There is no question in my mind that we are not in the States. It is New Year’s Eve and every last trace of Christmas is gone. Well, at least from Japanese houses and stores. The Americans are lagging behind. The Japanese are now focused on the New Year, and decorations of evergreen boughs, dried grasses, and oranges adorn the entrances of homes and shops. 2009 will be the Year of the Ox, and everywhere you look there are cows (someone decided cows are cuter than oxen)—cards, stuffed animals, Starbucks coffee mugs, cell phone charms, ceramic figurines.
The past week has been a flurry of activity in the neighborhood, as it is tradition to do a thorough cleaning of the home at the end of the year. All the work is to be completed by December 31—no one is supposed to do work on January 1. Windows have been washed, futons have been aired, rugs have been beaten, floors have been waxed, closets have been purged. Many houses have even gotten a new coat of paint (I think there must have been a group discount one street up from us…seems like every other house was repainted).
For the next few days we will stay away from shrines and temples, since many Japanese flock there during the first three days of January to pray for good fortune in the coming year (several MILLION visit Tokyo’s Meiji Shrine alone). They turn in last year’s good luck charms at special booths erected at the shrines and purchase new ones to guard against misfortune. It is supposed to be a time of happiness and joy, free of stress and anger.
One Japanese tradition that I know would never work in the U.S. is the sending of New Year’s cards. They serve the same purpose as our Christmas cards…to inform friends and family about the events of the past year and to extend best wishes for the coming year. However, no matter when they are deposited in the mailbox, New Year’s cards are saved and sorted by the post office, and ALL are delivered on New Year’s Day (the envelopes or postcards are marked with a special symbol signifying they are New Year’s cards). I just can’t picture the USPS successfully stockpiling that much mail for days or weeks, then delivering it all to the correct addresses on a single day.
We have no big plans for New Year’s Eve or Day. Tonight we will go over to Jim’s coworker’s house for games and food. It will be strange not to have Dick Clark help us usher in the New Year from Times Square (since we are 14 hours ahead of New York). Tomorrow I’ll finish cleaning the house in preparation for Jenny’s arrival on Saturday. I know—if I’d followed Japanese traditions, the house would already be clean, and I could put my feet up!
Monday, December 22--'Tis the Season
In a country where only 1% of the population is Christian, I haven’t really been expecting a Christmas season like back home. However, I’m happy to report that the Japanese have fully embraced the festive spirit of the holiday season, if not its religious background.
Not having Thanksgiving to mark an acceptable beginning to the holiday season, stores started decorating right after Halloween. Signs appeared wishing shoppers an enthusiastic “Happy Merry Christmas” and carols drifted from the sound system (not once did I hear “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer”). Christmas trees of every imaginable color were erected in mall lobbies—I can kind of understand a white tree (think snow-covered), but neon pink and black? That just screams, “Ho, ho, ho,” and I’m not talking about Santa’s laugh! I have seen a few “thrones” where Santa would normally sit and listen to children’s wishes while parents take photos, but they are always vacant. I know they do have mall Santas in Japan, because the newscaster on the radio said they were being required to attend Santa classes to learn how to hold children on their knees properly to prevent injury. (If this country has a motto, it is definitely “Safety First.”)
Breaking News: Americans have not cornered the market on tacky outdoor decorations. Clark Griswold would be proud of the Japanese. I learned from my students that families usually decorate the house when the children are young, but once they have grown up and moved away from home, the decorating usually stops. This seems to be true of most of the decorated houses in our neighborhood…younger children live there. The exception is the holiday-loving neighbor across the street, whose youngest child is in his mid-20s! Up and down the streets, lights hang from eaves, drape over bushes, and drip from balconies. The Japanese are especially fond of pre-formed lighted displays, from Santa in his sleigh being pulled across the side of the house by a single reindeer, to “Merry Xmas” wired to the front gate. Apparently yards are too small to properly display the animated, pre-lit white deer that have become all the rage in the past few years, yet somehow they have found room for inflatable lawn ornaments. Each evening, the compressor is turned on, and blow-up Santas and snowmen rise from the ground like ghosts from a horror movie graveyard.
The most pervasive symbol of the Christmas season in Japan is Colonel Sanders. Huh? What does Colonel Sanders have to do with Christmas? It seems that Kentucky Fried Chicken is the meal of choice for Christmas Day. To remind customers to place their orders early, every store (at least one in every town) dresses its Colonel Sanders statue (yes, every store has one) in a red Santa suit and places a banner behind him that reads “Have a Kentucky Christmas.” I bet the Colonel never imagined his 11 herbs and spices would come to embody the spirit of Christmas in a nation of Buddhists and Shintoists.
Not having Thanksgiving to mark an acceptable beginning to the holiday season, stores started decorating right after Halloween. Signs appeared wishing shoppers an enthusiastic “Happy Merry Christmas” and carols drifted from the sound system (not once did I hear “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer”). Christmas trees of every imaginable color were erected in mall lobbies—I can kind of understand a white tree (think snow-covered), but neon pink and black? That just screams, “Ho, ho, ho,” and I’m not talking about Santa’s laugh! I have seen a few “thrones” where Santa would normally sit and listen to children’s wishes while parents take photos, but they are always vacant. I know they do have mall Santas in Japan, because the newscaster on the radio said they were being required to attend Santa classes to learn how to hold children on their knees properly to prevent injury. (If this country has a motto, it is definitely “Safety First.”)
Breaking News: Americans have not cornered the market on tacky outdoor decorations. Clark Griswold would be proud of the Japanese. I learned from my students that families usually decorate the house when the children are young, but once they have grown up and moved away from home, the decorating usually stops. This seems to be true of most of the decorated houses in our neighborhood…younger children live there. The exception is the holiday-loving neighbor across the street, whose youngest child is in his mid-20s! Up and down the streets, lights hang from eaves, drape over bushes, and drip from balconies. The Japanese are especially fond of pre-formed lighted displays, from Santa in his sleigh being pulled across the side of the house by a single reindeer, to “Merry Xmas” wired to the front gate. Apparently yards are too small to properly display the animated, pre-lit white deer that have become all the rage in the past few years, yet somehow they have found room for inflatable lawn ornaments. Each evening, the compressor is turned on, and blow-up Santas and snowmen rise from the ground like ghosts from a horror movie graveyard.
The most pervasive symbol of the Christmas season in Japan is Colonel Sanders. Huh? What does Colonel Sanders have to do with Christmas? It seems that Kentucky Fried Chicken is the meal of choice for Christmas Day. To remind customers to place their orders early, every store (at least one in every town) dresses its Colonel Sanders statue (yes, every store has one) in a red Santa suit and places a banner behind him that reads “Have a Kentucky Christmas.” I bet the Colonel never imagined his 11 herbs and spices would come to embody the spirit of Christmas in a nation of Buddhists and Shintoists.
Saturday, December 20--Return to Kamakura
We made our second sight-seeing trip to Kamakura today, to explore a few more of the famous landmarks. We transferred from the main JR line to the smaller Enoden train, which kind of feels like riding on the electric train set in someone’s basement. It rambles along on a single track, literally inches from people’s back doors. At Hase station, we got off and followed the signs to Hase-Dera Temple, which is one of the more beautiful ones we’ve seen. The various halls of the temple are situated on a hillside, and climbing to each one gives an ever-expanding view of Kamakura Beach (there is an observation platform with picnic tables at the top, where you can enjoy lunch if you can avoid the diving seahawks). The grounds are beautifully maintained, even in winter, and I can only imagine how stunning they must be when the trees and flowers are blooming. The main attraction at the temple is the 30 foot statue of Kannon, which is usually translated in English as “the Buddhist Goddess of Mercy,” even though it is technically neither male or female. The statue, which was supposedly carved from half of a camphor tree in 721, has eleven heads surrounding the main one, each with a different expression, meaning the deity listens to the wishes of all types of people. The statue is entirely covered in gold leaf--applied in 1342! The age of some of these Japanese cultural treasures really reinforces just how young the United States is, and what a short amount of time our country’s history spans.
After wandering the temple grounds, and eyeballing the various mysterious snacks offered in the gift shop, we walked a bit further up the street to finally see what everyone has been talking about since we arrived in July—the Great Buddha. Known as Daibutsu, this enormous bronze statue of Buddha is the second largest in Japan. It was cast in 1252 to replace the wooden image of 1243 that was damaged by a storm. Over the years, three temple halls were built to protect statue, but each one was destroyed by storms…a fourth temple was washed away by a tidal wave in 1498. Finally, they gave up the idea of a shelter, and the Buddha now sits serenely outside in the open air. Earthquakes have also been troublesome to the statue--in the Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923, the base was destroyed. The most recent repairs in 1960-61 strengthened Buddha’s neck and allow the statue to now move freely on its base in case of another severe earthquake. The 44 foot, 93 ton statue is hollow inside, and it is said that homeless and gamblers once lived inside. Now, for ¥20, tourists can go inside Buddha’s belly and look all the way up through his neck to his head.
We chose a great day for sight-seeing, and the clear blue sky made a fantastic back-drop for our photos of the temple and of Buddha. We understand now why so many people talk about these two locations in Kamakura, and we’ll definitely add them to our list of places to take visitors (and I KNOW we are going to have visitors—ya’ll promised).
After wandering the temple grounds, and eyeballing the various mysterious snacks offered in the gift shop, we walked a bit further up the street to finally see what everyone has been talking about since we arrived in July—the Great Buddha. Known as Daibutsu, this enormous bronze statue of Buddha is the second largest in Japan. It was cast in 1252 to replace the wooden image of 1243 that was damaged by a storm. Over the years, three temple halls were built to protect statue, but each one was destroyed by storms…a fourth temple was washed away by a tidal wave in 1498. Finally, they gave up the idea of a shelter, and the Buddha now sits serenely outside in the open air. Earthquakes have also been troublesome to the statue--in the Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923, the base was destroyed. The most recent repairs in 1960-61 strengthened Buddha’s neck and allow the statue to now move freely on its base in case of another severe earthquake. The 44 foot, 93 ton statue is hollow inside, and it is said that homeless and gamblers once lived inside. Now, for ¥20, tourists can go inside Buddha’s belly and look all the way up through his neck to his head.
We chose a great day for sight-seeing, and the clear blue sky made a fantastic back-drop for our photos of the temple and of Buddha. We understand now why so many people talk about these two locations in Kamakura, and we’ll definitely add them to our list of places to take visitors (and I KNOW we are going to have visitors—ya’ll promised).
Monday, December 8--Rainy Days and Mondays
It rains a lot here. Or maybe I just notice it more since I walk more than I drive. I go by train to most of my teaching jobs, which means a 15 minute walk to the train station, rain or shine. December is actually one of the driest months of the year, as far as rain accumulation. I believe May and June are the rainy season—before then I will have to get a “real” umbrella. The compact variety that Americans prefer just doesn’t cut it here. The diameter of a Totes purse-size model makes it suitable for nothing more than the typical American rain experience--a quick dash across the Walmart parking lot. Here in Japan, if the wind is not blowing, it might serve to keep my head and shoulders dry, but everything south of that suffers from a combination of raindrops from the heavens and big splats falling from the edge of the umbrella. We won’t even talk about the chillingly soggy results of a strong breeze—or the struggle to keep the surprisingly flimsy umbrella from turning inside out. (Working on the theory that you get what you pay for, on our last trip to the outlet mall before leaving the U.S. I chose the $20 compact purse-size umbrella over the old-fashioned suitcase-size $7.99 model, assuming for that price it would withstand at least a Category 2 hurricane. What a waste of $12.)
The Japanese take the rain in stride. If rain breaks forth from a sky that was cloudless and blue just moments before, umbrellas (the sturdy Mary Poppins type) miraculously appear, as it seems no citizen leaves home without one. If one happens to be caught without an umbrella, every store from the high-end boutique to the corner convenience mart sells them. When the skies open up, sidewalks immediately become a sea of bobbing umbrellas. From above, I imagine it looks like the health class videos of red blood cells streaming through your veins—moving with purpose and direction, speedier individuals brushing past slower ones, with some groups occasionally branching off from the main stream to pursue a different path. The Japanese are very aware of the space their umbrellas take up, and they raise, lower, dip, and turn them fluidly to avoid colliding with other umbrellas or pedestrians. I am willing to bet that no Japanese hospital has treated a patient for an eye injury sustained from a poke by a stranger’s umbrella.
With all those drippy umbrellas, you’d think that any public place would be a soggy, slippery mess. In reality, the only place that ever shows the ravages of a rainy day is the train. If they don’t already have a permanent umbrella stand outside the front door, most stores and restaurants roll out an umbrella station as soon as the first drops fall. This station might be a large rack where patrons deposit their umbrellas before entering and pick them up when leaving. (I know! This would never work in the U.S.—someone would come by and pilfer the whole lot of them to sell later on eBay.) Other stations are stocked with a supply of long, slender plastic bags—slip the wet umbrella inside the bag and carry it with you. Both you and the store remain dry. The community center where I meet one of my students on Monday nights takes the prize for the most high-tech umbrella station—it has an electric dryer that blows off all the excess water in a matter of seconds, allowing you to skip the plastic bags and carry your dry umbrella with you. Unfortunately, it is designed for sturdy, Mary Poppins style umbrellas, not my Totes compact purse-size $20 model.
The Japanese take the rain in stride. If rain breaks forth from a sky that was cloudless and blue just moments before, umbrellas (the sturdy Mary Poppins type) miraculously appear, as it seems no citizen leaves home without one. If one happens to be caught without an umbrella, every store from the high-end boutique to the corner convenience mart sells them. When the skies open up, sidewalks immediately become a sea of bobbing umbrellas. From above, I imagine it looks like the health class videos of red blood cells streaming through your veins—moving with purpose and direction, speedier individuals brushing past slower ones, with some groups occasionally branching off from the main stream to pursue a different path. The Japanese are very aware of the space their umbrellas take up, and they raise, lower, dip, and turn them fluidly to avoid colliding with other umbrellas or pedestrians. I am willing to bet that no Japanese hospital has treated a patient for an eye injury sustained from a poke by a stranger’s umbrella.
With all those drippy umbrellas, you’d think that any public place would be a soggy, slippery mess. In reality, the only place that ever shows the ravages of a rainy day is the train. If they don’t already have a permanent umbrella stand outside the front door, most stores and restaurants roll out an umbrella station as soon as the first drops fall. This station might be a large rack where patrons deposit their umbrellas before entering and pick them up when leaving. (I know! This would never work in the U.S.—someone would come by and pilfer the whole lot of them to sell later on eBay.) Other stations are stocked with a supply of long, slender plastic bags—slip the wet umbrella inside the bag and carry it with you. Both you and the store remain dry. The community center where I meet one of my students on Monday nights takes the prize for the most high-tech umbrella station—it has an electric dryer that blows off all the excess water in a matter of seconds, allowing you to skip the plastic bags and carry your dry umbrella with you. Unfortunately, it is designed for sturdy, Mary Poppins style umbrellas, not my Totes compact purse-size $20 model.
Saturday, December 6--Gone to the Dogs
When I die, I want to come back as a dog in Japan, preferably something small like a miniature daschund or a Yorkie. I have never seen a population as a whole more devoted to their dogs. I knew the Japanese cared about their pets, just by observing the rituals of the neighbors’ daily dog-walking routines. After each walk, the lady across the street lovingly wipes her dog’s paws before he goes back into the house. While taking out the trash, I have seen countless pooches dressed in sweaters on chilly days. I even saw a golden retriever in full rain gear, including yellow slicker, matching hat, and boots, although quite frankly he did look extremely embarrassed. But I did not understand the true depth of the Japanese people’s devotion to man’s best friend until we went to Grandberry Mall this weekend.
First of all, the mall (an outdoor type, like many of the outlet malls back home) was teeming with dogs of every size shape and color. It reminded me of a car show on four legs—the owners cruising around, showing off their pride and joy, hoping to see and be seen. When we stopped for coffee at Starbuck’s, we had to wade through a swarm of Yorkies, reminiscent of a (well-groomed) biker gang congregating at the local bar. Dogs were sitting in chairs at many tables, and those who found themselves without a seat had warm, cozy blankets to cushion the hard ground. Many of the pooches were dressed better than we were, in skirts with matching sweaters or designer jeans and leather jackets.
If the only dog accessory shopping you have ever done is at PetSmart, boy, are you missing out. Grandberry Mall had several stores catering to four-legged customers, but the most impressive by far was Joker (see photos in A Dog’s Life album). The first thing we noticed when we walked in was the wall of glass on the left which looked into the nurseries. I guess it’s hard to sell $2300 puppies if they are behind bars in individual cages—they had to up the cute factor. Each nursery held about half a dozen puppies, some napping in cribs while others were romping around on the floor with the nanny, chasing toys under the table, trying to climb up the dresser, or learning how to sit for treats. After oohing and ahhing over the babies, we ventured through aisles and aisles of doggy clothing, ranging from traditional kimonos to ultra-modern rhinestone-studded evening wear—there were even 50s-style poodle skirts! And since it would be a shame to take an outfit home only to find it didn’t fit, or looked better on the rack, there was a fitting room so furry customers could try on potential purchases. (And yes, there was a line of canines waiting to eye their new outfits in the three-way mirror.)
After acquainting ourselves with the latest in doggy fashion, we moved toward the back of the store, passing the beauty salon (groomer) and health spa along the way. Once we had forged through the aisles of every imaginable dog toy, we came upon the most magnificent display of cakes, cookies, and pastries we had seen since coming to Japan. Never one to pass up a cookie, Jim was starting to seriously contemplate his many options when we realized they were not meant for human consumption. But if Fido were having a birthday party, there was a perfectly frosted layer cake just waiting to be inscribed with his name.
People say “it’s a dog’s life” when times are tough or they are faced with an unpleasant task. Obviously the person who invented that phrase hasn’t lived a day in the life of a Japanese dog.
First of all, the mall (an outdoor type, like many of the outlet malls back home) was teeming with dogs of every size shape and color. It reminded me of a car show on four legs—the owners cruising around, showing off their pride and joy, hoping to see and be seen. When we stopped for coffee at Starbuck’s, we had to wade through a swarm of Yorkies, reminiscent of a (well-groomed) biker gang congregating at the local bar. Dogs were sitting in chairs at many tables, and those who found themselves without a seat had warm, cozy blankets to cushion the hard ground. Many of the pooches were dressed better than we were, in skirts with matching sweaters or designer jeans and leather jackets.
If the only dog accessory shopping you have ever done is at PetSmart, boy, are you missing out. Grandberry Mall had several stores catering to four-legged customers, but the most impressive by far was Joker (see photos in A Dog’s Life album). The first thing we noticed when we walked in was the wall of glass on the left which looked into the nurseries. I guess it’s hard to sell $2300 puppies if they are behind bars in individual cages—they had to up the cute factor. Each nursery held about half a dozen puppies, some napping in cribs while others were romping around on the floor with the nanny, chasing toys under the table, trying to climb up the dresser, or learning how to sit for treats. After oohing and ahhing over the babies, we ventured through aisles and aisles of doggy clothing, ranging from traditional kimonos to ultra-modern rhinestone-studded evening wear—there were even 50s-style poodle skirts! And since it would be a shame to take an outfit home only to find it didn’t fit, or looked better on the rack, there was a fitting room so furry customers could try on potential purchases. (And yes, there was a line of canines waiting to eye their new outfits in the three-way mirror.)
After acquainting ourselves with the latest in doggy fashion, we moved toward the back of the store, passing the beauty salon (groomer) and health spa along the way. Once we had forged through the aisles of every imaginable dog toy, we came upon the most magnificent display of cakes, cookies, and pastries we had seen since coming to Japan. Never one to pass up a cookie, Jim was starting to seriously contemplate his many options when we realized they were not meant for human consumption. But if Fido were having a birthday party, there was a perfectly frosted layer cake just waiting to be inscribed with his name.
People say “it’s a dog’s life” when times are tough or they are faced with an unpleasant task. Obviously the person who invented that phrase hasn’t lived a day in the life of a Japanese dog.
Tuesday, December 2--Victory!
I’m happy to report that I survived my first solo trip to my teaching job in Honatsugi. I feel like a gladiator who has slain the lion. Who knew one successful bus ride could inspire such a feeling of power? I found the correct bus stop at the train station, and almost got off at the right stop. Actually, I disembarked one stop early (about a block away from the factory—I could see the sign up ahead) just for a chance to stretch my legs after being on the train for an hour and a half. The return ride to the station was uneventful—after nervously looking out the windows for landmarks leading up to my stop, I found out that the train station is the end of the line. This means I don’t really have to pay much attention during the ride. When everyone else starts shuffling their belongings, that is my cue to dig out my 170 yen and prepare to exit. Pretty soon, I’m going to look like a pro at this bus thing!
Monday, December 1--The Strangeness of Fall
Fall, and the whole leaf-changing experience, are far different here than what I expected. Since the weather in Japan is quite similar to that of the Washington, D.C. area, I expected to see a blaze of fall colors on the hillsides beginning in mid- to late-October, just like at home. I guess I didn’t take into account the different flora, but even the familiar trees, like the Japanese maple, are on a different schedule here. A few trees turned golden and dropped their leaves last month. The maples are just now starting to turn, though, as are the ginkgos. There is a really strange tree behind our house…a few random leaves have turned yellow and dropped off, but the rest of the tree appears to be in full summer foliage. I guess there are a lot more types of evergreens in Japan than I’ve encountered anywhere else.
I swear there are leaf elves that come out at night to sweep up the fallen leaves. When you walk around, you will rarely see a leaf on the ground. I will occasionally see a neighbor out cleaning off her driveway, but who is clearing all the leaves off of the streets and out of the parks? When Jim and I drove out of the neighborhood early Saturday morning, there were scores of bags of leaves piled along the sides of the road—bags that were not there the night before. I’m telling you—elves. Part of me expects to look up one day and see one clinging to the trunk of a tree, reaching out to snatch the falling leaves out of mid-air before they even have a chance to hit the ground.
I swear there are leaf elves that come out at night to sweep up the fallen leaves. When you walk around, you will rarely see a leaf on the ground. I will occasionally see a neighbor out cleaning off her driveway, but who is clearing all the leaves off of the streets and out of the parks? When Jim and I drove out of the neighborhood early Saturday morning, there were scores of bags of leaves piled along the sides of the road—bags that were not there the night before. I’m telling you—elves. Part of me expects to look up one day and see one clinging to the trunk of a tree, reaching out to snatch the falling leaves out of mid-air before they even have a chance to hit the ground.
Saturday, November 29--Destination: Hakone
Still not being overly confident in our ability to make a successful road trip, but unwilling to waste precious weekend time sitting at home, we headed to Hakone today as part of one of the Navy MWR (Morale, Welfare, and Recreation) office’s organized tours. About two hours southwest of us by bus, Hakone is situated in the mountains near Mt. Fuji and is known for its numerous hot springs as well as its handcrafted wooden puzzle boxes. We’d heard nothing but good things about the town, so were eager to check it out for ourselves.
The tour turned out to be a great way to get a taste of a new town. The first benefit was the bus ride itself. Because we didn’t have to worry about driving, or following directions, or reading maps, we could really enjoy the scenery as we made our way along the coast towards the mountains. Even the stop at the rest area was educational, as our tour guide was able to explain some of the foods offered at the snack stand! Another plus was the structure of the tour itself. This was not one of those follow-behind-the-guide-like-ducklings tours. We had an itinerary with scheduled stops, but we had the freedom to do as much or as little exploring at each stop as we chose. The tour guide briefed us on each stop before our arrival, told us when to be back at the bus for departure, then pretty much left us to our own devices. She flitted around each location, answering questions, providing information, and pointing out interesting sights, but was very unobtrusive.
Our first stop was the Hakone Open Air Museum, where sculptures by famous international artists including Rodin and Picasso were displayed in, well, the open air. Each sculpture was situated outside in a way to take advantage of the beauty of the surrounding environment. What artist could ask for a better backdrop than mountains and trees adorned in fall colors? Several of the displays were interactive, making it fun for kids of all ages—we personally tried out the slide, but I really wanted to bounce on the yolk of the fried egg sculpture. The coolest work of art was the tower made of stained glass. It was hard to appreciate from the outside, but once I stepped inside and was surrounded by the colored light streaming through the thousands of pieces of glass, it took my breath away. We could climb to the top of the tower on a spiral staircase, then look out over the countryside. Too bad it was a cloudy day—I bet the view of Mt. Fuji would have been spectacular. After climbing back down to the ground we had just enough time to enjoy the foot onsen (mini hot spring for soaking your tired feet) before heading back to the bus.
Our next stop was a cable car ride up a volcanic mountain and over Owakudani, or the Valley of Greater Boiling. Below, the barren landscape was dotted with plumes of steam escaping from the bowels of the earth and piles of yellow sulfur. Once off the cable car, we were able to hike up the side of the volcano to a stand selling eggs boiled in one of the hot springs. The eggs, or onsen tamago, are black because of the sulfur in the water, but eating one is said to add seven years to your life. Neither Jim nor I are fans of hard-boiled eggs, but both of us ate one and had to admit it was the best-tasting egg we’d ever had. That sulfur must be magic!
After lunch we boarded a ferry designed like a pirate ship to cross Lake Ashi for a little shopping before our final stop. Unfortunately, the shops we went to were designed for tourists, and the wooden puzzle boxes we were hoping to see were all mass-produced. The last stop was Hakone Shrine, and here our guide was very informative, explaining the ritual cleansing of hands and mouth before entering the shrine, as well as the custom of making an offering (usually a 5 yen coin) before sending up a prayer for good fortune. She showed us the shrine stamps we could collect at every shrine or temple we visited, and clarified the meaning of the wooden plaques hanging at every shrine (handwritten wishes for good luck) and the white pieces of paper tied to tree limbs and special racks throughout the grounds. Contrary to information we had gotten before, they are fortunes, purchased at the shrine for a small fee. If the buyer likes his fortune, he takes it home, but if he does not, he leaves it at the shrine so misfortune can be averted.
The tour was a great introduction to a neat town. We are already talking about a return trip to explore more of the area (we have to find those puzzle boxes!), as well as booking future tours to other destinations.
The tour turned out to be a great way to get a taste of a new town. The first benefit was the bus ride itself. Because we didn’t have to worry about driving, or following directions, or reading maps, we could really enjoy the scenery as we made our way along the coast towards the mountains. Even the stop at the rest area was educational, as our tour guide was able to explain some of the foods offered at the snack stand! Another plus was the structure of the tour itself. This was not one of those follow-behind-the-guide-like-ducklings tours. We had an itinerary with scheduled stops, but we had the freedom to do as much or as little exploring at each stop as we chose. The tour guide briefed us on each stop before our arrival, told us when to be back at the bus for departure, then pretty much left us to our own devices. She flitted around each location, answering questions, providing information, and pointing out interesting sights, but was very unobtrusive.
Our first stop was the Hakone Open Air Museum, where sculptures by famous international artists including Rodin and Picasso were displayed in, well, the open air. Each sculpture was situated outside in a way to take advantage of the beauty of the surrounding environment. What artist could ask for a better backdrop than mountains and trees adorned in fall colors? Several of the displays were interactive, making it fun for kids of all ages—we personally tried out the slide, but I really wanted to bounce on the yolk of the fried egg sculpture. The coolest work of art was the tower made of stained glass. It was hard to appreciate from the outside, but once I stepped inside and was surrounded by the colored light streaming through the thousands of pieces of glass, it took my breath away. We could climb to the top of the tower on a spiral staircase, then look out over the countryside. Too bad it was a cloudy day—I bet the view of Mt. Fuji would have been spectacular. After climbing back down to the ground we had just enough time to enjoy the foot onsen (mini hot spring for soaking your tired feet) before heading back to the bus.
Our next stop was a cable car ride up a volcanic mountain and over Owakudani, or the Valley of Greater Boiling. Below, the barren landscape was dotted with plumes of steam escaping from the bowels of the earth and piles of yellow sulfur. Once off the cable car, we were able to hike up the side of the volcano to a stand selling eggs boiled in one of the hot springs. The eggs, or onsen tamago, are black because of the sulfur in the water, but eating one is said to add seven years to your life. Neither Jim nor I are fans of hard-boiled eggs, but both of us ate one and had to admit it was the best-tasting egg we’d ever had. That sulfur must be magic!
After lunch we boarded a ferry designed like a pirate ship to cross Lake Ashi for a little shopping before our final stop. Unfortunately, the shops we went to were designed for tourists, and the wooden puzzle boxes we were hoping to see were all mass-produced. The last stop was Hakone Shrine, and here our guide was very informative, explaining the ritual cleansing of hands and mouth before entering the shrine, as well as the custom of making an offering (usually a 5 yen coin) before sending up a prayer for good fortune. She showed us the shrine stamps we could collect at every shrine or temple we visited, and clarified the meaning of the wooden plaques hanging at every shrine (handwritten wishes for good luck) and the white pieces of paper tied to tree limbs and special racks throughout the grounds. Contrary to information we had gotten before, they are fortunes, purchased at the shrine for a small fee. If the buyer likes his fortune, he takes it home, but if he does not, he leaves it at the shrine so misfortune can be averted.
The tour was a great introduction to a neat town. We are already talking about a return trip to explore more of the area (we have to find those puzzle boxes!), as well as booking future tours to other destinations.
Thursday, November 27--Thanksgiving...Again
Happy Turkey Day! It’s very strange to be a minority population celebrating a holiday while the world around you marches on, oblivious to the occasion.
At least for this year, I decided not to tackle the logistics of preparing a traditional Thanksgiving dinner in my mini kitchen, so I made reservations for six of us at the Officer’s Club’s Thanksgiving buffet. The drive to the base was surreal. Everywhere, Japanese were carrying out business as usual. People were running to get to the train station on time, delivery trucks were making their daily produce drops at the local stores, restaurants were full, postal workers were making their rounds on their scooters. So different from the U.S., when most everything shuts down on the fourth Thursday in November--you’re lucky to even find a gas station that is open on Thanksgiving Day. Entering the gates of the base was like crossing some huge cultural chasm. We went from normal hustle and bustle to ghost town in the time it took to scan our ID cards. Very few cars were driving the streets, the parking lots of the exchange and commissary were deserted, and only a handful of people were walking around—a scene we’d normally expect to encounter on Thanksgiving, but such a drastic change from what we’d just driven through only seconds before.
Dinner turned out to be wonderful. All of the foods you could possibly crave for Thanksgiving were beautifully prepared and presented, and we were free to stuff ourselves to bursting. Unfortunately, there were lots of people waiting for the privilege to do the same, so our grazing time was cut short. After a little more than an hour, while some of us were contemplating thirds or fourths, the host interrupted our conversation and informed us that we could only stay another fifteen minutes--our table was needed for another party. I can’t complain too much—the abrupt exit ensured I did not fill a plate with more food I would later regret, plus there was the satisfaction of knowing I did not have to spend the next couple of hours washing the dishes that normally accompany such a huge feast. We simply paid the bill, crossed back over that cultural chasm, and continued the Thanksgiving celebration at our house with a game of poker!
At least for this year, I decided not to tackle the logistics of preparing a traditional Thanksgiving dinner in my mini kitchen, so I made reservations for six of us at the Officer’s Club’s Thanksgiving buffet. The drive to the base was surreal. Everywhere, Japanese were carrying out business as usual. People were running to get to the train station on time, delivery trucks were making their daily produce drops at the local stores, restaurants were full, postal workers were making their rounds on their scooters. So different from the U.S., when most everything shuts down on the fourth Thursday in November--you’re lucky to even find a gas station that is open on Thanksgiving Day. Entering the gates of the base was like crossing some huge cultural chasm. We went from normal hustle and bustle to ghost town in the time it took to scan our ID cards. Very few cars were driving the streets, the parking lots of the exchange and commissary were deserted, and only a handful of people were walking around—a scene we’d normally expect to encounter on Thanksgiving, but such a drastic change from what we’d just driven through only seconds before.
Dinner turned out to be wonderful. All of the foods you could possibly crave for Thanksgiving were beautifully prepared and presented, and we were free to stuff ourselves to bursting. Unfortunately, there were lots of people waiting for the privilege to do the same, so our grazing time was cut short. After a little more than an hour, while some of us were contemplating thirds or fourths, the host interrupted our conversation and informed us that we could only stay another fifteen minutes--our table was needed for another party. I can’t complain too much—the abrupt exit ensured I did not fill a plate with more food I would later regret, plus there was the satisfaction of knowing I did not have to spend the next couple of hours washing the dishes that normally accompany such a huge feast. We simply paid the bill, crossed back over that cultural chasm, and continued the Thanksgiving celebration at our house with a game of poker!
Tuesday, November 25--B-Day--The Dreaded Bus
Today was my first day of work at my new job in Honatsugi. Last week I finished looking over the textbooks, came up with an introduction/ice breaker activity, and planned a grammar lesson. Yesterday I committed the names of my five students to memory, gathered all the materials I would need, and went over my lesson plan half a dozen times. You might think I was nervous about my first day of class. To the contrary, I just wanted to be prepared. What was actually giving me butterflies was the thought of getting to the job! Last night, every time I dozed off, I dreamt I was on a bus, driving endlessly around Japan, looking for my stop, unable to tell the driver where I was trying to go.
Reality (as is usually the case) turned out to be not so bad, and all my worry was for nothing. The class's previous teacher met me at the train station, took me to the bus stop, rode with me to the correct stop, showed me where to pick up my visitor's badge at the factory gate, walked me to the classroom, and sat through my class before riding with me back to the train station. The bus seemed easy enough, but of course I was with someone who knew where she was going and could read the kanji on the board which announces the next stop. While trying to carry on a conversation with her about the class, I was struggling to see out the windows (we had to stand because the bus was crowded) to look for landmarks so I'd know when to push the button to let the driver know I wanted to get off at the next stop. Now the test will be whether I was able to absorb enough information about my surroundings to be able to replicate the process on my own next week!
Reality (as is usually the case) turned out to be not so bad, and all my worry was for nothing. The class's previous teacher met me at the train station, took me to the bus stop, rode with me to the correct stop, showed me where to pick up my visitor's badge at the factory gate, walked me to the classroom, and sat through my class before riding with me back to the train station. The bus seemed easy enough, but of course I was with someone who knew where she was going and could read the kanji on the board which announces the next stop. While trying to carry on a conversation with her about the class, I was struggling to see out the windows (we had to stand because the bus was crowded) to look for landmarks so I'd know when to push the button to let the driver know I wanted to get off at the next stop. Now the test will be whether I was able to absorb enough information about my surroundings to be able to replicate the process on my own next week!
Thursday, November 20--The First Thanksgiving
If you think about it, there really is no reason for the Japanese people to even know about Thanksgiving, much less have an interest in celebrating it. It is, after all, a uniquely American holiday. However, the students at the JMSDF 2MSS are so eager to learn about American traditions and culture that each year the American instructors prepare a Thanksgiving feast for the school. Leading up to the big day, we spent several class sessions discussing the holiday, its origins, traditional foods, and contemporary customs. I was surprised to find out that my Japanese students already knew the first Thanksgiving lasted for three days (a fact that I didn’t know until I read it on one of the worksheets I used to give my third grade students), though they didn’t really understand who the Indians were. It boggled my mind that they had never eaten turkey (they don’t have turkeys in Japan), and you should have seen the looks of disgust on their faces when I tried to explain stuffing (cubes of soggy bread with celery, onions, and spices—even I had to admit the description was not very appetizing). We talked about why the holiday causes so much stress for some people (hours of cooking, forced contact with irritating family members) and is so anticipated by others (hours of pigging out, followed by hours of watching the pigskin move up and down the football field).
Today was the big feast, and I got to see firsthand what my face must look like when confronted with a table full of unfamiliar Japanese food and hosts urging me to try everything. The students eyed the tables piled with all kinds of Thanksgiving dishes with curiosity and trepidation as each instructor explained the dish he or she had prepared. There were, of course, the traditional favorites--turkey (two, actually—one pre-carved for convenience, and one whole for a carving demonstration), stuffing, mashed potatoes (we had to demonstrate how to make a well for the gravy), gravy (or gravy sauce as the Japanese call it), and sweet potatoes. We also provided rolls, cranberry sauce, green bean casserole, and corn (the Japanese LOVE corn, and we figured if we brought that, at least there’d be something they liked). After introducing all the foods, we urged the students to dig in. Apparently, we should have explained the concept of a buffet line, because with only one or two exceptions, each student took a plate, took a serving of a single food, then stood right there and ate it before moving on to the next dish. Only a couple people loaded their plates and moved to the side to eat. The favorite foods turned out to be the turkey, the mashed potatoes, and the cranberry sauce.
Dessert also proved interesting. It seems that the Japanese are not big dessert eaters, and when they do, their desserts are not as sweet as ours. They were okay with the pumpkin pie, but you would have thought we were trying to poison them with the pecan pie and the Oreo cheesecakes! Sugar overload, I guess. The students were quite intrigued by the whipped cream in a can—keep in mind that most of them are playful guys in their twenties or early thirties, and the fascination will be understandable. Instructors had to step in a couple of times to retrieve the weapons when a whipped cream war seemed imminent.
All in all, I’d say the big meal was a success. Unfortunately, the students had a full class schedule in the afternoon, so we had to warn them to fight the effects of the tryptophan in the turkey they had just consumed. A group of students asked me later what tryptophan was, why it made you sleepy, and where you could buy it. They were extremely disappointed when I told them you couldn’t buy it, so I can only assume that as a practical joke they were plotting to spike someone’s food and induce a long nap!
Today was the big feast, and I got to see firsthand what my face must look like when confronted with a table full of unfamiliar Japanese food and hosts urging me to try everything. The students eyed the tables piled with all kinds of Thanksgiving dishes with curiosity and trepidation as each instructor explained the dish he or she had prepared. There were, of course, the traditional favorites--turkey (two, actually—one pre-carved for convenience, and one whole for a carving demonstration), stuffing, mashed potatoes (we had to demonstrate how to make a well for the gravy), gravy (or gravy sauce as the Japanese call it), and sweet potatoes. We also provided rolls, cranberry sauce, green bean casserole, and corn (the Japanese LOVE corn, and we figured if we brought that, at least there’d be something they liked). After introducing all the foods, we urged the students to dig in. Apparently, we should have explained the concept of a buffet line, because with only one or two exceptions, each student took a plate, took a serving of a single food, then stood right there and ate it before moving on to the next dish. Only a couple people loaded their plates and moved to the side to eat. The favorite foods turned out to be the turkey, the mashed potatoes, and the cranberry sauce.
Dessert also proved interesting. It seems that the Japanese are not big dessert eaters, and when they do, their desserts are not as sweet as ours. They were okay with the pumpkin pie, but you would have thought we were trying to poison them with the pecan pie and the Oreo cheesecakes! Sugar overload, I guess. The students were quite intrigued by the whipped cream in a can—keep in mind that most of them are playful guys in their twenties or early thirties, and the fascination will be understandable. Instructors had to step in a couple of times to retrieve the weapons when a whipped cream war seemed imminent.
All in all, I’d say the big meal was a success. Unfortunately, the students had a full class schedule in the afternoon, so we had to warn them to fight the effects of the tryptophan in the turkey they had just consumed. A group of students asked me later what tryptophan was, why it made you sleepy, and where you could buy it. They were extremely disappointed when I told them you couldn’t buy it, so I can only assume that as a practical joke they were plotting to spike someone’s food and induce a long nap!
Tuesday, November 18--Adventures in Parking
Due to a time crunch between my Japanese class and an English lesson this afternoon, I had to park for the first time in a public parking lot at the train station. Sometimes new things can be stressful, especially if you are tackling something outside your comfort level, but you wouldn't think something as simple as parking could cause so much anxiety, or require so many TUMS. Unfortunately, I have two shortcomings that come into play here. One, the only part of my driving test I failed (in the U.S. and Japan) was backing into a parking spot. Two, I do not read or speak Japanese (yet). It will soon become obvious why these two hurdles loomed so large before me today.
I never really thought of a parking place as a luxury before. It’s just one of those things I always took for granted. I had a dry, spacious garage at home. At work, there was a large parking lot with wide aisles and wide spaces. When I went shopping, each store had its own lot, and my choice of parking spot depended on how many steps I wanted to log on my pedometer. I imagine that the Japanese would be appalled by all the acreage we Americans devote to parking. There is no such wastefulness here!
We have one parking spot in front of our home, which requires superb parallel parking skills so as not to scrape the brick walls surrounding three sides of the slot. Jim parks here, since he drives to work each day. Because I take the train more often than driving, I park in a rented space about three blocks from the house—the yearly rent is about double that of my first apartment. (The lot contains about 20 spaces—you do the math. Whoever owns that little corner of the neighborhood must be laughing all the way to the bank.)
As for parking anywhere else…don’t count on it. Only the largest stores actually have parking lots. The mall has a parking garage, but they charge you to park there. If you’d like to patronize the local shops found up and down nearly every street in Japan, you’re either going to have to walk there, or fork out some serious cash for a space in a public parking lot. Time out…I know the mental picture you have of a public parking lot. You are thinking about those massive commuter lots we have in the States, or at least something the size of the Walmart lot (which doesn’t seem that big until you have to park in the last row on a crowded Saturday afternoon). Scale down. Further. Keep going. Despite the huge billboards, and the giant colorful “P” signs (some abbreviations are universal), most public lots in our area have around 10 parking spots. The first time I saw all that advertising, I drove by expecting a lot the size of a couple football fields. I had to drive by twice before I actually saw the lot, which was more the size of a tennis court. Whoa. Reality check. The secret to making lots that small…micro parking spaces and aisles that are only one and a half times the width (not length!) of a car. The only way you’ll ever get your car out of the lot is if you back into the space when you get there. If you pull into the slot, you’ll have to wait for every other car to leave to have a chance of escaping.
The Japanese are marvels of ingenuity, and their parking lots are no exception. Aside from the engineering involved in designing a lot whose layout does not exceed the physical steering capabilities of today’s automobiles, they have figured out a way to keep drivers honest. There is no feeding of the parking meter here. You can’t mooch off of anyone else’s leftover time, or overstay your quarter’s worth and hope the meter maid doesn’t catch you. Yo
u pay for the time you used the spot, or you can’t leave! When you back into your chosen spot, your tires cross over a metal speed bump-like contraption in the middle of the parking space. Within three or four minutes (they do give you time to adjust if you didn’t back in straight--remember, I failed this part of the driving test, so rest assured that I used almost all of my wiggle time) the speed bump thing rises until it touches the undercarriage of your car. Now you are trapped, unless you’re willing to risk ripping the back axle off. The only way to get out is to pay the machine (no parking lot attendants). When you are done running errands and return to the lot, you punch your space number into the machine, it calculates your arrival and departure times, and charges you accordingly (a cheap lot gives you 20 minutes for 100 yen). Once you have put your yen in the machine, it will lower the speed bump under your car, and you are free to go. Quite clever, really. My issue here is that my native language is English, and even though the machine's buttons are clearly marked and a pleasant voice guides you through each step of the process, sh
e speaks only Japanese. I was not at all confident that I would be able to push the buttons in the correct sequence to pay my car's bail. Once I found the start button though (just keep pushing buttons, one will eventually do something), flashing lights guided me through the rest of the process, I paid my 700 yen, and Squeakers was free to leave.
So now my next question is this…is there a backup generator in case of a power outage? It could get very expensive if you have to wait for the power to be restored before you can retrieve your car...
I never really thought of a parking place as a luxury before. It’s just one of those things I always took for granted. I had a dry, spacious garage at home. At work, there was a large parking lot with wide aisles and wide spaces. When I went shopping, each store had its own lot, and my choice of parking spot depended on how many steps I wanted to log on my pedometer. I imagine that the Japanese would be appalled by all the acreage we Americans devote to parking. There is no such wastefulness here!
We have one parking spot in front of our home, which requires superb parallel parking skills so as not to scrape the brick walls surrounding three sides of the slot. Jim parks here, since he drives to work each day. Because I take the train more often than driving, I park in a rented space about three blocks from the house—the yearly rent is about double that of my first apartment. (The lot contains about 20 spaces—you do the math. Whoever owns that little corner of the neighborhood must be laughing all the way to the bank.)
As for parking anywhere else…don’t count on it. Only the largest stores actually have parking lots. The mall has a parking garage, but they charge you to park there. If you’d like to patronize the local shops found up and down nearly every street in Japan, you’re either going to have to walk there, or fork out some serious cash for a space in a public parking lot. Time out…I know the mental picture you have of a public parking lot. You are thinking about those massive commuter lots we have in the States, or at least something the size of the Walmart lot (which doesn’t seem that big until you have to park in the last row on a crowded Saturday afternoon). Scale down. Further. Keep going. Despite the huge billboards, and the giant colorful “P” signs (some abbreviations are universal), most public lots in our area have around 10 parking spots. The first time I saw all that advertising, I drove by expecting a lot the size of a couple football fields. I had to drive by twice before I actually saw the lot, which was more the size of a tennis court. Whoa. Reality check. The secret to making lots that small…micro parking spaces and aisles that are only one and a half times the width (not length!) of a car. The only way you’ll ever get your car out of the lot is if you back into the space when you get there. If you pull into the slot, you’ll have to wait for every other car to leave to have a chance of escaping.
The Japanese are marvels of ingenuity, and their parking lots are no exception. Aside from the engineering involved in designing a lot whose layout does not exceed the physical steering capabilities of today’s automobiles, they have figured out a way to keep drivers honest. There is no feeding of the parking meter here. You can’t mooch off of anyone else’s leftover time, or overstay your quarter’s worth and hope the meter maid doesn’t catch you. Yo
u pay for the time you used the spot, or you can’t leave! When you back into your chosen spot, your tires cross over a metal speed bump-like contraption in the middle of the parking space. Within three or four minutes (they do give you time to adjust if you didn’t back in straight--remember, I failed this part of the driving test, so rest assured that I used almost all of my wiggle time) the speed bump thing rises until it touches the undercarriage of your car. Now you are trapped, unless you’re willing to risk ripping the back axle off. The only way to get out is to pay the machine (no parking lot attendants). When you are done running errands and return to the lot, you punch your space number into the machine, it calculates your arrival and departure times, and charges you accordingly (a cheap lot gives you 20 minutes for 100 yen). Once you have put your yen in the machine, it will lower the speed bump under your car, and you are free to go. Quite clever, really. My issue here is that my native language is English, and even though the machine's buttons are clearly marked and a pleasant voice guides you through each step of the process, sh
e speaks only Japanese. I was not at all confident that I would be able to push the buttons in the correct sequence to pay my car's bail. Once I found the start button though (just keep pushing buttons, one will eventually do something), flashing lights guided me through the rest of the process, I paid my 700 yen, and Squeakers was free to leave.So now my next question is this…is there a backup generator in case of a power outage? It could get very expensive if you have to wait for the power to be restored before you can retrieve your car...
Wednesday, November 12, 2008 (part 2)--You're Hired!
Good news! I got the job teaching at the factory in Honatsugi. I start on November 25, and the class runs through mid-May. Somewhat troubling is the fact that I am going to have to take a bus from the train station to the factory. Except for the school bus and a Greyhound, I've never taken a public bus in my life. It'd be intimidating enough the first time in English, but I have to do it in Japanese. Unlike the trains, there are no English signs on buses, and if there are no passengers waiting, the driver doesn’t pull up to every stop. You have to push a button to signal that you need to get off at the next stop. Not only do I not know where my stop is, I don’t know what to look for right before it comes up so I can push the button…guess I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. In the meantime, I’ll wait for the textbooks that are supposed to arrive in the mail this week and start planning an introductory lesson for my five students.
Wednesday, November 12--The Legacy Continues
I have the power. What I did to get it, I’m not sure, but it was officially bestowed upon me today.
Several weeks ago, I was told I’d be among the three teachers meeting Admiral Takeguchi, head of the JMSDF 2nd Service (English Language) School (2MSS) today. I thought it was just going to be a formal introduction of the three newest American instructors after the day’s lessons. I made sure to dress professionally, practiced bowing, and honestly figured we’d be done with the introductions in about 30 seconds. I was unaware that we would be taking part in a brief, but very official, Authority Ceremony. As soon as we finished our lessons, the three of us were quickly ushered into a room where we met the admiral and several other important people whose names, ranks, and official duties did not stick with me. Admiral Takeguchi then presented each of us with a Certificate of
Authority, read aloud in Japanese and English, which states that we have “satisfied the requirements for training” (Really? I must’ve missed that part) and are “entrusted with the responsibilities of English language instruction at the 2nd Service School.”
After posing for a round of official photographs, we all drank tea and made polite conversation through an interpreter. The admiral thanked us for our service to the school and spoke of the long relationship between 2MSS and the American instructors, important not just for bringing students an opportunity for English conversation, but for fostering goodwill
between Japanese and Americans. The admiral pointed out that I am the 524th American instructor hired in the school’s fifty-year history. He mentioned several past instructors by name, talked about their participation in the school’s activities (he did not have with him the photo albums where the instructors’ interactions with the students are preserved for posterity), and was curious whether we knew any of them.
As quickly as it began, the ceremony ended, and we were efficiently ushered down to the picture studio where formal photos were taken for the teacher’s wall of the lounge and for our ID badges. So, for better or for worse, I am now a documented part of the history of 2MSS. Years from now, new teachers will drink tea with the admiral and might be asked if they know teacher #524.
Several weeks ago, I was told I’d be among the three teachers meeting Admiral Takeguchi, head of the JMSDF 2nd Service (English Language) School (2MSS) today. I thought it was just going to be a formal introduction of the three newest American instructors after the day’s lessons. I made sure to dress professionally, practiced bowing, and honestly figured we’d be done with the introductions in about 30 seconds. I was unaware that we would be taking part in a brief, but very official, Authority Ceremony. As soon as we finished our lessons, the three of us were quickly ushered into a room where we met the admiral and several other important people whose names, ranks, and official duties did not stick with me. Admiral Takeguchi then presented each of us with a Certificate of
Authority, read aloud in Japanese and English, which states that we have “satisfied the requirements for training” (Really? I must’ve missed that part) and are “entrusted with the responsibilities of English language instruction at the 2nd Service School.”After posing for a round of official photographs, we all drank tea and made polite conversation through an interpreter. The admiral thanked us for our service to the school and spoke of the long relationship between 2MSS and the American instructors, important not just for bringing students an opportunity for English conversation, but for fostering goodwill
between Japanese and Americans. The admiral pointed out that I am the 524th American instructor hired in the school’s fifty-year history. He mentioned several past instructors by name, talked about their participation in the school’s activities (he did not have with him the photo albums where the instructors’ interactions with the students are preserved for posterity), and was curious whether we knew any of them.As quickly as it began, the ceremony ended, and we were efficiently ushered down to the picture studio where formal photos were taken for the teacher’s wall of the lounge and for our ID badges. So, for better or for worse, I am now a documented part of the history of 2MSS. Years from now, new teachers will drink tea with the admiral and might be asked if they know teacher #524.
Friday, November 7--Tell Me About Yourself
Today I had my first Japanese job interview. A company that matches English teachers with prospective employers contacted me about the possibility of teaching a company class at a factory about an hour and a half from home. Before agreeing to the interview, Jim and I weighed the long commute against the pay, and we decided that since this job could lead to other opportunities, I should just look at the long train ride as an opportunity to plan other lessons, catch up on reading, or write letters (I nixed the idea of napping on the train, as I have no doubt I would sleep through my stop). So today I printed out my resume, got dressed up, tamped down the butterflies in my stomach (not for the actual interview, but for successfully finding the prearranged interview location) and met the company representative at a hotel coffee shop just outside the train station in Yokohama.
I had read that Japanese job interviews could be quite different than American interviews. Apparently the Japanese can and do come right out and ask all the nosy questions that American employers are prohibited from asking—how old are you, are you married, do you have kids, do you drink, how much do you weigh? So I was ready for anything, but the interview was very informal, and actually more like meeting someone for the first time at a social function. Over a $10 cup of tea, I answered questions about my education and teaching experience, and learned about the factory I would work for and the placement company’s contract, all cleverly disguised as polite conversation. The only clue that this was indeed a job interview came from the disconcerting notes she wrote in Japanese on what I assume was an interview checklist. For all I know, she was writing that I was a sloppy ignoramus with an ineffective teaching philosophy who must’ve gotten her teaching license from a Cracker Jack box! In spite of those cryptic notes, I feel that the interview went well, and I have a good chance of landing this job. There is one more interview to be conducted on Tuesday, and I should know their final decision on Wednesday. Stay tuned for results.
I had read that Japanese job interviews could be quite different than American interviews. Apparently the Japanese can and do come right out and ask all the nosy questions that American employers are prohibited from asking—how old are you, are you married, do you have kids, do you drink, how much do you weigh? So I was ready for anything, but the interview was very informal, and actually more like meeting someone for the first time at a social function. Over a $10 cup of tea, I answered questions about my education and teaching experience, and learned about the factory I would work for and the placement company’s contract, all cleverly disguised as polite conversation. The only clue that this was indeed a job interview came from the disconcerting notes she wrote in Japanese on what I assume was an interview checklist. For all I know, she was writing that I was a sloppy ignoramus with an ineffective teaching philosophy who must’ve gotten her teaching license from a Cracker Jack box! In spite of those cryptic notes, I feel that the interview went well, and I have a good chance of landing this job. There is one more interview to be conducted on Tuesday, and I should know their final decision on Wednesday. Stay tuned for results.
Monday, November 3--What the Hell Is Beeping??
Beep. Beep. Beep beep beep. Everything in this house beeps. Push a button, any button, beep. Dial a phone number, beep. Turn down the fan speed on the air conditioner, beep. Set the water level on the washer, beep. Lower the temperature on the stove so the spaghetti doesn’t boil over, beep. Turn on the fanny washer feature of the high-tech toilet, beep.
As if that weren’t maddening enough, all of the appliances also beep to let me know when they are done. And since every beep from every appliance is the exact same tone, with no discernible difference in length or pitch, I have to count the number of beeps to know which appliance wants my attention. Five beeps--oven, eight beeps—dryer, ten beep—washer. I have to be on constant alert on days when I am multi-tasking. If I am really absorbed in Oprah when I am ironing and only the last two or three beeps of some appliance’s cry for attention penetrate my consciousness, then I don’t know whether it is time to put the banana bread in the oven or time to take the towels out of the dryer.
And don’t think I can escape the beeping by leaving the house. As soon as I put the car in reverse, it, too, starts beeping! Every Japanese car does this—not as a warning to anyone standing near the car that you are about to back up, as it cannot be heard outside the car. No, it is a special beeping designed to warn the driver inside the car that he is about to back up (not sure how he would not know this already, since the big R on the gearshift tends to be a big hint). In my case, it is just a powerful incentive to learn how to back up quickly and efficiently. Once the car is in drive, there is finally peace. At least until I turn up the fan speed on the air conditioner, or turn down the volume on the radio…
As if that weren’t maddening enough, all of the appliances also beep to let me know when they are done. And since every beep from every appliance is the exact same tone, with no discernible difference in length or pitch, I have to count the number of beeps to know which appliance wants my attention. Five beeps--oven, eight beeps—dryer, ten beep—washer. I have to be on constant alert on days when I am multi-tasking. If I am really absorbed in Oprah when I am ironing and only the last two or three beeps of some appliance’s cry for attention penetrate my consciousness, then I don’t know whether it is time to put the banana bread in the oven or time to take the towels out of the dryer.
And don’t think I can escape the beeping by leaving the house. As soon as I put the car in reverse, it, too, starts beeping! Every Japanese car does this—not as a warning to anyone standing near the car that you are about to back up, as it cannot be heard outside the car. No, it is a special beeping designed to warn the driver inside the car that he is about to back up (not sure how he would not know this already, since the big R on the gearshift tends to be a big hint). In my case, it is just a powerful incentive to learn how to back up quickly and efficiently. Once the car is in drive, there is finally peace. At least until I turn up the fan speed on the air conditioner, or turn down the volume on the radio…
Saturday, November 1--Halloween: What Went Wrong?
The Japanese have imported several American holidays, including Halloween, with enthusiasm. Well, they have at least imported the overall idea of the holiday, if not the horror. Decorations have been going up for weeks, consisting of happy little ghosts, smiling witches, dancing skeletons, and grinning spiders. I have not seen a single bloody corpse or snarling ghoul. More than anything, there is a sense of anticipation surrounding the possible loot of American candy.
I heard that on-base residents could expect thousands of trick-or-treaters, American and Japanese, to descend on the housing units, with most residents running out of candy within half an hour. I heard that even living off-base, we could expect several waves of trick-or-treaters. I also heard that the hundreds of cases of Halloween candy lining every available aisle of the commissary starting in August would be sold out within a couple weeks, so I bought three bags in early September. (I am happy to report that all three bags remained unopened until I poured them into the Halloween bowl Thursday.)
In anticipation of cute little Japanese trick-or-treaters, I turned on the gate and front porch lights last night at the first hint of dusk (about 4:30). I planned a low-maintenance dinner that would survive numerous interruptions by the doorbell. Jim resisted his usual routine of immediately showering and putting on pajamas when arriving home after work. For several hours we remained downstairs, listening to groups of kids moving up and down the street outside. Not a single ring of the doorbell, though, so we eventually headed upstairs to work in the office. No sooner had I logged into my email than the doorbell rang. Yay! I raced downstairs, eager to load down Japanese children with handfuls of American candy, and found Jim’s coworker Rudy at the door. Dressed in chains and a Hannibal Lechter mask, he gamely cried, “Trick or treat!” so I doled out handfuls of Snickers, Twix, M&Ms, Starburst, Skittles, and Twizzlers. He left happy with his loot, and I returned to the office. Seconds after sitting at my desk, the doorbell rang again, and I was convinced the Japanese had seen Rudy come to the door and now knew we were handing out candy. Nope. It was Rudy again, wanting to know if there were other American families in the neighborhood handing out candy.
After talking to people today who have been in Japan for previous Halloweens, I learned that to attract trick-or-treaters you have to first decorate the outside of your house as a sign that you have candy and are open to the idea of giving it away (porch lights are meaningless). You also have to stand outside with your bowl, and literally flag down passing children in order to give them the candy, until word gets around that you are participating in the festivities.
We will know better next year. In the meantime, Jim will go to work Monday with a huge bag of Halloween candy to put on his desk for his coworkers to grab. Not the chocolate, though—I am keeping the good stuff close to home.
I heard that on-base residents could expect thousands of trick-or-treaters, American and Japanese, to descend on the housing units, with most residents running out of candy within half an hour. I heard that even living off-base, we could expect several waves of trick-or-treaters. I also heard that the hundreds of cases of Halloween candy lining every available aisle of the commissary starting in August would be sold out within a couple weeks, so I bought three bags in early September. (I am happy to report that all three bags remained unopened until I poured them into the Halloween bowl Thursday.)
In anticipation of cute little Japanese trick-or-treaters, I turned on the gate and front porch lights last night at the first hint of dusk (about 4:30). I planned a low-maintenance dinner that would survive numerous interruptions by the doorbell. Jim resisted his usual routine of immediately showering and putting on pajamas when arriving home after work. For several hours we remained downstairs, listening to groups of kids moving up and down the street outside. Not a single ring of the doorbell, though, so we eventually headed upstairs to work in the office. No sooner had I logged into my email than the doorbell rang. Yay! I raced downstairs, eager to load down Japanese children with handfuls of American candy, and found Jim’s coworker Rudy at the door. Dressed in chains and a Hannibal Lechter mask, he gamely cried, “Trick or treat!” so I doled out handfuls of Snickers, Twix, M&Ms, Starburst, Skittles, and Twizzlers. He left happy with his loot, and I returned to the office. Seconds after sitting at my desk, the doorbell rang again, and I was convinced the Japanese had seen Rudy come to the door and now knew we were handing out candy. Nope. It was Rudy again, wanting to know if there were other American families in the neighborhood handing out candy.
After talking to people today who have been in Japan for previous Halloweens, I learned that to attract trick-or-treaters you have to first decorate the outside of your house as a sign that you have candy and are open to the idea of giving it away (porch lights are meaningless). You also have to stand outside with your bowl, and literally flag down passing children in order to give them the candy, until word gets around that you are participating in the festivities.
We will know better next year. In the meantime, Jim will go to work Monday with a huge bag of Halloween candy to put on his desk for his coworkers to grab. Not the chocolate, though—I am keeping the good stuff close to home.
Tuesday, October 28--Pit Stop
Okay, it is time to talk toilets. I have been avoiding the subject because, well, it isn’t necessarily the most polite topic of conversation. But remembering the toilet I saw at the shrine in Kamakura over the weekend, I feel obligated to expose the truth. Not all toilets in Japan are models of Japanese engineers’ superior technological expertise and ingenuity. There is not a Captain Kirk toilet in every house and public restroom stall. In fact, only in the finest hotels and the VIP lounge of the airport will you find a gleaming porcelain bowl crowned with a heated seat and fanny washer. In the majority of locations, you will be lucky to even encounter the porcelain bowl. By American standards, the traditional Japanese bathroom is quite crude. While there does seem to be running water in every restroom, a true Japanese toilet is less comfortable to use than a good ol’ American outhouse.The first thing you notice when walking into a public restroom is the fact that the stall doors run floor to ceiling. Most doors also have a red-colored plate that lets you know when the stall is occupied, which I originally thought was just a clever accessory. Only after thinking about the American way of determining if a stall is occupied—looking under the door for feet—and realizing it wouldn’t be feet you’d see in a Japanese bathroom if you looked under the door, did I understand that the full-length doors and colored plates were necessary equipment to protect privacy, not added conveniences. If you are extremely lucky, you will find one of these full-length doors sporting a picture of a Western toilet. If the call of nature isn’t a frantic scream at this point, I highly recommend waiting until this stall is vacant. If you can’t hold it another moment (or if your husband is waiting impatiently for you to emerge from the ladies’ room), you’re going to have to suck it up and go Japanese-style.
IMPORTANT!! When you walk in the stall, immediately check for toilet paper!! Only recently has this item been added to many Japanese bathrooms—if there is none, dig a tissue out of your purse before you hang it on the stall door hook. (When you walk down the streets of Japan, there are always salespeople shoving small packs of tissues at you. It doesn’t matter whether the hawker is advertising cell phones or exotic dancers. Take the tissues! They are worth their weight in gold.)
Forget about reading a magazine or answering the cell phone while you’re in here. Unless you have the thigh muscles of a Major League baseball catcher, you won’t have the stamina for extracurricular activities while in the bathroom. You don’t sit on a Japanese toilet…you squat above it. (Now do you understand the full-length doors?) The toilet is basically a porcelain trough in the floor. The front end has a hood and the pipes—make sure you face this direction! Some bathrooms even have special tiles on the floor to help you find the correct placement for your feet, so that everything will line up properly. The hard part is figuring out how to arrange your clothing so nothing gets dirty. While you want to pull your pants down as far as possible so you don’t accidentally dribble on them, you don’t want them puddling on the floor around your ankles, because I don’t think that’s water you’re standing in. You must also be mindful of long shirt tails and coat tails hanging below the waist—hold them up out of the splash zone. With your hands full of clothing, you have no means of maintaining your balance as you lower yourself into a squatting position over the toilet, so you'll want to descend slowly and carefully, making no sudden movements. Not that there is anything to grab onto anyway if you begin to lose your balance—you’d have to make a split-second decision about which would be the most sanitary thing to touch on your way down…the wall, the floor, the hood of the toilet, or the trash bin, if one is present. Shudder. Check out this website for full instructions on how to use a Japanese toilet (warning: there is an explicit description of what happens if you lose your balance, so hide the kids’ eyes). Please note that the author actually meant toilet bowl not bowel, even though the error adds to the hilarity of the whole experience.
After you emerge from the stall, you are going to have a strong desire to wash your hands (if not take a shower). At the sinks you are going to find plenty of running water—often from faucets of the motion-sensor variety—but oddly you won’t often find soap. This is so strange to me, in a country that is hyper-aware of spreading germs (during cold season, scores of Japanese wear surgical masks so as not to contaminate the rest of the population). Even rarer than soap are paper towels or electric hand dryers. You are expected to have a small towel with you at all times with which to dry your hands, wipe sweat from your brow, mop up spilled coffee, etc.
I used my first Japanese toilet at Ueno Zoo several weeks ago. It took longer than a normal pit stop should have, but I emerged feeling quite proud of myself. My jeans and my sneakers were dry, I didn’t have to grab onto anything to keep my balance, and I had my little towel with me to dry my hands when I was finished. I felt like a potty expert! It was only when we arrived at the train station and I pulled my PASMO card (train pass) out of my back pocket that I realized I might need some more practice. In the process of squatting over my strategically pulled-down jeans, I squashed the daylights out of my PASMO card—quite an accomplishment since it is made of the same plastic as a credit card. It still works in the scanner, but the creases will constantly remind me not to overlook any small detail in a public restroom!
Saturday, October 25--Kamakura on a Day of Celebrations
We ventured into Kamakura today (two train stops from home), which is a great place to experience some of “old” Japan. The town is full of shrines and temples (just look at the map), still has some traditional style houses, and is home to the second largest statue of Buddha in Japan (we didn’t see him today—will head out that direction another time).Today we tackled the main street, which runs from Hachimangu Shrine at one end to Yuigahama Beach at the other. This Shinto shrine is the most important one in Kamakura, and was built in the 1100s. The street leading to the shrine is lined on either side with countless shops and restaurants, and is spanned in three locations by tremendous torii gates. Near the train station, about 10 minutes walk from the shrine, the street becomes divided by a large median which is actually a pedestrian pathway bordered by cherry trees (this will be gorgeous in the spring). The path is always busy, but was especially so today because of the Shichi-Go-San (Seven-Five-Three) ceremony being held at the shrine. This is a special day of prayer for the healthy growth of young children, specifically for girls who are 3 or 7 years old, and boys who are 3 or 5 years old. Though traditionally held on November 15, it is not a national holiday, so ceremonies are often held on the nearest weekend. We just happened to be in the right place at the right time! The children usually dress in formal kimonos and their proud parents snap lots of photos. After the ceremony, where prayers for health and long life are offered by priests, parents often purchase “chitose-ame” or thousand-year candy for the child. This long red and white candy comes in a bag which may be decorated with plum, bamboo, turtles, and cranes, all symbols of health, good luck, and long life.
Many Japanese couples get married in the fall, and we were lucky enough to see two traditional Shinto wedding ceremonies being performed on the grounds of the shrine today. Each bride was beautiful in her shiromuku (ceremonial white kimono), and the nervous grooms wore montsuki haori hakama. The guests were clad either in kimonos or their best Western-style clothing. We couldn’t really hear (not that we would have understood anyway) the actual ceremony, but it was apparent that everything, right down to the sake drinking, was precisely choreographed.
Stay tuned for future trips to this delightful city. There is so much to see and do here—a definite tour stop for those of you planning to come visit us in Japan!
Friday, October 24--I give up
Maybe you can help me out here. This sign is hanging, larger than life, on the side of the local mall. What does “Heartful Autumn” mean exactly? What do hippos sitting on a tree limb holding a lantern have to do with autumn? And what in the world are those wormy things with hands sitting beside the hippos?
Wednesday, October 22--Musings on Adventure
For the past couple of days I’ve been thinking about the single folks in Jim’s office who have come overseas, especially those on their first tour. It must be intimidating to leave all that is familiar, and go to a new country, where you don’t know a soul, don’t speak the language, and don’t have a clue where to find anything. Nevertheless, it’s a remarkable opportunity for people in their early twenties to explore the world before they have a family to worry about. I admire their independent spirits, their sense of adventure, and their willingness to confront the unknown singlehandedly. I remember those days, even though I personally didn’t get past the dreaming of adventure stage when I was in my twenties. Only $4000 stood between me and a two-week vacation on a Montana ranch. I was a single phone call away from signing up for a one-year contract as a catch-monitoring biologist onboard Alaskan deep sea fishing boats. I ended up postponing my adventures till later.
The biggest benefit to waiting to embark on my adventures is that now I have someone to share them with. Not that I wouldn’t have had fun on my own—each experience is what you make it. And I could have shared what I did with family and friends back home. But I find that half the fun now is being able to talk to Jim each day about what we’ve seen and done. Sometimes when we’ve gone out somewhere new on the weekend, we see different things in the same places and compare notes. Other times we both saw the same thing, but have different ideas about what exactly it was or what it meant. Then there are the things we see when we are out on our own, that we talk about in the evenings. For example, on my way back from teaching today, I saw a hearse. Those of you who are thinking, “My, what stimulating dinner table conversation a hearse would make,” have obviously never seen a Japanese hearse. We are talking a shrine on four wheels. They make the shrines from Sunday’s mikoshi parade look like an 8-year-old assembled them from popsicle sticks and mom’s leftover craft supplies.
I imagine that if I had been able to travel overseas for a job when I was still single, I would have made friends in the new location. I could have gone sightseeing and exploring with those new friends, and we could have compared our individual adventures around the water cooler at work. I could have called home to try to describe everything in my new country to my family. But I think I would have ended up feeling lonely. Having Jim to share everything with each night makes me want to experience more of all Japan has to offer and makes me less homesick.
The biggest benefit to waiting to embark on my adventures is that now I have someone to share them with. Not that I wouldn’t have had fun on my own—each experience is what you make it. And I could have shared what I did with family and friends back home. But I find that half the fun now is being able to talk to Jim each day about what we’ve seen and done. Sometimes when we’ve gone out somewhere new on the weekend, we see different things in the same places and compare notes. Other times we both saw the same thing, but have different ideas about what exactly it was or what it meant. Then there are the things we see when we are out on our own, that we talk about in the evenings. For example, on my way back from teaching today, I saw a hearse. Those of you who are thinking, “My, what stimulating dinner table conversation a hearse would make,” have obviously never seen a Japanese hearse. We are talking a shrine on four wheels. They make the shrines from Sunday’s mikoshi parade look like an 8-year-old assembled them from popsicle sticks and mom’s leftover craft supplies.
I imagine that if I had been able to travel overseas for a job when I was still single, I would have made friends in the new location. I could have gone sightseeing and exploring with those new friends, and we could have compared our individual adventures around the water cooler at work. I could have called home to try to describe everything in my new country to my family. But I think I would have ended up feeling lonely. Having Jim to share everything with each night makes me want to experience more of all Japan has to offer and makes me less homesick.
Sunday, October 19--Mikoshi Parade
Today was the 32nd Annual Mikoshi Parade in Yokosuka. We were up late last night playing poker, so we got a slow start this morning. By the time we got up and indulged in brunch on base, we missed the beginning of the parade. What we did see was incredible, and I will make sure to catch the whole thing next year.
A mikoshi is a portable Shinto shrine, which is traditionally believed to carry part of a deity which will be taken to a special place to be released by a priest. (This parade was just a reenactment—no deities were contained in the shrines.) Each mikoshi is beautifully decorated with ribbons, lanterns, paintings, and plants. There are bells and knockers on the sides to wake the sleeping deity inside. Each of the 74 shrines in this year’s parade was carried well over a mile, from city hall downtown onto the base itself, on the shoulders of nearly 9,000 participants. No small feat, considering these things are made of solid wood beams and can weigh up to two tons.
Each mikoshi has a team of “handlers.” The shrine is led by a couple people carrying lanterns. Then there are several people pulling on ropes attached to the mikoshi, helping to guide the rest of the team down the parade route. The shrine itself is carried on the shoulders of dozens of Japanese, fueled (I’m told) by vast quantities of sake, who are moving in a sort of march/dance. They shake the mikoshi to rattle the bells, and sometimes even squat down repeatedly to dip the shrine. This is all done in perfect harmony, thanks to the rhythmic knocking on the sides of the shrine and the chanting of the carriers. It all looks professionally choreographed. The shrines are accompanied by scores of alternate carriers, ready to take the place of anyone who needs to step out from under the weight of the shrine for a break. Some members of the team are guides—they push and pull with all their might on the shrine to make sure it stays on course, and does not ram the shrine ahead (or drift backwards into the one behind). Each shrine is followed by a pit crew, for lack of a better term. They push along a cart on which the mikoshi can be rested if the parade stalls. (However, most carts today were being used to transport vast quantities of pizza—the Japanese love American pizza, and buy dozens of them whenever they have an opportunity to come on base.)
The mikoshi carriers almost defy description. Their energy is amazing, boundless, and infectious. Despite the enormous burden they carry, they smile and laugh, their faces only occasionally showing the strain of what they are doing. Both men and women participate, old and young, tall and short. I would add fat and thin, but there wasn’t an ounce of fat to be seen anywhere. And believe me, it was easy to assess, thanks to the traditional dress of the participants. Some of the men stuck to the purely traditional dress, which consists of a short robe called a happi coat and a type of thong undergarment. Bare chests and bare buns were frequently visible. The majority of the participants, however, opted for a more modest approach, wearing the happi coat over a t-shirt, and sporting white bike-shorts called zubon-shita. All wore odori tabi, which are vinyl-soled socks, split at the big toe, so sandals can easily be worn. (Traditionally, the Japanese participated in festivals such as this bare-footed—these socks offer some protection from the rough asphalt.)
I took lots of pictures during the parade (see link at right), but they just don’t capture the spirit of the event. There was so much to take in, between the costumes, the chanting, the pounding, the bells, the dancing, the beauty of the shrines, and good old-fashioned people watching. You can get a better feel for the festive atmosphere by watching the short video clips below.
A mikoshi is a portable Shinto shrine, which is traditionally believed to carry part of a deity which will be taken to a special place to be released by a priest. (This parade was just a reenactment—no deities were contained in the shrines.) Each mikoshi is beautifully decorated with ribbons, lanterns, paintings, and plants. There are bells and knockers on the sides to wake the sleeping deity inside. Each of the 74 shrines in this year’s parade was carried well over a mile, from city hall downtown onto the base itself, on the shoulders of nearly 9,000 participants. No small feat, considering these things are made of solid wood beams and can weigh up to two tons.
Each mikoshi has a team of “handlers.” The shrine is led by a couple people carrying lanterns. Then there are several people pulling on ropes attached to the mikoshi, helping to guide the rest of the team down the parade route. The shrine itself is carried on the shoulders of dozens of Japanese, fueled (I’m told) by vast quantities of sake, who are moving in a sort of march/dance. They shake the mikoshi to rattle the bells, and sometimes even squat down repeatedly to dip the shrine. This is all done in perfect harmony, thanks to the rhythmic knocking on the sides of the shrine and the chanting of the carriers. It all looks professionally choreographed. The shrines are accompanied by scores of alternate carriers, ready to take the place of anyone who needs to step out from under the weight of the shrine for a break. Some members of the team are guides—they push and pull with all their might on the shrine to make sure it stays on course, and does not ram the shrine ahead (or drift backwards into the one behind). Each shrine is followed by a pit crew, for lack of a better term. They push along a cart on which the mikoshi can be rested if the parade stalls. (However, most carts today were being used to transport vast quantities of pizza—the Japanese love American pizza, and buy dozens of them whenever they have an opportunity to come on base.)
The mikoshi carriers almost defy description. Their energy is amazing, boundless, and infectious. Despite the enormous burden they carry, they smile and laugh, their faces only occasionally showing the strain of what they are doing. Both men and women participate, old and young, tall and short. I would add fat and thin, but there wasn’t an ounce of fat to be seen anywhere. And believe me, it was easy to assess, thanks to the traditional dress of the participants. Some of the men stuck to the purely traditional dress, which consists of a short robe called a happi coat and a type of thong undergarment. Bare chests and bare buns were frequently visible. The majority of the participants, however, opted for a more modest approach, wearing the happi coat over a t-shirt, and sporting white bike-shorts called zubon-shita. All wore odori tabi, which are vinyl-soled socks, split at the big toe, so sandals can easily be worn. (Traditionally, the Japanese participated in festivals such as this bare-footed—these socks offer some protection from the rough asphalt.)
I took lots of pictures during the parade (see link at right), but they just don’t capture the spirit of the event. There was so much to take in, between the costumes, the chanting, the pounding, the bells, the dancing, the beauty of the shrines, and good old-fashioned people watching. You can get a better feel for the festive atmosphere by watching the short video clips below.
Saturday, October 18--The Birds
When we woke up this morning, it was a bit breezy, but the sun was shining brightly—great weather for the office picnic scheduled at noon. I threw on jeans and a t-shirt and Jim donned shorts and a t-shirt. Luckily we both tossed fleece jackets in the car, because when we arrived at the picnic area’s pavilion (which is right by the seawall) the sun was gone, the skies were full of leaden clouds, and the wind was howling. Reminded me of the nor’easters that blew through while I was living in New Hampshire.The grill was fired up, though, and lots of good food was coming from it. Brats, hot dogs, hamburgers, ribs…the works. We couldn’t load up our plates with sides, because everything was blowing off the plate before we could eat it. So there was a lot of back and forth—I’ll have a hot dog this trip, then I’ll go back for some pasta salad, then I’ll get a brownie, oh and those pickles look good, hey wait…are those spring rolls? Homemade Vietnamese spring rolls, with the pork and the rice noodles and the shrimp inside, just like we used to get at Pho Saigon in Fredericksburg. Even had the dipping sauce! Ah, the spring rolls. Delicious. But dangerous.
By the time I got to the spring roll, I had given up on trying to hold a plate in the wind. Finger food all the way now. I took a couple bites, then decided to walk out of the pavilion, munching on the rest, to where Jim was chatting with some guys from work. Earlier, I had noticed a dozen or so seahawks circling around, riding the wind, eyeballing the food on the grill and the small children on the playground. Now if you’ve never seen a seahawk, they are large, beautiful birds of prey, about two-thirds the size of an eagle. For weeks, I had been admiring their almost regal appearance as they soared around the base, screaming their seahawk battle cries. But I honestly didn’t give them much thought today—figured they were opportunists, like seagulls, waiting for food to hit the ground. Couldn’t have been more wrong. About six steps out of the pavilion, spring roll to my mouth, and there was a whoosh of feathers and a sudden gust of wind, unrelated to the storm brewing at sea, as a seahawk swooped in front of me. That was apparently his reconnaissance mission, because I barely had time to register, “Hey that bird was close,” before he was back again, this time making a grab for the spring roll dangling from my lips. Missed the spring roll, but he hooked my nose. In shock, I could hear Jim laughing hysterically in the background as the spring roll and I beat a hasty retreat back to the pavilion. They ought to have signs nailed to every flat surface of every pavilion warning unsuspecting picnic-goers of the aggressive nature of the resident seahawks.
The damage to my nose was minimal—just a very small cut which, barring some hideous seahawk-induced infection, will heal in a couple days. I’m grateful it wasn’t my eye he hooked. The psychological damage, however…let’s just say I won’t be watching the Alfred Hitchcock classic any time soon.
Tuesday, October 14--There's Ten Weeks of This?
Today I began a ten-week Japanese language course. It is a free class, offered by Fleet and Family Services, which meets for 90 minutes once a week. I didn’t walk into class expecting to be fluent in Japanese by the time it ends in December, but I figured it was a good starting point. After the first lesson…I am not so sure.
The class seemed like total chaos to me. There was an American there helping to run the class—she teaches the Getting Started Teaching English class and runs the English Teachers’ Networking Group—and she did not let the Japanese instructor do much. There were two or three kids at the back table being chatty (was today some sort of school holiday that I missed?). Many of the other students have already had one or more Japanese classes, and they were intent on showing how much they knew. So while I was desperately straining to hear the Japanese instructor pronounce common greetings, all these other people were talking over her. It was extremely frustrating.
Adding to my confusion and frustration were the photocopied pages from the textbook we were supposed to get for the class. The local bookstore did not carry the book, so I had to order a copy from Amazon last week—it is on its way, but did not arrive in time for today’s class. Luckily the instructors knew we were having difficulties obtaining books, and made copies of the pages we’d need for today. Imagine my surprise when I looked at the pages and they are all in hiragana (one of the three Japanese writing systems)! I was expecting to see the Japanese word for house spelled out in English letters, like in a Japanese-English dictionary or phrase book. Looking at those pages, it finally clicked with me why learning Japanese is such a huge undertaking. It’s not just using flashcards to memorize some new words. It’s learning a whole new language from the alphabet up. I’m starting to feel like that old dog trying to learn a new trick.
The class seemed like total chaos to me. There was an American there helping to run the class—she teaches the Getting Started Teaching English class and runs the English Teachers’ Networking Group—and she did not let the Japanese instructor do much. There were two or three kids at the back table being chatty (was today some sort of school holiday that I missed?). Many of the other students have already had one or more Japanese classes, and they were intent on showing how much they knew. So while I was desperately straining to hear the Japanese instructor pronounce common greetings, all these other people were talking over her. It was extremely frustrating.
Adding to my confusion and frustration were the photocopied pages from the textbook we were supposed to get for the class. The local bookstore did not carry the book, so I had to order a copy from Amazon last week—it is on its way, but did not arrive in time for today’s class. Luckily the instructors knew we were having difficulties obtaining books, and made copies of the pages we’d need for today. Imagine my surprise when I looked at the pages and they are all in hiragana (one of the three Japanese writing systems)! I was expecting to see the Japanese word for house spelled out in English letters, like in a Japanese-English dictionary or phrase book. Looking at those pages, it finally clicked with me why learning Japanese is such a huge undertaking. It’s not just using flashcards to memorize some new words. It’s learning a whole new language from the alphabet up. I’m starting to feel like that old dog trying to learn a new trick.
Sunday, October 5--Don't Feed the Monkeys
Off to Tokyo today, on a combined adventure. I wanted to go to the zoo, and Jim and Rudy had been plotting for days to find Shakey’s Pizza. First, to the Ueno Zoo. I visited the zoo when we were here last summer, and thought it would be a nice place to take Jim and Rudy now that the weather has turned cooler. Didn’t know till we had been walking around the zoo for nearly three hours that Jim isn’t a huge fan of zoos—if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. Oops. Duly noted.I enjoyed it though, and since my camera battery died right after taking pictures of the giant panda (first exhibit when you enter the zoo) last summer, I was glad to get a second walk-through. Good thing I got those panda photos last year…the zoo’s only panda died this past April. See this year’s pictures in the Ueno Zoo photo album (link on right).
Now starving, we got back on the train and went to Shibuya (another district of Tokyo) where Rudy swore a Shakey’s Pizza was located (he’d seen it on a previous trip to the city, and thought he had committed its location to memory). We walked half a dozen blocks out of each of the train station’s four exits and could not find it. We finally found some other Americans on the crowded sidewalk and asked them if they had any idea where it was. They excitedly said, “Yes, we just ate there—if you hurry you can still make the buffet!” Elated, we asked where it was—only to find out it wasn’t in this part of town. We’d have to get back on the train and go up another stop. Too hungry to continue the hunt, we retreated to the train station and settled for tonkatsu (a battered and fried pork cutlet, served on a huge bed of shredded cabbage, with sides of steamed rice and miso soup). I’m not sure anything ever tasted so delicious!
Rudy promises to do more research on the exact location of Shakey’s and take us there on our next trip to Tokyo.
Saturday, October 4--The Sake Flows
A busy day today. We started out at JMSDF, where I teach, as guests at the Second Service School’s 50th Anniversary celebration. The ceremony was held in the mess hall, where tables were laid out with amazing displays of food and drink. The Japanese officers and staff of the school, as well as the American instructors and their spouses, stood attentively as speeches were given. Unfortunately we could not understand the speeches, and I felt sort of left out as the rest of the audience laughed appreciatively at some joke delivered by the speaker. It was also quite startling at the end of the speech, when, with the exception of the American contingency, the entire audience bowed as one. Japanese customs and traditions are so complex, yet performed so innately—everyone always seems to be on the same page and knows exactly what is expected in each situation. I know they are taught these customs from childhood, and it is unreasonable to think I can walk in and know everything within two months, but feel like I am being disrespectful by trying to learn as I go along.After the speeches, there was a traditional opening of sake casks. I think it was more of a photo opportunity (guess who went without a camera?) than a real opening of the casks, because the lids split perfectly when hit with wooden mallets. Once the casks were opened, sake was distributed in square wooden boxes (how do you drink out of a wooden box? From the side? From the corner?) and toasts were made. Then the feasting began, and everyone made a beeline for the sushi table (students at the school are well-fed and regularly get many of the other types of food that were available today, but the cooks never fix sushi for them). I tried many foods, including yakisoba, tempura (shrimp, shitake mushroom, and green bean), yakitori, and even a piece of sushi (I chose one that appeared to have no fish). We quickly learned that we had to keep a plate with some small piece of food in our hands at all times, otherwise someone would run up to us with a full plate and insist we eat more. Everyone was extremely attentive to the Americans, never leaving us without food, drink, or conversation.
At the end of the event, there was more toasting, I assume to the continued success of the school in the future. There was a ritual for leaving the building which involved letting the most important guests leave first, and bowing along a type of receiving line. As we exited the mess hall, we were given a gift, which consisted of aerial photos of the school, a commemorative sake box imprinted with the school logo, and a badge holder. All in all, we enjoyed ourselves immensely, and were very happy to have been included in the celebration, considering I have only taught there two days!
This afternoon we browsed through the annual Fall Bazaar which takes up one entire parking garage on base. Vendors offer furniture, artwork, gift items, china, kimonos, wooden screens, toys, antiques, and assorted junk from all over Asia. I was hoping to find a tansu (step) chest, but nothing jumped out at me. Today was our scouting mission—we’ll try to go back tomorrow to take a second look and do any purchasing (supposedly the closer to closing time we shop, the better the deals are).
Saturday, September 27--Dinner Party
We’d been looking forward to today for a couple of weeks now. Not the wading through a bunch of junk and asking, “Where in the world is this gonna go?” Although we are secretly enjoying that too, because it means we finally have our own stuff again. No, Yasuko, the friendly neighbor across the street had arranged a dinner party in her home for us and the two other American families who live on our street. It was our first chance to go into a Japanese home, eat home-cooked Japanese food, and visit with our new neighbors.
We were scheduled to arrive at the neighbor’s at 4:00 p.m., but just as we were getting ready to put our shoes on, she called and asked us to wait until 4:30 because she wasn’t done cooking yet. So, after another 30 minutes of shuffling stuff from one room to another, we walked across the street to her house. She ushered us into the living room, where we were told to have a seat on the couch. Our host produced icy cans of Japanese beer (gulp—neither of us are beer drinkers, but we didn’t want to be impolite, so we cracked them open. I nursed mine for the next five hours and finally finished it off…Jim gave his to Aaron.) On the coffee table in front of us was an absolute feast, so beautifully prepared and presented it should have been featured in a magazine. There were nine of us there (two American couples, a single American, and two Japanese couples), and food enough for three times that many. I don’t know the names of everything she prepared, but I tried everything I was offered (Mom, you’d be so proud of me!). There were fried pork rolls, cups of rice topped with shredded beef or shrimp, an egg and potato casserole, shrimp and green bean tempura, edamame (young soybeans boiled in the pod), potato salad, sausage-stuffed eggplants, marinated mackerel and cucumbers, homemade bread, and a fresh fruit salad with Japanese pears, grapes, and persimmons. We had second helpings of many of the dishes, and even thirds of a few.
The evening’s conversation was interesting. There were the expected mini-conversations in English between the Americans and in Japanese between our hosts and the other Japanese couple, but for the most part we tried very hard to communicate across cultures. One of the other Americans had just begun Japanese lessons, so he was eager to try out what he had learned (he brought his dictionary along to help), and Yasuko was a great translator. Her husband, who claimed not to speak English, is in fact very capable, and told many stories of his job as a financial reporter (his English is just a bit rusty because he uses it far less often now that he is retired). The other Japanese couple spoke less English, but seemed to understand a great deal. They had questions for us about America, and we had questions for them about Japan. It was a great learning experience, and we Americans are already talking about hosting a dinner of our own to reciprocate. I hope that we can continue to build our relationships with the neighbors, and possibly develop friendships that will endure even after we return to the States.
We were scheduled to arrive at the neighbor’s at 4:00 p.m., but just as we were getting ready to put our shoes on, she called and asked us to wait until 4:30 because she wasn’t done cooking yet. So, after another 30 minutes of shuffling stuff from one room to another, we walked across the street to her house. She ushered us into the living room, where we were told to have a seat on the couch. Our host produced icy cans of Japanese beer (gulp—neither of us are beer drinkers, but we didn’t want to be impolite, so we cracked them open. I nursed mine for the next five hours and finally finished it off…Jim gave his to Aaron.) On the coffee table in front of us was an absolute feast, so beautifully prepared and presented it should have been featured in a magazine. There were nine of us there (two American couples, a single American, and two Japanese couples), and food enough for three times that many. I don’t know the names of everything she prepared, but I tried everything I was offered (Mom, you’d be so proud of me!). There were fried pork rolls, cups of rice topped with shredded beef or shrimp, an egg and potato casserole, shrimp and green bean tempura, edamame (young soybeans boiled in the pod), potato salad, sausage-stuffed eggplants, marinated mackerel and cucumbers, homemade bread, and a fresh fruit salad with Japanese pears, grapes, and persimmons. We had second helpings of many of the dishes, and even thirds of a few.
The evening’s conversation was interesting. There were the expected mini-conversations in English between the Americans and in Japanese between our hosts and the other Japanese couple, but for the most part we tried very hard to communicate across cultures. One of the other Americans had just begun Japanese lessons, so he was eager to try out what he had learned (he brought his dictionary along to help), and Yasuko was a great translator. Her husband, who claimed not to speak English, is in fact very capable, and told many stories of his job as a financial reporter (his English is just a bit rusty because he uses it far less often now that he is retired). The other Japanese couple spoke less English, but seemed to understand a great deal. They had questions for us about America, and we had questions for them about Japan. It was a great learning experience, and we Americans are already talking about hosting a dinner of our own to reciprocate. I hope that we can continue to build our relationships with the neighbors, and possibly develop friendships that will endure even after we return to the States.
Friday, September 26--Move In--Part 2
Yesterday, they came and removed all of our temporary furniture, with the exception of the bed, to make room for today’s delivery of our VERY OWN STUFF!! Any of you who have experienced a move in the States will not believe me when I tell you the movers were in and out in four hours. Yes, FOUR HOURS. The Pegasus moving company’s crew of three arrived right around 8:30 a.m., took a quick tour of the house, then began opening crates and unwrapping our possessions. As they flew by me in the entryway, they called out the number from the sticker so I could check it against the inventory, and hustled the item to its correct room. They manhandled the over-sized sofa and loveseat down the Japanese-sized hallway, around the corner, and into the living room without touching a single wall. The movers who packed us out in the States were fairly competent, but I guarantee they’d have gouged the wallpaper on at least three walls trying to get that furniture in there. They assembled the kitchen table and queen-sized sleigh bed in a matter of minutes. I’ve lived with both those items for three years and know what they are supposed to look like when assembled, and I still don’t think I could have done it as quickly as they did, sight unseen (the bed, especially, was in a lot of pieces!).
Once everything was off-loaded from the truck, we began opening boxes so that the movers could take the boxes and packing material with them when they left. Jim and I helped with this part, and in under an hour, every single thing we brought with us was unpacked, and all of the boxes and papers were bundled up and back on the truck. Holy whirlwind, Batman! At 12:30, the three-man Pegasus crew was back in the truck and pulling out of our street. Of course, the house looks like a bomb went off, so to preserve our sanity and to fuel up for the job ahead, Jim mandated an off-site lunch break before we jump into the clean-up operation. About an hour after we returned, the doorbell rang—it was the inspector from the housing office who comes during a move-in to make sure everything is going smoothly. He was very disconcerted to find out he was about three hours too late!! He’s been doing this for years, and even he was surprised by the speediness of our crew.
Now, the real fun begins. When we packed out, we were separating belongings to go with us or go in storage, not necessarily leaving them in the rooms they should go in. So now we have clothes in the living room, DVDs in the bedroom, and shoes in every room of the house. It will take me much longer than four hours to get everything sorted and the house in living condition. First order of business…find the sheets and make the bed, because I am going to need a soft place to fall this evening!
Once everything was off-loaded from the truck, we began opening boxes so that the movers could take the boxes and packing material with them when they left. Jim and I helped with this part, and in under an hour, every single thing we brought with us was unpacked, and all of the boxes and papers were bundled up and back on the truck. Holy whirlwind, Batman! At 12:30, the three-man Pegasus crew was back in the truck and pulling out of our street. Of course, the house looks like a bomb went off, so to preserve our sanity and to fuel up for the job ahead, Jim mandated an off-site lunch break before we jump into the clean-up operation. About an hour after we returned, the doorbell rang—it was the inspector from the housing office who comes during a move-in to make sure everything is going smoothly. He was very disconcerted to find out he was about three hours too late!! He’s been doing this for years, and even he was surprised by the speediness of our crew.
Now, the real fun begins. When we packed out, we were separating belongings to go with us or go in storage, not necessarily leaving them in the rooms they should go in. So now we have clothes in the living room, DVDs in the bedroom, and shoes in every room of the house. It will take me much longer than four hours to get everything sorted and the house in living condition. First order of business…find the sheets and make the bed, because I am going to need a soft place to fall this evening!
Thursday, September 25--An Observation Leads to a Job
Today, I went with a friend to sit in on her conversational English lessons at JMSDF (Japan Maritime Self Defense Force). She teaches mostly officers who will, at some point, either work with the UN or go to America to study. They get intensive English training from Japanese instructors, and as a result, read and write English very well. The school hires spouses from the US Navy base to assist the students in building their speaking confidence. Each week, a new topic is assigned, and the teacher facilitates discussions accordingly. It could be a question and answer session, a role-playing scenario, or a discussion of traditions. Regardless of the format or the topic, the students are active participants and ask tons of questions.
By the end of her two fifty-minute classes, I was filling out a form to be included on the school’s substitute teacher list. Before we walked out the door, I was booked for two days of classes of my own! Of course, I got role-playing topics—my least favorite form of instruction—for both days…at a housing agency and at a rental car company. I’ll have to make a good effort to be really enthusiastic so they will ask me to work again in the future!
By the end of her two fifty-minute classes, I was filling out a form to be included on the school’s substitute teacher list. Before we walked out the door, I was booked for two days of classes of my own! Of course, I got role-playing topics—my least favorite form of instruction—for both days…at a housing agency and at a rental car company. I’ll have to make a good effort to be really enthusiastic so they will ask me to work again in the future!
Wednesday, September 24--Getting the Ball Rolling
Well, folks are not beating down my door for English lessons, but I have picked up my first groups of students from a Navy wife who is leaving next month. I went with her to the lessons this afternoon, to meet the students and to get a feel for how she teaches. The two groups meet back to back--each one for thirty minutes, two times a month.
The Kitty Cat group has five students, aged three to six. The girls are all very sweet and cute, and the one boy is the class clown. They are learning shapes, colors, and numbers. Unfortunately, they don’t know enough English to follow directions for activities and games, so one of the mothers has to translate everything into Japanese. Basically, this seems to be a “repeat what I say” class, with little comprehension--due to the ages of the kids. They are still learning Japanese at this age (just like American preschoolers are learning English), so anything extra they can pick up in English is pretty amazing to me. It’ll be interesting to see how far I can take this group.
The Kite group is made up of 3 older boys, aged seven to eleven. They are typical, energetic boys, and it will be a challenge to keep their interest. It was hard to gauge exactly what their English level was. They definitely had a larger vocabulary than the younger group, but spent most of their time talking amongst themselves in Japanese. Today’s lesson was not a normal lesson, because it was the last day for the teacher they’d had for nearly two years—they played a game, had cupcakes, and exchanged gifts. I’ll get a better feel for things next time I see them—would like to challenge them to not use any Japanese for the thirty minutes they are with me, but they may not be ready for that.
Even though this was only an hour of teaching, I was pretty well worn out by the end. Guess summer break was too long, and I forgot how much energy is required to keep up with kids! These may be the only two children’s groups I take on…we’ll see how I do with adults. Tomorrow I am scheduled to go with a friend to a Japanese military school to sit in on her class. She teaches English conversation class to officers. If I enjoy it, I can sign up to be a substitute there. Stay tuned…
The Kitty Cat group has five students, aged three to six. The girls are all very sweet and cute, and the one boy is the class clown. They are learning shapes, colors, and numbers. Unfortunately, they don’t know enough English to follow directions for activities and games, so one of the mothers has to translate everything into Japanese. Basically, this seems to be a “repeat what I say” class, with little comprehension--due to the ages of the kids. They are still learning Japanese at this age (just like American preschoolers are learning English), so anything extra they can pick up in English is pretty amazing to me. It’ll be interesting to see how far I can take this group.
The Kite group is made up of 3 older boys, aged seven to eleven. They are typical, energetic boys, and it will be a challenge to keep their interest. It was hard to gauge exactly what their English level was. They definitely had a larger vocabulary than the younger group, but spent most of their time talking amongst themselves in Japanese. Today’s lesson was not a normal lesson, because it was the last day for the teacher they’d had for nearly two years—they played a game, had cupcakes, and exchanged gifts. I’ll get a better feel for things next time I see them—would like to challenge them to not use any Japanese for the thirty minutes they are with me, but they may not be ready for that.
Even though this was only an hour of teaching, I was pretty well worn out by the end. Guess summer break was too long, and I forgot how much energy is required to keep up with kids! These may be the only two children’s groups I take on…we’ll see how I do with adults. Tomorrow I am scheduled to go with a friend to a Japanese military school to sit in on her class. She teaches English conversation class to officers. If I enjoy it, I can sign up to be a substitute there. Stay tuned…
Sunday, September 21--DIS101-Intro to Natural Disasters
We got to experience two of the most common natural disasters in Japan this weekend. Fortunately, both were extremely mild examples, and neither one required us to evacuate or even break out the flashlight from the emergency kit.
The weekend kicked off with a visit from TS15, also known as Tropical Storm Sinlaku. We'd been watching this on-again/off-again typhoon for over a week as it ambled northeast across the Pacific. After several days' delayed arrival, forecasts finally called for rain to begin Friday night and last through Saturday afternoon, with total accumulations of 250mm (almost 10 inches for all you non-metric folks). Winds were forecast to increase throughout the night and end up sustained at 45 mph with gusts to 65 mph. Well, the weather forecasters here are nearly as accurate as the ones in the States. About all they got right was the time the inclement weather would start. Rain was steady, but light--significantly less than 250mm. It was accompanied by three bolts of lightning, one of which knocked out power for about two minutes. There was a stiff breeze, with a few stronger gusts--not even powerful enough to pull the dead blooms off the hibiscus tree. The whole thing was over and done by about 3 a.m. By the time we got up Saturday morning, the sun was out! I've seen worse thunderstorms in Virginia.
Our second encounter with Mother Nature’s grumpy side came at 7:17 a.m. this morning. We were still sleeping, since earlier in the week Jim had declared Sunday a day of rest (he was tired from his trip last week, and had no chance to catch up this week due to a hectic schedule). I was in the middle of a dream when my body started trembling. As I was coming to consciousness, my first thought was that Jim was having some sort of convulsions, causing the bed to shake. Then he raised himself up and the shaking continued, so I thought I was having some sort of convulsions. Finally it clicked that we were having an earthquake. By the time I asked Jim, “Are we having an earthquake?” it was over. It wasn’t even strong enough to make the dishes rattle in the cabinets. We went back to sleep, and later in the morning I checked the internet for details. The magnitude 4.8 quake was a 3 on the shindo scale (measures the degree of shaking) at its epicenter near Tokyo, and what we felt was only a shindo 1. Japan averages 1500 earthquakes a year (there have been 5 so far today alone), so it seems inevitable that we will experience many more during our time here. Let's hope they are all as mild as today's quake.
The weekend kicked off with a visit from TS15, also known as Tropical Storm Sinlaku. We'd been watching this on-again/off-again typhoon for over a week as it ambled northeast across the Pacific. After several days' delayed arrival, forecasts finally called for rain to begin Friday night and last through Saturday afternoon, with total accumulations of 250mm (almost 10 inches for all you non-metric folks). Winds were forecast to increase throughout the night and end up sustained at 45 mph with gusts to 65 mph. Well, the weather forecasters here are nearly as accurate as the ones in the States. About all they got right was the time the inclement weather would start. Rain was steady, but light--significantly less than 250mm. It was accompanied by three bolts of lightning, one of which knocked out power for about two minutes. There was a stiff breeze, with a few stronger gusts--not even powerful enough to pull the dead blooms off the hibiscus tree. The whole thing was over and done by about 3 a.m. By the time we got up Saturday morning, the sun was out! I've seen worse thunderstorms in Virginia.
Our second encounter with Mother Nature’s grumpy side came at 7:17 a.m. this morning. We were still sleeping, since earlier in the week Jim had declared Sunday a day of rest (he was tired from his trip last week, and had no chance to catch up this week due to a hectic schedule). I was in the middle of a dream when my body started trembling. As I was coming to consciousness, my first thought was that Jim was having some sort of convulsions, causing the bed to shake. Then he raised himself up and the shaking continued, so I thought I was having some sort of convulsions. Finally it clicked that we were having an earthquake. By the time I asked Jim, “Are we having an earthquake?” it was over. It wasn’t even strong enough to make the dishes rattle in the cabinets. We went back to sleep, and later in the morning I checked the internet for details. The magnitude 4.8 quake was a 3 on the shindo scale (measures the degree of shaking) at its epicenter near Tokyo, and what we felt was only a shindo 1. Japan averages 1500 earthquakes a year (there have been 5 so far today alone), so it seems inevitable that we will experience many more during our time here. Let's hope they are all as mild as today's quake.
Saturday, September 20--Shuffle Up and Deal
Move over World Series of Poker. The ultimate in high-stakes poker, the Captain's Cup Texas Hold 'Em Tournament, sponsored by MWR (Morale, Welfare, and Recreation), took place at 1000 this morning. The Captain's Cup is a series of "sports" events, including softball, tennis, ping pong, and poker, that take place throughout the year. A command earns points by winning events. In addition to being recognized as the champion of a particular event, at the end of the year, the command that has earned the most points wins the overall Captain's Cup. One of Jim's coworkers is determined that their office will be represented on the Captain's Cup Wall of Fame. As a result, eight of us mustered at 0930 to secure our places at the poker tables. At the previous day's strategy meeting, it was decided that we would all sit at different tables (so as not to eliminate each other) and a side pot was established for the team member who lasted longest in the tournament (incentive to be patient and play good cards).
The tournament started with about 50 players, and within 30 seconds there was an all-in moment. I figured that was a pretty good indication we'd be able to hang for a while. In fact, four of us stuck around to the final two tables, Jim and myself included. I went out ahead of Jim, having only played two hands the whole tournament, and winning none. However, I managed to win third place in the women's division with that pitiful performance, earning a trophy and points toward the Captain's Cup! Jim went out right after me, but since there were still about 16 men left, no trophy or points for him.
At the end of the tournament, our team walked away with two trophies (also got 2nd place in the women's division--she was the side pot winner as well) which will be proudly displayed in the office's trophy case--as soon as someone gets around to building it.
The tournament started with about 50 players, and within 30 seconds there was an all-in moment. I figured that was a pretty good indication we'd be able to hang for a while. In fact, four of us stuck around to the final two tables, Jim and myself included. I went out ahead of Jim, having only played two hands the whole tournament, and winning none. However, I managed to win third place in the women's division with that pitiful performance, earning a trophy and points toward the Captain's Cup! Jim went out right after me, but since there were still about 16 men left, no trophy or points for him.
At the end of the tournament, our team walked away with two trophies (also got 2nd place in the women's division--she was the side pot winner as well) which will be proudly displayed in the office's trophy case--as soon as someone gets around to building it.
Wednesday, September 17--Say What?
It is not my personal philosophy, but if I were on a debate team, I could make the argument that knowing a little bit of a foreign language is worse than knowing none at all. Let me give you an example.
Today, I was out in the front “yard” pulling weeds. I heard footsteps, then some scrabbling out in the street and looked through the reed fence to see a man in a white hardhat and blue coverall setting up a barricade around the telephone pole on our property. He then shuffled off to the gate and rang the doorbell, so I made my way around the house to see what he wanted. When he saw me approaching, he said, “Konnichiwa,” which I know—it is the middle-of-the-day greeting. I replied, “Konnichiwa,” and I cannot even describe the look of immediate relief that passed over his face. It was like a thousand-pound weight had been lifted from him. This gaijin speaks Japanese! So he immediately launched into what I assume was an explanation for his being there. He looked toward the pole, and I think I heard the word “telephone,” so I gathered he was doing something with the phone. Given that he was in work clothes and I had seen him setting up the barricade around the pole, I didn’t think he was in trouble and wanted to use my telephone. But that was about all I could rule out. He could have been telling me that he was going to work on the telephone, so it would be out of order for a while, or he could have been saying please don’t use your telephone while I am working because you’ll electrocute me. Heck, for all I know he was warning me that he was going to be climbing the telephone pole, so I shouldn’t run around naked upstairs because he’d be able to see in the windows. Obviously, I need to work on my “I don’t understand a word you’re saying” look, because he seemed perfectly satisfied that I knew why he was there and what he was doing and took off to the next house.
Luckily, this was not an emergency situation, where it was critical that I understood what was being said. But what about next time? This small encounter just drove home the point that I need to get serious about studying Japanese. Three years is a long time to live somewhere and not be able to communicate. It’s a very isolating feeling to know that you don’t understand the language and cannot be understood in return. In a country with 125 million people it would be unlikely to find yourself completely alone, but the language issue could make it very easy to be lonely.
Today, I was out in the front “yard” pulling weeds. I heard footsteps, then some scrabbling out in the street and looked through the reed fence to see a man in a white hardhat and blue coverall setting up a barricade around the telephone pole on our property. He then shuffled off to the gate and rang the doorbell, so I made my way around the house to see what he wanted. When he saw me approaching, he said, “Konnichiwa,” which I know—it is the middle-of-the-day greeting. I replied, “Konnichiwa,” and I cannot even describe the look of immediate relief that passed over his face. It was like a thousand-pound weight had been lifted from him. This gaijin speaks Japanese! So he immediately launched into what I assume was an explanation for his being there. He looked toward the pole, and I think I heard the word “telephone,” so I gathered he was doing something with the phone. Given that he was in work clothes and I had seen him setting up the barricade around the pole, I didn’t think he was in trouble and wanted to use my telephone. But that was about all I could rule out. He could have been telling me that he was going to work on the telephone, so it would be out of order for a while, or he could have been saying please don’t use your telephone while I am working because you’ll electrocute me. Heck, for all I know he was warning me that he was going to be climbing the telephone pole, so I shouldn’t run around naked upstairs because he’d be able to see in the windows. Obviously, I need to work on my “I don’t understand a word you’re saying” look, because he seemed perfectly satisfied that I knew why he was there and what he was doing and took off to the next house.
Luckily, this was not an emergency situation, where it was critical that I understood what was being said. But what about next time? This small encounter just drove home the point that I need to get serious about studying Japanese. Three years is a long time to live somewhere and not be able to communicate. It’s a very isolating feeling to know that you don’t understand the language and cannot be understood in return. In a country with 125 million people it would be unlikely to find yourself completely alone, but the language issue could make it very easy to be lonely.
Saturday, September 13--Mystery Solved
If you remember, we have a good deal of unidentified flora in our front "yard." Did a little research while waiting for the exterminator to arrive, and have concluded that the tree with the pretty white flowers is a hibiscus. The blooms are gorgeous, but last only one day. Then they curl up tightly, drop off, and stick like glue to my windshield. I try to remember to pick them off by hand before leaving, because if I use the wipers to scrape them off, everyone thinks that the dumb American still can't remember which side the turn signal lever is on!Thursday, September 11--To the left, to the left
To get to our house from the base, you turn right out of the main gate. We have never, in the six weeks we’ve been here, turned left out of the gate. To the left lies an unexplored world, full of mysteries, and if the rumor is true, shopping! Today I vowed to venture forth into the Left, to conquer my fear of the unknown, and to return with a recycling bin that will accommodate as many different types of trash as possible.
Armed with a full tank of gas (the journey is supposed to be around 5 km—less than 3 miles), some vague directions, and emergency rations of water and granola bars, I bravely headed out. The drive, short as it was, was actually through a very pretty area. The road runs along the coast, and there are large palm trees along the median. There was a feeling of more space, even though stores were still closely packed and high rises towered alongside the road. Not sure what the difference was—maybe being able to see the ocean and an actual horizon to my left?
The two stores I went to were adventures in themselves. It seems that most stores of any size around here are divided into multiple floors, and it is difficult to locate specific items, or remember where it was you found something. The stores today were on one level (I don’t know how this happened—it must seem like a colossal waste of space to many Japanese), and reminded me of the big-box stores from home. Ave was kind of like a Walmart, having a little bit of everything. A lot of the products are American (Dove soap, Pantene shampoo, Hanes t-shirts), but packaged for Japanese tastes. There is also a supermarket within the store, but I did not explore that today. Home’s (I know that is not the correct use of an apostrophe, but that’s the name of the store) is a Target meets Lowes superstore. Lots of familiar hardware, lumber, and gardening supplies here. The most noticeable difference between Home’s and Lowes—there were not half a dozen aisles devoted to paint. There was a single section filled with paint cans (I don’t remember seeing any color swatches), brushes, and rollers that took up only one side of one aisle. Guess if everything is wall-papered, there isn’t much demand for paint. (I can understand with the humidity here, paint must take weeks to dry, but by the same token, I do not understand how the wallpaper stays on the wall. I’d think the paste would stay gummy, and the paper would just slide down the wall to puddle on the floor.)
Overall, the voyage into the Left went quite well, and I’m very pleased with myself (Rocky theme playing in the background here). I was even able to get out of the parking garage by reading the exit signs which were only written in Japanese! (Yeah, okay, it’s true. If you showed me those signs in a different context, there’s a really good chance I wouldn’t have a clue what they were. Just let me pretend for a minute I’m making progress with this new language!) By the way, I did find a recycle bin, that when combined with our regular trash can (if it ever arrives), will handle most of our sorting needs.
Armed with a full tank of gas (the journey is supposed to be around 5 km—less than 3 miles), some vague directions, and emergency rations of water and granola bars, I bravely headed out. The drive, short as it was, was actually through a very pretty area. The road runs along the coast, and there are large palm trees along the median. There was a feeling of more space, even though stores were still closely packed and high rises towered alongside the road. Not sure what the difference was—maybe being able to see the ocean and an actual horizon to my left?
The two stores I went to were adventures in themselves. It seems that most stores of any size around here are divided into multiple floors, and it is difficult to locate specific items, or remember where it was you found something. The stores today were on one level (I don’t know how this happened—it must seem like a colossal waste of space to many Japanese), and reminded me of the big-box stores from home. Ave was kind of like a Walmart, having a little bit of everything. A lot of the products are American (Dove soap, Pantene shampoo, Hanes t-shirts), but packaged for Japanese tastes. There is also a supermarket within the store, but I did not explore that today. Home’s (I know that is not the correct use of an apostrophe, but that’s the name of the store) is a Target meets Lowes superstore. Lots of familiar hardware, lumber, and gardening supplies here. The most noticeable difference between Home’s and Lowes—there were not half a dozen aisles devoted to paint. There was a single section filled with paint cans (I don’t remember seeing any color swatches), brushes, and rollers that took up only one side of one aisle. Guess if everything is wall-papered, there isn’t much demand for paint. (I can understand with the humidity here, paint must take weeks to dry, but by the same token, I do not understand how the wallpaper stays on the wall. I’d think the paste would stay gummy, and the paper would just slide down the wall to puddle on the floor.)
Overall, the voyage into the Left went quite well, and I’m very pleased with myself (Rocky theme playing in the background here). I was even able to get out of the parking garage by reading the exit signs which were only written in Japanese! (Yeah, okay, it’s true. If you showed me those signs in a different context, there’s a really good chance I wouldn’t have a clue what they were. Just let me pretend for a minute I’m making progress with this new language!) By the way, I did find a recycle bin, that when combined with our regular trash can (if it ever arrives), will handle most of our sorting needs.
Sunday, September 7--Jail Break
The crime wasn’t hers, but Alina did the time.
Japan is a rabies-free country, so they have some very stringent animal import laws to keep it that way. There is a very rigid protocol that must be followed in order to bring a pet from the States into Japan (unless you happen to live in Hawaii, which is also rabies-free). The whole process takes a minimum of 180 days, but closer to 210 days—which we didn’t have between finding out we were going to Japan and actually getting on the airplane.
First, your pet must be microchipped (thankfully done by the SPCA before I adopted Alina). Then the animal must have two rabies shots, at least 30 days apart. After the second rabies shot, blood must be drawn for a rabies antibody titer test (which can only be performed at two labs in the entire U.S.A.). From the day of the blood test, the pet must undergo 180 days of quarantine in the home country before being allowed to enter Japan. I still don’t get that part—there are absolutely no guidelines about the conditions of the quarantine. No one in Japan knew that I had a strictly indoor cat—for all they knew, I let her run free in the woods with rabid foxes and raccoons.
I followed every step of the import procedure, including filling out about 16 different forms and getting half of them stamped by the USDA, but we could not meet the 180 days of quarantine before we left. Instead of leaving Alina behind to be shipped over as cargo later (she may have done very well with this, but the thought of it gave me an anxiety attack), we brought her with us and arranged for her to finish out her quarantine at the kennel on base. For 34 days she stayed in kitty prison, listening to other cats meowing and small dogs yelping incessantly.
On Thursday, I paid her bail, and Alina got out of jail. She happily climbed into her carrier for the ride home, but was confused when she had to sit on the “wrong” side of the car. Once home, I showed her where her food and litter box were, then she seemed content to explore the rest of her new surroundings on her own. I thought she was adjusting pretty well, but she prowled around and cried most of the night. The next morning, I found her curled up in my sink in the bathroom. Today, when I went upstairs to make the bed, she had crawled down under the comforter, all the way to the foot of the bed. She’s having a hard time finding her comfort zone—at home it was under our bed, often in one of the duffel bags we kept stored under there (she wouldn’t go anywhere near the comfy kitty bed we put under there for her). Hopefully, once our stuff arrives, things will seem more familiar and she will settle down (like the rest of us).
Japan is a rabies-free country, so they have some very stringent animal import laws to keep it that way. There is a very rigid protocol that must be followed in order to bring a pet from the States into Japan (unless you happen to live in Hawaii, which is also rabies-free). The whole process takes a minimum of 180 days, but closer to 210 days—which we didn’t have between finding out we were going to Japan and actually getting on the airplane.
First, your pet must be microchipped (thankfully done by the SPCA before I adopted Alina). Then the animal must have two rabies shots, at least 30 days apart. After the second rabies shot, blood must be drawn for a rabies antibody titer test (which can only be performed at two labs in the entire U.S.A.). From the day of the blood test, the pet must undergo 180 days of quarantine in the home country before being allowed to enter Japan. I still don’t get that part—there are absolutely no guidelines about the conditions of the quarantine. No one in Japan knew that I had a strictly indoor cat—for all they knew, I let her run free in the woods with rabid foxes and raccoons.
I followed every step of the import procedure, including filling out about 16 different forms and getting half of them stamped by the USDA, but we could not meet the 180 days of quarantine before we left. Instead of leaving Alina behind to be shipped over as cargo later (she may have done very well with this, but the thought of it gave me an anxiety attack), we brought her with us and arranged for her to finish out her quarantine at the kennel on base. For 34 days she stayed in kitty prison, listening to other cats meowing and small dogs yelping incessantly.
On Thursday, I paid her bail, and Alina got out of jail. She happily climbed into her carrier for the ride home, but was confused when she had to sit on the “wrong” side of the car. Once home, I showed her where her food and litter box were, then she seemed content to explore the rest of her new surroundings on her own. I thought she was adjusting pretty well, but she prowled around and cried most of the night. The next morning, I found her curled up in my sink in the bathroom. Today, when I went upstairs to make the bed, she had crawled down under the comforter, all the way to the foot of the bed. She’s having a hard time finding her comfort zone—at home it was under our bed, often in one of the duffel bags we kept stored under there (she wouldn’t go anywhere near the comfy kitty bed we put under there for her). Hopefully, once our stuff arrives, things will seem more familiar and she will settle down (like the rest of us).
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