CHRISTMAS COMA AND TAIPEI, TAIWAN

As I mentioned in my last post, my Christmas plans were fairly low-key.  Skyping with my family, eating delicious American foods that are hard to find in Japan, and spending time with friends.  But Japan really came through and took Christmas to a whole different, memorable level.

It began as I walked out of my apartment on Christmas morning to find that it was snowing.  Though it gets cold in Nara, it rarely snows.  I took this as a sign that this was going to be a good day.  And so I hurried off, whistling "Good King Wenceslas" (which somehow seemed appropriate, and made me think of my uncle, who loves it), to meet my friends so that we could attend Christmas mass together.  The "church" was located in a renovated two-story house and fit about 50 people uncomfortably.  The service was in Japanese, and I struggled to keep up with the various gestures and appropriate responses from the congregation.  Luckily, I think mass for most Catholics is about being on autopilot.  I was also aided by the missalette, which was in Japanese, English and Spanish.  The songs, however, were in Japanese, and played at about 3/4 their normal time, so that when we sang the gloria during "Angels We Have Heard on High," I had to come up for air. 

Attending mass in foreign countries is like going to McDonald's abroad- you assume that it will be a fairly uniform experience, but it's always interesting to spot the small differences.  There's a lot more genuflecting in Japanese mass than elsewhere. But by far the best part is that there is NO TOUCHING.  No holding hands during the Our Father, no shaking of hands during the sign of peace (instead, you press your hands together in front of you in a namaste pose and bow).  As someone who has been self-conscious about her cold hands (but a warm heart) her entire life, this was welcome.  Furthermore, the priest got us in and out in 45 minutes.  Actually, it was about 48 minutes with the prayer after the processional hymn honoring the missionaries who brought Catholicism to Japan.  The priest, however, fled after the final benediction.  I learned later that he was making an escape before the parish Christmas party started.  Apparently he frowns on "partying."

We got pulled into the parish Christmas party on our way out, and I had a hard time figuring out what temptations or evils the priest felt needed to be avoided.  The event consisted of platters of sushi rolls, Ritz crackers with tiny little cubes of cheese and ham, cream puffs and Coca-Cola products.  The members of the congregation could not have been nicer or more welcoming, and we met several interesting people, including an obachaan (grandmother) who mistook me for the mother of the group.  (I will insert here that my married friends are 29, and Paul is 32 with salt-and-pepper hair, so I felt this mistake quite keenly.)  We eventually left the party and retreated to a friend's house for feasting ("I want to be in a food coma by the end of the day," said one) and movie watching.  First, A Muppet Christmas, where our takeaway lesson was that the Dickensians had a solid idea when they invented dressing gowns and heavy curtains around the beds to trap in the heat, and that maybe we should try that here in Japan.  The next feature was "Die Hard," which is apparently technically a Christmas movie. But before Bruce Willis could save those people with the Farrah hair from the insanely young and handsome Alan Rickman and his less attractive German thugs, we had to brave the cold yet again and make our way further north for a Christmukkah potluck, singing carols and yelling "Merry Christmas!" to all the Japanese who were pointing and laughing at us (the Santa hat I was wearing might have had something to do with that).  All in all, a lovely Christmas.

My adult eikaiwa group dressed me up as a red samurai at our Christmas party.  I thought they were going to have a stroke from laughing.

LAND OF THE BUBBLE TEA

My trip to Taiwan was kind of a mixed bag, due mainly to my own expectations.  It rained pretty much every day, Westernization was everywhere, the food was mostly Japanese, the couple of day trips we'd planned were frankly boring, and I came away underwhelmed.   This is probably controversial given Taiwan's history, but I wanted it to be more like China- a little crazy, fun, and completely fascinating and foreign.  Instead, what had promised to be an adventure was in fact a fairly safe trip to someplace slightly warmer and infinitely cheaper than Japan. 

On the other hand, Taiwan was clean, cheap, green, easy to navigate, cheap, occasionally delicious, and the people were incredibly kind.  We had no fewer than 3 people stop to ask us if we were lost, and then point us in the right direction.  One woman walked us about half a kilometer out of her way to lead us to the nearest train station.  In fact, the Taiwanese seem happier than the Japanese on the whole.  (As a non-sequitur, I will also mention that while Japan has a significant population of androgynous men, Taiwan has a predominance of androgynous-looking women.) 

Taipei 101, the 2nd tallest building in the world

I was shocked by the fact that everyone seemed to speak English in Taipei, whether old or young.  Unlike the Japanese, who are extremely hesitant to speak English for fear they will make a mistake, the Taiwanese speak easily and fairly fluently. There's nothing patronizing about the exchange, as in "Oh, I know you can't speak Mandarin, so I'll have to dumb it down and speak to you in English."  Nor is there a mortal fear in their eyes as they string sentences together.  When they can't remember a word in English, they shrug it off and try to express themselves in another way. They also appreciate any effort to speak Chinese, no matter how much you botch the tones. 

Chiang Kai Shek Memorial

CKS Memorial Square

Best of all, there was a bubble tea place on almost every corner, which I thought appropriate, given that it originated in Taiwan. In 4 days, I think I drank 11 bubble teas. There was a lot of eating in general, at street markets and small neighborhood restaurants.  We actually devoted an entire day to a food tour, which took us to (among other things), the Wistaria Tea House, which is famous in Taipei.  Political dissidents used to meet here to discuss strategy and philosophy.  The shop itself is small, with wicker furniture, warm lighting, and beautiful art.  We ordered the "Tipsy" tea, which derives its sweet, fruity flavor in part from katydid saliva.  We were taught the proper way of preparing and pouring tea into Turkish coffee-sized small cups, a process that was part chemical experiment, part sensory experience, like a wine tasting.  We spent over 2 hours drinking thimblefuls of the stuff, until our bladders protested.  

Trying stinky tofu.  The reaction was more due to the spiciness than the stink.

I broke down on our last morning in Taipei and bought a cup of coffee at Starbucks.  The barista announced my order, and said in heavily accented English, "Have a nice day, and a Merry Christmas."  Well, folks, my Grinch heart grew two sizes too big right then and there.  It wasn't just the effort she made in speaking English to me, or how proud she clearly was of herself and her hard work, but the utter sincerity with which she spoke.  And with that, I made my way back to the Land of the Rising Sun, properly imbued with the Christmas spirit.

Temple at night market.  One of the few places with character I saw.

YOU'LL SHOOT YOUR EYE OUT, KID

I blinked, and it was Christmas.  It turns that that when you aren't assaulted with Christmas decorations and commercials on October 21st, the holidays kind of sneak up on you.  With my shopping done, and grades turned in, I can finally enjoy the holiday season.  Or at least the Japanese approximation of the holiday season.  Not that there's any need to be PC when it comes to the holidays here- Hanukkah and Kwanzaa are all unheard of- you might as well be talking about Festivus.  So for the purposes of this blog entry, we'll be talking about Christmas.

As one might imagine, Christmas in Japan is a little different than in the Western world.  There are elements of Christmas in places that involve shopping: lights, small (fake) trees, poinsettas, and at my grocery store, an inflatable Santa.  Christmas music can be heard; namely, "Happy Xmas (The War is Over)," "Last Christmas," and "Please Come Home for Christmas," which are played on repeat.  Throw in "I'll Be Home for Christmas," and you have some of the most depressing holiday songs in existence, except for "Happy Xmas," which is meant to be uplifting, but is depressing simply because it's so awful. 

Why is Christmas celebrated? Where does Santa live? Who's your favorite reindeer? (Prancer, obviously) What are the terms and conditions for getting presents?  These are questions without answers in Japan.  Instead, Christmas is a day for unmarried couples to go on special, romantic dates and exchange gifts, and for parents and grandparents to give small presents (purportedly from Santa) to very young children.  It's a day to eat Kentucky Fried Chicken and Christmas cake, both of which have to be ordered about a month in advance due to popularity.  But it's also a day like any other, where everything is open and everyone goes to work.

Please note the Col. in his Santa suit

So it is up to us as the gaijin to make our own Christmas.  This past weekend saw a cross-cultural Christmas party with eggnog, multi-flavored Kit Kats, homemade ginger snaps, bread and cheese, hot whiskeys, chocolate, and mince pies (which are very different from mincemeat pies).  This coming weekend we take Osaka by storm, visiting their Christmas market, viewing the illuminations, and consuming vast quantities of gluhwein and grilled sausages, possibly whilst wearing Santa hats.  We will watch Christmas movies and go caroling outside of the train station in Nara City (I'm fighting hard to make it a busking event so we can drink more hot whiskeys later on) and perhaps even stage a white elephant.  As for Christmas Day itself, I will spend the day with friends.  I am going to buy myself a block of cheddar cheese, go to mass with Paul, maybe get a massage, and Skype with my family.  Lofty plans, I know.  It's Christmas, when all our dreams come true. 

GREATEST HITS FROM EXAMS

Q: What is the dish you eat before your main meal?

A: Two hands washing is.

Q: What is the word for a person who works at a restaurant?

A: It's a woman.

"Mt. Fuji is made into the sightseeing spot at the mountain-climbing spot, and was well used also for the picture of the wall of a public bath a long time ago."

I'LL LEAVE YOU WITH THIS SCATALOGICAL THOUGHT

Call me crazy, but I've recently realized a key benefit of the squat toilets here.  In addition to being a great workout for your quads, it saves you from having to sit on a cold toilet seat in an unheated bathroom.  The Western toilet in my apartment is one of the worst parts of my morning, up there with the seemingly eternal 2 minutes that it takes to walk from my bedroom to the bathroom, change out of my pajamas, and get into the shower. Then there's the part where I dry off with the cold towel that is still wet from when I used it the morning before. Dante should have incorporated this experience into one of his circles of hell.  It reminds me of a scene in Roald Dahl's memoir about his childhood, when he talks about the miserable hazing he underwent at boarding school. The prefects would force the younger boys to go to the "bog" (outhouse) ahead of them and sit on the toilet seat for about half an hour, so it would be warmed for the prefect when he was ready to use it.  I can now empathize with both the prefects and their victims.  What I wouldn't give for a bog warmer.  (Hint, hint, Santa.  I promise I've been good this year.)

Next week I will be in Taiwan, which will put me out of blogging contact until after Christmas.  So let me take this opportunity to say to all of you back in the land of heterogeneity, Happy Hannukah-Christmas-Kwanzaa.   I hope it is very merry.  Much love, and miss you all.

CLIMB EVERY MOUNTAIN, FORD EVERY ONSEN

This weekend, a friend took me to climb a nearby mountain called Katsuragi.  Because December 1st marks the end of the "season" for the mountain, the hourly buses running to the base only left every other hour, forcing us to kill time for 60 minutes until the next one came.  Thankfully, the ascent went smoothly, and we climbed nearly 2-3 km at an 80 degree gradient in about an hour and a half.  The view at the top was entirely worth it.  Katsuragi acts as a natural border between Nara prefecture (where I live) and Osaka prefecture, and you can see both sides from the summit.  In the winter, the mountain gets snow, and you can toboggan down part of the way.  In the spring, large tracts of azalea bushes are in bloom, making the mountain look as though it's on fire.  The autumn leaves have been late this year, so we managed to catch the last of the fall color, which was nice.  

Nara and the Yamato Plain

Osaka

We went to catch the bus back down to the train station, only to find that we had just missed it, and the next one wasn't for another 2 hours.  So we wearily shouldered our packs and started the trek back down into town, another 2.4 km.  We felt we deserved a reward for all our efforts, so we treated ourselves to some rather posh cake and a trip to an onsen.  Onsen are public baths, some of which are fed by hot springs, while others contain chlorinated (but piping hot) water.  Onsen run the gamut in Japan, from the natural springs with tubs hewn into rock and the water brown from various minerals, to the super trendy, like Spa World in Osaka, where you can spend the day walking around in a bathrobe, visiting different themed areas.  This onsen, my first, more closely resembled a public bath where families would go to wash before they had plumbing in their own homes.  

Going to the onsen reminded me of the first time I went streaking- the worst part is getting your clothes off.  You have to strip (no swimsuits!) in order to partake of the baths, a daunting prospect for a lot of foreign people, even though men and women are segregated.  The Japanese, on the other hand, exhibit no self-consciousness.  When my friend and I walked into the changing room, we found an incredibly large Japanese woman sitting stark naked, drying off at a leisurely pace.  We, in contrast, undressed hurriedly before making a beeline for the showers as quickly as we could.  The "showers" are a series of handheld detachable wands that are attached to the wall- no shower stalls.  You grab a plastic bucket and your soap, plop yourself onto a stool, and wash wash yourself thoroughly with soap (and preferably shampoo).  The first time my friend went to an onsen, an obaachan (grandmother) came up to her with a towel and started vigorously scrubbing her back and sides.  Gotta make sure those gaijin are clean before they enter the baths.

Like the porridge tasting menu that Goldilocks enjoyed, the baths vary in temperature: hot, medium, cold.  Some have jets, some don't.  One tub had a low electric pulse to aid circulation.  I moved about, nearly passing out in the high heat tub and reviving in the cold water, before finding the "just right" space in the medium tub.  Generally, you're not supposed to soak in the onsen for too long, especially in the hot water.  If you've just eaten, you're discouraged from using the onsen, and if you're pregnant, you should tread carefully.  Overall, it was a great experience, and I'd definitely go again, particularly as a remedy against winter.  Next I want to try the natural springs, some of which are outdoors.  I've heard there's no better experience than being in a hot onsen outside as snow falls around you. 

When we were done, we dressed as quickly as we had disrobed.  As we were drying off, a young girl of 8 walked in, made eye contact with me, and immediately diverted her gaze to a really interesting spot on the ceiling.  Her mother followed, and the girl was overheard saying, "Mom!  Look, honorable gaijin are here.  They are so white!"  Mom replied, "I know.  I'm jealous."

PICK A NUMBER, ANY NUMBER

The term is over, and students are about to leave for winter break.  I am finishing up my grades, dutifully recording the marks from homework, projects, quizzes and tests.  This week a couple of my co-teachers came up to me to talk about final grades.  Here's how the conversation went:

JTE: "So, Eri-sensei, the average for these students needs to be 33.  You don't have to give them each 33 points, but around 33."

Me: "OK, but isn't the total number of points for the class this term 50 points?"

JTE: "Yes."

Me: "Well, what if there's a student who has earned top marks? Or a student who hasn't turned anything in?"

JTE: "The average for these students needs to be 33.  You don't have to give them each 33 points, but around 33 would be good."

I talked to a couple of other ALTs about it, and apparently this is all a normal part of the grading system here.  I'm still trying to figure out why, though.  I was told that when high school students apply to colleges, all the schools see on their transcripts is a grade point average.  It's hard to differentiate between students on this basis, so the universities have entrance exams that set students' abilities apart. Though why that means their individual class grades need to be within the same ballpark, I have no clue.  Can someone please 'splain me this?

Really, I think I've learned a lot in these whirlwind 4-5 months.  Here, in no particular order, are the Top 10 things I've been taught by students and teachers this term:

1. If you are on a sinking ship, forcing you to evacuate to a desert island, the one thing crucial to your survival on the island is a futon. I'm confident that the cast of LOST could have been found sooner had they known this piece of information.

2. If there were (God forbid) a fire at school, people on the second and third floors could climb down one-by-one through escape chutes that can be dropped out of the windows.  I know this because I watched several students perform a very slow demonstration of the process during a recent fire drill. Then, I checked to see if "liability" is a word in Japanese (it is). 

3. Some of the most famous people in the world include Michael Jackson and Mickey and Minnie Mouse.
4. The body temperature of Japanese people is one degree lower than everyone else's.

5. Dogs are wiser than cats, and therefore better.

6. It's OK if a student copies another person's homework, or hands in assignments late.  But you can expect a swift and forceful reprimand if the top button of your uniform shirt is undone.  (If you're the female ALT and you have two buttons of your very conservative collared shirt undone, exposing your clavicle, you can expect a) shy female students to make hushed motions warning you to button up, b) gregarious female students to shout "SEXAY, SEXAY," and c) your loveable and kind male Japanese co-teacher to whisper to you in embarrassment, "Oh, um, Eri sensei, your button..."

7. Men shave their eyebrows here, and sometimes use an eyebrow pencil to trace a couple of thin, light lines to give the impression that their eyebrows are fuller than they actually are. 

8. Facial hair is almost taboo for men.  I've only encountered one man with facial hair so far.  My supervisor sports a luxurious moustache that Tom Selick would envy. 

9. Rules matter.  The heaters at school are supposed to be activated on a certain day in December.  So if it's 40 degrees Farenheit in November, you have to tough it out.  Conversely, if it's close to 60 degrees in December, you have to deal with that, too. (A teacher who has never spoken to me walked past me in the hall on one such balmy day, and said very off-handedly, "It's an Indian summer, huh?"  I had no idea this guy spoke English.) 

10.  Gargling water loudly in the staff room before expectorating in the sink where we all wash our hands helps prevent colds.  Face masks also help. However, you should under no circumstances blow your nose in public.  Instead, you should try to snort the snot up your nose, and discreetly swallow it.  

Chestnut flavor!

LET'S GIVE THANKS

This week marked Thanksgiving, and eager to celebrate any occasion centering around food, some friends and I decided to organize a large feast.  There were nine of us in all, the four Americans outnumbered by our Commonwealth (and other) brethren: an Aussie, a Kiwi, a Scot, an Irishman, and a Brit.  However, the holiday was almost scuppered on Monday, when I returned from school to find that the electricity had been shut off in my apartment.**  No hot water, no way to light the gas stove, and no warming defenses against the 40 degree weather outside.  However, the biggest problem was the refrigerator, and more importantly, the variety of foods housed in said fridge, including the turkey.  I quickly packed up the essentials and headed to my friend's apartment, where he gave asylum to the turkey et al.   Saved!

Makeshift cornucopia

The feast, part 1

Wednesday was a national holiday, so we gathered at noon to partake of an epic meal that included turkey, stuffing, meat pies, cheese, salad, three kinds of homemade bread, cranberry sauce, wine, homemade pie, chocolates, mashed potatoes...and some other things I can't remember at the moment.  Oops. The EPA? We played games, talked about what we were thankful for, and stuffed ourselves silly.  Even better, Wednesday also happened to be the day of a huge festival for my village, and the procession passed right by my window.  Who needs the Macy's Thanksgiving parade when you have people singing and dancing, all while dressed in traditional Japanese clothing, such as samurai armor?  The best part of the day (other than not giving anyone salmonella poisoning from the turkey) was the cultural exchange. For the non-Americans, this was their first Thanksgiving, and they all seemed to enjoy it, while making fun our pronunciation of words like "banana" and "herbs."  We all agreed that on a day typically reserved for family and close friends, it was really nice to be able to come together as a surrogate family. 

One of my students was dressed up as the "princess" of the parade.

**It turns out that the automatic payment system for the electricity had not been set up (even though I had been told it had), and the statements I had been getting in the mail were not to help me keep track of what was being deducted from my account every month. 

KANE NO KIREME WA EN NO KIREME: "WHEN POVERTY FLIES IN, LOVE FLIES OUT"

My dad recently sent me an interview with an American named Donald Keene, who spent a lifetime translating Japanese literature into English.  He became a celebrity in Japan shortly after the Tohoku earthquake, when he announced that he was going to become a Japanese citizen and live out the rest of his days in Japan. I brought the article to my latest session with my adult eikaiwa group.  The Japanese are fascinated by perceptions of Japan in other cultures.  What are they known for?  What interests us about them? Basically: how have they impacted the larger world?

When I first brought up Donald Keene, I wasn't sure if anyone would have heard of him, since I hadn't until I read the article.  However, not only did everyone recognize his name, but they all had an opinion on him.  Most people smiled benignly at the mention of his name, but one of my ladies spoke up and said, "Oh, I don't think he speaks Japanese as well as everyone says he does."  "That's interesting," I responded, surprised, "I actually wanted to ask you all about something he said in the interview."  Quoth Keene: "The most important words in English are 'I love you.' When you translate that into Japanese, there is no 'I' and no 'you.'"  The group applauded wildly- "Yes! That is so true!" The Keene objectioner said begrudgingly, "Well, I guess he speaks Japanese better than I thought." I asked them why people express themselves that way. 

"We only use the verb.  When you say it to someone else, they know what you mean." 
"Because it's obvious? What if you're talking about someone you're going to marry, and you say to someone, 'I love him/her'?" 
"No, you still would only use the verb.  They would understand." 

Somehow the Japanese have managed to make love less proprietary, but also more impersonal.  There aren't different degrees or variations of love, it just exists.  And when you use the word, it should be obvious to the other person what your intent is. 

Two boulders are placed several meters apart at this temple.  According to the brochure, if you can walk blindfolded from one rock to the other, you will soon find your love.

The lone male in my adult eikaiwa group keeps asking me if husbands and wives in America talk to each other once they're married.  "I guess it depends," I say. "I think a lot of couples complain that they don't."  He always seems relieved whenever I say that.  "Japanese people too," he says.  Mr. M retired last year and found that while he had a lot of time on his hands, his wife was constantly busy, taking care of the house and doing other projects.  When she announced that she would not be making his lunch everyday, he signed up for a cooking class.  I love how progressive and flexible Mr. M is, especially since other Japanese men don't seem to adapt as well when they realize that being the main breadwinner doesn't necessarily make them the boss at home.  "My wife-y, she has no love for me anymore.  Before we are married, she very nice to me.  But now, nothing.  We have no love between us," bemoaned a teacher at my school after his wife forgot his birthday.  Ah, marriage.

Pumpkin cheese cake

COLD HANDS, WARM HEART

"What are you wearing?!" asks Amanda.  We've just connected via Skype, she sitting in a t-shirt in her centrally heated house in Tennessee, while I am attired in two pairs of sweatpants, a t-shirt, two fleeces, wool socks, and a ski hat.  "Um, well, it's cold here," I whine in justification.  With no insulation and no central climate control, Japanese buildings tend to trap in and amplify the outside temps, whether it be blistering heat or bone chilling cold.   Winter is a particularly sedentary time, as families huddle for warmth around the kotatsu, a large table with a heater under it.  A heavy blanket is placed over the table to hold in the heat, and everyone sits on the floor with their legs crammed underneath.  This position is maintained until spring.  Though I've been warned not to fall asleep under the kotatsu- "You can burn your feet."

The question of how to best heat an apartment generates a healthy debate.  

"Don't use your air conditioner to heat your apartment.  It has a heat function, but the bill will give you a heart attack." 

"Wait, I use my air conditioner to heat one of the rooms in my apartment.  It's not a big deal- it's fine!"

"No, it's way too expensive.  The kerosene heaters are pretty inexpensive.  That's what I use."

"Yeah, but they're really dangerous.  I mean, for one thing, you have to keep kerosene around, which is highly flammable.  Then you have to be careful not to leave your clothes or you towel sitting on top of the heater because they could catch fire and burn down your apartment."

"OK, but that's just stupid anyway.  The kerosene heater's not that dangerous. You just have to make sure you open the windows every so often to let out the carbon monoxide so that you don't get carbon monoxide poisoning."

I hope to survive the winter with option three, my Sanyo Accumulate ceramic fan heater.  Really, the temps here aren't that different from Washington, DC in winter.  However, it turns out that central heat makes a crucial difference, particularly during the 3 minute period in the mornings when you have to crawl out of bed, walk to the shower, wait for the water to heat, and get into the shower.  

ROSE-COLORED GLASSES

In a recent email from my intrepid correspondent in Kenya, she expressed her concern and solidarity as an expat, saying at one point, "One moment you say that you are extending [your contract] for another year and the next you mention that you are eating lunch alone..."  This struck me for two reasons, 1) I have some wonderful friends, and 2) Leigh is right- living abroad is not always bread and roses.  So I thought I'd "get real" and share my top 5  "WTF am I doing here? moments."  Some of them I've already detailed in previous posts, others are more recent.   The good news is that as frustrating as these things can be, the situation is always ameliorated, by a kind gesture, or assistance from a stranger, or commiseration with good friends.

1. I go into the grocery store for the first time alone and realize I have no idea what anything is.

2. It takes me 2 weeks to be approved for a cell phone, and 2 and half months to get Internet in my apartment.  

3. Japanese ATMs.  One of my biggest gripes about Japanese culture has to do with money.  I haven't had such trepidations about banking since I was 6 or 7, and my mom took me to the bank to open an account.  We were 99% through the process, when I balked at having to hand over my vast fortune (probably close $20).  I believe my exact words were, "When can I visit it?"  (As a child, I really enjoyed counting my money, which made me feel like Scrooge MacDuck from "Duck Tales," with his swimming pool of gold coins.) The teller explained that she was going to deposit my money with everyone else's, so I couldn't really "visit" it per se.  My young mind boggled as I hugged my Ziploc bag of change closer to my body.  This had to be a scam.  Mom, realizing this was a deal breaker, thanked the teller and packed me off quickly into the car.  I didn't open a checking account until I was 13.  

To this day, not being able to get my hands on my money makes me nervous.  Especially since in Japan, cash culture + significant expense of living, eating, shopping and traveling = one must carry around a substantial amount of cash.  However, gaining access to your hard-earned yen is a challenge. First of all, not all ATMs run on the same schedule, even if they belong to the same bank.  From what I can gather, as a rule, ATMs function from 8:45am-6pm M-F.  From 8-8:45am and 6-9pm there is a $2 surcharge to withdraw. Past 9pm, you can forget about it-the ATM will have shut down completely.  On weekends you have to pay a $2 surcharge all day.  And if you have plans to start your Christmas shopping on a national holiday, don't assume that you can make a withdrawal, even if it is a weekday. Otherwise you will show up to the ATM to find the machine turned off, which may in turn cause you to wonder what this country is coming to.  

4. Getting my reentry visa.  If you have a visa to work or live in Japan, you have to get a reentry visa if you plan on leaving that country at any point in time.  If you leave without one, they won't let you back into Japan.  Slightly problematic.  So last Friday I traveled an hour on the train, walked another 30 minutes in the rain, and after being lost for a good 20 minutes thanks to the inadequate map provided by my contracting organization, I finally found the immigration bureau. However, it was closed because it was 12:08, and the office takes lunch from 12-1, which of course is not mentioned on their website, which lists their hours from 9AM-4PM.  So there I sat, wet from the knees down, wrapped in the drafty, smoke-filled cocoon of the immigration bureau, waiting for it to reopen.  When the clock tolled one, the doors dutifully parted, at which point I was thwarted again by a Japanese couple who had arrived at 12:50pm, and efficiently and ruthlessly cut in front of me.  My turn finally came, and my business took all of 8 minutes to complete.  Oddly, I don't know if the quick turnaround time made the experience worse or more bearable.  Regardless, I can now flee the country whenever I want and return.  

5. Trash bins.  Throughout Japan, there is nary a trash bin to be found.  Occasionally you'll find one in a train station, but it's usually hidden and they only accept obscure materials like newspapers, as opposed to the things you really want to toss, like water bottles or chewing gum wrappers. And because littering is the 8th deadly sin, you're forced to squirrel this detritus away in your bag or pockets.  Don't be mottainai (wasteful).  Do be a hoarder. 

THE ROUTINE

A weekly routine is emerging.  By day, I'm the teacher who is often mistaken for her students (another teacher almost stopped me one morning to ask why I was out of uniform).  Weeknights usually resemble a Regency novel, sitting by the light of my laptop instead of a candle, reading or writing letters, occasionally watching Hulu.  Now if only Mr. Darcy would come a knocking.  I'm thinking about learning some sort of needlework over the course of this long, cold winter, weaving my way into spinsterhood.  

This coming Wednesday I committed to going to exercise with a group of teachers, including our principal, who is probably in his early 50s and runs daily.  I'm prepared to be shamed by his personal fitness, and have been assured that no one will think less of me if I walk with the other female teacher who was invited.  Time to get fit!

Thursday nights are spent with my adult eikaiwa (English conversation) group, which consists of 7 women and 1 man, all in their late 50s and 60s.  Each week, they come equipped with notebooks, one iPad, electronic dictionaries, and a smorgasbord of sweets.  While my high schoolers are learning how to order off an English menu, my "grannies" (as my friend Paul calls them) want to talk about the debt crisis, the presidency and separation of powers, idiomatic expressions, and what Houston, TX is like.  

Their most recent source of fascination is the Occupy New York movement.  The whole scenario is unfathomable to them.  "What do they want?" they keep asking me.  "Japanese people would never do this."  When I asked why, they seemed at a loss for words, and looked around the table at one another to see who would speak first.  Hemming and hawing, there was no direct answer.  What I gleaned was that public protest is beyond undignified- it's a slap in the face to national unity.  In a country where people wear face masks when they have a runny nose to prevent others from getting ill, to stand up and make a stink about something they don't agree with seems...well, rude.  Even though Japan has multiparty system, people widely acknowledge that all the politicians and their platforms are pretty much the same.  They regard the revolving door of prime ministers as a grim joke, but can't actually admit out loud that they're frustrated by it.  "If people are so sick of the politicians," I asked, "Why don't they pick someone new?"  There was no answer to this question, either.  Stick with the devil you know.  

45 MINUTES ALL TO MYSELF

A while back, en route to a festival in Sakurai, an 8 year-old clamored up to our group.  "What kind of people are you?" he asked in Japanese (that's the literal translation- in English, it equates to "Where are you from?") "We're from America," I said, ignoring our Kiwi and Irish friends' national identities in a typically American fashion.  "Oh!" he replied, and then ran a short distance before turning again and shouting, "Hello! Hello!" until we looked at him, at which point he simultaneously picked his nose and grabbed his crotch in a very provocative manner (as in, meaning to provoke, not to seduce). 

Flash forward to the festival itself.  A small girl in a traditional Japanese yukata looked up at me, did a double take, pointed, and started shrieking, "America-jin! America-jin!" ("American! American!"), in a tone that suggested that she could see a massive asteroid hurtling towards the earth, and was attempting to warn the passerby. 

What, this old thing? Why, I only wear this when I don't care how I look!

Four months into this gig, I thought that the novelty of being the new foreigner would have worn off, at least in my community.  It's not as though they've never seen a female Anglo before.  I mean, there was one living in my apartment for four years before I moved in.  But either I'm stranger than the average gaijin, or people just can't get enough of the things foreigners do.  Like Lindsay Lohan in Mean Girls, I've taken to eating my lunch in a secluded spot (in my case, the women's changing room).  This is to avoid the curious looks in the staff room as I heat my food in the microwave, along with the accompanying questions: What is that? Did you cook it? Can I smell it? What do you call it in English?  One student wandered by my desk one day, asked me what I was eating, and then requested to try a bite.  She thought it was tasty, but still- I'd rather not face judgment on my "lazy lunch" days of yogurt and a bag of potato chips.  

Barley tea flavor

Chai tea flavor

Green tea flavor

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

The Japanese welcome any excuse to dress up in costumes, which makes Halloween perhaps the greatest cultural import since baseball.  This year I journeyed to Osaka to partake in my first Japanese Halloween.  Our plan was to meet up with some other people and then hang out at a bar until the first train out at 5:15 am.  Other than making the train, nothing else seemed to go to plan, and the night had elements of a classic buddy movie: strange characters, brushes with gangsters, crazy coincidences, and a trip to a fast food joint.

After a quick dinner, we went in search of the JETs at a bar.  One drink turned into many, and in that time period, most of the JETs had wandered off, and we found ourselves talking to a Japanese man and his two kids, ages 5 and 7 (yes, he had brought his children to a bar).  Also present was an expat from Louisiana, who immediately cottoned to me as a fellow southerner.  As we chatted, it came to light that he used to date my 7th grade English teacher.  Just another day in Japan.

The bar was eventually abandoned as we moved out to wander the trendy areas of Osaka in search of some people watching.  Oh, what a spectacle!  I regret I did not take more pictures.  Vegetables, boxers, bananas in pajamas, Muammar Gaddafi, Ronald McDonald, sexy cops, sexy flight attendants, men in drag, anime characters, and all sorts of gore-encrusted creatures roamed the streets.  Traffic was tight with the tricked-out Cadillacs of the yakuza (Japanese gangsters) cruising by.  People caroused, staggered drunkenly, and stopped every 5-10 ft. to take photos with strangers.  However, as the night wore on, the revelers started to flag, falling asleep in cafes, and sitting in exhausted huddles on the pavement and in the parks.  The witching hour had passed, and we were now all sitting pumpkins.

Yakuza hanging out

The evening culminated in a visit to a purgatorial McDonalds, where we waited with the dregs of Halloween humanity from 3:30 am until the subway opened at 5 am.  Luckily, the time passed quickly, thanks to a JET whose company we had acquired at the bar earlier in the evening.  The individual in question knows how to have a good time, and not wanting to abandon him in his state, we led him by the hand through Osaka, trying to keep him awake and vertical.  The effort was well worth it, as he greatly entertained us, zoning in and out of the conversation with every passing scantily clad Japanese girl, a look of joy and wonderment lighting up his face each time.  

The McDonald's crew was an interesting cross-section, from the homeless, to numerous elderly people, to gaijin like us, to Japanese youths. Makeup was starting to run, and wigs were askew. Some people were dead asleep among their hamburger wrappers and empty cups, while others clearly had no intention of purchasing anything, but were determined to camp out anyway.  A few patrons were carried in, completely passed out.  But at 4:45 am, everyone was galvanized into action and made a break for the train station, and eventually, our beds.   Happy Halloween, all.

Everyone is welcome at the Golden Arches

GIVE ME A BREAK

My third years are starting on their big project of the trimester, making their own advertisement and presenting it in front of the class.  As an example, I brought in a KitKat bar and did the old jingle, "Give me a break, give me a break...break me off a piece of that KitKat bar!"  Later, the JTE told me, "Did you know that in Japan, students consider KitKats lucky?"  "KitKat," it turns out, is remarkably similar to a Japanese saying, Kitto-katsu, or "I know you will win!"  During exam time, students squirrel away packages of KitKats as brain food and good luck charms.  We're still awaiting the results of the research trials to confirm this theory.

Cookies and cream

Back in the olden days, the only KitKat flavor that existed was milk chocolate.  Now the brand has gotten fancy, and introduced a whole host of flavors, which seemed to be geared mainly towards the Japanese market, with flavors like green tea, cherry blossom, wasabi and soy sauce.  Since learning of this flavor diversification, I've found an additional purpose in Japan: to try as many varieties of KitKats as possible.  

"Dark cookies"

IT'S IN THE BLOOD

One of my third years ran up to me after class last week and asked what my blood type is. I asked the JTE about it later.

JTE: Oh, they saw your drawings on the board [which were horrifically terrible]. In Japan we think that people who have type O blood are [?]
Me: What is [?]
JTE: Oh, it means...not nervous. Big heart.

Unfortunately, I think I might have type A blood. So I guess this means I’m just a bad artist.

This encounter got me thinking.  On Facebook, many Japanese people have their blood type listed, which seemed quirky, but I assumed had some practical purpose.  So I turned to that incontrovertible source, the Internet.  It yielded the following information: geneticists of the Third Reich examined blood type as a possible indicator of personality.  Somehow this caught on in Japan, and it has become a huge fad, like horoscopes were in the 70s.  Politicians and celebrities list blood type among their stats, along with birth date and hometown.  Blood type is also used in matchmaking services and job applications, and TV programs provide a daily blood horoscope.  On the downside, this pseudo-scientific classification of people has led to instances of discrimination, not to mention bullying at school (which is called bura-hara when related to blood type). Should you desire more insight into your own personality, I provide below a chart for your reference.  

Type A
Best traits	Earnest, creative, sensible, reserved, patient, responsible
Worst traits	Fastidious, overearnest, stubborn, tense
Type B
Best traits	Wild, active, doer, creative, passionate, strong
Worst traits	Selfish, irresponsible, unforgiving, unpredictable
Type AB
Best traits	Cool, controlled, rational, sociable, adaptable
Worst traits	Critical, indecisive, forgetful, irresponsible, "split personality"
Type O
Best traits	Agreeable, sociable, optimistic
Worst traits	Vain, rude, jealous, arrogant

HIROSHIMA, JAPAN

I admit, I was a little wary as an American to visit Hiroshima.  In a world where people from foreign nations still hold George W. Bush against us, I couldn't imagine what it would be like to walk around a city that my country (along with a few others) destroyed.  However, it proved to be a great trip, and I can confidently say that Hiroshima is my favorite place in Japan so far.

I took the night bus, which put me in Hiroshima around 6AM.  I bounded off the bus surprisingly rested, checked into a hostel when it opened at 8AM, and then grabbed my camera and headed to Miyajima.  Miyajima is an island about an hour from Hiroshima proper.  It's famous for its torii gate, which at high tide looks as though it's floating on the sea.    This view is considered one of the three most beautiful in Japan.  However, Miyajima has a great deal more to offer than just the torii gate.   It is also the site of a beautiful shrine suspended over the sea, as well as Mt. Misen, which is considered a holy mountain.  If you make the arduous hike to the top, there's a breathtaking view of Hiroshima and the surrounding islands, including Shikoku, one of the main islands of Japan. 

Torii gate

Itsukushima Shrine

View from Mt. Misen

GALLANTRY, THY NAME IS MAYU-AKI-YUKI-SAE-ETC.

Here's the story of how I was rescued from either mauling or murder by half a dozen nine year-old Japanese girls.  

I've detailed in previous posts my clashes with the deer of Nara.  Alas, Miyajima proved to be no haven from this scourge.  I was sitting by the sea, savoring the Goldfish my mother had exported from the States to Japan, when a hungry deer came my way.  As I attempted to shield my precious Goldfish from the deer with my body, he/she/it took offense, and starting rooting around in my backpack, which was sitting next to me.  I wasn't terribly concerned until I realized that the deer had sniffed out the sembei (crackers) I had just bought 10 minutes earlier to bring back to the teachers at my school.  It pulled out the bag, and quickly and efficiently shredded it, causing crackers to fly everywhere.  The deer then proceeded to calmly munch on the fallen snacks.

It all happened so fast.  By the time I stood up, it was over.  All I could do was mutter repeatedly sotto voce various dark epithets.  I quickly realized there was nothing that could be done to remedy the situation.  My mind then turned to what I should do in retaliation.  Push the deer into the sea?  It could probably swim.  Let it choke on the plastic bag?  Not even my cold cold heart could countenance that.  My ruminations were cut short by the entrance of a gaggle of young Japanese girls, who had been watching the spectacle in frozen horror.  They immediately took charge, grabbing the plastic away from the deer, collecting the ruined crackers from the ground, and then forming a ring around the deer and herding it away from me (by this time the deer had started to eye my Goldfish again and was making its way towards me).  They brushed off the crackers one by one, and handed them to me with bowed heads, saying, "Sumimasen," which translates roughly as, "Excuse me."  Their intervention was enough to diffuse the situation, and I thanked them profusely and then walked away, giving the evil eye to the deer, who had lost interest once all recognizable food sources disappeared.  

One of my antagonist's brethren. I'm still bitter.

DON'T EAT THE PICTURES

The city of Hiroshima has built a sizable peace park, which includes a very balanced and informative museum.  It traces the history of Hiroshima from a growing port to a strategic location for the Japanese army, with a barracks and training ground for an army regiment during the Sino-Japanese and Russo-Japanese wars.  Eventually, this made Hiroshima a prime target for the Allies.  However, what I did not know, but learned at the museum, was that Hiroshima was essentially chosen over Niigata and other considered cities because it was the one area where no POWs were being held.  The Allies chose Japan over Germany to test the bomb, because they figured that if the bomb didn't detonate, the Japanese would have a harder time appropriating the bomb's technology than the Germans (who, as you history buffs may remember, were developing their own atomic weapon).  The final straw was that the US in particular was eager to bring about an end to the war.  America feared the growing power of the Soviet Union, and wanted to end the war before Stalin did something Stalin-esque, like invade and occupy Japan.

And so, the bomb was dropped on August 6, 1945.  Photos of the city taken a month later show little more than rubble, save for a few remaining structures, such as a building now called the A-bomb dome (even more remarkable considering that Little Boy detonated a few hundred meters from the structure).  The museum has case after case of artifacts from the surrounding area: glass and pottery that melted together from the heat and radiation; metal lunch boxes that survived intact, housing the ashy remains of a lunch that was never eaten; the clothes of children of various ages, ripped apart and clearly displaying stains I'd rather not think too much about.  Then there are the photos.  Most people within the immediate blast area died within a few days, in excruciating pain.  Yet there were others who lingered.  The photos of their burns are surreal- it's like looking at a petrified person from Pompeii.  Then you're taken through the aftermath of the bomb: the different kinds of cancers, the burn scars, the instances of birth defects and mental retardation found in children years later, etc. 

Post-bombing

A-bomb dome today.  At the bottom of the photo are a bunch of elementary school students.  Hiroshima is a popular field trip destination, like Washington, DC is for Americans.

The museum closes with its propaganda against the continued existence of and military exercises with nuclear weapons.  There are photos of various dignitaries who have visited the city, from Mother Teresa to Pope John Paul II to members of the G8 to various presidents and prime ministers from the former Soviet Union.  Copies of letters written by the mayor of Hiroshima to every sitting U.S. president since the war line the walls. 

I think what surprised me the most about Hiroshima in general is their capacity for forgiveness.  There are no recriminations, no lingering hatred of the West.  Instead, the message is: let this never happen anywhere, to anyone, ever again.   

Paper cranes.  The sheer volume of these offerings at the different monuments is staggering.  Cranes represent longevity, but they also relate to the story of a young girl from Hiroshima who developed leukemia at age 11.  She thought that if she could fold 1,000 cranes, she would survive. When children visit Hiroshima, they make garlands of these cranes to leave at the Childrens' Memorial.

(As a side note, amongst the many monuments in the peace park, there is one memorial to the Korean victims of the bomb.  Thousands of Chinese and Korean people were forcibly brought to Japan as slave labor during WWII.  A great number of them were sent to Hiroshima and died in the blast.)   

HOOK 'EM HORNS

Of its many attractions, Nara is perhaps most renowned for its sacred deer (population 1200).  With no predators in sight, the deer run this town.  They cross busy roads with nonchalant abandon, confident that the motorists will stop for them.  They sidle up to tourists in the hope that someone will feed them.  They cluster around the little carts that sell sembei, or crackers, which are then fed to the deer.    The deer have even been trained to bow to tourists, a neat and endearing trick that often results in more sembei.  

For the past 300 years, Nara City has held a ceremony in the autumn in which Shinto priests capture male deer and remove their horns.  Traditionally, this was to prevent the deer from harming one another when sparring during mating season, as well as a means of preserving the trees in the park as the deer became more aggressive.  Now it's also a measure of protection for the tourists, who think of Nara as a giant petting zoo and disregard the fact that these are in fact wild animals (despite the civility of the deer as they bow for sembei).  There are large signs throughout the park warning visitors that the deer will "bite, butt, kick and knock down" people. Still, there are casualties every year. I learned the hard way that the deer are not to be trusted or pitied. A while back I was nearly trampled by a herd as I attempted to feed them crackers (they looked so pitiful!).   They descended upon me like a group of velociraptors- you have your sights fixed on the horde milling around you, when the she deer comes out of nowhere and bites you in the butt.

But I digress.  The process of the removal of the antlers is akin to a rodeo.  Three deer are let into a closed pen, followed by 10-15 men, some of whom are carrying Japanese lassos- bamboo lashed together into a square shape and tied to a long rope.  The lasso is thrown out, and if all goes well, the antlers get caught in the bamboo, and the deer is pulled in.  Meanwhile, 4-5 men set up a wall of fabric blocking off the caught deer from the sight of the other two.  Kind of like when the dentist takes you into another room before pulling out your teeth.

One brave man pins the captured deer to the ground as the others help.  Once the deer is immobilized, it is gently carried to a straw pallet, which has been unfurled on the ground.  The men lay the deer on the pallet, placing its head on a fluffy pillow.  A priest in a black mitre-like hat comes out, dribbles a little water from a tea pot into the deer's mouth "to calm it," and then takes out a hand saw and gently and deftly removes the horns.  When it's over, the men let go of the deer, and it runs off into a separate pen.  Painless. As you leave, you can pay 100 yen to have your picture taken with the sawed-off horns.  Some restaurants in the area even serve soups with shaved deer horn, or fry slivers into chips.

It's a good racket. The deer are well cared for, and the city makes a mint off of deer memorabilia.  Key chains, hand puppets, stuffed animals, postcards, tshirts, bags, hats, etc.  And let's not forget Sento-kun, Nara's mascot.  Each area in Japan has a mascot.  Nara chose a baby in a sarong with deer antlers. 

Sento-kun's GQ spread

Sento-kun and family: a portrait of creepiness.  This unnerved me more than anything I've seen in Japan so far.  At first I thought they were all dolls dressed up as different members of Sento-kun's family.  Negative.  If you look closely, they are actually humans dressed up as dolls dressed up as Sento-kun's family.

RUN, SHINJO, RUN

In schools across Japan, academia screeches to a halt for one or two October days for the commemoration of Sports Day.  What it commemorates, I'm not sure.  Athletic prowess? School unity? Nice weather? Pick a reason.  Regardless, it's taken very seriously and provides a two day break from classes: one day to practice, the other for the competition.  Sports day proper begins with an assembly on the field.  The school band plays marching music, and the various classes march by in lock step, chanting "Ichi ni, Ichi ni" or "One two, one two."  The students troop by and salute the principal (who was standing, appropriately, on a raised platform with a microphone).

The events are mostly what you would expect: relays, races of various distances around the track, tug of war, etc.  Then there are the wild cards, like the game where a male student must run 10 yards to where a group of his classmates are holding steady a long bamboo pole in a pose reminiscent of the raising of the American flag at Iwo Jima.  He then literally jumps onto the backs of his teammates, shimmies up the pole, and places a flag at the top.  He jumps down, and the next boy in line repeats the process, except he takes down the flag that the first boy planted.  This goes on and on until every team is done (and the backs of the bamboo crew are broken).  

In another game, the girls take to opposite ends of the field.  When the starter pistol is fired, they run to the center, where there are more bamboo poles lying on the ground.  The girls try to bring back as many poles as they can for a win.  The desire to win is palpable, and I watched many a young girl being dragged by a gang of classmates across the dirt.  It had the makings of a scene from The Hunger Games. As for me, I was heartily glad to be out of the fray.  Indeed, I was well taken care of.  At seventy degrees with a vigorous breeze, it was a bit chilly for me, the cold-blooded one.  A student, chagrined at my perceived discomfort (goosebumps), immediately came over and started rubbing her hands up and down my arms to make me warmer.  Cue theme music to "To Catch a Predator."

Lest you think that I simply sat on my bum all day, I will mention that I did participate in two races.  One was a relay race with a bunch of the other "young" teachers against the students, which we lost.  Badly.  The second involved the students running a quarter of the track and then picking up a big card with the name of a teacher and a task.  They then had to go find the teacher, and run another quarter of the track with that teacher while skipping, running a three-legged race, holding hands and twirling in a circle, etc.  One of the teachers had to pick up a student and run with him across the finish line, like Kevin Costner and Whitney Houston in The Bodyguard.  As for me, Daniel and I held the hands of a first year student as we ran pellmell. Happily, we quickly passed the other contestants and our student won first place.  As we crossed the finish line, I couldn't help flinging my hands up in the air in victory.  This is, after all, probably the closest I will ever come to running in an actual race.