NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM

One of my pledges in coming to Japan was to eat as much as possible, and so far, I feel as though I'm making good use of my time.  Those of you who are friends with me on Facebook have probably seen the entire album I have dedicated to photos I've taken of things I've eaten or want to eat. (Drew and Pauline, I blame you for this sick compulsion.) For those of you who are not on Facebook and therefore haven't seen the photos, this blog post is for you.  I'm calling it "the food porn" entry.

In my next life, I will move someplace where I can eat a baguette, some sort of ripened cheese, and a charcuterie plate every day, accompanied by fruit, pickles and fresh vegetables.  However, that life is not this one.  This reality is filled with foodstuffs ranging from the glorious to "what the hell is that"?  I'm steadily becoming a pseudo-vegetarian, as meat is expensive, and vegetables are reasonably priced.  I became the envy of all my friends when I found a farmer's market near my school.  Once a week I go stock up on locally grown okra, potatoes, figs, carrots, onions, garlic, basil, eggplant and tomatoes.  As a result, I am ruined.  Gone are the days when I will go to the supermarket and pick up a genetically enhanced, watery, mealy tomato.  The very thought turns my stomach.  The paradise that is the farmers' market lacks only one thing: affordable fruit.  

Fruit is prohibitively expensive in Japan- $5 for one apple, close to $10 for a small cluster of grapes.   But oh, the flavor! Eating a grape is like tasting the richest, plummiest piece of grape candy imaginable.  A Japanese white peach is so delicious that you may have to put your head between yours knees because you start seeing rainbows.  This may sound hyperbolic, but I assure you, every word is true.  Except for maybe the rainbows.  All fruits are eaten peeled.  For example, the Japanese have invented a rather charming method of separating the flesh of grapes from their skins.  Simply bite off the top of the grape before gently using your teeth to juice the fruit (don't puncture the skin!), while simultaneously sucking on it until the grape pops out, leaving its shell behind. An easy way to fascinate (and possibly disgust) the Japanese is to pop an entire grape in your mouth, or chomp down on an unpeeled apple or peach.

MY TOP 5 FOOD MOMENTS...SO FAR

1. I make my own caviar.  I have long loved "ikura," which is a kind of sushi that involves red caviar.  Imagine my glee when I found a whole skein of roe at the local supermarket, begging me to take it home.  

So I caved to the impulse buy, and got to work.  First, I had to separate each individual piece of roe from the membrane.  I tried to do this by hand with a paring knife, only to realize that it could be Christmas before I finished.  So instead, I logged on to the miraculous world that is the Internet, and deferred to the wisdom of the foodies.  Following their instructions, I boiled some water, let it cool a touch, and then submerged the skein for a few minutes.  I then removed the skein and easily pulled away the bits of membrane, revealing perfect little jeweled globes of roe.  

Victory! I thought.  I made my sushi rice.  I unfurled my nori (dried seaweed used in sushi).  I sat down, and took my first bite...of disgusting fishy fluid.  DISASTER. Had the roe expired? Did I do something wrong?  I again sought solace and answers in the Internet, and realized that I had skipped a crucial step: you have to brine the roe in order to make caviar.  So I made a warm saline solution, poured in the roe, and let it sit for half an hour.  Problem solved.

2. Two words: squid jerky (surume).  A friend was gifted a bag of "sweets," which she brought to share at a potluck.  Upon opening the bag, it soon became clear that the sweets were, in fact, various kinds of dried, salted squid.  However, refusal was not an option for this intrepid crew.  Each person manned a bag, and the snacking commenced. My conclusion: robust, maritime flavor given depth by aging.  I'm convinced there is a market for this product in the States. Let me know if you want a piece of this action.  We can brand it as healthy, as it is made of fish.

3. Black sesame ice cream. One hot day, I opted to cool down with some ice cream.  Ignoring the more conventional vanilla or chocolate, or even green tea or red bean, I elected to try the black sesame.  Slightly gritty in texture and taste, let's put this down as one of the things that Ben and Jerrys should not pick up as their new featured flavor (though "Black Sesame" does sound more appetizing than "Schweddy Balls"). 

4. Sushi.  I haven't eaten as much as one might expect, but the few times I have, it's been delicious.  I've enjoyed the greatest hits: yellowtail, salmon roe, various kinds of maki, salmon, octopus, eel, etc.  The most spectacular was toro (fatty tuna), which made me weak in the knees.  The worst was  seaweed with some sort of fish egg attached to it. I think it's safe to say that it was one of the more revolting things I've ever eaten- tasteless and of a hair-raising consistency, like something that had congealed and been put on rice.

The offending green sushi is middle right; toro is back center.

5. Goya, or bitter melon.  This vegetable is popular in Okinawa, and looks like I imagine a snozzcumber would, if Roald Dahl's book "The BFG" were to come to life.  Described by Dahl as "filthsome," that pretty much encompasses the taste of bitter melon, according to my sources.   Per instructions from knowledgeable Japanese acquaintances, I first cut the goya into small slices and salted them, squeezing out their juice in order to lessen the bitter flavor.  I then sauteed them in a pan with pieces of pork before adding soy sauce and a little rice vinegar.  The result? The vegetable was a little piquant, but not inedible.  I think it helped that the pan I sauteed them in was filled with drippings from bacon I had fried moments earlier.  

On a somewhat related tangent, I've slowly been making a few friends here.  We are united by our relatively advanced age, our sense of adventure, our love for traditional Japanese culture and experiences, but most of all, our obsession with food.   Our friendship was clinched when, ten minutes into a trip to Kyoto, I asked for us to detour across the busy street so I could take a photo of the Japanese branch of The Doughnut Plant for my doughnut pilgrimage compatriots from this spring.  The group willingly agreed, and instead of preparing to saunter on after the requisite photos had been taken, they suggested that we stop for a doughnut taste test.  What made this even more remarkable was the fact that we had met up not 45 minutes before for coffee and a pastry at the train station.  People who like to eat every 30 minutes to an hour? Kismet.

Four...doughnuteers?

WHEN IN ROME

Living in Japan, there's a cultural integration process.  Learning how to bow and when (10, 45 or 90 degrees), what to do with your shoes once you've removed them at an entrance (line them up neatly facing the door, so you can easily step into them when you depart), what form of "thank you" to use (present tense when someone is handing you something or in the middle of doing something for you, past tense after the action is completed), etc.  There are new gestures and body language to be assimilated.  Perhaps most confusing is the motion for "come here": extending the palm face down, then fanning the fingers in a move that we associate with shooing something or someone.  


My favorite gesture is "the shark fin."  When trying to move through crowds or past people, you bow at a 70 degree angle, with your hand held like a fin, which you then touch to your forehead as you move, muttering, "Sumimasen! Sumimasen!"

The shark fin at work

Conversely, here's a somewhat blurry photo of Western body language as decoded by an English textbook used in Japanese high schools:

As we all know, folding your hands over your abdomen with your elbows sticking out signifies "I'm bored."

Perhaps my greatest nemesis in everyday Japanese life is the trash.  There is nary a public trash bin for miles.  Furthermore, the Japanese trash collection system is as tortuous as the US tax code.  Rubbish is sorted into four basic categories: burnable (food scraps, paper, etc.); plastic; PET bottles, glass and aluminum; and bulk items, like broken crockery, old futons, piles of newspaper, etc.  It's difficult to know which bin certain materials go in, and to remember which days which things are picked up.  Burnable trash is picked up twice a week, recyclables twice a month.  Depending on how strict your local trash collection is, if you mis-sort your garbage, you can expect to find the bag returned to you in all its stinky shame.  The fabled bulk items day occurs maybe once a month; however, no one seems to know which day of the month it will be  Instead, it sneaks up on you like a surprise Christmas, with a mass exodus of old clothes, moldy blankets, and broken TVs and electronics.  If you miss it, you're forced to continue to hoard junk in your closets for another month plus.

Chart showing the different categories of trash, and which days they are to be picked up

If you're on time in Japan, you're late.  The Japanese make the most out of every minute of the day.  A Japanese acquaintance told me recently, "Let's meet at 6:40."  Not 6:30, not 6:45, but 6:40.  Or, more accurately, 6:35.  I showed up punctually at the predetermined time to find her waiting for me.  "I hope you have not been waiting long," I said politely.  "Oh, don't worry, I'm used to Americans being late," she replied.  Late, I thought.  I'm on time! Moral of the story: always show up 5 minutes early.  And even then, you'll probably find the Japanese person you're meeting waiting for you.



IT'S HOT UNDER THIS SPOTLIGHT
Small town life in Japan is pretty much like small town life anywhere.  Newcomers stick out, and everyone knows everything about everyone else's business.  If you bought toilet paper at the convenience store last night, one of your students heard about it from their sister's cousin's best friend's dog.  A JET friend who lives in a town 20 minutes away said to me recently, "I hear you ate peanuts for lunch last week."  I looked at her quizzically and she elaborated, "I'm friends with the woman at the post office, whose sister's daughter is a student teacher at your school."  The spies! They're everywhere!

Part of my self-intro lesson at school involves letting the kids ask me questions about myself, America, or anything that gets them talking.  Usually they ask what music I listen to and where do I want to visit in Japan, over and over again. However, one of my classes came up with:

Do you have a boyfriend? (A popular question in all my classes)
Why is purple your favorite color?
What other languages do you speak?
Is your hair color natural?*
Why did you want to be a teacher?

*They consider me a blonde here- huzzah! However misguided (or flat-out wrong) that may be, I'm looking forward to finally experiencing the perks of being towheaded.

On Friday, it happened.  After the seemingly obligatory "Do you have a boyfriend?," a female student asked the follow-up question of, "What kind of man do you like?"** I looked around the room in amazement to see one of my male students looking intently at me.  When I caught his eye, he immediately began wiggling his eyebrows at me in a suggestive manner.  Not to be outdone by a seventeen-year-old, I maintained eye contact while wiggling my eyebrows back.  I then ruined this moment of uncharacteristic aplomb by blushing deep crimson.


**One JET suggested later, "Choose someone older, manlier, and completely different from them in every way! Crush their dreams!"

THE STUDENTS ARE HERE! THE STUDENTS ARE HERE!

Term has officially started, and it's a lovely change to have students running amok in the halls.  I'm teaching 13 English conversation classes a week, each 50 min long.  Because the typhoon caused several days of classes to be canceled, I've only taught a handful of lessons, so it's difficult to get a bearing on what teaching will be like. So far, it hasn't been a huge success- students spend the period staring at me, only to look away quickly when I ask them a question.  But there have been no revolts or deaths, so I guess that's something. 

English curricula in Japan concentrate on speaking English, not on reading or writing it.  This was somewhat of a shock for me, considering that in American high schools and colleges, language students are typically expected to be able to at least write a paragraph in that language, if not a short essay.  Though Japanese schools start teaching English as early as kindergarten, the level of instruction doesn't progress very far.  For one thing, there is no systematic teaching of grammar (how pronouns work, conjugating verbs, etc.). Most of the high school students I've encountered speak in simple, declarative sentences: "I like soccer." "My favorite food is pasta." "I have 2 sisters."   Indeed, I've been told that it's not uncommon for the Japanese teachers of English to not actually be able to speak English, and spend the class speaking in Japanese. This forced the government to pass a law this year stating that English must be spoken in English classes the entire time, and that all Japanese teachers of English must undergo a proficiency test.  If you don't pass, you can find a new job.  (All the teachers at my school speak English well.  There are also a number of students who have incredible facility in English, usually because they have at least one parent who studied abroad in an English-speaking country, or studied it in school.)   

The line between me and the students is an interesting one.  There are three types of relationships I can discern.  First, Normal Sensei: these students treat me as any other teacher, and bow low to me in the hallways, or on the road to and from school.  They are also the least likely to talk or make eye contact with me.  They are respectful, but painfully shy. 

Then there's Be My Pet Elephant Sensei.  Many of the girls are far more familiar, and like to pet, examine and praise.  I had one girl offer me french fries on the condition that she be allowed to feed them to me like a greasy communion wafer.  Another randomly started playing with my hair, until I turned around to talk to her.  She blurted something out in Japanese, and refused to tell me what she had said until I appealed to another student, who replied, "She says you smell good."

Being a westerner, this feels a little creepy and more than a little wrong.  It probably would be by Japanese standards too if I were Japanese, but because I'm the "other," people seem to find this kind of behavior charming, as if this is just a part of the cultural exchange.  I mean, students in the West give teachers back rubs or sniff them for traces of perfume, lotion or deodorant all the time, right?  Right? (Those last two examples are true and happened to two JETs.)

The final kind of interaction I have with the students involves what I call "The Two-Way Mirror Look."  I'll catch sight of students staring at me in the hallways, eyes narrowed, like at an animal in the zoo, or some kind of looming threat.  The look is so intense that it's angry, and takes me aback.  When this happens, I stop and say loudly, "Hello! How are you?" The person's whole aspect changes.  They look shocked ("What?! She can see me? I'm not standing behind my force field of invisibility?"), and then a huge smile lights up their faces, "Hello!!!" they chirp back, "Iamfinethankyouhowareyouuuu?"

The Two-Way Mirror Look

What gets me about the Two-Way Mirror Look is that they never seem to see me staring back at them and register that they're being rude.  They're so engrossed in studying me, that they are oblivious to everything else.

BUNKASAI

Every fall, the schools in Japan hold bunkasai, or a school culture festival.  Students and various clubs perform dances, songs and skits, there are speeches by administrators, and each class takes on a project: decorating a classroom, selling food they've prepared, etc.

Our bunkasai lasted two days.  The highlights: kocho-sensei singing Sinatra's "My Way," a girl in a giant Pikachu costume, two boys kissing onstage, the boys of 2-6 dressing in drag and dancing (nothing entertains a Japanese audience like cross-dressing men), and eating a good 20 lbs of food a day.  Oh, and then there was the time when I got up onstage to perform with the ESS club.  There was singing.  There was choreographed dancing.  There was a lot of awkwardness.  They had chosen two songs; first, "Material Girl" by Madonna, and then (my ears bleed), "We're All in This Together" from High School Musical.  Having reached the august age of 26 without ever having seen the movie or heard one of its songs, I had hoped that the High School Musical craze had passed and that my HSM virginity would remain intact.  Alas, it was not to be.  We practiced 3 days a week, 3 hours a day, for 3 weeks.  As for the performance itself, suffice to say that several of the third year boys pointed and laughed at me. 

And that's all I have to say about that.

"WELCOME TO JAPAN. SOME OF THE RULES HERE DON'T MAKE SENSE"

Excerpt from my school's handbook

This past weekend we were on alert for Typhoon Talas, which by varying reports was supposed to hit the Kansai Region (where I am located) either Friday or Saturday.  Our first official day of class on Friday was canceled, but the teachers had to come in anyway.  Apparently conditions could be too hazardous for the students, but not for the faculty.  I asked one of my neighbors, a 30 year-old Japanese woman who speaks excellent English with an Australian accent, why classes would be canceled, but the school would not be closed.  "Welcome to Japan," she replied, "Some of the rules here don't make sense." 

I admit that I viewed Talas as more of a nuisance than a real threat.  Not only was I forced to find ways to entertain myself at school on Friday in lieu of teaching class, but my weekend plans were postponed as well.  A JET named Marty who lives really far out in the boondocks, in a town called Tenkawa, has permission to hold an annual party on the grounds of his school.  Every year, JETs travel from all over the prefecture to come down for two days of barbecue, sports, swimming in the river, drinking beer, patronizing the local onsen (local hot springs baths), and culminating in a mass slumber party in the gym on Saturday night.  However, the fete was postponed in light of the impending weather forecast- we were afraid the rain would curtail our fun.  The night fifty of us were supposed to sleep over, Marty's house was washed away by the typhoon.

Despite my occasional qualms about social media, it is really great in some instances. For example, when you wake up on Sunday morning to the news that the typhoon has done serious damage in the south of the prefecture, and you have no idea what is happening with your friends and colleagues who live in that area.  Messages flew back and forth as we tried to account for everyone, and people started posting on Facebook that they were safe.  One JET posted: "Shit got really scary there for a while- the bridge in front of my house collapsed, and there was a big landslide on the far side of the river.  My neighbors said there hasn't been a storm like this in their lifetime."  All in all, we were exceedingly fortunate.  A car and a house were washed away in the storm and a number of people lost power, but everyone is safe and unhurt. 

Photo posted on FB by a JET of the bridge outside her apartment

Marty's house, in the river

So where was I during all this? Safely tucked in my bed, thank goodness.  I had braved the rain on Saturday to go into Nara City with some friends to sightsee, but the winds were pretty tame, and the rain didn't really pick up until the early evening, when we were heading back home. 

I keep thinking about the JET program.  JETs put their lives on hold for a year or more to come to a truly foreign land to teach English and share their cultural traditions.  We adjust to things like living a life without cheese or sleeping on a futon on the floor.  But then there are the serious things, like earthquakes and typhoons and maybe the destruction of a metropolis by a giant lizard.  When I announced I was moving to Japan, a few people asked me if I was worried about earthquakes after what had happened in March.  It took me a second to answer, because I honestly hadn't thought anything about it.  To me, this was such an incredible opportunity that it outweighed any risk.  Other people who came over with me this summer said the same thing: this was too good to pass up.  Considering the fact that JET requires participants to commit to coming to Japan before they will tell you where you've been placed, it's even more remarkable that people throw themselves into this so willingly. 

The JET program has been a source of contention in Japan for a few years.  As a government-sponsored program, there has been talk about scaling down or cutting it altogether.  When the earthquake hit northeastern Japan last year, two JETs were killed in the tsunami that followed.  One woman died riding her bike home, after having stayed at school to ensure that her students made it home safely.  JETs have raised thousands of dollars amongst themselves and JET alumni to be put towards reconstruction efforts.  Volunteer groups have been organized to help rebuild the affected areas, and to provide relief to those worst hit.  The outpouring of time, energy, and financial resources by JETs in particular has really stunned Japan, and cemented the fact that most JETs aren't just here to eat sushi, take some pictures, and talk about how awesome they were because they got to work in Japan.  JETs get really involved in their communities, and remain so even when the chips are down.  Hopefully this dedication will convince the powers that be of the value of the exchange.

LOVE AND MARRIAGE

"Do you have boyfriend?"  This seems to be a recurring question from students, neighbors, fellow teachers, and complete strangers.  By Japanese standards, I am a "Christmas cake": like a pastry sitting on a shelf on December 25th, once an unmarried woman hits 25, she is in danger of becoming stale.  [According to a recent article in The Economist (I hike my glasses up further onto my nose as I type this), marriage rates in Asia are falling across the board.  Women are forgoing marriage in order to have careers, which is virtually impossible if you are married and have a family.  The birth rate is also decreasing, which means that universal pension funds will be severely strapped as Asia's populations age.  But I digress.]  As polite as the Japanese are, conventional propriety becomes a casualty of curiosity when it comes to foreigners, particularly women.  For example, it's not uncommon for male students to ask female gaijin teachers for their three sizes: bra, waist and hips.  I wonder if it's a function of being the "other," that we somehow don't count or stand apart from the way people usually interact.  This leaves Japanese people free to ask us about how we do our hair, or if we wear colored contacts, or to comment that we have a nice body (as one female student told me matter-of-factly last week). I can't imagine Japanese people having similar conversations amongst themselves, and even JETs who are Asian or of Asian descent aren't asked personal questions the way the rest of us are.

There is a lot of unintentional pairing up that goes on in JET, as the Japanese have a habit of coupling people together, regardless of whether or not a relationship really exists.  Take, for example, a friend of mine.  She's good friends with another (male) JET, who lives several towns away.  One Saturday they were out together, and were spotted by some of his coworkers, which raised some eyebrows.  He then stayed at her place Saturday night (again, just as friends), before leaving on Sunday morning.  On the return home, he ran into the same group of coworkers, who asked if he had been visiting his girlfriend that weekend.  "No," he said, "Just a friend."  "You LIE!" his coworkers said gleefully, "We saw you with her on Saturday, and now you are coming home on the train on Sunday!" The idea of a platonic relationships between people of the opposite sex is not unthinkable per se, but unless you're seen in a large group, it's pretty much assumed that you're an item.  I posted a photo of my family from my college graduation on the English bulletin board as part of my self-introduction (I admit- I wanted to demonstrate my education: "Look, kids! I am actually qualified to teach you, even though we look the same age!"), and have had several people approach me asking if Justin is my boyfriend (sorry, bro- it is the cross you must bear in life).  Even when I show them more recent family photos with my sister-in-law, they still pause, point to Justin, and say, "Who is that....?  Is that...boyfriend...?"  As though I must be dating ONE of the people in the photograph.  [As an aside, I want to tout my rockstar sister, who turned up in the WSJ recently.  We are even more proud than usual. Way to marry up, JB.]

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, JAPAN

September 1st marked my one-month anniversary in Japan.  So far, we've muddled through a few earthquakes, a typhoon, and my attempt to deliver a speech in Japanese in front of 780 people during my school's opening ceremony.  I was nearly trampled and eaten by a herd of sacred deer.  I've purified various parts of my being, and gained the blessing of the Buddha after climbing through an obnoxiously small hole (see pictures below) that is said to be the size of one of the nostrils of the daibutsu, Japan's largest Buddha, located in Nara.  I've eaten things both weird and wonderful, and met some truly lovely people.  Not too shabby.  Bring on the next 11 months!

I couldn't fit through head first

So I had to back it up.

It felt like I was being birthed all over again

Victory! The blessings of the Buddha be upon me.

KONPAI! (CHEERS!)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

PRESERVING THE WA

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**a rice bowl topped with tempura

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

THE STRANGE AND THE WONDERFUL

MY NEIGHBOR STRIKES AGAIN

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

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

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

JAPANESE KRYPTONITE

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

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

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

VOGUE VOGUE VOGUE VOGUE

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

From fashion-model.info

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

From chipskgaa.wordpress.com

WHOSE LINE IS IT, ANYWAY?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Some of my students!

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

The "oracle."

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

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

Here I am, purifying my heart.

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

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

LESSONS IN THE ART OF ZEN

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

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

MORE KINDNESS COMES MY WAY

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

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

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

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