Onegaishimasu

2005-07-18T14:41:00.000+09:00

Jon and Lucy at sayonara karaoke in Muroto.

2005-07-18T14:40:00.000+09:00

Nancy at sayonara karaoke in Muroto.

2005-07-18T14:32:00.000+09:00

That's it. That's all. We're outta here.

Spent the day packing in spite of the typhoon down south which means nice waves at all Kochi beaches.

Slowly but surely, our Japanese life is winding its way into boxes, which has been less sad than I thought it would be. Can't wait, really, knowing that our flight to Thailand leaves in 13 days...

Its been a good two years. Can't really sum it up, though. I ate a lot strange things, met a lot of great people and sang a lot of karaoke. What more can I say?

This is my last blogger post for a while. There might be updates from India, but its too early to tell. Until next time, stay fit and have fun.

Sayonara.

2005-07-13T22:16:00.001+09:00

Nancy on the train.

2005-07-13T22:16:00.000+09:00

Jon on the train.

2005-07-13T22:12:00.000+09:00

Last night the board of education threw me a going away party. It was an expensive affair. I know because the main dish was still wriggling. At one point it was even flailing. But mostly it was just wriggling.

After work we boarded a bus for the restaurant, which was in the neighbouring town of Usa. There was even a sign: WELCOME TO USA. Everyone laughed at that, as they must every time they visit Usa .

We arrived at the restaurant and piled out of the bus. Tanks of live fish, lobster, crab and oysters cluttered the entrance to the building. A puffer fish lazed near the water's surface, giant clams shuddered and snapped, the lobsters clambered over one another for a better view. It was more aquarium than eatery.

But what a spread! Jumbo sashimi platters, shrimp tempura, Chinese-style fried pork, yaki niku with all the dippings and chicken fried rice. The director made a speech and I made a speech and we all sat down and got busy: meat frying, clams snapping, people drinking, smiling and laughing.

A moment passed and the main attraction was set down in front of me. A giant lobster, still squirming, its tail sliced open to be eaten raw. The poor brute looked on in agony as people commented on the sweetness of the meat, the crispness, the freshness, the pure deliciousness, which is what it was.

2005-07-06T22:46:00.000+09:00

Used clothes shop in the Kureshiki shopping arcade.

2005-07-06T22:39:00.000+09:00

What follows is a list, by no means exhaustive, of questions I have been asked and have answered during the past two years of my life in Kochi, Japan.

Do you have rain in Canada? Do you drive on the left side of the road in Canada? Have you ever been to Hokkaido? Have you ever seen aurora (northern lights)? Can you see aurora every day in Canada? Where can you see aurora? Canada is very big, isn't it? Canada is very beautiful, isn't it? Do you have ninjas in Canada? There are many wild animals in Canada, aren't there? In Canada the wild animals are very dangerous, aren't they? Do you have lakes in Canada? In Halifax you can ski all year round, can't you? Do you know Mike in Edmonton? How old are you? How big is your penis? How old is Nancy? How many brothers do you have? How big is a moose? Have you ever seen a moose? Do you like miso ramen? How often do you eat udon? Who is stronger, Godzilla or Ms. Yano? What is your favourite colour? What is your favourite month? When were you born? When is your birthday? Would you like some coffee? How about some Japanese tea? Have you ever been to America? What countries have you visited? How old is your mother? How old is your father? What does your mother do? What does your father do? Do you like ice hockey? What is Canada's national sport? Why do people in Canada speak both French and English? Do you speak French? Do you speak Japanese? You can do anything, can't you? You speak Japanese well, don't you? You are very smart, aren't you? How long did it take you to learn Japanese? What does a buffalo smell like? Do you like coffee or tea? Do you play banana? Do you have mosquitoes in Canada? Do you have dragonflies in Canada ? In Canada there are no wasps, right? Do you eat bread every day? Did you come to work by helicopter? Do you fly to Japan every day? What is your shoe size? Why are your eyes blue? Why is your hair red? You can use chopsticks very well, can't you? You have curly hair, don't you? Do you eat maple syrup every day? Did you forget to shave? Are photocopiers the same in Canada as in Japan? Is rice the same in Canada as in Japan? Does water taste better in Canada or Japan? How big is Canada? Do you know how to use a Japanese fan? Do you like mochi? Can you eat unagi? What is your favourite sushi? Can you eat sashimi? What's that smell? How do you say nani nani in English? Why did you come to Japan? Which do you like better, Canada or Japan? What are you doing? Wanna arm wrestle?

2005-07-02T10:52:00.000+09:00

Say hello to Vineeth. He's standing in front of the grass gateway which was the center of the festival. Young people walk a figure eight through the gate in order to ward off bad luck and stuff like that. So now we should have good luck. Yippy!

2005-07-02T10:49:00.000+09:00

First you take a baby octopus (bottom). Add batter (top left). Fry into a ball shape (top left). Viola. Octopus balls.

2005-07-02T10:48:00.000+09:00

Goldfish for sale. The idea is to catch the goldfish with a paper net. You catch as many as you can before the net breaks and then the game is over.

2005-07-02T10:47:00.000+09:00

The alley leading to the shrine was absolutely packed.

2005-07-02T10:46:00.000+09:00

Entrance to the festival.

2005-07-02T10:45:00.000+09:00

Nancy, Marian, Chika, Sumie and Helen, otherwise known as The Resevior Girls.

2005-07-02T10:43:00.000+09:00

Sumie helping Marian with her yukata.

2005-07-02T10:35:00.000+09:00

The festival was at the biggest Shinto shrine in Kochi City. We took the tram from Rob and Marian’s house near Denki Dynamite and got off in front of the Mos Burger. From there we followed the crowds across the red bridge toward the temple.

The temple lay at the end of a small alley. Food stalls were set up along the length of the alley, selling everything from goldfish to fried octopus. There were even some Turks from Kobe selling kebabs. I ate one but it was mostly fat and not very good. The giant Japanese wiener, on the other hand, was delicious.

The heat inside the alley was almost unbearable. Fan as I might, I just couldn’t keep the sweat from dripping. At some points the crowd was so thick I couldn’t move at all. And this was just a small, everyday festival.

Once inside the temple grounds the atmosphere changed considerably. There was room to move and cool air to breath. Pine trees towered overhead and paper lanterns lit with candles gave the only light.

The festival basically involved walking in a figure eight pattern around some grass set up as a gateway. It was for good luck for couples. Nancy and I held hands as we walked the figure eight, then went and got some shaved ice to help cool down.

After that we hit the road. Said goodbye to our last Japanese festival for a long time.

2005-06-30T22:58:00.000+09:00

The other day Nancy used her birthday money to buy a yukata. Tonite we headed into the city for a matsuri at one of the local shrines. More pictures and a story tomorrow. Promise.

2005-06-30T22:56:00.001+09:00

What the hell?

2005-06-30T22:56:00.000+09:00

On the train into town, Rob decided to take some pictures of the girls.

2005-06-30T22:55:00.000+09:00

That's it, work it girls.

2005-06-30T22:54:00.000+09:00

Nancy and Helen in their new yukata.

2005-06-20T20:59:00.000+09:00

Torii gates somewhere near the top of Ishizuchi-san, Ehime-ken.

2005-06-20T20:57:00.000+09:00

On Friday, we had our first ever Japanese home stay. With total strangers. Which is sort of the point of a home stay, I suppose. Only we didn't meet our strangers through Oxfam or something like that. We met them at the bar.

The initial plan was for camping and a barbeque somewhere near Kuma. But when we got there, in the mountains about an hour from Sakawa, it was sort of drizzling, and we couldn't really find anywhere to camp and didn't feel like cooking in the rain. So we went to an izakaya for some food and to figure out a plan.

For those who don't know, an izakaya is the equivalent of an English pub, what most Canucks call a bar. It's almost always the kind of place where everybody knows your name. Of course when we head into an izakaya nobody knows our name. But everybody wants to. So they buy us drinks. Lots of drinks. Of course, this happened Friday.

Our hosts were Kenichi and his wife Tomeki. At first we told them we were driving and couldn't drink. So they bought us a small drink, to which we toasted. After some initial small talk – Kenichi is the deputy mayor, works at the golf course on weekends and his wife volunteers at the local temple – they discovered we planned on camping. "Are you kidding? Its raining and where are you going to camp anyway? You're staying at our house." I swear this is what he said. How could we argue?

We ate and drank, talked about declining birthrates and multiculturalism. Around nine we headed to the local snack bar, where Kenichi had a bottle of whiskey. Once again, for those who don't know, at snack bars customers usually pay by the bottle. The snack bar owner writes the customer's name on the bottle, and the customer drinks from his bottle until there's no more left. Makes sense, doesn't it?

Aside from whiskey bottles with peoples names scrawled on them, the snack bar owner had a karaoke machine. Luckily for us, the karaoke machine had English songs. First we sang the Beatles, then John Lennon and finally Paul McCartney. After that it was all enka, the equivalent of Anne Murray on valium.

Then the Hawaiian party came in. They weren't really Hawaiian, mind you, but they had grass skirts and flowery necklaces and stuff. So Nancy sang Kokomo by the Beach Boys and I sang Don't Worry, Be Happy by Bobby McFerrin. And we did Hawaiian dances at the Japanese snack bar with our home stay parents until midnight. At which point it was bedtime.

Did I mention they were retired? That everyone was retired?

At the house – which was positively saturated with mothballs and dust – Kenichi showed us family pictures from the time in Canada. We ate cheese and chocolate and had a nightcap. In the morning we ate a huge Japanese style breakfast – rice, miso soup, broiled fish, fried eggs, and pickles – and headed on our way. What a nice home stay that was.

2005-06-15T22:04:00.000+09:00

Nancy and priest.

2005-06-15T22:03:00.000+09:00

Three islands.

2005-06-15T22:02:00.000+09:00

Three statues.

2005-06-15T21:59:00.000+09:00

Who ever said I was trying to be attractive?

Tonight I ate a fish heart. Not like the heart of perch or even a jack. Rather, the heart of a katsuo. Which is to say the heart of an 18 pound bonito. Which isn't so special, now that I think of it. Sort of like chowing down on bull testicles. Mmm... bull testicles.

Anyway, tonight's fish heart was cut into four, each piece about the size of a loonie. I tore mine in half and popped it into my mouth. Of course it tasted like fish, but with the consitency of chicken liver. Mmm... chicken liver. I almost barfed.

Oh, the funny things I'll eat.

2005-06-02T23:22:00.000+09:00

Farm woman planting this seasons rice.

2005-06-02T23:19:00.000+09:00

Looks like the rains have started. From my office window the water is a steady stream. Now, the water pouring forth from the sky is cooling, life-giving. Biking to school this morning I saw the happy wet birds flit and sing from half-drowned worm to babbling brook. Like the water-leaden bamboo, I can breathe again.

It will rain like this – or should, anyway – for the next three weeks. The rice paddies will fill to bursting with fresh, clear water. When the rice seedlings rice from the murk, the green is enough for a thousand prairie lifetimes, near tropical in intensity, more-so even, for it is shorter lived.

The frog chorus outside my bedroom window will turn baritone. City friends will claim fright at the cacophony emitted from the fields behind my house. What they are used to is the vacuum left by cars roaring past in the night.

As the rains progress, the heat will rise. Shortly it will be unbearable. Appetites will be lost and replaced with sloth. Air-conditioning and its false promises simply won't do. The only respite will be in the clear running rivers, pregnant with the seasons' rain. Surrounded by the immature shades of early summer and the fluorescent swim trunks of children playing hooky, I will drift downstream toward the Pacific and wonder why it is I'm leaving this place.

2005-06-01T22:47:00.000+09:00

"You are just too kind!" was all Joanna could say when she got this kimono as a welcome to Japan gift.

2005-06-01T22:46:00.000+09:00

She got help in wearing the kimono from Hirose-san and Ozaki-sensei, both of whom really are too kind.

2005-06-01T22:44:00.000+09:00

Ozaki-sensei, Joanna and Hirose-san trying on kimono.

2005-06-01T22:41:00.000+09:00

Just over two months and I'm leaving Japan. Hard to imagine I've been gone for almost two years. I'm writing in my journal again, so that years from now I might remember the day-to-day. Like mom said, I probably don't realize how different this is from Canada. Certainly, I never had to pull a set of six year old fingers from out my bunghole before. Probably wouldn't have even imagined it.

Been spending a lot of time thinking about accomplishment and change and what I want to be when I grow up. About how I came here not knowing much of anything and now… well, I still don't know much of anything. About what I'm going to do when I leave this place and what it might be like when I finally land on Canadian soil.

The plan is looking more and more like an extended vacation. My employer has agreed to give me some cash instead of a return flight home. I'll have to use that money for a flight at some point, but first is the ferry to Shanghai. Then a really long train ride. Or something like that. Not much of a plan, really. I can hardly wait.

For now, though, there's English that needs teaching – apples and soccer, as I like to think of it. There's goodbye parties that need attending and boxes that need packing, sushi that needs eating and friends that need visiting. It isn't goodbye yet. There's still two more months.

2005-05-30T16:52:00.000+09:00

Young Maiko on streets of Gion, Kyoto.

2005-05-30T16:51:00.000+09:00

Miyako Odori, Kyoto.

2005-05-30T16:50:00.000+09:00

Miyako Odori.

2005-05-30T16:49:00.000+09:00

Miyako Odori, Kyoto.

2005-05-30T16:47:00.000+09:00

Maiko at Miyako Odori.

2005-05-30T16:32:00.000+09:00

Since I have came to Japan and read "Memoirs of a Geisha" by Arthur Golden, I have been trying to get a good picture of one in the flesh - or more like in the porcelein. They walk so poised and fast. I have seen geisha (or maiko) on 4 different occasions but have never been able to take a very good picture. This May my day came not only because I finally got a good picture but also because we (Joanna, Jon, and I) were able to watch the very famous geisha (or maiko) cherry blossom dance called Miyako Odori.

2005-05-23T19:45:00.001+09:00

Joanna with the regular members of our madal class.

2005-05-23T19:45:00.000+09:00

Shigeru-san teaching the members of N'Dhana to play the madal.

2005-05-23T19:43:00.000+09:00

Nancy and N'Dhana at madal class.

2005-05-23T19:37:00.000+09:00

Learned today that I didn't win the 13th Annual Jet Programme Essay Competition. Here, then, is my losing essay.

A Song and a Smile

*****
The night before my JET interview six centimeters of snow fell and with it the temperature – minus 35 degrees Celsius the morning I left my aunt's acreage, forty minutes from the interview site in downtown Edmonton. Backing out of her long country driveway, I managed to bury my car in a snow bank. My girlfriend Nancy, who also had an interview that day, took the wheel while I pushed. The car wouldn't budge. Frantic, we flagged down an elderly couple who happened by on their way to the church bake sale. They dropped us at the nearest gas station where we called a tow-truck who pulled us back onto the road. Somewhere between driving into the ditch and being hauled out, though, our vehicle's heater took a vacation. On the highway, my toes were the first to go numb. Walking into the interview, I feared my legs would have to be amputated. One of my interviewers promptly nicknamed me the Popsicle. Then he asked if I knew the words to "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" and would I mind singing a few bars?

I remember thinking, as I broke into song, "What a strange thing to be doing for a job." But then JET isn't so much a job as a life choice, a radical departure from what came before and what becomes possible after. For me, it meant diving headfirst into a great unknown: a language I didn't speak, food I'd never eaten, people I'd never met and music I'd never heard. I boarded the plane for Tokyo with only a vague notion of why. I knew that it had to do with teaching English, although I'd heard rumors that something called 'internationalization' was of equal importance. But who ever heard of that? And what did it have to do with "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star"?

*****
After only a short while in Japan, I started to notice music everywhere. Of course, there was karaoke at every opportunity. But it went deeper than that. I learned that the blind roar coming from the mountains was actually cicada chirp. After work, I studied Japanese to the random tooting of the school brass band. I took notice of supermarket jingles and began humming the meat ditty and the mushroom song during school cleaning time. At undokai, I was baffled by both "Rajio Taiso" and the warm-up for which it was designed. As nights became cooler and quieter, I woke for the first time to the forlorn and desperate whine of the ramen truck. Later, I followed with amazement the low, guttural chants which would, on occasion, drift from beyond closed temple doors. I was romanced by the thunderous boom of the taiko drum, the soft shrill of the shamisen. And finally, I was introduced to Kitazoe Shigeru-san and the madal he brought back from Nepal.

Shigeru-san lives with his wife Aya-san in a beautifully restored farmhouse on the only road passing through Togano, a small town in rural Kochi Prefecture. Their home doubles as a coffee and crafts shop specializing in Southeast Asian goods. Indian incense mingles with freshly brewed coffee. Thai silks hang from stained cedar beams 120 years old. Balinese djembes and Nepalese madals compete with bamboo mats and rosewood masks and Bob Marley T-shirts for retail space. It is a thoroughly international setting out there with the frogs croaking in the rice paddies.

In his younger days, Shigeru-san toured Japan and Europe as the drummer for a band fusing traditional Southeast Asian music with American jazz. He traded his tour bus in for a family, though, and now conducts drum workshops in a spacious soundproof room on the second floor of the community hall in Sakawa. Nancy and I attend the Thursday night class, which has only one other member. Together the four of us have moved from the basics of the madal to ever more advanced rhythms. But the heart of the lesson – what we've been practicing since beginning almost a year ago – are the folk songs Shigeru-san holds dear to heart. Through Shigeru-san and these songs I've come to understand what is meant by internationalization.

*****
I didn't know this at first, but the trick is to start slow. At elementary school, I begin with a big, friendly, "Hello!" Then, I move around the room and shake hands and bellow greetings, sometimes throw stuffed animals to the little cuties. Slowly, I reach into my pocket and pull out a pair of toy keiteis, one for me and one for a lucky volunteer. Together we review our hello's and good morning's, get to know one another. I quit while the yaritai chorus is still strong and move on to the lesson. First, I review some words they already know. Then, I teach a phrase. I invent a song and dance that will help them remember, demonstrate the game to be played and then, when everyone is good and tired from running all over, we sit down together and review again. I realize it isn't what they're used to and that the homeroom teacher may not always appreciate or even understand what is going on, but the kids seem to enjoy it and they always seem to learn something. I like to think of that as the point.

It's different at junior high school. It isn't enough that they learn only something. The students have to learn English. More specifically, they have to learn what is going to appear on the test. The result is textbook-based classes where the students listen and repeat, listen and repeat, leaving little to the imagination. It isn't necessarily exciting, but it works. There are times when the textbook isn't anywhere to be seen and what transpires is actual communication. The students are at an imaginary restaurant, for example, and they want to order something that isn't on the menu so they mine their vocabulary for some words that, if they mash them up somehow, might get them what they want and, sure enough, the ALT understands! What seemed arbitrary and useless and just a touch on the boring side suddenly has a use. The sentence patterns can be applied. Communication can be achieved and this English stuff actually makes sense and if I just speak it people can understand me and I can get what I want. It isn't impossible or stupid and wow! maybe there is a point after all.

*****
The madal is simple enough. It is a two-sided drum used to keep rhythm in traditional Nepalese music. The body of the drum rests on the drummer's lap so that a large goat-skinned drum head is on the left with a smaller one on the right. The drum heads are held in place by raw hide that crisscrosses the body of the drum. The madal is tuned by pulling on these ropes, the left side tuned lower than right, bass and tenor. In the middle of each drum head is a black patch made of powdered manganese mixed with rice flour. The weight of this metallic patch creates what Shigeru-san calls the "madal sound", similar to the ringing of a bell, but deeper and with less sustain. Also, hitting and holding the drum head with an open palm creates a slap noise. Similarly, striking the body of the drum creates a kind of clap-rattle. Four sounds, then: bass, tenor, slap and clap-rattle.

Shigeru-san immediately set to teaching the rules. First was how to make the madal pronounce: by holding the hands like limp claws and snapping so the drum rings long after fingertips have left the drum surface. Next was what the drum sounds like when translated into language: ton (bass), ta (tenor), tsu (slap) and chi (clap-rattle). We tried a simple Nepalese rhythm: ton, tsu, ta, tsu, ton, ton, ta. He handed out our sheet music, the lyrics to a Japanese song entitled "Shabondama". At first I couldn't pronounce a word of this song about a soap bubble. I certainly didn't know that the soap bubble was meant to signify the death of the author's child and that, over the years, the song has become a piece of the Japanese identity , is played on TV shows and at funerals for the young. But I liked it, and I liked playing the madal. So, I kept practicing.

*****
"English is a puzzle." I got this in conversation from a third year junior high school student. All I asked was, "Do you like English?" I wonder, though, do all the students I visit see English as a puzzle? I've heard them say that English is difficult, that they hate English. Or, that English is fun and that they love English. At elementary school, I've heard them inventing new words on the playground, more often than not for incorporation into their own language – bi-kyuu (a combination of goodbye and thank you) and mayoneeze ketchappu sousu ( My name is Ketchup Sauce) are two of my favourites. Or the time I was kicking a soccer ball thirty feet into the air for the children to chase after and two months later, when I returned, the first graders all asking for the, "Jon Super Kick. Please Jon, super kick." I still don't know where they learned that one from. I like to believe that they just knew; that somehow they simply puzzled it together.

*****
As the weeks progressed, we learned the drums to "Furusato," "Akai Hana, Shiroi Hana," "Ojiisan no Furodokei," "Yume no Naka e," "Uchi no Otousan," and a host of others. I was supposed to sing and play the drum, but I'd never heard of any of the songs before and, naturally, had a difficult time keeping the melodies and lyrics straight. Shigeru-san worked hard to help me remember: there were days when I listened to and repeated every single line of every single song. Boring perhaps, but necessary, because it eventually got to where I could hum a few bars at school, at which point a concert would invariably break out. During cleaning time, students would teach me the words and laugh at my mistakes, my nantoka-ing through the hard parts. They laughed, but I could tell they were impressed. Each time I learned a new line to a song, a barrier came down. And the look on their faces when I sang something even they didn't know! In song I found a common ground with the people around me.

In November Shigeru-san announced a concert for the end of February . From now, we would really practice. Our Thursday night workshop, normally a two hour lesson, joined with the workshop after ours and continued for another two hours. Our group of four ballooned to become a twelve person jam band that, for one reason or another, didn't really say much to one another. One night, though, we decided to make a mini-disc so Nancy and I could practice singing at home. We hooked a lone microphone to the back of a chair and arranged ourselves in a circle. I don't know why, but the twelve of us came together then in our little homemade studio. We sang and played together, made mistakes and laughed together. We stayed until eleven o'clock together, and together we finished our recording of that evening in the little soundproof room in the town hall at Sakawa. Three weeks later our group joined with every workshop of the night and for three hours Nancy a nd I were simply two of the nearly forty people gathered to sing a song about a soap bubble.

*****
Last summer Nancy and I returned to Canada to visit friends and family. Luckily, we chanced upon the yearly Saskatoon Fringe Festival. We spent two days wandering the festival grounds, soaking up the atmosphere: fire breathers, street jugglers, break dancers and, of course, the hundreds of theatre troupes from around the English speaking world. Near the end of the second day we found ourselves all played out and hungry for some relaxation. We stopped at the First Nations pavilion, where I bought a buffalo meat burger served on a wood-fired bannock bun. After sitting down to eat , a casually dressed older couple took the stage set in the middle of a sparsely peopled patch of grass. He banged a small frame drum adorned with eagle feathers and multi-coloured beads and together they sang the most beautiful Cree songs. I couldn't understand a word, yet I understood everything they had to say. That f luency runs deeper than language and depends on simple curiosity and a healthy desire for the unknown . That if we approach one another with the willingness to be both a teacher and a student, then real communication is possible. Listening to the music that night, I realized what Shigeru-san had been teaching all along.

2005-05-16T22:44:00.000+09:00

Us and a gigantic ball-bearing, Hiroshima.

2005-05-16T22:28:00.000+09:00

Haruki Murakami, writing in The Incredible Wind-up Bird Chronicle:

... The father was convinced that the only way to live a full life in Japanese society was to earn the highest possible marks and to shove aside anyone and everyone standing in your path to the top. He believed this with absolute conviction.

... All men are not created equal, he said. That was just some righteous-sounding nonsense they taught you in school. Japan might have the political structure of a deomocratic nation, but it was at the same time a fiercly carnivorous society of class in which the weak were devoured by the strong, and you unless you became one of the elite, there was no point in living in this country. You'd just be ground to dust in the millstones. You had to fight your way up every rung of the ladder. This kind of ambition was entirely healthy. If people lost that ambition, Japan would perish. In response to my father-in-law's view, I offered no opinion. He was not looking for my opionion. He had merely been spouting his belief, a conviction that would remain unchanged for all eternity.

2005-05-11T17:19:00.000+09:00

The world's largest bronze gilded Buddha located at Todaiji, Nara.

2005-05-11T17:18:00.000+09:00

Jon lighting incense at Todaiji.

2005-05-11T17:17:00.000+09:00

Jon and Joanna at the entrance to Todaiji.

2005-05-11T17:16:00.000+09:00

Rainy day at USJ Osaka.

2005-05-11T17:15:00.000+09:00

The Leaning Tower of Nancy and Pengin, USJ Osaka.

2005-05-11T17:13:00.000+09:00

Roof tiles, Himeji Castle.

2005-05-11T17:12:00.000+09:00

Jon and Joanna in front of Himeji Castle.

2005-05-11T17:05:00.000+09:00

The Japanese may be cultured, but even they aren't above laying claim to the worlds largest insert-really-big-such-and-such. In Nara, it's a fourteen meter bronze Buddha housed in a gargantuan wooden temple. Built in the eighth century, the temple complex of Todaiji is a gloriously faded treasure trove of things not to do. "Don't walk on the grass." "No group photos on the walkway." "No gum." "No scribbles." In apparent defiance of the regulations, a twenty minute line of children waits patiently for the chance to wiggle through a hole in one of the temple support beams. Successful little devils supposedly get a go straight to heaven card; should they squeeze through, then not even vandalism against the world's largest grasshopper will see them writhing in eternal damnation.

More entertaining – although no shorter on rules (I especially like the one that states, in essence, "no funny lookin' people allowed") – is Universal Studios Japan, located on a piece of reclaimed land in Osaka Bay. It rained the day we went, which actually worked to our benefit, as there wasn't as big a crowd. Near the end of the day, it was possible to take rides back-to-back, without any wait what-so-ever. Personal favourite: Jurassic Park. The fireworks were a fan-diddly-tastic end to ter-diddly-iffic day.

And then what else? Well, we boarded the shinkansen (really fast train) to Himeji, wherein squats the most beautiful castle in Japan. We spent a couple hours in the castle, which has a nice museum and, from the top floor, absolutely stunning views of Himeji City. Once back at sea level, we admired the towering white walls, the fact that they were first erected in 1601 under order of Ikeda Terumasa, the quite capable son-in-law of Tokugawa Ieyasu, then ruler of Japan, and took 25 million man-days to complete. I think you'll agree: that's a lot of man days. Still admiring, we ate a Japanese boxed lunch and kicked at the pigeons. Not counting the stupid pigeons, a good time was had by all.

2005-05-07T00:11:00.000+09:00

Hello! I'm a manta ray at the Osaka Aquarium. See you!

2005-05-07T00:10:00.000+09:00

Whale shark and baby amongst a school of tuna.

2005-05-07T00:09:00.000+09:00

Jellyfish. Don't they look delicious? (Jon made me write that).

2005-05-07T00:08:00.000+09:00

Happy, stinky penguins. At least I think they're stinky.

2005-05-07T00:06:00.001+09:00

Torii gates, Fushimi-Inari.

2005-05-07T00:06:00.000+09:00

Jon and Joanna, Fushimi-Inari.

2005-05-07T00:05:00.000+09:00

Man taking pictures, Fushimi-Inari.

2005-05-07T00:04:00.000+09:00

Nancy and Joanna, Fushimi-Inari.

2005-05-06T23:54:00.000+09:00

I need to sit down and update this thing more often. Now I can’t remember what it is we’ve been up to the past few days. I’ll try anyway and apologize in advance for the suckiness.

Before we went to meet mom at the airport Nancy and I went Osaka aquarium, home to an eighteen meter whale shark and her baby. The two were inseparable and stunning to watch. Equally fantastic were the jelly fish – all shapes and sizes floating in fluorescent blue and pink tanks. I suppose we stayed a little too long, because we were ten minutes late for mom’s flight which meant she ended up meeting us instead of the other way around. Oops!

After the airport we headed for Kyoto and a half night sleep. In the morning we took the train to Fushimi-Inari Taisha, a mesmerizing shrine in the mountains south east of the city.

The temple was built in the 8^th century and is dedicated to the gods of rice and sake. There are stone foxes throughout the complex, as the fox is considered messenger of the god of cereal grains. But the real thing to see is the four kilometer path lined all the way with red torii gates. I’m too lazy to think of something clever describing how cool it was, so you’ll just have to take my word for it.

Later that day we toured Sanjusangen-do, which has 1001 people-sized wood carvings of Kannon. No pictures were allowed and my words won’t do it justice, either. The best I can do at this late hour is to say that it, too, was cool. Sorry and good night.

2005-04-27T22:01:00.000+09:00

Got metafilter?

2005-04-20T21:40:00.000+09:00

Been meaning to put this picture up for awhile now, but they blocked anything with a blogspot address at work. Sneaky bastards. Anyway, this is Mount Fuji at sunrise as seen from the hotel we stayed at last month.

2005-04-18T21:52:00.000+09:00

Ko-chan and empty beers.

2005-04-18T21:50:00.000+09:00

Kazu-kun says peace.

2005-04-18T21:48:00.000+09:00

Ko-chan and Mari-chan lookin' funky.

2005-04-18T21:45:00.000+09:00

Just got back from a mini-enkai. Mari-chan met us at the station and took us to her friend's okonomiyaki joint. We haven't hung out in ages, so it was good to catch up. But mostly this post is just an excuse to put up more pictures. G'nite.

2005-04-18T13:44:00.000+09:00

Mt. Fuji in Zen garden.

2005-04-18T13:43:00.000+09:00

Ginkakuji Zen garden.

2005-04-18T13:30:00.000+09:00

Jon and I have been extremely busy with the musical we joined. Jon helps backstage. I am the mother of the star (I only have a 30 second debut at the beginning of the play when I say my 1 line) and a dancer. The dances were really hard to learn and a lot of work to memorize but they are a lot of fun!

Because we have been so busy, I have not had a chance to finish writing about my parents's visit. As Jon's mom, Joanna, is coming to Japan in 1 week and 3 sleeps (YAY!), I will try to finish up.

In Kyoto, after walking part of the Philosopher's Path, and waiting for dad to buy a samurai sword, we visited Kinkakuji's sister temple - Ginkakuji - The Silver Pavillion. It is a lot less spectacular than the brilliant gold Kinkakuji. Apparently, Ginkakuji was built with the intention of covering it in silver. The plans just never happened. Even so, the Zen Garden at Ginkakuji is spectacular. I can't even imagine how long it would take to rake the sand into the desired symbols.

2005-04-18T13:10:00.000+09:00

Faeries in the parade just as it began to snow.

2005-04-18T13:09:00.000+09:00

Pooh-san.

2005-04-18T13:08:00.000+09:00

Mom and Dad and Doc.

2005-04-18T13:06:00.000+09:00

In the teacup...

2005-04-18T13:00:00.000+09:00

I have wanted to go to Disneyland for as long as I can remember. There is just something magical about it. It's every kid's dream and maybe even every adult's too. On March 13, I finally got my chance.

It was everything I dreamt it would be - music, dancing, exciting rides and much, much more - crowds, lines, and expensive food most of which was not vegetarian. I am really scared of rollercoasters but I decided to give Thunder Mountain a try anyways. I promised I wouldn't close my eyes, like I did on the Spiderman ride at Universal Studios Japan. Surprisingly, I managed to keep my promise and as a result, I had a blast.

Now I want to go again!!!

2005-04-09T10:34:00.000+09:00

Spring has sprung when the cherry blossoms come.

2005-04-09T10:30:00.000+09:00

In Japan, spring is the beginning of the new fiscal year. First the plum trees blossom. Then people get assigned to their new jobs and have to move all over the place. Finally the cherry blossoms arrive and people can sit down to a good party.

Plum blossoms are darker than cherry blossoms, but just as beautiful. Put in the northwest corner of a yard, they also ward off evil spirits. At least I think it’s the northwest corner.

No amount of plum blossoms will ward off your travelling papers, though. This year, one of the women I work with got moved to a new job two hours in the other direction. She had about a week to make the move. Luckily, she lives in the middle of both jobs so her commute stays the same. Other people aren't so lucky. I remember last year, a guy I worked with got placed in Ashizuri, three hours from his home and family. He got a new apartment for the week and was able to visit his family on weekends.

Before, I had a hard time understanding all this movement. I asked people if they were pleased or upset to be changing jobs. They said it didn't matter, that they had to fulfill their duty. I'm reading Donald Richie's The Inland Sea, which talks a bit about Japanese devotion. "I cannot approve of it," he writes, "and I certainly do not like it. It is actually a kind of laziness. You let someone else -- country, flag, government -- make up your mind. You also, of course, make them responsible. Perhaps this is the true attraction of devotion. If you can make someone else responsible, then you don't have to be responsible for yourself. Nothing -- including your own life -- is your own fault." That may be a bit harsh, but it does help to explain the dominant attitude that almost everything -- earthquakes, typhoons, a monster of a boss who makes you work 70 hours a week -- can't be helped, must be dutifully endured.

Ceremonies, for example, are a matter of serious endurance. Yesterday was the first grader's first day of junior high school. Parents crowded the school gym to see their son's or daughter's name announced. Pictures were taken and smiles were beamed. There was a speech about war and peace and the need to study hard. Everyone was dressed in their Sunday best. The school brass band beeped and booped as the new recruits filed out of the gym and into school. I did my best just to stay awake.

Today, the last Friday of spring, people seem to be settling into the new year. The photocopier has been cleaned and new ties have been purchased. People are typing and phoning like rabbits because in three hours its hanami!

Cherry blossom viewing originated in the days before time, back when the seeding god, or the harvest god, or some kind of god, resided in the cherry tree. Naturally, people offered food and drink to the cherry tree god when it awoke in spring. But of course the gods had no use for food and drink, and good farmers of the land, being practical people, had a party there under the cherry tree. Then, as now, a good time is a good time.

2005-04-01T10:00:00.000+09:00

Maiko.

2005-04-01T09:45:00.000+09:00

Wooden door and bamboo in Gion.

2005-04-01T09:30:00.000+09:00

Mom, Dad, and Jon at Kinkakuji.

2005-04-01T08:00:00.000+09:00

Japan.

What is the first thing that comes to mind?

Perhaps, thanks to The Last Samurai and Tom Cruise, it's samurai which might lead you to think ninja, leading me to our next adventure – a ninja house. Secret passageways, trap doors, and hidden staircases. Sounds cool, right? It would have been much more enjoyable if our tour guide wasn't grumpy and uptight. It might have been a bad day for him. I'm not entirely sure. We did get a real kick out of him though. His tour talk mostly consisted of what not to touch and why followed by a detailed description of people who touched what they were not to touch. It was quite humorous actually.

Nijo jinya is an inn that was constructed sometime between 1661-1672. The apparatuses that the ninja constructed for quick-escape are quite interesting. The inn can be seen by appointment only and it is required that those who cannot speak Japanese bring a translator with them. On our tour there was also an extended family from California with a Japanese translator as well as 2 Japanese girls. Jon and I took turns translating for Mom and Dad. The tour was 1000 Yen which is a bit steep. The rooms were very tiny and the group too large so only a select few could actually see anything besides the hallways. I think the family from California found mine and Jon's straightforward translation to be much more interesting than what their translator had to say. They didn't know this but their translator had her own tour guide speech and elaborated on and/or didn't translate much of what the man was saying. For instance, she didn't even mention the "don’t touch" sector of the tour. When they couldn't hear their translator and they heard Jon and I translating for Mom and Dad, some of the people began to listen in. One of the women asked Mom, "Is that a family member or your translator?"

All grumpiness and squishiness aside, we had a good time. After the ninja house, we proceded to Kinkaku-ji – The Golden Pavilion. Unfortunately, the weather wasn't cooperating and the pavilion wasn't shining into the surrounding water. Still, it was quite beautiful.

The best part of the day for me, had to be the real life porcilin dolls – the Geisha. Actually, they were most likely maiko, or apprentice geisha. We saw quite a few of these treasures slipping in and out of the teahouses. They are so elegant and poised and fast. It is nearly impossible to get a good picture of a Maiko. We tried, nonetheless.

After a difficult week of vacationing, we decided to call it an early night and thus begun the Angie and Steve versus Jon and Nancy Kaiser war.

2005-03-31T23:04:00.000+09:00

Umbrellas and sumo wrestlers.

2005-03-31T23:02:00.000+09:00

The big boys lookin' ready to rumble at the Osaka spring basho.

2005-03-31T23:00:00.000+09:00

Sumo wrestler and cell phone, Osaka.

2005-03-31T22:57:00.000+09:00

Nearly empty sumo stadium.

2005-03-30T13:35:00.000+09:00

As with most jobs, JET has busy time and down time. Right now is down time, which I've been passing like an old pro: blogging, googling, drinking too much coffee and staring intently at the filing cabinets. I'm excited for busy time.

One good thing about down time, though, is that I'm pretty much free to come and go as I please. I've taken advantage of the opportunity by knocking off early every day to play go with Shimasaki-san. It's a difficult game, but Shimasaki-san is a good teacher.

Basically, go is a battle for space. I suppose the idea is similar to chess, but not really. For one thing, there aren't any characters as in chess. The game starts by placing pieces onto the board, not moving them around: once a piece is played, it can't be moved. Also, each piece needs at least one breathing space to live, a breathing space being one of the four lines extending directly from that piece. The more pieces connected in a line, the more breathing spaces and, hopefully, the more territory. I think that about sums it up.

There is a lot of strategy, which I don't understand whatsoever. I've started to notice a few patterns, though. For example, its a good idea to join pieces together, otherwise Shimasaki-san puts a piece in the middle, cutting one piece off from the rest, thus gaining more territory. Its also a good idea to not retaliate or enter battle right away; better to claim territory, then enter into battle. There's more, too, but I haven't really figured it out yet.

Shimasaki-san has been playing go for 25 years. He considers himself 3-dan, which basically translates into totally-kick-ass. He jokes that I'm still a baby, which I am. But he says we can practice three or four times a week until I get better. Soon, I'll be busy though, and I don't know how much I can practice. I'll be wishing for the down times then.

2005-03-29T11:39:00.000+09:00

We were told we would be able to see the sweat fly. Turned out our seats weren't that close. Luckily, sumo wrestlers are so big you can see them from a mile away.

We saw our first one on the train into Osaka. Coming out of the train station, we came across a whole group out for a stroll. They smiled when they noticed our camera and even posed for a group shot.

We got to the stadium early. The place was nearly empty as the no-name, not-fat wrestlers did their thing. As the day wore on, the stadium filled to capacity.

Each time a new group of wrestlers entered the ring, they did a little ceremony. And before each fight, there was even more ceremony. In fact, you could hardly see the wrestling for all the ceremony.

When a fight finally looked like it might break out, people would holler out the name of their favourite wrestler. The favourite didn't always win, though. Usually, the guy with the least amount of visible injuries won. Or the guy with the best balance. Surprisingly, the biggest guys didn't necessarily win.

The reigning yokozuna, a 24-year-old Mongolian named Asashoryu, demolished his competitor to move to 23 straight victories. His was the last match of the day, and both wrestlers ended up in the front seats. I saw the sweat fly on that one.

After the tournament there was a bow dance, which is supposed to be important and interesting. It wasn't, really, but the sumo sure was. I hope to go again some day.

2005-03-26T22:10:00.000+09:00

Look! It's Nishi-hongan-ji!

2005-03-26T22:09:00.000+09:00

Wise men, Nishi-hongan-ji.

2005-03-26T22:08:00.000+09:00

Lanterns and gold foil, Nishi-hongan-ji.

2005-03-26T22:07:00.000+09:00

Plum blossoms and gold foil, Nishi-hongan-ji.

2005-03-26T22:05:00.000+09:00

Plum blossoms and Nishi-hongan-ji.

2005-03-26T22:03:00.001+09:00

Roof tiles, Nishi-hongan-ji.

2005-03-26T22:03:00.000+09:00

In Kyoto, Higashi-hongan-ji was undergoing renovation. Undaunted, we headed down the street to Nishi-hongan-ji, which was also under wraps for restoration work. Down but not out, we decided to poke around anyway, to see what we could see.

It didn't take long to come across a tourist information booth handing out pamphlets and such. Three Japanese people were chatting there with a Buddhist priest. I thought it was a little strange that they all had English pamphlets and said as much, which got a conversation started. We were all surprised to find that the priest was also from Kochi Prefecture, down Muroto way. And that one of the girls in the group would soon be leaving for Canada to study English. What a coincidence! It was enough for an invitation to a private tour of the temple, a UNESCO world heritage site and head temple of the True Pure Land sect of Buddhism, with 12 million followers worldwide.

We were led into an unassuming office. From there we walked through a plywood corridor and finally into the temple corridors. The first room we entered featured ink-paintings of bamboo and tigers. Well faded from 400 years of exposure to the elements, our guide-priest thought nothing of letting us touch the paintings to get a better feel for the craftsmanship. From there we came across one of the first noh stages constructed in Japan, a building with near magical accoustics. I could almost imagine the shogun clapping in approval.

Inside the temple, we passed through room after room of 400 year old ink paintings done on gold foil. I recognized most of them from school textbooks. Our guide-priest pulled back tourist barriers and let and us wander freely throught the rooms, even allowed flash photography. Just as we were getting overloaded from golden shadow, we were led into a corridor where our guide pulled back a sliding screen door to reveal the most beautiful garden.

Outside, the carp pool had been drained for cleaning. Our guide pointed out a boat laying in the muck, said it was used by the priests to get from one building to the next. He then led us into yet another building, this one featuring the shogun's tearoom, the ceiling and doorway set lower than usual to prevent any swordfights from breaking out. The kicker was when we were told we were the first Canadians to ever be inside that room and that not even if the Prime Minister himself could book a visit.

After, we posed for a group photo and to have a chat. On our way out, we were given tea to sip on. Leaving the temple grounds, none of us could believe what had just happened! I still can't!

2005-03-25T18:46:00.000+09:00

88 temple pilgrimage - walking around Shikoku Island.

2005-03-25T18:45:00.000+09:00

88 temple pilgrimage - little girl waiting.

2005-03-25T18:41:00.000+09:00

Kochi castle - on the way to the top - February 12.

2005-03-25T18:40:00.000+09:00

Kochi castle at night - February 12.

2005-03-25T18:39:00.000+09:00

My diamond engagement ring.