2:23 p.m.
I admit that I have become very good at looking busy and keeping myself busy when in actuality I have absolutely nothing to do. My newfound talent, or skill if you will, has come in handy almost every single day I work.

2:24 p.m.
However, today is an exception. I am bored out of my mind (like many days) but I cannot keep myself entertained or looking busy. I wish I would have brought more things to work - a newspaper, my journal, a book. I am sure it is because when I am done work Jon and I are off to Bali. Well, we have a couple of hours to kill but I am sure we will have no problem finding things to fill our time at home. I keep looking at the clock which is definitely not helping. It is right in my line of vision too. Maybe I should just take 3 more hours of my holiday time. Or, should I just stick it out?

2:26 p.m.
Do you see the difficult decisions I am forced to make each day?!?

We leave tonight for Bali. First, it's a short train ride to Kochi City, then the overnight bus, then a six hour flight. We're going to be sleepy.

I can't wait for tomorrow, when I dig into my first dish of sweet and spicy fish and rice. Mmmm! I love south east asian food. I've never tried Indonesion or Balinese food, so I'm wondering if its different from Thai or Vietnamese food?

When we arrive its going to be about 31 degrees and humid. There are supposed to be scattered thunder showers for the duration of our trip. No problem, though, because we're going to be underwater most of the time.

The first thing we need to do is find a hotel. We're going to Kuta for that, which is Bali's most touristy place. Apparently there are a lot of shady characters there, but also cheap accomodation and travel agencies. It will be a good base for the first day or two, while we arrange our scuba diving.

I'm getting excited!

To prove it, here's the dialogue from Week 1, Book 5 of the JET Programme Japanese Language Course:

Department Manager: This ball-point pen is pretty easy to use, isn't it?
Alison: That's right. It's really easy to write with. The price is quite cheap, too.
Department Manger: Is that right? How much?
Alison: 50 yen.
Department Manger: Really? That's fairly cheap. I want one, too.
Alison: You can have one if you'd like.
Deparment Manager: Really? Thanks!
Alison: Bucho, there is something I want, too...
Department Manager: What is it? Tell me anything.
Alison: Well, I want a one-month vacation.
Department Manager: What!?

Unfortunately the dialogue - which, you'll notice, strikes the perfect balance between practical information and pure entertainment - leaves off there. We'll never know if Alison got her vacation. Probably there was a lot of bowing and "I'm sorry" before bucho finally said "No way, Jose. The best I can do is two days, starting Saturday."

But take pleasure in the the good fortunes of the department manager, who is, at this very moment, doing back flips over his new, easy-to-use ball point pen. I could really sense his excitement. For a moment, I thought he was finally going to open his heart to Alison, invite her over for dinner or something. A takoyaki party with the family, maybe a little sake.

She blew it though, by asking for that vacation. She should have been more diplomatic. Hinted that she was lonely and homesick, that she sure could use some time off to visit with friends and family. Doesn't she know anything yet? It's been seven months for goodness sake! She'll do better next time. We always learn from our mistakes, right?

Anyway, I'm going for lunch. After that, it's more mental preparation for the tail end of this 24 hour day. See you in Bali!

Well, tomorrow is off to Bali. But first one more day of work. Aaarrrgghhh!!!

Right now Japan is at the end-of-the-year, start-of-the-year phase. Where ours in in autumn, theirs is in spring. Kinda wierd. Everyone gets a new job, or an exchange, plus spring cleaning and cherry blossom parties. It's a busy, exciting time.

Today was a gooder, especially for a boring old office day. First, I got to go with Hirose and Taka to find the centre line on a piece of property belonging to the school division. Which was cool, because I got to stand outside and listen to people I can't understand, rather than sit inside. After lunch Haruko came for another camera shoot. Her and I and Mr. Otter (so-called because he apparently resembles an otter, which Susaki is famous for considering the last one didn't go extinct right up until 1971, which is a good deal better than the Tokyo otters) visited a bunch of really old trees. The oldest dates about 2000 years and is the 9th biggest tree in Japan. I also saw the biggest such-and-such tree in Kochi. Wow! After that we drove to see a waterfall in Kamibun. It was nice, and so was my day. Good night.

This may not be appropriate for some eyes but I just have to mention it.

Today I went to the Elementary school graduation. It was a little boring and a little long so I started to flip through a book I had been given. The school had made it. There was a lot of Japanese writing in it along with a few pictures.

Flip flip flip. Oh, there I am with some of my kids. Cute.

Flip flip flip. Some kids cooking, some kids cleaning, and some posing.

Wait a second. What does that kid's shirt say? No, it can't be! Yep, it is. In a huge, clear font.

"I have a long one"

I couldn't help but laugh. In part because they have no clue what it says or means. Just that it is English and as such, it is cool and in style. A stylish 10 year old. Indeed. I also laughed because it is so outrageous. Imagine trying to wear something like that at home. You would be sent home and be asked to never wear that shirt again. Ever.

Hmmm...I wonder what those shirts (or tattoos) with kanji say. I will never look at foreign language shirts in the same way again!

This may seem strange, but Japanese people don't drink water. In the office where I work, there isn't a single fountain. At my base school, there is only one fountain for 200 kids. No one carries a Nalgene, and on a hot day no one sticks their head under the tap for a cool drink. A friend even told a story of a 20 mile hike where the kids weren't allowed to bring any water!

In Canada, I was bombarded by advertising and government messages to drink eight cups of water a day. Such a monumental (and ridiculous) task! Drink that much, and you spend most of the day taking a leak. Nonetheless, with a water fountain or water cooler in every hallway, a drink was never far away. At high school there was a water fountain in the main entrance way and only a few steps from all the side entrances. The first thing I did when I got to school every morning was to have a drink of water. Walking to class I'd have another, during gym 10 or 15.

Here, it's normal for me to go the entire day without any water. Coffee and tea is what I drink most of the day, neither of which is very healthy or thirst quenching. But it's easier to get, and thus easier to drink. Coffee is available at the coffee pot, as is green tea. In fact, green tea is available everywhere, especially vending machines, of which there are millions. Every gas station, library, supermarket, resturaunt and public square has its vending machine. There are even rest stops with nothing but vening machines, shops with vending machines rather than isles and a clerk. With so many vending machines, who needs a water fountain? And why drink water, when, at 120 yen for a little bottle, its more expensive than Coke or Aquarius, at 150 yen for a big bottle?

Well, obviously water is better for me. Many days, when the only thing I've had to drink is coffee and tea, my legs cramp and my belly feels like Lake Superior. I get headaches. So, on the train home I vow to drink some water, but invariably ending up buying an Aquarius, because its a better deal. But its loaded with sugar, which does nothing for my headache, and rots my teeth on top.

What I don't understand is why the Japanese don't appear to be affected by similar symptoms. Perhaps because they drink tea from birth, it doesn't do a number on their stomache? Whatever the reason, they don't seem to drink water like we do. One reason, I suppose, why nobody even knows what a Nalgene is.

here is an interesting article about the Japanese writing system. It brings up the point that in Japanese all foreign words and names are written with a separate writing system which instantly declares the thing or person as non-Japanese.

No news really, so I'll do some philosophising.

Driving into Kochi City yesterday, I was thinking about how Japan is so hard on the brain. Every day something happens that would, if I were at home, drive me to insanity. The tree for example. If that had happened on the boulevard in front of Nancy's old place, there would have been protest. People would have wanted to know, "What in the hell?" The City would have been held accountable for the use of taxpayer dollars, someone would have phoned the Star Phoenix who would have put the tree on the front page with a headline embarrasing to the City. The City would have issued an apology, the person responsible would have been held accountable. In other words a big stinky stink would have been raised. But here? "Oh, well so-and-so likes chopping down trees, and he had nothing else to do, so we sent him out with the chainsaw." Case closed.

Or, I might illustrate Japanese rural landuse planning. First, let's start with the pachinko parlor, ususally two storis of blazing neon and flourescent light. Next to the pachinko parking lot, a rusted metal shack. Next, a ten-story apartment block. Next, a rice patty. Next, a mountain. Next, three beautiful Japanese homes, untreated wood bleached from the rain, tiles glinting in the sun. Another pachinko parlour. A gigantic shoe store. A shinto shrine. Another metal shack. A Wal-Mart (here, Fuji Grand). A rice paddy. It's as if someone rolls a dice out onto a map. Roll a six, up goes a pachinko parlour, roll a one and in goes a rice paddy. The randomness is hard on the brain.

So, anyway, I was thinking about how it's hard on the brain here. Which got me thinking about other places I've visited. New York, although crowded, loud, noisy and smelly, was energetic. It wasn't nearly as draining as a trip into Kochi City is. Same thing for London, which was way more chilled out than Manhattan. Vancouver comes close, if only because of the stark contrast of East Hastings to the rest of the city, sparkling and bright one block over. That contrast was hard on the brain, but nothing compared to Kochi City. Then it dawned on me, that the only time I felt so flabergasted was trying to figure out the trains in Frankfurt. I was in Germany figuring that my one year of university German would be enough. Then I realized I didn't understand any German, and my brain went "Aaaachhhh! I hate this stupid place!"

It's my lack of language that's hard on the brain. Never knowing what people are talking about, or why they're all running around all of a sudden. Of course there's no explaining our poor tree, or rurual planning, but there is some explaining a lot of other things. The hampster, for example. The one with his head stuck in a hole three sizes too small, with the colour commentators laughing it up. Certainly if I understood the language that would make perfect sense.

So anyway, my philosophising on the drive to Kochi City made me feel better. I realized that Japan makes sense, I just can't figure it out. Yet.

okay. i found the culprit. he works at my office. i hope he feels bad. i asked why he cut the tree and he said "it needed to be cut".

WHY?

"well, the branches were very long"

YES, but now there are no branches.

"well, there were many leaves. If I did not cut the branches, the leaves would have fallen on the veranda."

YES, but it was my house and I don't mind. I like leaves. Besides, all the leaves already fell off.

"well, truthfully, i like to cut trees"

HMMM, now it is very ugly. When i saw it, i was shocked and really sad. Next time, please don't cut it.

"well, it will grow back"

BUT not for a long time. So for the rest of my stay in Japan I will be sad everytime I look at that tree. I hate that it was cut. He could have trimmed it a little if it was a real issue - which it wasn't. Instead he went saw happy. Any suggestion for what I can do?

I love trees. Who wouldn't, right? They give us oxygen to breath. They provide shade. But mostly, they just look nice. There is this huge beautiful tree right beside my apartment. I really like it. In the fall I watched the leaves change to all sorts of colors. This winter I watched it's little colored leaves fall off a few at a time. In fact, up until two weeks ago, 2 leaves managed to hang on. Everytime I park my car or my bike I look at the tree and smile.

Well, actually there WAS this huge beautiful tree right beside my apartment. Someone, who I assume works for the town, came to my apartment while I was at work yesterday and pruned it up. Well, actually they massacred it. It used to have long branches. They cut them all off about 1 foot from the trunk. I am sure you can't even imagine how it looks. I can sum it up for you in a work. Hideous. I almost cried when I saw it. I am almost crying just thinking about it.

Why? What purpose did that serve? I guess, no need for trees when we have concrete. Why have any green when there is grey? Afterall, grey is much more attractive and less depressing than green, or any color for that matter.

This country is ugly and it just keeps getting uglier. I am glad I am only visiting.

Speaking of people telling me things (refer to Jon's Tuesday March 9th blog)....

Today at lunch time I noticed the normal panic to get the food from the kitchen into the teacher's room did not nor was not occuring. Hmmmm, strange. Then at all once almost all 30 or more teachers got up and left. I was sitting there alone. Apparently today there was no school lunch and most teachers went to a restaurant. Thanks for telling me. Or inviting me. Jerks!

*Please note* I am slightly overexagerating. The teachers went for lunch in groups at separate times (they didn't all get up and walk out simulaneously - that's just how i felt). There were roughtly 2 or 3 teachers out of over 30 who were in the staff room. But no one ate lunch at school today except me. How rude!

Today I want to move out of this country.

Hopefully tomorrow I feel differently.

On Monday Haruko took me on another one of her interviews, this time to an art restorer. After we found parking, we walked down a narrow alley to the workshop. We found a husband and wife team waiting. They were soft-spoken, calm people, at work on a Japanese scroll when we walked in.

Haruko talked to them for a bit, translated for my benefit. The painting was about 150 years old. They had bleached the paper from a dull brown to a sparkling white, revealing incomprehensible calligraphy - perhaps there were experts in Kochi City who could read it - and a simple picture of Mt. Fuji and a snail. The painting was by a famous artist, and was worth maybe 10, 000, 000 yen, a lot of money.

I think they showed us the first stage of the mounting process. First, they sprayed the entire scroll with a fine mist of water. Then, they brushed the edges of the scroll with handmade glue - they are, apparently, one of a handful of restorers using old fashioned, natural products for their work. The glue itself took ten years to make - don't ask me why - and could only be produced with water collected on the coldest day of the year. I'm sure some of the details were lost in translation. They laid thick paper along the edges of the silk scroll, before brushing thick sheets of paper with more glue, which were layed down across the length and breadth of the scroll - to reinforce it I think. Then, they hung it up to dry, which takes about a month.

The process involved a lot of brushes and banging about. Still, it was careful work; even the thick paper was fragile. They said they could only do the work if they were in good spirit, as the final product was affected by their mood. They never worked if they were fighting.

Afterward, the wife brought Haruko and I a cup of coffee sweetened with honey. I asked if they had any paintings of their own, at which point they brought out a scroll, maybe 150 years old, by Kawada Shoryo, a famous Kochi-ken painter and friend of John Manjiro, the man who 'discovered' Japan, just prior to Commodore Perry. They said they found it at a garage sale, recognized it as an original and rare Kawada Shoryo, and bought it. Most likely the painting is priceless. They said a lot of people - most, in fact - buy painting that are, in fact, fake. They never tell customers that, though, or they wouldn't have many customers.

Soon enough it was time for us to get going. There was a lot of bowing and a chorus of thank-you's, and then I was back in the boring old office.

Finals time, so no classes this week. I wish people would tell me these things! Most of the teachers are on holiday, and the ones who are here are eating chocolate and reading books. Since I have neither chocolate nor a good book, I’ve mostly been staring out the window. One of the teacher’s did bring me some chocolate, though, so that was nice. Other than that, I spent about 45 minutes checking out this hawk hovering over the valley. The wind must come whipping through from Kamibun, so the hawk can really just chill out up there. I wish I was a hawk. Then I wouldn’t have to work. But I’d probably have to eat raw mice and things, so that wouldn’t be so good either. The other thing that I got to look at was the mountain. Mostly it’s green, just like it was last time I looked at it. Some things never change.

There's these things called buntan. Bulbous yellow blobs, way up in the mountain orchards. Funny thing, though. They didn't show up there until winter started, hung there unattended all through the coldest months of the year. About three weeks ago, I got one from Taka-san. It's a type of grapefruit, except way meatier and way delicious-er. The peel is about as thick as my thumb, and spongy. Protects it from frost, I imagine. Inside, the fruit is yellow, covered in a tough skin, need a knife or your nail to pop it open. Once inside, you turn the skin inside out, like you might with a mango, and chow down. It's delicious. We went through about ten last week. Now, we buy them from the little wooden fruit stands in front of people's yards. Pull over, drop hyaku-en into the piggy bank, walk away the happy owner of three brand-spanking buntans.

Goodbye Godzilla.

I'm going to miss okonomiyaki, especially the ichiban oishii stuff at the local joint, just down the street, near the overpass. That was the first restaurant Nancy and I successfully negotiated on our own, and we haven't turned back. Seems like we eat there every week.

Okonimiyaki means cook what you like, so Nancy always gets the corn to chizu (corn and cheeze) and I always get the mikisu (bacon, squid and shrimp). On our first trip the owner helped by mixing the batter and pouring it onto the kotatsu, a table-slash-grill-slash-plate. She showed us how to flip it - okonomiyaki is like a pancake mixed with a pizza, if that makes sense, and takes a few tries to flip properly - how long to cook it for, how to check to see if it's done and how much sauce to add. Nancy likes a lot of mayonaise, I like a lot of katsuobushi and seaweed. While we're waiting for it to cook, I eat a couple sticks of oden - egg, tofu and beef cooked four days slow in fish broth. Then, when we're about half way through our okonomiyaki we order yasai yaki soba, or vegetable fried noodles. After that we're stuffed, so we sit around and digest for a while before heading home.

Mmmm, okonomiyaki.

Today I saw: dump truck drivers doing calisthenics and a lady with a parrot at the food court.

On an unrelated note, Koncho Boy didn't go to school yesterday.

I think I've mentioned the koncho once or twice or before. It's when students - usually the lower grades of elementary school, and almost always male - make a gun shape with their thumb and forefinger. They then proceed to shove their imaginary gun up where the sun don't shine. It's the Japanese equivalent of the wedgie, with one small difference: no one is exempt.

For whatever reason, I was in the classroom before the bell, the time when, free of teacher authority, the kids are doing their best zoo impersonation. Just like when I was in school. But instead of a wedgie - the worst one I remember being up over my head - I recieved the koncho of my life. It felt like someone shoved a beer bottle up there. Anyway, I grabbed the young offender by the hand and squeezed, hard. Told him that if he ever did that again I would break his hand, twisted for dramatic effect. He seemed to understand.

Nonetheless, I felt embarassed, violated even. Might have had something to do with the running-blood feeling I had coming from my bunghole. Embarassment gave way to anger. I figured the best thing was to wait it out, talk to Y.-sensei about the situation.

Over lunch, Y. told me that there was nothing that could be done. I explained about Canadian procedure as I remember it - pull the kid from the room, take him to the principal's office, call his parents, maybe kick him out of school for the day. But here, nothing. "Many kids are disrespectful and say violent words, but there is nothing we can do. We can get angry, but that's all." He told me that he had been koncho-ed once this year, by a girl! Other than yell, there was nothing he could do.

Since I'm unable to yell in Japanese, Y. offered to do it for me. He called the little bugger down from lunch, and I got my apolgy. The kid looked like he was going to puke from guilt. He knew he screwed up big-time, so I told him that this was the last time something like this would ever happen, and that it would never be OK, that no amount of apolgy would make it OK. He really meant his sorry, so we bowed, shook hands, and let bygones be bygones.

But my ass still hurts. My only hope is that there's one less koncho-er out there tomorrow.