August 2003
Saturday, August 2, 2003 — The beach, meeting the other JETs
I can look out the windows of my apartment and see the green, green hills that line the edge of the city. The coastline is on the other side, and the beach is not far away. I went to the beach today — apparently it’s something like a 30-minute bike ride away, although a second-year English JET, James, took us in his car.
The beach was nice — the sand is free of sharp rocks and the water, refreshingly cool. We met up with two Japanese friends of James’: Satoshi, a 20-year-old video store clerk, and Takumi, a 30-something lady in his adult-language class. Satoshi said he liked English because he can curse much more effectively in it than in Japanese, which has few swear words. He lent me some of his videos.
Among the support groups we have to rely on here is AJET Tokushima. The association is manned by returning JETs in the prefecture. It organizes social activities for the JETs and provides information, advice and forums for which to discuss life specifically in Tokushima-ken. One of the first AJET-related activities I went to was a night out tonight for the Group-A JETs. Another night out is scheduled for next weekend, after the Group-B JETs arrive.
Tokushima started receiving JETs in 1987. That first year, the government gave it six JETs. This year, the prefecture will get 75 from the United States, Britain, Canada, Australia and New Zealand. Tokushima-shi, the largest city in the prefecture, has eight of those JETs.
Tonight we met at Tokushima Station, the city's transportation hub, and walked to a restaurant a block or two over. Many of the JETs were actually departing JETs who had not yet left and were looking for one last outing with their friends. At the restaurant, we were shown a room with tatami and asked to sit down on cushions on the floor. The tables were low, too, and each had two griddles on them. We were given big plates with raw vegetables and meat and grilled our food ourselves.
After polishing that off, I remember thinking, “Gosh, is that all?” It wasn’t. Then the restaurant employees brought out noodles for us to grill and THEN okonomiyaki, a sort of Japanese-style pizza. I was not able to eat any of the okonomiyaki because by then I so full by then.
Sunday, August 3, 2003 — My apartment
My shower is complicated. I can’t figure out how to get hot water, which involves turning on the gas. Thankfully, taking a cold shower is actually quite refreshing. My bathroom is very different. I have a little room for the toilet. Next to it, in a separate room, is the shower/tub. The tub is half the size of our tubs, but the walls are higher. Next to it is an open area for showering — while sitting down. That's how the Japanese bathe; they sell little plastic stools in the stores for people to sit on while bathing.
I kept asking if getting water on the gas-powered water heater would be bad. They tell me no. I figure I would have heard by now of any JETs accidentally blowing themselves up. I have no sink for my bathroom. I brush my teeth at the kitchen sink.
It is warm — not as warm as Houston, but then again, there’s no central air conditioning in Japan. I leave my windows open most of the time, but when it gets unbearable I sequester myself in my living room and turn on the A/C. It’s so sunny here that I broke down and got a straw hat the other day at the ¥100 store. I like to say I really look like a local now, but actually, most people wear Gilligan-style fisherman hats.
It is so weird to be living on an island with mountains. My prefecture is 80-percent mountainous. I’m excited to go explore once I figure out how to read the kanji on the train schedules. I hear I’ll get a chance to explore the prefecture in the winter because it gets so cold (Japanese buildings aren’t very well-insulated) that everything is dead, so the JETs throughout the prefecture entertain themselves by getting together to write a musical and then stage it. We go from town to town to meet.
Mike, the departing ALT, knows Tokushima like the back of his hand and has been very helpful showing us around helping us settle in. He has been here four years and is leaving to go to graduate school. He likes to use slang like, “What’s up, dog?” with his students when they get fresh with him. It throws them off-track.
My TV only gets 12 channels, about half of them clearly. All are in Japanese, although one of the channels occasionally plays classic American movies with Japanese subtitling. The guy before me left some video recordings of The Simpsons episodes, which I have been watching.
My apartment is right by the train station. And by “right by,” I mean I can SEE the station AND the trains as they pull by. It is right across the street from me. I even hear the clanging noise that warns of approaching trains. I have tatami mats in my bedroom and sliding doors.
To my horror, I have discovered that Japan does not have street names! Crazy! So when I ride my bike, I have to look for landmarks rather than road names. Only major thoroughfares have names. My address comes from my landlady’s name, Matsumoto-san, and my neighborhood, Kuramoto-cho.
Thankfully, I live very close to the main road that runs through town and many stores are nearby. There is a rather large grocery store, a ¥100 store and electronics shop together in a plaza just a bike ride away. A post office is right across the street. I think I must be a slow bicyclist; old men and women and children pass me on their bikes all the time. At least we get to ride on the sidewalk rather than on the road alongside the crazy Tokushima drivers.
Monday, Aug. 4, 2003 — Going to school, the handkerchief lady
I went to both my junior high schools today to meet the staff. In addition, my job description requires teaching an adult-conversation class once a month and an occasional visit to elementary schools.
My supervisor told me to introduce myself using my real name, but I told her no one calls me that. I had a discussion with her the other day on my use of “gotcha.” “ ‘Gotcha’ — that means ‘I got you’?” she asked. I said yes, that I use it a lot to let the person know I understand what they’re saying.
Kokufu Junior High School is the campus that’s further away from me, about 20 minutes by bike. The head English teacher there, Kitajima-sensei, seems quite formal, but okay. She remarked I looked very young. I told them I’d been working for several years. I asked Takeuchi-sensei later if my looking young was bad and she said no, that the students would relate better to me. At the other school, Kamona Junior High, which is five minutes by bike, the head English teacher is really cool. Kashiba-sensei spent some time in the States and her English is really good and she’s laid-back. I’m going to both schools this week to help with an upcoming speech contest.
That afternoon, I went to another beach today. This beach was on the outskirts of Tokushima. It took just a few minutes to leave behind the hustle and bustle of the city and enter this lushly green refuge.
I went with James, Sally and Tashi. This beach isn’t one for swimming, actually, although James professed to having done it before. Apparently someone swam out some years ago into the water and was drowned by the undertow. I didn’t mind sitting on the beach for most of the time, since it’s quite pebbly rather than sandy. The last beach we went to, though I liked the water, I was inhaling sand every time I breathed.
Eventually, after confirming that at least some children were playing by the water’s edge, I ventured into the water. The current was quite strong and the ground also dropped off rather steeply just a few feet away from the bank. After one alarming moment in which I was pulled toward the sea, I stayed closer to the shore. Mostly, I just hung out on the bank with talking with the others.
Tashi and I joked about our professions. “You’re the ones who are always turning down my story ideas!” he said. Tashi used to work as a marketing rep for X-Box. “You’re the ones who are always calling and pestering us!” I said.
When I came back, just after I finished showering, someone knocked on my door. It was a Japanese girl (young woman, maybe …) who started showing me some sort of product I didn’t recognize and speaking to me. I told her sumimasen (excuse me), that I didn’t understand Japanese.
She hesitated, and started talking in broken English. She asked how long I’d been in Japan or perhaps how long I expected to stay so I answered both, that I’d been here one week, and that I expected to live here for at least a year. She asked where I was from. I was so proud of myself — I had just studied the words for “came” and “from,” and so recognized her versions of them. I told her I was from America and when she asked where in America, I told her Texas. She told me she’d just visited New York City last year for three months, and had noticed how America has churches everywhere. I wanted to tell her it was kind of similar in Japan, with all its shrines … but I didn’t know the word for “shrine.”
Finally I asked her what she was selling. Apparently she was selling handkerchiefs as a fund-raiser for some sort of charity function that involved Afghan children. She asked if I could donate ¥2,000 yen. As I’ve been trying to pull back on my rapid cash flow, I asked if ¥1,000 was all right. Normally I’d just send charity causes on their way, but I was so grateful that she was expending that extra effort to speak English with me that I didn’t mind.
On the other hand, I bought my most expensive hair-scarf yet …
When we finished the transactions, she said thanks. I told her, “Good luck — Gambatte,” and she looked quite appreciative. It was quite a nice interaction. A little Japanese does go a long way.
Tuesday, August 5, 2003 — Paying the rent
I paid my rent today: ¥90,500. I’ll let you do the math. That is actually only partly rent and mostly “key money,” a weird phrase for a weirder definition: “a gift to the landlord.” I don’t really get it, but the Tokushima Board of Education — the city’s school district — is subsidizing my housing, so I’m not one to argue with discounted rent. You get used to signing things and paying for things while having no idea why you’re being asked to do so.
Interacting with my landlady is always an interesting. I don’t speak any Japanese and she doesn’t speak any English. Even though she knows this, she goes on long spiels in Japanese to which I look blankly at her and she stares back at me, obviously waiting for the reply that will never come. But Matsumoto-san is actually quite a nice landlord. After I paid her my rent she was able to communicate, with the aid of her husband, to me that if I had any questions, I should ask. I hadn’t meant to bring it up (but since she asked, I told her I still couldn’t figure out how to get hot water out of my fabulously complicated shower. (I had intended to ask Mike, the ALT upstairs, how to do it when he got back from a trip in a couple of days.) Getting hot water is actually only a three-step process … but hey, come on, cut me some slack, in the States, it simply involves turning on the tap!
My mention of the hot water (which involved my using the Japanese word for “hot,” at least when referring to the weather) problem led to immediate results. First, Matsumoto-san called my supervisor, Takeuchi-sensei. I kept waiting for her to hand the phone over so Takeuchi-sensei could tell me by phone what was going on. This did not happen. Then the landlady called the gas company. I tried to explain that the gas was working fine in my apartment, I just couldn’t figure out how to use it to get hot water. This, too, led to few results.
About an hour later, I found both the gas man and my landlady at my door. He came in and found, of course, that there was no problem with the gas. I don’t know if this was in his job description or not, but he went ahead and figured out how to induce hot water in my shower. It looked like he was reading some directions on the water heater, but it was all Greek to me, anyway. Once he turned on the hot water a couple of times, my landlady made me turn it on a couple of times more to show both of them that I understood how to do it. When she was satisfied (which involved her asking me, “Do you understand” in Japanese several times), they both left.
She came back later that evening to give me some Japanese oranges. Wow. I wonder if she did it because she felt sorry for me. Whatever the case, the oranges are delicious.
Thursday, August 7, 2003 — Getting to better know the pavement
It was bound to happen. I crashed on my bike today. It was a spectacular crash. Who knew how slick concrete gets when it rains, ESPECIALLY when you’re rounding the corner in front of a huge department store with lots of people and motorists around you?? Now I know. My hands, knee and elbow know intimately. I got the wind knocked out me. Ouch.
I slunk home in the rain.
Friday, August 8, 2003 — Typhoon
So, my first typhoon! Whoo-hoo! I first got wind of this typhoon mid-way through the week. My supervisor casually mentioned a meeting scheduled for today had been cancelled because a typhoon was expected. She was like, “Yeah, be sure to get groceries ahead of time.”
That was the extent of the conversation.
Given my dearth of knowledge on typhoons, I drilled the English teachers at Kamona Junior High School when I visited yesterday. Though they likened a typhoon to a hurricane, they seemed quite calm. They were like, “Yeah, you live in building made out of concrete, so you don’t have to worry. It’s those that live in WOODEN houses that have it hard during typhoons.” Right.
It started raining yesterday afternoon and has been pouring on and off since then. The wind has really picked up though. Though I haven’t seen any trees, cars, people or debris blowing around, the strength of the wind is wicked. It keeps clawing to get inside my apartment, noisily rattling my windows, walls and doors all day and whipping around the trees outside like pom-poms. All the bikes parked in front of the train station have been knocked down.
I left my sliding door to the balcony open a crack since the air outside is nice and cool. I tried sleeping with the door open last night, too, but the wind kept on shaking the sliding door to my bedroom, which — when I’m half asleep and not thinking logically — totally makes me think that someone’s trying to get inside my room. So I had to close the balcony door.
This evening, I watched the news, which was all about typhoon coverage. Apparently the epicenter was just south of Shikoku, my island. The news showed footage of the weather in different parts of southern Japan. Lots of footage of people trying futilely to use their umbrellas in gale-force winds. I don’t understand why people even try. I saw only one scene of flooding, and haven’t seen any sign of that problem so far at least around my apartment.
Saturday, Aug. 9, 2003 — More meeting and eating
The Tokushima-ken JETs met again today, but this time the group was far more complete because the Group B JETs had come on Wednesday. They ate at a beer garden (who ever heard of such a thing!) on the top floor of Tokushima Station. It was all you can eat and drink. As I wasn’t inclined to pay ¥3,000 for alcohol I wasn’t going to drink, another JET and I went in search of another place to eat before meeting up with the others when everyone was done eating.
Audrey, who’s not much of a drinker either, and I hunted around the Tokushima Station area, which is rife with eating establishments. Many restaurants here have food-display windows and pricing just outside, so you know what sort of things they offer. There were a lot of sushi places, but I wanted something more filling, either with rice or noodles.
We started getting restless and finally plunged into a tiny eating place with no food display whatsoever outside and frosted windows, so we couldn’t see inside what people were eating. There were no diners inside when we entered, and the menus were written in kanji and displayed on the walls. Not having any idea what kind of food the place had, we tentatively asked, “Udon?” for udon noodles. The woman shook her head: “Ramen!” She replied. They sold ramen! Hurray! Good enough for me! We didn’t know what sort of ramen they had, but simply asked for two ramens.
She picked our dishes for us, and brought out ramen noodles with pork and onions. It was just what I was looking for, and cheap, too. Excellent, and all for just ¥450! We felt proud of ourselves for finding the restaurant and filling food and being able to communicate with our paltry Japanese.
We met up with the others, probably about 50 JETs, and headed toward Sakae-machi, the nightlife district. I went to a bar with others for a bit called Bell’s Bar. There was set-up for a band, but no one was playing. I actually liked it quiet, because we could talk a lot easier.
Monday, August 11, 2003 — Going to Awa Kawashima
My first ride on the train today! But first, earlier in the day all five new Tokushima City JETs were asked to meet at the Board of Education for a formal introduction to the superintendent. I was eager to meet the two other new JETs, who arrived just last week. Sally and I showed up first and then Tashi. We were all wearing suits, as Takeuchi-sensei had made painfully clear that was a requirement for the introductions.
Then the two new Group-B Tokushima JETs, Dan (a Brit from Dover, England) and Drew (an American from Michigan) showed up in shorts and T-shirts! Takeuchi-sensei immediately pulled them aside and sent them home to change. Poor guys. The three of us speculated that they had probably been told simply to show up at 9:30 a.m. this morning, and that no one had told them why or to dress us. In this environment, that actually happens pretty often.
When Dan and Drew returned, this time looking both dapper and frazzled, we made our rounds. The superintendent, though he only spoke a few words of English, seemed like a pretty cool guy. He asked us what sort of Japanese food we liked. Sally said sushi. I said oyakadonburi, a scrumptious dish of rice, chicken, eggs and onions. Yum. He reminded us about Awa Odori, Tokushima’s dance festival that starts this week, and even did a little demonstration for us with a paper fan on his coffee table. It cracked me up.
For lunch, four of us went to Big Brother’s, a sandwich shop near Tokushima Station run by an American who’s a former JET. It was neat to be an English environment. The place sold subway sandwiches, pitas, potato wedges and onion rings. The TV had on CNN.
Later that day, I met up with Sally, Tashi, and Elliot at Tokushima Station to go to Hazele’s birthday party. Hazelle lives in Awa Kawashima, a town about 40 minutes away by train. None of us had ever ridden the train there, and some, like me, had never ridden the train before. But teamwork works wonders! Sally asked a station employee to write down how much it cost to go to Sako (which was one stop over and where we’d planned to meet another JET), which platform and when the train would depart. We took the train to Sako and waited for Audrey. When she didn’t show (later we’d find out she got a ride instead), we bought our second tickets without her. Sally read the schedule (which was written out in the Japanese phonetic alphabet) and I asked a bystander which train to take. Once we were on, it was only a matter of reading the signs at every station to find out if Awa Kawashima was the next stop.
At Awa Kawashima, we called Hazele, who gave us rough directions to her house. The four of us took off walking in the dark. We expected a 10 minute walk. But when we got to the house we thought was Hazele’s, everything was so quiet and dark. The house’s lights were on, but we still weren’t sure. As we debated whether to knock on the door, three British JETs drove up in a car, as lost as we were. They had a cell phone and so told us to stay put as they went in search of Hazele’s home. So the four of us hung out at the end of the dark driveway, looking sadly lost.
(Later, Hazele would tell us that we should have knocked on the door of the stranger's house anyway and asked where the ALT lived; the town is small enough that everyone knows. In fact, Hazele forgot where she lived once and had to ask the locals where her house was!)
Anyways, a long time later, another car drove up and stopped abruptly. It was Chanda, who’d been at Hazele’s house. She’d borrowed Hazele’s car to go in search of us. She was nervous because she didn't have a license yet and she'd been drinking a little — Japan has a zero-tolerance policy on drunk drivers. Chanda told us we looked like we’d just given up looking for the house and had resigned ourselves to fate. We went to Hazele’s and later the trio of British JETs turned up too. Mission accomplished!
Hazele has a house. I was quite impressed by this. She has three bedrooms, a spacious kitchen and two living rooms. She has an upstairs. It was an ideal place for entertaining. But Hazele has never lived by herself before, and was terrified when she first moved in. She wished she had an apartment. She never goes upstairs (nor would I; the stairs are steep and there’s no handrail!) and in fact sleeps in one of the living rooms, since it’s the only one with air conditioning. She thinks it’s a little too big for one person.
I spent the evening getting to know some of the JETs whom I haven’t met yet. I met Allison and Marin, a couple from the States. I got this vibe off them that we had something in common. It turns out they’re from the southern part of the U.S., too! They’ve lived in New Orleans and Allison’s family live in Texas. They’re the first Americans I’ve met who from anywhere in the same region as me. I got a lot of great advice from them on being an ALT and how to go about getting high-speed Internet.
Wednesday, August 13, 2003 — Awa Odori
Let me tell you about a little something Tokushimans like to call Awa Odori.
Awa Odori is Tokushima’s annual dance festival. “Awa” is Tokushima’s old name. “Odori” means “dance.” But Awa Odori is not so much a dance as a phenomenon: a jubilant, breathtaking, colorful marvel that feeds all the senses and leaves you elated and exhausted all at once. The motto of the festival: “You’re a fool if you watch and a fool if you dance, so you might as well dance.”
You cannot escape Awa Odori. In public parks, people rehearse for it. In grocery and department stores, its clanging music plays over loud speakers. In shops along the main road, CDs of Awa Odori music are for sale. In Tokushima Station, a TV plays footage of the dance.
Every Aug. 12-15, the locals — who practice weeks, MONTHS, in advance — take to the streets of downtown Tokushima to give a show that attracts people from around the prefecture and the country. Tokushima touts many home-grown sources of pride, from its indigo dye to its sudachi citrus fruit, but Awa Odori is by far what has helped the prefecture make a name for itself in tourism.
The festivities begin each day at precisely 6 p.m. and last, at least officially, until 10:30 p.m. The dance troupes, most divided into men, women and children, begin their parade through the parks, streets and covered shopping arcades of downtown. A crew of musicians accompanies each troupe with drums furiously thundering, flutes eerily whistling, shamisens wailing and bell-like gongs clanging. The pulse drives onlookers to spontaneously break into dance themselves.
Most of the female troupes mince by on getas, precariously balanced on the front half of the wooden sandals. Their hands flutter gracefully or sweep vibrant-colored fans in unison. They wear ice-cream colored yukatas, lightweight summer robes with a wide obi belted around their midriff. Huge straw hats that bring to mind folded pancake crown them. Other women wear shorter robes and shorts, and white tabi — two-toed slippers — without the geta. A strip of fabric encircles the tops their heads.
Whereas the women move at a flutter, the men move in a flurry, with an athleticism absent from the women’s more gentle motions. Each step requires care, toes outturned and knees bent just so. As the music crescendos, so, too, do their movements.
The men wear similarly short robes, some whirling unlit lanterns among nimble fingers. Others twirl flat fans, two fingers clasping the fan’s side rather than the handle for more agility. Many of the men have a handkerchief of sorts atop their heads, the ends tied beneath their noses.
The joy of the dance beams from their faces.
The crowd contributes just as much color. Girls and women decked in their own yukatas, their summer formal wear, dot the crowd. Their wooden geta clack on the street like castanets. Booths line the riverside, and from them vendors sell fair food like barbequed squid on a stick, chicken nuggets in a cup, sponge cake, snow cones and noodles. Others hawk wares such as cartoon character thermoses, handmade jewelry and even pet fish.
“All of Tokushima prefecture catches the summer fever when it comes to Awa Odori,” boasts the Tokushima Sightseeing Guide.
There are three main theories on Awa Odori’s origin. The first surmises it evolved from Bon Odori, a dance dedicated to past ancestors and performed throughout the summer. The second harkens back to when Tokushima Castle was completed: Legend has it that at the celebration, the townspeople got drunk on sake and broke into dance. And finally, the third theory dates back to 1663 when a Furyu dance — a dance style of that period — took place at Shozui Castle and led to the birth of Awa Odori.
In the 1920s, the prefecture named the festival Awa Odori. The dance also takes place in other towns in the prefecture, but Tokushima City’s it he most famous.
Thursday-Friday, August 14-15, 2003 — Orientation
The 4-½ day orientation for the 35 new Tokushima JETs began today. The first item on the agenda: dancing in Awa Odori. But it was not to be. The weather shut us out. We had to content ourselves with carousing with another dance troupe at a nearby hotel.
First, we met at TOPIA, the Tokushima Prefectural International Exchange Association, before moving on to the Kenzan Hotel closer to the river. I thought that was weird, staying at a hotel when my apartment was just down the way, but they wanted all the JETs together, and most of them had come from out of town. At the Kenzan, TOPIA officials passed out yukata and obi for us to wear.
Be sure to wear the left side on the outside on the outside and tuck the ride side inside, they told us. Corpses are wrapped the other way. I wore my yukata with sneakers.
Once everyone was properly outfitted, we settled in for my first enkai. My dictionary defines “enkai” as a “banquet,” but simply put, it’s a drinking party. At an enkai, you cannot touch the food or drink laid out before you until the “Kampai!” (“Cheers!”) has been said. This usually is preceded by a speech from certain members of the group, most certainly the senior member of the group.
At this enkai, since it was just us gaijin, we got to the kampai rather quickly. The snack food consisted of a curious combination of fried chicken, French fries, steamed fish-paste rings, peanut butter sandwiches (the crustless edges neatly pinched together, as if by an iron), and churros. I was astounded by the sheer amount of beer that flowed — the bottles kept on magically appearing. Eventually, someone got the karaoke machine working and the JETs took it upon themselves to add music to the mood.
Two hours later, the enkai finally came to a close. We ventured outside, my socks still wet (blech) from the walk earlier to the hotel. We made our way to another hotel to meet another dance group. I was disappointed we wouldn’t get to do Awa Odori for the public, but there’s always next year. The other group had already eaten, too, and had pushed back the tables so they could dance. It was almost square-dance-like in nature: First the gaijin! Now the Nihon-jin (Japanese)! How about the children! Now, everyone!
I consider myself a pretty shy person when it comes to dancing, but it was easy to get caught up in the jubilance. Plus, it was also easy to do a very simplified, ungraceful version of the dance. Not to mention the entire room was on their feet in a huge Awa Odori conga line, so it was hard to feel self-conscious. If the children could dance Awa Odori, by God, I could, too.
After a while, I had to flee the dancing, music volume and smoke fumes. I escaped to the hallway. A man from Papua New Guinea insisted I have a drink and continued on this mission until I stared him down and told him I didn’t drink. An international student from Laos told me I looked Laotian.
I also got to better know some of the other JETs out in the hallway, which was quieter. One of the Americans is an intriguing blend of Chinese and Polish. One of the Canadian JETs is a former model who stands 6’2” yet she’s somehow the shortest person in her family! I met a second-year JET from Alabama. I was shocked, because he sounded British. He affected a Southern accent and replied, “If ah tawked lak this, people wood thank ah wuz stupid.” The British part of his accent came from hanging out with Brits frequently.
I also got to talk a bit with Richard, a Brit an ex-JET and co-creator of Genki English, which helps JETs teach English to Japanese students. He still sings the praises of the JET job. He was scheduled to speak to us the next day about teaching. He jokingly surmised that many JETs get in the program solely based on their eye color, that blue-eyed JETs outnumber all the rest. They fit the image of “foreigner,” he hypothesized. I have yet to put this theory to the test, but have noticed pale-eyed JETs roughly match the number of plain-Jane brown-eyed JETs like me …
The dancing session came to a close at 8 p.m. By then, some of my fellow JETs had been drinking continuously for five hours. Bleary eyed and muddle-headed, they muttered that it felt more like 2 a.m. than 8 p.m. Nevertheless, many would go bar-hopping and clubbing that night.
We tramped back to the Kenzan Hotel, a bit worse for the wear but so appreciative we had gotten even this rained-ruined opportunity to get a first-hand glimpse of Awa Odori. I was exhausted and just wanted to get dinner and crawl in to bed. Clair and I, accompanied by Brian “Dubs” Wright and Matthew, a Canadian JET, went in search of sustenance. We found it in the form of a chain curry restaurant that took its curry so seriously, it listed 10 levels of spiciness.
I wanted mild rice curry, but the lowest level they had for that dish was Regular (curiously, not even Level 1). It was delicious, with just a hint of spiciness. I keep hearing how Japanese curry is not like “real” curry (whatever that means for such a ubiquitous food), but I love it. It reminds me of my mom’s curry.
Brian was seriously drunk. He kept on blurting random Japanese words for no reason: “Domo (thanks).” “Dozo (go ahead).” “Hai (yes).” “Arigato (Thanks).” When the chef came to speak to us about a conflicting spice-level choice and dish (apparently Matthew’s Level 5 spiciness and food choice wouldn’t taste good, the chef said, recommending another dish — how thoughtful!), Brian did that.
“Are you drunk?” the chef perceptively asked.
Brian said yes.
“Awa Odori?”
Brian said yes.
The chef nodded understandingly.
The next day, we spent at TOPIA hearing speakers on education-related topics. I felt a little bad for the lady from the prefectural Board of Education. She was trying to lecture to a room of mostly hung-over JETs. It didn’t help that she had a terribly dull approach: reciting her written speech, word for word, while sitting, inert, at a table in front of us.
She was followed by a talk — or rather, an experience — by the Genki English guys, Will and Richard. Somehow, even after all that beer, Richard was energetic enough for 10 people, prowling back and forth, yelling exclamations on the importance of enthusiasm. It was teaching on speed.
Afterward, we broke up into two groups, beginner and intermediate, for a Japanese language lesson. I took the beginner class, which was led by CIRs Shaun and Claire. Shaun handed out a list of common greetings and expressions. It took all of 5 minutes to run through them. Shaun basically left the majority of the class up to us, so we could ask questions. The JETs responded eagerly and drilled the CIRs for practical language help. It was quite illuminating on what our immediate needs were.
I learned the kanji for “skim milk,” as well as how to say, “Stop it!” “Pervert,” and “Sexual harassment” in Japanese.
That night I brought Sally and Audrey to the curry place from the night before, since the restaurant had English language menus. I had curry on naan, basically a kind of curry pizza.
We wandered the downtown streets to enjoy the last night of Awa Odori. I swear, the festival is like Mardi Gras in scope and alcohol consumption, and yet still quite family-friendly. Perhaps because of yesterday’s rain, people came out in droves. The dancers, tool, left behind some of the rigidity of their dance and pulled people into their pulsing circles. They saw Sally and pulled her in. She explained that Audrey and I (who are Asian-North-American), were her friends, too, so they would pull us in.
Such is the life of a JET of Asian heritage.
Saturday-Monday, August 15-17, 2003 — Kamiita English Camp
We loaded up that morning onto a chartered bus and made the 30-minute drive to a town just west of Tokushima, Kamiita, for English Camp. It was my first time to be a camp counselor! It was nice to get to leave the city and see a more rural area, where rice fields were more frequent and the homes, further apart.
The bus deposited us at Anrakuji, Temple No. 6 of Shikoku’s 88-Buddhist-temple pilgrimage. My first temple on the pilgrimage! I have seen enough Buddhist temple architecture in my life that the temple itself wasn’t that new, but nevertheless, the setting was quite serene. The temple also had two koi ponds. One portion of the buildings was devoted to rooms for visitors, eating halls a huge meeting room and the kitchen. The other portion was for worship. The scene of incense reminded me of home.
The TOPIA people first directed us to the meeting room, a long expanse of tatami mats that could be divided into four rooms with sliding doors. The head monk welcomed us. The head monk was so cool. He was well-traveled, did karate, and was so laid-back. He had bling-bling — a flashy gold ring and necklace, plus what we guessed was a monk dogtag. Later, we saw him driving his car — a luxury vehicle called a Majestica — and wearing his green monk pants, a black T-shirt and cowboy hat.
Claire says monks always drive the best motorcycles in the town. Apparently monkhood pays well.
Later, he would tell me (through a TOPIA staff member) that he thought I was Japanese. Apparently, I have yet to look like what I actually am …
We had lunch — spaghetti, curiously enough — and retired to our dorms for a bit. Then the children arrived, about 50 junior high and high school students from around the area. We divided into six groups with about eight students and eight ALTs. In my group, there were two ALTs from Scotland, one from England, one from Canada, three from America and one from Australia. We played games, some of which involved English. One game was called Bing Bang Wa. It was a drinking game cleaned up for the kids. The seven girls and two boys, all junior high students, were deathly quiet at first, but gradually warmed up to us, even if they were still rather inaudible. Their spoken English was shaky, but they could usually figure out what was going on, especially when allowed to discuss amongst themselves.
That night, all of the teams took part in English Olympics. Our team called itself “Sudachi Samurai,” after the lime-like fruit for which the prefecture is well-known. The lone high school team called themselves “Big Booty.” Another was “Rockin’ Ramen.” The Olympics consisted of simple games like relays and shiritori, a Japanese word game in which you have to think of a word whose first letter is the last letter of the person’s word before you.
Our team came in last, with double-digit points as compared with the others’ triple-digit points.
Our kids gave a valiant try. The Team 5 ALTs argued that you can’t put a number on heart.
Lights-out was scheduled for 10 p.m. We pulled out futons onto the tatami and fell asleep at the earliest bedtime we’d had so far. The next morning’s breakfast, served at 7:30 a.m., consisted of a sweet roll, salad and mayo, fruit and coffee-milk.
It was also MY BIRTHDAY: Aug. 17.
I find it so cool that I celebrated my 24th birthday at a Buddhist temple, where the birthday song was sung to me a good eight times — including one rendition by the entire dining hall — and I topped off the occasion with my first time to venture into an onsen (hot spring/spa).
That day was dedicated to piecing together skits — the ALTs would perform in the evening, and the kids the next morning — and more games. We sent our kids on scavenger hunts to practice their English: “Find someone who wears contacts.” “What are we eating for dinner?” “Find an American ALT who knows the capital of Canada (I got that question, but failed when it came to naming the capital of Australia … it’s NOT Sydney, it's Canberra!).”
The kids had to come back with the information and/or a signature. Apparently, “Find Vivi and sing her Happy Birthday,” was a popular assignment in the other groups, as I had pairs and trios of kids hunting me down to serenade me.
It was a great birthday.
The head monk also gave us a quick lesson in meditation. We were supposed to sit in a half-lotus, with our hands in the “bad energy out” position for five minutes and then the “good energy in” for another five minutes. But really, he said, if the half-lotus made us uncomfortable, we could sit in whatever position we wanted. I spent most of my time during the session thinking, “Don’t think about the legs, don’t think about the legs … !” as they were falling asleep. Finally I just sat Indian-style. After the session, the monk gave temple souvenirs to the people who’d maintained the best and most-correct posture.
Well, if I’d KNOWN it was a CONTEST … !
Our ALT skit that evening involved Matthew, our resident “teen trapped in a college-grad’s body” JET playing the part of a pilgrim in search of his lost “genki-ness.” “Genki” means “energetic,” or “healthiness” in Japanese. “Are you genki?” they’ll ask, as a sort of “How are you?” In the skit, after encountering several really genki people (including me) in his quest, he meets the Genki Guru (as played by Dave CC) at the top of the mountain. The guru reveals that genkiness comes from … Pocari Sweat, a popular sports drink (akin to Gatorade) here in Japan.
I was gratified to see the kids not only understood the joke, they thought it was funny. Our team ended up getting second place, behind another group that had used a Matrix theme, complete with slo-mo violence.
When the skits were finished I made my way to the temple’s onsen for my bath. Men and women have separate onsens. I don’t know what I was worried about — with my glasses, I couldn’t see anything, anyway. My fellow bathers were just a blur of limbs.
To my surprise, an enkai was planned for 10:30 p.m. It felt kind of odd to be having a drinking party at a Buddhist temple during a kid’s camp, but, well, the temple DID have a beer vending machine in its common area. But the enkai turned out to be all beer and very few snacks, so I bailed after half an hour when the food ran out and the smoke began to asphyxiate me.
My slumber was interrupted at about 3 a.m. Several female JETs had returned to the rooms. I was confused when I saw half my roommates were still gone. Was the enkai still going on? Apparently so. In fact, several decided to have a co-ed onsen. One of the TOPIA staffers saw this and shooed them out of the male’s onsen. Those JETs just migrated to the women’s onsen. When this was discovered, they were sternly reproached and sent to bed.
I was irritated by how we ALL were given a grim-faced lecture the next day. The co-ed onsen people were given a second lecture. Some people muttered the temple should not have supplied the endless beer. I rolled my eyes. I have heard a theory that the TOPIA people organize this event partly expecting debauchery to happen, that they want the JETs to get it out of their system. Another person observed that the rules are so different in Japan, that it’s hard for JETs to realize what’s okay.
Kamiita English Camp came to a close after lunch, which was rice curry. Students and ALTs alike loaded onto two chartered buses bound for Tokushima Station. I was nervous about figuring out which train to take home when we got off the bus, I covertly followed some of my students into the station. They noticed me and greeted me excitedly. “Please help me,” I said, probably looking more pathetic than I’d intended. I told them my station and my students, wonderful people that they are, wrote out my platform and train time and I got home without a glitch. Domo arigato gozaimasu!
Friday-Monday, August 22-25, 2003 — Kamiyama Home-Stay
All the new JETs were invited to stay a weekend with a host family in Kamiyama, a mountain town in central Tokushima-ken. On Friday morning, Takeuchi-sensei summoned us to the board of education to give us money for the trip. The money covered both the one-night hotel stay, use of the town’s famous onsen, and some extra spending money. This is one of the many perks of working as a Tokushima JET. Some of the other JETs had to foot the bill themselves, or were discouraged by their boards of education from going because of the cost.
Another advantage: during the summer break, some JETs must go to school anyway, even if there is nothing for them to do. We Tokushima City JETs only have to go in when we’re needed, and as long as we stay in the prefecture, can do whatever we want during the month-and-a-half-long break.
I tell you, my job is a plush one.
That afternoon, all the new JETs met met at Tokushima Station to catch a public bus to Kamiyama. There was so many of us, we took over the bus and probably alarmed the regular Japanese riders. I called it the gaijin bus.
Whereas Kamiita had been flat countryside, Kamiyama was lodged in the mountains of Tokushima-ken. On one side of the bus rose a looming, lushly vegetated mountain and on the other side, there was a steep drop-off into a tumbling river. The scenery was gorgeous and idyllic, with traditional Japanese houses tucked into the nooks and crannies of the landscape.
The bus dropped us off at the town hall, where we tromped to the second floor. The host families filtered in and took up the back of the room. One by one, the Kamiyama cultural head called out our names and our host families and they took us home. Some JETs went by themselves while others were paired up. I was paired with Marita, a New Zealander JET. We went off with Mr. Ebina and his daughter, a cute but shy 4-year-old girl named Izumi.
Masanori Ebina told us he teaches geography at Kamiyama Junior High School. His wife, Michiko, teaches at the elementary school. They have two children, Izumi and a 6-year-old son, Tasuki, with a third child on the way.
At their home, they were having a barbeque with a bunch of family friends, many with whom they worked or had danced with in the Kamiyama ren (dance team) in Awa Odori. Michiko prodded Tasuki to introduce himself, which he did reluctantly in English with a hilariously scrunched-up face.
I had been nervous about what sort of food we’d be eating, but barbequed pork was no problem. There were also rice balls and fish-paste rings (not that great to me because you eat them cold). Masanori entertained us by explaining what his friends’ names meant (“His name means ‘Big Mountain’! His name means ‘Long Bridge’!”). I was glad the family was so laid-back and not big on formalities. Nevertheless, Marita and I were silent most of the time because making conversation in English was difficult.
At one point, Michiko brought out some sparklers for the children to light. Sparklers make me nervous because they are usually accompanied by firecrackers, which I dislike because they are loud. All the kids rushed for the sparklers. The next thing I knew Tasuki was coming at me with a sparkler. I almost started to back away until I realized he was holding it out to GIVE to me, saying, “Dozo,” offering it to me! How sweet! I took the sparkler, greatly charmed.
Marita and I called it a night early, around 10:30 p.m., and went to sleep on futons laid out on the tatami of the Ebinas’ guest room/dining room. They have a big house, with a second story. One of the toilet rooms has an ingeniously-made door with no doorknob. The door has wooden slats that run horizontally on the door and though they all look the same, one slat slides back and forth, unlocking the door. “Ninja door,” Michiko called it, when I had to ask her how to open the door.
The next day Michiko brought us to a closed school campus that was used for other purposes. An art event was going on there, and we were going to get to participate.
Neither Marita nor I had slept well because of the unfamiliar noises that surrounded the house, so we were both a little tired. It didn’t help that the room we were in at the school was stiflingly hot. Even though the windows were open, there was no breeze and the room had a lot of people in it, which made things worse. I seriously had qualms about whether I’d be able to spend the day there.
But eventually we moved to our painting room, which was more bearable in temperature. My group was composed of mostly kids — elementary schoolers — but Michiko said it was okay that we were participating. The Tokyo art university students running the event told us to, “Paint the sky.” This was interpreted by the children in my group as covering the room in every color of paint available, and then flinging sawdust onto the wet floor as well as every other art material made available. We were barefoot and my feet were filthy by the time the afternoon had ended.
Michiko dropped us off at Kamiyama Onsen so Marita and I could squeeze in a relaxing bath before dinner. The onsen was recently renovated, and has become quite the attraction in the prefecture. I really liked its bathing area, and how it had several different hot tubs. There was a large hot tub inside, a smaller one that let in outside air but was still sheltered by frosted glass, one with icy-cold water, one tub that bubbled and another that was so shallow you could lie down in it.
Masanori picked us up and brought us home. Michiko was busy preparing dinner, so Marita and I offered to help. Not surprisingly, Michiko turned us down and told us to relax in our room. But she eventually gave in and asked us to watch Izumi for her. Tasuki came in later, too. You’d think Marita and my lack of Japanese and the kids’ lack of English would prove a barrier — but no. We had a lot of fun just fooling around with them.
Dinner was a delicious and filling affair of tempura, fried chicken, rice, soba noodles, fruit, salad and chocolate cake. I don’t know how I fit it all in, but I did. I’ve discovered that I really like tempura asparagus, perhaps because it’s like a Japanese cousin to fried okra. Izumi and Tasuki also gave us an impromptu Awa Odori performance (kawaii!!!) while their parents tapped out the music rhythm with their chopsticks on their glasses.
We chatted with Michiko afterward. Her English was the best in the family, and it sounded like it was really important to her to learn about other cultures through such things as this home-stay, which she’d been doing for several years. She wanted her kids to know there was more out there than just Japan. She was such a meticulous hostess while we there. I don’t know how she does it — she was seven months’ pregnant!
The next day, Michiko brought us to see this special tree. But it was difficult to explain the legend behind the ginko tree, so Marita and I didn’t quite understand. Nevertheless, we drank in the beautiful scenery: the green mountain valley, the tiered rice fields, the old homes, with their sloping, tiled eaves.
We said goodbye to Michiko and Izumi when she dropped us off at the Kaizen Center, I think a public meeting place in Kamiyama. There the JETs watched a team-teaching demonstration by the Kamiyama ALT, a former JET (from San Antonio!), and local junior high class.
Then the local AJET officers spoke to us about a few more things they thought we should know. This was quite an interesting talk. One of the topics: onsen. They reminded us that most onsen are not co-ed. Also, tattoos are a taboo in Japanese culture — apparently the yukuza (Japanese mafia) are known for tattoos, so can get kicked out of an onsen if they see you have a tattoo. Greg, one of the AJET officers, said that had happened to him, even though he’s white and obviously not in the yakuza. He said onsen owners simply don’t want you drawing attention to yourself with the tattoo, so if you cover it up or at least be discrete about having one, most times it’s okay.
Also, on driving: Japanese drivers rarely honk in anger. In fact, a short honk means “Thank you,” such as if you’d pulled aside so a car coming in the opposite direction could get through. Nevertheless, the older JETs said, a prolonged push of the horn does mean anger, so don’t mistake it for gratitude.
For lunch at the Kaizen Center, the Kamiyama people must have raided a local bakery. They brought in a mountain of bags filled with bakery goods of pastries and breads. Yum yum yum! I ate some sort of fried bread and a chocolate pastry. Very healthy.
Then we all got into farmers’ trucks and were taken to the Onsen Hotel. We dropped off our stuff, changed into our swim suits and hiking outfits and went to the base of one the mountains for a hike. It only took about 25 to 30 minutes to get to where we had planned on getting into the water, but I tell you, it was TOUGH. I started out in the front group, but their pace was so punishing, I slowly found myself falling back ... with the smokers. I guess all that biking hadn’t done me any good.
Wheezing, I finally made it to the base of the waterfall we had come to see. To my horror, the basin we’d be swimming in was a 30-foot climb. You actually had to pull yourself up on the rock while clutching a chain that had been nailed into the mountain. I debated not doing it, even as I watched my fellow JETs throwing off their clothes and enthusiastically tackling the climb. Finally I told myself to quit being such a scaredy-cat and do it. They wouldn’t have let us do the climb if it was dangerous, right? Then I slipped on the rock I’d been standing on. I had a nice-sized purple bruise on my backside to show for it the rest of the week.
I didn’t have much time to be scared during the climb because I was concentrating on where my next foothold would be. The rocks were obviously slick, and sometimes it was difficult to find a secure place to put my foot. But I had taken my sneakers off because I can’t stand wet shoes, which made it easier to do the climb.
When I finally got to the top (success!), I discovered the ground littered in very sharp rocks of all sizes. It hurt to walk around, and I did so gingerly. I ventured beneath the waterfall, where the rushing water was icy cold. Mostly, I tried to find a comfortable place to stay still as my body gradually grew numb.
That night, we had a feast at the Kaizen Center with our host families. So much food! They brought in a mountain of McDonald’s hamburgers and a load of Pizza Royalhat pizza, as well as fruit and traditional Japanese food like rice balls. I ate a burger, two slices of seafood pizza (delicious!) and fruit. I also got into the kids’ line for cotton candy — I hadn’t had any in so long! The Ebinas were there, and I sat with them and played around with Izumi.
There were several performances, including a bizarre one by a Japanese-American preacher. I liked the shamisen performance, as well as the kendo demonstration. The final act of the night was an Awa Odori dance by the Kamiyama ren.
The dancers looked so happy, and the children were incredibly cute. Masanori and the children were in the dance, whereas Michiko was one of the musicians. There was one little boy who was hard-core Awa Odori. He was maybe 6 years old, and whereas the kids were doing blurry approximations of the dance, he was already doing the precise movements correctly.
We headed out the next morning by bus, once again.
Triumph of the day: Rather than take the bus all the way back to Tokushima Station, where I’d have to take another train back to my station, I got off at a stop right near my apartment. I didn’t know how much the fare was, so I guessed, but I apparently was paying too much. So I just opened my hand, full of coins, and let the bus driver take my fare, which led to him giving me back some of my money. I love Japan.