentiment.  Please enjoy.

This card was drawn by one of my favorite students.  When I told him the difference between "Marry" and "Merry," he slapped his forehead and said, "Mistake! Big Mistake!" When he handed in his card, he had added Santa hauling an "E" to replace the "A." Ingenious. 

"Let's party. Today comes Santasan."

When the student turned this in, she made a big deal of showing me the Christmas "moncky"

Front of the card.

Inside says: "It's unbearably cold."

A bunch of boys got together to draw this one.  I'm not sure why Santa looks like The Gimp from Pulp Fiction. Or why he has a sword.

"Merry Christmas. Christmas will be on Tuesday this year.  I wish you a Merry Christmas!"

Written by one of the boys.  "Thank you! I enjoyed date with you. I'll send this card with a gift for you. I hope you happy."

"Dear Ms. Erizubesu, I go to dinner with me. Let's a party."

MEETING THE ZAO GONGEN

First frost in Nara last week, and now we settle into the inevitability of winter. I'm already nostalgic for the fall.  The Japanese are incredibly proud of their four distinct seasons, and rightly so.  Autumn in Japan is a glorious affair, with fairly temperate weather and riotous color.  As I make a return to sleeping in long underwear and fuzzy pajama pants, wool socks, 2 shirts, a fleece, and a ski cap, I offer a photographic homage to fall's peak this year.

Nara Park, Nara

Nara Park, Nara

The Yoshino Mountains, the most infamous viewing spot in Kansai for cherry blossoms in the spring, was a prime spot for fall foliage this year.  We followed the winding trail up Mt. Kinpu to Kinpusenji Temple, reportedly the second largest wooden structure in Japan.  I had been told that it was well worth it to see the "Blue Buddhas," which are unveiled only once a year for a few weeks.  Except they aren't Buddhas.  These three fearsome blue statues are actually called Zao Gongen, and are Buddhist representations of a Shinto mountain spirit.  Each figure represents a different period of time; past, present and future.  Their blue skin signifies ego, and the vajra (thunderbolt) is held in a threatening gesture meant to symbolize the striking down of evil.  

The Blue Buddha, Yoshino

Further up the trail, we hit a row of shops, and slowed to inspect the horagai, or trumpets made from conch shells.  The horagai are played by the yamabushi, Buddhist warrior monks, who incorporate the instruments in various rituals.  We stopped outside one of the shops, and the owner, a dapper and friendly man, offered to give us an impromptu lesson in conch-blowing.  

First, grip the conch shell with two hands, so that the fingers of one hand curl into the shell.  The other hand wraps around the mouthpiece.  Keep your lips together, and breathe into your diaphragm, forcing the air from your abdomen instead of your mouth.  Alas, the notes that I blew were high-pitched and scratchy, not the deep, bass tones I had hoped for.  However, the shop keeper seemed pleased that I had produced any sound at all, so I took it as a small victory.   

Victory!

We dallied for a while after our lesson to talk to the shop owner, Ota-san.  He was delighted to learn that we were from America, and immediately decided that we must be from San Francisco, ignoring us when we told him that we hailed from Chicago and Texas.  His father, he said, had traveled to San Francisco in 1939 as part of the Golden Gate International Exposition.  His father had been chosen to represent Japan as a wood carver, and Ota-san had a wide range of memorabilia from his father's trip, including passport photos, maps of San Francisco, pamphlets and brochures from the fair, etc.  He then offered us tea and took us through photo albums of various trips he had taken over the course of his life: Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Cambodia, Thailand, Laos, China, Australia, etc.  Here was this man who lives in a tiny village on a remote mountain in Japan, but has traveled all over the world and is genuinely fascinated by foreign cultures.  It was remarkable.  We spent far longer than we meant to in his shop, but it was absolutely worthwhile to hear his stories and to form a surprising connection over our homeland.  

KUUKI YOMENAI

Sometimes over the course of a Japanese conversation you'll hear someone say KY, which has nothing to do with personal lubricant and stands for kuuki yomenai.  Curious, I asked one of my students one day what this meant.  "Oh," she said, coloring a little. "It means 'can't read the air.' It's not a good thing," she said as an afterthought.  KY is essentially when someone can't read a situation properly, like that guy at parties who walks up to someone they haven't seen in a long time and starts asking questions about the other person's significant other, not realizing that everyone else is shifting uncomfortably and the respondent is giving one-word answers because the couple recently had a nasty break up.  People usually feel embarrassed about these kinds of slip ups when they come to light, but in Japan, they're a deep source of shame.  

Foreigners are particularly prone to being KY, especially cultures that are accustomed to communicating in a "shoot from the hip" manner.  This straightforwardness can come off as aggressive or confrontational to the Japanese, who try to evade such rudeness by avoiding saying things that are negative, like the word, "No."  It takes time and experience to be able to "read the air" and fathom what's going on in these nebulous situations.  

For example, you might approach your boss with a proposal and receive the response, "Hmm, muzukashii" (difficult). But what does that mean? Where on the yes-no-maybe spectrum does that fall? If you answered, "no," then you're correct.  "Muzukashii" is code for, "Nope. Not going to happen."  This ambiguity is meant in the nicest way possible, allowing people to save face.  However, it can be frustrating for those who can't read the signs and just want a clear cut answer.  JETs have dozens of stories in this vein, from asking for feedback on their teaching and being told they were doing fine and didn't need to improve, to questioning a compliment someone paid them and wondering if it was really a backhanded criticism (it's usually not a good sign when someone says, "Oh, that skirt is interesting," or, "You wear such bright shirts.") Thus, it is nearly impossible to get certain kinds of feedback in Japanese society, or even to learn peoples' opinions on particular topics. So I was surprised at my most recent meeting with the grannies, when they began to hold forth on foreign policy.  

The conversation started when Current Events Granny said, out of the blue, "Obama doesn't care about America's relationship with Japan."  Taken aback, I looked around the table to gauge the others' reaction, and found them all nodding vigorously, saying, "Yes! It's true, isn't it, Eri-sensei?"  Current Events Granny continued, "He only cares about China and South Korea! I know that Japan's economy is not good. It is a big worry.  I know that our population is getting smaller, but..."  The end to this sentence was clear: "But he should take us seriously!" Apparently the country was chapped when the American government didn't come out with a stronger stance against China's aggression over the Senkaku Islands.  Never mind that nothing and no one lives there and the "islands" are essentially two barren rocks.  Pride is everything. 

The source of all the trouble: Senkaku Islands

So there I was in the diplomatic hot seat, feeling as though I needed to defend my homeland and the foreign policies of a man I've never met.  I tried to argue that America feels secure in its relationship with Japan as we do with the United Kingdom or Germany, but that we have to pick our battles (they liked this idiomatic expression) and shore up some of the priorities in the Pacific, like China, who has huge financial power but is somewhat prickly and erratic, and South Korea, which is a stable country friendly to the US, but is next door to a country that is definitely prickly and incredibly erratic.  I didn't mention that it's also probably in Japan's best interest for America to maintain a good relationship with China especially, to give us leverage when the Chinese government flies off the handle about things as minute as a couple of rocks in the ocean.  I'm not sure that this convinced the grannies, who were feeling rather cantankerous, but the discussion did shift to the emerging world powers, particularly BRICS.   I commented as an aside that I couldn't figure out how Russia made that list, and Current Events Granny exploded, "Putin! I dislike him!"  Shocking!  The Western equivalent of this statement would be: "Putin! What a mother$%#*@*!" Before we could delve into this latest outburst, Lone Grandpa started asking me about the history of Israel and Palestine.  Honestly, I know less than I would like about this history, and so I ended up giving a brief sketch of the book of Genesis with Abraham, Sarah and Hagar and then jumped way into the future with the end of WWII and the creation of the state of Israel, leaving out a millennium or two of history in between.  The group sat through all this quietly, diligently taking notes, and when I finished, Lone Grandpa's response was: "Israel. They are troublemakers." "I know!" said Beatles Granny, "Since ancient times!"  It appeared no one was to be spared the wrath of the grannies this day.    

However, the group will be happy to know that Japan's refusal to go quietly into that goodnight is being noticed by the Western world.  The Japanese military is starting to reach out to some of its Pacific neighbors (and beyond) to train foreign militaries in Japanese tactics and strategies.  It should be noted that the readiness with which some of these countries have accepted Japan's overtures (many of whom had less than pleasant experiences under Japanese imperialism) is a testament to just how nervous China makes everyone.  It will be fascinating to see what comes of these collaborations, and what, if any, effect it will have on diplomacy in Asia, not to mention the Japanese military.  Will they expand their defense systems, or will things remain as they are?  

TOTO SAN

On their recent visit to Japan, my aunt and uncle spoke frequently of their need "to visit TOTO-san."  TOTO is the leading manufacturer of Washlet toilets in Japan, which are some of the most technologically advanced thrones in the business.  Seriously, the number of buttons on a Japanese toilet make you feel as though you're sitting in the cockpit of a spaceship.  

From http://www.thefastertimes.com

Visitors to Japan constantly remark on the Washlet facilities.  "Ahhhh," said a friend who had visited Japan previously, "I've missed the heated toilet seats here. They are awesome."  A family member told me in hushed tones after a bathroom break, "I have to say, I really like the bidet function.  I mean, I used to think, 'Gross,' or 'Uncomfortable,' but really, it's quite nice and cleansing."  For those of you who are missing out with your cold, dirty, boring toilets, good news: TOTO is hoping to create a niche for itself in the international toilet market, bringing its civilized toilet experience to foreigners everywhere.  Allow me to throw my hat into this ring and say that I heartily support TOTO internationalization.  Our bums will thank us. 

KAGOSHIMA, KYUSHU

Thanks to its discount airline, Peach Air, Japan is making it a lot easier (and cheaper) to travel domestically.  For a paltry $80, I secured a round-trip ticket to Kyushu, the second most southern island in the archipelago.  And because it's Japan, even the cheapest airline (like Peach) is far and above the standards of most major US companies.  Clean!  Efficient!  Plenty of leg room!  Reasonably-sized overhead bins!  It made a United flight feel like a dingy tin can.

Still, there were some surprises.  For one thing, I was never asked to present my ID, not at check in or at security, or even at the gate.  I wasn't required to remove my shoes while going through security.  Liquids of any size were permitted.  Maybe this should have made me feel good.  Here I was, able to bring a six pack of beer on board if I so chose!  However, instead of feeling rebellious or free, I felt slightly anxious.  It's a sad fact that the post-9/11 travel restrictions have conditioned us so that just the thought of full-sized toiletries in one's carry-on is a source of panic.

I landed in Kagoshima, a city in the south of Kyushu.  Kagoshima is fairly unremarkable-looking. With the exception of Tokyo and Hiroshima, most Japanese cities look exactly the same: ugly concrete boxes spread across the landscape, displaying very little architectural or artistic character, much less taste.  A study of the city map left me wishing I knew more about Japanese history and the Meiji restoration, particularly some guy named Saigo, to whom statues were erected everywhere.  Other points on the map were labeled things like "Place of Saigo's birth," "Cave where Saigo hid," "Place of Saigo's death," and "Saigo ate lunch here."

In addition to its contributions to Japanese history, Kagoshima is famous for: radishes, onsen, an active volcano, and kurobuta (black pork).  It is also the place where St. Francis Xavier arrived in 1549 and began the spread of Christianity throughout Japan.  However, Kagoshima's greatest claim to fame may be that it is the sister city of Miami, FL.  Alas, there was no one selling cortados and Cuban sandwiches in the area, so clearly the two need to work on their cultural exchange.

I want to chronicle the many wonders of Kagoshima I experienced, and I want to start with ramen.  If you think ramen is dried noodles in a cup (as I once did) eaten by the poor or cooking-challenged, you are missing out on one of the great Japanese dishes.  Ramen is kind of the Japanese soup equivalent of pizza in America: relatively cheap, tasty, and unique to different regions.  Kagoshima ramen is the best I've tasted thus far.  Filled with tender, braised black pork, egg noodles, mushrooms, scallions and fried garlic, this is comfort food at its best.  I sought its comfort twice in the four days I was there, and was never disappointed.

American ramen: a travesty.  From: http://freshthemagazine.com

Kagoshima ramen

Kagoshima also offers a unique onsen experience: being buried in hot volcanic sand by the sea.  I made the 1.5 hr trek out to the infamous sand bath locale, Ibusuki.  $10 got me a thin cotton robe and a small towel, and I was ushered into the women's changing room (with heated wooden floors) to strip down, don my yukata, and head out to the sea.  As I exited for the sand baths, I caught sight of a sign that said, "Take care the burns."  The sand is supposed to be marvelous for many reasons, which I think are best summed up by the local brochure:

Nowadays, there are various stresses that break the balance of the human body and can lead to sickness.  According to recent research, it is found that stress weakens the immunity. Which means the human body sickness is caused from the sick heart.  This is why it is very important for people to allow their heart to rest.  The hot spring will comfort the heart, mind, and soul by all means of "Hot Spring."

Sand Bath- Effect

Sand bath is effective for relieving the following: NEURALGIA, RHEUMATISM, LUMBAGO, ARTHRITIS, FRACTURES, PARALYTIC SYMPTOMS, AFTER A STROKE, SEQUELA BY A CAR ACCIDENT, BURNING [burns? Why is hot sand good for burns?], WEAK CONSTITUTION CHILD, ATOPY, SKIN DISEASE, PILES [had to look this one up, and then was sorry that I did], ASTHMA, DIABETES, ALIMENTARY DISORDER, IRREGULAR MENSTRUATION, STERILITY, ANAEMIA, SENSITIVITY TO COLD, CONSTIPATION, OVER WEIGHT AND BEAUTY TREATMENT.

When I arrived at the bathing area, attendants in Wellington boots and head towels were preparing the sand by pouring boiling water (perhaps from a local hot spring?) over large quadrants, and then raking it.  There were about ten people (all middle-aged or elderly) already buried, their heads sticking out of the sand.  An attendant quickly dug me a pit, helped me tie a towel around my hair, and then buried me in the sand, telling me that I should get out in 10 minutes.  The sand was nice and warm, and I immediately began to sweat, savoring the thought that I was cleansing myself of toxins.  By minute 10, I still felt pretty good, so I resolved to stay in for another 5 minutes.  I made it, but just barely, eventually feeling a little overwhelmed by the combination of the heat and the heaviness of the sand.

From http://www.japanbiking.com

At minute 15, I quickly popped out and made my way to the regular onsen inside the complex, where I showered and dressed again.  My one regret from the day is that there is no photographic evidence of me buried in the sand.  Ah, the pitfalls of traveling alone.

Next up was Sakurajima, the volcanic island located just a short ferry ride from Kagoshima.  Sakurajima is unique in that it is populated with businesses, schools, post offices, and homes, all surrounding an active volcano, which frequently puffs smoke and blows ash into the air, which covers everything in a gritty film.  In fact, as we waited for the ferry to embark into the placid morning, the volcano soundlessly started spewing smoke in large columns, and kept doing this throughout the day.

Sakurajima

In addition to the views and hiking to be experienced around Sakurajima, the island's other attraction is its dinosaur park.  JK and I walked to the top of a steep hill to find a sprawling park filled with jungle gyms and a myriad of creatures: two brontosauruses, a T-rex, a stegosaurus, a diometrodon, a tiger, two lions, and a panda, which I thought was a particularly nice touch.  Alas, there was no triceratops  Joining us at the park was a group of primary school children, who were sitting docilely on little squares of plastic when we arrived, eating their lunches.  This gave us ample opportunity to play on the equipment while the children were occupied, giggling while we raced around.  However, once the kids started to run amok, I quickly became that person that parents fear, standing in the distance with my camera and take photograph after photograph of them going down slides, hanging off the jungle gyms, and generally being adorable in their little uniforms and hats.

I fulfill a life dream and ride a stegosaurus

JK and I proceeded on our hike of the island, walking through some of the trenches made by falling lava over the years, and generally hoping that the volcano didn't decide to suddenly erupt.  At one point, we stumbled across an area where a famous rock concert had taken place in the early 2000s, drawing thousands of people. There's a statue erected in commemoration.

Concert site.

After several hours of hiking the hot and dusty trails, we made our way to the local foot onsen overlooking the sea, where we submerged our tired feet in the hot mineral water.  I thought JK would cry from happiness.  After about an hour, I dragged a most unwilling JK out of the foot spa and back towards the ferry...and ramen.

THE AGONY AND THE ECSTASY

Buddy JK is visiting from America, and on Sunday morning, we pulled ourselves out of bed at the ungodly hour of 6:30 to catch a train, having gone to sleep only a few hours earlier thanks to travel delays following a trip to Kyushu (more on that next post).  With no time for coffee, much less breakfast, we rushed to the nearby town of Hasedera, which is fairly famous in the prefecture for its gorgeous temple and idyllic mountain setting.  From the station, we were whisked to the back of a local dango shop, where we dropped our bags, and moved up the mountain to a shrine for the opening ceremony of the Hasedera matsuri (festival).

At 9am, the first cup of sake was pressed into my hand for the opening ceremony toast.  Other JETs, thinking it was water (or happily cognizant that it was sake), gulped theirs down immediately, only to be informed that they were supposed to wait, and were then given refills.  Meanwhile, each person was issued his or her own happi coat, blue for the boys, and red for the girls.  The Year of the Dragon is quickly becoming the Year of Costumes.    

Happy in my happi coat

At about 9:30, the mikoshi was brought out.  Actually, two mikoshi.  First, the daddy mikoshi, which took almost 2 dozen men to move up the steep stairs to the shrine.  Inside the shrine were three young children, beating drums.  

The second mikoshi was far smaller, more Ark of the Covenant-sized, but it still weighed about 350-400 lbs, enough for 6-8 people to carry.  

The mikoshi

The opening ceremony involved lots of moving the mikoshi up and down stairs, bowing, dancing by the shrine maidens, and prayers by the priests.  During one prayer, a priest blessed us by waving a green branch over the crowds, and I had to fight the urge to cross myself, as one would in Catholic church.

Shrine maidens

Opening ceremony

After the sake toast, we made our way back down the stairs of the temple, and through the hilly, tortuous streets of Hasedera.  

Leaving the shrine

The rest of the day was a blur of chanting, shifts carrying the mikoshi, frequent stops for beer, soda, and cigarettes, and prayers at the smaller shrines throughout the town. Walking out of one shrine post-prayer, I spotted the three Shinto priests who had been tailing us on their scooters, standing in a circle in a small playground across the road, drinking beer. Later, I stumbled across them again in someone's home after lunch.  They decided to befriend me (their chattiness no doubt influenced by the small brewery on the table), which was charming. 

My new friends

Post lunch was when the wheels started falling off the wagon, so to speak. The participants had been broken up by height into teams.  The teams would rotate out in helping to carry the shrine for 10-20 minutes, which wasn't so bad until we hit this one area of town and all hell broke loose.  Part of the purpose of this festival is to gather donations from the locals by bringing the parade past the donors' homes.  When someone emerges with an envelope of cash, an organizer yells into a bullhorn "Itadakimasu!" and the team carrying the shrine then stops and hoists the shrine over their heads, chanting and pumping it into the air.  Unfortunately, we hit the jackpot in this one stretch, and moved only a matter of meters in between houses and businesses, stopping to carry out this ritual at least a dozen times.  More unfortunate still was the fact that this was during one of my group's rotations.  We were the short group, even by Japanese standards, and so hefting the shrine on our shoulders was one thing; raising the almost 400 lb monstrosity was another.  During our first ecstatic pump and chant, I got brained by one of the poles holding up the shrine.  Thankfully the guys were encouraged to assist us after that (the festival organizers clearly thought we weren't performing with enough panache), and we persevered, despite cries of, "Please! Stop giving us money!" emanating from the shrine bearers.

Don't be fooled. That's not a smile.  That's a grimace of pain.

Around 5pm, the festival drew to a close, the mikoshi was abandoned, and we were all allowed to limp off to the local onsen to recuperate before dinner. After a leisurely soak, we reconvened for the enkai (banquet party), which featured copious amounts of food, beer, sake, and the nightmare of all sober people when hanging out with drunks, karaoke.

Foreigners living in Japan quickly become aware that our worth is not necessarily based on our skills or our intelligence; rather, most of our value is derived from our ability to entertain the masses.  Japanese cultural events are a boon, not only because they teach foreigners about Japanese customs, but also because there is a certain glee inspired by seeing all of us dressed in traditional Japanese garb, or watching us react as we eat our first sea snail, or telling us to heft the mikoshi above our heads a few more times, just for giggles.  Sometimes being a spectacle is fun, other times, it's maddening.  Most of the time, we accept it as an inevitable trade-off in living in such a wonderful and fascinating country.  However, I think we outdid ourselves with our final karaoke number.  It was about 7:30pm, but it felt closer to 3am.  A discreet agreement was made following dinner that we should make our exit soon; however, no one wanted to offend our Japanese hosts.  Noticing the zeal with which each karaoke act was received, I suggested we sing a group number (and possibly dance, if we could manage to move our limbs), and have that be our grand farewell.  The final call was that we should sing the international classic, "YMCA."  We trooped up to the front, and quickly became a smash sensation.  People were gesticulating wildly, rhythmic claps shook the room, and some of the older men jumped on stage to dance with us and have their pictures taken with the Foreign Wonders.  Our duty done, we left the party to raucous applause, deep bows, and warm handshakes. 

Despite subsequent (facetious) comparisons to participating in the Hasedera matsuri and slavery, and the fact that I couldn't lift my arms above my head for two days and am still sore as I type this, it was, without a doubt, one of my top 2 days in Japan.  

OKAERI

Okaeri is a polite Japanese greeting that means "welcome home," but is not limited to your family or people you live with.  At the beginning of this summer, the obachans ("grandmothers") of the neighborhood started greeting me with "Okaeri" as I made my way home from school, instead of the habitual "Konnichiwa."  It only took a year, but I think this means I've been accepted into the tribe?  

48? WATERFALLS*

With the weather getting cooler, we are all eager to take advantage of being outside before winter hits and we go into hibernation.  To that end, Paul planned a day trip to the neighboring prefecture of Mie to visit Akameguchi, which is famous for its waterfalls.  We were lucky to venture out on a rainy and somewhat chilly day, which kept away most of the tourist hoards. Still, there were some intrepid hikers outfitted in their best mountaineering togs, looking as though they had just stepped out of a Patagonia catalog and were on their way to summit Mt. Fuji.  Keeping it simple in shorts and tennis shoes, we looked vastly less professional, particularly at a rest point, when the Japanese broke out their power bars and Nalgene bottles, while MR, one of the new Brits, bought a beer and a hot noodle stir fry to accompany his 6th cigarette of the day.  It was 10am.

The falls themselves were enchanting; so much so that I completely missed the fact that two 20-something Japanese photographers we encountered on the trail had brought with them a love doll (which is exactly what it sounds like), and were posing it in front of the falls.

*Apparently akameguchi can be translated as "48" or "many."  Turns out the advertising for 48 waterfalls was a bit misleading- the real number is closer to 35.

HIGANBANA MATSURI

In Japan, one of the harbingers of fall is the higanbana, or "red spider lily," which crops up everywhere like a fiery red weed.  This year, JETs were invited to participate in the higanbana festival, which consists of dressing up in costumes from the Nara period (circa 1300 years ago), and wandering through the hills of historic Asuka, which is considered the birthplace of Japanese culture.  The procession was more like a reenactment; there was a queen who sat atop a large shrine, which was then rolled along the trail.  The rest of us, Japanese and foreigners, made up the queen's entourage, shouting "Onaigi!" in unison, which I believe is something akin to "All hail!"  As foreigners, of course, we were relegated to wearing servants' clothes, which were a coarse cotton, compared to the shiny silks of the Japanese courtiers.  

The procession wending its way through the hills.  The higanbana are in the back.

The costume: a long-sleeved cotton under robe, topped by a heavier, long cotton robe and a long cotton skirt that made us all look like maypoles. 

Our homely garb did not discourage people- hundreds of people- from taking photos of us at every possible moment, including the two times we stopped for a brief break over the course of the 8 hour day.  Our fans were particularly amused to watch all of us guzzle cold tea and air ourselves out, hiking up our skirts in a distinctly unlady-like fashion (we all wore pants or shorts underneath).  Sometimes you just can't fight being foreign. 

The Queen's Court