I saw my first Japanese traffic accident today. I was biking in to Yasu Eki when I noticed a police car off to one side of the road, next to one of those little pickup trucks (take a regular pickup, shrink it down to the size of a compact, and you've got it about right) that seem to be used for just about every purpose under the sun (and a few above). Then I noticed that the cargo bed of the truck was all bent out of shape, and a bit further on a larger cargo truck with a half smashed windshield. What I found mildly surprising was that there was no rubber necking going on from passing traffic, and that since there were no injuries that I could see (the pick-up's driver was not in evidence, and the cargo truck was being efficiently unloaded into a van) everyone seemed to be going about their business as quickly as possible. Their were four police officers on the scene, either taking pictures, or writing on clipboards, and the efficacy with which everyone was moving just struck me as a bit strange. The accident must have been recent, because there were still some sizeable chunks of detritus in the middle of the road, but everyone seemed to be acting as if it were merely a matter of course. (It could be a level of pragmatism that even I would envy; an accident happened, and nothing will change that, so just try to get back to business as quickly as possible.

I an all my excitement about explaining why my family doesn't hate me yesterday, I completely forgot to talk about the cultural expericne for that Tuesday. This week it was a Japanese tea ceremony. It's not exactly a religious practice, but then again it is. Like flower arranging, it's a highly stylized and formalized in its correct execution. I think part of the problem is, that off hand, I can't think of any comparable pastime in the U.S to use as reference. Achieving a degree of proficiency in either is a sign of exceptional cultural refinement. Next week is Koto lessons (it's similar to a harpsichord).

I got to meet Kenta's english teacher today, who also happens to be the priest at the nearby shrine (Shinto I believe, but it is possible that it's Buddhist. I'm not familiar enough with either religion off hand to be sure of my identification. I was a bit surprised when while I was eating dinner an older man in priests' garb came into the house, and then started speaking to me. It took me a couple seconds to regain my equilibrium, at which point it was explained to me who I was. Apparently someone had mentioned to him my plans to return to teach English, because he invited me to come observe Kenta's class Saturday evening, an invitation that I'll naturally accept (I just have to make sure not to stay up too late after the JCMU barbecue Friday; I can think of little that would be more mortifying right now then dozing off in the middle of class or something).