Teacher goodbyes

This morning I woke up decently early but, as I often do on the weekends, decided to lie in bed and admire the view out the window for a while. I especially enjoyed doing this in the winter, because all week long my mornings would begin by tearing away my cocoon of warmth and braving near-freezing temperatures in the 6:30a.m. darkness.

Anyway, I was relishing waking up when, at about 9, the doorbell rang. I made no effort to get out of bed, intent on conveying to what I presumed was a Jehovah's witness or cleaning service salesman that I wasn't interested, thank you very much. After five seconds, the doorbell rang again. That's kind of strange: usually the only people who ring twice are people who know me. That means it's probably important, so I reluctantly began peeling the covers back. Before I could sit up, though, I heard the door open.

I lock my door when I leave, but not when I'm home. To anyone reading this from America, this sounds crazy, I know. I'm in rural Japan, though, where students routinely leave backpacks and coats sitting outside supermarkets with no fear of theft. I sleep like a rock, so someone could likely sneak in and rob me blind without my noticing, but I don't let that bother me.

However, as I was already getting out of bed, and was in my non-winter pajamas (boxers), this kind of startled me. It turned out to be Takahira, one of the English teachers at Tsushima High. After only a brief, rushed "sorry to bother you," he asked me if I could move my car. No further preamble--no "good morning" or "Smoltz really should have stayed with the Braves" or "you sure are hairy"--just that request. I tossed on some clothes and headed down the stairs to move.

Kamito-sensei was moving that morning. As you might imagine, moving from an island is a bit trickier logistically than moving overland. Unlike ALTs, regular teachers are responsible for furnishing their own apartments, which means they need the equivalent of a U-Haul. That means Kamito rented a cargo container (which ran about ¥100,000, or $1,000), which was brought in on a big truck. That's why I needed to move.

Like a groggy ant nest, most of the folks in my apartment building got up and moving. We were soon joined by the kyūdō club, of which Kamito was the head. About fifteen of them showed up on a Sunday to help carry boxes. This was amazing, as moving all that stuff down the three flights of stairs to Kamito's apartment would not have been fun for a woman as tiny as she is. We set up fire-brigade style, and had her apartment completely empty inside fifteen minutes.

That done, Kamito thanked all of us profusely, and skittered off to run some last-minute errands. She was leaving by plane that afternoon. The kyuudo kids headed up to school for practice, while the other teachers and I went home for a few minutes' break.

We were back outside at 10 to help Satomi move. She had been part of the tennis club, so about thirty of them showed up. Also joining the ranks was a guy I only later learned was Satomi's husband, who came all the way from Tokyo to help. Just as with Kamito, we had Satomi moved out in about twenty minutes. (It took a bit longer on account of her living on the fourth floor.) Toward the end, the guys took over the lifting, while the girls formed a ten-person cleaning crew, helping dust, sweep, and mop Satomi's apartment.

After getting everything packed up, Satomi came by to thank me personally. She asked me to come upstairs for a picture of the two of us. Her husband took one of us on the balcony, with a backdrop of just-barely-blooming sakura.

I chilled out some and had brunch before heading up to the airport. It was chilly--probably in the low teens--with a cold drizzle. I wasn't surprised to find teachers there to say goodbye. (On a completely random note, I was happy to find out that Matsushita, one of the strictest-looking P.E. coaches I've ever seen, has "The Imperial March" as his ringtone.) What did surprise me, though, was all the students. Kamito had been the head of the 1-4 class (with me nominally backing her up), and about half of them showed up. They bunched together to give a goodbye speech for Kamito, and there was lots of bowing and thank-yous. We teachers said our goodbyes individually, and Fujimatsu gave a yell right in the middle of the terminal. When the time came, everyone waved as Kamito went through security to the boarding lounge.

We all filed outside to the fence beside the terminal. With a clear view of the runway and the plane (Tsushima Airport is only served by two airlines, running a combined 6-8 flights a day), we watched and waited as the plane taxied. Neither knowing nor caring if Kamito was on the side of the plane with a window looking out at us, we all stood in the rain and waved as it took off.

The other teachers and I then shuffled back to Izuhara to see Satomi off. The ferry port was bustling, as apparently several schools' teachers were leaving at the same time. I met most of the Toyotama staff, there to bid farewell to Kondo, a cool guy I never got to know very well. I briefly met Fukuda, one of the new Tsushima High English teachers, but I was too distracted to pay much attention.

Teachers and students from several schools gathered along the wharf to wave. The departing teachers stood along the deck waving back at us. Each school did its own goodbye cheer: most gave a "banzai!" and some gave yells. We sang the school song. Everyone, though, had streamers: the departing folks held one end and tossed the roll to us. We then held the roll. As the boat departed, the streamers unrolled, providing a wonderfully symbolic reminder of the ties they'll always have here.

Not long after, I was heading back up toward the airport. I passed some kids walking along the road, and recognized them as my students. Not only were they my students, but they had been at the airport to see Kamito off. They had walked all the way to the airport, and were walking all the way back, in a cold rain.

Miuda Hike

Today I drove up to Hitakatsu. I stopped at the Mine Family Park for a quick picnic, luxuriating in the sunny, almost-not-cold weather. I met Kim and Joe at Joey's, and the four of us set out for Miuda. On our way out of Joey's, we noticed that somebody was drying their laundry on a fence in the middle of the parking lot. Weird.

The plan was to hike along the coast, on a path Joey had scouted out recently. We set out along familiar Miuda beach, exploring among the piles of washed-up garbage. The tide pools were crystal clear, and the views were amazing. Kim and I lagged behind because we kept stopping to stare at fauna we couldn't identify. We took the long way around one pool, going so far as to climb up a pretty big rock formation, and saw a lady harvesting seaweed. She happily started talking to us, though our inability to understand much of the local dialect combined with the roar of crashing waves limited our responses mostly to noncommital "uh-huh"s and "oh, really?"s.

After hiking up a hill, we came to a large stone memorial. Dedicated to those who died in the Battle of Tsushima, the memorial lists the names of the 4,380 Russian and 117 Japanese sailors lost. It was pretty impressive to see the Japanese losses stacked up against the Russian ones. Japan really beat the snot out of Russia.

From there we headed along Joey's path, strolling right into a dense bamboo forest. Our approach scared off a deer, which made me wonder how easily deer can plow through the bamboo. The bamboo gave way to more common deciduous forest, with lots and lots of camellias in full bloom.

We made our descent back to the rocky coast. After some scaling, we reached one of our destinations: a cormorant cliffside nesting area. (It's visible from the Miuda parking lot, recognizable by the huge white swath of years of accumulated poop.) The view was majestic: we slid along the cliff such that it was probably a sheer hundred-foot drop to the sea. The deep water, interrupted by occasional crags jutting out, created excellent waves. We sat and basked in the scene for a while, admiring the view of tiny Miuda and the roar of the surf.

After climbing back down from our spot, we trekked onward. The tide pools were increasingly home to interesting creatures. First were sea anemones. Some of them looked inverted, their tentacles covered by what looked like a sheath of skin. Joey, who does this kind of exploring all the time, would unhesitatingly poke the anemones. He did it to show us the water that would squirt out, as well as to feel the suction created by it.

All along our hike, we saw lots of barnacles growing on the rocks. I was feeling particularly geeky, so the kind we saw reminded me of Enemy Mine, an old 80s sci-fi film. Dennis Quaid is stranded on a planet with a Louis Gossett, Jr.-sounding alien, and they learn to use what look like giant barnacles to shield their shelter from meteorites. That reminded me of the part of the movie where a giant antlion tries to eat Dennis Quaid.

Anyway. We also saw a ton of nudibranchs. Having eaten them at one point or another during our stay in Japan, we were all fascinated by the "before" look. While we saw several in tide pools, slowly but surely ambling along the bottom, most of the ones we saw were sitting motionless on dry rock. We guessed they'd slept through the tide change. Kim and I moved a couple back into the water, but soon gave up, figuring they were either going to be fine or had demonstrated a combination of genes decidedly unfit for reproduction.

After taking some pictures at what seemed to be the tip of the coast, we headed back to Miuda. We made it back right at sunset. Joey, Joe, and I went to a sushi restaurant at the port for supper. After a dinner of sushi, anago tempura, yakisoba, and yakimeshi, I headed back down south. Joe was staying the night, but I had a feeling I needed to be in town Sunday to help the teachers move.

Party with the Matsumuras

Today I had no classes. In fact, all normal classes are over for the term; we're technically on spring break. I watched in sadness as Kamito and Satomi packed up their desks, and I helped them carry boxes to their cars.

There was a big staff meeting today, where most of the major decisions about next year were made. The meeting decided everything from grade levels to homeroom teachers to club activity coaches. Masuda and Murahashi will be the third-year English teachers. Takahira and Kanemoto will be with the first-years. The three new English teachers will comprise the second-year English department, with two of them helping us with the first-year Oral Communication class.

It won't be long before we have moving day, where everyone will shift to their new seating arrangement. I've been trying to enjoy what time I have left being so near Kamito, Satomi, Masuda, Noguchi, and Yoshihara. I looked up today to see Masuda slap Murahashi on the arm, as Murahashi walked away, grinning. When I asked why, Masuda told me that he had called her the "cancer of this school," a reference to her having been there so long. I asked her why all she did was slap him and not punch him.

The Matsumuras are a family in Izuhara. The Mr. teaches at Ofunakoshi Junior High with Gavin, and the Mrs. is a nurse at one of Joe's schools in Kuta. Yuuko, their daughter, graduated from Tsushima High last year, and was accepted by Osaka University, the third most prestigious school in Japan. She speaks phenomenal English. Until Friday, I had only met her parents once, and then only briefly.

Joe was invited to their house for dinner, and they asked him to invite the rest of us. Rose and I were free, so we joined in. Mrs. Matsumura picked us up and drove us to their house, as it's a bit hard to find. We got to their house to find a kitchen full of food. She had cooked all of this, prepared the presentation of everything, and still made time to hop in the car and give us a ride.

In the living room, we sat at the kotatsu and shared a toast. Laid out on the kotatsu were appetizers: chicken wings and a salad. We nibbled and talked a little before going into the kitchen for do-it-yourself tempura and onigiri.

As we ate dinner, I learned where the Matsumuras get their English ability. While on business in Nagasaki years ago, Mr. Matsumura randomly met a Canadian guy. That guy went on to become the CEO of a gold mining company. They kept in touch, and their families have visited several times. That guy's family apparently moved to England, because the Matsumuras went to Brighton twice to visit. Yuuko went a third time alone for a homestay. This explains wonderfully where she gets her excellent accent.

We started talking about Yuuko and university. Apparently, Osaka was her second choice: she also tested for Kyoto University, the second-best in Japan. On the test, though, she just missed a passing score. Her undoing was Japanese grammar. Not even classical Japanese: she slipped up on the portion relating to modern Japanese. At any rate, the Matsumuras go visit her at least once a month. It's most often the Mrs. that goes, as the Mr. usually goes to visit their son in Fukuoka.

The Matsumuras love to study English. Their living room is adorned with maps of England and the rest of the world--all in English--and they tried to speak English with us as much as possible. Above the kitchen door is a list of tricky English phrases (like get off, get on, get in, get to) and their translation. I thought at first this was for them to study, but I learned that Yuuko had used it to study over breakfast when she was in high school. Her mom still hasn't taken it down. Since my mom still leaves my bedroom exactly the way it is each time I come visit, I completely understand.

As dinner wound down, Mr. Matsumura popped in a CD by his favorite singer: Diana Ross. He sang along in perfect time with "Love Child." This got us talking about music, which got us talking about karaoke. While Joe and I merely like karaoke, Rose loves it; her eyes lit up, and the Matsumuras saw it. We all headed out for Pleasure, a local karaoke bar whose name refers, I assure you, to the most innocent meaning of the term.

Halfway there, the Mrs. decides to go back and get the car; as the Mr. has been drinking, he can't drive. She caught up with us, and we sang for about two hours. Oddly, by the end Rose and I were choosing Japanese songs while the Matsumuras chose English ones. At the end of the night, they insisted on paying, and next insisted on giving us a ride back to our apartments. These people are amazing. What's even more remarkable is that they're one of about twenty families I know here who offer exactly the same kind of hospitality.

Goodbye afterparty

From the first party, just about everyone went to the second party, at a snack called New Elite. I didn't mind the snack so much, mostly because about thirty of us were going, including many of the women teachers. This tends to scare off the undesirable aspects of snacks--namely, the skimpy-dressed hostesses and trying-too-hard flirty fiftysomethings.

Yoshihara kicked off the singing, busting out maracas. She and Kamito did a duet with an anime song. I did "Stand By Me," guessing (correctly, as it turned out) that most people would know it. Several teachers took to complimenting me on my English.

I started talking with Fuji, one of the office workers. He's been my source for a lot of (not surprisingly) administrative information: I learned from him the average tuition per month for students (about $100), and the Yakuza-associated parents who don't take kindly to his phone calls reminding them of delinquent tuition payments. Tonight we talked about some parents not caring about their students.

I also talked with Nagadome, the new head of the PTA. I still don't know what the PTA does when it's not out drinking with us, but they're a fun lot. Nagadome is the father of Akane, the head of the English Club, and she's the spitting image of him. He works for a travel agency, and I lost count of the number of countries he told me he'd been to. Not surprisingly, his English is very good. This probably has something to do with his daughter's affinity for English.

As the night went on, I wanted to sing something with Satomi. After talking it over, we decided on "A Whole New World." I had a blast, and she seemed to, too. I talked Shigematsu into doing Top of the World with me, but we ran out of time before our song came up. She wants to live in a foreign country, but feels she's too old. She's 28! I tried my best to convince her she can do it.

Anyway, after the second party, the group split up. Not surprisingly, most of the women headed home. Equally unsurprisingly, most of the men marched on to the next destination: okonomiyaki. After midnight, with work the next (err, that same) morning. Having spent time saying goodbye to the departing, and with two of my departing coworkers calling it a night, I headed back, too. I got back home at around 1.

Goodbye party

The school-wide goodbye party was held the same day as the goodbye speeches. We held the party at Shimamoto, the same restaurant we use for our New Year's party and welcome party for new teachers. As such, the food has gotten kind of boring. The company is always entertaining, though, so I still look forward to it.

Luck of the draw had me between Yamazaki- and Masuda-sensei, with Matsushita- and Yoshihara-sensei across from me. Yamazaki-sensei teaches geography and helps coach the baseball team. We don't get to talk very often, but he sat across from me my first year, which means we'd had an occasional conversation. The party fell right after Japan won the World Baseball Classic, so he and I had a lot to talk about. (He and every other guy at the party also pointed this out to Kim, our visiting Korena teacher.) I made no excuses for my country's pitiful excuse for a team, with its unmotivated millionaires saving their best for the regular season. In fact, Yamazaki seemed to be a bigger fan of Team USA than I was: while he knew almost the entire roster, I could only name a few, like Chipper Jones and Alex Rodriguez.

Matsushita-sensei is a P.E. coach, and we spent the past year as fellow first-year teachers. He's terribly intimidating at school, and it's taken me the better part of my stay here to realize it's all an act. He's carefully cultivated an image of strictness, reinforced by his occasional yelling at unruly boys. After all, what better image is there for a P.E. coach than terrifying disciplinarian?

I wholly disagree with his shouting at the students, but I notice that each grade level seems to have one teacher who assumes the task of setting the students straight. The women employ the subtler (and, in my opinion, much more devastating) tactic of guilt trips, making offending students feel awful about whatever they've done. It's remarkable how different their strategies are: whereas those male teachers who make a show of disciplining do so by getting louder and shouting at the student, the female teachers tend to get deathly quiet, which seems to attract just as much attention. I need to learn how to do that.

Anyway, Matsushita's a completely different person outside of work. He's married with a couple of kids, and he makes a fool of himself around his little girl like dads do. At get-togethers, he's always laughing, and you can count on him to be one of the last to stay out partying.

Yoshihara-sensei is the art teacher and a good friend of Kamito-sensei. She sat in the same row as Kamito and me this past year, which meant I was privy to (and sometimes co-conspirator in) the pranks Kamito would play on her. Nothing horrible, of course--highlights last year included Kamito taking a foil-wrapped chocolate ball, eating the chocolate, re-wrapping the foil around a wad of paper, and presenting it to Yoshihara as a gift. She also stole a cute stuffed animal Yoshihara kept on her desk, and refused to give it back. Cute stuff like that.

Masuda is one of my favorite English teachers, but we seldom get the chance to talk at work. With Kamito, Satomi, and Kurokawa leaving, she's also the only one of the remaining English teachers with whom I've taught first-years both years here. In contrast with the more laissez-faire third-year program, the first-year Oral Communications class is much more rigorous, which creates a welcome challenge for the other teachers and me.

Masuda, along with Satomi, has consistently pushed me to make every lesson better. She always has a suggestion for fine-tuning a lesson, and is largely responsible for what modest teaching ability I have. As we were talking at the party, she told me that I'm the best ALT she's ever had. I find that hard to believe, since she's been teaching for about six years, but it's still nice to hear. She told me that she had requested to be a third-year teacher next year, which would mean we would only have the large commercial class together.

The departing teachers, as the guests of honor, were seated at a separate table. Takahira-sensei, the master of ceremonies, began the party with what was apparently a very impressive speech. (My Japanese is still only somewhat passable, which means I'm still pretty lost whenever people bust out flowery formal expressions.) This was followed by the toast, after which everyone tore into the food.

A fixture of parties like this is roaming around talking to everyone. To help break the ice, everyone has a beer glass, and large bottles of beer are distributed among the tables. When you want to make your rounds, you grab a bottle and approach someone. They see you coming, perhaps drain their glass to help you out, and you pour them another. Wham! Ice broken. This is the point in every party where I'm shocked to find some random teacher speaks excellent English. (Or other languages: Ikezaki, the first-year biology teacher, thanked me with "Grazi," and was pleased when I responded with a surprised "Prego.") It's amazing how much more relaxed everyone gets. Most of them are lightweights, so part of it might be genuine inebriation, but I think it's mostly the atmosphere: this is the designated time and place for people to let loose.

When I spoke to Kim-sensei, the Korean ALT, she pleaded with me not to go. Last week had been the goodbye party for the foreign language department; I hadn't been informed until after I'd resolved to go to Osaka, so I'd missed it. She told me that the teachers at the party had been talking about how much they would miss me. Even taking this with a grain of salt, it's still good to know I'm appreciated, y'know?

At farewell parties, everyone makes a special trip to talk to the departing teachers. Cushions are set up across the table from each teacher for just this purpose. I thanked each teacher in turn. Though we never had a serious class together--we taught the lowest-level third-year commercial class--I'm more familiar with him than I am with most of the other teachers. I shared Billy Joel songs with him; he expanded my embarrassingly meager knowledge of the Beatles; he taught me the basics of kyuudo; we sang Happy Xmas in class; and he had me over for dinner with his wife and kids. Of all the teachers who were leaving, he was perhaps the most torn up about it. He genuinely loved Tsushima, and had clearly enjoyed all six of his years here.

Satomi was next. She was my supervisor for my first year, which meant she saw me at my worst. On top of teaching English and Korean, she had to worry about teaching me how to be a teacher. It took me weeks to realize that she was a supervisor in name only: she was paid no more than any other teacher, and taught no fewer classes on account of taking care of me. Time has taught me to appreciate all that she did for me, and I did my best to convey this.

I talked to Kamito last. She was my supervisor this past year, and we pretty much had a blast. Seated in a row were me, then her, then Noguchi (another fun-loving teacher), and then Yoshihara. Yoshihara and I had talked earlier about Kamito's leaving. When I had said it'd be lonely without Kamito around, Yoshihara had scoffed and asked what I would miss about it--Kamito and me playing tricks on her? I related this to Kamito, which tickled her. She asked me to come visit her in Hirado, and asked me to take care of Yoshihara for her. Though she used the standard "yoroshiku onegaishimasu" line that everyone uses in polite speech, I know how feisty she is, so I understood just what she meant by "taking care of" Yoshihara: leave her weird notes, play harmless pranks on her, etc.

As the bottles were slowly drained, we moved on to the next order of business. Each departing teacher took the stage at the front of the room. They were joined by a teacher associated with them--a supervisor, a fellow department member, a dear friend--who read a prepared send-off speech. Some were sincere and straightforward; others, like Murahashi's dedication to Kurokawa, were full of jokes and reminiscing.

After the departing vice principal, Kitamura, received his dedication, Yoshihara stood and asked for everyone's attention. She had been trying to figure out how best to handle this for weeks now. Sometime in the past couple of years, Yoshihara had mentioned somewhere that she likes Tchaikovsky. Kitamura, hearing this, loaned her his Tchaikovsky CD. This was made awkward by the fact that most teachers didn't like Kitamura very much. To make matters worse, Yoshihara forgot about it for about a year, and after remembering was too embarrassed to bring it up.

With Kitamura leaving, this was her last chance to make amends. She politely but firmly asked for everyone's attention, and launched into a speech telling the story. From the beginning, those of us who were in on her predicament were cracking up; everyone else soon joined in due to the sheer absurdity of the situation. She apologized profusely, made the most formal of bows, and presented Kitamura with his CD. He got a kick out of the whole thing, thanked her, and took it.

After this, we joined hands and sang the school song. I still haven't gotten it down--it uses some archaic and local phrasing that confuses even the students--but Kim and I stuck it out. Following this, we did the traditional yell. I've talked about this before: the recipient of the yell stands and is approached by the person administering the yell. The yeller makes a loud call, then chants a three-syllable word or phrase (in this case, the recipient's name), and is joined by everyone else in cheering. Onizuka did the yell for Yokota (the guy who gave the long speech about cleaning), Murahashi did Kurokawa, and Takahira did it for Satomi.

This left only two English teachers who hadn't given one: Masuda and me. Masuda is ridiculously shy outside of class, so she and everyone else urged me to do it. I'd been expecting this for a few months, so I'd watched carefully each time someone performed a yell. Emboldened by all the liquid courage we'd been drinking, I launched into it. I really wanted to chant "Snoopy!" as the key word, but chickened out, settling on "Ka-mi-to." Everyone loved it and complimented me on it.

Everyone then made a sakuramachi--cherry blossom path--for the six of them. The male teachers gathered cushions in a pile, made a circle, and took turns tossing the departing guys into the air. The girls gathered to do the same for Kamito and Satomi.

Goodbye speeches

Today marked the official closing ceremony for the school year. Everyone gathered in the gym, and the principal gave some closing remarks on the year. The main event, however, was the goodbye speeches of the departing teachers.

Of the eight teachers leaving, I'd never really talked to the first three who spoke. The second one, Yasanori, had been in charge of cleaning supplies for at least the past two years. That meant he had to dish out the assignments for cleaning areas, as well as keep track of all the supplies and tools throughout the year. I'm sure he didn't enjoy it--who would?--and his goodbye speech seemed to revolve around cleaning. It didn't incorporate cleaning in an OCD kind of way, nor did it seem to use any metaphors for purity or hard work. He just seemed to drone on about cleaning. Granted I didn't understand most of what he said, and so admittedly I'm just imagining what I would say if I'd been stuck with that responsibility for two years.

Satomi went fourth. She made it halfway into her speech before breaking down. The second half was given in tears, with stops to wipe her eyes and apologize. She had been here for six years, making her among the most senior teachers at the school. She spoke of how much she loves Tsushima, and how happy she has been spending so much time with everyone.

Kurokawa went next. In his speech, he recalled his fondest memories of Tsushima. As he went on, he began taking occasional pauses. The pauses grew increasingly longer, as he was fighting back tears. He made it through without breaking down, but only barely.

Kamito went after Kurokawa, and got through her speech without doing more than choking up. Last was the vice principal. His speech seemed more like a lecture than a farewell. I get the feeling that not many people like him, as he seems to be a bit uptight. It seems I had him figured right: I've had him pegged as typical middle management since I got here. By middle management I mean that he's had to follow orders from his superiors--which often include being a stickler for rules with the teachers--while trying not to be a complete jerk to his subordinates. Having been there, having learned the hard way what happens when you nag at people about tiny things without knowing when to lay off, I understand where he's coming from.

However, that didn't make it any less amusing to see nobody tear up during his speech, or to hear his "thank you" met with only the sparsest of applause.

After some closing remarks from the principal, everyone sang the school song. We then lined up along either side of the exit, and applauded as those eight teachers left.

March Music Miscellany

Last Sunday I went to a piano recital. Hinano, seven-year-old daughter of one of my teachers, was playing, and her dad invited me. The recital was for a local youth piano academy, and the performers ranged from adorable four-year-olds to adorable eight-year-olds, all of whom fidgeted uncomfortably the whole time in their dresses and three-piece suits. There were no solo performances, which I found culturally interesting. Rather, the kids collaborated in groups, using electronic keyboards to play different parts of a single song. It was lots of fun to watch, and they all did very well.

This Sunday I had a chorus concert. I seriously considered skipping out on it, as it fell right on a three-day weekend. As the time drew nearer, though, I decided to have my cake and eat it, too: I went to Osaka and came back in time for the concert.

Unlike February's, this concert was primarily the high school chorus' gig, with Chorus D making a cameo appearance at the end. This was the farewell concert for the graduates. In addition to their usual (and pretty) ensemble repertoire, there were a couple of performances by smaller groups of the singers. Two of the three boys in the chorus--all three of whom graduated this year--performed a duet rendition of a pretty Japanese ballad. I noticed lots of girl students in the audience, several of whom showed up just in time for that set, and left right after.

For our part, we sang a few of our usual songs. They went well, but the best part was our finale. We performed the theme for Uchuu Senkan Yamato, accompanied by the high school chorus. According to the conductor, the chorus had been after him for months, begging him to let them sing it with us. I guess they dig the bass line.

Leaving Osaka

After Shitennō-ji, we headed back to the subway station. We had seen signs advertising a zoo, and decided to try to find it. After walking around for half an hour, the whole time circling what must have been the zoo, we found the entrance. We then learned that the entrance closes at 4. We got there right after 4.

Defeated but not dissuaded, we did some walking around in the Tennō-ji district. As the afternoon wore on, we headed back to Umeda so I could catch my train back to Hakata. I said bye to Ju and Lee as they met up with another friend, and I hopped on the Shinkansen.

On the ride back, I sat next to two ladies. We sat in silence for the first part of the trip. I was absorbed in my book when one of them pulled out some Pocky, offered some to the other, and then offered some to me. When I thanked them in Japanese, they tittered about it and began talking to me.

They were a mother and daughter from Fukuoka, returning from a weekend visit to Kyoto. We talked about the sights there, about my visit in November, and what they saw on their trip. They pulled out a big tourist guide to Kyoto and showed me all the places they went. As we got closer to Hakata, they asked if I had a place to stay in Fukuoka. I could tell they were worried, so I lied, telling them I had reservations at a hotel. While I'm pretty sure they weren't going to offer to put me up, I certainly didn't want to deal with the awkwardness if they did.

We said goodbye at Hakata, and, for the first time in what seemed like a long time, I found a hotel easily.

Shitennō-ji

After the castle, Ju recommended checking out Shitennō-ji, a famous temple. Between picking the right trains and finding the place on foot, getting there took about half an hour.

There were lots of people heading for the temple, so we just joined the flow. Outside the temple gates were chanting Buddhist mendicants with bowls out for donations. One of them was clearly a foreigner--a white guy, easily a foot taller than the others.

Shitennō-ji was originally built in 593, and was the first Buddhist temple in Japan. The temple complex comprises seven structures, with a pagoda in the center. We arrived in the middle of an equinox festival, so there were lots of tourists and street vendors set up. While this took away from the tranquil setting I've come to associate with Buddhist temples, it didn't bother me too much, since I had no idea what the temple was.

As it was right around lunchtime, I partook in some Kansai-style okonomiyaki. It was delectable and, at ¥500, not too expensive.

We split up to look around on our own. There was a pond full of turtles, with a raised platform in the middle so they could relax in the sun. We also saw some guys making mochi, a kind of gooey rice cake.

We slowly found each other again. As we walked around, we came to stalls offering fresh and dried fruit. I don't get the chance to eat local dried fruit, so I lingered at one of these stalls. The vendor, smiling, walked up to me and began his pitch. He pointed to the blueberries, scooped out a handful, and gave some to each of us to try. He did the same with almonds. I liked them both, but I had my eye on the dried strawberries, marked as ¥6000 (around $60) for one kilogram. He gave me some to try, and they were simply amazing.

I asked for some strawberries, and he gleefully pulled out a plastic bag. I waited for him to ask how much I wanted. I kept waiting, even after he began filling the bag with heaping scoops. He finished, weighed them, and announced the total: ¥8000.

I sputtered and explained that all I wanted was 100 grams--less than a tenth of what he'd given me. He made a show of being crestfallen, and began putting some of the strawberries back. This dropped the weight down to 500 grams, and he quoted me at ¥2000. This was technically 33% off the marked price, so I agreed. He also threw in some dried sesame-based snacks.

Ju and Lee laughed at me for a while during and after this... until they asked me if they could have some strawberries. I learned only later (while preparing this entry, incidentally) that the temple hosts a flea market on the 21st of every month. We just happened to visit at the right time.

We stopped at a mochi shop before leaving. Ju and Lee got some chestnut-flavored mochi, and the shopkeeper happily spoke to us in English and Spanish.

Osaka Castle

We got up and out of the hotel by 10, and had breakfast at a nearby ticket restaurant. For those unfamiliar with the concept, many restaurants in Japan feature a ticket machine. Before sitting down, you look at a menu, decide what you want, and purchase tickets for each item from a machine. You then give those tickets to a worker, find a table, and wait for your meal. It's a delightfully efficient way to speed up the whole process.

Anyway, my breakfast was a waffle, ham and cheese sandwich, and orange juice, which totaled about $10. Japan ain't cheap.

Our primary goal for the day was Osaka Castle. On the train there, we saw a sign reminding everyone that groping is illegal. In urban Japan, being groped on trains is apparently a common occurrence. Ju has experienced it several times. It's such a big problem that some trains offer women-only cars, especially during rush hour.

As we entered the castle grounds, the first thing we came to was a garden full of trees that were just starting to bloom. I'm almost positive they were all plum blossoms, though I can't be sure. It was way too early for sakura. We spent a while admiring the scenery, watching the courting pigeons, and observing the other visitors.

Osaka castle was first built in 1583, at the order of Toyotomi Hideyoshi. Thirty years after its completion, Tokugawa Ieyasu successfully besieged the castle and deposed the Toyotomi clan. The castle was reconstructed in the 1620s, and those walls remain today.

The castle grounds occupy about fifteen acres. The central structure sits on a tall stone foundation, which rests on a courtyard built from landfill and tall stone walls. That courtyard rests on another, larger courtyard, similarly constructed, separated by a moat. The second courtyard is separated from the outer castle grounds by another moat.

What I'm saying is that a lot of people blew out their backs building this thing. There are two moats, two courtyards built from landfill and enclosed by stone walls (built using no mortar), and the stone foundation supporting the keep.

We slowly made our way up to the keep, admiring the beautifully-maintained surroundings. There weren't a whole lot of tourists around, which made it a lot more pleasant. The central courtyard, at the foot of the keep, was festooned with shops and picnic tables.

As we wandered around, we saw a guy tending his parrot. He noticed our interest, and waved us over. He held up the parrot, smiled, and, when Ju nodded, he placed the parrot on her shoulder. After both parties got used to the other, the guy gave Ju some sunflower seeds and told her to put one in her mouth for the parrot. After a little hesitating, she went for it, but the parrot wouldn't take it.

Next, the guy put the parrot on my shoulder. As I watched the parrot, which was watching me and the sunflower seed in my mouth, I had just enough time to wonder how bad it would hurt... and then he cleanly nicked the seed from my mouth. No problem. Lee took a turn next. The guy was really nice, and told Ju she was very pretty.

There was also a temple in the main courtyard, though it was being used for a wedding when we got there. I felt kind of bad for everyone (including me) snapping pictures of the happy couple, but I figure they wouldn't plan a wedding at a national landmark if they didn't want the attention.

I learned from Ju that the inside of the keep has been completely remodeled, and looks nothing like a vintage feudal Japanese castle. Hearing that, I wasn't heartbroken when we decided not to go up. We headed back down through the castle, buying pineapple and mango from a street vendor. I mention the mango because this was my first time ever eating one. I know, I know--I was a sheltered kid.

Both moats are enclosed by a fence. Posted at intervals along the fence is a sign that clearly indicates (in Japanese) that fishing is prohibited. I was highly amused, therefore, when I saw this.

USJ: Spider-Man and beyond

We exited Jurassic Park to full darkness a little before 7. The park was closing at 9; we knew we only had enough time for one more ride. We checked the map and decided to go for Spider-Man. The wait was 70 minutes, which guaranteed we'd have no time left for rides afterwards.

There were no wacky goings-on in line, possibly because everyone was getting pretty tired. The ride was still as freaking awesome as I remember from Orlando. It (and possibly the Incredible Hulk Coaster) remains one of the only rides I can safely say is worth every bit of a 70-minute wait.

We popped out at about 8:30. We started to head to the front of the park, but I wanted to try to squeeze in one more ride. I had noticed a roller coaster in the park, but hadn't been able to figure out what its name was. After a few minutes of darting around the park, I found the ride... just as the "closed" sign was put up. Oh well.

On my walk back to the front of the park, I passed Snoopy Studios and the Land of Oz. Something tells me Snoopy Studios is exclusive to USJ, but I wonder if the Land of Oz section is at Orlando.

Back at the front of the park, I did a little bit of souvenir shopping. I was mainly browsing, curious whether Japanese tourists shop en masse any differently than American tourists do. There were just as many screeching kids (Japanese parents seem even more lenient with their little kids than Americans), but the parents I saw didn't look as stressed-out or exhausted as their American counterparts look at the end of that kind of day.

As I stood in a fairly long line, I watched how the clerks worked. Each purchase was placed delicately in a gift bag, with multiple purchases being carefully matched and divided among different bags. This was touching, but it made each transaction last about ten minutes.

Anyway, after escaping USJ, we took the train back to Osaka proper and started the search for a hotel. Two hours later, we still hadn't found any vacancies. Despairing and more than a little cranky, we ducked into a restaurant for a late dinner.

Tummies full, we resumed the search. We even tried love hotels, but they weren't too keen on admitting a party of three. Eventually, we found a normal hotel with a reasonable rate, and got to bed a little after midnight.

USJ: Jurassic Park

Jaws spat us out a little after 5. We kept on wandering, and soon arrived at Jurassic Park. The wait for this one was 120 minutes, but we all wanted to ride it, so that didn't bother us. We kept right on talking, noticing the interested stares from lots of people, especially little kids.

After a bit, Julie started getting a little irritated at a group of boys behind us. They were taking turns punching her in the butt. I swapped places with her, putting me between her and the little imps. They turned out to be three elementary schoolers. They didn't punch me in the butt.

Not five minutes after Ju and I swapped places, one of the boys asked me where we were from. This apparently officially opened communications, because as soon as we answered, they began bombarding us with questions: our ages, heights, favorite foods, and 'no, seriously, you live in Japan?' At one point, the lead boy wanted to see how far we were from the front. To his delight, I hoisted him up, and of course had to do the same for the other two afterwards.

Their mothers kept apologizing to us, periodically trying to corral the boys and get them to stop pestering us. We weren't bothered in the slightest, but of course the moms thought we were just being nice. After one of the moms brought some food, the boys all pounced on it. I almost literally mean pounced: they devoured the huge turkey drumsticks and churros as if they hadn't been fed in days.

As we expected, the food didn't keep them away for long. One of the boys started playing janken with each of us in turn, and was quite content. As we got closer, the moms gave the boys raincoats, and the boys noticed we didn't have any. I pretended not to know about the ride, and they were worried about us getting wet and being scared.

The ride was identical to the Islands of Adventure version--every bit as awesome. I actually had more fun in line, though, playing around with the kids.

USJ: Jaws

We popped out of Back to the Future at about 3:30 and continued wandering through the park. The next ride we came to was Jaws. I never actually liked the ride--the loud noises and heat from the flames didn't strike me as fun--and it couldn't have been warmer than 18 degrees, so I wasn't looking forward to getting wet. We were there, though, and Ju and Lee wanted to do it, so I didn't mind going with the flow.

The life-sized shark display at the entrance had a line of about fifty people waiting to take pictures with it. The wait time for the actual ride was another 100 minutes. We kept ourselves amused standing in line, admiring the decoration and wondering just how much of the detail is lost on the average Japanese tourist. My favorite decoration was likely a paid advertisement for All Nippon Airways.

The ride itself was more or less the same as I remembered: you're on a boat for a tour of Amity Island, and you discover Jaws doing his thing. The novelty of the ride is the tour guide, who goes from a script and does his or her best to interact with the automatronics. Maybe I just never appreciated it when I rode back in Orlando, but our guy was freaking awesome. He was jumping all over the boat, freaking out about the shark, all in adorably polite Japanese.

USJ: Back to the Future

Fueled by shrimp po' boy and sweet tea, we headed to the gate at around 2. Tickets were ¥5800 each, or just under $60. I've never been to a theme park as an adult, so I have no idea how much the going rate is, but that seemed reasonable enough.

Once in the park, we wandered through the hordes of Japanese tourists, past the shopping district just past the entrance, and made our way for a ride. As it happened, the first one we came to was Back to the Future. The wait was an estimated 110 minutes, but a glance at one of the big boards displaying wait times for all rides showed it probably wouldn't get much better.

The entire complex was exactly as I remember Orlando's version, down to the TVs displaying the "Institute of Future Technology" logo, with occasional snippets from a reporter or Doc Brown. Ju, Lee, and I passed the time by talking about all kinds of things, ranging from politics to racism to life as a JET.

I noticed quite a few people trying to stare at us without looking like they were staring at us. This included a clump of middle-school-aged girls. I've learned a good bit about group dynamics among Japanese kids, and I've gotten pretty good at picking out the groups that will say something.

Girls, while generally more talkative than boys, nonetheless are usually too skittish to say anything to me when they're by themselves. When they're with a group, however, their bravery dramatically increases. Once that chutzpah reaches a critical mass, one of them becomes the speaker of the group (either by choice or--more often--as a result of losing a Janken match). That person balls up their courage, turns to me, and says something (usually "Hello!").

Boys work the same way, but generally require greater numbers to reach that critical mass. I'm still fine-tuning the numbers, but my calculations indicate shyness among girls is inversely proportional to the fourth power of the group number. The boys, however, are closer to the fifth or sixth power.

Anyway, that group of girls numbered about five, so it wasn't long at all before their spokesperson chirped a "Hello!" and retreated back to the huddle of giggles.

Everything was exactly as I remember from Orlando--except, of course, that everything was in Japanese. (Biff's voice sounds weird in Japanese. I wonder how well "butthead" translates.) The pre-ride briefing, the in-ride video clips, and the ride itself were identical to the ride I loved when I was twelve.

Osaka

Friday was the vernal equinox, which is a national holiday in Japan. That gave me a three-day weekend, and I didn't want to waste it. Having been to Tokyo (well, sort of), Nagasaki, Fukuoka, Hiroshima, and Kyoto, I wanted to make one more trip in Japan. I decided to go to Osaka.

I took the last flight to Fukuoka tonight, hoping to take an overnight bus to save on a hotel. However, as I had once again not made any reservations, I couldn't get a spot, and had to buy a Shinkansen ticket. Round-trip fare from Fukuoka to Osaka came to about ¥26,800, which is a bit shy of $300. Not wanting to get a hotel in Fukuoka and deal with catching one of the first trains on the morning of a national holiday, I took one of the last trains that night.

I got off the train at Shin-Osaka at around 11 and began the search for a hotel. As I feared, the first couple of hotels were full. Clearly recalling my experience in Kyoto, I braced myself for an exhausting search in the chilly rainy night. I lucked out, however, and soon found a room at a Toyoko Inn for a wholly reasonable ¥6500.

The next morning, I lay around waiting for a phone call. Ju, the awesome friend who inspired me to join the JET Program, was meeting up with me. She lived in and around Osaka for the better part of three years, and Osaka is right about halfway between her (in Tokyo) and me (in Nagasaki-ish). She arrived at about 10:30, and we headed to Universal City.

I've been horrible at researching my Japanese travel destinations. In fact, I do most of my studying of the places after the fact, as I'm preparing blog entries. Osaka was no different: I knew next to nothing about historical and cultural landmarks in the metropolitan area. The only thing I knew about was also something that made me promise myself to visit Osaka:

Universal Studios Japan.

The idea of visiting an American theme park in Japan is, I know, a little silly. Had it been exactly the same as Universal Orlando, I probably wouldn't have gone. A few years ago, though, they closed my favorite ride in the whole wide world: Back to the Future: The Ride. I figured it was gone forever until I heard whispers of it surviving in Japan. A quick check on Wikipedia proved it: USJ still had it. That sealed the deal for me.

Outside the station, we met up with Lee, Ju's JET successor. Wanting lunch, and figuring food inside the park would be oodles more expensive, we decided to eat before going in. A quick stroll around the City Walk revealed noodle shops, a sushi bar, and... Bubba Gump Shrimp Company. We couldn't resist.

My lunch consisted of a shrimp po' boy, fries, clam chowder, and iced tea (mixed with 5-6 packs of sugar). It took an hour to arrive after we ordered, and the bill came to $20 each. The experience was just like eating outside a theme park back home!

Transfers

As I mentioned yesterday, today was the day all high school teachers in Nagasaki found out if they were being transferred. I made a beeline to Tsushima High from Toyotama. I had heard that as many as four of the English teachers might leave, and that, due to increasingly fewer students enrolling at Tsushima High, we might only get three new ones. Knowing that Kanemoto--a first-year teacher--and Takahira--a second-year--wouldn't be transferred, that left all but one of the remaining teachers as potential transfers. With so much of my love for the job coming from my relationships with the teachers, I was more than a little nervous.

I walked into the staffroom to find everyone talking quietly with one another. This in and of itself was in stark contrast to the usual sound of fifty teachers shuffling papers and coming and going from their desks. Masuda-sensei showed me where the list of names and destinations had been posted.

The results were what the English teachers had expected. Kurokawa, Satomi, and Kamito were being transferred. Also being transferred were Imamura, who was one of the office workers, and Kitamura, the vice principal. Most of the women teachers were talking with Satomi and Kamito, wishing them luck and expressing how sad they'd be without them around. I talked to both of them, then with Kurokawa. I could tell he was relieved to finally know that he was going and where he was going, but I could also see how sad it made him to be leaving.

Toyotama High didn't lose any teachers to actual transfers. Sunada, the English teacher who had replaced Urata, wasn't a full teacher in the first place: he hadn't received his teaching certification, and had been given the job as a temporary placement. Kokubu-sensei, having turned 60 this year, was retiring. The home ec teacher was taking maternity leave, and so there would be a temporary replacement for her.

Transfers looming

As I mentioned last year, high school teachers in Japan are organized at the prefectural level. They are technically employed by the equivalent of the state board of education, and are assigned a school much in the same way ALTs are. In an effort to standardize the quality of instruction throughout the prefecture, they shuffle teachers around periodically.

Nagasaki prefecture is one of the poorest in the country, owing in no small part to its many islands. (Tsushima, the Gotō, and Iki, just to name the biggest.) This makes it especially important for the prefecture to assign fresh teachers to different areas, because it's highly unlikely that teachers would otherwise choose to go to those islands. With that in mind, the prefecture has long required all teachers to serve 4-6 years in the schools of the small islands.

This isn't entirely unilateral. From what I've heard, each year teachers submit a form with their preferred placements. Iwase-sensei told me she was asked to rank Tsushima, Goto, and Iki in order of preference. The prefecture may not accommodate the request, but they at least keep it in mind. (This is a lot like my impression of how JET placements work.)

I've heard that high school teachers usually spend two years in a school on the main island before being shipped out for "island time," but not all do that. Graduating education majors, bound for high school certification, are also asked to submit the form. Some of them are assigned to an island straight out of university. Kamito-sensei is one of those, along with several other Tsushima High teachers.

Each year, after graduation, the school administration consults with the prefectural board of education, and they decide who will leave. That's as much as I know about the actual process: the vice principal and principal have a say in it. I don't know whether they only get to throw their two yen in, or if they get to do things like veto potential moves. Once the discussions are finished, the prefecture officially notifies all schools on the same day. The principal then calls the vice principal, relays the list of names, and the vice principal then informs the teachers.

For some teachers, the move comes as a surprise. Others can see it coming: those who are in or beyond their sixth year of island time expect it. Kurokawa-sensei is one of these. He's been preparing himself for the transfer all year.

Still others are tipped off ahead of time. It's all strictly unofficial, but the principal may make a friendly suggestion to a teacher in late February that he or she start preparing for a move. Satomi- and Kamito-sensei fall under this category. When Satomi mentioned it to me in passing, she said, "I will be leaving Tsushima in April." When I asked her how she knew, she quickly backpedaled: "It's not for sure, but maybe." Kamito gave me a similar, veiled "maybe." I get the feeling they're let in on it whenever possible, and are just asked to keep it quiet until the formal announcement.

At any rate, once the teachers are informed, they have until the beginning of the next term--April--to close up shop, pack up, ship everything off-island, say goodbye, find a place to live at the new assignment, and get settled in. I have a hard time imagining it, and I'm a bachelor. A good many teachers have families, with children who are uprooted from their schools without more than three weeks to say goodbye to all their friends.

This year, the call will come tomorrow. I'll be on the road to Izuhara from Toyotama, so I plan to head straight to Tsushima High to find out who's leaving.

First-year Teachers Party

School-related parties come in threes for me: one for all faculty and staff, one for my department, and one for my grade level. With teacher transfers looming, end-of-year otsukare parties are starting up. Tonight was the first-year teachers' party.

We met at the same restaurant we used last year, which should give you a sense of what was in store this time around. More on that in a minute, though.

As we were sitting down at the restaurant, I overheard some giggling from a small group of teachers. Nozomi-sensei had asked Yoshihara-sensei if her head was okay. Though she wanted to know whether Yoshihara had a headache, that phrasing is more often used to imply someone has done something stupid. Yoshihara often does oddball things (on a possibly related note, she's the art teacher), so this had the women teachers cracking up.

As soon as everyone got together, we ordered our drinks. I don't think I've talked on this blog about Japanese toasts before. At most social gatherings, as formal as post-graduation parties and as casual as friends getting together, etiquette calls for a toast before drinking. Everyone orders their drinks, and once each person has some kind of beverage to hold up, we toast. There can be a speech by the host of the party, or there might be no preamble at all, but the last thing said is always "Kanpai!" ("Cheers!") Everyone clinks glasses and can officially take a drink. It's essentially the same as a toast in America, but I get the feeling that it's much, much more strictly observed here.

Anyway, the food started arriving as soon as we toasted. The first course was sashimi. Sashimi isn't my favorite--most types of fish just taste bland to me raw, and those that do taste good (like salmon) taste so much better cooked--but I have no problem eating the standard varieties, like tuna and octopus. In addition to the usual suspects, this time there was a second plate with bits of red meat.

I've seen chicken sashimi in Tsushima before. I politely but steadfastly refused to try it, because six years working in restaurants and twenty-someodd years of understanding English have taught me you just don't eat raw chicken. I was intrigued by this plate, though, wondering if it was beef.

Nozomi, a grammar teacher with good English, asked if I knew what kind of meat it was. When I cocked my head uncertainly, she told me it was sakuraniku: cherry blossom meat. She told me another name for it, baniku, and I got it: horse. (It's referred to as sakuraniku because of the meat's pinkish color.)

I actually ate this my first day in Tsushima, and it wasn't particularly offensive. I certainly don't have a taste for it, and I know a few people back home who are probably disgusted with me for having willingly eaten it. This time, though, I didn't want to eat it raw. Luckily, I didn't have to: the main course for the night was sukiyaki. Each of us had a ceramic bowl filled with broth and vegetables; we were able to add additional meats and veggies as we liked. Like most red meat, the horse meat was a lot more palatable cooked.

As with most get-togethers, the menu was mostly a backdrop for the conversations and increasingly-drunken revelry. Nozomi's desk is always swamped with paperwork and other materials. I feel bad for her during lunch, because she clears off just enough space--a square foot or so--for her plate. Wondering if it's piled with stuff only during the busy times of year, I asked her tonight if there's ever a time when her desk is clear. I apparently phrased this a little more rambunctiously than I wanted, because Yoshihara and Kamito got a kick out of my implying her desk is messy. Nozomi gracefully explained basically that she's a packrat, and told me to be careful never to turn into one like her.

Later on, a new dish arrived. It was out of reach of Saito-sensei, sitting next to me, so I offered to get him some. Following the chopsticks etiquette I was taught, and in the absence of serving chopsticks, I turned my chopsticks around so as to get him some food with the end I hadn't been using. This drew titters of approval from all the women at the table. Apparently, most young people (especially guys) either don't know to do this or are too lazy to. Hooray for not being rude!

One of the dishes was fried fish. By the time it arrived, I was just about stuffed, so I only nudged at it. On the plate with the fish, however, were two round, fried things. I looked quizzically at them, and Nozomi saw this. She told me the Japanese term, and when this didn't help me understand, she pulled out her Japanese-English electronic dictionary, consulted it, and proudly announced, "Testis." Deep fried fish testes. Seeing everyone else chowing down, I politely took a token bite. While not terrible, it certainly wasn't tasty.

Toward the end of the meal, the chef entered the room carrying a tray. On the tray were several small bowls, a large bowl, and a pitcher resembling a teapot. As he lowered the tray, we saw that the large bowl was full of water, and in the water were lots of small fish darting around. He set out the small bowls, and into each poured from the pitcher a yellowish liquid. Using a slotted spoon, he then scooped up some fish, poured them into the small bowls. Immediately after being placed in the yellow stuff, the fish began flailing around violently. Nobody seemed concerned with this, and the chef asked who wanted to try it first.

I can't remember who went first--probably Matsushita--but he stood and held up the first of the small bowls. He then proceeded to gulp down everything in the bowl--the yellow liquid and the still-struggling fish. Almost everyone jokingly applauded. (I say almost everyone because several of the women, obviously not thrilled with this course, stayed quiet, maintaining polite smiles.)

I saw it coming: I was urged to go next. Deciding it was much better than other things I've tried in Japan, I went for it. The yellow stuff was a tangy citrus/vinegar solution, which explains the struggling of the fish: in addition to not being able to breathe, the fish were probably being burned by the acid. I accepted a bowl, stood, and downed it in one gulp. It wasn't all that bad. The fish flipping around in my mouth was more than a bit strange, and it took me a minute to marshal the effort to swallow, but that was the worst of it. They were small enough that I didn't have to bite down on them, and they only struggled a little on the way down my esophagus.

Everyone applauded me, with the guys cheering the louder. Several others followed, and I'm pretty sure no women tried it. Saito showed off a little, letting one of the fish stick its head out from his puckered lips.

The party ended soon after. The guys were all headed straight for a second party at a bar, and invited me along. I noticed none of the women were going, so I declined. Depending on how you look at it, that may sound as though I'm a skirt-chaser or a pansy. While both are sometimes true, in this case it's because the presence of women lowers the possibility of going to a snack bar, which I abhor. I also had to get up early to drive to Toyotama the next day.

Easter: First-year decorating

We gave each student their eggs, I showed them the big bag of markers and crayons I'd brought, and we cut them loose. Included in the pile was a Crayola 64-pack I'd bought in December with just this activity in mind. Something I hadn't thought about was the printed names of the colors, and the impromptu English practice this provided. Also, at some point in the past fifteen years, Crayola started printing the names in Spanish and French as well as English, which made for some fun pronunciation practice.

I'd worried that a few students would be too cool to decorate eggs, but every single one of them worked diligently on it. The girls' eggs tended to be much more ornate and, naturally, cuter. We learned too late that some of the markers would bleed in the solution, and so we cautioned them to use those markers only if they weren't going to use the dye.

I got pictures of all of this, taking the opportunity to get group photos of each of my classes. At Toyotama, when I went to get a picture of Mami's egg, she refused. I asked her why not, and she replied that she, like nearly every Japanese schoolgirl, is shy. I prodded at her, to no avail. I changed up my tactics: knowing her junior high ALT had been Mike, and knowing that he remembers her just as clearly as she does him, I said I wanted to show Mike. She made me promise not to show anyone but him, and agreed.

The teachers also made eggs. Not surprisingly, Kamito-sensei drew Snoopy on both of hers, and gave them to Yagi- and Yoshihara-sensei, her two best friends. Masuda- and Satomi-sensei decorated eggs for me, with Satomi writing 'thank you for everything!' on hers.

The lesson was a big hit. Everyone thoroughly enjoyed decorating the eggs. When it came time to leave, though, and I told them they could bring them home and eat them, almost everyone balked. Roughly half of each class politely declined, instead giving their eggs to me. I found out why from some students' questions: they were convinced the egg itself would taste like vinegar. Even after picking up on this and trying to explain away their concerns, most of them declined to bring them home. I ate what I could, but there's only so much cholesterol one guy can take.

Easter: Lesson

The actual Easter lesson went much like last year's, except this time I left off explaining the Christian part of the holiday. I did that because, when taken as a single holiday, and presented as a celebration of new life (life symbolized by brightly-colored eggs) heralding the approach of spring, Easter has only the most tenuous of connections to Christianity.

I mean no disrespect to Christianity; I'm just speaking from experience. Last year I tried explaining the resurrection of Jesus, and this was greeted with more confusion than interest. This year I decided not to spend fifteen extra minutes belaboring the point (and fielding the thorny questions we asked when we were twelve) that three days after Jesus was crucified (what's crucified? holy crap, why was he crucified? what are Romans? what's Judea? tell me again why you people celebrate this occasion every year?), he rose from the dead and went up to heaven. (why did he rise from the dead? if he's the son of God, how did he die to begin with? why did he come down in the first place, if he went back up to heaven? doesn't your soul go to heaven when you die anyway?)

At any rate, I settled on a more streamlined presentation. I began by asking what season this is, to which almost everyone answered, "Spring." Most of my classes were before the equinox, though. Intrigued, I asked them when spring begins. Some of the silly ones threw out random months, but a sizable portion of the class gave February 3 as the date. This is Setsubun (or, more correctly, Risshun, the spring setsubun), and traditionally marks the beginning of spring in Japan.

I find this interesting, because the rest of February is bitterly cold, and mid-March, while still chilly, is the first time the weather approaches anything resembling spring-like. Anyway, the explanation of spring equinox wasn't as difficult as I feared: once I explained what 'equi' means, most classes correctly identified it as Shunbun no hi in Japanese.

I then asked what we do in the spring. I was hoping for--and, for the most part, got--students to pipe up with "Hanami!" (Flower viewing) I asked why we look at flowers in March instead of January, and almost everyone caught my drift: the flowers start blooming in March. From this, I explained that spring is a time of new life, and paused for someone to tell me what "new life" means. At this point, a few students saw where I was going with this; most of them caught it not long after: Easter is a celebration of the spring.

Like last year, quite a few students caught the "east" in Easter, though I opted not to dive into the etymology of east and Eostre. Also like last year, several students recognized Easter from Easter Island, and were satisfied when I explained that Jacob Roggeveen discovered Easter Island on Easter Sunday, 1722.

I then showed the students pictures of cute baby animals--you'd be surprised how well freshman girls stay focused on a lesson when you flash puppies and ducklings on the screen--and then brandished an egg. Explaining that people decorate eggs for Easter, I asked why we do this. Though some classes were much slower and needed more nudging than others, eventually someone in each group touched on the notion of eggs being a symbol of new life.

Next, I explained the process of dyeing eggs, relying on props and their listening comprehension to get the point across. "Vinegar" was a tricky word, but when I sniffed the air, they all got it. (Even with a window cracked, the room had the unmistakable odor of vinegar, which every student commented on--"くさっ!"--as they entered.) I finished by showing them pictures of dyed and decorated eggs that I'd found on the Internet.

Easter: Normal preparations

Unlike the Toyotama second-years, none of my other classes have had Easter with me. That meant I wanted to decorate Easter eggs the way we did it last year, which is the way I did it growing up: boiled eggs, optionally decorated with crayons, then soaked in a solution of water, vinegar, and food coloring. I never got around to getting some boxes of Paas in my trips home last year, but I did buy some tubes of Betty Crocker food coloring gel.

At Toyotama High, I teach two groups of twenty-five first-years. At Tsushima High, I teach eight groups of twenty first-years and one group of ten second-years. (The third-years, graduated and absent since January, already had their Easter activity.) Since I wanted to provide one unblemished egg for each student, plus some for the teachers, plus some extras just in case, I needed about 240 boiled eggs. My boiling technique, while not as sloppy as last year's abysmal 50:50 cracked:uncracked rate, still only gives a reliable 80% uncracked ratio. That means I boiled something closer to 270 eggs in the span of two weeks.

The unused, slightly-cracked-but-still-scrumpdiddlyumptious eggs worked their way into my daily meals: two with breakfast and another with lunch and/or dinner. I would bring the extras to school and offer them to teachers as snacks. However, I'm the most proud of making myself practice making deviled eggs. It's amazing (and somewhat sickening) how tasty egg yolk, salt, pepper, and lots and lots of mayonnaise can be.

Minus the departed third-years, I teach an average of two classes a day, with three classes being my busiest day. That means that every day I hauled 40-60 eggs and a bag of paper cups, paper towels, spoons, food coloring, and vinegar. Every day, first thing in the morning, I would book it to the classroom and set up 2-3 cups each for five colors: red, yellow, orange, green, and blue. (I tried making purple by mixing red and blue dyes... somehow it resulted in a color that was simultaneously red and blue without being purple.) While the gel was dissolving, I would set up my computer, the screen, and the projector, for my Easter presentation. After the last class each day, I would dump out the dye solution, rinse out the cups, pack everything up, and bring it home.

Toyotama was a little trickier, as there isn't a designated oral communications classroom. I did the best I could, stationing everything in an unused classroom just down the hall, setting it up such that all I had to do was lug the stuff the short(er) distance to the classroom.

All the effort was absolutely, 100% it.

Easter: Egg contest

Having prepared 52 eggshells, unblemished apart from two innocuous pinholes, I brought in markers and crayons for the class. Iwase-sensei and I announced the contest, complete with a cute poster Iwase prepared, and cut them loose. They had one full class period to work, and then were allowed to take them home and finish.

Most of the students began with crayons, but soon abandoned them for markers. Since they weren't using dye this time, there was no need to be afraid of the marker bleeding. Several students started sticking things onto the egg: stickers, ribbons, hairpins, plastic beads, etc. One of the twins actually painted a map of Japan on his. Yuka covered hers in hot pink marker, then in black marker drew designs, butterflies, and "Rebirth" in English. Yuki decorated hers with a smiling mouth and a single, cute eye, making an adorable cyclops egg. Taishi used crayons and colored pencils to turn his egg into a globe.

Ryousuke started by coating his egg in glue. He then went to the chalkboard, took a pieced of red chalk, and began drawing the same line over and over again. It took me a minute, but I figured it out--he wanted to collect the chalkdust and sprinkle it on his glue-covered egg. After getting halfway done, he decided against it and spent the rest of class washing it off. Seika turned hers into Doraemon, complete with a ball of paper colored red and glued on for a tail. Yumeka went all-out with stickers and beads, decorating hers with manga or anime characters neither Iwase nor I could identify. Yukari drew a baby Mickey Mouse on hers.

Shunsuke turned his into a hatching dinosaur. He took bits of newspaper, shaped them into four limbs and a tail, and painted them green. He then glued them on the egg, while decorating it such that the legs were sticking out of holes, and two yellow eyes were peeking from the same hole as the two forelimbs.

The first group made it through class without dropping theirs. The second group wasn't so lucky. Iwase and I had been afraid of this, and had prepared a couple of extras just in case. Wakana was standing at the front of class with a few other girls, trying to decide how to decorate hers, when it just slipped and fell. It didn't shatter--all there was to show for it was a visible dent--but she didn't know what to do. Wakana transferred to Toyotama this past year, and consequently she's more outgoing and talkative with everyone (including me), so she asked me what she should do. I suggested using that as part of the design--a cracked egg. She put a Cinderella band-aid over the dent, and decorated it as Anpanman with an "ouch" face.

Students were to turn them in to me as they finished, and fill out an entry form. Each egg would be identified by a number, and put on display for voting during lunch one day. The numbers helped keep the artists unknown. I wasn't around for the day of actual voting, but I learned that Shunsuke's dinosaur won, Seika's Doraemon came in second, and Kozue's egg came in third.