All the way from Akune

Into the hills, through the woods and over the river, to Tashiro Elementary we go

2011-07-10T05:07:00.000-07:00

If your car can make it up the steep hill into the mountains of Tashiro, you will be awarded with some of the richest scenery Akune has to offer. After cresting the nearly two kilometer-climb into the far eastern part of the city, steep, stout mountains sandwich the two-lane road. When you’ve passed a handful of roadside gardens that produce everything from taro root to tomatoes, you will enter the dense heart of Tashiro, which is all but dense. Before going to school I always stop at the local produce stand. Fruits, vegetables, mushrooms ad flowers all cultivated within the limits of Tashiro fill this small wooden shack. The produce from Takenko-yama (Bamboo shoot mountain) is harvested mostly from the fields of the two old ladies who hang out at the store. They are usually found decked out in huge sun hats, dirty white gloves, rain boots and cute wrinkly smiles. Our relationship is rudimentary: I buy their magnificent produce and they, in return, gawk at my height, praise me about bringing my own shopping bag and compliment me on my Japanese; we get along.

Roadside garden

Takenko-yama

Tashiro Elementary

With a bag full of local goodies I complete the long drive to Tashiro Elementary. My car barely makes the hairpin turn into school, squeaking down the narrow driveway with not a centimeter to spare. The voices of Tashiro’s thirteen students echo clearly through the mostly empty school. I would hardly call this a disproportion, though, for a school with such a big personality.

Everyone

Aobazuku, the Brown Hawk-Owl, a loyal, annual visitor of Tashiro’s school grounds

A photo of a photo

When I first came to teach at Tashiro two years ago the students in my class, fifth and sixth grade combined, numbered three. Thanks to a few exchange students who came in last year from outside the prefecture I now have the pleasure of working with five. Everyone eats lunch together in the science room. Everyone plays at lunch recess together; there are just enough people to have a rowdy game of tag, a paper airplane flying contest and a slightly off-sided soccer match; all of this is under the watch and shade of a centuries-old tree. It is a truly mystical land out in Tashiro, where everyone’s true colors shine through.

Great-grandfather Tree

Bye bye

Tashiro Elementary's catch-phrase

A school filled with flowers, smiles and dreams.

Ozaki Elementary

2011-06-27T05:26:00.000-07:00

Past Yamashita Elementary the housing becomes sparse. The number of rice fields increase, their shapes dictated by the lay of the land rather than the convenient square preferable to most rice farmers. Citrus trees of all kinds border the road that leads into a mountainous region of Akune known as Ozaki. Just before the main road narrows before winding into the far east of Akune, you will pass Ozaki Elementary (Ozaki), or, like me, you will carefully navigate up the narrow driveway every week to teach at a truly wonderful school.

Ozaki’s Bontan trees

The line up (the bontan is the second largest)

Flowers in the driveway

Having fun at the pool opening two weeks ago

This year Ozaki welcomed one new first grader, making its student body number a grand total of sixteen. One could imagine with such few students that students receive ample attention from the teachers. This is, in all respects, an admirable reality of the Ozaki atmosphere. However, I am truly impressed at how well, how naturally and with such dignity the upper classmen-two darling young ladies-take on a leadership consciousness. They make announcements during lunch about what the activities will be for afternoon recess. When someone falls and skins their knee or thinks the rules aren’t fair, the wise sixth grade girls, only occasionally seeking the help of their teachers, moderate until an agreeable end is met.

Tea time

When it is time for lunch at Ozaki, all of the students and teachers pack into one room, squeeze together at four long, (extremely) short tables and rub shoulders with classmates, some of whom are most likely cousins, brothers, sisters and neighbors. Everyone smiles at lunch.

Ozaki Elementary
Full of smiles, full of excitement, where everyone is a hero.

Yamashita Elementary

2011-06-22T01:06:00.001-07:00

The narrow side street that leads to Yamashita Elementary (Yamashita) is exactly 2.1 kilometers from my doorstep. I can say for sure that there is no other school whose relative location to my house I know better. I owe this peculiar knowledge to the fact that Yamashita 山下, which means below or at the bottom of the mountain, was the half way point on my training route for the Bontan race last year. This is strange considering the large hill leading up to the one hundred and thirty-four year old school and its surrounding neighborhood that goes by the same name.

Of the many aspects that form the character of this school of sixty-three students, I would have to say that the involvement of the community is the most influential. The elders of the darling hamlet attend all of the entrance and graduation ceremonies and, among other things, provide delicious, homemade pickles for teatime at local festivals. The newly graduated students of the elementary school also play their role when they return to their alma mater every year to teach their successors a stick dance, which is deeply rooted in the eclectic tradition of Yamashita.

The Sanjaku Stick Dance

The annual school-wide English lesson held in the newly renovated gynasium

Yamashita’s catchphrase is as deep as its student body is the epitome of youth:

子どもに力を培い、共に伸びよう。
Cultivating strength in our children and growing together.

Who knows thirteen?

2011-06-15T05:11:00.001-07:00

Who knows thirteen? I know thirteen. Thirteen are the schools of Akune.

When I walk into school in the morning I hear kids sing. I take off my black dress shoes, stuff them in my personal shoe box and slip into my indoors-only sneakers. My hands are full: with picture cards; oversized posters; and my bento box packed in its own insulated bento bag. Before taking a step into the faculty room I bow. If I failed to do this I would surely hit my head, but there is, of course, still the intention of showing respect. I exchange salutations with the vice principal and other faculty members.

“Good morning, おはようございます (ohayogazaimasu)”, I say as I walk across the old wood-floored room; I can hear the vice principals mouse click between my every creaking footstep.

When the bell sounds its chime, the once sporadic leak of chatter bursts open into a flood of youthful voices, surging through the hallways enveloping everything in the start of a school day; I am nothing here without all of this.

For nearly two years and over countless kilometers I have commuted into the mountains and over bridges, along the ocean’s shore and amidst a vast diversity of agriculture to the institutions that allow me to fulfill my role as a member of the Akune Board of Education. There are nine elementary and four junior high schools in Akune’s school district and for me it all started at one: the first school I visited as an Assistant Language Teacher (ALT), Nishime Elementary (Nishime).

The flowery entrance to Nishime

Nishime is the second most southern school I visit. Although the building itself is very close to the sea, there is no ocean view. You can smell it, though. Every forty-odd minutes a train on the Hisatsu Orange Railway chugs past the schools front gates that were erected one hundred and thirty years ago. According to my colleagues, Nishime, as well as every other school in Akune, used to be filled to the brim with students. Although Nishime’s number are quite different from what they apparently once were, the forty-two bright young students welcome me every week with contagious their smiles at the school’s entrance and praiseworthy diligence in the classroom.

Koi pond

Orchid

I would like to conclude these introductory entries with the various mottos of each school.

Nishime Elementary
On the handrails of the second floor veranda is the school’s motto: Friendly, Bright, Strong.

Nishime has another maxim, which is more like a catchphrase that is displayed on a hand-painted billboard upon entering school grounds. It is if the style of an acrostic poem, which does not really translate well into English, but for the sake of this fine school here it is:

Peppy Nishime kids

Greet you with a smile
Enjoy reading
Goal-oriented physical fitness

See you at my next school.

Getting dirty: ceramics in Nagashima

2011-06-03T03:09:00.001-07:00

Greetings from Akune.

I have laundered my blankets, scrubbed my bathroom floors and windows and stocked up on dehumidifiers. It has rained for thirty-two of the past forty-eight hours in Akune. This could be a direct effect of typhoon number 2-rather than naming each storm that occurs, the Japanese have adopted a numbering system for the annual typhoon season-, the tropical storm that originated somewhere near the Philippines and is now dissipating somewhere of the east coast of Japan, or it could be the fact that the rainy season, at least in the south, has arrived roughly three weeks earlier than usual. Whatever the case may be, 梅雨, tsuyu, the three to four week-long rainstorm that is Japan’s aperitif to its boiling summers, is nothing new to this Seattle boy; I laugh in the face of rain; and yet I fear the extent of damage it can do to my helpless tatami mats.

A few weeks ago, before the rains set in, I attended the bi-monthly pottery class at Warabe ceramics studio (Warabe). Until this month, I had only been creating pieces using the power of my own two hands, a manual wheel and, of course, the guidance of my fabulous instructors, the sisters, Miki and Miwa. The first of this month’s classes was my big training day on the automatic pottery wheel with the Father of the family (henceforth referred to as Oto-san) and the Mother (Oka-san) at the main studio in Nagashima, the island just to the north of Akune. It had been a handful of years since I last sat at the wheel in Karen’s ceramics class. Rehashing the fond memories of my first days at the wheel, I took off to become a very wise master’s apprentice.

I would say coming back to throwing pottery was much like riding a bike, but I would rather not. Not for the reason that is a cliché. Rather the simple fact that one never gets too dirty when riding a bike and likewise one rarely sees a potter with more than a bandana on their head, let alone an aerodynamic helmet. The one thing that penetrated deep into the back of my conscience was the drone of the electric wheel, a monotone noise that, while white in nature, undeniably reassures one of the immediate task at the tips of one’s hands.

The first time I saw Oto-san at the Nagashima studio sometime last year I noticed immediately that his style of throwing pottery was different. It was, in fact, the same style that I witnessed upon my visit to the abandoned elementary school-turned residence of the potter Mr. Matsumoto in the first weeks of my stay in Akune. The style that I speak of is one that utilizes a relatively large portion of clay, for example two to three kilograms (volume-wise, about the size of a newborn baby), which is placed on the wheel all at once in order to make multiple pieces, possibly identical in shape and size. When I first started throwing pots at Summit K-12 (for life), the amount of clay we used was directly related to the size of our desired product. I found two huge benefits to Oto-san and many of his contemporaries’ approach: done in this way, an entire mornings work required only one round of kneading clay (the utmost important and taxing step of creating a piece of pottery should be done methodically and meticulously as it dictates the quality of the end product); and the fact that since all of one’s materials is at one’s fingertips, concentration could go unbroken, which makes the ever-sought-after groove much more easily achieved.

Oto-san’s piece is on the far right, needless-to-say.

After a refreshing lunch of Oto-san’s garden-fresh salad and lamb curry (the first lamb I have ever had in Japan). Much like his oldest daughter Miki, Oto-san cannot get through a day without a brief post-lunch nap. I left the Oto-san and his airline-grade blindfold in the studio and headed down to the lower lawn. It was just me, a sturdy bench in the shade and the vast ocean view. There, I took the better part of an hour to soak up the warmth of late spring and devour the book I was currently reading, The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet, by David Mitchell (thanks Aunt Barbara, the book was awesome).

Kneading clay at the Akune studio, one week after my training in Nagashima

Trimming in Akune the next day

Throwing in Nagashima’s studio

Pieces from Nagashima

When I came back into the studio, Oto-san was crouched behind a counter carrying a huge ceramic vase while Oka-san feverishly worked on shaping and thinning its thick walls. With barely a word between them, the epitome of being in a groove, I recalled a Japanese expression I heard recently:

阿吽の呼吸, a-un no kokyu.

The expression is based on the names of the two guardian statues that are commonly seen at the entrance of Buddhist temples. Usually depicted as having an exquisitely muscular physique or as mystic dog-like figures, one stands with its mouth open pronouncing the first letter of the Sankrit alphabet “a” and the other closed, pronouncing the last letter, “um”. The two statues together create the word “aum”, or the more recognizable transliteration “om”. This single utterance is said to symbolize the full spectrum of all things in the universe. The last two characters in the idiom above, 呼吸 kokyu, mean breath. In laymen’s English it might suffice to say that this saying is equivalent to being on the same wavelength. The breath of 阿 (a) and 吽 (um) is thus an apt expression to convey the essence of harmony I found in Oto-san and Oka-san’s ongoing collaborative effort, both as skilled and experienced artist, teachers as well as guardians of their family.

Ephemerality: visitors, flowers and the first weeks of spring

2011-04-29T22:13:00.000-07:00

Greetings from Akune.

I hope everyone who celebrated had a wonderful Pesach this past week. The wait is finally over. Yes. You can at last make your peanut butter and jelly on matzah sandwiches. I would like to first of all give a huge thanks to my sister and brother in Jerusalem for the amazing effort they afforded to making this the best Pesach I have ever had in Japan. Only seven short days after a call to the Chabad organization in Tokyo, a box full of matzah and a bottle of kosher wine had been sent to my doorstep in Akune. In the three years I have spent Pesach in Japan, including one year in Kyoto, this year was the first in which I was able to, with the help and kind invitation of a fellow Jewish friend, have a real seder in Japan.

Thanks Chloe, Yehudah and Chabad in Tokyo

As six of my friends and I sat around a low table on tatami mats, reclining comfortably, we group read an abridged version of the Haggadah and even had a chance to share and discuss a few supplementary readings; I closed my eyes and I was seated at all the seder tables I had attended in years past. The only thing that was missing was Grama at the head of the table, her matzah ball soup and the harmonies of my mother and her sisters, the one and only Mackoff girls.

The Seder plate

I read a little bit into Pesach this year, more so than I have in other years. I found out that Pesach is, in fact, treated as a kind of New Year, yes, like Rosh Hashana. The reasons for this are many. For the sake of conciseness and not revealing the lack of depth in my understanding of this profound holiday I will state two of these reasons: Pesach is considered a New Year in that we start counting the months (again) from the day we were taken out of Egypt, a truly new beginning; and also because the season of Pesach is one filled with new life, whether it be a new harvest or vibrantly blooming flowers. This latter explanation is one I think those living in Japan could comprehend very well. As I have described before, spring is truly what brings new life into our world, and sometimes from all over the world.

There are few world travelers I know better in Akune than Captain Matsunaga. At the age of nineteen, just out of high school, he set off to the Dominican Republic (DR) to visit his eldest brother and get a taste of a world beyond Japan. Having come back from a similar trip last year, I was able to hear from the source about the extended Matsunaga family in the DR. I was hardly expecting to have a first-hand experience with a thread of that story, but then came spring.

I got a call from the Captain at an insignificant hour in the afternoon; maybe I am saying it was so because I was at the office. Either way, the Captain was in the company of guests from afar and as a result in high spirits. Before I knew it I was online researching the closest and cheapest hotel rooms in Akune for our guests (our?), apparently they were from or had some connection with the DR.

I was sitting in the parking lot of Rocks Inn when the Captain pulled up in his car accompanied by two young exchanged students from Tokyo on their spring break. Gian, from the Dominican Republic-who I would later learn was the friend and employee of a landscaping company run by one of the Captain’s brother’s sons-and Vinny, from Brazil had a traveler’s air about them. They also had the same look on their faces as I do when I came home from an outing with the Captain; it’s the look of exhilaration, disbelief, joy and exhaustion. Over the next few days, which included dining at yakitori, stopping at a handful of bars, a bon fire and taking a dip in my favorite onsen (hot spring) I became instant friends with Gian and VInny. No sooner, however, did they shoulder their packs and head north to Tokyo.

The first 竹の子, take-no-ko, bamboo shoots of the seasons, pulled from the Captain’s neighbors’ yard, by the neighbors of course. Gian and Vinny watched in awe.

Posing after a bath at 湯川内温泉, Yugawauchi Onsen, my absolute favourite spot

The emerald green bath

At the 焚き火バー, Takibi (bonfire) Bar at the Captain’s

There are a few places that stand out in memories of watching sakura (cherry blossoms) bloom. Having learned to ride my bike at the old Roosevelt High School, the University of Washington’s Red Square and the near by Quad, I grew up with superb sakura. This came dangerously close to being over shadowed during my experience at the University of British Columbia, whose sakura are as countless as they are breathtaking. Then I moved to Kyoto. My world of understanding what a beautiful flower could possibly be began to crumbled. What Kyoto and the handful of places I have visited during spring in Japan have that Seattle and Vancouver do not is a clear sense of unfamiliarity, a kind of next-level rarity.

Sakura right outside my apartment door

Sakura lining the 365 step staircase up to Banshogaoka Park in Akune

A few weekends ago, when the sakura in the north of Kagoshima were in full bloom, Zak and I went to his stomping ground, Nagashima’s Hana (flower) Festival. Upon our arrival to Taiyo-no-Sato Park, we were greeted with a piping hot potato. This was very Nagashima, according to Zak. I figured it as a kind of door prize. The flowers were fantastic and lived up to our annual expectations. Walking under the light pink blossoms and chomping on my door prize was the closest I got to Hanami (flower viewing, which entails a tarp, enough friends to fill that tarp seated and enough booze and finger food to last a long afternoon) this year.

Flower Festival opening performance

There is a well-known saying about Hanami that I would like to share:

花より団子, hana yori dango

The grammatical nature of this proverb proves finding its English equivalent a challenge for any caliber of translator. That is, until they have experienced it they do not realize what Hanami is all about. The saying is a comparative sentence, where the two objects are flowers (the first character) and dango (the last two characters, which is a kind of glutinous rice cake filled with sweet red bean paste). Using mathematical symbols, the saying could be viewed simply as the following: flowers < dango. In other words, it is an unmasking of a collective opinion that most Hanami goers share: we’re here for the food (and booze and friends) rather than the flowers.

Until next time.

Strawberries are in season

Southern Hospitality: a trip to the island of Amami

2011-04-01T02:24:00.000-07:00

I chose the plane over the boat. I had my reasons: I would be traveling alone; I was not too pressed on cash; and I did not want to spend twelve hours at sea where conditions are notoriously poor. After making the flight reservations, though, there was still one unanswered question that made me a little anxious. How small was this plane going to be? This question was finally answered when I stepped out onto the tarmac of Kagoshima airport. The plane that was to take me to the island of Amami was a twin-propeller plane with a capacity of about fifty-five people, crew included. This was the smallest plane I had flown on since the six-seater in Mexico about eighteen years ago. Luckily, the weather last Friday afternoon was fare, perfect for a flight down south.

Stepping off of the plane at Amami airport less than an hour later, I welcomed the seven-degree rise in temperature with a deep sigh. Winter has been long since been gone, I thought to myself. This observation became even clearer on the hour bus ride into Naze city. The lush mountains overflowed with the green of newly sprouting leaves and were dotted with a tropical palette of wild flowers.

The impetus for my trip to Amami was, as many trips before, an invitation from friends as well as a genuine interest in the southern part of Kagoshima. I had heard so much about the islands, as they are called so often. The people are relaxed. The dialect is unlike no other. The culture is rich with local music, dance and food. And of course there was the color of the ocean, beyond blue. I had four and a half days to soak up as much Amami as possible, every intention to do so and the perfect friends to show me the way.

Yes, that is a Hello Kitty design in the toast

Route 58 is the only highway that runs through Amami. Throughout my trip I got to know this route very well. I was delivered to the city of Naze on a bus via the 58 and the very next day, on another slightly outdated bus, I was on the 58 again headed down to the city of Koniya. With a population of a little over two thousand, Koniya gives off a very at home vibe. The ocean is visible from practically everywhere, the streets are small enough to only allow passage to the narrowest of cars or drivers who have the confidence to squeeze between the parapets that interlace most of the residential streets and all of this is wrapped in green.

魚南蛮, sakana nanban, fried fish in a sweet sugar cane vinegar sauce, the best I ever had

Most of the species of fish in the islands have red flesh

That is perhaps why I thought it was so bizarre that I found myself in one of Koniya’s loud, smoky live houses the evening I arrived. A number of bands, DJ’s and even a comedy troop performed at Juice live house for a benefit event in support of the earthquake tsunami disaster in northeastern Japan. After sitting through a few bands and a very interesting satire of Iron Chef, my ears and eyes, irritated by the heavy smoke in the air, began to tire and my body was easing slowly into sleep. At that very moment, two people, a man and a woman, entered from right stage. Each was carrying a 三線 sanshin (often referred to interchangeably with the 三味線 shamisen), a small instrument resembling a banjo. The distinctive sound of the sanshin does not come form the neck and frame, which are made of wood, but the drum, which is lined with stretched snake skin and sometimes dog or cat skin; technique, of course, plays a large factor as well. When the spotlights hit the faces of the two artists, now seated on stools, heads began to turn and a surge of whispers ripped through the crowd. The music started. While the steady plucking rhythm and fine finger work of the two sanshin, perfectly synchronized, formed a foundation for the song, vocals as high and soft as clouds completed a sound that injected a strange energy back into me. The layed back rhythm and the soft, round sound was to me the aural embodiment of island culture. By the third and last song of the set, dozens of people had found their way to the foot of the stage, hands raised and wrists twisting in a alternating pattern, dancing the classic island dance. This was the beating heart of the island.

Unbeknownst to be, I had just watched a collaborative set of two of the most famous island musicians of the day, Hajime Chitose (female) and Atari Kosuke (male). After the show, my friends, huge fans of the two musicians, raced backstage to get a chance to mingle with the stars. When the backstage door swung open I was face-to-face with Atari Kosuke, who immediately shot me a smile. I took this as an invitation and joined my friends and the two stars for a quick photo opportunity and a friendly chat. Then, unlike anything I have ever seen, the two artists, natives of the area, went out in the venue and mingled for the next hour with friends and guests. The night had come alive.

Having tasted the nightlife, I thought I would use my last full day in Amami to get in touch with the nature that had captivated me so upon my arrival. As one would expect from an island well within the tropics, Amami is blessed with a vast network of mangroves, not to mention the various companies who offer tours through them. Although the tour was short, the tide was out and the majority of the people in my group couldn’t operate a kayak to save their lives, I adored the mangrove experience. Nowhere else have I seen trees like the ones I saw that day. The guide explained how though some of the trees that appear smaller and less developed are in fact much older than the trees that tower over them. And since there are times when the entire tree is covered in water, some of the roots grow to pierce the muddy surface of the mangrove to gather as much oxygen as possible during the brief windows when the tide is out. I was in awe at this mysterious yet logical tactic of survival.

The plane ride back to mainland Kagoshima was one of the smoothest I have ever had. And as the rumble of the propeller just outside of my window vibrated the seat under me, I played back my first trip to the island of Amami.

People are buzzing around the Board of Education office like bees, bees in freshly pressed suits and new nametags. It is the first of April, my parents’ anniversary. Congratulations and Happy Anniversary. It is also the start of the new fiscal and work year in Japan. This is the day when new employees all over the country receive certificates of appointment and bow their heads low to their superior colleagues. This is the day where desks, left pristinely clean by their predecessors, are refilled with files and agendas, pens and bobble heads (actually no bobble heads), fresh memo pads and rolodexes. This is the day where teachers, who can potentially be transferred to another part of their prefecture every year, wake up in their new houses for the first time, boxes strewn everywhere from having moved in the day before. The last week of March and April the first is a time of emotional goodbyes and anxious introductions to new environments. Every year, whether it is with extreme reluctance or euphoric relief, people, especially teachers, are shuffled around their prefectures, sometimes changing the whole makeup of the workplace and or school district. It is a strange system that I find myself in. I am so grateful that I am not subject to the possibility of being torn away from the schools and the city I have become so fond of.

I would like to leave you with a Japanese proverb regarding goodbyes:

立つ鳥跡を濁さず, tatsutoriato wo nigosazu.

Literally translated, this means, the departing bird leaves no trace.

Sightseeing in Amami

Honohoshi beach has uniquely large, round rocks

The crew

The sound of the waves on the rocks was really amazing, just trust me.

Baby goat

Curry, not goat curry

This is a shipping container converted to a karaoke box.

Until next time.

Mabusu is Japanese for dredge: cooking in Akune and Izumi

2011-03-21T05:33:00.000-07:00

Greetings from Akune.

The windows of my apartment are open, all my produce is in the refrigerator and I am sitting in my living room, sans down jacket, rather comfortably. Could it be early spring? Could another school year be drawing close to an end? I find myself at a crossroads of seasonal transition. Sure, this may mean the end of nights curled up under all of my blankets trying to stay warm, but what about the evenings spent with good friends, all of us basking in the warmth of a communal nabe (hotpot), sitting under the kotatsu (heated table). It is at this time of year when I find myself reflecting on the heart-warming image of the scrawny little junior high first years of last April finally coming in to their own, filling out their uniforms and heading on to second year. At the same time it is very hard to see the third years-with whom I finally established a relationship-graduate and go off to high school. This feeling is so reminiscent of my days as a counselor at Camp Solomon Schechter watching my campers dreading the arrival of the next Greyhound bus, the one that would take their precious friends away. For any teacher, though, there is one thing we can count on, in times where we wish we could always have this class and also when we cannot imagine how we got stuck with another, to lift our spirits, to help us stand taller at the front of the class and charge on: another batch of students is always on its way.

It has recently come to my attention that some of my food pictures have become inappropriate to look at in the workplace of some of my readers. Yes, this may seem strange considering that not one of my pictures contains any profane material. However, those pictures that were considered “uncontrollable drool-inducing” (an indirect quote from a faithful reader) have directly led to keyboard malfunctions, whose costs were bore by the unfortunate and still hungry reader.

Coincidentally, March was a month full of gastronomic gatherings of all sorts: the dinner table of my and my friend’s house; school-organized events; private cooking classes; as well as macho bonfires. It is with my absolute pleasure that I bring to you a photo essay showcasing the fruits of many hours in the kitchen, each moment enjoyed and every bite savored.

There is nothing that I have enjoyed more than going over to my fellow foody-friend Badillo’s house to put together a nice meal. A few weeks ago, inspired by a dish I saw in a movie and another Badillo had seen online, I went to Badillo’s house in Izumi to put our heads together and get to business.

Poached egg on a bed of sautéed spinach and red onion; sesame encrusted Saba (mackerel); and butter brown rice.

As if my appetite for cooking wasn’t satiated enough, the next morning Badillo and I woke up and went to the community centre to have a cooking class with his Saturday Eikaiwa (English conversation class). I was so excited to see Badillo’s class again, not to mention don my apron and create some good, honest food together.

Butterfly and pound out your chicken breast; I might add that every single member of Badillo’s class came to the kitchen that day with their own knives, honed just as well as their skills, which were far from novice. Every blade was so well cared for and sharp. I was thoroughly impressed and most intrigued by this mini-discovery.

Heat the oil until it shimmers; that day we used canola oil for its high smoke point, neutral flavour and because it contains no saturated fats, a valuable ingredient one should not be without.

Dredge, what I would later learn to be まぶす (mabusu) in Japanese, in flour (lightly, please, and don’t forget to shake off the extra) and seared on both sides for 2-3 minutes. Finish in the oven for a few extra minutes for an even crispier texture on the outside. The browning of food inspires “Ooo”s and “Aaa”s in cooks. This phenomenon, I found, has no boundaries: it was a cacophonous kitchen that Saturday.

Ten minutes at a rolling boil, toss with olive oil, salt, pepper and rosemary and roast in the oven for 25 minutes.

This is Hideo, a soft-spoken gentleman with great sartorial sense, cutting into his finished product.

The group

The menu of the day was oven roasted potatoes; pan-seared chicken breast; and sautéed mixed vegetables; Badillo had taught this same lesson at three different high schools, which made Saturday his fourth and final time teaching this class, and therefore eating the food, that week.

There is a wonderful produce store about 100 meters from my doorstep. Over the past year and a half I have become a faithful customer and as a result now have the pleasure of making small talk with the owners and employees and getting waves from the delivery truck driver whenever I see him on his route. Last week may have seen the last batch of these savory brown beauties, so I made sure grab a good heap before spring. These were only 300 yen, about $3.50 USD. Shiitake.

The week following Badillo’s cooking class in Izumi, I was invited by the vice-principal of one of my favourite junior high schools to join the first grade students and parents for a home economics end of the year dinner party. Armed with my knife, apron and camera, I enjoyed a night standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the head chef of Grand View Akune Hotel and the mothers of the 10-student first grade class. The girls stayed in the kitchen and did most of the washing and preparation of ingredients while the boys played sports outside, periodically poking their heads into the kitchen to ask what was taking so long.

It was at the end of fabricating all the dishes of the night that I made another mini-discovery in the world of Japanese cookery and dining: all of the counter space and dishes will be cleaned, washed and put away properly before commencing with the start of the meal. (This also happened at Badillo’s class) If the memory of my childhood serves me correctly I always remember doing sink after sink of dishes post meal. Which is the better way? Being able to eat leisurely, without any worry of when or who will do the dishes, or enjoying the crispy crunch of the karaage (fried chicken) and the piping chikuzen-ni (chicken, konnyaku, carrot, potato, dried shiitake, snap peas and lotus root braised in dashi, sake, soy sauce and sugar) moments after being pulled from the heat?

Okonomiyaki (literally translated, as you like it or favourite) is sometimes referred to as the Japanese pancake or pizza. The basic okonomiyaki with include shredded cabbage, thin slices of meat, pickled ginger, chicken egg and a binding batter similar to that of pancakes. It is enjoyed all across the country and there are actually regional rivalries over taste as well as cooking technique. Above all, though, okonomiyaki is loved as something one can in enjoy in a variety of restaurants as well as in the comfort of one’s own home. Let’s look at the pros and cons of each situation:

Restaurant pros: no dishes; most of the times delicious; sometimes unique toppings and or fillings can be enjoyed, a perfect example being my favourite okonomiyaki in Akune, which has braised beef and loads of green onion; the excellent sear of a real teppanyaki (cast iron surface, like a big griddle); and, of course, ice-cold beer from a tap.

Home pros: cost efficient; complete control of ingredients and portions (the other night I made okonomiyaki with white onion, green onion, pickeled ginger, tsuke-age (fish cakes) and fermented red chili paste (I still managed to eat too much)); you can change the channel on the television; you can talk as loud as you want; you can drink your favourite beer; and most important of all, you can collapse after your meal into a prolonged mega-satiated comatose that some call the itus.

Restaurant cons: expensive; limited control over ingredients and portion size; sleeping is prohibited; teppanyaki and drinking often lead to mysterious criss-cross-patterned burns on your forearms; you need to find a way home after the meal; and extremely cold beer can lead to brain freeze.

Home cons: dishes; getting overconfident because you know you are in a comfortable place, eating too much and never recovering from the itus until it’s too late; and the occasional and unfortunate case of experimenting with the wrong combination of ingredients, which can lead to indigestion (i.e. leave it up to the professional cooks who do it for a living).

給食, kyushoku. School lunch. There are no lunch ladies in Akune. At least there are not any around at school anymore. No, now the only lunch ladies-and gentlemen, one of whom happens to be one of my mountain climbing comrades-in the city work at the Akune School Lunch Centre (ASLC). The fine cooks at the ASLC feed all of Akune’s elementary and junior high schools, everyday. Everyday, the students, teachers and administration are delivered hot rice (and bread once a week), cold milk, a small side dish and a warm soup for lunch. That is a lot of rice, tons of dishes and double the chopsticks. I am thankful everyday for the invaluable service the ASLC pays to the school district. I am even more thankful that I get to eat with the kids. Last week I had the rare pleasure of eating at Ozaki Elementary, a small school with a fabulous staff and extremely bright student body, nestled in the mountains of Akune. The school’s staff and students (literally, grades one through six, all of the teachers, administration, including the principal) eat lunch together in the same room everyday. I was taken right back to the Chadar Ochel (dining hall) at camp. I was in kyushoku heaven.

Badillo heard stories of the Captain long before meeting him for the first time. Their first encounter was brief so I thought it would be a good idea to rendezvous again and spend some quality time at the 焚火バー, takibi or bonfire bar, in the Captain’s backyard. I have had many an episode at the takibi bar and only thought it appropriate to bring Badillo along this time. We all drank in good spirits, fired up some manly meals and glared long gazes into the deep glow of the takibi.

Deep conversations

When the steam stops coming out from the sides, it’s ready. These are best potatoes you will ever taste.

We took the top of the gigantic Dutch oven and placed it on top of some bricks and grilled chicken, shiitake and shishamo, a type of smelt.

Last night I was in Izumi again, creating and loving every bite: steamed broccoli; roasted carrot soup; and grilled salmon.

I would like to leave you with this Japanese proverb:

芋の煮えたもご存じない, imono nietamo gozonjinai.

To not know even when potatoes are done.

This frank saying is used to poke fun at people who are immature. They should use a Dutch oven.

Update from Akune

2011-03-16T02:39:00.000-07:00

For some reason there seemed to be more stairs to climb than usual. I had just finished my last class on Friday, March 11 and was heading back to the office to spend the last hour of my day, parked at my desk, reading. I was tired. On the landing between the second and third floor I saw one of my colleagues, Mrs. Takehara, her smile, no matter how late in the day, bright and uplifting. With in an instant, though, a look of concern washed over her face.

“There has been an earthquake. It looks really serious. Everyone is in the office watching the T.V.”

No one was at his or her desk. As Mrs. Takehara has said, everyone was standing, crowded around the T.V., dust-covered and surrounded on all sides by files. I saw the first tsunami hit Sendai from the perspective of a news helicopter. The speed of the wave was alarming, almost super-natural. The color of the wave was a fear-instilling black. It surged forth. It grew as it penetrated further inland, carrying with it everything that it touched. Despite the fact that everyone had been watching the story unfold (as they do everyday now), we all had the same look on our faces. Our mouths were gaping. Our heads were shaking. We were all asking ourselves the same question as we witnessed this disaster from almost one thousand miles away: what is happening?

I went home that Friday afternoon and have since been replying to a constant flow of messages from people all over the world asking about my safety. As scared as I am, as emotionally taxing it is to see all of this happening everyday, I am grateful that Akune was not affected directly by the earthquake and resulting tsunami. One thousand miles is far however one may look at it, but this tragedy feels very close.

I wish to thank all of the family, friends and loved ones who have been checking on my status for the past few weeks. Your anxious thoughts of worry translate clearly and provide perspective that helps me realize the sheer enormity of the disaster that is unfolding.

Japan is in serious need of relief. Your prayers and support in any capacity are welcome.

Nostalgia in Nagasaki

2011-02-19T22:26:00.001-08:00

Greetings.

Recent happenings: a short photo essay

Okuchi Ice festival

Godzilla

Hidaka Masato dinner show at Kagoshima’s Shiroyama Hotel

Cabbage rolls

The atmosphere of the staff room at Akune junior high on Monday morning was heavy. Everyone seemed to be lagging: the science teacher; the language arts teacher; fellow English teachers, and even the home economics teacher. Needless to say, the students were also having trouble starting their engines. This is only typical for the first day back to school after a long weekend. Although every long weekend must come to an end, there are certain benefits to getting back to the grind. For example, instead of bending over at the sink next to a fellow teacher washing up between classes, completely speechless, there is something to talk about:

‘How was your trip to so-and-so?’
‘Oh. Great. The hot springs were wonderful and the accommodations were very reasonable.’

Sure, the first round in the ring after a long hiatus may be rough, but when one can look for to well-informed travel advice, not to mention scrumptious tea treats from all over the region, what could really be so bad? This Sunday I embarked on the express train back to Akune with a bag full of some of the most desired treats in the country. I am referring, of course, to Nagasaki’s subtly sweet and sensuously steamed Castella cake.

The impetus for the long weekend stint came from my neighbours in Izumi who always has a travel bug. Just when I thought my radar for vacation days was honed to its max, Katie and Badillo called me nearly one month in advance about a possible three day-trip to Nagasaki for the next long weekend (way off my radar). Katie had already made reservations at what apparently was voted the best hostel in Japan and the train tickets would be extra cheap. Thinking about the possibilities of this trip, I realized that I couldn’t recall the last time I spent more than two nights anywhere on vacation, let alone a city I had never been to. Did I mention I had been yearning to go to Nagasaki for almost a decade? I was in.

We set out for Nagasaki from Izumi on the second bullet train of the morning last Friday, National Foundation Day. Within moments we were at Yatsushiro junction where we would transfer to the Relay Tsubame, meaning swallow (a lot of Kyushu’s express trains are named after birds). The transfer is quite genius actually. When the bullet train arrives on platform number one, for example, the Tsubame is there, waiting at platform number two, ready to take off minutes later. No need to hurry. No need even to take the stairs.

Until the last leg of our train ride to Nagasaki, the crew from Kagoshima had been seated happily and comfortably in the non-reserved section. That was until we made our last transfer on to the Kamome, seagull, for the homestretch from Tosu to Nagasaki. I have most likely mentioned before the fervor with which Japanese people attack anything resembling a national holiday. This tenacity for travel sometimes results in the unfortunate case of having to stand in a packed train. Sometimes it can be a short ride. This time it was not. One and a half hours later, our vision blurred and legs now jell-o, we lurched to a stop at the terminus. We had reached Nagasaki.

Lunch in Nagasaki station

Outside Nagasaki station

Nagasaki manhole, check it out Dad

Throughout Japan’s nearly three century-long period of isolation, the Edo period, Nagasaki was one of the only known ports open to foreign trade. As is characteristic of many port cities, Nagasaki developed small immigrant communities. One of the most established of those was the Chinese community. Every year sporadic flashes of fireworks and the pale glow of lanterns emanated from the Chinese neighborhoods during the vernal equinox, known by many as the Chinese New Year. What started as a contained sign of enduring cultural tradition abroad would, over the centuries, turn into a spectacle that now draws tens of thousands of people from all over Asia every year. I am speaking of course of the Nagasaki Lantern Festival. Simply put, the event is two full weeks of dazzling lantern light, showcases of Chinese traditional culture and all of the street food one could possibly wish for. And what's more? It is all nestled amidst the beautiful hills and harbor of Nagasaki.

Dejima is a man made island that was constructed during the early Edo period. Its few residents were foreign traders from either Holland or Portugal. Other than guards, a few appointed merchants and courtesans, no other Japanese were allowed on Dejima. This island came up countless times in my research throughout university. I was very glad I got a chance to take a tour, as you can see.

Dejima

Mini-Dejima

The hostel that Badillo and I stayed in was a five-minute ride from the station on streetcar. International Hostel Akari, has been voted best hostel in Japan a number of times in the past few years, and for good reason. The rooms were well kept, and heated I might add. Hot showers were available in the morning and at night. There was a fully functional kitchen, refrigerator and coffee station (by donation). And if that wasn’t enough, the staff members are the kind of people that make leaving something hard to do. Kazu and Tomo, the two lovely people working the hostel while we were there, were vital to the success of our trip and became instant friends.

Hostel Akari

With our beds freshly made and our packs tucked safely in our corner of our eight-person room on the fourth floor, Badillo and I set out on to the streets of Nagasaki toward the lantern festival, the glow of the lanterns and the sent of the food stands our sensory guides. In five short minutes we were surrounded by the unique ambiance that only a packed China town can bring; the silent civilians of Nagasaki who snaked through the mess of it all without a word, their eyes locked to the ground seemed juxtaposed against shouting storeowners and bewildered tourists. After sampling some of the street food, squeezing through the crowds, catching a glimpse of the Chinese violinist and basking in light of seemingly animate lanterns we met our rendezvous.

China town

Sesame balls, the first of too many that came after

Lantern warrior

Matsunaga Norihisa walks like his brother, talks like his brother, smokes, drinks and thinks like his brother. There was no mistake that the short man who picked me out of the crowd after a short phone call was Captain Matsunaga’s older brother. Mr. Matsunaga is one of eleven siblings to the Captain and has been living in Nagasaki for the better part of this past decade. He grows potatoes, raises goats and has his hand on the managerial side of a number of businesses around town; Mr. Matsunaga’s face is well known in the town in which he lives, just like his brother. One of the close ties he has in the city is with the owner of a successful Indian restaurant, Milan. Badillo and I almost broke a sweat trying to keep pace with Mr. Matsunaga as we rushed to catch our reservation for dinner there.

Milan dinner

While sitting across from Mr. Matsunaga at dinner, enjoying the multiple and equally enthralling topics of conversation as well as the authentic Indian food, I couldn’t help but observe him. The resemblance to his younger brother was eerie. His posture, laugh and facial expressions-whether it be joy, worry, sadness, or surprise-were all reminiscent of the Captain. To say the least, I was happy to have met this man. I was overjoyed to be in the presence of someone who emits a similar type of energy as the Captain. I couldn’t help myself from laughing, because I sensed that, like his younger brother, Mr. Matsunaga is a man with a big, open heart.

Lanterns

Spectacles Bridge

We awoke the next morning to snow. Kazu at the front desk said that weathermen are getting better at their jobs every year. Kazu’s sense of humour has no linguistic boundaries. After a quick cup of coffee in the hostel kitchen and a couple of pastries from a nearby bakery, Badillo and I headed to the Peace Park and Atomic bomb museum. When we got off the train the snow had reduced to a flurry. When we reached the border of the Peace Park the sun breached from behind the clouds and the snow stopped almost instantly. Compared to Hiroshima, the scale of Nagasaki’s Peace Park is much smaller. This, however, does not hinder the deeply resonating message of the park that stands as a reminder of the dark, sad moments that passed over Nagasaki city nearly seventy years ago. The museum was sobering, amazingly well designed, packed with thoroughly documented history, but still some kind of sobering. Near the end of the memorial, there is a small corridor dedicated to the display of firsthand accounts from the victims of the atomic bomb. A page of a girl’s diary had been transcribed on to a wall: 「のどが乾いてたまりませんでした。水にはあぶらのようなものが一面に浮いていました。どうしても水が欲しくて、とうとうあぶらの浮いたまま飲みました。」, “I was unbearably thirsty. There was something like oil floating on the surface of the water. I wanted water so bad. Eventually, I drank the water with the oil still on it.” This passage has been engraved on a stone that sits in front of the fountain at the head of the Peace Park.

Peace Park

Hypocenter

Victims’ memorial

Metal cranes

Badillo and I walked out of the exhibit exchanging few words. Taking a last look at the cranes on display in the foyer, we left the museum with a deep sigh. When we lifted our heads we were face-to-face with a vibrant city. I have had this feeling before, I thought to myself. I was immediately taken back to 2005, the time of my first visit to the Hiroshima Peace Park. I felt myself being enveloped by a similar wave of relief, by appreciation and thanks.

I would like to leave you with this Japanese proverb:

大事は小事より起こる, daijiwa shoujiyori okoru.

Literally translated, this short saying means, big things start from little things, or little things give rise to great things.

I was expecting a fun, relaxing weekend and an introduction to Nagasaki, nothing too special. What I encountered, however, was something much greater. And it all started from a friendly invitation from friends.

Until next time.

Taking the stairs

2011-01-18T04:19:00.001-08:00

Happy New Year

We are a mere three weeks into the New Year and I have yet to make the mistake of writing 2010 instead of 2011 on any official documents. I have, however, written 22 instead of 23 every time, 22 and 23 representing the 22nd and 23rd year of the Heisei Emperor, that is. Every year on New Years day, the Emperor and the Empress, two of the most elegant, poised and angelic people in the world, open up the Imperial palace to the public and give a New Year’s address. This year more than 700,000 people passed through the gates to catch a glimpse of their majesties and receive their articulate and uplifting wishes for the New Year.

The Japanese New Year I experienced this year was, needless to say, full of firsts. But honestly, for having spent New Year’s only once before in Japan, while I was an exchange student in Kyoto, this year’s experience brought a whole new meaning to my conception of the Japanese New Year.

I was very grateful to receive an invitation from my friends from Warabe ceramics studio to join them on New Year’s Eve in Nagashima where Mr. and Mrs. Kurowarabi, the father and mother of the family, live. One of my two ceramics teachers, Miwa also lives in Nagashima, literally 50 meters up the road, while Miki, Miwa’s sister and another one of my ceramics teachers, lives in Akune. Miki and Miwa are the two daughters of Mr. and Mrs. Kurowarabi who have been married happily to Ma-san and Haru-san, respectively, for many years.

Now that we have the family tree out of the way I can tell you how amazing Mr. and Mrs. Kurowarabi’s house is. As one would expect from a family of ceramicists, the Kurowarabi house is immaculately decorated with pieces from both Mr. and Mrs. Kurowarabi. In the centre of the living room are three large (and low) tables made from what looks like one solid tree with a very fine finish. It was around this table that I sat and shared the company of the Kurowarabi family on New Year’s Eve. My previous New Year in Kyoto three years ago was spent bundled up in the chill of the moments before midnight, outside of a nearby temple. I was, indeed, in the company of good friends and many of them, but this year in Nagashima I got a real sense, for the first time, of what it means to spend a Japanese New Year at home with all of the family. I would later learn that a lot of this time, which I supposed to be quality family bonding time, was spent drinking beer and shochu and locked into the television for hours watching celebrities sing their heart out in what has become an ultra-famous collaborative chorus competition.

Nagashima New Year with the Kurowarabis

Despite my intent to stay and soak up the warmth of the evening, and the hibachi coal stove, the snowstorm that had set in outside forced me to go home far before the final hour of 2010. Luckily, on my way home I got a call from my friends at Big Up, the NPO at Akune station. So, from the hours of nine to twelve I sat around yet another hot stove, this one made out of old motorcycle parts, drank more beer and feasted on toshikoshi-soba (New Year’s soba). When the hour finally came I stood among friends in the snow on the platform of Akune station bellowing into the night, in both English and Japanese, “Happy New Year 新年明けましておめでとうございます (akemashite-omedetou-gozaimsu).” In retrospect of all the noise making I have participated in at the stroke of midnight, this was certainly a first.

On the first of January I had the pleasure of joining the owner of my favourite soba restaurant in Akune, Daikon-no-hana (The Daikon Flower), at his house to enjoy a traditional New Year’s festive meal known as Osechi-ryouri. Osechi is delicious on so many levels: it is almost always enjoyed in the company of family or friends; it is presented in a multi-level box, with each meticulously prepared item occupying its own special place; and the taste is simple, deep and does due justice to each of the fine ingredients. Every ingredient used in an osechi spread has a symbolic meaning. For example, sweet beans, a big part of osechi, are eaten in order to work hard throughout the coming year. The rationale for this is a little hard to explain in English since the Japanese reasoning is based on word play. The word for bean in Japanese is 豆, mame, which if repeated twice and changed into the form of an adjective, 忠実忠実しい mamemameshii, means diligent. Right. My favourite of the osechi I had on the first was with out a doubt the saba oshi-zushi, pressed mackerel sushi. The mackerel is first cured in slightly salty, barely sweetened vinegar, wrapped in bamboo skin along with sushi rice and then lightly steamed. Despite the fact that steaming sacrifices the amazing taste of the crispy skin one would get from grilling the fish, it certainly maintains the saba’s beautiful blue colour. From the hours of one in the afternoon to roughly 5 in the evening, I sat with the owner of Daikon-no-hana and his wife, drinking beer, watching television again (I was beginning to see a theme at this point) and enjoying each delectable morsel of the meaningful munchies. Might I add, this was my first osechi experience.

Osechi spread

Saba oshi-zushi

In the remaining days before school started my good friend in Nagashima, Zak, and I visited the prefecture to the north, Kumamoto, a total of two times. First, on a cold, overcast Thursday we drove thirty minutes on route 3 to Minamata city to take advantage of the community bicycles we had heard about from a friend. Within minutes of entering the city hall and applying for a one-day pass we were back on the road, but this time on electric bikes, with baskets. Although Zak and I were eventually aiming for Yu-no-ko, a famous onsen town, we had not particular place to go. So what did we, two hungry men do? We went in search of food.

Minamata community bike rentals

Check it out Dad

Zak’s pretending-not-to-be-hungry face

The route along the ocean-side road, hundreds of meters above the beach, was breathtaking. When we eventually reached Yu-no-ko, it was time to eat, but alas, there was no sign of a restaurant. That was until we stumbled upon a colourful sign with big round lettering lining the circumference of a smiley, golden sun: 福田農場-スペイン村-レストラン Fukuda Farms, Spain Village and restaurant. Not knowing the grueling climb that lay ahead, Zak and I charged forward to the cadance of our growling stomachs.

Fukuda Winery

Electric bikes, shmelectric bikes. That 2km, winding climb up to Fukuda Farms was serious. But what we discovered at the top of what seemed like Yu-no-ko’s largest bluff made it all worth it. There was a bakery. There was a winery. There was wine tasting, home-brewed beers, pizza, a great view of the ocean and more. After a thoroughly satisfying lunch and we saddled our shmelectric city bikes and descended back into the city. Having worked up somewhat of a sweat, Zak and I retraced our steps to Yu-no-ko by car to stop by the nearest onsen we could find. The onsen we settled on, 山海館, Sankai-kan, just so happened to be the cave (yes caves, like bats and moreloks) onsen I had researched the very day before. After a nice long soak in the caves Zak and I drove back up the hill to Fukuda Farms to by some gifts, recalling our arduous ascent that had taken place just hours before.

Fukuda Farms lunch and beer tasting

Hatsushibori, the first juicing of the year, our present from the owners

Our second trip up to Kumamoto was to the prefecture’s second largest city, Yatsushiro, to visit a mutual friend of ours Jon. With only two days, a measly 2,880 minutes, remaining in our winter break, the three of us decided to make the most of every moment and every step, literally. In other words, Jon led us into the mountains to the north of Yatsushiro to climb Japan’s largest staircase, numbering 3,333 stairs in all. The weather that Saturday was pristine, perfect for performing the equivalent of 6,666 leg lifts and then walking 2 km in the snow to an old wooden shrine. Climbing the stairs was actually easier that I thought. That was until we reached stair number 1,800 or so, also known as the freezing point. From then on it was a battle between the ice-covered granite stairs, my sense of balance, which I pride myself on, and my super cool hiking boots (thanks folks). The climb down was absolutely treacherous. While Jon, an experienced 3,333er, headed down with the speed and agility of a mountain goat, I stayed with Zak, who for his own, possibly spiritual reasons, decided to climb the stairs in zori, Japanese sandals. Needless to say, I gained a newfound appreciation for the care and thought that senior citizens put into each step they take up and or down stairs.

The beginning

About 2,000

3,333

The best chicken in Japan

定食 (teishoku, set course) in Yatsushiro

Warabe Winter Fest., Mr. Kurowarabi and Jon grilling and eating mochi and sweet beans

Warabe winter festival, group photo with Miki-san

In light of the New Year, I would like to leave you with this phrase I hear very often about resolutions:

三日坊主, mikka-bouzu.

Literally translated, this expression means, “A three-day monk.” I have often heard it used in regard to one’s inability to uphold personal goals, such as keeping a diary, jogging a few times every week, or other things that we sometimes foolishly promise ourselves, like trying not to eat the delicious doughnuts at the convenient store more than three times a week, oops.

The proverb in this next photo has a lot more depth than the 3-day monk message. I saw this beautifully engraved pillar on my way down the 3,333:

Translated literally, the two short phrases mean, “Today’s work is now. Today’s pleasure is tomorrow.” This really struck me. First because of how simplistic yet profound the message was. And also because this teaching resembles, almost verbatim, a well known Jewish philosophy about the mitvos, “You do them today and receive their reward tomorrow.”

I wish everyone a Happy New Year. 2011 should be a year of health, happiness and growth for us all.

Until next time.

Bathing at Altitude: hiking, walking and other adventures of early winter

2010-12-29T16:50:00.000-08:00

Presenting in Kagoshima last month at Kagoshima’s Mid-year Training Seminar for all of the Assistant Language Teachers in the prefecture
(The on which my friend Badillo and I presented was “Making the most of your life in Japan”.)

I wish you (nearly) Happy New Year’s greetings from Akune.

I was preparing to cook a vegetable stir-fry last week when I reached down under my sink to grab my peanut oil. It had become semi-solid much like the bottles of peanut oil left outside my back porch in Seattle during Chanukah. This didn’t mean my stir-fry was foiled, most certainly not. This did mean, however, that I would be enjoying my first vegetable stir-fry of the winter. I huddled close to the warmth of my gas range as I lightly tossed together a variety of winter vegetables: napa cabbage; carrot; and shiitake mushrooms. Upon taking my first bite of the steaming stir-fry a white cloud of steam burst from my mouth, reminding me of the many cold weeks I spent here last year. Akune is now hovering at a miraculously low temperature just barely toeing the line between freezing and frigid.

A number of weeks ago I took advantage of the pleasant, late autumn weather and got in touch with nature, before it would freeze over. At the beginning of November I was invited by one of my adult English students, Mr. Taniguchi, to join the Akune hiking club on their climb of Nishi-no-takatsuki-yama (NTY) and gladly accepted. On the day of the climb the participants gathered at the entrance of city hall to sign in. After checking in everyone received a complimentary towel, pair of gloves and a meticulously formatted print-out of the day’s schedule, map and assigned hiking groups, which to my relief were color coordinated; one should never think of hiking without taking care of these essentials.

My bento, enjoyed on the summit of Nishi-no-takatsuki-yama

On the drive to our rendezvous I was leafing through the map when I recognized a name of an abandoned school, Hon-no-mure Elementary, which was listed as the departure point for the hike. After asking Mr. Taniguchi, I confirmed that this was the very school where Captain Matsunaga introduced me to the ceramicist Mr. Matsumoto in my earliest days in Akune. I was thrilled to go back to the tiny school in the forest and excited at the chance of possibly seeing Mr. Matsumoto again. When we parked the car next to the outdoor kilns at Hon-no-mure Elementary I had a flashback of those first sweltering days, now two summers ago. It was a very nostalgic reunion with the small village school in the woods.

Gathering at Hon-no-mure Elementary

This pristine specimen of a shiitake was growing in the back of Hon-no-mure Elementary

Once the other participants arrived we all gathered around a portable microphone to hear the club president’s openning salutations; there is no contest to the attention paid to ceremony in Japan. The highlight of the pre-hike gathering was rajio-taiso (radio calisthenics). This short aerobic routine has been broadcast on Japanese national radio at 0630 in the morning everyday since the middle of WWII; everyone in the country knows this routine; yes, I have full confidence in saying this. With our bodies warmed up we headed off into the forest through the abandoned village of Hon-no-mure, where remnants of a not so distant history lay before our eyes amidst the forest floor’s autumn palette.

Hon-no-mure path: if you look closely you can see the remains of what used to be support walls for houses, footpaths and gardens

The changing leaves

Walking the path

Just one week after climbing NTY one of my fellow JET friends, Badillo, welcomed a visitor from the States. Since she was only staying for a short time Badillo decided to plan a jam-packed schedule including some time to mingle with his adult English conversation class. I also happened to be invited to this mixer, which was to feature a fun group activity, ceramics. I was very happy to interact with such talented learners of English. Some, however, were not as enthused by the ceramics. Later that day I would set a record for hosting guests in my house. I sat and served tea to a remarkable three people and to my great relief and joy I was able to find enough chairs and cups for everyone.

Ceramics in Izumi

Guests: the proof

Riding the groove of a busy mid November, I found myself again preparing for another early morning outing in Akune. This time it was a walking rally and unlike the climb of NTY, I had an American companion with me, Zak the Miami native, Nagashima ALT. For a mere three and a half hour walk Zak and I had a whole day’s worth of fun. In the same way as last year’s walk rally, I kept on thinking how big Akune really is. There are so many hidden residential clusters and beautiful views that I rarely get to see. One of which, although it may not be considered a thing of beauty, was the schochu (potato spirits) factory. As an extra stop on the walking course, we visited Oishi shochu factory in the heart of Akune. The bubbling vats of fermenting rice and potatoes were a sight and a smell to behold.

Pre-walking

Bubbling barrels

Four hours north of Akune in Oita prefecture, stretching upwards into the sky is one of the largest mountain ranges in Kyushu, Kuju. Last year I went to Kuju with a crew of my hiking friends and came back with extremely sore legs and the images of the breathtaking scenery of Hiji-take (Mount-Hiji). This year was going to be different, said Mami, the leader of this particular group of mountain maniacs. Yes, this year’s plans was to tackle as many mountains as we possibly could before descending down the other face of the range to our mountain shelter for a one night stay, only to wake up the next morning and hike again. Our main targets for the trip were Mount Kuju, the range’s namesake, and the tallest of all, Naka-dake, the central peak, which according to Mami is the reason why people come to Kuju in the first place.

I awoke the day of the hike at 0230; this hiking trip was serious in a different way from the NTY hike. We were out of Akune by 0300 and suited, strapped and booted at the base of our first peak by 0700. With the drastic rise in altitude we started our hike in negative five degree Celsius temperatures, heaving frothy clouds with every step. Everyone was in good spirits, in good shape and we couldn’t have asked for better weather. After reaching the summit of peak number four we dined on bento boxes chilled by the mountain conditions, within an inch of being frozen solid.

Kuju crew

Kuju salute

This is why we came

Hokkeiin onsen

I wasn’t looking forward to the three-hour descent at all, anyone with Ramras knees can easily understand why. With one careful step after another we made progress toward our final destination. Imagine coming down the face a mountain nearly 1800 meters in elevation, your muscles are aching. When you finally think you can’t muster any more strength you smell it. It smells funky, yet familiar. Then you see it. Clouds of steam rise from the end of the tree line that just moments ago seemed like it would never end. And finally, you put two and two together and realize that you have arrived at your point of salvation. Nestled between the mountains, deep in the Kuju range was Hokkeiin-onsen (hot spring hotel), waiting receive our tired bodies. Without wasting a moment, we checked into to our rooms (tatami), raced down the halls (freezing) and practically dove into the natural hot spring bath (favourably comparable to reincarnation, if there is such a thing). I would only figure out later that we were bathing in one of the highest baths in Japan.

Early morning Taisen

I would like to leave you with this idiom:

山高水長 (san-kou-sui-chou)

If one were to literally translate each kanji the meaning would be: mountain, tall, water, long. To my understanding, however, these four characters are a description of what one hopes for what their own virtues may become: reaching high into he sky like a mountain and like a vastly stretching river.

Sakurajima blowing its ash

Miki and Miwa, the sisters of Warabe Ceramic studio at the Satsuma-yaki Festival

Kento’s piece: Kento is one of my 5th grade elementary students from the smallest school at which I teach. Kento and I take ceramics together at Warabe studio. Kento entered this piece into the youth ceramics competition and received an honourable mention. Way to go Kento.

Daikon steak with negi-miso and toasted white sesame seed
(Captain Matsunaga showed me how to make the daikon steaks: cut rounds of the daikon; dry them in the sun for half a day; and then pan-fry them in oil with just a touch of salt)

BOWnenkai
忘年会 (bou-nen-kai, or end of the year parties) are ubiquitous throughout Japan. This is the bou-nen-kai I had with my adult English conversation class at a French restaurant near my house.

Daikon farmer
This is Zak and his crop of daikon.

The first daikon

The second daikon

The grand harvest

This just in

2010-11-14T23:34:00.001-08:00

Recent happenings in and around Akune

The debut of Rider Shochu, shochu made with potatoes harvested by touring motorcyclists that stayed at Akune STAYtion, the NPO where I volunteer

Reception

“Carmen”, the famous opera came to Tsurukawauchi Junior high school. If you look close, you can see a few of my students breaking legs on the big stage

Miki’s birthday party

Pre-river rafting in Hitoyoshi, Kumamoto with Zak from Nagashima

Fireworks show post-river rafting in Yatsushiro, Kumamoto

Yatsushiro manhole cover, for Dad

I woke up the morning after river rafting and unconsciously voice my craving for a bagel. My friend took us to the bagel shop down the street; the wonders of living in a slightly large city, I thought

Greetings from a noticeably chillier Akune.

After an exciting and crowded English conversation class this past Thursday evening, I paid a long-overdue visit to one of my favourite restaurants in town. On the east side of Route 3 (a national interstate that runs throughout the island of Kyushu) about fifty meters south of Akune station is Wakana. Every evening of the week except Sundays, the entrance of Wakana glows in the light of its red lantern and the reflection off of the hideously balding head of the loud, charismatic co-owner, Master. If you take a step inside to what some might call a whole in the wall, Okaa-san (Mama), greets you warmly as you find your way to an open seat at the bar, probably next to Master who has come inside to wet his whistle. Sure, there is a menu, but there is nothing like leaving it Okaa-san, who has been pleasing hungry customers for longer than I have been able to chew.
A night at Wakana, usually starts with a sweet stewed vegetable appetizer (daikon radish, turnips and the like) and continues with an endless assortment of fried fish, grilled skewers of chicken, Master’s immaculately prepared sashimi and other delights. With a trained eye Okaa-san asks if you are ready to round off your meal with some piping-hot miso soup and a bowl of steamy white rice; I am always thankful when she asks before I have eaten too much. This Friday, at just the right time, the miso soup and rice came out. I closed my eyes and slurped the soup. I had my rice bowl in my hand and with one look at the rice I noticed something was different; the rice was shimmering.

Mama said, with noticeable pride, “This is shinmai [新米, new rice] from Nagashima”, referring to the island just north of Akune, ”tastes great, right?”

Japanese shinmai is magic. It is fragrant and has a deep savory taste locked inside every glutinous grain. When cooked well, it glistens. Each bite is unspeakably satisfying. You may be thinking to yourself, ‘Can one really use those words to describe white rice?’ Well, yes, one certainly can. New Japanese rice, that has sustained the Japanese soul for thousands of year, is truly something to behold. And this year I had the opportunity to understand what kind work it takes to get that very rice from the tanbo (rice field) to the table.

A few months ago, one of my Japanese English Teachers (JTE) from Akune Elementary, Tashiro-sensei, told me that his family will be harvesting rice at the end of the month and if I were interested my help would be welcome. The work would include cutting the rice stalks with a sickle, organizing the bunches of stalks, hanging them to dry on take-uma, literally bamboo horses, and heartily celebrating in the evening with all of the family members. I was very happy that Tashiro-sensei decided to propose the idea to me and, in retrospect, am duly grateful for the experience.

After a short drive south on Route 3 we, Tashiro-sensei, his wife and I, arrived at the family residence in Satsuma-sendai. When we arrived we exchanged salutations with the matriarch of the house, Tashiro-sensei’s Obaa-san, Grandmother, a pleasant elderly woman who apparently has a knack for raising delicious vegetables; our short exchange made me think that her bright smile never leaves her face. Then it was off to the rice fields to start the day’s work. Our goal for the day was to cut, gather and prepare bundles of rice stalks to be cured before processing. Those getting their hands and feet dirty that day, were the Fathers, Mothers, aunts, uncles, and cousins (and one foreign friend) of Tashiro-sensei’s, all of whom were eager to give me pointers on the various tasks that make inekari (rice harvesting) possible.

Inekari, stacking bunches of rice stalks

It takes the better part of six months for rice to grow and fully mature before it is harvested. Before the rainy season hits Japan in the early summer, the rice paddies are flooded and dotted with thousands of baby rice stalks. By the end of the summer the stalks reach almost one meter in height and show a most vibrant green. Just before the harvest, however, the rice fields transform into a humble gold and the stalks’ once proud posture crumbles under the weight of the rice grains; Tashiro-sensei told me that the rice is bowing to the Earth in respect.

Drying stalks

Tashiro-sensei counting the grains to see if this year’s harvest met his late-Grandfather’s benchmark of 130 grains. This year was a pretty good harvest

English listening CD, this one has been repelling crows and many other of rice’s airborne enemies

When the rice stalks are ready to harvest the paddies have dried mostly and are able to accept the weight of harvesters’ feet and even heavy-duty machinery. In the days of old, and in a few rare locations now, rice farmers used to cut the stalks with sickles and bundle up the bunches with the dried, fallen fronds. On the day that I was in the fields, I cut a few stalks with a sickle; according to Tashiro-sensei, it was for the experience, because I really don’t want to do a whole field like that. The remaining rice was dealt with a machine. It was a phenomenal machine. The eldest of the family would walk it systematically up and down the lines of stalks and the machine would cut and bundle the stalks as it went along. If that wasn’t enough, there was even a mechanism that would tie off the bunched stalks and toss them aside with the precision of, well, a piece of specialized agricultural equipment. This left only one job, which happens to be the most important step in Japanese rice harvesting.

It is my understanding that Japanese rice would not be the same if were not for the last step in the harvesting process. I am speaking, of course, of the sun drying process. After the elders built the take-uma (remember? bamboo horse), resembling a drying rack, we gathered bunches of stalks, separated them in the center and draped them on it in a criss-cross fashion. Depending on the given family’s practice, the stalks will then be left to dry for one to three weeks, sometimes up to one month. But I have a feeling, a scientific hunch that a lot more than drying occurs on top of the take-uma. For instance, when you take a steak of the grill and cut into it right away, what happens? Exactly. All of the savory juices that are supposed to dance on your taste buds flow out on to your plate. That is why the culinary world practices the oft looked-over art of resting. Resting: the few precious minutes of doing nothing to your cooked hunk of meat, which allow all of the juices to redistribute throughout it evenly. The drying process for rice, I believe, is carried out with this same intention. Instead of processing the stalks right away, a few weeks are given for the stalks to, one, dry gently and completely in the suns rays and, two, to allow the nutrients still in the stalks to reach the grains. The proof is in the pudding, rice pudding, that is.

Super sickle

Throughout the morning and most of the afternoon I joined the inekari cadence of the Tashiro family, sweating along side cousins, uncles as well as other friends from the area. Just as we all started grunting and groaning from the day’s work the last bunch of stalks were hung on the take-uma and as soon as it started, the inekari for the year was over. I joined the rest of the family and huddled around the cooler to enjoy a nice cold tea while the youngest cousin had ice repeatedly poured down the back of his one piece work suit; cousinly love shows itself in the funniest ways. Obaa-san welcomed us back to the house and was overjoyed at the gift we brought her back from the field, a dead mamushi, Japanese poisonous pit viper. Apparently she makes a mean soup with it.

Super lunch

Super nap

Super staff

After we returned from the onsen to relieve our tired muscles, the real work started, partying with the Tashiro family. There was eating. Yes. There was a barbeque. Sure. And I mustn’t forget the mess of boisterous drinking. The highlight, however, was the arm-wrestling match. One second I was pouring drinks for the elders and the next thing I know I was locking hands with them, mere centimeters away from their grinning, flushed faces. I was never the strongest boy in class, or the strongest Ramras for that matter. I am pleased and proud to report, however, that I am the strongest Tashiro. That’s right. One-by-one, my opponents fell to my intoxicated offense. I left everyone in the dust. It was honestly a riot. In return for my efforts I was given a gift: I was presented with a name; I was inducted into the family. This, I took it, was a pretty big deal. My name for the rest of the night was Kensaburo, which roughly translates to the third son. By the end of the night, Asher, the foreigner who came to help with inekari, was long forgotten. Instead, Kensaburo was wished a good night and invited back anytime, for the door to Obaa-san’s house would always be open. There was no talk of am arm wrestling rematch.

The Tashiro and Ishidzuka (the other family branch)

They said I looked cool when I was pouring

I try my best

Another sorry opponent

About one week ago, I visited Tashiro-sensei’s house-literally five doors down from me-and received a handsome portion of the Tashiro family’s best shinmai. I have been enjoying every grain and basking in the glow that emanates from my rice bowl. With every bite I think of my inekari experience and recall this Japanese proverb:

米一粒汗一粒, kome hitotsubu, ase hitotsubu

A grain of rice, a bead of sweat.

Until next time.

Trust me

2010-10-17T04:04:00.000-07:00

Greetings from Akune, anxious readers (I know some of you are out there, somewhere).

One early morning in the late summer

It goes without saying that this is my first update in a while, my first entry, in fact, since the new school term has started. Yes, second term is in full swing and my job is getting easier with each passing day. I mean this in a number of ways. For one, the relationships between my fellow teachers and students, who number about twenty and five hundred and twenty, respectively, are becoming more solidified. Despite the fact that I still hear gasps and induce body-jolting flinches when walking through the halls, I feel that the students I teach are becoming more accustomed to my presence; the only thing that disturbs me is that some of my kids still insist on calling me by the name of the previous teacher. As for my fellow teachers, both at the elementary and junior high school level, I think our communication has improved ten fold, and by improved I mean that I asked the board of education to demand that a lesson plan be sent at least one day before class. This new system, which the teachers have graciously chosen to abide by is without question making the flow and content of classes a lot better. Now all we need is the students to catch on. Working out these logistics has certainly made my job easier. Nothing, however, make my teaching in an open-air school more manageable than a five-degree drop in the temperature.

It was about four weeks ago when the Autumnal Equinox occurred in Japan. This is a fairly special and celebrated holiday in Japan: it signifies the start of the fall season; it is said to be the night when the full moon shines the brightest, sparking all sorts of moon-watching events; and it is a time when agriculturalists, namely rice farmers, implore Mother Nature in hopes for a successful harvest. On the night of the equinox the moon was indeed shining brilliantly and when I awoke the next morning a very calm, cool breeze had taken over my apartment. It was as if the Japanese calendar had come into just to tell me, “Trust me, when I say it’s time far autumn, it’s time.”

When I wrote my last entry, I believe I was still sleeping atop two ice packs, my sacred havens of icy relief, with the AC on full blast. Indeed, I spent the days of late August and most of September struggling not to sacrifice excess body fluid and battling to stay hydrated while doing, well, anything from cooking dinner in the evening to folding up my bedding in the morning before work. Knowing that the twenty-four hour sauna that is late summer whether would end soon, I trudged along with my daily routine as usual, paying extra visits to the air-conditioned library in the middle of town.

Everyday of summer vacation seemed to run together (mind you, when I say summer vacation it is not the same as in the States where teachers and students alike are not at school (teaching staff are at school everyday during the summer and students, for the most part, are at school involved in some sort of club activity (this is most certainly the same for all civil servants including the board of education, which yours truly is a proud member))). That was until the day I decided to get a haircut. I saddled up in the barber chair at my barber, Sunabata, and received, as always, a pleasurable cut, shampoo and straight razor shave. About half way through my shave I got a call from Captain Matsunaga.

“Asher, another one just arrived.”
“…”
“It’s a yacht. They’re from Holland, and what’s more, they speak great Japanese”
“Oh, so I guess you don’t need me to come, right?” I said jokingly.
“You gotta be kidding. Come meet these guys at Harmonican as soon as you can.”

For the next ten days, I had the pleasure of sharing the company of Jaap and Marijke, a wonderful married couple from Holland that have been living and sailing around Japan for upwards of ten years. It was a blessing that they spoke such good Japanese. For one, they could go wherever they pleased without any trouble. More than that, though, was the fact that they could connect with the Captain and all of the Harmonican crew. In comparison to the yachters that have come before, the connection that the Akune natives made with Jaap and Marijke was far more solidified, at least in the aspect of communication and mutual understanding. What I can say for sure, though, is that Jaap and Marijke’s end off was done with much more forethought that the yachters who came before them. One word: streamers.

Jaap and Marijke

Goodbye Jaap Marijke

A few weeks into September the junior high schools started having their Sports Festivals. Sports festivals have been a part of the Japanese education system for decades and are taken quite seriously in my city and from what I gather all over Japan. Every year it’s the same: the White Team versus the Red Team. Teams are awarded points for superlative performance in sporting events, ranging from running relays to tug-o-war, and from obstacle courses and beanbag tosses, and sportsmanship. After witnessing both junior high and elementary school Sports Festivals, I can say with full confidence that the elementary schools bring the fire like no one else; you’d be surprised at the game of a Japanese first-grader.

Akune Junior high school’s Sports Festival, rain or shine

The Essassa dance

One thing that is very special about Akune’s elementary Sports Festivals is the tradition of welcoming back graduates that have turned 50-years old. Thus, the 50-year old team stands as one of the most anticipated events of elementary schools all over the city, and rightfully so. I witnessed the glory of the 50-year old team for the first time last year, mere months after starting my position in Akune. I was overwhelmed by the whole idea of Sports Festival and did not initially register the significance of the 50-year old team’s presence. That was until I attended this years elementary Sports Festival.

Sports day bento

Soran-bushi (Soran dance)

Tsurukawauchi Junior high school, Sports Festival

The torrential rains in the morning, although expected, shuttered the play fields’ white tents and all of the family members that sat under them, anxiously watching the sky, searching for any sign of a brake in the clouds. When the clouds finally broke at around half past ten, I was already on my way to my third school of the day; I would go on to visit six schools in total. To my disappointment, the dance that I was planning on seeing at Yamashita Elementary had been rescheduled. I missed the dance by mere minutes. However, once I was seated under the tent reserved for visitors and served a piping hot cup of green tea, the 50-year old team made their grand entrance. It was powerful. It was triumphant. It was all one could expect from a group of people that have been gathered from across the country for a 30-some-year reunion. The play field turned slightly somber when memorial speeches were given to those of the graduating class that had, unfortunately passed away. It is without a doubt, though, that the most memorable portion of the 50-year old team’s presentation was when the teachers of the 50-year old team made their appearance and received a bouquet of flowers and very heartfelt greetings from their former students. The look of awe on the faces of the teachers was something I might not have noticed last year, and will remember for a long time.

Speaking of Sports Festivals and old people, as I was watching the Okawa Junior high school sports festival I was approached by a man, Mr. Kawabata, who asked me if drank alcohol. I know, this may sound weird, but it was not the first time someone has struck up a conversation with that question. With some patience and tactful questions I found out that Mr. Kawabata was trying to invite me the Okawa community center’s Respect for the Elderly Day party. I was glad to oblige. What I assumed to be a very sleepy and short engagement turned out to be a hilarious event in honor of the community’s elderly, at the begin of which I was asked to give a short speech, and a celebration of the arts, which I was asked last minute to participate in. In the end I was glad I answered Mr. Kawabata’s question correctly, “Yes, I drink.”

The Hanya-bushi

I am indeed grateful for the encounters of my late summer and early fall. With these memorable experiences in mind I would like to leave you with a Japanese proverb that is often used in the context of tea ceremony and the concept of transience:

一期一会 (ichi-go, ichi-e)
Literally translated, this four-character idiomatic phrase means, one time, one meeting. There are numerous other translations for this phrase, but I will chose not to take the liberty and allow you the pleasure.

Until next time.
Summer vegetable dinner: pumpkin and chicken dumpling soup; okra; and goya stir-fry

Niku-jaga (braised beef) party

Raisin bread…from my rice cooker, no joke

Coming soon

Awesome: Tokyo Orientation, homecoming and the color of the ocean

2010-08-25T16:01:00.000-07:00

Tokyo Orientation 2010, Welcome Ceremony

I flew out of Kagoshima on the first flight to Haneda Airport on the 24th of July. That Friday was the beginning of the Japanese Exchange and Teaching Programme’s (JET’s) 2010 Tokyo Orientation. After applying to participate as an assistant for the orientation a few months prior, I was offered the position and accepted at once to step up to this unique opportunity. This year an expected 700 Assistant Language Teachers (ALTs) and Coordinators of International Relations (CIRs) were to commence their training for the upcoming year (and for some years) in Japan. The orientation is hosted at Keio Plaza Hotel, which is in the center of Shinjuku ward, known to have some of the busiest human traffic in the world. It had been nearly six months since the last time I visited Tokyo; it still lives up to its gigantic reputation, on all levels.

My roommate for the Orientation, Galileo

Unforgettable tiramisu cake from the Italian restaurant in the basement of Keio Plaza

For the next four days I was buzzed around Keio Plaza in a suit, toting a map of the hotel’s labyrinth of corridors, guiding new JETs to presentation rooms, internet and hospitality centers and answering any questions I could about living in Japan. A few months before the orientation I was asked to present along side two other orientation assistants about food, dining and cooking in Japan. I was thrilled at the opportunity to put together an approachable perspective on cooking with Japanese ingredients at home. The looks of the faces of my two presentation partners was priceless when the moment of truth came; the venue was packed with more than 200 people in chairs and even more standing.

The audience for "Food, Eating and Dining in Japan"

Needless to say, I was glad to have had the chance to participate in this year’s Tokyo Orientation. Not only was I able to interact with the new JETs from all around the world, but I also had the pleasure of sharing the company of other current JETs representing all of Japan’s 47 prefectures. Hours after concluding the orientation I was on a direct flight to Seattle; family and friends were waiting.

Family

I had not smelled the crisp northwest air, gazed at the Seattle skyline or sat in my dining room in exactly 368 days. In all honest truth, I expected it to be a much longer time before I was once again surrounded by all of these things, before I came back home. Maybe it was the fact that it had been almost exactly a year, or perhaps it was the presence of Grama Selma, Chloe, Yehuda and nearly twenty other family members. Either way, something made me feel a heightened sense of homecoming. I knew it was something special. I knew I had to soak it up. Luckily, the first seven days of my visit were string of unparalleled dinners, parties and family get-togethers that I will not soon forget.

Grama and her girls

The big new family

Birthday on the “Fun-der-barge”, Funderbirthday

Cousins

Falafel night

Out of all the family members who came to Seattle I was the last one to leave, and yet I still felt rushed. Just when my body had adjusted to the abnormally cool Seattle summer climate I was on a plane again to face to the crippling heat and humidity of Akune. Fortunately, school was still out of session and I could spend the remaining weeks of summer vacation in the air-conditioned city hall as opposed to the open-air school staff room.

Herbage

Goya, Nigauri, Sour melon

When it is 33 degrees centigrade outside and 35 in my apartment, all I want to do is swim in the ocean. To my great disappointment, though, I cannot swim. The reason, of course, is that we are in the middle of jellyfish season and as a result the ocean shores have been closed off.

“I need to swim. Where can I swim?” I asked Captain Matsunaga, dreading the potential of spending the rest of the summer without as much as a dip in the ocean.
“Well, we have to go to Koshiki-jima, of course”, said the Captain, nodding as if knowing all the answers, “Are you free on Sunday? Let’s go on Sunday. I’m going to show you the real color of the ocean.”

I woke up on Sunday and it was still pitch black. I drove to A-Z (a store similar to Costco or Sam’s Club) to meet the Captain and shop for the essentials we would need that day: water; sauce for the noodles the Captain had prepared the night before; and peanuts. Before heading to Akasegawa port where Captain Matsunaga’s boat is moored, we stopped at Harmonican, roused Juno (the Captain daughter) from sleep and raided the icebox. While the ocean was still calm, we loaded up the Kamome-maru (the yacht) with our gear, rigged jib and raised the main sail. Seconds later the sun rose.

The Kamome-maru and crew

Captain

Second mate

The round trip journey to Koshiki-jima was eight hours, plenty of time to troll for fish, eat peanuts and soak up some PTRs (prime time rays). After we passed Akune Oshima we let out the trolling rig and waited anxiously for a catch; I waited for the color of the ocean to change. In a few hours with the help of a trusty motor and slight northwestern wind we were cruising over an indescribably navy blue ocean; the sun penetrated meters down into the warm summer sea. When we approached a floating pile of garbage and wood Enokida-san, one of our crew, said, “There are fish under there, watch.” As soon as the trolling rig passed the drift, the slack rubber band snapped taut. I grabbed the line and slowly reeled in our catch. I gazed into the ocean and saw a flash of vibrant blue and yellow, and another; we had just hooked two shiira, or mahi mahi. I pulled them up on top the stern of the boat. The blue color of the fish was so alive. I noticed that one of the fish had been hooked in the cheek and was losing a lot of blood. The fish convulsed with astounding strength, showering the deck and its crew with thick mahi mahi blood. We all roared with laughter and bewilderment. Moments later I had my first taste of mahi mahi, my first sashimi breakfast.

Shiira

Destination Koshiki-jima

At the moment I thought I could not take anymore of the rocking boat we dropped anchor at Koshiki-jima; it was time to swim. The visibility in the water was amazing and the colors of the fish were so vivid. Before I knew it I had been swimming for two hours and it was time for lunch. Under the shade of the main sail our crew of three shared a lunch of somen (thin noodles) in ice water, mahi mahi sashimi and fresh picked plum tomatoes from the Captains garden. After a post-lunch dip, we raised the main sail again and headed back for Akune. We would catch five more fish on our way home and that night I ate like a king.

Shiira salted and drying

I would like to leave you with a proverb that is appropriate for the nearly 14-hour journey to Koshiki-jima:

早起きは三文の得
The early bird gets the worm.

... with a capital P

2010-07-25T19:12:00.000-07:00

…with a capital P

Do you know what sound a cicada makes? While some people make the extremely inadequate comparison and the call of a cicada is akin to the chirp of a cricket, some prefer a more hyperbolic simile: a cicada’s call is like the brain infiltrating technology that one may find in the earlier episodes of ‘Star Trek’. In the Pacific Northwest hearing a cicada is somewhat of a rarity. However, having lived in the woods for the better part of my life I was lucky enough to grow up with the memory of gazing into the forest searching for the lone cicada crying somewhere in the trees. Either way one looks at it, there are two things that are undeniably true about the cry of a cicada: to the unaccustomed ear it can be aneurism-inducing; and summer is in full swing.

In the short time since my last entry the once seemingly endless clouds of the rainy season have certainly parted, as too have the clouds of worry and stress about my lack of a driver's license. After failing my first attempt at the Japanese driver’s license test nearly two months ago, I became determined to do what ever it took to get that piece of plastic in my grips. The first change in my strategy was to give in to the bureaucracy of the Japanese DOL. In other words, I reserved a personal driving teacher who taught me all the secrets to the driving course and ensured success if I chose to follow his advice. These personal driving teachers charge a cool 10,000 yen per hour, roughly $100 USD.

The so-called practical driving course

Equipped with the secrets only money can buy, I took the two-hour drive down south to Chosa; I didn’t need a map or directions anymore. I arrived a few minutes before 0800 in the morning. Once I reached the entrance to the driving course I was surprised to see my personal teacher waiting there at the entrance to the driving course, huddled under his pink umbrella inhaling deeply on what was certainly not his first cigarette of the day. He handed me an extra umbrella and we set out on foot for a last minute stroll around the driving course, reviewing the key points as we slowly turned each corner. The time before my test was a blur. I was in a deep, meditative state. One moment I was sitting uncomfortably on the benches in the waiting area reading 'Shogun', the next I was poised in front of the steering wheel, engine humming, wrenching my neck to complete the essential five point check. I slowly pulled out of station 3 and I slipped into a trance.
｢大丈夫です。｣ “Alright”, the proctor said at the conclusion of my test; he never looking up from his clipboard.
Bending down to the window I asked quizzically, 「合格ということですか。」 “You mean, I passed?”
「そうですね。おめでとう。」 “That’s right. Congratulations”, said the proctor, his voice was the epitome of frankness.
I melted away from the driving course, overwhelmed by the euphoria of passing, humbled by the proctor’s kindness and thankful that the battle had at long last come to a close.

Pass with a capital P

For the past couple weeks I have been making my rounds to school and saying my goodbyes before the long summer vacation. At most schools there was no special plan for the last day of English class. To my delight, however, some schools, coincidentally my favourites, planned something special for my last visit. At one school the teachers asked me to tell the students about what summer break is like in the United States of America. When I asked how long the speech should be and if I should speak in English or Japanese, the teacher said with a hopeful smile, ‘Please, make speech. Thirty minutes, OK. All English. Yes.’ I embarrassingly let out a small laugh and asked him if he were serious. He was serious. Luckily, he was also seriously flexible. After my ten-minute speech, which included everything from BBQs, Camp Schechter and Skyhawks to boating, Civic Light Opera Theater camp and trips to Hood Canal, we moved to the gym and spent the rest of the period playing ‘Duck, duck, goose’. I was unbeatable.

Last Friday was my official last day of classes. The week before I had been invited by one of my teachers to join the children in the pool for swimming class after our final hour of English has finished; every elementary and junior high school in Akune has a pool. I gladly accepted the invitation and showed up to school the next week ready to swim. After a quick rinse in the shower I followed all the kids into the pool for a brief lesson in breath stroke. And then it was free time. As I was being chased by the designated pool demon, similar to Marco Polo, I pondered just how far I had come. One year of teaching under my belt. Struggling some days and wishing some would never end. Dwelling on this thought for a moment too long, I was viciously mauled by the pool demon.

Yesterday I arrived in Tokyo to assist the annual Tokyo Orientation for the newly arriving participants of the JET Programme. After the conclusion of the orientation I will board a flight home to meet my anxiously awaiting family. Don’t get me wrong; I have been waiting to go home, too.

In light of the completion of one year as a JET and my acceptance into the Japanese society as a licensed driver, I would like to leave you with this Japanese proverb:

苦あれば楽あり (ku-areba raku-ari)
Every cloud has a silver lining.

Akune Elementary and Junior Hish School Staff volleyball tournament

Brick oven-roasted pizza with friends from Warabe Ceramic studio in Nagashima

Steamed kabocha with lemon custard

Navigation

2010-06-18T06:54:00.001-07:00

Hello all and greetings from a very sticky Akune. Last night there was a rainstorm in the northern Satsuma region that may just have been the start of this year’s rainy season, or 梅雨 (pronounced, tsuyu). The commencement of the rainy season is an indication of many things: the rice fields are being planted; watermelons, pumpkins and tomatoes will be flooding through the supermarket in a matter of weeks (and due to the unbelievably high humidity will have an unfortunately short shelf life); and my first year in Japan as an ALT is coming to a close.

As opposed to entering into one’s first year, the transition into an ALT’s second year is a breeze; almost all loose ends (cell phone and internet contracts, insurance etc.) have been tied. However, for any ALT that requires a car for getting to and from school there is one factor that looms over the end of the first year like an impending research paper. That is, due to the fact that most international driver’s permits expire within one year all driving ALTs who re-contract must acquire a Japanese driver’s license.

Long, arduous, expensive and stupefying. These are just some of the words that I have heard from the people who have acquired a Japanese license and lived to tell their tale. To be completely honest, I was a bit shaken by these accounts, or should I say survival stories, and the loathing that still lingered in the hearts of the survivors themselves. But I am a good driver, I thought to myself, what could be so bad.

I do not have the best history with departments of licensing. When I went to get my license in Seattle I remember I was turned away because my Mother, who accompanied me to the DOL, did not have any document proving she was my parent-as if our faces weren’t enough proof. In light of my past experiences with the strict DOL, I thought I would take extra precaution in gathering my documentation as to avoid any further disappointment and a huge waste of time; the closest DOL that offers the driver’s test is in the city of Chosa, two hours south of Akune. Having pushed the haunting tales from my friends as far back in my consciousness as possible, I drove down to Chosa with all the confidence in the world. ‘What could really be so bad about the Japanese DOL, I have everything in order anyway, I thought to myself as I headed south on the mountain highways of Kagoshima. I presented my diligently compiled folder of documentation expecting to be able to the test right then and there. To my astonishment I was turned away due to insufficient documentation. What? In the end I learned that I was lacking the document stating the date on which I received my first license (yeah, the one I was almost refused of at the tender age of sixteen). I had no choice but to muster a smile out of my face, twisted with frustration, and tell The Man that I would be taking the proper steps to acquire the now ancient piece of plastic. I had underestimated the beast.

With all my documents gathered and my confidence returned, I took another trip to Chosa to meet my licensing fate. That day I was to take three exams: an eye exam; a written traffic knowledge exam; and the practical driving exam. I wasn’t nervous about the former two, but the latter certainly had me on the edge of my seat. I passed the eye exam. I got 100% on the written exam–granted it was made up of ten true or false questions that could’ve answered in my sleep-, but when it came to the practical test, I couldn’t quite get enough points, or at least that is what the stone faced proctor told me when I finished what I thought was a more than decent run of the course. Oh, the course.

The course is small and designed for failure. When driving the course, one must always: maintain a distance of 30 centimeters away from the white line on the left side of the road; hug the center line when approaching a right turn; do a full check of all mirrors and the appropriate shoulder before signaling and turning and when approaching an unmarked intersection (ie. a majority of the course); and, of course, maintain the speed limit. If one were to abide by the aforementioned rules and take a video of a perfect run of the course it would look like someone got behind the wheel after a bottle of shochu and left their signal on the whole time.

Ironically, as I nursed my sore next from all the shoulder checks I had done, the proctor shared with me how I could do better on my next test: do more shoulder checks. On the drive home from Chosa that day I pondered the three valuable lessons I learned that day. One being, the name practical test should be taken at face value. Also, if you want to pass the test and walk away without a neck-brace, you must be a relative of Gumby. And finally, a majority of the skills that one acquires to successfully navigate the course should immediately be forgotten, lest a tragic accident happen when leaving the DOL parking lot with your brand new license.

In other, navigating-related news, Captain Matsunaga finally finished preparing his boat, the Kamome-maru (The Seagull), for its periodical inspection that had kept it moored for so long. My readers, you must understand, the Captain has been talking about his boat daily for the past eleven months I have been here. So, when he gave me a call at 16:16 (one minute after I finish work) last Wednesday I knew that I needed to get a swimsuit and head to the Akasegawa marina, and fast.

The Captain

It was a beautiful late afternoon, the perfect conditions for Kamome-maru’s first voyage out of the port this year. When I pulled up to the port I saw a glow coming from the inside of the yacht. From the cabin emerged Captain Matsunaga smiling ear-to-ear; there is nothing like the relationship with a man and his boat. Within no time the ocean breeze was rushing against my face as I pulled ropes back and forth, tacking the sail to catch a mild southwest wind. We were heading for Akune Oshima (literally, big island), which sits about two kilometers off of Akune’s shoreline. After I took a short dip in the crystal clear water’s of Oshima’s swimming area, the Captain, totally in his element, decided that we would circumnavigate Oshima before heading back to the marina. As we made our way around Oshima, I saw, for the first time, Akune from the sea and an astonishingly fast flying fish.

Akune from the sea

The Captain out at sea

The northern tip of Akune Oshima, on our way back to Akasegawa

In light of my recent trafficking tribulations I would like to leave you with this Japanese proverb:

既往は咎めず (kiouha, togamezu)

Let bygones be bygones.

Ajisai (Hydrangea)

Another month, another mountain

2010-06-01T00:58:00.000-07:00

Hello all.

I caught a fish in the river right next to my house. This fish is called a “chinu”.

It has been a pretty exciting month. I have experience the glory of Golden Week (the longest consecutive string of vacation all year), entered (and successfully completed) a bike race, climbed two mountains (safely), made a new set of dishes for my kitchen (out of clay) and rescued to French yachters (that were actually in no apparent danger). It's really too bad I only get paid to teach English.

Golden Week, the more hyped-up, slightly longer cousin of Silver Week, is the holiday to travel in Japan. Hotel packages and tours to Kyoto, Tokyo, Okinawa, Hokkaido and abroad are discounted like crazy and people sit for hours on traffic jammed highways just to get to there destinations so they can enjoy the 5-day holiday. In general I am a huge fan of being punctual, I follow directions I am given and enjoy making new friends. This does not mean, however, that you will find me on a tour of Kyoto with other butt-pack totting Golden Weekers. No. I chose to take my friend Eli up on his offer to enter a bicycling event in his fair city of Minami-Satsuma. If you can remember back to my post on 20 October 2009, Eli was the fellow who I met at nowhere else but the top of Takachihonomine (the mountain with the sword in the top of it).

On the first day of Golden Week I pack my things in my little AZ wagon and booked it down to Minami-Satsuma city where Eli happily greeted me. Since it was the day before the race Eli graciously took the time to tour me around his city and even take me to a beach for a nice little swim (the first swim of spring, in fact). It was just what I needed before the big day of the bicycling event.

Eli and I at the beach in Minamisatsuma city, the first swim of the season

When we arrived at the starting point of the course I was surprised to find nearly one hundred and forty participants giving their bicycles a last minute tune-up, stretching get their bodies loose or squeezing into their spandex uniforms. At the stroke of 10:00 exactly one hundred and thirty-five cyclists burst out of the gate and started a fantastic 40 km ride on what used to be an old local railroad track. The scenery was breathtaking and the feeling of being surrounding by so many avid bikers was thrilling. And what’s more, upon our arrival back to the festival grounds, the annual sand castle festival was in full swing. Score.

At the starting line of the Minamisatsuma city Cycling Festival

Kilometer 20 of 40.

Rest at the halfway point

Sandcastle festival (check this out Phil, Angkor Waaaaat?)

After coming back from Minami-Satsuma I only had three days of Golden Week left. ‘What to do?’ I thought to myself. That is when my phone rang with Badillo, and ALT from Izumi, on the other end asking if I wanted to climb a mountain. It was settled. The next day I found myself headed south again, only this time with new hiking boots (thanks folks), instead of a bicycle. The goal was to summit Kaimon-dake (924m), also known as Satsuma-Fuji for it’s striking resemblance to the iconic Fuji-san, Japan’s tallest mountain.

The sign-in station at the base camp of Kaimondake

Hiking shoeshit the trail on their maiden voyage

Summit

Victory pose

When Kaimondake finally came into view from the highway I was immediately nostalgic of my climb trip to Fuji-san. The conical shape rising gradually from sea level was the spitting image of old Fuji-san. I was pumped, but a bit hasty, because if I remember climbing mountains like this is not a walk in the park. Once we hit the trails, which were packed with hikers of all ages and nationalities, I knew it was going to be a challenging hike. At first the trail ascended gradually, wide enough just for two bodies, deep in the forest at the base of the mountain. Then, as I anticipated, the grade of the hike became immediately steeper and continued to do so until we reached the summit. The panoramic view was extremely rewarding and the pear chips I brought never tasted so good (thanks Dad).

A view from across Ikeda-ko (Lake Ikeda)

The second mountain climb of the month was a lot less strenuous than Kaimon-dake. Kanmuri-dake, Mount Crown, standing a mere 516.4m above sea level is a mountain with a very long history. More than two thousand years ago, a Chinese emperor seeking a medicine that would make him immortal sent one of his medicinal specialists overseas to the island nation of Japan. This medical specialist most likely landed in what is now known as Kagoshima prefecture. It is also said that during his search for his emperor’s desired medicine this doctor scaled the face of a mountain and left his crown atop its summit as a symbol of his accomplishment, hence the name, Crown mountain. Although the hike itself only took about a half an hour Kanmuri’s summit offered a great view of southern Satsuma and the weather was clear enough that we could see all the way to Sakurajima. I was so moved by the experience that, in the fashion of the ancient Chinese medicine man, I left my new pair of sunglasses on the top of the mountain. Unfortunately, I did this without knowing and suffered the loss of my fake tortoise shell glasses, let alone a very squinty descent.

The Chinese medicine man

Victory pose (I think this may have been when I dropped my sunglasses)

Victory dinner, grilled over coals with a spectacular view of the ocean

Victory soba with yama-imo (mountain potato)

In mid-November of last year I attended my first ceramics class at Warabe-kobo (Warabe studio) and had a wonderful reunion with handcrafting clay. Since that Saturday in late autumn of last year I have paid regular visits to Warabe-kobo: to say hello; to have coffee; to talk about school (the studio is across the street from one of my favourite schools); for the spring festival; to check on the new litter of baby kittens (way too cute); and of course for ceramics classes. At the beginning of May I attended a class and, with the help of Miki, Miwa and Mama (the three lovely ladies who manage studio), was able to turn out some pretty interesting pieces. I am surprised I was able to concentrate in the consuming presence of the cute kittens and one of my favourite students who also takes the class with me. As a result of my work, I now have a shelf full of dishes made by yours truly. Everything tastes a little bit better now, for some reason.

I am allergic to these

My recent projects

It was Friday afternoon, 28 May 2010. I was at city hall staring a hole in my Japanese textbook, waiting for the day to end so I could go home and whip up something to plate on my new dishes. On any normal Friday afternoon I would be at school. However, due to the annual Spring picnic my afternoon class had been canceled. When I was just about to finish my kanji writing practice I heard something from across the office.

「アッシャーさん、お電話です。英語を話している方なんですが。」
“Asher, there is a telephone call for you. Someone is on the line, and they’re speaking English.”

In a state of utter confusion I jogged across the office and grabbed the phone from my co-worker, equally if not more shocked than me to have to speak English at the office.

“Hello, we have come on a yacht from France and would like to stay in your port for three days. We are now moored on a blue pontoon. Can you help us?” said a worried voice with a heavy French draw.
“Of course, I will see what I can do,” I said.
This was the first phone call I have ever received in the ten months I have been in Akune.

After requesting a handful of phone calls the tourist branch, the commercial fishing branch and back again, I was able to get the required permission from the city that would allow these travelers in need to moor their sailing steed. It was at that point that one of my co-workers suggested that we go meet them, adding that from prior experience whenever he had greeted yachters before they had always been hospitable enough to invite him on their boat for a tour. Before I knew it I was riding in the front seat of the mayor’s car (despite the absence of the mayor himself) heading for the Port of Akune.

Helene and Remi emerged from the Kauana, their 25-meter yacht named, bleary-eyed with stress, but seemed instantly relieved to see that help was on the way. After giving them the good news that they had received permission to stay in the port for the weekend, they insisted that my co-workers and I come on board for tea.

‘The roomer was true all along’, I thought as I sat in the cabin of the Kauana sipping ice-cold tea that was just taken out of the on-board refrigerator. This yacht was one of the most impressive I had ever seen, let alone of the first ones I had boarded in my life. According to Remi and Helene they named their boat after a popular Tahitian name for girls. The Kauana had been built in Tahiti after the two had lived there for nearly 7 years. Two years before that was when they left port from France. Then they toured the Mediterranean Sea, crossed the Atlantic Ocean to Brazil, rounded Cape horn, and navigated through French Polynesia and Micronesia, finally settling in Tahiti. To say the least, the tales that Remi and Helene shared with us that afternoon made me want to pack a small bag a start another life, on the sea that is.

Once I returned to the office, I thought it was only appropriate to contact Captain Matsunaga. It turns out that Helene and Remi got a tip from an online sailing database to contact a one “Mr. Matsugana” if they ever decided to port in Akune. It turns out that this mysterious Matsugana-san is actually the Captain and that a previous yachter who was entertained by the Captain during their stay posted the information online. The Captain was quick to rush down to the port and meet Helene and Remi and obviously made a good impression, which led to a very interesting weekend. On Saturday Helene, Remi, the Captain and I were knee deep in mud planting Akune’s new mangrove, chest deep in an onsen in the mountains and, later at night, neck deep in cocktails.

The Kauana

Remi planting Akune’s mangrove

Remi and the Captain at Yukawauch-onsen in the mountains

Remi and Helene’s goodbye dinner, or at least one of the courses

The night before Remi and Helene departed the Captain called all of his friends to come see the Kauana

Remi and Helene’s visit made for an unforgettable weekend. It was so inspiring to hear their stories and the knowledge they had acquired along their way to Akune. And those who saw the yacht we certainly blessed with a one of a kind experience. With that I would like to leave you all with a more than appropriate Japanese proverb:

目の保養

A feast for the eyes.

Until next time.

Body and Seoul

2010-04-10T21:29:00.000-07:00

Hello all and spring greetings from Akune. I was surprised today when I went out on a bike ride to find that I was perspiring; I haven’t produced a bead of sweat since September 2009. Although the sakura (cherry blossoms) around Akune have already bloomed and fallen, they now blanket the streets and sidewalks, doorways and storefronts reminding us that spring is upon us as well as all the new beginnings that come with it.

A couple of weeks ago I had the pleasure of hosting my cousin Elie in my humble apartment. Elie has been in Japan for nearly six months volunteering at various agricultural cooperatives across the country gaining valuable experience at home-stays and on the road. Before coming to Akune Eli had been working hard harvesting sugar cane in Tokunoshima, one of the most southern islands of Kagoshima prefecture. When I spotted Elie getting off the ferry that had just taken him 15 hours up to Kagoshima’s new port, he waved at me with bleary eyes, a scruffy face and a big smile.

The night before going to pick Elie up the Captain had called me to his house to sit around the fire and talk about life, which we did, for a prolonged time and articulately. I mentioned that Elie was coming into to Kagoshima tomorrow and the Captain insisted on driving to receive him. Who could say no? Once we picked Elie up from his ferry he and I sat in the back of the Captain’s car, both relieved to see family and talk in our native tongue. The rest of our day was unexpectedly eventful and included among other things a visit to Iso-teien, which is a residence of the Shimazu daimyo. The most well known Shimazu is inarguably Shimazu Nariakira, who, among other heavy hitters from the Satsuma region, spearheaded the Meiji Restoration and consequently the modernization of Japan. In other words, the Shimazu residence was outstanding. My favourite aspects of the residence were the attention to small details such as nail head covers and the sleeping quarters, which apparently had special thermal tatami (jealous).

Shortly after Elie’s visit to Akune the 2009 school year came to an end and spring break 2010 finally arrived. I decided to pass on Cancun for a number of reasons-the distance, the money and my phobia of wet white T-shirts-and booked a flight to South Korea to see a good friend from my days at Ritsumeikan University in Kyoto. I was surprised at how inexpensive the tickets to Seoul were from Fukuoka and later realized that an international flight to Seoul was cheaper than going to Tokyo.

There are few feelings that measure up to exiting customs and having a friend or family member waiting for you at the airport. I was so happy to see my old friend Kay standing there waving me down. It had been almost three years since we had last seen each other so we spent the next week reminiscing about Ritsumeikan and catching up on our current endeavours, and of course enjoying the best sights and sounds of Seoul.

Kay lives in a town called Suji. Suji is approximately thirty minutes south of Seoul by bus, a ridiculously cheap and efficient bus. Kay’s neighbourhood, like most neighbourhoods I would find, was packed with restaurants, grocery stores, churches and apartment buildings. Having studied some about the curiously abundant presence of Christianity in Korea I wasn’t surprised to see so many places of worship. However, I was taken aback by the endless, towering apartment buildings. That was probably what accounted for the eternal stream of pedestrian and automobile traffic (Korea drives on the right side of the road, FYI).

Over the next week, Kay, my superhero-esque tour guide, and I went to a number of places around Seoul. But before putting on our walking shoes and hitting the streets we were treated to a daily-breakfast fit for Korean kings. Kay’s Mother is a phenomenal cook and was kind enough to cater to our schedule, let alone our meals. I was in awe at the vibrant colours and smell of the food and was invigorated by the bold tastes that differ so much from Japanese cuisine. I thought I was in foody heaven until one day after breakfast Kay’s Mother, who speaks very little English, said to me, “Kimchi. Let’s make.” Yes, it’s true; I had the pleasure of receiving the eclectic knowledge of homemade kimchi. Like all homemade treasures (latkes, matzoh ball soup etc.), each house has its own special recipe for kimchi, and each is respectively the best recipe, no questions. I would disclose the recipe, but I am afraid it would be a huge disservice to my dear host family, the Kims. I will say this, though, like all good things, kimchi takes time, a little hard work and love (anchovy sauce and tons of chili flakes).

Out of the numerous places I saw throughout my stay in S. Korea I thoroughly enjoyed the Korean Folk Village and Namdaemun Market. The Folk village was a gigantic complex with more than 260 structures built in the architectural style of the Chosun Dynasty (1392-1910). Part of the village showcased a number of traditional games and activities that made the whole experience much more hands on than I was expecting. We were also lucky enough to see a couple of live performances. I later learned that the traditional dance we saw featured a dance that was performed at harvest festivals, conveying the message of hope for another bountiful year of agricultural wealth. We also saw a tight rope performance done by a very charismatic elder gentleman, though I understood not one word he said.

Namdeamun Market sits right in the heart of Seoul’s largest and most frantic neighbourhood, Myeong Dung (a place that is similar to Tokyo’s Harajuku, swarming with fashionable young people and exchanged students). Half of the market was a maze of identical stores selling poorly made fake merchandise. I was tempted to by the Coach wallet with the Louis Vuitton design on it, but I reminded myself, it’s good to want things and proceeded to the food market. My nose was instantly attacked by the smell of an authentic outdoor market. This was what I had been looking forward to. I always thought that an open-air market was the doorway to a countries soul. I was like a kid in a candy store, but instead of candy I was drooling over the dried fish, chili flakes, vegetables I had never seen before and vast assortments of kimchi.

When touring the crowded streets of Myeong Dong, the restored palaces surrounded by skyscrapers in downtown Seoul or driving through the countryside, I noticed a presence of historical international influence that still remained. I am not speaking of influence from the United States, France or China, but from Japan. It has been nearly seventy-five years since the end of Japan’s occupation of Korea and I was constantly reminded of the profound affect Japan had on Korean society. When touring the palaces in downtown Seoul, the information pamphlets never failed to mention how the Japanese forces destroyed most of the buildings only to erect their own British colonial style residences in their place. Walking through the restored grounds of Gyeongbokgung Palace and its brightly coloured structures was almost as surreal as exiting its gates back onto the surging streets of Seoul.

It was my first time in S. Korea and I was a bit overwhelmed at the sheer size of Seoul. Having just come from Akune, which has a population almost one thousand times smaller than that of Seoul, I found myself overwhelmed by the stimulus of the big city environment. At times I got tunnel vision and had no choice but to stare straight ahead at the back of my friends head or take a picture of the delicious meal that was in front of me. Luckily, however, over the week that I spent in S. Korea I was able to grasp a general feel for Seoul and its surrounding areas. This experience reminds me of a Japanese proverb that is very pertinent to travelers:

鹿を逐う者は山を見ず (shikawo oumonowa yamawomizu)

The one who pursues the deer loses sight of the mountain.

Until next time.

Elie and I at IsoTeien

Kugikakushi (Nail-cover)

Akune's sakura

Korean Folk Village

Korean Folk Foliage

Traditio~n, tradition.

Traditio~~~n, tradition.

Reimyun, cold noodles, the hottest cold noodles ever, served with a side of hot beef broth, oh yeah.

Breakfast

Lotte World

Namdaemun Market

Seoul's mascot, the keeper of justice and peace.

Changing of the guards ceremony at Gyeongbokgung Palace

Kay at Gyeongbokgung Palace

Seoul, in the distance you can see the back of a golden statue, that is the man who invented the current Hangul (Korean) alphabet

National Museum

Kimchi 101

Seoul Power, I mean Tower

Akune in spring, these flowers make everything smell good.

My first meal back at home, finally the weather was good enough to sun-dry some salmon

Early spring flower exclusive

2010-03-08T15:45:00.001-08:00

Hello all.

Everyday I go to school I find more and more pink and white blossoms highlighting the roadside scenery. Kids have stopped shivering in class and some have even gone as far as shedding the overcoats of their uniform. Grocery stores are practically flooding with bamboo shoots and broccoli. In other words, although the weather outside my tatami room is deceiving, there is no doubt that spring has begun in Akune.

Now that I look back on the past few months, the winter was not so bad. It made me a stronger man, in fact. Never have I slept in such cold temperatures. Never have I eaten so much hot pot or drank so much tea, coffee, or anything boiling hot. Never have I slept with 5 blankets. And I never knew that eating a lot of ginger could actually warm you up (thanks Captain Matsunaga).

In the final throes of winter I took a trip to Tokyo to visit Laura, who is interning at the United Nations University. I hadn’t been to eastern Japan since my family and I hit the streets of Tokyo nearly three years ago. It was a thrill to be back and a pleasure to be shown around Roppongi by Laura. In the four short days I was there we covered quite a bit of ground, some I had trod before and some I would tread for the first time. My favourite outing was to Tsukiji Fish Market (a two-time winner of my favourite stops in Tokyo) and the homemade dinner that followed.

Before going to Tokyo I had to make two crucial decisions. It only took me a couple minutes to figure out which one necktie I was going to bring, so I had that covered. The other decision, however, I had been considering from the moment I got the acceptance letter for this position nearly one year ago: to extend my contract and stay for another year in Akune or accordingly complete my one-year contract and head back home to Seattle. I tried almost everything. I of course consulted my friends and family, verbally laying out the pros and cons of staying versus coming home. I even went as far as living a week of my life with the consciousness that I was staying and then did the same the following week, but in the opposite, I-am-going-home state of mind. It was a turbulent two weeks.

The weight that I felt on my shoulders was immense. The idea of not seeing my family, love ones and friends for another year was a penetrating potential reality. At the same time, the stones that have yet to be uncovered in Akune are countless. These kinds of thoughts raced through my head and were then translated into Japanese as I continued to discuss my dilemma with my advisors at the board of education in Akune, the owners of the restaurants which I frequent, my friends at Big Up and undeniably the Captain. I do not owe my decision to the people who I sought for advice, but I am duly grateful for their supportive voices.

I submitted my re-contract form on the last possible day. My advisor handled my form like any other document he receives, shrugging when he realizes what it is, nodding as he looks it over and putting on the top of the to-do pile. My intent to extend my contract was well received by my friends in Akune. My family and friends were also excited about my decision to stay, though understandably reluctant to rejoice about the thought another year of emails, packages and birthday celebrations via skype; I share the same reluctance as my family and friends. However, upon making my final decision I feel not a trace of doubt in my mind. It is a beautiful feeling, a great simcha.

I would like to leave you with this proverb:

踏まれた草にも、花が咲く。
Flowers bloom even from trodden grass.

Tsukiji shijou: the worlds largest wholesale fish market

Shamaim Israeli Restaurant

Roppongi

Dinner caught from Tsukiji

Meiji Jingu on National Foundation Day

Maguro triple threat bowl at Tsukiji

Daycare bus (jealous?)

Meiji Jingu entrance

Asakusa: I spy a huge white guy under the lantern

Ameyoko outdoor market

Yellow flower: according to the Captain this flower tells us that spring has arrived

Outside my apartment

Tara-no-me, the king of Sansai (Mountain vegetables): blanch, drain and serve with miso and vinegar

Takenoko (bamboos shoots) harvested by yours truly

Plum

Flower bed at Nishime Elementary

Hand=picked flowers

Ding

2010-02-07T00:17:00.000-08:00

Hello all and a long overdue happy new year.

I have been in transit for over a month. It all started with my 700 a.m. bus ride to Kagoshima airport on the morning of December 24th. That bus ride became the first two hours of what would end up being a 34-hour day of traveling. Two buses, three planes and a nesher (shared taxi cab) later, I reached my destination, the Machon Ya’akov Yeshiva in Har Nof, Jerusalem, at 300 a.m. That is where I met the first of three new brothers, Ronnie. I was escorted to the top floor of the yeshiva and into a room where I finally stopped moving and started sleeping. It was a joy to be back in Israel.

The next two weeks in Israel were phenomenal. It had been nearly six months since I had seen my parents and almost two years since I had seen my Uncles and Aunts. Needless to say, I was excited to reunite and rejoice with my family. Despite the high tensions that any family experiences before a wedding, I was calmed by the presence of my family and pleasantly stimulated by the sights, sounds and smells of Tel-Aviv and Jerusalem.

Having just spent a solid 5 months Japan, I was confronted with certain aspects of Israeli society that just did not compute. As I rode in my Uncle Marshal’s car, walked down the narrow passage ways of markets and soaked up the atmosphere of restaurants I was constantly asking myself questions: Why don’t Israelis wait in line? Why is everyone so loud? And how on Earth do you think I could possibly eat this enormous portion of food you just served me without the slightest trace of a smile on your face? I was a victim of Israeli culture shock. Luckily it was a long awaited, exciting and delicious culture shock.

After spending a few days in Tel Aviv with Uncle Marsh, the family moved camp to Jerusalem. From our centrally located hotel at the top of Ben Yehudah street, my parents and I spent the few days before the wedding touring the Old City, shopping at the market, a truly thrilling experience in itself, and thoroughly enjoying the hotel breakfast. It was a special time that I shared with my parents, for two reasons. First, I had not seen them in a long time so there was a lot of catching up to do. Also, it was both my parents and my second time in Israel. That was something I thought was unique about this past trip.

I was personally thrilled at the opportunity to come back to Israel and not be tethered to the strict time schedule of a Birthright-Israel tour. I loved my Birthright trip, believe me, but this time I was free of the long bus rides, the amorous atmosphere of the hotel stays and Long Island Jews who were always late to get back on the bus. I finally had the time to sit down and soak up the atmosphere, rather than take as many pictures as I could before joining the herd back on the bus. In the few days before the wedding I was able to get to know the Ben Yehuda neighborhood, the Market and meet Chloe’s friends from Neve Yrushalayim, my friend Becca from high school and, of course, Yehuda and his family.

“OK, Ash. Let’s go to Chloe’s wedding.”
This is what my Dad said as he and I walked out of our third floor hotel room dressed in black suits with matching white pocket squares and pitch black kippot. I am surprised that my kippa stayed on the whole night considering how much and wildly I danced. How could I not? It was my sister’s wedding. Chloe was such a beautiful bride. I remember taking pictures with her right before the wedding. There were children standing right beside us, children who had never seen a bride before. I hope they know how lucky they were to have been able to seen my sister. She was absolutely stunning and Yehuda, with his pearl white tie and crisp black hat, was as sharp as he could have been.

Having not seen each other for a week before the wedding ceremony, the moment when Yehuda came to see Chloe at the beginning of the ceremony sent tears streaming down their faces, right past their enormous smiles. I was put at ease by the extremely high emotions of the wedding. The crowded chuppah, the resonating tones of the Rabbis blessing and the rambunctious dancing were each as soothing as they were awe-inspiring. It was an unforgettable wedding. Oh, the simcha.

I was glad the buzz from the wedding lasted as long as it did or else I don’t think I would have been able to survive my 48-hour trip home including a ten-hour in Rome on the way. When I arrived in Fumicino airport I went straight to the central train station and hoped on a tour bus and suddenly felt an overwhelming wave of nostalgia from my Birthright days wash over me. I had a limited amount of time to soak up the centuries of art, architecture, fashion and gelato that Rome has to offer. For how meager my time was in Italy I will remember many things about Rome: the tour buses are awesome; the neck ties are bright, silk and not that expensive; the espresso is to die for and cheap; the fountains are extravagant; the Jewish quarter is staggeringly beautiful; the kosher restaurants are underwhelming; and if you hold your camera up in the air, close your eyes and shoot you will get a great shot.

My return to Akune was comforting. It was a relief to be back home in the countryside. However, I only had a few days to shake my jetlag and readjust to the rhythm of the city before I had to help Laura, my very first and long awaited visitor from the West, do the same. Laura was a (slightly cold) trooper for the whole trip. I did my best to show her all that Akune has to offer in terms of sights, good eats, long walks in the mountains and through the neighborhoods of my schools. I even had the privilege to introduce Laura to one of my favourite schools in the mountains (of which there are only two and they are both my favourite). On two of the three weekends that Laura was in Kagoshima we took a trip to Kagoshima city to get a feel of the big city, a look at an art museum, a taste of Indian food and a Japanese business hotel experience.

It has been a slow weekend and a cold one at that. Having heard from a number of Akune natives, this winter has been especially frigid. Luckily the Captain has spent numerous days doing hard manual to make his very own 竹火バー (Bamboo fire pit/bar) in his own backyard. Thanks to the Captain and his devotion to thrive as a macho man should-outside, huddled around a roaring fire, grilling fish, eating Dutch oven-cooked meals and drinking booze out of bamboo cups-I have spent a warm weekend in an otherwise cold countryside. Reflecting on my wintry woes I am reminded of this Japanese proverb:

冬来たりなば春遠からじ (fuyukitarinaba harutookaraji)
When winter is at its worst, can spring be far behind?

Until next time.

I am not hitting this woman, I am just making mochi (pounded rice cakes) for the new year. Check it out . . .

See? Harmless, delicious mochi with anko (bean paste) filling, still warm.

There is something about the sunset over the Mediterranean that is more vibrant than anywhere else in the world. You should have seen the sunset in Jerusalem at Shabbat.

Smoked saba (mackerel) in Shuk ha'Carmel (Carmel Market) in Tel-Aviv. This fish was so succulent, I had to buy some. I ended up buying too much, oops.

Chloe and Asher (and shakshuka, delicious baked tomato, onion, eggplant and mushroom dish) reunite. Yeah.

Ah. Israeli breakfast.

The Western Wall at the end of the family's Old City tour.

The shuk in Jerusalem on a Friday morning. Preparation for Shabbat is makes for a cut throat experience in the market alley ways.

Dad and me in the taxi to the wedding, suited and booted.

A real bride.

Richard, Yehuda and Dad

The Abbos, officially, with enough simcha for a lifetime.

My new brother.

Brother and sister

My new brothers, Jonathan and Ronnie.

Rome, just point and shoot.

At the tail end of my loop around the Colleseum.

Tempio Maggiore.

Ties. I got the yellow one.

I threw my last 1 shekel piece in the Trevi fountain.

Welcome to Akune.

Kagoshima Municipal Art Museum.

Kagoshima manju.

Laura's debut at Ozaki Elementary.

Bird watching at Ozaki Elementary.

Plum blossoms.

Finally, I had a customer to share my cooking with:

Salt sured salmon, Satsuma sweet potato and enoki mushroom with pickled plum and sesame seed.

Grilled iwashi (sardine), with bok choy and shiitake saute.

Akune's famous bontan.

Something Amazing

2009-12-23T05:51:00.000-08:00

I witnessed something amazing. I woke up early the other morning to the sound of rain, the clear sound of rain pattering on the thin, tin-like roof of my apartment. I was up early for the annual grand gate gold tournament in Akune. As I expected, not ten minutes after I rose from the warm depths of my futon did I receive a call from my advisor Momokita-sensei informing me that the gate-golf tournament had been cancelled, do to the rain, of course. Too bad, I thought to myself, tired and shivering in my cold apartment.

I decided not to go back to sleep. Instead I whipped up a quick breakfast of a left over tofu omelet that I ordered at Harmonican the night before. Breakfast is what keeps me connected with my bread, cheese and egg-eating Western roots.

On the way home form a short excursion to the drug store for a ridiculously expensive-nearly twenty dollars-10 gram tube of cortisone cream I witnessed something amazing, something that one would only witness in a small port city like Akune: I turned on to my street, and was walking in front of a fish restaurant where the owner and a fisherman happened to be doing business right out in front. It was just around nine o’clock in the morning; the fisherman must have come back at that moment from his morning out at sea. As I neared the restaurant’s front, I peered into the open back of the fisherman’s truck. There was a beautiful payload of vibrantly colored fish, many different kinds, all packed in wooden boxes and filled to the brim with ice. I saw something moving in the bottom of the truck and thought to myself, ‘Now that’s fresh.’ After taking a closer look, I realized that I was looking at a fish filleted completely in half, from the mouth to the tail, still squirming with a surprising amount of energy. I couldn’t help but stop and stare. Wiggling and pulsing in its ice bed, this fish would just not give up. I turned to leave when, in a moment sheer endurance, the fish flipped itself 180 degrees to show me its scales, for the whole time before I was looking at its unidentifiable fleshy inside. ‘Huh, kampachi (yellowtail),’ I thought to myself.

It had become noticeably colder in Akune over the past weeks. As a result, the schools’ temperatures have plummeted, bringing on the season of kerosene heaters in the faculty room; there is nothing like the taste of bitter canned coffee with a slight aroma of kerosene in the air. As for my apartment, it is also, unfortunately, thermally challenged. When I come into through the doorway I just don’t seem to fell the surge of warmth one usually does when entering a home with proper heating and insulation. I have noticed that my towels hanging out on my veranda in the sun just do not seem to dry as quickly as they used to. When I get dressed in the morning for school my white dress shirts chill my skin. On the bright side, however, I can now leave all my beer on the living room table with full confidence in the fact that it will be a perfect 10 degrees celsius when I go to drink it.

There are a number of ways to tackle the heat, though, and I have been trying my hardest to follow the strategies of my local neighbors. For instance the other day after finishing my only two morning classes on Wednesday, I played hooky and went over to Captain Matsunaga’s house for coffee (recently brought back from his trip to the Dominican Republic) and a quick lesson about how to make a simple miso soup. The coffee was great and the miso soup really did warm me up, but what really did the trick was the Captain’s pickled ginger. With just a little bit of vinegar and sugar you can turn ginger into a very tasty pickle that truly warms up the body.

It just occurred to me that it has been nearly a month since I posted an entry, and not just any regular month. This past month has been busy with all kinds of events, expeditions, and escapades. Allow me to fill you in on the happenings of last month in Akune.

In late November Captain Matsunaga’s daughter Juno and the son of Ms. Matsumoto (the cooking class leader), Shigehisa (the owner of Harmonican) were joined in holy matrimony. The date of the wedding was on the very auspicious day of November 22nd: The character for 1 in Japanese can be read as “i”, which sounds like the “ee” of bee; the character for 2 can be read as “fu”, like the “fu” in Mt. Fuji, thus making 11/22 iifufu, which in Japanese means happy couple. I joined the new Mr. and Mrs. Matsumoto at the after party held at Harmonican and enjoyed delicious food made by guest chefs from Okinawa in the company of the newlyweds’ close friends and family. It was a pleasurable night, one only fit for the debut of my new bow tie (thanks Mom and Dad).

At the end of November there spread a new gossip around Akune, a rumor that always seems to emerge around this time of year: hakusai cabbage is getting cheaper. I first heard it form the Mama at my local yakitori joint, Otone, then I heard it from my fellow teachers. Finally, after hearing enough cabbage chitchat I went to the store myself to see what all the fuss was about. Wow. They were right, 90 yen for a whole cabbage? That calls for kimchi. After gathering the ingredients for a kimchi mix I researched at Akune library I high tailed to the store for a head of cabbage and this started the third kimchi excursion this year.

As I was marinating my cabbage in its four-hour salt water bath I though to myself, ‘In the amount of time it takes for my cabbage to cure, my Mom could make one hell of a Thanksgiving turkey.’ This thought then reminded me of the fact that I wasn’t in fact going to miss out on this year’s Thanksgiving festivities, for I had just recently been invited to a little gathering in the town of Togo just one hour south on the Orange Railway. The weekend following the wedding I headed down to Togo with a Tupperware container full of steamed vegetables, my contribution to the potluck, anxiously anticipating what kind of warm atmosphere awaited me at the end of my train ride. Nearly 15 English teachers showed up to the Thanksgiving gathering, each with their own dish and thoughtful words about what makes them thankful. I was thankful for the fact that although I was so far away from family, I could still feel, in the presence of everyone, a sense of family. I was also thankful for the Scottish girl who brought real bread and cheese as well as my friend who brought Star of David cookies.

With all the gorging I had done on the Thanksgiving I was glad to accept my friend Gata’s invitation to participate in the upcoming walk rally from Izumi to Minamata. Gata is one of my good friends from Big Up NPO and the guy that has really connected me to a lot of people in Akune. In other words, if Gata says that I should consider participating in something, it is most likely going to be a good time. As for the walking rally, it was nothing but a testimony to my belief in Gata’s intuition.

When Gata told me that I was going to be dressed up as a Samurai and walk along the Satsuma seaboard (a route that merchants used for hundred of years during the Edo period), I though he was pulling my chain, as he often does. However, after he called me into the office to get my measurements to send off to the fitting company, I realized I was in for a walk rally like none other.

Before I thought that I was stared at a lot. Whether I was walking down the streets of Akune, shopping in the grocery store, teaching at school or even in my workplace, I always felt the weight of someone’s stare. Imagine how many heads I turned when I lead a walking rally of nearly 500 people in full Samurai attire. At the end of the 14-kilometer walk rally in my exceptionally heavy Samurai garb, I had certainly strayed from the head of the pack, but I finished the walk nonetheless.

It took nearly a week of massaging my own thighs, going to the onsen and stretching to rid myself of the soreness caused by the walking rally. As the pain finally seemed to have escaped from the deepest parts of my muscle tissue, I got a call from Mami-san reminding me of my promise to go hiking with him and the boys from Big Up this Sunday. Oh yeah, hiking, I said. The night before the hike was the first time I slept in the sleeper car hostel that Big Up manages. It was a really fun experience, and by fun I mean I went to bed at 0100, cramped in small sleeping quarters with small blankets only to wake up 3 hours later to go for a four hour car ride.

The hike was a real challenge, but in the same way it was truly rewarding. The mountain, Hijitake, was extremely cold and the trail was poorly marked, which made us heighten our senses to the sparse pieces of yellow and red tape in the midst of our beautiful surroundings. When we neared the summit of Hijitake, the clouds became thick and the wind strong. A frosty, frozen coating of ice blanketed the mountainside as the moist air blew through the thick foliage. It was getting colder. When we finally reached the top the rice in our bento had become cold and almost impossible to grasp with the disposable wooden chopsticks from the convenient store. After sacrificing the feeling of our hands to feed our hungry stomachs we all took a moment to soak up the serenity of the surrounding mountains, got a chest full of crisp mountain air and headed down for the frigid descent. The onsen never felt so good.

I was not nearly as sore from Hijitake as I though I was going to be. This was a relief to me, especially because the following week I had a number of obligations that required me to be on my feet: cooking class and Akune’s annual Bontan road race.

This month Ms. Matsumoto was kind enough to cater the cooking class to my Kosher eating habits, so instead of a making a juicy pork roast, we made a seasonally savvy meat loaf. The side dishes were my favourite part of last cooking class though. For the salad we used renkon (lotus root) and daikon (gigantic white radish) and mixed it with mayonnaise, sesame paste and horseradish, which made for a very fragrant and crunchy side. But it was the soup side that enticed my cooking interests. Instead of soba noodles in soup we made soba dumplings. If you add just a bit of boiling water to a cup or so of soba powder you can make a fancy looking, nutritious soup.

Although this month’s cooking class was a truly savory session, it helped me get into the health conscious mind-set that I needed to complete the annual Akune Bontan Road Race, which was fast approaching. What is a bontan? Commonly known as the Shaddock fruit and looking similar to the pomelo fruit, the bontan fruit was introduced to Japan in the Edo period (1602-1867) after a Chinese merchant ship washed ashore the Satsuma region on the island of Kyushu (my current location). After being rescued by the friendly people of Satsuma, the captain of the merchant ship, named Buntan, offered an abnormally large, yellow citrus fruit as a token of his appreciate and gratitude. And so, as humans all over the world did for ages before and do so well now, the people of Satsuma cultivated the bontan fruit and have been harnessing its deliciousness-and shipping it across Japan-for centuries.

Akune is particularly famous for its bontan and to make sure everyone in the region remembers that, the city sponsors an annual Bontan Road Race, which consists of full and half-marathon, 10-kilometer, 5-kilometer and 3-kilometer races. I opted for the 5-kilometer race seeing as I have not hit the pavement running in the literal sense since my second year of university.

I ran the 5 km with a slow steady pace, coming in 7th place for the 29 and under bracket. After crossing the finish line all runners, including myself, indulged in the free baked potatoes, pickles, grilled fish and, of course, bontant provided by various farms, fisherman and the like, all local eats.

Just as I thought I was running out of fuel for this term Chanukah-or however you wish to spell it-came along to remind to burn brighter and longer even in times of doubt. It was a fabulous Chanukah, although I was lacking a few things: family; friends; latkes; and the lingering smell of latkes the week after Chanukah. I managed to light the menorah and sing a couple songs in my chilly apartment, but, needless to say, it just was not the same. I was thinking of a way to bring Chanukah to Akune and possibly even to school when I remembered the joy of dreidles. Of course, I thought to myself, dreidle tournament in class.

When I tell people in Akune that I do not celebrate Christmas, they do not really get it, they cannot seem to grasp this fact of religious diversity. However, this creates a great opportunity for me to tell the world-of Akune-about Chanukah as well as Judaism in general. The day that I introduced Chanukah to the kids the classroom was silent. The kids’ eyes were locked on the chalkboard as I wrote “Nun”, “Gimmel”, “Hey” and “Shin” in big bold script. I told them of the miracle that Chanukah celebrates and in response received this reply, ”Heeeeeeeeh?”, which is the equivalent of an American, “Ooooo, aaaaaah.” When it was time to make dreidles the classroom erupted in a frenzy of the laughter, mixed with a bit of confusion, but always followed by a pump of the fist, at least for those who landed on gimmel.

I made mochi (rice cakes) today at Omaru kouminkan, my neighborhood community centre. Mochi is one of the staples of New Years food and it is a tradition in most places to make this sticky, hot confection in the warm company of family, friends or, like today, close neighbors. For such a soft and delicate morsel, mochi requires an immense amount of strength. After cooking glutinous rice has been steamed it is emptied in a stone pestle (some people use wood pestles, but with the amount of pounding that is needed to make the mochi, the wood version can only withstand so many years of punishment, sweet delicious punishment). Then with a large wooden hammer, the piping hot mochi rice is pounded and turned nearly 50 times until it becomes smooth as silk, hence the Japanese phrase, mochi skin. The fresh mochi was delicious and if you put a little bit of anko, sweet bean paste, in the center the mochi becomes a delectable dessert.

As I sat on the porch of the community center, I pondered to myself how lucky I was to have been able to participate in such an in-group event like mochi making. I thought today, and not for the first time, that I was getting to Akune pretty well. Then a young man sitting beside me, slurping his instant noodles turned to me and asked where I came from. I made a joke and said Omaru (my neighborhood). He laughed, thank goodness. I told him I was from Seattle and he immediately replied, as all Japanese do.
“Oh, the place where Ichiro plays baseball, right?”
He then inquired how long I plan on staying in Akune.
“Well, my contract is one year”, I started, ”but I do have a chance to stay longer if I wish.”
To this the man replied in a way I would have never expected a young man to do so. I would like to share this mans words with you:

石の上にも三年 (ishino uenimo sannen)

Literally translated, this Japanese proverb means, “Sit on the top of a stone for three year.”
How the young man explained it to me today, however, was something more along the lines of, if you don’t try something, live somewhere, or commit for three years, you have no idea of what that thing, place or job truly is.

Thank you, young man.

Until next time.

Thanksgiving Dinner

Soba dumplings in the pot and renkon salad in the bowl

Preparing the garnish for the meatloaf

My Saturday lunch: Soba noodles with cured plum, green onions and wasabi, peanuts with miso katsuo flakes and mirin and shiitake sauteed with garlic stems

Kimchi

Hijitake

Summit of Hijitake

At the Wedding party, with the bride

The final product

Bringing Chanukah to the classroom

The first night

Bontan Road Race

Harvesting bontan at the Captain's older sister's house

Admittedly Autumn

2009-11-16T04:48:00.001-08:00

Hello all.

I woke up last week well before my 6:30 am alarm clock; it was 12 degrees centigrade in my tatami room. The night before, I fell asleep to a slightly different, never-ending screech of small insects. And now as I peer out of the third-floor window of the obnoxiously lit board of education office, I can see that a beautiful pallet of yellow, orange, red and brown has appeared among the trees. For a city that is said to not change very much during fall, Akune is surely showing its autumn colours well.

There are many things that come to mind when I think of autumn in Japan: the changing of the leaves, especially in Kyoto; weather reminiscent of Seattle; hot pot parties; neck ties at work, rather than summertime polos; and, of course, the seasonal harvest, which includes: chestnuts, sweet potatoes, sanma (Pacific Saury, fish) and delicious shiitake mushrooms. In the coming autumn and winter months, I am looking forward to good eats, nostalgic rain showers and sporting my new tie clip (thanks Dad). Notice I did not mention Thanksgiving or Halloween. The lack of Thanksgiving and Halloween in Japan is understandable, but that is not to say that the two go completely uncelebrated.

As world-class consumers, the Japanese (from what I have observed in my experience) do, to a certain degree, latch on to parts of American culture that are consumable: music; clothing; art; food; and even English to a certain, vulgar-and-or-incoherent-phrase-on-the-back-of-a-T-shirt, degree. For this reason, it is definitely possible to find a few households with some Halloween decorations or a turkey dinner on the table in the autumn season. Even as I was driving home from school on a rainy day a few weeks ago, I spotted a few fake spider webs, Jack’o Lanters and the like in the front windows of a few houses in Akune. All the Halloween décor looked a little out of place, though. Just imagine, driving by a well-designed Japanese house with a ceramic tiled roof, laundry hung to dry blowing in the wind, a beautifully kept bonsai tree in the entryway and in the midst of all this a bright orange, store-bought pumpkin head in the window.

This year I was lucky enough to be teamed up with a teacher at one of my schools who has been to America several times and is a big fan of Halloween. Tashiro-sensei and I, for two weeks in a row (two classes in all), introduced Halloween to the fifth and sixth grade classes of Akune Elementary School: the surprising long history, rooted in Celtic culture; the world of goblins and ghouls; and of course the skills one needs to fill their pillow case with tooth-rotting sweets. It was surprising how little I actually knew about the history of Halloween. The kids had a very fun time trying on costumes and practicing their trick-or-treating skills. Later that week my English conversation class was conducted with a Halloween theme and we all shared our thoughts about Halloween, our favourite candy and I shared my favourite Halloween memory, or rather the one that I remember the clearest. I told the story of the witch house in the central district of Seattle. The house at which every year I was scared out of my little costume. It was at this house that the same women sat every year, in a creaky rocking chair, holding a bowl of candy in her lap waiting to release her blood-curdling scream in the face of any trick-or-treater who dare come near. I can still hear it sometimes.

The night of Halloween this year was very different from the last. Last year I hit the streets of Vancouver as Bob Ross, my favourite televised painter of the 1980’s, and had a hell of a time at the UBC’s various beer gardens (or ‘bzzr’ gardens as they are advertised on campus). I think October 31st, 2009 was the first Halloween that I did not celebrate in some way, shape or form. Instead of getting trashed on campus in a denim suit and admiring the numerous naughty nurses, police women and the like, I volunteered with Big Up to help launch a fairly sizable event, the Bamboo Concert.

About twenty minutes away from the centre of Akune is a nice neighbourhood by the name of Tashiro. I commute to Tashiro once a week to teach a class at Tashiro Elementary; with a total of nine students at the school, Tashiro has become one of my favourite school visits of the week. Tashiro is a very mountainous area and as such it is dense with bamboo forests, which are a wonder to look at on a morning commute. Big Up decided to showcase Japanese artists from across the country in a local spot as a way to highlight the beauty of the bamboo forest and accentuate the tranquility of a naturally serene setting. With a few well placed lights deep in the bamboo forest, a couple dozen handmade bamboo benches along with some Japanese pop, Enka (Japanese classical pop music) and ocarina (yes, ocarina), Big Up was able to gather nearly one hundred audience members for the Bamboo Concert. I was very proud to be a part of what was later called a complete success.

Bamboo Concert

Aside from my involvement with Big Up, I have been filling up my schedule with a number of other fun and exciting activities. At the end of October I was asked to judge an English speech contest for junior high school students. I was glad to accept the invitation and even more delighted learn later that I too would have the opportunity to speak as a representative of the Akune Board of Education (BOE) as well as the only foreigner in Akune. The prompt for my speech was predetermined by advisor at the BOE, Momokita-sensei: “Japan as I see it”. As my first writing assignment since graduating from university, this speech was somewhat of a pleasure to write. I did, however, have some difficulties starting, as always, and since I was to deliver the speech in Japanese it wasn’t the easiest piece to prepare. I ended up presenting a speech about my encounters with and impressions of Japan throughout my life-starting with my first origami class in Tom’s 1st grade class, to Karen’s raku firing, my first girlfriend, world history class, studying Japanese with Tashibu-sensei and finally coming to Japan-and how those experiences came to form the image of Japan as I see it.

My experiences in alternative schools writing, making art and truly putting my creative tools to the test, I felt that I had to express a little of that side of me in my speech. Since I was writing, I felt that it would be apt to use some of my creative writing skills (shout out to Mr. Nolet, you were in this speech). I wanted to use a metaphor to tie up my whole speech. I honestly want to use the mosaic metaphor: all the experiences I have had with Japan are what make up the mosaic that is Japan as I see it. I ran this metaphor by my supervisor, who vaguely understood the figurative conclusion that I was so desperately trying to articulate in Japanese, but in the end Shinsaka-san gave me the verdict that I thought he would:
“You mean a jigsaw puzzle? It’s like a puzzle, right? Just say puzzle. You have to remember one thing, you’re speaking to junior high school students.”
I would only find out later, from another source, that when said with Japanese pronunciation, mosaic is often associated with a popular brand of adult entertainment videos.
“[…]In a way, Japan as I see it is a living jigsaw puzzle, made up of all the experiences I have had, the people who I have talked to and the images that I have had in my head ever since I was a child […]”
The above is a rough translation of the clincher of my speech. I was very happy with how my speech was received by the audience; the gymnasium was barely a quarter full the day of the speech contest.

Speech Contest

Last week I went on a couple of independent study adventures in Akune. On Saturday I went to a pottery studio in Tsurukawauchi (a neighbourhood) with a few friends from Big Up and Akune Public Hospital and had a great time practicing one of my favourite forms of art in a whole new whole in a very special environment. With the skills I learned throughout elementary and middle schools in Karen’s ceramics class at Summit K-12 (for life) I was able to thoroughly enjoy myself last weekend at Warabe Kobo (Warabe studio). It was my first time throwing pottery in a while and the fact that we were using small, hand-powered wheels, which I had never used before, turned a fun Saturday afternoon at the studio into a true test of my ceramic skill. After we finished forming, trimming and glazing our pots, a phenomenal accomplishment for a two hour class, we all sat around and shared tea while the people of Warabe Kobo, a lovely family of potters, talked about my afro.

Warabe Kobo

Last Sunday I went to my first-and definitely not last-cooking class at Ms. Matsumoto’s house. Ms. Matsumoto is the mother of one of my friends in Akune, Shigehisa-san. Shigehisa-san owns Harmonican, a very chic restaurant that I frequent on the weekend for delicious lunches with local ingredients. Ms. Matsumoto lives in an amazing house right next door to Harmonican that I believe I mentioned in an earlier post.

I showed up at the cooking class-having just borrowed a must-need apron from Harmonican next door-and was greeted by the warm smile of Ms. Matsumoto. She led me through the fabulous wooden genkan (entryway) into a nice sit-down dining room, something my unaccustomed knees have been missing for almost four months now. At the dining table I introduced myself to the small class of young and middle-aged women and without a second’s delay the tea had been poured and the class was underway.

First, Ms. Matsumoto read carefully over the menu, our course material for the evening. The menu for the evening sounded great on paper: shiitake, kinoko, maitake and eringi shisosuki (four-mushroom hot pot); three side dishes, including a small cabbage salad, baked miso-stuffed shiitake and deep-fried peanut konjac; and for dessert, a soymilk pudding. The kitchen was a bit crowded, but with all the hands we had, we were able to whip the meal together, for seven people, in less than ninety minutes. I was not alone as I sat, more than satisfied, basking in the lingering aroma of mushroom soup at the beautiful dining table. It was interesting to work in another kitchen-as apposed to my kitchen counter that comes up just past my thighs-,see how other people store and prepare ingredients and of course it was a pleasure to enjoy the fruits of a collective culinary effort.

The genkan

Mushrooms with Ms. Matsumoto

A culinary collective

I would like to leave you with a gastronomically themed proverb:

医者と味噌は古いほうがいい。

Doctors and Miso are both best when aged.

Until next time.

The Sword in the Stone

2009-10-20T06:12:00.000-07:00

Hello readers from across the pond.

Excuse my aloofness in the past few weeks. My weekdays are now full with both elementary and junior high school visits for English class; the initial phase of giving my self-introduction has just come to a close. I feel situated now, driving the winding the country roads to and from school. In a way I am blessed with a busy schedule that takes me to eleven schools in Akune and the smaller peripheral towns. It hasn’t even been three months and I feel more than confident on my commutes throughout the week. Who wouldn’t in a miniscule white Mazda. I have even gone as far as taking the occasional short cut, finding the more interesting nooks and crannies of the city.

I have also branched out in the area a bit in the past couple of weeks and visited places in Kagoshima I have yet to explore. This has all been possible due to the help of friends at the Big Up Non-profit Organization. Big Up has a small, quaint office adjacent to Akune Station, home of the Hisatsu Orange Railway. The office is the hub for numerous volunteer opportunities in Akune as well as a very unique hostel. The hostel is unique in that the rooms advertised are actually old train cars, hence the name, Big Up STAY-tion (get it, station, as in train), a very cool concept in my opinion. Since making the acquaintance of the head managers of the office on separate days at two different bars, the Big Up office has become a spot that I look forward to visiting at least once a week, either for drop in volunteer work, dinner or the occasional adventure.

Last week I visited Big Up and sat in on a meeting that covered the upcoming events in October. Since the meeting I have already made chairs out of bamboo for the office and incoming quests and fired up a barbeque multiple times for road tripping families and Harley-Davidson riding he-men, and that is only the beginning. After the meeting that night, however, I was invited on an adventure. One the guys at Big Up, Mami-san, asked me if I liked hiking and if I wanted to come climb a mountain in with a couple of friends this coming weekend. I was humbled, happy and took no time to hop on the opportunity. I went home that night with my imagination running wild about what the weekend might bring, except I forgot to ask Mami-san where exactly we were going, all I knew was that it was going to be chilly and that I needed hiking shoes or shoes with plenty of grip.

It’s hard to work any job with a mountain climbing adventure looming just a few days ahead. This is what I thought to myself as entered class on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and finally, at last Friday. I paid a visit to Big Up on Saturday, the night before the hike. Since I was on my way home from grocery shopping, I couldn’t say I was upset by the fact that I had walked in on a sukiyaki (beef, vegetable, amazing hotplate family style feast) party. As I kicked back on the tatami mats and drank in the warm atmosphere of new friends, newer acquaintances and, of course, my fair share of sukiyaki, I had another one of those, ‘man am I in the right place at the right time, again,’ kind of moments. Despite the slight sukiyaki daze that, I needed to keep my eye on the prize, the hike the following day. By the end of the night I learned from Mami-san that our hiking destination was well far away from Akune and that we all needed no gather at the Big Up office early in the morning, 0700 hours sharp. We were heading to 高千穂峰 (Takachihonomine) in Kirishima.

Whether it was my usual morning daze or my slight sukiyaki hangover, I am not quite sure, but what ever helped me survive the two hour car ride cramped in the back of an old Toyota sure did the trick. I started to come to when the landscape changed from flat rolling country hills to switchbacks and mountain roads. The smell of the air was different, rotten eggs. Sulfur, of course. We were getting close. Kirishima is known for it’s volcanic mountains and thus famous for it’s spectacular onsen (hot spring) getaways. Looking out the window through that arching branches of the vibrant red pine (赤松、aka-matsu) I could see natural spouts of steam emerging from the forest, filling the air with fast-disappearing clouds of white and that recognizable, pungent stench of sulfur.

It seemed as though we were never going to clear the tree line until we turned the corner right into the parking lot from where we would depart on our hike. There were five men in the group that day and five tired men made it back safely at the end of the day (sorry to ruin the potential for excitement). As we embarked on the hike I found myself shoulder to shoulder with Mami-san, receiving an historical lesson in thick Akune dialect about the site of the day’s hike. From what I gathered Takachihonomine is a very notable destination in Japan for many reasons: the very first honey moon in Japan occurred on this mountain; there used to be a shrine at the base of the mountain that was destroyed by a volcanic eruption a thousand years or more ago; and it is a beautiful and friendly hike. The most interesting aspect of Takachihonomine, however, Mami-san saved for last. Takachihonomine was where Japan all started, the point from which the land of the rising sun came to be. Thousands and thousands of years ago the sun goddess and a principal Shinto deity, Amaterasu Omikami, descended from…well…the sun. It is said then that with the force that only a sun goddess can truly posses Amaterasu Omikami thrust a sword into the Earth and from that point Japan emerged. And if you go up to the summit of what is now know as Takachihonomine, you can see for yourself the sword, but no matter what strength you may come with, it is impossible to remove the sword from the grips of the Earth. I guess Amatersau Omikami never met King Arthur.

Takachihonomine Ridge

With that extremely motivational historical lesson still lingering fresh in my mind, I steadily scaled Takachihonomine’s volcanic slopes, taking extra time to look at the deep red, brown and black colours of the rocks beneath my feet. I glanced behind my shoulder ever ten paces or so to check out the scenery. The immediate view was a vast forest of red pine in every direction over surrounding hills, mountains and winding in between villages. In the distance the faint silhouette of Sakurajima helped maintain my sense of direction, however much it distracted me from my actual progress up the mountain.

In a little over an hour I caught the first sight of the Japanese flag waving in the wind, the one I had seen all the way from the parking lot, with strong binoculars. And as I rounded the last boulder I could finally make out the faint shape of a sword, sticking right out of the very top of the mountain. It was a thrilling summit. After the whole team reached the top we all took a walk around the peak and found a nice spot to break open our bento and dine in the clear, crisp air; it was chilly that day; and I decided to wear shorts.

I never felt more satisfied from a convenient store-bought bento and as I looked around and surveyed my hiking team, I had a feeling they might have been thinking the same thing. Before starting our descent, we all gathered in front of the sword in the stone to take a commemorative picture. As always there is bound to be someone left out of the picture so I volunteered to take the follow up shot of the group. When I turned my back to the beautiful view to take the picture of my crew I heard something that nearly took my breath away:

“Asher!” in perfect, native English.

I turned around and saw Eli, a fellow JET participant from the Minami-Satsuma city. We had a brief exchange at the top of Takachihonomine, it even feels weird writing about it now. It is needless to say, but seeing Eli was a great way to start my descent, the beginning of the end of my trip to Japan’s earliest beginning.

I could have heard Mami-san’s story of Takachihonomine any number of times and only wonder at what awaited meat the top of that mountain. For all I knew, mami-san could have been tugging my chain. After all, though, as soon as I laid eyes on that sword, extremely weathered, yet still straight and steadfast in rock, I understood quite well how magnificent beginnings can truly be and how humbly we look back upon them:

百聞は一見に如かず (hyakubun wa ikken ni shikazu)
Hearing something one hundred times can never compare to seeing it even once.

Until next time.

Dinner:

Salmon

Eggplant

Chipotle chicken

Hit the highways, it’s Silver Week

2009-09-27T17:08:00.000-07:00

Hello all.

This past week’s multiple-day holiday was something of a rarity in Japan. Falling every year at mid to late September, Silver week, the shinier, (and in my opinion) more appealing relative of the spring holiday Golden Week, is much like the mysterious mid-winter break that is observed religiously and with great joy by my mother and her cohorts in the Seattle School district. Silver Week is composed of two holidays: Respect for the aged day-some people say that Silver Week got its name from the silver coloured hair of the people that the holiday commemorates; and the Autumnal Equinox. Interestingly enough, these two holidays are separated by one day, a void that the Japanese government graciously granted to the nation as Citizen’s Holiday. Usually this annual string of holidays begins on Saturday, leaving Monday as the only weekday vacation time for Japanese people all across the country to, well, go all across the country. However, this year Silver Week began on a Monday, resulting in a five consecutive days of vacation that is expected to occur a mere twelve times in the next ninety years. Yes, the stereotype of the Japanese as diligent workers does come from somewhere. I am indeed impressed and often times humbled by how well my co-workers and colleagues at school perform. However, I must say, that when the entire nation is set loose for Silver Week no time is wasted in taking advantage of a blank agenda.

My sights were set on South Korea. A good South Korean friend of mine from my days at Ritsumeikan University (Rits) in Kyoto had just returned home to Seoul so I thought that Silver week would be a perfect opportunity to pay her a long overdue visit. At this time of year, airfare to Korea from Fukuoka airport is far cheaper than, say, a trip by plane to Tokyo, unbelievable, right? After some thought and a quick conversation with my friend, though, we both decided that the five days was too narrow a window to do a legitimate trip to South Korea. With the thought of visiting old friends still fresh in my mind, I did not hesitate to start researching the best way to get to Kyoto. Before Silver Week it had been almost exactly two years since I touched down in Japan to start my year abroad in Kyoto; it was about time to return.

I was amazed at how expensive the Shinkansen (Bullet Train) fares from Fukuoka to Kyoto were so I sought out the means of travel I knew best, the night bus express. After making my reservation online I proceeded to the convenient store to pick up the hard copy of my ticket. Yes, you read it right. I picked up my bus tickets at Family Mart (a 7-11 style store) at the electronic machine right in between the disgustingly graphic cartoon pornography and the ice cream cooler. With the touch of a button, the drop of some bills and a bow at the waist I was on my way to Kyoto. I left my apartment on Saturday the 19th just a couple minutes past five o’clock, thus started my fifteen hour voyage to the former capitol of Japan and my former home.

Before catching my 2100 night bus I had to make my way north to Kumamoto Prefecture’s capitol city of Kumamoto, a former castle city. First I took the Akune’s infamous Hisatsu Orange railway to Izumi city. A trip on the Orenji, as it is referred to by locals, takes you for nice slow ride through the countryside in a one-car train, constantly packed with commuting students either gabbing about social happenings, slathering make-up on their faces or, the most popular, sleeping with mouths wide open. From Izumi city I took a short Shinkansen ride to Yatsushiro, the city where my dear friend Daniel Norton (another Rits acquaintance) worked as an ALT for two years. Since the new Kyushu Shinkansen is not completed as of yet, passengers bound for Kumamoto city must transfer to a relay express train. The system is pretty seamless, actually. When I lifted my head up after doubling down to get out of the Shinkansen there, just across the pristine platform, was my express train waiting just for me, and hundreds of other vacationers. As the sunset in a cloudless sky behind the tile roofs of Yatsushiro city I basked in the reassuring and accomplished feeling of catching a connecting train.

It was already dark when I arrived in Kumamoto city. I took a long walk along the local train line to the bus station where my night bus was waiting; I had two hours to explore Kumamoto streets in search of food and beer; aside from stale air, stale bento and fuel, beer is up there on the list of consumables aboard a cross-country night bus. I wanted a somewhat of a simple meal so I walked into one of the first noodle houses I saw.

I don’t eat ramen much, but I was on the verge of conversion after I took the first spoon-full of soup to my lips. I order a black sesame ramen. The soup was, you guessed it, a deep, dark colour, almost reminiscent of gunmetal and looked like the consistency of motor oil, appetizing, right? The soup had such a rich flavour and the small sesame granules added a very pleasing texture to what I expected to be the usual watery broth. With my hunger satiated and teeth tinged black with sesame I chatted with the master of the ramen house over a cold bottle of Asahi beer. It was time to catch my bus. I was pleased to discover that my seat reclined almost all the way back. However, I soon realized that the backward reclining freedom would be at the cost of precious legroom.

The night bus experience is like none other. The blinds of the bus are closed all throughout the night. The liberal air conditioning makes you squirm and reach desperately for more of your blanket that just isn’t there. The bathroom, sunken into the middle of the cabin as if it were some sort of trap, is miniscule even to the most petite persons. In the midst of constantly interrupted sleep your joints slowly loose their range of motion, your eyes become nocturnally acute beyond explanation, the roar of the bus and cars on the highway vanish and the space around you becomes void, the surrounding passengers complete enigmas.

“Good morning everyone, we will soon be arriving at our final destination, Kyoto Station.”

I felt such a wonderful rush walking through the crowded innards of Kyoto station. Passing by the packed restaurants, the seemingly endless train ticket lines and the sheer number of people, Japanese and foreign travelers alike, made for long awaited, cacophonous homecoming. I strolled out of the main exit and my instincts kicked in. Without thinking I found my place in line at the 26 bus stop headed for the northwest of the city. The slow ride through the crowded and bright morning streets of Kyoto was just what I needed after perplexing night bus adventure.

At last, the bus reached the Utano Youth Hostel stop. My travels were over. As I shouldered my backpack, roller bag clunking after me in a graceful dismount from the bus, a smile formed across my face, ear to ear. I ducked under the metal gate of Ritsumeikan International House II (I-House II) and walked with my chin high and chest full of pride down the driveway to the card key entryway. There on the other side of the glass door, waiting for me as promised, was Kuri-san, dear friend and fellow student at Rits. When the door was swung open I said the greeting that I had planned on saying since the day I left I-House II nearly a year and a half ago: “Tadaima (I’m home).” And to my great joy and appreciation, Kuri-san responded with, “Okaerinasai (Welcome home).” Kuri later told me that he had planned on greeting me so and that he only saw it appropriate.

It was, to say the least, a trip walking through the hallways of I-House II. I was honestly expecting a cathartic return, but I soon realized that I was surprisingly at peace at the sight of all the dorm rooms filled with a different mess of clothes, the first floor hallway lined with last year’s worth of junk (ie. my new calligraphy set, score) and the kitchen crowded with jetlagged bodies and the aroma Japanese renditions of world cuisine.

Over the next few days I visited my favourite places and people in Kyoto, all the time dodging tourists left and right; I have honestly never seen so many shoulder shrugs, furrowed eyebrows and fanny-packs (yeah, that’s right Dad) as I did last week in Kyoto. On the day I arrived I took a nostalgic (understatement) stroll through Rits’ campus, ate at my favourite teishoku (set menu) restaurant-and ran into some Japanese exchanged students form UBC-walked the zoo-like sidewalks of downtown Kyoto and made a truly spiritual pilgrimage back to the sacred Satonoya Yakiniku (Korean barbecue) restaurant where I reunited with three great old friends from my Rits days and delicious cold Yebisu beer with all the beef, rice and kimchi you could handle in 90 minutes.

Monday seemed like it was going to be even more crowded than the day before, considering the 21st was when the actual holiday started; enough fanny packs already. Accordingly, Kuri and I hoped a train to the town of Yamazaki to take a tour of the Yamazaki whisky factory. To make a long, delicious, deeply aromatic and emotionally moving-with a free Yamazaki rock glass-story short, Yamazaki whisky factory was a Monday afternoon well spent. In the evening, that is after the whisky buzz had started to fade, I met up with Akira, old friend and owner of Rakuraku home kitchen, for some yakitori and some awesome chocolate cake and coffee at a machiya (literally, town house +100 year-old house)-turned French café. Akira is one groovy dude. He lives a life full of love, love for food, love for music and love for people who are involved in either.

The morning I left Kyoto I had a plan to meet with a group of my old Japanese teachers that taught me while I was a student at Rits. It was such a pleasure to see them again, and what’s more, almost all of them showed up. For the better part of two hours five of my old Japanese teachers and I shared coffee, stories of the past year and of course of the past few months I had spent in Akune. It goes without saying that I have a newfound respect for educators everywhere (Mom, Barbara, Ms. Tashibu and the rest, kudos just do not suffice).

I spent the last hours in Kyoto with Kuri catching up on the last year of our lives; Kuri had spent the last year in China on exchange and told me some pretty amazing stories, the one about how the Chinese government makes it rain when necessary was particularly intriguing. I want to thank Kuri for letting me sleep on his floor, taking me out to the whisky factory and sending me off all the way to my bus at Kyoto station. Thanks Kuri, I’ll see you again this year.

“Good morning everyone. Are you tired? We will soon be arriving at our final destination, Kumamoto bus terminal.”

I really enjoyed the Shinkansen ride from Yatsushiro back to Izumi. Let me tell you why: usually the Shinkansen attendants are robotic and do not smile, nor do the make eye contact with the passengers. As I gazed out the window, glossy-eyed and dreary, wondering, ‘How can JR (Japan Railways) sacrifice service for personality?’ a dashingly handsome attendant entered my car; he turned and faced the passengers with such precision and at gracefully slow pace; his uniform was immaculate. As the attendant rose, again very slowly, from his bow, I saw the smile that I had been wondering about just moments ago, my doubts about JR vanished. When he took my ticket he made eye contact and thanked me for my service in a refreshingly crisp voice. What a nice ride home on yet another cloudless day.

I would like to leave you with a poem, rather than a proverb. There is always a beautifully handwritten poem outside of this temple (whose name escapes me now) up the street from I-House II. The poem changes every month. I saw this haiku as the 26 bus hauled up the road from I-House II on my way back to Akune last Tuesday night:

曇りなき
心にできぬ
ことはない
(kumorinakikokoroni dekinukotoha nai)
At a glance I translated this poem as follows: A cloudless heart is capable of anything. However, after getting all the way home to Akune I found a message Kuri had sent me, correcting our interpretation:

If one can do what one believes in without doubting oneself, anything can come true.

Until next time.

Mr. Mayor, meet Mr. Rob Noble

2009-09-09T01:05:00.000-07:00

“Mr. Mayor, meet Mr. Rob Noble…”

Last week I returned to the city office from my first day of school and found a number of sticky notes on my desk. A majority of them were written by one of my advisors, Momokita-sensei, in very nice kanji characters: “Class will be cancelled at Akune Elementary on the afternoon of Tuesday September 7, 2009 due to rehearsal for the upcoming Sports Festival.” Almost all of my classes at junior high school have been cancelled as a result of the Sports Festival, a very sacred event for elementary, junior and senior high school across Japan. I made note of the cancellations in my agenda that I have at the ready on my desk. I then looked to the remaining sticky note.

The characters weren’t as clear as the two other notes-and this one was mint green, the other two were pink-so all I could make out were the dates of this indecipherable notice. I also gathered that the memo had something to do with Australia. (Australia, as with other foreign words that were imported into Japan in their original form, like computer, coffee, and image up, are written in a phonetic alphabet called katana.) I asked Hirata-san, my pleasantly friendly desk neighbour if she could help me read the note.
“Oh, it looks like the Mayor is requesting you to assist him at a meeting this coming Tuesday.”
“What kind of meeting”, I inquired apprehensively.
“I think the a former vice-Mayor from Australia is coming to meet Mayor Takehara", Hirata-san explained, ”They need an interpreter.”

I have never interpreted before in my life. Well, I have toured my family around Japan, throughout which I was called upon to make hotel and train reservations, order meals and navigate the streets of crowded tourist districts. However, successfully booking a night’s stay at the Toyoko Inn, a Bullet train from Tokyo to Kyoto or ordering a meal at kaitenzushi (conveyer-belt sushi) do not measure up to the issues one might expect to encounter at a meeting of two local government officials. I only hesitated for a moment before accepting the job.

After finishing school at Akune elementary on Tuesday morning I headed back to the city office to spend the rest of the day relaxing before my interpreting debut. As I anticipated, there was a delay in the start time of the meeting, so I ended up staying at my desk much later than usual. This was actually pretty interesting. When the workday ends in Japan the work does not stop. Although the workday is said to conclude at 1615 everyday, most people in my office stay at work until 1900 or 2000 everyday. Interesting. I spent the short time waiting for the meeting to start by reading a blog about bicycles (bikesnobnyc.blogspot.com, check it out). It was not long before the general director of the board of education Nagafukata-san called me down to the Mayor’s meeting room. I entered the room with Nagafukata-san and was introduced to Mr. Rob Noble, a former Executive of local governments in Australia who currently manages a leadership development organization; his Australian accent was surprisingly pleasant. I sat adjacent to Mayor Takehara and across from Mr. Noble, who insisted I call him Rob. It felt like a pretty natural set up for this casual meeting.

The subjects covered in the meeting ranged from simple greetings to questions about lifestyle in Japan and Australia, exchange of political hopes and dreams to worries about the waning spiritual and philosophical consciousness of younger generations in Australia and Japan. There was also some humour involved, which, thanks to Mayor Takehara’s slight grasp of English, added some well-deserved laughs to this casual exchange. Almost one hour had passed when Rob said it was time for him to go and meet his wife at the Akune Grandview Hotel. I received a nice pewter koala pin from Rob as a token of his appreciation. Little did he know that I am an avid collector of all things pewter. I was thrilled with Rob’s kind gesture, though I was much more thankful for the valuable opportunity to interpret for Mayor Takehara and Nagafukata-san.

After signing off for the day, finally, Nagafukata-san offered to take me out for “dinner” to show his appreciation for my cooperation. We went to my favourite spot in the town, Otone yakitori, where we shared some delicious meat on a stick, a nice cold beer and some genuine Kagoshima shochu on the rocks with water (makes it super smooth). After a while Nagafukata-san called Captain Matsunaga to come out and have some drinks at a different spot, 24 Office. There we met the Captain and shared a couple more glasses of shochu and salty snacks. It had not even been an hour before we were off to the next, but not final, destination of the night. This time we went to a karaoke bar, which is managed by a group of women from the Philippines. Very short skirts, very weak drinks but amazing karaoke.I was about cashed when we left the Filipino bar, but the Captain insisted that we visit his daughter’s fiancé’s restaurant, Harmonica, just across the Takamatsu River, right in my hood.

Harmonica is a stunningly beautiful restaurant. The sleek front counter and finished wood table setup gives off a slight air of modernity, but a large handmade wood table in the entry way and the open kitchen creates an atmosphere that reminded me of a throwback classic diner. It smelled delicious. While we waited for the Captain’s daughter to show up I was introduced to a large parties of 20-somethings, all acquaintances with the owner and therefore Captain Matsunaga. Shigehisa, the incipient groom, came out with our drinks and sat with Nagafukata-san, the Captain and I for a moment then, as if recalling something extremely important, eagerly offered to show me his home next door. I am always humbled to be invited into someone’s home, especially within such a short time of being acquainted with one another, it communicates that a certain sense of trust has been established.

I ducked through the small sliding door and took off my shoes, finally lifting up my head to observe my surroundings. As I stepped up the hand made, finished wood genkan (entry way) my jaw dropped through the tatami mats. I had just been escorted into an extraordinarily pristine old-style Japanese house. I was toured through the ground floor and soon learned that the house and most of its furniture have been in the Matsumoto family since the Meiji era (1867-1912). You could feel the history with each step, around every corner and up every stairwell. The most intriguing history, though, came from the most inconceivable place.

Nagafuakata-san, Shigehisa-san and I all sat around yet another magnificently handcrafted wooden table as Ms. Matsumoto took out an decrepit box from a prominently placed lacquer cabinet-'Is this actually happening?', I thought to myself-and took out stacks of old paper. I took a closer look and listened carefully as Ms. Matsumoto started to explain what it actually was that she had pulled out for us to see. Money. I am not talking about your run of the mill 1000, 5000 or 100000-yen note, but bills that have been out of print for nearly one hundred years. The graphics on the money were remarkable, the colours astonishing. Before getting up from the seiza position (sitting on your knees, a truly leg-numbing experience), Ms. Matsumoto insisted that I take a few of the bills as keepsakes. I bowed deep, extended both hands and humbly received the more than generous gesture. I was speechless and moved by this brush with Akune’s history and tangible Japanese culture.

The Japanese proverb I have in mind for this entry is only apt for my experience at Harmonica and the breathtaking Matsumoto residence. It also, however, has a greater significance to why I am in Japan and why I have continued to follow passionately my study of the Japanese language.

When I was about to enter high school I had two important decisions to make: where to go and what foreign language to study. That is all I talked about with my friends at Summit K-12 (for life) in the spring of 2001. One friend decided on Latin. To this day no one knows why. A couple of friends went for French, but for the most part everybody was excited to continue taking Spanish-who wouldn’t after taking Cora’s beginning Spanish class anyway? I took Spanish with Cora (hey Ma) and I will never forget it, especially the day when she took my little finger skateboard and threw it out the window, ay caramba! Despite my memorable Spanish experience I did not really want to follow the flock. I soon registered at Roosevelt, but I was still at loss in the foreign language department. That was until I heard about the energetic and humorous Japanese teacher at Roosevelt from one of my sister’s friends. Japanese it is. I had never crossed my mind, to study Japanese. I had always enjoyed Japanese art including sumi painting and Karen’s annual raku firing, but I never thought about pursuing the language.

I remember the first day of Sensei Tashibu’s class like it was yesterday. A handful of round tables around the room created a noticeably different classroom atmosphere, not to mention the posters of famous Japanese sights, art and kanji characters. For the first activity, Sensei taught us how to spell our names in katakana.
“Ok, next”, Sensei said in a commanding yet kind voice.
“Asher.”
“アッシャー”, was what Sensei wrote, lightning fast on the whiteboard.
“Good luck with that one kid”, said the upper-classman sitting next to me. I tried my best.

I would like to extend my genuine and heartfelt congratulations to Sensei Tashibu for receiving this year’s National Japanese Teacher of the Year award. An award of this caliber is only apt for a teacher and passionately driven mentor as Sensei Tashibu. 先生、おめでとうございます！

足下から鳥が立つ (ashimoto kara tori ga tatsu), Many things happen unlooked for.

Back to School

2009-09-05T20:10:00.000-07:00

Hello All

School has begun. My life changed last Thursday. I no longer have a desk job. Now I have a conduct-a-room-full-of-shy-yet-eager-students-sitting-at-desks job. In other words, I am thrilled to not be sitting at my desk for eight hours straight in the fluorescent-lit city office, day in and day out. Needless to say, I did appreciate the time that I spent at the city office. I was able to keep in touch with family and friends until I set up my internet connection at home, I had the opportunity to become familiar with my coworkers at the board of education and I cannot complain about the air-conditioned office. Now that school has started, I only spend the last hour of my day at the office, chatting with colleagues about my classes and students and staying up to date with the few blogs that I now read (thanks Laura).

Before checking in at the city office this past Thursday I had my very first day of class, or as many of my coworkers referred to as my ‘debut’. My debut outfit: a fresh, short-sleeve white shirt; a blue silk tie (thanks Dad); breathable black slacks; and to top it all off, slippers, provided by the school, roughly size 6. I soon realized, while shuffling around the halls as if I had ankle cuffs on, that my schools and my apartment by the water had a common theme: everything is small. I should have guessed from the start, because when I entered the school, ducking almost a foot down to avoid blasting my head on the doorframe. The principal notified me, after he chuckled at my doubling over to enter his office, that the Japanese architectural standards for most buildings, especially schools, dictate that all doors must have a 180cm clearance. I am 190cm. My tall stature, however inconvenient it may be for easy living in Japan, is very helpful in establishing a good first impression. Upon entering any building in Japan, whether it is my own house, the city office or my new schools, I inherently bow, thus showing respect. How nice of me. This has definitely been useful thus far.

My first class was with the fifth grade elementary students of Nishime elementary, which is about ten minutes south on route 3, the main highway that runs through Akune. As soon as I stepped into the faculty room I was greeted warmly with a bow and a cool cup of mugicha, barley tea. (Mugicha is a lifesaver in the summer and luckily all of my schools have a cooler of it at the ready in the faculty room; nothing rejuvenates one more than a cup of chilled barely tea and a cracker in between classes) There are less than ten fifth grade students at Nishime elementary, which made the classroom atmosphere very cozy and less intimidating, at least for me . After I had set up my powerpoint for my first presentation I turned around and was face-to-face with what I had been waiting for almost one year: a classroom of children, smiling, anxious to learn.

Nishime Elementary

I started the class with my jikoshokai, the fundamental first step of the getting-to-know-you phase of any relationship in Japan. A jikoshokai usual includes basic information about one's background, including your home country, home town, family, hobbies and the like. Presenting my jikoshokai was very exciting for me because the kids were on the edge of their seat the whole time. Whether it was in excitement or confusion, I could not quite tell. I brought along my computer with a simple powerpoint presentation. The kids really got a kick out of the picture I showed for my “I like hiking” slide. The picture is of me doing a handstand on the top of a mountain from when Laura and I climbed to the Third Peak of the Chief in British Columbia last spring. The classroom erupted with the sound of the typical Japanese expression of surprise or disbelief, ‘HuueeeeeEEEEH!’ (Mom, Dad, you know what I am talking about). So from this I took a cue and decided to do a headstand demonstration in everyone of my classes last week as a part of my jikoshokai, it really gets the blood flowing and the kids laughing. From my first class on Thursday at Nishime elementary, I proceeded over the next two days to Yamashita, Ozaki, Tashiro, Okawa and Tsurukawauchi Elementary schools, honing my jikoshokai skills and loving every second of it.

The kids were also a huge part of what I think was a very successful debut. Aside from being very attentive and good listeners, the children were very good participants. However apprehensive they may have seemed in their seats when they were called to come up to the front and introduce themselves to me, each child was beaming on the way back to their seats. They may not have even noticed themselves, but the students certainly showed a sense of pride in their stride on the way back to their miniscule desk. Before all of this happened though, they had to overcome their extreme sheepishness.

How can these children be so coy? All they need to do is say their name and if they do or do not like bananas, dogs, strawberries, baseball and shake my gargantuan hand. What’s so bad about that? This is what I was pondering after the teacher asked who wanted to introduce themselves to me. The room fell dead silent. All I could hear was the feeble whir of the electric fan, shuffling footsteps down the hallway and the eternal buzz of the cicada outside the open doors. I wondered and wondered, how can this be? I tried to put myself in the kids’ shoes (I was already in a size 6 so I was almost there). At that point I remembered what it was like, how it felt to step in front of the class and bear all with the weight of your class mates eyes sucking your lungs dry of air and emptying your brain. Failure. The most feared outcome of any academic endeavor in the world is undoubtedly failure. I had had a feeling that the potential for failure would haunt my students, but I did not expect it to start from day one. Luckily, though, after seeing the smiles on the kids faces and feeling the positive energy in the classroom I do not foresee the looming shadow of failure lingering for too much longer.

My first class this past Friday was at Tashiro elementary. I taught first period. When I arrived to the school, nestled in the middle of the mountains, surrounded by old houses and right next to a cool stream, I was greeted by the vice principal and the JTE (Japanese Teacher of English) who made me cup of hot instant coffee, just what I needed (?). The JTE told me that were were going to conduct in the gymnasium and that I would be giving my jikoshokai in front of the entire school. What an opportunity, right? I already knew before I came to Tashiro that morning that the student body wasn’t the biggest in all of Akune. In fact, I knew it was the absolute smallest. I stepped into the gym, only to be greeted with the brightest smiles I had ever seen, all nine students, right in row. After my introduction was over, the first, second and third grade students went back to their classrooms, leaving the JTE and me to teach the five remaining students. We practiced the months of the year, which I think are especially difficult for the children because the months are referred to simply with numbers in the Japanese. At the end of the day the kids were beginning to become comfortable with their own birthday months and that of their classmates, a fine accomplishment for my debut at Tashiro elementary.

When I got back from the gym to my desk in the Tashiro faculty room, the vice principal was busy preparing another cup up coffee for me, this time it was what I needed. He and I spoke for a while. He questioned me about what I think of the school, the teachers and then the students.
“The students really put on an air shyness that I have never seen before anywhere else”, I commented,” but I can definitely see, in each one of them, that they want to try their best. I think they are scared of making mistakes. I want to tell them it is ok to make mistakes and that it is the key to learning languages.”
“You know there is a saying in Japanese”, the vice principal added, “失敗は成功のもと, Failure is the root of success.”

As my admirable, bright and kind-hearted first grade teacher from Summit K-12 (for life) Tom Rawson used to say, “If you can’t make mistakes, you can’t make anything.”

Enjoy these pictures
(If you would like to see a bigger version of the pictures, just click on the image)

Dinner: Yakisoba, Kabocha, baby Bok Choy

Sunset, the view right outside of my front door

Lanterns floating down the Takamatsu River, The closing of Obon Festival

Akune Municipal Library

The Mazda A-Z Wagon, my new ride

Pictures for you

2009-09-01T06:30:00.001-07:00

I am connected to the internet at my apartment now. It has been almost a month and a half without freely accessing the internet in the privacy and comfort of my own living space. I feel like analog man, being reborn into the cyber world, if you will.

I have compiled, below, a number of photos that I have taken since coming to Japan in late July. Please, enjoy.

Tokyo's urban sprawl from the 34th floor of the Keio Plaza, the site of the 2009 Tokyo Orientation

Orientation at Keio Plaza

Okawa Swimming area, ten minutes south of my house my bike and where I went for my birthday swim

Birthday sashimi feast

At the MIdokoi Matsuri with Mayor Takehara, centre, and Director General of the Akune BOE Nagafukata-san

Seperate your garbage

Midokoi Matsuri Fireworks

Ningyo no ishi, a rock formation that look like two people. In my opinion, I think it looks like two monkeys. Doesn't this remind you of the praying monk in Phoenix though?

The Captain, the dome, the house

Sakurajima

Ladies and gentleman in a Yukata

24hr Charity

More pictures and movies to come.

I hope all of those who read this blog are enjoying a what they see. It is a pleasure to share my initial experiences in Akune with all of you. this is a great to process of the intense amount of stimuli as I settle in to my new surroundings.

I would like to do a little throw back to my old blog them from Kyoto and give a shout out:

Shout out to my Aunt Barbara, who just moved to NYC. And Shout out to Sensei Tashibu. I am thankful everyday for the language and culture you introduced me to so many years ago.

Peace

The Power of Omiyage

2009-09-01T06:25:00.000-07:00

Hello All

I have just recently returned from a week-long orientation and training retreat in the capital city of Kagoshima prefecture, Kagoshima and Kanoya, a city in the middle of the mountains on the eastern peninsula of the prefecture, respectively. It was the first time all of the Assistant Lanugage Teachers (ALTs) had been together since the surreal limbo world that was Tokyo Orientation. I was very relieved to see some familiar faces, speak freely in my mother tongue and make use of sarcasm, which unfortunately doesn’t translate as well I wish it would in Japanese.

I woke up extremely early on Monday morning and for a moment recalled the dreadfully early morning blues that I felt as a Roosevelt High School student (soak up those last days of summer Mom). I planned on meeting two other ALTs in the nearby city of Izumi so we could all take the bullet train to Kagoshima city together. I had not ridden the bullet train since my family came to Japan in the spring of 2008. Needless to say I was thrilled to once again take advantage of one of Japan’s most efficient railways. When Katie, Badillo and I (three young strapping ALTs) hit the platform in our business attire the wind from the bullet train created the effect of some cheesy JR rail line commercial: my afro swayed slightly; Katie’s hair leaped in the air and over her shoulders; Badillo’s suit jacket danced behind his crisply creased pants. The pristine bullet train pulled up, as clean and quiet as I remember, and took us to our destination.

Kagoshima city was maybe one or two degrees cooler. However, in exchange for the lax temperature (not), the airborne ash from the active volcano, Sakurajima (Cherry Blossom Island) factored in as yet another weatherly wildcard of Kagoshima. Sakurajima is breathtaking and can be seen from most parts of the city, although most of the time obstructed by high-rises. Kagoshima city is often bombarded by thick showers of ash, since it is in the direct vicinity of Sakurajima, leaving a blanket of white and gray flakes all of the cityscape. It is not rare to see people totting umbrella for that exact purpose.

The Kagoshima Orientation took place at the prefectural office (kencho), a 25-plus-story building that resembles a robot from afar. The information at this two-day orientation was, unfortunately, the ugly triplet of the Seattle and Tokyo orientations that I attended before arriving in Kagoshima. I struggled and sweated, but, believe it or not, I learned something new: in the event of an earthquake, make sure to have a spare pair of clean underwear. Sarcasm aside, it was nice to hear the same information presented again from different perspectives. I always benefit from hearing the information I read in my JET handbook applied to firsthand experiences.

Throughout the two-day orientation I was put up in a hotel in the city, for which I owe the Akune BOE great appreciation and thanks. When I learned that I would be staying at the Toyoko Inn, however, I was even more ecstatic and ever more thankful. As my immediate family can tell you from experience, the Toyoko Inn is the tits of all business hotels in Japan, of which there are numerous. The service is impeccable, the rooms are comfortable (if you like hard beds and are not claustrophobic) and the Japanese continental breakfast is served hot (at 0730-0830, rice balls, miso soup, pickles and tea) every morning. After coming home late from a pirate themed banquet at the port of Kagoshima and a karaoke outing, I crawled onto my extra-firm mattress, flicked on the air conditioner and enjoyed the few hours of sleep before the next day’s orientation, anxiously awaiting the fresh rice balls. When I woke up bleary-eyed hungry I made the short trip down stairs expecting the usual, but I was absolutely blown away by the breakfast. Not only did they have the usual spread, but the miso soup had cabbage, onions and bean sprouts, the tea was black and better and to top it all off there was potato salad and butter rolls; I have never had a better Toyoko Inn stay in my life and as we all know, the stay is only as good as the breakfast. Thank you Toyoko Inn, I will be forever loyal to your guaranteed hospitality and rice balls.

After orientation at kencho was over all 40-some Kagoshima ALTs took a ferry ride to the eastern peninsula of the prefecture, the Osumi side-I live on the Satsuma-han side-, to make our way to the cultural retreat portion of the week’s activities. The boat ride was beautiful, especially because the course of the ship allowed for an almost perfect 180 degree view of Sakurajima. (Although its name insinuates that it is an island, Sakurajima is no longer a free floating landmass. Due to centuries of volcanic eruptions, the magma soon formed a land bridge that connected it to the Osumi mainland.) Our four-day retreat was held at the Kagoshima Asia-Pacific Institute for Agricultural Research Centre (KAPIC), a beautiful resort in the middle of the mountains of Kanoya, surrounded by a small lake and lush wildlife, including but not limited to gigantic moths, huge dragonflies, monkeys and beer-drinking foreigners in Kimono.

When we arrived at KAPIC, I picked up my name tag and noticed that it had a small, pink sticky note on it; ‘passport?’ was all that was written on the memo. I thought, ‘Oh, they must want to see my passport, you know, for confirmation.’ When I reached for my travel wallet, with my passport, bank book, insurance book, salary record and other memorabilia I noticed it was not there.
“Asher we have been notified that you left your passport bag at the prefecutural office in Kagoshima. Do not panic”, said one KAPIC staff member. I did not panic. In fact, it is surprisingly hard to panic when you can’t feel anything, when you are numb from having realized the fact that the livelihood of your existence was found in the bathroom of the prefectural office two hours and a body of water away. I called my supervisor, Shinsaka-san, he already knew. How did he know before me? I don’t want to ask. I called kencho.
“We have your passport”, a calm, ensuring voice said,” I understand that you are returning to the city this Friday, is that correct? [Yes] If you could, please come by the International Exchange Bureau on the tenth floor and we will return your passport [Thank you and please accept my apology].”
I picked up my passport on Friday and received this advice from my prefectural advisor, Shimoshikiryo-san: “It would be best if you did not lose this, again.”

For the most part of four days, I, along with 40 other ALTs, was immersed in Japanese language and culture in the very authentic setting that KAPIC provided: we took culture classes in which we practiced Zen painting; we tried on real kimono and yukata; we, or I should say must of us, enjoyed three balanced, regimented meals of Japanese cuisine everyday; and we enjoyed the company of our fellow ALT friends. Having studied Japanese for sometime before this orientation I was placed in a Japanese workshop class in which I had the opportunity to interact with Japanese Teachers of English (JTEs) working in Kagoshima. Our first assignment was to prepare a short (3-5 min) speech in Japanese. We would present this speech to the JTEs the following morning. And present we did. I had a lot of fun voicing my hopes and dreams for the year to the on-looking JTEs and was very gracious for the presence and input.

My homecoming to Akune was very exciting. Uneventful, but exciting nonetheless. What did I do to celebrate? I went to the grocery store, twice, then made chipotle burgers (that fell apart) and went to my trusty yakitori joint Otone; I haven’t paid for a meal there in weeks. Saturday, though was very eventful. I went to supermarket again, twice, and rented more books at the library. Right now I am reading Tezuka Osamu’s “Buddha” (#5) and things are getting very interesting; Buddha is spreading his word, starting with deer. On Saturday night I decided to go to a bar that I had never been to before. I am having trouble recalling the name, but it is right by Akune’s main train station.

I was greeted warmly by the two owners: a charming woman stood behind the behind the counter and her healthily intoxicated husband sat at the bar; a large party in the back tatami room provided the white noise. Two tiny girls came to join me at the bar just as the first dish of food came out, fried sardine with lime and a side of gobo (burdock root with vinegar). It was hilarious how much energy these two little girls had and they kept on telling me that the Mama (female managers of restaurants are often referred to as Mama) behind the counter makes the best egg dishes in the world; I did not have any eggs, but Mama makes a great goya with miso paste. As I enjoyed the delicate goya dish, a young sunburned man came out of the tatami room and struck up a conversation with me in English. Mukae-san studies English at Kansai Foreign Language University in Shiga prefecture, right next to Kyoto. Mukae-san was in the middle of a summer cycling tour. In other words, I met him in the middle of his tour from Shiga, in the middle of Japan, all the way down to the tip of Kagoshima, nearly an 800 kilometer round trip.

Mukae-san and I talked hip-hop, of all things, and drank beer for a while until a couple of older guys that I knew from Otone came in and started pouring shochu. Then Otomi-san walked in, a cute middle aged Japanese woman who runs a small hostel type project that houses motorcycle touring groups. The hostel is an emptied out, renovated train car and it is connected to a non-profit organization office that raises money for helping the elderly and research for children’s diseases all over the world. Otomi-san was quick to ask me if I would volunteer the following day for a twenty-four hour charity benefit. I had seen advertisements on TV for it, so I obliged and on Sunday morning, bright, hot and early I was decked out in a yellow shirt like thousands of other volunteers across the country, yelling my head off asking for donations. I surprisingly felt way more comfortable asking for donations in Japanese than I ever would have in English. What a day. I was out in the sun from 1000 to 1600; my right side is looking real tan now. After closing up shop at the charity booth a little ways from Akune train station, which is where the train car hostel is, Otomi-san and I shared tea and talked about other opportunities that I could get involved in while I am living in Akune. I may have just found something.

Today was my first day back at work from training and I was almost glad to sit down in my little leather desk chair and stare at the computer screen all day. Well, it was nice to see everyone’s face, but that certainly did not make the room feel any cooler or the fluorescents and milder.

At lunch I walked around to everyone’s desk and gave them a small treat from Sakurajima, little sugar cookies flavoured with one of Sakurajima’s specialty fruits, the komikan or the mini mikan, known in the west as the Satsuma orange. This was the second time I had practiced the omiyage (gift giving) tradition in the office. Gift giving is huge is Japan. It is undoubtedly one of the most ubiquitous practices in the country and one that I have taken a liking to throughout my experience in Japan. The atmosphere of the office changed immediately when I handed out the individually package cookies. Although it is completely expected of everyone to follow through with at least some sort of omiyage, when one actually gives omiyage, the notion that you had your co-workers in mind becomes apparent and appreciation is paid with a simple thanks, a comment about how delicious your cookie is or a genuine smile. As the crunching sound of wrappers and small giggles of delight filled the void of my office I realized the power of the omiyage.

In light of the terrifying shock I experienced when I misplaced my passport and the mysterious passage of information to my advisor, I give you this Japanese proverb: 悪事千里を走る、Bad news travels fast.

Aboard with Captain Matsunaga

2009-08-19T09:46:00.000-07:00

Hello all.

It is just after lunch and I feel a bit lethargic, so please excuse any incoherent rambling, grammatical mistakes and the like. I have actually been enjoying lunch lately. Since I started work at the Akune Board of Education (BOE) I have taken a short walk or bike ride back to my apartment everyday for lunch, either to heat up some leftovers or to whip up a quick meal. I did this for a few reasons: it is always nice to get out of the office; I like cooking; I enjoy the wind in my face, aside from that one experiences when wheeling around one’s work space in an office chair; and I didn’t feel quite comfortable stuffing my face in front of my co-workers (usually I enjoy my meals with proper manners, but after five hours of not eating I do, at times, loose sight of my etiquette). There were definitely drawbacks to going back and forth from the BOE to my apartment everyday, though. Of course time is was factor, but the more than anything else I could not stand the heat anymore. The combination of racing back to my apartment to satiate my hunger and sluggishly lurching back to the BOE in the dank heat of the afternoon left me in a state of utter exhaustion, and with the humidity that has been around 70-90% or more, I was damp with perspiration. Then I had a revelation. It came in the form of bento.

The bento culture in Japan is unparalleled. (Sorry Mom, your packed lunches were fabulous and nutritious, but they don’t quite measure up to the aesthetic, gastronomic beauty of the bento) There are volumes on the subject and I have even read an essay or two during my stay at Ritsumeikan. The bento is, like any lunch can be, a symbol of a mother’s love for their child. On the other hand, what set this lunch item apart from the rest is that the bento can also serve as a very telling aspect of a family’s makeup and functionality, the door left ajar through which one can see if mom does her shopping regularly or if dad lost his job recently. In other aspects, the bento can be seen as a microcosm of a Japanese child’s likes and dislikes. If a child cracks open their bento to find a ground beef patty with ground daikon shavings on top or curry rice the day is a golden one. On the other hand, it is common knowledge in Japan that Japanese children, for the most part, cannot stand and absolutely condemn green bell peppers, known to the British as capsicums-what’s next alumminium?- and in Japanese, ピーマン (pronounced pee-mahn). Despite this well-known hatred, children often find the loathed vegetable in their lunch box, the stench and sight of it putting a damper on their whole day. Now that is what I call love, food culture and anthropology (conveniently packed in a bento with a cute design on the top).

In the past couple of days I have been very happy with my bento. I eat in the centre of my office on the big comfortable leather sofa, stare at the lush mountains and receive copious complements (from the women) and looks of utter disbelief (from the men and women) from my co-workers. Today was a good bento day: grilled salmon; kimchi; broccoli; and a special bottom layer of rice cooked with Satsuma sweet potatoes. I was still a bit uncomfortable, though; kimchi has an odor not to be reckoned with. Maybe next week I will try making designs in my rice with different coloured pickles, I saw it once in a cartoon and the kids were stunned with jealousy.

After eating my bento yesterday, I was approached by one of the first acquaintances I made in Akune, Captain Matsunaga. Perhaps you may recall the name Captain Matsunaga (referred to below as, the Captain) from the Midokoi Matsuri, the one who took me under his wing of brotherhood and booze and showed me how to party like a real citizen of Akune. (I would find out later that day that the Captain himself founded the Midokoi Matsuri, which explains his enthusiasm, justly) The Captain was eager to tell me that he had someone he wanted to introduce me to. He said that one of his best friends in Akune is deeply involved in ceramics (陶芸, tougei or 焼き物 yakimono) and that he wanted to show me his friends studio.
“So, what time are you done here anyway?” the Captain asked.
“About four-fifteen, why?” I said.
“Come down to my office, I’ll take you to meet him, it’ll be great. By the way, do you have a map?”
I pulled out the Akune road map that I had been using to map out my commute for the upcoming year.
“Here, in the mountains, you see? There aren’t any roads listed, but that’s where he lives. He stays in an old elementary school.”
“I look forward to it. See you in a bit“, I said as I bowed to the Captain. I was excited. I could barely sit out the rest (30 minutes) of my day, thinking about where this school might be and what else, if anything the Captain had in store.

About an eighteen minute ride south and east of the BOE, half of which took us on roads barely wide enough for his Japanese compact, brought the Captain and I into the midst of lush bamboo and pine forests. According to Captain Matsunaga, the hills that he and I were driving through used to be laden with houses and busy with villagers of southern Akune. Then around the 1950’s the distance away from the city, and possibly the lack of water and electricity I’m guessing, led to a massive exodus from the hills and into the more urban, if you will, parts of town.
“It’s a ghost village now”, cackled Captain Matsunaga, his cigarette shaking between his teeth.
‘I really like this guy’, I thought.
A couple of quick turns later and I found myself in the parking lot of what used to be an elementary school. Shiso leaves were growing everywhere, two cute dogs were barking and a quaint, seemingly empty school stood to the left, the rushing river too profound to be just a white noise. A giant tree claimed a prominent position in the centre of the plot. Unfortunately, the resident of the old school was away at the time, but the Captain insisted that I poke my head inside to take a look; I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Miniscule chairs lined the walls and equally small desks were pushed together in the centre of the main room, recently trimmed bowls and cups lay on the floor in precise rows and before stepping down from the schools entry way I saw, in the back of what I realized was an amazing potter’s studio, huge racks of fired pieces and finished products. Adjacent to the main building was a covered area under which two huge outdoor kilns had been built from the ground up. Having already seen the inside of the studio, the sight of these incredibly unique kilns brought me back to my days at Summit K-12 (for life) in Karen’s studio, throwing pots till my blue and yellow (Summit colours) Adidas were covered in clay. I was awe inspired by where the Captain had taken me and what he had introduced me to.
“This is outstanding”, I said looking around before getting back into the car.
“Oh yeah? My house is pretty great too, you know. It’s a dome house. You ever heard of one of those? (I shrug and smile) I built it with my own two hands. Let’s go!” Go with the flow.

Readers, who ever and how many you are, Captain Matsunaga’s house is unbelievable; everything a dome house should be and nothing you could have ever possibly conceived. The high ceilings of the dome was a feature I was drawn to and it was something I had been really been missing. The triangular skylights, another unique feature that accommodated to the geometrical design of the house, reminded a lot of my house in Seattle and, coincidentally, one my favourite spots on the planet, Jody’s cabin in Hood Canal, built by the man himself. When I was introduced to the Captain’s wife she excused herself first to wash her hands. No, this is not another Japanese custom. She had just finished making a batch of fresh honey. What? The Captain took me out back and showed me the two bee hives that he and his wife use to harvest. He told me about Japanese honey bees. The main differences, he said was that Japanese honey bees are, for one, very obedient and do not require to be smoked out of their hives in order for the harvester to extract the honeycomb (I had seen this once at Vashon Island with my good old friend Andrew). Moreover, and more interesting in my opinion, is that Japanese honey bees do not collect nectar from one flower exclusively. Rather, they collect from many flowers all around the area, collecting different flavours and, apparently creating a tantalizingly potent batch of very healthy honey, known as ‘hundred flower honey’, 百花蜜 (kyakkamitsu).

As I sat in the cavernous living room of the Captains dome house, I conversed with he and his very charming wife about travel, language, my future and other worldly matters. All the while I was fed peaches, amazing bean curd desserts and coffee with a spoonful of the best honey I have ever tasted. Now when I order coffee, I usually only drink half of what I ordered, or I just sip off of whoever just bought one (thank you Chloe and Laura). This was not the case yesterday. I was poured cup, after cup, after cup of coffee almost unknowingly. I supposed that if this is way Captain Matsunaga takes a coffee break, than I might indulge as well. When I stepped outside of the dome house to a beautiful sunset the caffeine boost from nearly a half kettle of coffee kicked in and this Japanese proverb came to mind:

郷に入ったら、郷に従う。 When in Rome, do as the Romans do.

In Japan, stamina and size matter

2009-08-12T18:27:00.000-07:00

Hello all.

It is a pretty balmy day in Akune today. The temperature is an even 30 degrees and the humidity has climbed up to almost 96%. Some of you may be asking yourselves, ‘Isn’t that like living in an open air sauna, all day, everyday?’ What I am thinking is, ‘Hey, stop reading my mind.' Yes the weather is a factor, among other things, of my new life in Kagoshima, but I thank my lucky stars everyday that prior to coming to Akune this year I had already experience a Japanese summer, and a Kyoto summer at that.

Whenever I mention the heat, I, more often than not, hear in response, “At least we’re not in Kyoto.” It’s true, honestly. Two summers ago in Kyoto I would wake up to the piercing sound of a thousand cicadas and it would already be 30 degrees out. After biking to school and shedding a quarter of my body mass in perspiration it would start to rain, torrentially. Finally after it stopped raining, around lunch time, it would be 35 degrees and I would ride the wave of heat exhaustion all the way home to the safety of my air conditioned cocoon that was my dorm. Much like in Kyoto, Akune summers require perseverance, thin under layers, endurance and durable sweat rag, preferably a dark colour. What happens, though, when it seems like one may actually be melting into one’s tatami mats during dinner? What does one do when their air cooler has been on so long that one fears the next electric bill? How can one beat the heat?

Honestly, to beat the heat, I had to go head-to-head with it: when I wanted a dinner of cold ramen noodles I had to boil them first, and with a small apartment the heat from my gas range took no time at all to diffuse throughout my whole kitchen creating an environment reminiscent of Eilat in Israel; when I wanted ice cream and fruit to make a cold smoothie with the sweet blender I just found last week (yeah!) I had to bike through the dank streets of my neighbourhood to the grocery store with my back pack, nearly becoming my fifth appendage. As I said before, endurance is the key. A perfect example was my trek out to 脇本海水浴場 (Wakimoto Beach) last weekend.

I had a lazy morning in my air-conditioned tatami safe haven, watching Japanese baseball on T.V. (the fans never stop cheering, N-E-V-E-R stop) and decided that the nearly lifeless breeze coming from my air cooler was not going to be sufficient to tackle the heat that the forecast had predicted for the day. I needed an ocean to cure my heat exhaustion blues. I shouldered my MEC back pack (thank you Laura) filled it with fruit, water, flip-flops and a bottle of sunscreen (thank you Mom) and hit the scortching concrete on my way to Wakimoto beach.

With a squinty-eyed look that could put a grandfather in the back row of an I-max theatre to shame, I head north on route 3, hitched a louie on to the 365 and twenty five minutes later I was basking in ocean on the spacious, sandy stage of Wakimoto. I soon learned from a localsporting a skin-tight technicolour getup that I was lucky to have come on that day for if I had come a week later the beach would have been closed due to the start of クラゲ（水母・海月 or Sea Nettle jellyfish） season. Having received that invaluable advice I decided to make the most of my day at Wakimoto and bodysurfed till I could feel the sunburn on my shoulders and face; I have a great tan. The water was the perfect temperature, just like Tel Aviv. The beach was vast and flat, much like the Oregon coast, all I needed was a skim board and I would have been an even happier camper. The waves were just perfect for bodysurfing, but unfortunately did not provide the excitement of the surf like San Diego or Sayulita; there is almost nothing like being pinned to the ocean floor by a surging wall of sea water.

After my utterly revitalizing swim I packed up and headed back to Akune, arriving back home only to discover that I returned even sweatier than I had left. ‘Embrace the heat,’ an omniscient voice beseeched me, ‘and drink plenty of water.’

I made an epic journey yesterday. Well, in comparison to Wakimoto outing it paled in comparison, but it was epic, nonetheless. I took a short bike ride to the Green Sports Centre-‘We Love Sport’-to check out there golf practice range. As I slowly rolled through the independent agricultural operations leading up to the Green Sports Centre I was greeted by the ‘ping’, ‘thwack’ and ‘pitch’ of the range. I had come unarmed, carrying not a single club, under the assumption that I could rent clubs. Luckily there was a huge selection of (tiny) clubs for me to choose from and there was a special going on that evening: 1, 2, or 3 hours, all-you-can-drive. I opted for the one-hour package and hit the range with a tiny pitching wedge and a super retro 3-wood, made out of wood, unheard of to this modern, titanium loving man.

The range was surprisingly full at six o’clock. To my left and to my right, stood tiny Japanese men, chain-smoking and hitting balls as for as the 190 meter fence would allow them. Whoa. I noticed they were hitting it every time. I looked a bit closer, although I didn’t really have too, and noticed that these men, who were maybe eye level with my chest, toted some of the largest drivers I have ever seen. Callaway Big Bertha? Step aside. These men were absolutely creaming these balls with Japanese Godzilla-sized drivers; the sound was amazing. I managed to hit the fence just as high as those around me with my slightly shady Shillelagh. It is, after all, all about the motion in the ocean.

In the face of a wildly different repertoire of golf clubs, chain smoking neighbours and all-you-can-drive deals at the range, unheard of at the Univeristy of Washington or Puetz range, I was reminded of this Japanese proverb:

所変われば品変わる (tokorokawareba, shinakawaru); So many places, so many customs.

Akune’s Summer Festival: hot, hot, hot

2009-08-03T17:02:00.000-07:00

Last weekend marked Akune’s highly revered annual Summer Festival, the Midokoi Matsuri. Matsuri is the word for festival, I know that much. However, I was not able to get a clear answer from my colleagues at the city office as to what Midokoi actually meant. For one, Midokoi is a word that is derived from the regional dialect, Kagoshima-ben (ben meaning dialect, or for the jargon lovers, the colloquial vernacular). It was only after I donned my ceremonial yellow and green robe (‘happi’, sounds like happy), white shorts and a red and black polka dot headband, drank a few beers, had a few shots with my cohorts and marched to the centre of the city in the streets that I heard over the loud speaker the essence of Midokoi: to bask in the wealth of good food, good drinks, great music, close friends and prosperity. All in one festival? Sure.

I received a crash-course lesson in traditional Midokoi dancing before hitting the streets. The moves that are essential to dancing in the parade consist of motions similar to that of shutting and closing a cabinet with both hands, at eye level; smiling and slightly bowing is also more than welcome, especially if you are the new foreigner in town. After a couple of drinks at the city office, my place of work, one mini drink and a couple bumps of Akune shochu (the best hooch in the country) I was ready to hit the road with the staff that runs the inner workings of the city, including Mayor Takehara himself. If my readers have not noticed already, Akune-shi does not hold back on their drinking. In response, I practice the most humble form of discretion: say no once, and then say kampai (cheers) once more.

I was truly amazed at how organized the parade was that Saturday evening. From the pre-school marching bands, who rocked out hard, to the freshest of the fresh middle school dance troops, I was among a highly trained-or so it seemed-group of Akune festival-goers. I was relieved when I heard the loud speaker call out the first break in the parade. Wait. Break? In a parade? For what? I was whisked away by the primary security officer at the city office, Matsunaga-san, who insisted that I call him Captain Matsunaga (he is a class 1 Captain, license and everything), and the next thing I know I was in a crowded bathroom with another mini-Asahi in my hand. I, at last, understood what the break was for: a peeing and drinking break, combined, genius. After the third or fourth block of parading, I got the hang of the dance and was overjoyed at the sight of those who crowded the sidewalks, clapping their hands to the beat of the taiko drums and rocking back and forth to the steady plucking of the shamisen. During the second and third leg of the parade I was summoned to the front row to dance with Mayor Takehara, who, like me at times, enjoys the spotlight more that hates it. Night had fallen by the time the parade portion of the Midokoi Matsuri was concluded. It was still around 28 degrees with very high humidity.

Sunday was no different from the day before, for it was a blazing 30 plus degrees before noon when I was on my way to Akune’s port to see the community performance. I arrived at the port and was greeted first by the rank smell of fishnets, the beautiful smell of the sea and a port full of onlookers at what seemed to be a very lively gathering for the final day of the Midokoi Matsuri. A variety of dance groups, accompanied by taiko drums, shamisen and old men-who could really wail some great bass notes-was the main attraction of the afternoon events. I wandered over to the seaside of the stage and bumped into one of the front desk ladies at the city office, Mayumi. She and I stood and chatted for a while before she started flirting with me. I think she liked my hair. She is hilarious. So hilarious that she treated me to lunch, twice. Before coming home from the port I made sure to pick up some fresh saba (mackerel), a local favourite, delicious and a breeze to cook on my new, handy dandy gas range grill.

That same night was the firework show, also held at the port. I learned a lot during the firework show: babies do not enjoy fireworks; fireworks will set off sensitive car alarms within a seven-block radius; fireworks are breathtaking and captivating, on any given night-except in cloudy Seattle, that is.

Today I attended my first speech contest. In other words, today was my first venture into the world of Japanese Junior High School, puberty at its finest. I actually felt more self-conscious than most of the kids giving speeches today. The weight of two hundred pairs of eyes when I walked through the entrance to Akune Junior High’s gymnasium is something I will never forget (please, if you like films, especially old films, research ‘Twenty-four Eyes [二重四の瞳, Nijushi no hitomi]’, by Keisuke Kinoshita, 1954). The speech contests’ intention was to give students a chance to state their opinions, openly, and on any subject that they sought fit. For example: what we can do about global warming; my hometown; the importance of friends; and the weight of our words, which went on to claim first place. There was one speech that I thoroughly enjoyed.

The smallest boy on stage, Yanaka-san, delivered his speech with gusto and took command of his audience. Yanaka-san spoke about how he learned from an injury he had last year in the spring. Yanaka-san, much like I had done roughly six years ago, broke his arm and soon learned how important having two functional arms is. The point that Yanaka-san devoted the majority of his speech to, though, was one that resonated with me as well as the audience, or so it seemed. Yanaka-san, standing just over a meter tall, learned that those who take care of you when you are in need, those who truly understand the magnitude of a friends’ hardship, those are your true friends. Well done, Yanaka-san.

What an opportunity. To be able to speak in front of one’s entire school, one’s entire community is something that I did not quite expect to witness my first day at school. However, as soon as the prizes and honourable mentions were distributed, the kids dared not come near me, even to utter their first and last name. I guess they still have a bit of summer vacation left before English class starts.

In light of the moving and opinionative speech contest today, I leave you with this, very telling, Japanese proverb: 出る杭は打たれる, The nail that stands up, gets hammered down.