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.
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.
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