Diary

January-March 2000

Topics: New Year's Hooplah! (01/11/00); Earthquakes and Peonies (01/26/00); Out with Demons! (02/07/00); Snow Country (03/05/00); English Tests and Associated Melodrama (03/07/00); Children, Children Everywhere... (03/08/00); Amnd they lined up two by two... (03/10/00); Zen and the Art of Sitting (03/14/00); Smells like Spring (03/17/00).

New Year Hooplah!

01/11/00

Strange typing in two '0's for the date. But here we go with my first entry of the new year... the year of the DRAGON! Hopefully it will be a good year. In the Chinese zodiac it is supposed to be a very auspicious year. My father and my sister are both dragons, so hopefully it will bode well for both of them. Here's looking to good year.

I rang in the New Year in Tokyo. I had ventured down to Tokyo from my little hovel in Ibaraki on December 28. I met up with a friend of mine, Karin, in Tokyo station. She had come to Tokyo for the holidays from her JET position in mountainous Gifu Prefecture north of Nagoya. She and I shared and coffee and then zoomed off to Kichijoji on the Chuo Rapid line. We were staying with my host family from my homestay in 1994. I have stayed in touch with the Hirais, and theirs is my Japanese home. The Hirais graciously opened their home to Karin, as they have for several of my friends, and for my Uncle. So, Kichijoji was our base of operations for a 6-day spree in Tokyo.

The holidays were rather relaxing -- we never tried to do too much. We spent all day on the 29th in shops in and around Shinjuku. We looked for a camera for Karin, spent 3+ hours browsing the massive Kinokuniya bookstore foreign language section, waited in line one hour for an impressive Mexican feast, and hung out with my friend Rei, who, after a mix up on my part, eventually found us in the restaurant. For a day of doing relatively little, we were awfully tired.

December 30 was spent in Nikko. We departed early and wound our way to Asakusa in Tokyo. From there, we boarded an express train on the Tobu line, and were whisked off to Nikko. We picked a nice day. It was cool and crisp and clear (good wintry adjectives). We started the day up at Lake Chuuzenji and Kegon Waterfall. The mountains were lightly powdered with snow, huge icicles hung around the waterfall, and fields of grazing monkeys (honestly) greeted visitors. I'm still haunted by the words of my friend Suparna. She told me that Japanese monkeys just sit their in the middle of the roads with their young and spit bananas at you. I think that will forever be my image of Japanese monkeys, but the aggressive, red-faced, grazing monkeys at Lake Chuuzenji were a pretty interesting sight in their own right. No bananas, but they were busy consuming all of the things the Japanese tourists were giving them despite the big signs saying, "Please, Don't feed the monkeys." And my near brush with death as a monkey charged me when I tried to get it to look at my camera will remain with me for a while. I was fascinated to see my first Japanese monkeys, but at the same time I was a little repulsed by the emflamed faces and butts and the vile tempers of these little creatures. Our hours of ambling around up there still left us with enough time in the afternoon to explore the remarkable shrines down in the city.
I won't go into detail on the shrines. I'll write more in my feature on Nikko, and truthfully, the site linked through the UNESCO World Heritage website will be a better resource for that sort of information. I'll just say that the shrines associated with Tokugawa Ieyasu are superb. The entire town centers around them... they are Nikko's lifeblood and identity, and it is easy to see why. Ornate architecture, brilliant colors, ancient trees, famous carvings of sense-deprived monkeys, sleeping cats, and roaring dragons... It's worth a visit.

On December 31, Karin and I went shopping in the bargain basements and used clothing stores of Harajuku. Harajuku has to be one of my favorite places in Japan. It's fun and trendy, has fabulous restaurants, and shopping is fun with all of the... um... interesting people. You have leather clad sex freaks, goth princesses, pink-haired punks, preppy school kids, young professionals, ex-pats, tourists, rockers, shrine-worshippers, and Olympic athletes all running around in one area of Tokyo. It's THE place to people watch in all of Japan. After a lovely lunch at an all-you-can-eat Indian buffet, we hit the shops. Karin had a marvelous time, and good luck in finding a sparkly milliennium shirt. Everything I found either didn't fit me (the bane of the western foreigner in Japan) or was far too expensive for a piece of previously worn clothing. It's insane the way a Japanese second-hand shop will offer a used American little league baseball, silk-screened team t-shirt for $35. And that's just the cheap t-shirt. You should see the prices of some of the old jackets, blue jeans, and Hawaiian shirts! But, if you're patient and look carefully, you can find some really good deals on some really unique clothing.
Karin and I got dolled up and met up with some friends of ours in Roppongi, the den of all parties and clubs in Tokyo, and plagued by ex-pats and the finest enlisted personnel the US military has to offer. Luckily, we avoided the big places and went to a little Latin-themed bar discovered by a couple of my JET friends from Ibaraki. We spent the whole evening there. I barely noticed the countdown through all of the music, dancing, and revelry of the Puerto-Rican regulars and their Ricky Martin anthems. But midnight came and went and the celebration continued. Karin, three other friends, and I made it to Tokyo Tower in time for sunrise. While everyone crowded the eastern side of the tower, I drifted over to the west side and gazed at the Shinjuku skyline and the shadowy image of Mt. Fuji in the distance. I heard the clapping as the sun crept over the horizon for the first time in the new year, and I saw the instant those first rays of sunlight reflected off of Mt. Fuji's snowy peak. Not to sound arrogant, but I think my 'Millennium Sunrise' experience is a little more unique than the throngs that watched as the sun peaked up amidst skyscrapers and neutral cityscape. But then that's just my own opinion.

The first od January was spent sleeping, but Karin and I roused in the afternoon so we could get in to Harajuku once more. We went to Meiji Shrine. It is the main Shinto shrine in Tokyo, and probably the most crowded shrine in all of Japan on New Years day. The Japanese begin each new year with prayers and offerings at Shinto shrines. They cast away old worries, make prayers and offerings, and set goals for the new year. Over 1 million Japanese stream through the grounds of Meiji Shrine on January 1 alone. The police at there to guide you through. They seem to pick a young, photogenic officer to lead with the bull-horn and other officers form human barriers to separate the crowd and lead them through the precincts in an orderly fashion. Female officers stand on top of trucks or scaffolding towers and announce rules and guidelines in the politest of Japanese. It is structure and crowd-control in a most Japanese fashion. Why go to the shrine on this, the most crowded day of the year... the day all of the tour books say to avoid the shrine at all costs? Well, we went to see Shinto in action. My Japanese Society professor at William and Mary (Dr. Hamada) defined Shinto as "a celebration of life", so, naturally, there is no better time to visit a shrine than when it is full of people USING it. You can visit a shrine when few people are there, but the structures seem very impersonal. You have great views of everything, and no trouble moving about, but you have no real idea of the context behind everything. Shinto just seems like a far-off concept and ideology. But when the shrine is full of people, Shinto comes to life. You can see it and feel it. So, few days are more opportune, and few places better for such an observation than Meiji Shrine on January 1.
The rest of the holidays were just spent relaxing with the Hirais, browsing stores, and enjoying Tokyo. It was a good 6-day change of scene.

School began today. We had our formal beginning-of-term assembly where the Principal welcomed everyone back from a relaxing winter break. He gave New Years greetings and gave advice for the new term. Everyone seems to have had good vacations, and everyone seems reluctant to plunge headlong into a new term. Luckily today has been easy... no classes. They start tomorrow. Oh Boy! I'll write again soon.

Earthquakes and Peonies

01/26/00

Here we go again. Back with another update. I'm pretty bad at this weekly thing, but frankly, if I updated this 'diary' every week, I might not have all that much to write about.
The school year is progressing. This is the second full week of classes in the 3rd term. I'm starting to get back into the swing of things. I've had numerous classes cancelled this week. All of my Tuesday classes had been axed, and I found out after getting to school for the day. But this week has had some special events... students have been busy taking High School entrance exams and interviews. And just this afternoon in 6th period, we had a fire drill and demonstration of how to use and fire extinguisher. The head teacher made an announcement that the Home Economics classroom had caught fire/blown up (poor Mrs. Tayama) and the stairwell on the left side of the building was filled with flames. Just like in our earthquake drill last fall, the third year students and the first year students got out quickly, but the second year students had to exit their classrooms onto the balcony and walk along until they could come in a classroom further down the hall and descend the safe stairwell. This would have worked well, but several classrooms forgot to leave their balcony door unlocked -- the second years couldn't get back in the building. Luckily, a door opened, and they came out safe and unscratched -- it could of been disastrous had the Home Economics classroom actually blown up and filled that side of the building with smoke and flames.
Things didn't bode well for the demonstration either. After going over the finer points of how to operate a fire extinguisher, the teacher handed it to a representative of the first year, and try as hard as he could, he couldn't get the fire extinguisher to shoot -- all the while the little bonfire which represented Mrs. Tayama's Home Economics classroom smoldered, the flames growing higher and more intense.. A teacher tried to get it to work, and recovered by telling the students that this is how serious it is to make sure you have good fire extinguishers on hand. They picked up another one, and sprayed the fire. It was extinguished, but the wind carried the fumes into the mass of students. Third-year students were scattering and coughing. And since a representative from each year had to practice using the fire extinguisher, this same scenario unfolded twice more: students running in all directions to avoid the smoke, holding their breath, complaining of stinging eyes and noses... Fun for all!

This past weekend I journeyed into Tokyo. My friend Laurie and I shopped around the city on Saturday. She had to look for a triangle for her percussion set (she's a member of the Makuhari Philharmonic as well as a full-time English teacher!) and I had to track down a shamisen store. I'm buying a shamisen this Friday from my tutor, and needed to pick up a few of the necessary supplies that aren't coming with the instrument. We wandered around Asakusa, and while Laurie was unsuccessful at Percussion City, I was very successful at Mikado, a very nice little shamisen store. We ate a very nice dinner in Shinjuku at a Mexican Restaurant (yumyum), and then we headed to Ikebukuro to hear one of Laurie's friend play with his band at a small, basement live house. It was very loud music, but enjoyable. I just couldn't get over the fact that a band was playing rather heavy rock music and the crowd filling the room was barely moving. That seems to be a phenomenon in Japan. In America and other parts of the world, people really move to music. A similar event at a similar venue in America would have people throwing themselves everywhere. In this entire crowd of people (over 30 people crammed into a tiny basement club) only two or three were tapping their feet and only one was making any sort of upper body movement in reaction to the music. They such stood transfixed, with their feet glued to the floor, yet they all really enjoyed the music and showed their appreciation with thunderous applause, whistles, and shouts of encouragement when the song was over. I saw a similar attitude among the crowd at the Chemical Brothers concert I attended earlier this month. While quite a few people were dancing with reckless abandon to the thumping techno music, just as many people were standing still, stoic and apathetic... yet they all really enjoyed the music. This is something I hadn't seen before, and I still don't know exactly what to make of it. By both dancing and standing you can show how much you like the music... in one way you openly express your happiness and contentment, and in the other you show your appreciation by standing, listening, and paying careful attention. But I think there is a time for everything. Save standing and sitting for the concert hall, when you're restricted to seats or a balcony or soemthing. But when you're in a club or live house, you can easily pay attention to the music as you dance. Just my own personal beliefs here.

Anyway, on Sunday, we got an early start since Laurie had to be at her orchestra practice by 9:00. We waved goodbye to the friend we stayed with that night(a very funny Japanese girl named 'Lisa' who has a affinity for Britain and its people), and went on our seperate ways. My wandering took me to Ueno Park. After a hearty McDonalds breakfast ("How AMERICAN!" you say, but at 8:45 am after a night of very little sleep, you'll take the first place that sells coffee that you can find), I stopped to watch a man at a street stall carve up a giant yellowfin tuna for the morning's business. He had a whole slew of the giant fish in the back of his stall, and he had just started hacking off fins, slicing through skin, and choppingt hrough the backbone to remove the head. I had witnessed this event before at the Tsukiji Fish Market, but this time I avoided getting fish gore on my pants and gawking at a table of severed fish heads, all of which were STILL MOVING!

I then wandered up into the park. I stumbled upon the botan-en at Tosho Shrine, which stands in the middle of the park next to the zoo. Now a botan is a peony, a fabulous Chinese flower with magnificent, crepe-paper like petals. This shrine had a very respectable collection of botan, but when I pulled a little lady aside and started talking to her about them, I quickly got in over my head. I was telling her that my mother's peonies always die back to the ground and grow fresh from the ground every spring. I was marveling at the thick, twisted woody branches of these peonies. Fleshy, red stems had grown up from the branches and put forth healthy green leaves, and flowers in all shades of pink and red and white. As I stood there admiring the flower after my comment, the lady went on to say that she knew of no botan that ever grew from the ground each winter. She pointed to a small red leaf emerging from the crusted, frosty soil and said that botan come from the ground, but turn into the branches. Each subsequent year, depending on pruning, the stems grew from the branches. The obviousness of this predicament eluded me. I was later to learn my error (as instructed by my green-thumbed school principal). [Here's where I take a Japanese perspective, and turn up the cynicismm -- this in no way depicts my principal's actions, honestly!] Naturally, you were mistaking the botan for the shakuyaku. It's a common problem, mixing up two VERY DIFFERENT things. But you're foreign, and we'll forgive you. You cannot POSSIBLY understand the complexities of our centuries old society. hahaha! [Now, back to being Chris] My dictionary lists both words as 'peony'. Now, I've come to realize that the Japanese have a magnificent way of differentiating some things that Americans consider the same. A good example is what we call an 'oyster'. Americans eat oysters, and pearls are found in oysters, right? But the Japanese eat kaki and pearls are in a completely different animal... an akoyagai. But the akoyagai looks like an oyster, and Americans would call it an oyster. They're both shaped the same, have similar shells, and, therefore, are classified under the same common name: oyster. But the Japanese would never consider them the same. I looked more closely at my dictionary and further along under the definition for botan was written 'tree peony'. It all became clear. Yes, they are different, but merely different varieties of the same flower. But they are different PLANTS in the Japanese mindset. I probably sent that woman home thinking that American tree peonies are abnormal. They die back to the ground and grew anew every year... a miniscule mistake, but one that might cause more problems in cross cultural understanding (since the Japanese REALLY tend to focus on differences instead of similarities when comparing cultures).

After a cup of amazake, a sweet drink made from malted rice, and a nice, meditative sit in the midst of radiant winter-blooming tree peonies under their protective thatch canopies, I set off for the Tokyo National Museum. I was ashamed that in all of the times I had visited Tokyo, I had yet to see any of the large national museums in Ueno. I made THE national museum my priority. Currently, there is a special exhibit of the treasures of the Imperial family as part of the 10th anniversary of the Heisei Emperor's ascension to the throne (he and I share a birthday, y'know). The exhibit includes numerous imperial portraits, spectacular wall hangings and folding screens, ornate statues and decorative trays, cabinets, and calligraphy sets completely bedecked in jewels, covered with laquer, and made of exotic woods. It's quite different from a Western collection of royal treasures, which tend to have the image of jewels and crowns and the like. Scrolls and calligraphy played a major part of the exhibition, as did exceptionally fine archaeological artifacts. The entire exhibit was very well put together, but the crowds... Oh, the crowds. Every Tom, Dick, and Harry, and their mothers trapsed through the exhibit, clinging to the sides of displays, craning necks to see various treasures, butting in your way, cutting in line, and generally taking all pleasure out of seeing such fabulous works of art. What I would have given for a good tear gas canister or stink bomb! Just drive the folks away and let me see SOMETHING beside the tops of the haggered old bulldozers cutting in front of me to see a segment of the personal diaries of some cloistered Emperor from the 1600s. Ugh. After this draining experience, I wandered through some of the permanent collection. For such a nice collection, the powers-that-be certainly have kept a drab building. I felt like I was in the basement of some old library. Colors were bland, rooms narrow, and the dim lighting just made things look more gloomy. But then, the last big museum I had ventured into was the Tokyo-Edo museum, a brand new facility focusing on the history of Tokyo and filled with models and replicas (a wonderful museum). And the last art museum I had been to was the Louvre this summer... Sort of bad to compare them, but it's hard not to. The National Museum in Ueno is supposed to be the pinnacle of Japanese museums, but the main hall is just showing its age. The big glass cases lining the walls and running down the centers of each room are filled with magnificent pieces, but none of them are presented in a very exciting manner... just very typical and functional displays. The gloom gets to you, and you find yourself tired and ready to hurry through the exhibits. It's a pity. The textiles, hair combs, swords, armor, calligraphy, and statuary are marvelous.

This has become a very large journal entry. I'll try to write sooner so I don't have quite as much to write next time. Hope I haven't bored you.

Out with Demons!

02/07/00

Hello again!
Last week, I had the pleasure of visiting the village kindergarten. I had been invited to join the children as they did activities in observance of Setsubun, the Eve before the first day of Spring on the traditional Japanese lunar calendar. Before I get into the intricacies of the kindergarten visit, I should explain the festivities I was invited to attend. Setsubun is the final time to throw away the woes of the past year. This is traditionally done by hurling baked soybeans. Japanese families do this in and around their houses on the night of February 3. They take big handfulls of the beans and toss them as they say the words, "Oni wa soto, fuku wa uchi." This translates as, "Out with the demons, in with the luck." The woes and troubles of the past year are often embodied as demons... hideous, hulking creatures with one, two, or even three horns, multiple eyes, and fierce, toothy snarls. Throwing the soybeans exorcises them, ridding the house of evil spirits and ill-will and allowing luck and fortune to enter with the Spring. As the final part of the tradition, the beans were picked up and each family member ate the number of beans equivalent to their age, plus one extra for good luck. This custom has been modified a bit, and while the baked beans meant for tossing are perfectly edible, the family members usually eat beans specially prepared for consumption.
Eating a bean for each year of your life can be fun (especially for children). But as one grows older, it gets more difficult, especially considering you do this according to your age in Buddhist years. Buddhists calculate age from the day of conception. Therefore, when you are born, you are already considered one year old. Then, at your first New Year's, you become 2 years old. Then, at the one year anniversary of your birth, you are three. When a non-Buddhist baby turns one, a baby living under this traditional Buddhist system is three. So, while I am 22 years old, I actually had to eat 26 beans. Here's how. I was born on December 23rd, and according to this Buddhist system, I was already one. Then, 8 days later, as the clock struck midnight on New Year's Eve, I turned 2. Then, on the next December 23rd, I turned 3. Then, my birthdays commenced regularly, and just this past year, I turned 24 in Buddhist years. And, while Setsubun arrived before my birthday this year, since I will turn 25 before the next Setsubun, I must eat 25 soybeans, plus one for good luck. It can really add up.

Now that I have described Setsubun, I'll move on to the kids.
During my past experiences in Japan, I had encountered numerous children who hid, cowered, or even cried at the introduction of a foreigner. My friend Tom even had the deflating experience where a child burst into tears at just the sight of him (and Tom's not a scary guy!). I wanted to go and play with the kids, but I was expecting a morning of children hesitating to particpate with me. I was picturing passive, shy, and even frightened children. I even had the mental picture of the children being more frightened of me than of the Setsubun demons. But they all proved me wrong. Kindergarteners are delightful! I had grown accustomed to the uninterested looks I had been getting all year from the junor high school kids. Yes, they are interested, but only remotely. They are nervous about their English, and quite a few do not, or cannot, speak with me. They're too embarrassed, or simply uninterested. The 80+ 5 year-olds at the Kindergarten were the complete opposite. I was the coolest thing they'd seen since sliced bread.
From the moment I arrived at the school, I was a celebrity. I had been ushered into the teacher's office for the formal greeting with the principal. We were also waiting for the designated time in the day's schedule for my entrance, greeting, and playtime with the kids. I was sitting in the office looking across the hallway at the big playroom filled with over eighty tiny people doing a Japanese version of the macarena. Over eighty thrilled and squeeling children, who, one by one, were taking note of the pale-skinned, blue-eyed person looking at them from the office. By the time I was on my way across the hall with the principal and my supervisor, Matsumoto-san, all of the little heads had turned to look at me. I went to the front of the playroom, and after being introduced by the school principal, I gave my self-introduction. Next, the teachers fielded questions from the children. You ask Junior high school students for questions and you're lucky if you get a roll of the eyes, let alone a face caught up in the task of wracking the brain for a question. They're just plain apathetic! These 5 year-olds were amazing. Hands went up left and right. EVERYONE wanted to ask me something. I got questions from "What food do you like?" and "What did you study at school?" to "What kind of a place is America?" It's pretty hard trying to define one's country for 5 year-olds in a language in which you're only slightly competent. I came out with something like, "America is a big country... very wide. It has mountains and oceans..." I was running aground. But the questions kept coming, and they had to commence with play time with many hands still in the air. After a riveting hour of 'Duck, Duck Goose', 'London Bridge', and other games, we moved on to the Setsubun portion of the mornings activities.
When I had been asked to participate in Setsubun with the children, I was excited to be playing the little kids and to be observing a Japanese tradition about which I knew very little. But I was also just the tiniest bit afraid that I would be asked to play the demon, and have the children running around and throwing beans at me. As we headed back to the office as the children prepared to go outside, I was handed a demon mask and everyone was smiling. The pre-fab, red-faced mask of thick paper was staring at me with fierce eyes, and it smiled at me as well (albeit a toothy grimmace). Images started rushing into my head... I'd been duped. They were going to pelt me with beans. Still, I went along with it and started to head outside. Then , the children came from their classrooms and ALL of them had little hand-made demon masks on their heads. As they put on their shoes, they commented on my mask, saying I had made a very scary demon. I smiled.
We assembled at the playground and everyone was handed little wooden bowls filled with dry, roasted beans. All of the boys were told to put down their beans and put on their masks (and this included me). We did as we were told. And then the girls turned on us. They threw handfulls of little beans at us, shouting, "Oni wa soto." Seeing the world through the little eye slits of my mask, I had a very narrow view of things. Everywhere I turned, I faced a little Japanese girl, a teacher, SOMEONE unloading a handful of beans at me. As I tried my best at dodging the beans, and played along with the role as a demon, I couldn't help but note the strange parallel I was feeling. Foreigners are always considered outsiders in Japan. Heck, I am forced to carry an 'Alien Registration Card' in my wallet! And, as sweet and wonderful as the kids and teachers were, the fact that Japanese people were throwing things at me and yelling, "Demon be gone!" hit me like a brick. But then I realized I was one of about 40 boys being pelted with beans, and all of the others are Japanese. I started chuckling to myself, and then I roared and closed in on an unsuspecting girl on my right.
The boys and girls switched roles, and after we had spent a good few minutes running, we concluded the event. Everyone rushed back into the school where we ate a nice lunch of yakisoba (a fried noodle dish). Sitting at a table designed for 5 year-olds was a bit of a challenge, but I survived. And I was pelted during lunch as well, but this time by questions. I was asked the English word for everything under the sun. The students seemed a little confused when the word 'raion' just meant 'lion' in English. They were probably thrilled that the Americans had decided to use that quintessential Japanese word as their own equivalent for the king of the beasts. (Most Japanese feel that way about loan words. "Oh, you Americans use the Japanese word?") The day ended after lunch, and for the next hour, as the two kindergarten buses made their rounds of the village, coming back twice to refill with students, I played on the playground. It was quite fun, but I must say that the competition to walk beside me and hold my hands got pretty ugly. At one point, one little girl fell to her knees and started crying, and as she sat hunched over, two of the other little girls holding my hands were leading me away saying, "Oh, she's OK." I went back and helped Yuka back over to one of the teachers, and within a minute, she was back up, smiling, and leading me to the slide.

It was a very fun day, but on Friday, I was feeling it. An entire morning of leaning over, squatting, and cramming myself into little chairs and tables was coming back to haunt me in my legs. My leg muscles ached, but that good kind of ache, like after strenuous excercise. But it still made climbing stairs a little awkward.

On Friday, the cases on influenza, that debilitating 'JAPANESE' disease ("Oh, do you have that in America?" "Yes, sir."), really reached staggering proportions. 86 of the 417 students at the junior high school either could not make it to school or went home early. The third-years seemed to be the worst off. 3-1 Class had 14 kids absent. And in all, 25% of all third-year students were out sick that one day! The students that remained seemed pretty drained. It was interesting to walk into class, and see one corner of the room empty. I could remember the day the week before when one student went home early because she was sick, and on Friday in class, a circle of desks around her empty seat were empty as well. Apparently all of the schools in the area are about the same. I'm keeping warm, drinking plenty of fluids, and keeping up on my vitamin C. Let's hope I can avoid getting the flu.

Snow Country

03/05/00

It's been almost a month. Ugh. I'm not very good at this. I've been bad at writing in my journal, so I'm trying to make a new start. We'll see how long it lasts.

Since I last wrote, we've had snow. It has snowed quite a bit actually. Nothing really accumulated, and what did melted very quickly the following day. But the snows that fells were wonderful... thick, wet snow. The flakes were heavy, and the wind really made the weather seem threatening. The first 'big' storm came up suddenly. I had been in Japanese class for two hours. When I had entered, it was cool, but not uncomfortable. When my fellow students and I emerged from the Kashima Community Center, the wind was biting. Our breaths were clearly visible, and we were huddling for warmth. 10 minutes into my drive back home up Rt. 51, it started. I was so excited, comfy in my heated little roadster. By the time I got back to Taiyo, it was sticking. I wanted to go down and see the beach in the snow (something I hadn't seen before). I drove past the little shrine, blanketed in snow and illuminated by the stone lanterns nearby. I saw that, unlike the highway, the road to the beach had quite a bit of snow on it. I turned arund and headed back to the apartment. As I pulled into my parking space, my car skidded. I was very glad I hadn't gone down to the beach, since my car would never have gotten back up the hill.

The next day was sunny and crisp... warm enough to melt the snow, but still cold enough to keep the air clean and allow maximum visibility. That afternoon, I went up to the third floor of the school to get a photograph of Mt. Tsukuba over the cedar trees. After taking the photo, I skimmed the horizon, and what did I see?... nothing but Mt. Fuji. I had heard other JETs telling me that they could see Mt. Fuji from their towns in Ibaraki, but I hadn't assumed I could see it from Taiyo. It wasn't much more than a shadow, or silhouette,some sort of mirroring by the angle of the late afternoon sun... But Mt. Fuji it was, and the head teacher and the principal came up to the third floor and verified it for me. Yeah! Now, all the kids think I'm crazy when I start craning my neck, looking out the window on clear afternoons. Oh well... I'm already strange enough in their books, so I guess one more little quirk won't hurt things.

English Tests and Associated Melodrama

03/07/00

End of term tests yesterday and today... I was sitting at my desk today minding my own business and BAM! the head English teacher dropped four huge stacks of papers on my desk. She then paused and asked, "Oh... are you busy?" I wasn't really doing anything JET related, so I consented to grading all of these papers. It actually proved to be rather interesting. Apart from noting tons of really simple, yet painful spelling and grammatical mistakes, I took delight in reading the dialogues (or sentences, really) that students had to write at the end of the test. Here are some of the more interesting ones [my notes are in brackets]:

This is Yuka. She is rest friend. She is playing barellball. She has a penshils.
This is Kazuka. She is rest friend. She is playing barellball. She has a pirrty bag.
[I still haven't figured out what barellball is... basketball, volleyball, or something completely different?]

[This one would be perfect as a little Japanese animation segment about C, the cool girl in school.]
A: Where is C?
B: She's her in tennis court. C is playing tennis.
C: Hello!! My friends!! I can't swim, but I can play tennis.
B: By the way, do you like summer?
C: Yes, I do.

Hell. What is doing now? [I'll leave this one open for interpretation.]

By the way, do you like playing class?
It's arting. they arting fruit.
[I always loved arting when I was a kid.]

[Imagine this one starring two little smiling stick people and featuring a narrator.]
Hello, Jim.
Hello, Jack.
What's Jim doing now?
I'm swimming.
What's Jack doing now?
I'm running.
Goodbye, Jim.
Goodbye, Jack.

I really shouldn't laugh so much, but thyese are the same kinds of mistakes that American kids make in elementary school... misspelling words, using strange grammar and punctuation... But in many ways, the 'conversational' English that Japanese students are learning is very strange to begin with. The contexts of coversations are sometimes warped, and the videos and audiocassettes that they listen to have such horrible actors. The voices are drawn out and awkwardly dramatic. It's like your car is struck from behind by another automobile and you say "OOOOOOOHHH NNNOOOOOO!" Yes, the students are learning English, but their textbooks and supplemental material make for some interesting phrases and grammatical patterns. It's strange having students use 'by the way' in normal, everyday conversations with me. So few native speakers actually use it. Oh well...

Children, Children Everywhere...

03/08/00

Let me tell you about some schools visits I've made recently. On Feb. 28 and one week later on Mar. 6, I spent the day at Kamishima East Elementary School. This is the largest of Taiyo's four elementary schools. The others are Kamishima West (the smallest), Shiratori East, and Shiratori West. Shiratori and Kamishima were the two villages that originally made up what is presently called Taiyo village. Kamishima was a coastal community in the north while Shiratori was oriented more on the lake side of the isthmus in the southern part of the current village. The elementary schools pay tribute to communities that have more or less vanished since incorporation.

My first visit was spent with the kiddies... first through third-graders. From the instant I arrived at the school, I was a celebrity. This visited would turn out to be much like the kindergarten visit, but only on a larger scale, and with more age groups involved. After sitting in the meeting room with the head teacher and my 'contact' (Matsumoto-sensei, the faculty member who used to teach English at a junior high school), and attracting quite a large number of curious children to the windows, we headed to the gymnasium. The waves and knocks on the windows turned into handshakes and squeels of delight. Children chattered and followed me along. Matsumoto-sensei had to assure the children that they would have plenty of chances to talk with me. I entered the gymnasium to find about twenty 8-year-olds staring at me. I greeted them and introduced myself in Japanese. I commenced talking about America for a little it, and then I fielded questions. After that, it was my job to wear the kids out by involving them in 'fun American games'. Our games of London Bridge and fruit basket turned lethal as the children struggled to keep from being branded the LOSER. I don't know if American children are that bad. I mean, I never wanted to lose when I was in elementary school, but these children truly loathe it. It's a fate worse than death. To be on the losing side is gut-wrenching. Luckily, I awarded both teams with the same stickers... so everyone came out as a winner.

Lunch time that day was fun. I had just finished a morning with the first and second-year students, and then I was escourted to the third floor for lunch with the third-year class. The door swung open and a male teacher taller than me was standing there with a camcorder, recording my every step. I was led to a 3rd-grade-sized desk, and told to sit down. My desk, with my lunch neatly arranged on top, was in the middle of the room. All of the students, and the aspiring filmmaker teacher completely surrounded me. I sat down, picked up my spoon, and dug into my curry. All eyes followed it as it neared my mouth. I felt like some creature in a less-than-elaborate enclosure at some under-funded zoo, where all of the visitors and tourists can get close enough to poke at you with a stick. I wasn't terrifically uncomfortable. I've acclimatized to the role of foreigner in a small Japanese town... you must be ready for embarrassment at any moment. I just kept eating and saoked in the stares. Eventually the questions started coming, and we had a very nice lunch.

My visit on the 6th was devoted to the 4th, 5th, and 6th years I hadn't visited during my first visit. That morning, I sat in the meeting room with the principal (who had been away on business during my previous visit). He is a very knowledgable man, and was telling me what he expected. In future visits he wants me to teach the students how to write letters in English... which should be lots of fun since non of them have formally studied the alphabet yet. He asked me if I enjoyed myself last time. I quickly responded that I had, and the principal, still smiling, said that that was good. But he added that if I had fun and the students didn't, then that would be VERY BAD! I felt a little uncomfortable after that one, but he kept smiling at me. All of the day's sessions were held in the library... a wonderfully comfortable room on the east side of the top floor of the building. It offers a magnificent view of the undulating Pacific, and the waves rolling into shore. It also overlooks the rather murky swimming pool, which, as I've been told, will be chocked full of children in the summer. None of the sessions on this day included games. They were just, 'Getting to know Chris' sessions. I introduced myself, talked about my family, showing pictures and talking about our recently deceased cat (may Mourka rest in peace!). The questions that the students asked on this day revolved heavily on my romance life. Much to the disappointment of the students, I had very little information to divulge. I squeeked through all sorts of questions like, "Are you married?", "Do you have a girlfriend?", "Who do you like?", and the penultimate, "When was your first love?".

In all, I had two very fun days at the Kamishima East Elementary School. Since the Ministry of Education is trying to make some major changes in English language education after years of poor performance on the Test of English and a Foreign Language (TOEFL) -- Japan scored an embarassing 18 out of 21 in Asia last year -- it looks like I will be spending more and more time visitng elementary schools. Some locations will start regular English language lessons in elementary schools from April. But at least the kids know me now.

And they lined up two by two...

03/10/00

Today was a long time in coming. Students had finished all of their exams, cleaned, organized, practiced, and FINALLY it was graduation day. We had spent the better part of yesterday afternoon decorating the gymnasium. Mats were rolled out over the wooden floor and every possible effort was made to make sure there were no bumps or folds on which to trip or catch your foot. Red-and-white-striped cloth was hung all around the gymnasium. Those sacred Shinto colors guaranteed life and happiness and are often used at this sort of occasion (weddings as well). Chairs were placed in organized rows, flowers brought in to decorate the stage, and a bonsai tree, hand sculpted for years by the principal, was placed by the podium (conveniently, under the Hi-no-Maru, or Japanese flag). Wooden steps to the stage were mended, tableclothes neatly pleated and folded into fanciful shapes... What amazed me the most was that the first and second year students were doing all of this, willingly, with little supervision. Of course, the teachers were running around like mad, and there were plenty of clowns goofing about. But give a group of American 13 to 15-year-olds the same responsibility in school, and they wouldn't be able to handle it in the same way.

I stumbled out of my futon a little late this morning. After a hasty shower, I assembled my black suit-white shirt combo. The thing that made it formal for graduation was the foul white necktie I had to purchase this past week. Yuck... But, it actually looked pretty nice with the suit. Before the ceremony, my throat was really dry. I have developed a good cough this week, and it has strengthened. I drank a lot of tea and water to keep my throat moist... and boy was that a mistake. I sort of had to go to the bathroom when the ceremony started. It hadn't looked like it would take that long, but when they started reading names, I realized the severity of my predicament.
The happy graduates marched into the room in rigid procession. For the most part, their school uniforms looked immaculate. A few of the more rebellious students had things untucked that shouldn't have been. The four homeroom teachers lead in their classes. It was an interesting antithesis: the teachers bedecked in fabulous traditional kimono and hakama pants, and their students, following like duckilings, boy and girl, two-by-two, in their western-style school uniforms. The Japaneseness of the affair was very apparent, but the western clothes of the students, and 'Pomp and Circumstance' playing in the background sort of bewildered me. The Japanese a sticklers for ceremony -- they formally present any award, from first place trophy to certificate of presentation, to the entire school, reading each word written or engraved in honor of their actions. This became ridiculous with the diplomas. Luckily, only the first one was read in full, and after that, the principal simply read something to the effect of "certificate of graduation awarded to...". The whole time that the students were be presented with their diplomas, someone, and I assume it was the music teacher, was playing a selection of classical music over the speaker system. But what sad music she chose! The only piece I recognized was Barber's 'Adagio for Strings', and it still makes me think of PLATOON!
So, after the students finished going through the motions of receiving their diplomas (and the sombre classical music subsided), it was time for the speeches. The principal, adorned in a fabulous tailed-jacket, looked like a munchkin. He is a very powerful man, both mentally, as evidenced in his statuesque presence, and physically (at one staff party, he was folding bottle caps in half between his index finger and thumb!). But Kocho-sensei (that's the Japanese for principal) is an extremely short man. He's well below my shoulder, and when he walks through the teacher's room to his desk, he's not much taller than many of the people sitting in their chairs. Anyway, the principal gave his words of advice to the graduates, and the mayor, the head of the board of education, the head of the PTA... EVERY guest had to get up and read some sort of formal speech, written with ink and brush on pure white paper and then folded neatly and symmetrically into anoth plain piece of pure whita paper which had been folded into a sort of envelope. The speeches went on and on.
I was slightly surprised that of the 30+ 'special' guests seated opposite the teachers, only 3 were women, and they were just in the PTA. During the entire 3-hour ceremony, only three women spoke (one of the third-year homeroom teachers read the names of her students when they went to get their diplomas, one female student read a speech on behalf of the student body, and one parent read a speech in honor of the faculty and staff of the school). Although there are more women teachers than men, the men have the high-ranking positions.

Anyway, the fun, and touching, part of the day for me was after the ceremony ended. Everyone gathered out in front of the school to congratulate the third-years as they left school for the last time. The brass band played music, and the first and second-years lined the sidewalk in front of the third-year students' entrance. They filed out, and there were lots of hugs and handshakes. Many students handed flowers to teachers. (The bundle that I got took me 30 minutes to unwrap and put in water!) The third-years milled about for quite a while. They chatted, hugged, posed for pictures, and tried as hard as they could to extend their goodbyes. The 'rebellious kids', who only moments ago had dutifully received their diplomas decked in their regulation uniforms, had emerged from the school donning outlandishly colorful clothing. The girls had put on makeup, put in earrings, and rolled up their skirts from the regulation knee-length to about mid-thigh. A few girls even had on the famed 'loose socks', a horrible trend started by now faded Japanese pop-diva Namie Amuro. Boys now had earrings and lip rings... basically all of the rebellious kids had wasted no time dressing in every way the junior high school had prohibited them from doing for the past three years of their lives. But, as bad as these kids were, it was interesting to see that they were some of the last third-years to go home. They hung around, talked with their teachers, and kept coming back. I guess even 'bad kids' can get sentimental at times. By the end of the day, all of the third-years had gone home, and the second-years had started assuming some of their responsibilities. The banner had been passed, and everything was basically set in motion for the new year. Now we just have two more weeks of class until spring break. Then the fresh meat arrives and we start the whole cycle over again. Yeehaw!

Zen and the Art of Sitting

03/14/00

Last night, I joined some other local JETs for our second session of Zazen... Zazen is the Japanese name for sitting in Zen meditation. The priest of the 400+ year-old Shionji temple across the lake in Kitaura, Daigo-sensei, has been very keen on having our group of 7 foreigners and 1 Japanese come once a month to sit in meditation for roughly 30 minutes. He greets us with tea and snacks, and we sit and talk for a while. For our first two sessions he's been busy getting names, home countries, and host institutions straight. He is a lifetime resident of this area of Japan, so he knows many of the locals very well (although he is not very familiar with Taiyo village).
Daigo-sensei is a also an extremely cultured and well-traveled man. His wisened and wrinkled face makes him appear to be in his seventies, although he could be older or younger. He's constantly smiling, ever inquisitive, and carries himself with dignity and compassion. Puffing from his cigarette, he talks to us about Buddhism, our schools and lives in Japan, and his experiences. From our two sessions, I have gleaned that he began studying under the Tendai Sect of Japanses Buddhism at the age of 12 (when he was a 6th year student in elementary school). He kept this up until The Great East-West War (WWII), when he had to stop for about 4 years (I have not found out if this was because he faught in the war or not... I would gather he did not). He resumed afterwards, and took a very active role in this area. He traveled all around the southestern part of Ibaraki Prefecture, talking with schools and civic groups. He was a counselor. But after severla years of doingt his, he settled down as abbot of his small temple in the hills of the isthmus of land between lakes Kitaura and Kasumigaura. He has traveled extensively... The United States, Canada, China, Korea... three seperate trips to Hawaii... and next month he takes off for a humanitarian trip to Laos to help construct a school. In May he is off to China once more, for a pilgrimage to the mountains west of Shanghai and the traditional learning centers of Chinese T'ien Tai Buddhism, the ideological ancestor of Japanese Tendai.

After about 20-30 minutes of chit chat, he tells us what he wants us to do during meditation. He slips out of the room to prepare the temple and leaves us to chat. Minutes later, he reappears, dresses in his priestly robes and poking his head through the sliding door from the hallway. We take off our socks, pick up our cushions, placing them under our arms, and head out of the warm, comfortable sitting room where Daigo-sensei has so graciously been host. In the hallway, Daigo-sensei remains as cordial and friendly as he had been minutes earlier, but he is now visibly a Buddhist priest. We follow him in single file, hands folded in gassho-style (like praying with palms pressed against eachother), and follow him down the cold hallway. We enter the temple and line up before the alter. He instructs us to sit down and get comfortable. If we can, we assume the lotus position, much like sitting Indian-style except you fold the legs up on top of eachother -- like in Buddhist statuary. If we are unable to do this, we sit Indian-style but bring only one foot up and rest it on the opposite knee (sounds painful, but with only one foot, it's bearable for more than a few minutes). We rest our hands in front of our navels, palms facing up, right over left, and with the tips of our thumbs lightly touching. Our eyes are to remain half open, and we are to stare about 3 feet in front of us. It works out perfectly that from where we are sitting, we can focus on the embroidered edging on the tatami floor mats. Breathing is to be carefully monitered, and we are to keep our minds from wandering. In our first session, Daigo-sensei just wanted us to sit and keep our minds clear of stray thoughts. Last night, we were to count each breath we took. Our mind was not to wander. We were only to think of drawing in each breath, and then exhaling. He told us to count our breathing up until 100, then start over again. If we were doing it correctly, breathing 100 breaths should take about 7-8 minutes.

Usual meditation sessions last from 2-3 hours, but hours have just been lasing 30 minutes. He's training us. We sit along the sliding doors at the entrance of the temple, facing the altar. Daigo-sensei sits before the alter, lights insense, chants occasionally, and rings a bell every 10 minutes. The bell, while not loud, pierces the silence. It brings your mind back from wherever it may have been wandering, and as it vibrates, it rings inside your head. It's a very gentle bell, but very powerful. Apart from the bell, and shear will power, one other thing is used to aid us in remaining attentive and clear of though... THE STICK. Daigo-sensei periodically stands up and walks around the room. If we feel ourselves getting tired, or having trouble keeping our mind from wandering, we raise our hands into the gassho-style, and bow. Daigo-sensei comes over weilding a straight, cleanly shaved shaft of wood about the length of a baseball bat and the girth of a tennis racket handle. The person who has requested the stick puts their hands under thier arms, in a self-hug kind of posture, and leans forward. Daigo-sensei then makes 2-4 firm whacks to the shoulders (I think on the trapezius muscles). Daigo-sensei assures that the hits aren't painful, and that afterwards, they produce a very pleasent sensation. I have not experienced it to date. Yes, my mind has wandered during meditation, but I haven't felt like I needed the stick... at least not yet.

In all, Zazen is proving to be a very worthwhile experience. The meditation is very relaxing. After an initail minute of discomfort from the cold and the impossible contortions of your legs, your steady breathing and half-open eyes make you relax. Last night I entered with what felt like the start of a migraine and when I finished meditating, those symptoms were gone (perhaps they would have worsened if I had requested the stick). Also, Daigo-sensei is a fascinating man, and having an opportunity to sit down and talk with him, even as part of a large group, is very rewarding. It's a very nice way to spend one Monday night each month.

Smells like Spring

03/17/00

Amazing how smells can bring back so many memories, or create such vivid images in your head. Today is one of those warm, wet, early spring days. It just smells like spring -- some sort of combination of wet earth, flower blossoms, and fresh air. Although it's plum blossoms instead of daffodil, crocus, and primrose, the fragrance of flowers is the most wonderful part of spring for me. It reminds me of home. I have such wonderful memories of wandering the garden with my mother, looking at all of the new plants and flowers emerging from the soil. The garden changed each day, and it was always exciting. I haven't been able to take any of those nice, early spring walks in the garden with my mother for the past few years. I miss it, but now that she is retired, I know I will have more opportunities to walk in an even grander garden. But still, it's difficult when a smell suddenly conjures up an image in your head... and those images are always so powerful. I guess I'm slightly homesick today... no English-style gardens in my part of Japan. But it's a happy kind of homesick. I'll be home for a visit in May, and I'll have to spend some time with mom in the garden.

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