April 2004
Monday, April 5, 2004 — When … ?
For the life of me, I don’t know which day school starts up back again: Wednesday or Thursday. Seriously. No clue. Such is the informed life of an ALT.
Tuesday, April 6, 2004 — Tremor
This is what it feels like to wake up in the morning to a tremor of the earth: Like someone is standing at the foot of your bed and suddenly decides to give your bed-frame a good shove. It happens quickly, without fanfare, followed by the normal sounds of the day. So what it REALLY feels like is that there’s a POLTERGEIST in your apartment trying to MESS WITH YOUR HEAD.
Thursday, April 8, 2004 — Upheaval in the teachers’ room
Today was the first day of the new school year. Japanese schools run year-round from April until March, with the two-week Spring Break in between (as well as, of course, other breaks during the school year). I walked into the teachers’ room at Kamona this morning with some trepidation because two of my five English teachers had been reassigned elsewhere.
Kashiba-sensei, my highly revered third-grade teacher, had been moved Tomida Junior High School, her alma mater. I am amazed by what the teachers have to put up with when it comes to these teacher transfers. Some of the transfers are quite far away from their homes, which means a lengthy daily commute. Ikawa-sensei, with whom I had snowboarded, had been assigned to Kitajima Junior High School, much closer to her own home. I was sad to see Kashiba-sensei go because she made lesson-planning so easy and Ikawa-sensei, because I had a lot of fun with her and her first-graders. I only hoped that the new teachers would be equally easygoing.
The teachers’ room was in disarray. My desk was in the same place, but the teachers and their mountains of stuff weren’t. One-third of the teachers were new. The remaining staff had been shuffled around. I used to sit with the second-grade teachers. I discovered now I was sitting with third-grade teachers, which means all of them would be busy and somewhat frazzled all the time. Morita-sensei had been moved from teaching English to second-year students to third-year students. She no longer sat next to me but rather in the other row. She also had been made a homeroom teacher, which meant she was responsible for a classroom and thus wouldn’t have any time to chat anyway.
In her place sat a new math teacher, Kawahito-sensei. She spoke no English. But to my surprise, I found she and I were able to hold short conversations. She was patient enough to wade through my incoherent Japanese and as well as wait on my constant glancing through my dictionary.
Hashimoto-sensei, to my slight horror, had been moved from teaching third-graders to first-graders. It made sense, as teachers seem to follow their students rather than specializing in a specific grade-level. But that also meant I would be teaching not two but three classes with him.
Two new first-grade English teachers had been hired but I didn’t talk to them because I couldn’t figure out who they were.
Miyata-sensei, last year’s other first-grade English teacher, no longer was responsible for a homeroom. That meant she had more opportunities for us to talk, if I needed her help, she said. That was very kind of her, I thought.
Even though the English staff had greatly changed, I found myself increasingly encouraged as the day moved on. Not one but TWO non-English teachers came up to chat with me! The new first- and second-year art teacher, Niu-sensei, reminded me in excellent English that she’d come to one of my adult-conversation classes from last year. She’d been happy to see I was the Kamona ALT when she’d been assigned to the school, she said. Also, the nurse, who had come to Kamona on the same day I had last year, began chatting with me, too! For whatever reason, we hadn’t talked all last school year, nor had I realized her English was so good, either!
After having felt the pangs of isolation and insecurity in March, it was nice to find myself in an environment where there were colleagues I could talk to and turn to.
Friday, April 9, 2004 — Sink or swim
Having attended a graduation ceremony in March, I hadn’t realized that first-graders are welcomed with a similar ceremony. The new first-graders arrived today, fresh-faced and tiny. Their arrival was marked by a ceremony attended by their parents in the gym. Just like graduation, the students’ homeroom teachers called out their names and each student stood with a sharp, “HAI!”
I can see why schools have this ceremony. It provides a sense of beginning and potential as well as symmetry to the graduation ceremony the students attend at the end of the third-year.
As the first-years filed out, my gaze slid over them eagerly. These were my new students. They were so small and cute! Many of them wore uniforms too big for their pre-adolescent bodies. I even recognized two students who had been in my English club at Kamona Elementary School.
That night was the staff welcome enkai. This time the price was 7,000 yen. Ouch. I sat next to Hashimoto-sensei and Kawahito-sensei, who tried their best to make conversation. This enkai did not seem as successful in making inroads with my colleagues for me, but at least I was able to introduce myself feebly to the new principal, who’s a former science teacher, as well as the two new English teachers. The female teacher spoke excellent English whereas my conversation with the male teacher took place entirely in Japanese. Not too promising a prospect …
As for the food … I constantly say I like most Japanese food. I get the feeling, though, that what I prefer is “down-home” food, like the kind served for school lunch. Nothing fancy. Because when it starts to get fancy, I start having to repress the ol’ gag reflex. This includes enkai food, half of which I cannot begin to identify by sight or taste alone.
Rather than go to a karaoke place afterward, the enkai included a karaoke-like machine in the banquet room. Different younger teachers took their turns emerging, in costume, from a secret closet door. I was a bit shocked by the first singer, the rather hot new second-grade P.E. teacher who always dressed quite smartly at school. He came out wearing a bright pink wig and flouncy dress. Niu-sensei observed it was quite common for younger people to make entrances like that.
Precisely two hours later, the enkai came to an end. To my relief, there didn’t seem to be a second-phase of the enkai in the works. I hastily retreated while the going was good.
Sunday, April 11, 2004 — Tacos
I’ve been craving Mexican food a lot lately and so went in search of taco ingredients today. I’d already made them once before, minus the sour cream. But tacos aren’t really complete without the sour cream! I found a container of the delicious topping in the import food section of Sogo for five dollars.
I’d also told Sally about my successful efforts to make tacos. She asked if there was a way to make beef-less tacos because she’s vegetarian. I suggested chicken instead. That warranted a rather exasperated look from her. But tacos are not tacos without beef!!! I have consulted my mom on this. We’re not really sure where to go from here.
Monday, April 12, 2004 — Club activities, Enkai No. 3
One of the perks (and by perks, I mean pitfalls) of being a Japanese-deficient ALT is never really knowing what exactly is going on and learning only at the last minute. That’s why I get really paranoid when the teachers’ room empties. It always makes me think something’s going on that I should be attending or assisting. I get these pangs of anxiety and guilt wondering whether the other teachers resent my absence.
Take this morning, for example. Suddenly teachers began to file out of the staff room in a decidedly businesslike matter. That’s when Miyata-sensei informed me we were taking a group picture for the yearbook in the gym. The same thing in the afternoon, except this time it was the school nurse who gave me the heads up, minutes beforehand. I had to ask around hoping for a bit better explanation — something about the first-year students, clubs and culture.
It turned out to be presentation by the second- and third-graders for the first-year students of the clubs they could join. Each club, which includes primarily sports groups, gave a brief description of what they did and when they convened. The coolest presentation was the kendo club, who spent a few minutes whacking each other to demonstrate what the newbies could expect. The school offers clubs in badminton, table tennis, volleyball, basketball, baseball, soccer, kendo, judo, band and art.
That night, I went to Enkai No. 3, this time only for the English teachers. There were five us altogether, and the event consisted of going to a cozy restaurant in the nightlife district. I am constantly amazed by the restaurants and their quality in that neighborhood. You have no clue what lies inside until you go down an alley and walk up a staircase and go inside. I’m used to restaurants standing alone and being able to kind of tell what sort of décor lies inside simply by eying the outside. You can’t do that in Japan. What looks boring on the outside could easily be quite the opposite inside.
Our meal consisted of easily 10 dishes. By dish No. 8, the five of us were struggling. The food, not surprisingly, didn’t always appeal. One of the first dishes I couldn’t bring myself to eat. It looked like raw baby squid, about two fingers’-width wide, tentacles and all. I stared at the bowl repeatedly throughout the meal trying to psych myself up to try it, but I just couldn’t do it. I did try cow intestine, and ate some sashimi. There was some cooked fish, too, but whenever I pulled something off it, it always turned out to be the bone from the skull or the jaw or something, with no meat. I gave up after a while trying to extract anything meat-like from the carcass.
The meal itself was rather uncomfortable. It reminded me back during my high school days when socializing was no fun for me. Gosh, try that in a setting where you don’t speak the language!
But at least the meal finally ended and some good food had been eaten. I suppose because it was a school night, we didn’t continue on to a Phase 2 and instead, bid each other good night. I rode my bike back home beneath the light of the cherry moon in the stillness of my last enkai for the season.
Wednesday-Friday, April 14-16, 2004 — First week of real classes
I kicked off the new school year with five back-to-back classes today of second-graders. Whoo. Intense. It was only my second time to have five classes in a day. Then I followed with two third-grade lessons each on Thursday and Friday.
Nevertheless, it was a remarkably different environment I walked into today than the one I’d met on my first day of classes back in September. This time, the faces were smiling and cheery, many of them greeting me with an enthusiastic, “Hello!” or simply, “Vivi!”
What a difference nine months makes.
I felt so grateful for the headway I’d made with my students these past few months. Their English may still be iffy but at least there’s a desire there to communicate. I still grow cold and clammy inside when I remember when I first walked into classes back in September to find a room full of unfamiliar faces skeptically wondering who the heck the new ALT was. The third-graders were particularly terrifying. They had this expression on their faces practically daring me to try and teach them.
Not so this time around. This time, they knew me. Some even welcomed me into the class. It was a relief and a revelation. The familiarity makes life so much easier. I get along well with the second- and third-grade teachers. The kids not only cooperated, they were well-behaved. They were mellow and quiet when they needed to be. They were sometimes too quiet when I wanted them to be a bit more lively, but you can’t have everything. At least they still managed to particulate. We were playing a team game and I got the feeling that sometimes a student in the group spoke up solely out of embarrassment for his group, since no one was saying anything or making eye contact with the English teacher and me.
My next challenge will be next week, when I teach the new first-graders for the first time with the new first-grade teachers. I found out that one of them, Maeda-sensei, is pretty well known in the English teacher community. Apparently she studies French and has traveled quiet a lot. No wonder she looked rather offended when I asked her if she’d traveled out of Japan back at the staff enkai …
Another positive point of the week: Now that Kiyomi was no longer around, I didn’t have English teacher with which to tag along during the daily cleaning. So I asked Miyata-sensei if I could join her. She handles the cleaning of the music room. I began going with her every day. One of the students who cleans in this room is Ryutaro Hosogawa, the little boy from last year who had been dragged into a special meeting with me because he was so quiet in class. Friday, when I walked into the music room, he looked positively jovial when he said, “HELLO, VIVI!” I was nearly shocked speechless at the turnabout! It was so nice to see him more at ease with me and his classmates.
Miyata-sensei said she thinks it may be because last year he had no friends in the class he’d been in whereas this year, he does have, as the Brits call them, “mates” in his class. I’m so happy for him.
I even got to chat with some of the students Friday in Japanese. It’s relieving that it’s gotten to the point where some of the students are comfortable enough to listen to me. Some of them panic when I speak to them, no matter what language I use. I can see it in their eyes just before it happens. I think, “Come on … you can do it … just think about it a little bit more … don’t flip out on me … !” But often that line of thought simply ends with a student blurting out, “WAKARAN!” or “I don’t understand!”
Saturday, April 17, 2004 — Touch Rugby
There was a JET rugby tourney organized for this weekend to take place in Mima-cho in the western part of Tokushima-ken. Curious what exactly this “rugby” is about, I hopped a train at 7:30 a.m. this morning and headed west. I got a ride from the train station to the rugby fields, where a group of Tokushima JETs were preparing to play games in a round-robin again five other teams.
Three of the teams were of JETs, one each from Shiga-ken and Hyogo-ken in Shikoku and Kochi-ken on Shikoku. Two were from Tokushima-ken. There was also one team composed of Japanese men, obviously neither ALTs not JETs. Apparently the team to beat was Kochi. Man, they were hard CORE. If they weren’t playing, they were drilling. Apparently they practice year-round.
We got a tent set up for ourselves. The weather was perfect: Neither too hot nor too cool, with a breeze blowing. It was a fantastic setting, with green hills rising in the background. I spent my time either reading, taking pictures or watching the game. By the end of the five matches, I had a pretty good understand of how the touch rugby game was played. It's a lively game that uses curious words like “scrum” and “dummy half.” There is lots of running. I find it easier to understand than American football.
The Tokushima-ken JET team (the other was of mostly Japanese people) ended up winning three and losing two games. By simply winning one game, they had our soccer team from last year beat. Some of the team members joked that it was nice to finally be on a winning team. Girls had played, too: Ellie, Michelle, Andrea (with an emphasis on the second syllable) and Andrea (emphasis on the first syllable), the wife of Ron, the JET in Kitajima. We all marveled at Andrea’s stamina. Apparently rugby is a walk in the park for a mom with two young kids.
After the last game ended around 3 p.m., I hitched a ride home to Tokushima with Mark, a former JET who ended up staying on in Tokushima-ken. He’s been here for 14 years. He now teaches at a university about teaching English. As a JET, he’d intended on only staying one year …
Sunday, April 18, 2004 — Mayhem in the zoo
Back in December I helped out at a Christmas party for kids learning English. The organizer, Shizuka, had another English party today, this one Easter-themed and held at the zoo. I got asked to help at that, too. Imagine: A daylong event with four-, five- and six- year-olds running amok in a place where natural predators lurk. I headed out the door of my apartment with the essentials: a cap, water and plenty of sunblock.
The zoo is just outside the city. It’s quite nice, although I didn’t get to see much of it because I was kept busy making sure all heads were accounted for. Altogether, we had 31 kids between four ALTs. By some odd stroke of luck, I only got five kids — Hide, Kanta, Haruka, Mika and Moka. But five was plenty. I was also blessed with the fact that my kids were pretty well-behaved. Kanta started weeping near the end for reasons I still have yet to decipher but aside from that, the kids were good.
The first activity was touring the zoo looking for animals and reviewing their English names. Whenever our herds of children crossed paths, it became mass confusion as we made sure our kids stayed with us rather than straying into another group. Sally and I joined groups because it was easier for the two of us to watch 13 kids between us, with one of us at the front and another at the back.
Probably the most comical part of the tour was when we stopped for a water break at a water fountain. All these kids had come wearing hats, backpacks and thermoses on their person. But not once did I see them actually drink from their thermoses. When I spotted a water fountain, I asked who wanted a drink. I didn’t want anyone getting dehydrated.
Unfortunately, this fountain wasn’t particularly well-designed. It looked nice, but it wasn’t designed for all ages. The knob was hard for the kids to turn, which meant I had to hold it for them. But the bowl in which the water squirted into was too high for the kids to reach on their own. After much improvisation, we finally settled on Sally holding the water knob and me picking up the kids so they could get their mouth over the squirting water.
Near the end of our tour, the kids started to get tired and really slow. It was such a relief to see Shizuka on the picnic groups knowing we could take a break. We all needed it. The weather was pleasant, but moving around in the warmth and sun was a bit tiring.
After a bento lunch, we played a spoon-and-egg game (it was hilarious watching the kids blatantly cheat and not realize it) and then several rousing rounds of, “What’s the time, Mr. Wolf?” Next, we perused the petting zoo. There was a place where you could actually walk into the monkey exhibit and they would perch on your shoulders. Zoo employees made us empty our pockets beforehand. My kids gave me their little handkerchiefs, which I just stuffed into my cargo pockets.
I thought this might be a spot where they’d want to linger (my fear of monkeys didn’t even manifest this time, given my preoccupation with other things … !) because it was so hands-on, but it was the contrary. The moment we got into the cage, one of my boys actually took me by the hand and dragged me forward. It thought we were going to an adjoining cage but it turned out just to be the exit. I tried to slow him down, not sure if he knew what he was doing, but all the kids bum-rushed me out the door. I was like, “Uhhhh … do you want to go again?” They all said no. Apparently the monkeys had terrified them. I can relate. Monkeys ARE terrifying.
Following the petting zoo, we had a snack, egg hunt and a brief egg-decorating exercise. A girl had started crying just before the egg hunt so I picked her up. I tried to get her to hunt for eggs with me but by the time we got to the patch where the eggs had been hidden, the quicker kids had cleaned it out. It was a flashback from when I was little and then, too, got stuck with the dregs — or worse, nothing at all — of Easter hunts, merely because I hadn’t gotten much of a head start.
Nevertheless, all the kids got one egg of melted chocolate to take home. It was so funny watching these eager children opening the eggs to find the candy inside so ill-treated by the sun and watching they still try to suck the chocolate off the wrappers.
The egg decorations involved the kids getting copious amounts of marker ink on their hands. While we sat on the lawn, I got a chance to talk with them a little. I asked how old they were. Most were five or six. Mika, at four, was the youngest. Moka, six, was really bright. She’d figured out I obviously needed help when it came to Japanese and had taken to speaking to me really slowly and translating for the other kids when they didn’t get what I was saying. It cracked me up.
The kids’ English were pretty good, too, considering they were so young. At that age, they were like siphons for language. My group quickly learned, “Let’s GO!” when I lead them on the zoo tour.
Finally, the Easter party drew to a close with a couple of group photos in front of the flower patch on the zoo lawn. We herded the kids back to the front of the zoo, where the parents caused a minor traffic jam picking up their children and making sure all their kids’ accessories were accounted for.
Wednesday, April 21, 2004 — But I don’t even know her
For today’s calligraphy lesson, I chose the kanji for “Tango,” as in “Tango no Sekku,” as in “Boys’ Festival.” Another way of saying “Boys’ Festival” is “Children’s Festival.” I’m not really sure how that works, but all those flying carp streamers that are flying in the wind outside are for Boy’s Day, which is Wednesday, May 5. The carp is considered a strong and healthy symbol, which is why they are fortuitous symbols for Boy’s Day. Girl’s Day, or the Doll Festival, was last month.
While I was brushing away on my kanji, Kurohashi-sensei gave me a beaded ring that Matsumoto-san, this other lady, had apparently made for me. I’ve never met Matsumoto-san, but she’s already given me a rack of tiny dolls for Dolls’ Festival last month. Sally met Matsumoto-san at a tea ceremony that I couldn’t go to last month because \of the ALT musical. It’s these random acts of kindness that are boggling to the mind in Japan.
Saturday, April 24, 2004 — High Performance Things
How sociable I was today! First I met up with Ellie and Dubs for lunch at the Italian restaurant Cappriciosa’s. Yummy. Garlic fettucine with crab. After two weeks of pleasantly warm weather — I was told it was unseasonably warm — a cold front blew threw and there was a noticeable bite in the air. But I’d already put away my kerosene heater so had to settle with bundling up a bit more at home.
We split up after lunch and I went with Ellie to a kimono store, where she picked up some equipment for her Awa Odori outfit. Ellie has joined the dance group — “ren” — for her hometown, Miyoshi. I didn’t realize the Awa Odori costumes require so much stuff! Ellie had to get a strap for the inside of her outfit, a sponge for the back, some tabi (two-toed socks) and diaphanous ribbon.
Next, we went to check out Hana Haru (“Spring Flower”), which I think is some sort of Awa Odori kick-off, kind of like a preview for the big to-do in the summer. Ellie and I settled in the bleachers to watch some dance groups strut their stuff. Then we went to Big Brothers for some cheeeeeesecake.
I went home and three hours later met up with Kiyomi, with whom I’d snowboarded, and Haya-san, the office lady who used to work at Kamona and was transferred to another school. Kiyomi talked about how busy she is now at Kitajima Junior High School. She has 21 classes a week and is charge of the kendo club. We went to Pili Pili, the Mexican food restaurant with the Grateful Dead décor. Skulls everywhere. But it makes up for the odd adornment with excellent guacamole.
We helped ourselves to nachos, tacos and quesadillas, to name a few of the dishes we shared. Haya-san doesn’t speak any English, so a lot of the conversation went through Kiyomi, but it still felt pretty comfortable because Haya-san is quite laid back. At on point, Kiyomi declared we would now only speak Japanese. If anyone spoke English, they would have to have some hot sauce. This led to me being very silent. When I did speak any Japanese at all, Haya-san and Kiyomi giggled at the odd words I’d use and how I was too polite (darn the “-masu” form!). And Kiyomi kept seguing into English and having to throw back some hot sauce, so eventually they gave up on THAT idea.
Soon after, I went to see a BAND. That’s right. This involved me staying up late, in a noisy environment and — dare I say it — dancing. Go ME. Tashi, one of the Tokushima City ALTs, had seen this band in Osaka perform and had liked them so much, he’d invited them to Tokushima City. The band, High Performance Things, was quite entertaining. I hadn’t planned on going originally but a friend, Ayaka, convinced me otherwise. Together with other Tokushima University medical school students, we caravanned by bike to the venue, Bell’s Bar.
HPT performed all their songs in English, both their own songs and covers. They opened with, “Time After Time” and “Sweet Child of Mine.” My favorite was “Video Killed the Radio Star.” The lead singer had quite a compelling stage presence and voice, this throaty purr that would be perfect for singing “Not an Addict” by K’s Choice.
I had just intended on watching but eventually Andrea got me to come up and join the throng. The dancing involved mostly jumping up and down. Everyone looked so … happy. You can see some pictures of the performance at HPT’s Web site. You might even be able to spot me in one of the pics; I'm wearing a red sweater.
Monday, April 26, 2004 — Happiness is two kinds of ice cream
You know what makes me happy? My kids. There are some days when I really get why teachers do what they do and why they put up with the bureaucratic nuisances they put up with simply to work with young people.
I taught the remaining two first-year classes today, the ones I’d not yet taught this month. I love how they try so hard, how they listen to my all-English explanations and work together to figure out what’s going on. I’ve learned enough Japanese that I could throw in some words to help them understand, but they don’t need it. The gestures and the few words grasped here and there are enough. I love how they pay attention and how they don’t use the JTE, the Japanese Teacher of English, as a crutch. I love to see how their eyes light up and hear them laugh in class and know they’re having fun. It’s such a natural high.
I love how, outside of class, they’re so chipper when they say, “Hello, Vivi!” I love how, however trivial, I’ve gotten them to say, “Bye!” instead of “Bye bye!” which always kinda drove me nuts. I love how some of them are comfortable enough with me that they even try to chat with me, in English or Japanese. It really makes me feel like I belong so much more. There are days when I really need that kind of uplifting kind of feeling.
This week and next are parent-teacher visits. Homeroom teachers go to each of their students’ home to visit with parents. So there are no classes in the afternoon so teachers can do these visits. Morita-sensei said she’ll do eight along this afternoon. Crazy, keeping all those parents straight.
Wednesday, April 28, 2004 —
On the road to
Sydney
<Yawn> I’m loitering in Hong Kong International Airport. I woke up at an ungodly time this morning, 4 a.m., so I could leave at 4:30 a.m. and bike to Tokushima Station. I was in a pretty deep sleep, dreaming, when the alarm went off, so I shot out of bed rather violently. If you’ve ever had to wake up me, you know what I talking about.
I caught the 5 a.m. bus to Kansai International Airport. At that hour, traffic was minimal and it only took about two and a half hours rather than the usual three hours. That’s definitely a benefit of travel by train — not having to contend with gridlock. Not that that’s an option to get from Tokushima to the airport in Osaka. Unless your name is Jacob.
My plane departed at 10 a.m. It took three hours to get to Hong Kong, where I have six-hour layover before catching a nine-hour flight to Sydney. I’m hungry but too lazy to find out if I can use a credit card at the food places and besides, they’ll overfeed us anyway on the plane. Mainly, I’ve just been spending my time wandering the bookstores and perusing the English-language books and magazines. At this point, I’m starving more for words than food.
The airport, surprisingly, has Internet terminals scattered throughout for passengers to use while waiting for their flights. I used an iMac at one point. I haven’t used those since college. It locked up on me and then I remembered why I’d stopped using Macs.
I don’t like airports. They’re worse than train stations. That odd feeling of being in transition in this lost nowhere that is neither the place you left nor the place you’re going. You are insulated and isolated. Everything is weirdly different, sterile. Even the air feels stale, as though you never left the airplane.
I lucked into a deserted gate with a row of three seats without armrests. I dumped my stuff, took off my shoes and read for a bit before napping for a while. Conserving energy and all that.
The Hong Kong airport wasn’t all that impressive-looking at first glance. It brought to mind Intercontinental back home in Houston. Outside, it was foggy and visibility poor. But then the fog listed and I saw we were surrounded by all these mist-wreathed mountains. If feels like this airport is in another world.
Thursday, April 29, 2004 — Landfall
A bit worse for wear, I arrived in Sydney at 6 a.m. You can tell a lot about a country from their customs and immigration agent. In Vietnam, they were all terse and grim and a little scary. In Japan, they’re quick and efficient.
In Australia, my immigration agent was totally buff and tan and fit. Not in a hot kind of way, more in a “I am Australian and extremely active outdoors” kind of way. He asked if I was traveling alone or with people. I said alone. “Well, don’t worry, you’ll make friends,” he replied. I almost bristled at the remark because it came off, at first, as condescending, but then I realized maybe he was testifying to the friendliness of his country. So I let it slide.
At customs, the agent there was like, “Where’s your stuff?” I stared back at him and pointed at my backpack. “This is it,” I replied.
I’d gotten two seats to myself on the plane from Hong Kong, which was so good because I could kind of lie down. But I was still decidedly in need of a quick lie-down. Check-in at my hostel wasn’t until noon but I decided to stop by anyway and see if they had a bed ready. I’m glad I did. I took the train in from Central Station. The trains here are ridiculously easy to use and double-decker to boot.
Once I emerged at Central, I somehow ended up wandering in the right direction and stumbling around the hostel, which was just around the corner from the station. Go ME. I knew it was near, but I didn’t realize it was THAT near.
And, thank my lucky stars, the hostle had a bed available. The guy at the front desk was totally cool and congenial. The hostel had eight floors, not counting the ninth floor, which had a pool under renovation. My room was on the third floor. I found another person in it who had just arrived in Sydney as well. We both went to blessed, blessed sleep.
I awoke at 10 a.m., freshened up, and headed out in search of lunch around Central Station and found this sandwich shop. After months of not having many choices due to limited time to persue a menu and deciphering katakana dish names in japan, I found myself a bit overwhelmed by the sheer number of choices here. Usually I just settle on the first thing that sounds good and order that in order rather than trying to read the entire menu. I settled for something simple, a chicken sandwich. The portions were giant! The lady kept piling on the shredded chicken!
From there, I walked to the Powerhouse Museum, a science and design museum. There werne’t as many people on the sidewalks of Central Sydney as I’d expected. Still, the place reminded me a lot of Manhattan. Maybe the lack of pedestrians was just due to the excellent public transportation.
Next, I meandered over to the Outback Centre for a digeridoo performance. It was pretty interesting. Digeridoos are aboriginal musical instruments made of eucalyptus trees that have been naturally hollowed out by termites. The termites leaves the outer shell of the tree intact to protect themselves from the sunlight. You blow into while making a raspberry motion with your lips and the digeridoo makes this really deep, Twilight-Zone kind of hum.
The player was a guy named Jeremy who said his paternal side was aboriginal. He met his dad at 16 and then learned how to play digeridoo from his granddad. Didgeridoo players learn circumlar breathing, which enables them to breathe out and in at the same time. Crazy. They have to train their stomach, throat and I think mouth muscles to comply. He learned traditional rhythms but he’s forbidden to use them out of context, such as in contemporary music, so when he plays untraditional music, he’s just making it up. A lot of times he mimics or evokes animals like the dingo, kangaroo, salt-water croc and kookaburra.
“Digeridoo” isn’t even an aboriginal word, he said. It came from Gaelic, from Irish settlers.
Chinatown was next on the itinerary. You know, the more often I visit so-called Chinatowns, the more I realize that all Chinatowns are basically the same. I went into a Chinese bakery but bought a loaf of banana bread instead. Later I walked into what I thought was a mall, but it turned out to be a Chinese market, chock-a-block with rip-offs and knock-offs. I thought to myself, “If only I needed crap. Because that’s all they have here.” I did, indeed, end up buying some stuff.
Dinner was this delicious chicken-avocado-cheese combination on English muffin-bread. It was huge! I only ate half. After Japan, the serving sizes in Australia seem gargantuan. My disbelief will probably be worse when I go home at the end of the year. At least I wasn’t constantly bowing to people out of habit like I had in Vietnam.
The last event of the night was going to see a performance of The Lion King musical. It was INCREDIBLE. Easily one of the highlights of the trip. The music was so intense and spot-on in tune. I really enjoyed how the musical expanded upon the sounds of the movie. As for the costumes, they had to be seen to be believed. Seriously breath-taking. I really liked how the performers would periodically appear in the audience, off-stage. It made the performance seem almost interactive.
Friday, April 30, 2004 — Lions and tigers and bears
So I got myself a weeklong transportation pass. Bus, train, ferry. Sydney really works hard to convince you not to own a car. I took the train down to Circular Quay, which is curiously pronounced, “Sur-cue-lah Kay,” here. It’s a series of piers for different ferries that run around the area. Sydney is basically a city divided in half, east to west, by its harbor, so the ferries take you down the harbor, east and westward, as well as across the harbor, north and southward.
As the train pulled into Circular Quay, I got a great glimpse of the famous Sydney Harbor Bridge as well as the Sydney Opera House, which sits at the end of Circular Quay on a little piece of land called Bennelong Point that juts out into the harbor. The roof of the opera house gleamed like ecru-colored snake scales.
The day dawned clear and cool, perfect weather for sightseeing. It’s fall here in the Land Down Under, and the leaves, they were a’changin’. Nevertheless, I hear the ozone layer is thinner here and took it upon myself to slather on the sunblock and pull on a cap before I left the hostel. I ate my breakfast on a bench just outside the station. Two seagulls seemed to have claimed the bench as their “turf.” They kept circling me, waiting for scraps, while agressively chasing away any other avian encroachers.
When the ferry dropped me off at Taronga Zoo, which is located on an island about 15 minutes away, the zoo was just opening. I spent most of my morning a little of the afternoon wandering the zoo grounds, which were quite nice. On par with San Diego’s Zoo, I’d say. I really appreciated how there are some animal enclosures you can actually walk into, as long as you don’t go off the walkway. I experienced first in the Australian animals section. Suddenly, there was a wallaby, emu and red kangaroo, just an arm’s length away!
I took the ferry back to Circular Quay and wandered around the area over to the opera house to get a closer look. Then I backtracked over to the Museum of Contemporary Art. I’d seen a photojournalism exhibit advertised there. Disappointingly, it turned out to just be more contemporary art, which I never get anyway. I returned to Chinatown to better explore the clothing stores inside the mall. I wasn’t going to leave Sydney without having done a little shopping.
Australian money is made of a curious plastic-like substance. They’re quite colorful. Their coins come in 5 cents, 10 cents, 20 cents, 50 cents, $1 and $2. It’s interesting to see how widely used $1 coins are in Australia and 100-yen coins, the rough equivalent of US $1, are in Japan. Yet Americans don’t seem to be able to accept a $1 coin back home.