I learn something new everyday.

Today I learned why my school has been without Internet for almost three months.

The secret was let out when one of the math teachers started shouting at the principal during this morning’s teachers’ meeting (there’s one every morning at 8:20, which means I have to hotfoot it to get there on time - just so I can sit at my desk pretending to understand what’s being said). I don’t know if you’ve ever heard the sounds Japanese men emit when they’re angry, but in case you haven’t, just know they’re a lot like two dogs growling in defense of the brand new tennis ball at the end of the drive. The two varying dialogues are almost indistinguishable. The principal was literally barking at the math teacher. And the math teacher was yapping right back. I seriously thought they were going to throw knuckles. (Wouldn’t that have thrown a stick in the cog of Japanese “togetherness”?)

Oh, and here’s why Math Teacher got angry in the first place: The school’s principal had intentionally axed the Internet connection because Math Teacher had been using it to place bets on horses. I can understand why he felt wrongfully punished - it’s not like he was downloading porn or anything, right? I mean, c’mon, he’s a grown man, and there’s so much downtime in his 13-hour school day (spend doing jack), how else should he pass the time?




2 Comments for this Entry

japanese brenda
So is the betting back on?
BTW, I understand the futility that is the morning meetings. I usually try to picture the teachers naked. I either retch or laugh.
Thursday, October 19, 2006 - 06:44 PM

nolan
Yeah, hopefully I can throw down on those races too because I just spent 2600 yen on a stalk of broccoli and a bag of rice. What's up with that?
Thursday, October 19, 2006 - 11:01 PM

5:00 a.m.

I woke up to a public announcement. It was making circles around my apartment building (and the apartment buildings around mine). I couldn’t understand the message, as it was in Japanese and I was still mostly asleep. I ignored it altogether. Then, at 6:00 a.m., I was awoken in the same way: A man in a tiny car was shouting some kind of announcement through a megaphone (I’d gotten out of bed to see). What is going on?

These days I live in total oblivion. I am constantly confounded.
(I went back to sleep.)

When I got up to go to work, Nagahama appeared unchanged. But about one hour ago, during fourth period, I heard the announcement again. This time, the man in the small car with the squawk box was toodling about outside the high school where I work. The students immediately jumped out from behind their desks, raced to the open windows, and stuck their heads out to hear. Then they casually reclaimed their seats.

What is going on? I asked the class. Then, in their cryptically limited English, they said, simply, “Bear. Caught”--all in this annoyingly matter-of-fact tone.

Apparently a mid-sized bear had been traversing the streets of my town all day and everyone knew (because of the fella with the megaphone) but me. The guy in the car had been following the bear around Nagahama, announcing its presence to nearby residents, all day. That’s what woke me up at 5:00 this morning! It took the town all day to finally catch this bear and boot him back to the mountains on the outskirts of the city. Elementary and junior high school classes were canceled because of this bear-on-the-loose rumpus. What next?



5 Comments for this Entry

Ryan
your life is currently my favorite comic strip, i just wish it was a daily...
Wednesday, October 18, 2006 - 03:29 AM

Jacob
We're here! We're clear! We don't want anymore bears!
Thursday, October 19, 2006 - 06:58 AM

D'edward Deth
They should have shot the bear for its gall bladder and sold it to the Chinese, as is the style.
Monday, October 23, 2006 - 05:35 PM

nolan
Turns out they DID shoot the bear dead after it broke into two Japanese homes and attacked a police officer. As for the fate of its gall bladder, yeah, probably straight to Beijing.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006 - 07:59 AM

natalie
:(
Friday, October 27, 2006 - 11:22 PM

The Eternal Birthday Carousal

While our neighbors-to-the-north were fussing about with atomic nuclei, we were out on the town celebrating the blessed day of Northern-Irishman Mark’s creation. It was loads of fun (even in the foreshadow of wafting radioactivity).

Erin--the nice young lady who lives due north of me--and I made our way down to Kyoto Saturday afternoon, at which point we squandered a few hours spending money at the foreign foods store and the three-story Muji (kicky/geeky clothing store if you don’t know it).

Later we met up with the birthday-boy himself (Mark), and some of our favorite Shiga townsfolk, at Sanjo Bridge - the tried and tested rendezvous. (I still don’t have a cellphone, so I rely on the “spot” more than others.) We went to an izakaya for dinner (these are loungy places with overpriced, teensy orders of food). This particular izakaya was a self-proclaimed “sound bar,” which meant you could order specific selections of music with your food. I think someone ordered Waterfalls by TLC at some point, but it really wasn’t jump-starting the mood (I glimpsed Salt ‘n Peppa on the menu, and I kept my fingers crossed for What a Man).

At dinner I gave Mark his birthday present - a vegan Japanese cookbook I’d discovered earlier that day in a mobbed bookstore near Kyoto station (I picked up a second copy for myself). Mark’s also a vegetarian, which is nice. We shared some plates at the sound bar, although an order of croquettes turned out to be packed to the gunwales with--my favorite--ground beef. I had a few swallows before I even noticed (Mark feigned ignorance--a smart tactic in this country). He received other gifts: a nice bottle of wine from Erin, and I think a container of contacts solution from Stephen.


[ this is Mark, Erin, and Julie ]

After the bad izakaya food, we went to the convenience store, at which point Stephen and I shared a bottle of wine while we accrued a few other members to our gaggle (namely Katie and Salem - a delightful couple from Georgia, who told us stories about dodging regional trains in the mountains outside Kyoto).

Then--suddenly yet predictably--we ended up at a karaoke bar, toting bags of grog from the kombini, where we remained for just over an hour (thank god), singing an assortment of horse-and-buggy ballads (e.g. Billy Joel’s We Didn’t Start the Fire). Unfortunately there was only one Meatloaf song in the entire catalog, and it wasn’t I Would Do Anything For Love. What rot.


[ me, Katie, Salem, Erin, and Stephen in room A ]


[ me, Katie, Salem, Stephen, and Mark in room A ]


[ me, straight-up refusing to sing this Shania Twain song ]


[ Julie annnd I-wanna-say “Curtis” (?) in room B ]

Karaoke was fun and stupid par usual, but we soon skedaddled, making a beeline for this little fifth-floor bar Mark had been going on and on about since he discovered the place one week earlier. Truth be told, I can’t fathom how we nosed out the joint because we had had a lot to drink (in spite of the half bottle of wine Stephen sloshed all over the floor of karaoke room A).

This bar that Mark had been hyping for days was a peewee hallway of a place (which made it ideal because we were able to take it over completely). When we arrived there were two or three people sitting at the bar, and they all wished Mark a bellowing happy birthday--turns out they’d been expecting him. Later, more Kyoto dwellers showed up with gifts for Mark! It was totally captivating to be received so warmly in what was essentially a small pigeonhole in Kyoto’s forest of urban muddle and cultural remains.


[ Mark and the bartenders, seized in a flutter of bullshit light ]

We basically spent the rest of the night in this place, playing Jenga with the bartenders and swallowing down shots of tequila each time the tower buckled (until--serves us right--we started buckling ourselves). We began taking frequent naps--we couldn’t simply go home because we’d missed the last train out of Kyoto--and lurching out into the streets occasionally to buy a rice ball from the kombini. We stayed there--pulling a Jenga block here and there--until well after 5 AM.





[ birthday party becomes slumber party (snap!) ]

At around 5 AM we knew we’d be able to catch an early-morning train back to Tehara, where Mark lives, about twenty-five minutes away. So we left the cozy Jenga bar, repeated a hundred goodbyes to the same five people, and journeyed toward the subway. On the way we encountered Carlos and Jesus, two men from Mexico whom were working in Hikone at the tire factory. They were friendly and we stopped to speak a few words in Spanish with them (Mark knew way more than I did). Eventually they got a little too friendly and started sweet-talking Keira, and since she wasn’t into it we moseyed on. (This is Keira on the left. She’s from Ireland, but not Northern Ireland where Mark’s from: Totally different country, he declares--again and again.)

We kept walking and ended up passing a puri kura stand (I have no idea to spell it)--essentially a Japanized photo booth. It factors glitz and glamor into the oh-so-dull passport-style head shot. Of course we had to stop (because Erin’s a total freak for these photos). I don’t know what happened to the photos we took inside the booth, but here are some we made outside of it....


[ I don’t remember the context behind this one.
We’ll call it, The Chase ]


[ Urban Camping ]



[ Time to Go Home ]

Enough said.



1 Comment for this Entry

Ryan

this sounds like it was well worth the hangover that undoubtedly followed it. i can't wait to visit you, i'm going to start looking into airfare this month!!!
Thursday, October 12, 2006 - 11:05 PM

Biwa Coup D’etat by Bicycle

This past weekend a group of us rugged language instructors set out on a 100-mile cycle trip around the largest lake in Japan, the abominable Lake Biwa. Just picture Lake Michigan. Now size it down tremendously and slap a bike path around it.... There you go.


We embarked from my locale, Nagahama, at 7:30 a.m. on Saturday, and from there we pedaled half the trip (about 50 miles) to a quirky traveler's inn, right on the lake, in a town called Omi Maiko. The downstairs lobby of the inn was some kind of folk cafe and was littered with Dylan and Tom Waits CDs and a slew of weathered acoustic guitars that anyone could pick up and play. (When we arrived that evening they were hosting an open mike, and many locals were there drinking beer and singing familiar folk tunes. So nice. Oh, and I befriended a stout little beagle who was tied up outside.)

At that point, most of us were pretty roughed up from sitting on a bike seat for almost 8 hours straight, so we headed straight to the noodle shop and then onward to a nearby onsen (bath house). The baths were so hot I could only bear to soak in them for 10 or 15 minutes, but it definitely eased my sore-bum woes.

To our delight, we discovered a 7/11 on the way back to the inn, where we stopped to buy ice cream and wine (but none of that weird Japanese "red wine" that's really just grape juice mixed with rubbing alcohol). The evening ended perfectly, drinking and eating on the beach with my newfound friends, and then afterward getting one of the best night's sleep of my life.

Most of us were up around 6 the next morning, and although the previous day had been sunny and practically cloudless, Sunday was looking pretty bleak. The sky was completely shrouded by grey clouds, allowing the sun to rise unnoticed.

We didn't get back on the road until 9, just as the rain started to fall. And even now (Monday morning) the rain hasn't ceased falling. So we cranked the rest of the way home cold and wet (my periwinkle-blue rain poncho worked for no longer than an hour), plowing our sluggish way into Nagahama by 4:30. That second day was so grueling that any of the more detailed memories I might have retained were probably lost (with a slew of my brain cells) during last night’s marathon bath.

Today I'm plagued by a pretty wretched cold, but I didn't fall into the lake or get hit by a truck - so I'm grateful for that. I just have to get through two more classes, then I'm home free.

‘Sports Day’ at Noukou almost killed me.

Each year, schools across the land count the days in anticipation of ‘Sports Day’: a whole day without mathematics class or English lessons - just playing games in the dirt. All day long. Kind of like a lot of us did in elementary school - except here, in Japan, they ride that wave till the triumphant end.

The festival was commenced by a procession (of course), which entailed the 400 high-schoolers parading around the dust track, wielding their handmade flags and shouting obscenities at each other. (These are the agricultural students, mind you: They’re much too cool for Sports Day.) Below are some of my students. Miki (miss double peace-signs in the middle) is awesome - she takes English-conversation lessons in the evenings and can speak very well. The other girls are absolutely insane. Most times I’m hiding from them.


After the procession (which was accompanied by the tinniest-sounding marching-band music leaked from a squawk box), the teachers actually judged which class had constructed the best flag.


Then the games began (for real this time). The kids ran 50m and 100m races, and they were real fast. Some of the students ran barefoot (you could tell they meant business), and they destroyed the other kids. It was quite the spectacle. The picture on the left is pretty crappy, but it shows some of the scenery around Noukou, which is really beautiful: A ring of thick, green mountains crowds the school grounds. Supposedly, it’s difficult to find mountains in Japan that haven’t been clear-cut for timber - so I feel pretty fortunate to be living somewhat among them.

A real man’s sporting event came next: Tug of War. But before that got underway, the students killed some time passing around my sunglasses and pretending to be fashion models (this went on all day long). For some reason, the Japanese rarely (if ever) wear sunglasses. I’ve heard a couple theories on this. One goes: “The Japanese believe it’s disrespectful for one to hide his or her eyes.” And another: “Biologically, their eyes are better ‘equipped’ to handle the bright sun.” I’m not sure which (if either) are on the mark, but you’d think they’d never seen such eyewear the way they were fawning over my two-dollar “shades.”

Finally, the tugging began. I think the students were competing between grades and “homerooms,” and they were a little volatile about the whole thing. Even the teachers were getting all red-in-the-face over the game.

Then came the tattooing event (my personal favorite), where students drew naked men with boners on their arms and legs.

After lunch there was an 8-team, 10-person relay race (quite the ordeal), and I was coerced into the position of runner #7 on the teachers’ team. Along with the students, the teachers at Noukou are ripped. For some strange reason, they’re all (practically) ex-olympic athletes - so this was some serious shit. Three laps into the race, when the baton was finally passed on to me, I suddenly realized I didn’t know how to run anymore - I completely BIT IT rounding the first curve. Skidding sideways across the dust-track I was luckily able to take down a few of the kids running alongside me, which helped my placement in the end. I think the teachers’ team came in 6th out of the 8 (not too bad), and I cycled home reeling and sore with a dirt-encrusted track burn.

2 Comments

japanezee b
Sugoii!! Where's the picture of your boner-sporting tanuki?
Tuesday, October 3, 2006 - 07:02 PM

japanezee b
tanuki tattoo, I mean. Jeez. Maybe I should quit drinking my shochu straight out of the bottle.
Tuesday, October 3, 2006 - 07:04 PM

Kansai Mosey with Abby Augusta

Respect for the Aged weekend brought Abby down from faraway Nagano (famed for its mountains, snow monkeys, onsens: the “roof of Japan,” says the travel guide). We spent three days ambling between Kyoto and Nara, and although just a few hours southwest of us a pretty hairy typhoon was rattling the folks on the Kyushu island, the weather in the Kansai region was just right. In Kyoto, we stayed in a kinda touch-and-go hostel dubbed the White House, which was rigged out with a beer vending machine, community bathing, and a coin-operated television. Not too shabby really (I mean, we didn’t get bedbugs or anything). Plus it was only a 30-second totter from Kyoto station. I didn’t snap any photos of the White House, but imagine a dingy ashen hovel takin’ a load off in an alley that smells like trash--and there it is, plain as day. (The inside was nice, though, really!)

When we got to Kyoto on Saturday, we stashed our bags at the hostel and took off on foot. Luckily for me, Abby is some kind of ace navigator (a helmswoman in a previous life), so meandering through Kyoto ended up being an ironically productive approach to viewing the city. We headed eastward to Higashiyama first, which is a massive
park strewn with temples, shrines--oh, and grave sites too. We circulated through the sweeping cemetery, which seemed never-ending (we eventually sat down in front of a heap of stones to eat the snacks we’d brought along. The graves were framed by green, billowing mountains, and there were a few tykes chasing each other through the aisles). Later we came upon an area called Kiyomizu, a district of towering pagodas
and ancient shrines. Tourists were aplenty here, all with cellphone-cameras absently raised to capture the perfect memory--all on a screen the size of a credit card. I’d never been to this part of Kyoto, but it was surely the bee’s knees of Kyoto’s historical quarters, plus Abby and I hit the nail on the knuckle because we arrived in Kyomizu just in time for the dragon procession, led by Buddhist monks (apparently only once a year).

This was probably the most beguiling way to start off our weekend in Kyoto: The city was lively and full of movement, it wasn’t typhooning, and it was a perfect 75 degrees outside--not 97 and humid as it had been the past few weeks. So we pressed onward into a narrow thoroughfare of shops leading to the next place of marvel. To our surprise, we hadn’t seen the last of the rogue dragon: He came snaking down the thoroughfare through the throng of tourists, jutting in and out of shops, then whipping back down the path. (We were eating green-tea ice cream cones when the dragon hurtled over our heads.)

Afterward, we found some quieter temples and kicked gravel in the shade for awhile.


Then we trekked another couple miles to the Heian Temple. It was huge, sandy, and a little oppressive.


From Heian, we were “walking with purpose” toward the Path of Philosophy, which we’d both wanted to see above anything else in Kyoto--so it was the day’s destination essentially. We ducked down a slender passageway as a shortcut to our target path. The gravel trail was knifed in its center by a slow-moving creek. On our left was a wall that retained the gardens of elaborate homes from our view. (outside the photo, to the left, a gardener diligently trims the tree above Abby’s head.) Soon after, we reached the Path of Philosophy. We were pretty spellbound with exhaustion at this point, but the path was an entrancing course of gravel and stone, flanked by a deeply furrowed stream (which would’ve been alarmingly easy to tumble into). Twilight was rooting in, so it was difficult to take many pictures (and y’all know how ill-mannered the camera flash can be), but the photo at the top of this entry was one we snapped by balancing my Canon on the stone railing of a bridge. The path is lingering in the background, and on the left is the stream. I’m actually tempted to omit this photo because it falls flat in comparison to the place (the fate of all photos--so sad). At this point, Abby and I have probably walked something like 5 miles, but I’d say we’re looking pretty gleeful--but that’s because we’re about to eat at Cafe Peace, which sported the best vegetarian food I’ve eaten in Japan yet. On the way to the restaurant we passed more interesting places. It was only early evening (6 or so?) but almost completely dark. After veering off Philosopher’s Path,
we came across this empty place. Completely silent, it had this lit from within quality--kind of a hypnotic place in general. Abby and I read some of the prayers that passersby had tacked on to the wall of the temple. Most of the prayers in English were more like wishes for happiness (may peace be bestowed upon you and other banalities.), and at that moment I had genuinely wanted to be able to read in another language--there was writing on the wall in Spanish, French, Japanese (of course) and on and on.

From there we made our way to the restaurant, which was located in the Kyoto
University area. Cafe Peace is the Kansai region’s most famous vegetarian/vegan restaurant, and it was (seriously) that good. We ate an amazing garbanzo-bean curry and some kind of soy cutlet dish. So satisfying; I’d been craving good veggie food for almost two months! And on top of all that ... Abby picked up the check.

The next night, after visiting Nara, we spent some time in the Gion district. Here it rained briefly, which made the cobbled streets glow under the lamps. We watched for awhile, crouched under our umbrellas, from the railing of a small bridge.

“Hallo, handsome boy.”

By the end of 6th period yesterday (the fourth class of my first day teaching), the students at the agricultural high school basically had me in a full nelson, topped off with a few English cuss words. But I think it went OK, overall. Really.

One seventeen-year-old "PUNK" said fuck you to me, his shirt tucked in, yet strangely buttoned only halfway up displaying a sad row of scantily skin-clad ribs. He kept reciting two phrases: (1) Sid Vicious, making the gesture of shooting heroin into his arm while saying the name (in case I needed the action to trigger my memory of the man) and (2) I drums, because he was a drummer, and he was in a band (with the other punk-ass kid across the room, whom played bass and had an affinity for Linkin Park, whom kept insisting I'd come from China, not Chicago. How clever.). When I questioned the drummer--his name's Yuta--about the other members of the Sex Pistols, I learned he didn't even know whom Johnny Rotten was! What a poseur, right? I mean, he'd probably just seen the film Sid and Nancy at his last slumber party and made a role model out of the half-fictional character. Geesh, OK. Enough slammin' the schoolboys. Clearly I've redeemed myself to, er, myself.

[side note: Only the boys were total jackasses (of course). Most of the girls seemed somewhat interested in learning English, and a few of them could actually speak pretty well. For instance, while most boys would draw pictures of their suicidal dreams on my ‘Nice to Meet You!’ handout, the girls would leave adorable messages like, You smile good.]

Noukou, this school where I teach Wednesdays, is an agricultural high school. Some of the students "choose" to attend Noukou because (A) they don't like studying or (B) they're legitimately interested in developing farming techniques. I'm convinced, however, that most of the students are stuck at Noukou because they were born into a community where academic knowledge is deemed useless (they're farmers, so they've gotta point), and therein lies the (Sid) vicious cycle. They didn't do well enough at their substandard middle school, thus they didn't make the grades to get into an academic high school. Not too far off, really, from the state of public education in North America. But, here, the students seem to settle for it, and it becomes understood that nothing much is expected of them. (OH, and on top of all that, high school is optional in Japan.)

I taught my first classes at the academic high school (Kita Kou) today. Biiiiiig WHOOP compared to teaching at Noukou, so I should be happy to have entered the teaching world under some of the worst possible conditions. Today's classes were actually pleasant: I got to teach in my socks (because not one of the school's many pairs of slippers fit my feet), the kids listened, the girls didn't tell me my dog Bubba was ugly, and they actually answered my questions rather than straight-ironing their hair at their desks (one boy at Noukou actually did that yesterday!). So far, I have two favorite students. One is a girl named Shimuri, who also has two cats and a dog named Sukoto. The other is a boy (whose name I don't remember) whose "worst memory of summer vacation" is getting hit by a car. (He’s fine, he didn’t even break anything.)




4 Comments Manage Comments for this Entry

e.t.
i am exhausted just by reading this! the difference between the "boys and girls" seems typical, yet some how more severe and bizarre at the same time. i can't even look teenagers in the eyes here, let alone ones who don't speak my language and sware at me. you're my hero.

ps- joanna's new album makes me weep. truly. (i managed to download it all, though i will certainly buy it- i was just antsy after reading the complicated measures taken to create those arrangements and what not) anywho, i can't listen to it once with out feeling as though my stomach is wrenching itself into knots. she is the best story teller. don't you think?
Friday, September 8, 2006 - 03:11 PM

D.C
I'd like to see the sucidal dreams version of the "nice to meet you" .. sounds interesting.
Thursday, September 14, 2006 - 03:16 AM

Johnny
I'm with D.C. Man, aren't the boys over there dicks? At school they would always get pissed when the girls would swarm us and in one particular instance, a boy actually whipped out his penis in the middle of the hallway for some strange reason, to prove his manhood I presume!? His actions went unpunished even though the principal of the school was right there when it happened, he just giggled nervously and grabbed the kid by his arm and told him to get lost essentially! Strange.
Thursday, September 14, 2006 - 04:56 AM

japanezee b
Could you ask the kid with the straight iron if he would lend it to me?
Tuesday, October 3, 2006 - 06:52 PM