April 2005
Friday-Saturday, April 1-2, 2005 — Kota Kinabalu
A little shopping, a little relaxing. I watched a movie, Million Dollar Baby, at the local cinema and it cost me seven ringgit, which is the equivalent of about USD $2. So cheap! The movie was at 2 p.m. and I showed up about 20 minutes early to the screen to get settled. The cinema employee manning (or rather, blocking) the door stared at me like I was crazy and told me to come back later. I asked him when I was supposed to come back. I looked at my ticket and, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, told me to return at 2 p.m. I guess they’re more last-minute here.
According to the brochure, Kota Kinablu is popularly known as simply, “KK.” It looks out onto the South China Sea and is the capital of the Malaysian province of Sabah.
I did a river tour that involved a two-hour drive inland and then a ride on the river to see proboscis monkeys, the ones with the pronounced noses. Unfortunately, while waiting to board our boat, I took off my watch to put on some bug spray and accidentally dropped my watch. Onto the wooden floor of the pier. Where there was a hole. That my watch slipped right through. Into the river.
I was sad. All the guys hanging out on the pier saw it happen and kinda shook their heads. My tour guide “jokingly” told me not to drop anything else into the water.
There were several boats on the river. The tour guides had to have sharp eyes to spot the monkeys. On our final spot, we saw a whole family of them, with several of the monkeys carrying baby monkeys around. It was really cool. We had hoped to see crocodiles on the way back, but a recent rain and cooled the air and sent the crocodiles elsewhere. But we DID see bats beneath the bridges and fireflies, which were quite enchanting. As night fell, the fireflies gathered in certain trees along the river and pulsed in unison, like Christmas lights. Eventually, they began venturing away from the trees into the open air. I just kept thinking of Kenshin and that scene with Kaoru in RK:
“Thank you ... and farewell. I am a wanderer. I will wander once again.”
Sunday-Monday, April 3-4, 2005 — Flight-delay hell
I was supposed to depart from Kota Kinabalu, Malaysia, at 12:50 a.m. this morning and arrive in Japan at 6:30 a.m. Had that gone as planned, I would have taken the 8:35 a.m. bus back to Tokushima and made it to my apartment by around 11:30 a.m. But sometimes, plans go awry.
I got dropped off at the Kota Kinabalu airport at about 10:45 p.m. Saturday night. While waiting at the gate, the plane arrived from Kaula Lumpur. The passengers, who were also headed to Osaka, got off the plane to stretch their legs. Coincidentally, one of the passengers was David, a fellow Houston JET (he’s from Deer Park! :-O) who’d come in the same group as me to Japan back in Summer 2003. He’s based in Hyogo-ken, which is where Kobe is located. He’d backpacked through Penninsular Malaysia for Spring Break. It was a good thing he was there, as it gave me someone to talk to — my carry-on baggage was minimal, and didn’t even include a book to read.
12:30 a.m. rolled around and there’d still been no call to board. Eventually, news of some sort of technical problem started to circulate. The airline staff pushed the departure time back to 1:30 a.m. When 1:30 a.m. approached and there was still no sign of boarding, the airline staff brought out some beverages to keep the wrestless hoards from rioting. The worst sign came when the airline asked the Kuala Lumpur passengers to get their stuff off the plane.
Finally, around 3 a.m., the obvious announcement: The plane wasn’t taking off anytime soon. We were instructed to come back later that day. They flight was set tentatively for 2 p.m. Joy.
This announcement was made in English first, which was to the advantage of those who spoke English. There was a big group of Japanese people also waiting for the same flight who had to wait for the Japanese translation. Along with a lot of other JETs who happened to be waiting for the same flight, I headed to the airline counter where we were told we could get vouchers for our hotel stay and transportation. Fortunately, I was near the head of the line, so I didn’t have to wait long. The line was super-long and many of those waiting were families with young children. I was given a voucher for the taxi fare to the hotel, the overnight stay, breakfast and lunch at the hotel, and transportation back to the airport. And thank goodness, too; I didn’t have any Malaysian money on me because I’d exchanged most of what I’d had back to U.S. dollars and spent the rest.
I inquired about our checked-in luggage. The staffer said I could pick it up if I wanted or could leave it, too. I forgot to ask where to get it from and just decided to do without it. So stupid; I wish I hadn’t. I didn’t have any toiletries in my tote. Downstairs at the taxi stand, when it started to pull away, we passed by the baggage claim and I saw the people who’d gotten their vouchers before me picking up their checked-in luggage. But I remained helpless mute and arrived at the hotel a few minutes later. At least they gave me a single room that I got to myself. Exhausted, I fell asleep at 4 a.m. and got a few hours’ rest. I had bad dreams about the airline moving the flight up to the morning but the hotel neglecting to inform the passengers.
When I finally ventured downstairs at 11 a.m., I asked the front desk about the flight. It had been pushed back to 3:30 p.m. and the hotel would be providing rides to the airport at 1:30 p.m. I wilted. At least my meals were taken care of. I went for an early lunch and bumped into David. He hadn’t slept, really, having discovered “Jaws” was on TV when he arrived.
Eventually 1:30 p.m. rolled around. Lots of passengers had rolled their luggage into the reception area. I was lucky because, as single with no luggage, furtively sneaking onto an airport van was no problem. It didn’t matter though, because once at the airport, I learned the flight had been bumped to 4:30 p.m. I was never leaving Malaysia.
The weary passengers reconvened in front of Gate 1 once again. As 4:30 p.m. approached and the airline staff had maintained radio silence, I started to get nervous. But, lo and behold, we were allowed to board. Finally, at 5:30 p.m., more than 17 hours behind schedule, we were on our way. The crew was immensely apologetic for the delay. Apparently there’d been a problem fueling the plane that they’d never encountered before. And if you can’t get gas in the plane, you can’t take off.
My next problem was this: getting from the airport back to Tokushima. The flight was scheduled to arrive at 10:10 p.m., local time. The last bus for Tokushima left at 8:35 p.m. I obviously wasn’t going to make that bus. When I finally finished the usual arrival protocol of taking a shuttle, going through immigration, collecting my bags and breezing through customs, it was about 10:30 p.m.
How was I getting home?
I could have just slept at the airport and taken the next bus — at 8:35 a.m. — back to Tokushima. But I was already way behind schedule as it was, plus I had to go to school tomorrow morning. If I took the 8:35 a.m. bus, I’d miss half a day of school.
I had spent enough time waiting around for my flight, let alone my ride back to Tokushima. I had heard that there was a ferry you could use from Wakayama, which is near Osaka, back to Tokushima. But I didn’t know the ferry schedule, nor how to get to Wakayama. I checked the transportation board and saw there was a bus to Wakayama at 11:20 p.m. That was a possibility, but I didn’t want to take it before learning if there was even a departing ferry I could board. What if I got to the pier and learned there weren’t any ferries scheduled until tomorrow? There’d be no point.
What I needed was a person to talk to. Maybe there were brochures or signs with this information but my kanji is terrible. The information booth was closed. If there was a transportation booth, that was closed, too. Things were not looking very favorable.
I didn’t think I needed to use the train but maybe there was someone there to whom I could speak. And, hallejujah, there he was. A lone train station employee manned the ticket booth. There was no line. It was 11 p.m. I had 20 minutes to figure out if I needed to take that bus to Wakayama to catch a ferry and if that was even the right away to go about things.
It turned out I had it all wrong, anyway. This guy was my knight that night. I asked him if he spoke English. My Japanese is enough to get by in transportation-related situations like this, but doing it in English, if possible, always made things easier. He said he only spoke a little English, so I stuck with Japanese. I asked him if he had the Wakayama ferry schedule to Tokushima. This guy not only had that information, he had all the answers. He told me what to take, when to take it, and from where to take it from. I seriously don’t know what I would have done without him.
When I was finished, I thanked him profusely and began heading to the train platforms. Turns out I didn’t need to take the bus at all. I walked toward a platform but the man gestured wildly from his booth to another one, so I ended up at the right one.
Since there was no direct bus to Tokushima Station, this is how I got home: I took a 40-minute train ride that involved one transfer to Wakayama Station. Then I took a taxi to the Wakayama ferry terminal. While waiting to board the ferry, I freshened up in the restroom. I felt really gross from having been in transit for so long. The ferry departed at 12:40 a.m. and took two hours to get to the Tokushima ferry terminal. It was surprisingly comfortable, in that its passenger quarters are simply open, carpeted areas where you remove your shoes. We all laid down and slept for the majority of the way.
At the Tokushima ferry terminal, I needed to take a taxi to the station. I prayed there’d be a taxi stand out front. I wasn’t for sure there’d be one since I’d never been there. But Fate was kind and when I stepped out into the chilly night, sure enough, there was a line of waiting taxis. I could have taken it all the way home, but my bike was at the station and I needed it to get to school. I wondered if bike would still be where I’d left it — let alone the leather coat, cap and gloves I’d left in the basket. I was in need of my coat; I had only a sweater and was shivering from the cold.
And, because Japan is the wonderfully safe, personal-property-respecting place that it is, my bike and winter wear were exactly where I’d left it. I donned my coat and biked the last 20 minutes back home, warming quickly from having to pedal while wearing my 7.6-kg backpack.
Finally, at 3:30 a.m. Monday, I was home, 17 hours later than expected. I had school in five hours.
Tuesday-Wednesday, April 5-6, 2005 — The indulgence of spring
I had been told the teachers would be busy at Spring Break, what with staff reassignments and new classes. That proved true in some cases, but in other cases, teachers found themselves with lots of free time on their hands. Added to the fact was I arrived back to Tokushima to find the cherry blossoms in full bloom. If there were ever a time to play hooky from school to enjoy the weather, now was it.
Twice, I went to lunch with two good teacher friends of mine. They introduced me to nice local restaurants that I hope to visit again soon. Both days, after lunch we went to nearby parks to enjoy the sakura. What makes them so unusual, at least to me, is that they bloom just before the trees’ leaves come in, so the trees are fully blanketed in a solid, pale-pink cloud with nary a hint of any other color. They really are quite stunning.
Japanese people have a tradition of doing “hanami” — or “flower viewing” when the sakura come out. Hanami are basically glorified picnics. Families sit beneath the cherry trees eating food, drinking sake and soaking in the atmosphere of a new-come spring. At both places that we visited, droves of people were having hanami, their heads turned upward.
I washed my jacket today, thinking soon enough I’d be able to pack it away. When I put it on after it’d been washed, I saw that my wicked laundry machine had done a number on it, liberally ripping up the sleeves. Geez. Why why why did I not put my jacket into a laundry bag? I’d let myself grow complacent after many laundry baskets without a problem. The occasional tear on the hem of my pants, but nothing more. This — this was just vindictive, my laundry machine getting back at me.
Friday, April 8, 2005 — New faces
Another year, another round of new teachers. Two of my teachers left, and one came in their stead. I’m at Kamona now, where they’ve also just changed the format of English classes among the first-year students. Instead of dividing the 40-student classes in half for English class, they’ll remain as is. Lessons with 20 students are much more manageable but I suppose with one less English teacher, it was the only option.
I can’t believe my adorable first-year students are already third-year students. They’re all big and tall and confident. When I first came, the third-years terrified me precisely for that reason. But I’ve known this year’s third-years the longest. The new first-years won’t come to school until Monday, when there’ll be a special entering-student ceremony for them. I can’t wait to see them. First years may no the least English, but they’re so cute!
The cherry blossoms are peaking and some trees are losing their petals, leaving a snowfall of them on the ground. It’s an arresting spectacle made all the more precious by the brevity of the sakura’s life span: about two weeks, every year.
I went with three teachers, an English teacher, art teacher and special needs teacher, to an okonomiyaki place for lunch. Luckily all three of them speak conversational-level English. It’s kind of awkward when the language levels range all over the place because a lot of extra concessions need to be made for everyone.
I felt really fortunate to have been invited this week to eat with my teacher friends this week. They didn’t have to ask me to join them. Making inroads into the Japanese community is a process that takes perseverance and time and it’s always such a pleasant surprise when I feel like I’m taking a step forward, such as in this case. I felt a ping of regret for having to soon desert all the progress that I’ve made here, but know I’m making the right decision.
Sunday, April 10, 2005 — Happiness
A pink-petaled rain
Beneath a soft sky and sun
Tells me spring has come
Tuesday, April 19, 2005 — Bits and pieces
Sometimes when I’m doing interview tests and they start to get boring, I entertain myself by spotting the boys who pluck their eyebrows. Some have plucked them into oblivion.
I’ve been around long enough at my school that I’m more familiar with the students than some of the teachers. The third-year English teacher recently was establishing class protocol during the lesson by having the students practice their greetings. English class always begins with the teacher greeting the students and the students replying. It ends the same way. Maeda-sensei was making the students practice, “Good morning, Ms. Maeda,” because they would never come in at the same time or speak loudly enough for her. They were really just goofing off. Then when it was my turn and I said, “Hello, everyone!” they yelled back, “HELLO, VIVI!” I think the teacher was taken aback by their vehemence. Secretly, I was pleased with their friendliness and familiarity. It’ll be forgotten soon enough under the weight of tests and high school entrance pressures, so I have to enjoy it while I can!
Saturday, April 23, 2005 — Osaka Aquarium
My sister came to stay with me for three weeks. I took her to Osaka the first weekend she was here. We braved the overwhelming Osaka Station, which is basically an underground prison/labyrinth, and finally got to our destination, the Osaka Aquarium. It was worth it. Giant fishes! Beignets! Magic acts! But pictures only of the fishes.
Sunday, April 24, 2005 — Nagai Park
We stayed overnight at the soccer-stadium hostel in southeast Osaka I stayed at with my friend Jacob last spring. In the morning, we decided to explore the surrounding neighborhood rather than deal with Osaka Station again. It turned out to be quite the wise decision.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005 — Dinner with my Japanese teacher
My former Japanese teacher, Watari-sensei, found out about my sister’s visit and insisted on taking us out to dinner. Watari-sensei is a retired English teacher. He took up teaching ALTs Japanese. I went to his class for a few months but eventually dropped out because it focused more on reading than on speaking, and I wanted to concentrate more on the latter.
Watari-sensei took it well, and said he wanted to meet my sister. It was her first dinner with a Japanese person. He took us to a favorite restaurant of his and proceeded to feed us into oblivion. She said I speak really slowly when I speak English to Japanese people, and that she doesn’t think it’s necessary. I contend that it IS because I’ve had Japanese people tell me it’s easier for them to understand me when I speak at that pace compared to others who speak at a normal pace. Besides, it’s a courtesy I always hope that Japanese people will do for me, too: speaking Japanese at a slower speed than usual because you need that extra time for understanding to click.
Wednesday, April 27, 2005 — Pride cometh before a fall
No, there was no actual falls today. But I still hurt. I took my sister to calligraphy this evening and she turned out to be a freaking NATURAL at calligraphy. <shakes fist> I was horribly envious. Kurohashi-sensei was overwhelming pleased and impressed by An’s unexpected talent.
An also got the added bonus of doing some flower arrangement, which I haven’t gotten to do in several months. That portion of the evening was spent with Kurohashi-sensei dubiously wondering what exactly (if anything) I remembered from past lessons and An, of course, showing me up.
Thursday, April 28, 2005 — Not that kind of teacher
Thursdays have become elementary school days. I was sent to Suketo Elementary School this day, a school I’d never been too before. It was quite sizable compared with the other elementary schools in my neighborhood that I’d visited. The school district had another ALT, Amy from New Zealand, and I double-teaming the school. Amy handled the fourth-graders and I, the sixth-graders.
Amy is has blond, curly hair and light-colored eyes. Between the two of us, you can imagine what “kind” of ALT the kids were expecting when we arrived.
When the first-period bell rang, Amy and I waited in the teachers’ room for students from our first-period classes to come get us. This keeps us from getting lost, and it’s a responsibility the kids both covet and despair of. They really want to do it, but once it’s time, they tend to lose their head, not knowing what to do about it. Anyways, Amy and I were sitting across from each other. A bevy of sixth graders zeroed right in on Amy and asked her to come to their classroom. She told them they had the wrong ALT and gestured to me. They had this massively confused expression on their face.
I let out a long-suffering sigh and gathered my things. “Yes, it’s me. I’M your ALT.”
Later, when it was third-period, fourth-graders came and collected Amy so I was sitting by myself — there were no other teachers around me — in the teachers’ room waiting for my own envoy. A group of sixth-graders came in and asked the vice principal where the Enligsh teacher was. He pointed at me. The students’ heads swiveled in my direction. They craned their necks, looking for the foreigner. When I stood, bewilderment crossed their faces. What was going on? Why was that Japanese teacher responding to them?
<SIGH>
I may not make much of a difference as a teacher but one point I hope I’ve driven home by the time I leave here is that not all foreigners, especially Western foreigners, are blond and blue-eyed.
Saturday, April 30, 2005 — Dinner with the principal
My principal at my far school, Takahashi-sensei, invited my sister and I over to his home for dinner. He’s always so thoughtful and asks me what foods are okay beforehand. And I always tell him the same thing: Everything’s fine except sashimi (raw fish) and takoyaki (octopus dumplings). This is said with the unspoken caveat that he won’t be surprising me with anything like horse meat or raw beef.
His wife, Kyōko, again prepared a magnificent meal. We had temakizushi, a kind of sushi you make at the table, like last time. She also made yakisoba, a fried soba of sorts. Takahashi-sensei and Kyōko insisted that both my sister and I give cooking the yakisoba a try. She brought out strawberries afterward when we were already full to bursting. The conversation went really well, considering none of us were really fluent in each others’ native languages.
Eventually Kyōko pulled out her shamisen, a traditional Japanese stringed instrument, which she plays. She performs with an Awa Odori dance group. She gave us a little private performance and then got An to try her hand at it. It made me squirm because the pick is gigantic and sharp, and I didn’t want the pick to accidentally slip and scratch her shamisen.