adam's little pensieve

Golden Week 2009

2009-05-05T15:14:00.003+09:00

Last year's Golden Week extravaganza set the bar pretty high. I think this year did a good job of competing. I can't decide which trip I enjoyed more; each was amazing for different reasons. Here's a root page linking to individual entries about the trip:

๑.	Leaving Japan

๒.	Cabbages & Condoms

๓.	Lada's House

๔.	Running around Bangkok

๕.	Khaosan Road

๖.	Guitar Hero in Bangkok

๗.	Cambodia Ho!

๘.	Siem Reap

๙.	Angkor Wat, day one

๑๐.

Baphuon and Ta Prom

๑๑.

Macaques, Angkor Wat, and bar trivia

๑๒.

Phnom Penh or bust

๑๓.

A palace, a prison, a pachyderm, and a pub

๑๔.

Last day in Bangkok

๑๕.

Back to Japan

All 496 photos can be found here.

Back to Japan

2009-05-04T19:59:00.004+09:00

I woke up at 5 in order to be out the door by 5:30. Augie and Lada drove me to a taxi queue at the entrance to her parents' neighborhood. Her mom and dad both hugged me, and her mom invited me back anytime.

The taxi ride was ฿300; all I had was a ฿1000 note. The driver gave me what he said was all his change, which was only ฿600. I point this out only because I ended up, not two hours later, down to my last ฿20 note for the entire trip. I've kept that ฿20 in my wallet ever since, to remind me. I'm not sure what it's supposed to remind me of, but I think of something every time I see it.

At any rate, I ran into Carol and Rachel at the gate. We had planned our trips separately, yet had run into each other more or less by accident in Siem Reap, and had caught exactly the same flight out of Bangkok. We played cards on the floor of the gate, and a little girl whom I think was Korean joined in. The flights themselves were uneventful, though Hong Kong, freaking out about the swine flu, was requiring everybody to go through security again, and inspecting every single carry-on bag. Many people were wearing masks, which didn't bother me in the slightest. However, there were some American tourists near my place in line, and I overheard how obviously rattled they were by the sight.

This is where my notes and my memory end, mostly because I was pretty well exhausted from the past few days of waking up early and seeing so much. I made it back to Tsushima safe and sound.

Last day in Bangkok

2009-05-03T23:00:00.002+09:00

We got up at 6 to be ready at 7:30. A tuktuk took us to the airport; the flight from Phnom Penh to Bangkok was uneventful. It was actually refreshing to hear Thai spoken again, even though I only understand about five words. We took a taxi to Lada's house, where we relaxed for a couple of hours. We regrouped and headed out for the afternoon at about 4. Lada's cousin, Aom, came along for the adventure.

Our first stop was a parking deck, from which we took a tuktuk to the Siam Paragon, which I'm told was at one time the largest mall in the world. Our first stop was the food court. We settled on an Italian restaurant, and I tucked in to some lasagna.

From there, we headed to the movie theater and saw X-Men Origins: Wolverine. I bet Augie ฿20 there wouldn't be a clip at the end of the credits; I lost. Oddly enough, the scene in the clip took place in a Japanese bar.

We took another tuktuk to the Baiyoke Tower II, the tallest building in Thailand. (We saw a sign outside the entrance warning of pickpockets -- but only on Sundays.) Mere mortals were only allowed up to the 17th floor, so we went that far and found a bar and a driving range. The rate was ฿1 per ball. Augie and I each went in for ฿50.

The range consisted of a decently large space enclosed by green netting that kept the balls in without obscuring the beautiful view of Bangkok. Placed at the end of the range were the usual pins, complete with flag sticks. However, there were also two small bags. Augie and I agreed the first one to sink one would get ฿100 from the other. After several misses each, Augie called the shot, took three practice swings, and bounced it in. ฿100 richer, he decided to show off, hitting a 5 iron that bounced off the net and fell cleanly into the other bag.

We walked around a little more, then took a taxi back to the parking deck and drove to the Suan Lum Night Bazaar. We relaxed in the food court, ate some pad thai, and enjoyed the atmosphere. Aom opened up some, and managed to communicate through our clunky Japanese.

We finally headed back to the house, where I saddled up for my flight back to Japan the next day. I politely but firmly declined Lada's mom's offer to drive me to the airport at 5:30 the next morning.

A palace, a prison, a pachyderm, and a pub

2009-05-02T19:23:00.007+09:00

We got up at about 8:30, but took our time getting out. After rising early and trekking Angkor the past couple of days, and getting up early to bus it to Phnom Penh yesterday, we wanted to take it easy.

Our first destination was the Royal Palace, mainly because it's just across the street. Unfortunately, sleeves are required, which meant Lada would have to change before we could enter. So we decided to come back later. We tuktuked over to what Lonely Planet referred to as a Russian market, passing the Independence Monument along the way.

The market was awesome, full of stalls crammed together, each jam-packed with all kinds of goods. I was most impressed by the used hardware section, where bins full of greasy hinges and gears begged to be organized. I also enjoyed the meat section, as the merchants were proudly displaying their very fresh and very raw cuts. The produce section was also a hit, and Lada and I scored some rambutan.

From there, we headed to Tuol Sleng. Originally Chao Ponhea Yat High School, the structure was converted by the Khmer Rouge to a prison and interrogation center. For the better part of four years, prisoners were tortured and questioned in what were once classrooms. The torture chambers are still on display, with iron bed frames which are presumably the same ones prisoners were chained to for electrocution. These are supplemented by photographs of prisoners lying in the same beds. Tuol Sleng was the largest such center in Democratic Kampuchea.

The Khmer Rouge's programs of forced labor and extermination camps resulted in the deaths of somewhere between 1.4 million to 2.2 million people. Despite widespread reports of genocide, Democratic Kampuchea retained its seat in the United Nations. Some Western nations went so far as to praise its government, which was led by Pol Pot. In the end, the Socialist Republic of Vietnam ousted them from power.

More than a little sick to our stomachs, we milled around outside the museum for a while, searching for our appetites. Finding them, we headed to a nearby restaurant. After a lunch that would have been tasty under different circumstances, we headed to Wat Phnom.

Wat Phnom means "hill temple" and is a pagoda named for Chi Penh. In the fourteenth century, Penh found five statues of the Buddha, and a temple was built to house them. (Incidentally, Phnom Penh itself is named for the same lady.)

The temple itself was pretty, but the park around it was crowded with beggars. We made our way around and stumbled upon a man and his elephant. He let us feed her bananas, which made for a nice photo.

From there we went to "Friends," a cafe staffed by teachers and students. Conversation ranged from the flies mating at our table to the subject of poo.

After that, we headed back to the hostel, changed into appropriate clothes, and tried the Royal Palace again. It was pretty impressive. Dating only from the late 19th century--the Khmer had their capital around Angkor for most of their history--the palace architecture reflects Khmer as well as some European influences, owing to Cambodia's being part of the French Protectorate.

Finishing our tour of the palace, we wanted to relax somewhere and check our email, so we headed across the street from the guest house. For some reason, I wanted very badly to go to Laos. We're right next door to it, after all. Anyway, we headed back to the guest house and chilled in our rooms as a storm rolled in.

For dinner, we headed up along the Tonle Sap looking for a tasty-looking restaurant. We got tired of walking and decided just to take a tuk-tuk. A few minutes' ride later, we found something promising: the Green Vespa Pub. Offering British fare, like pies, fish and chips, and single-malt Scotch, it made for an interesting escape from Cambodian food. It was also pretty pricey by local standards: my ham sandwich and fries ran me about $10.

After dinner, Augie and I got into a pretty lengthy discussion about free market economics and capitalism in general. (More on that in a separate post, though.) We decided to walk back home from the pub, and began moseying back. Every single tuktuk asked us if we wanted a ride, always avoiding addressing Lada.

We ducked into a club for a break in the trip. We got an appetizer and some drinks, and Augie and Lada danced salsa. Man, I wish I'd kept up with it after college.

After a couple of drinks, we continued the walk back home. We got back at 11, but not before stopping at a night market on the way home.

Phnom Penh or bust

2009-05-01T16:38:00.003+09:00

Over the past couple of nights, we discussed our plans for getting back to Bangkok. I'm the one leaving first--Augie's staying an extra week--and I'm flying back from Bangkok, so I need to be back there Monday morning. Fun as it was to be ripped off by immigration services and sketched out by bullying long-fingernailed motorcyclists, we didn't want to go back via Aranyaprathet. So we sniffed around and decided to check out going back via Phnom Penh, the capital of Cambodia.

This morning, we got up and out at 8 to check on a bus to the capital. For $8 apiece, we could catch the 9:30 bus. Lada ordered some breakfast to go while Augie and I handled checkout at the guest house.

We got on a big charter bus that was half full. The ride took 5 1/2 hours, but it was on mostly good roads, and we had some wonderfully strange videos to watch. First was a series of videos you see at karaoke bars--the ones with the lyrics on the bottom with a backdrop of cheesy drama scenes. After that, we watched Tom-Yum-Goong, a Thai martial arts movie where the main character tries to save an elephant from gangsters. I'm sure there was more to the movie than that, but Lada wasn't feeling good, so she couldn't translate the Thai for Augie and me.

We made one twenty-minute stop in a town whose name I didn't catch. There were food stands set up at the bus stop, including roasted crickets.

The bus arrived in Phnom Penh at 2:40ish. Augie and Lada had used Lonely Planet to find a guest house for us. We took a tuktuk to the National Museum for $2, and easily found the Bright Lotus Guest House. Rooms are $16 a night, and the location is awesome: two blocks from the Tonlé Sap, which drains into the Mekong nearby. It's also right across from the Royal Palace.

We dropped off our stuff, freshened up, and booked our flights from Phnom Penh to Bangkok for $97 per person. That done, we tuktuked to the post office and mailed some postcards. From there we strolled to the Tonlé Sap waterfront and snacked at a pricey restaurant. We tried to find the Central Market, and succeeded... right as they were closing.

Discouraged but not defeated, we walked on to a nearby mall, and went to the top for a view of the city. We were just in time to see a thunderstorm roll in, and decided to do dinner at the sukiyaki restaurant at the top of the mall.

We took a tuktuk back in a downpour. I traded rooms with Augie and Lada, but I can't remember why. We chilled out for a while, and Augie and I went out for beers.

Sitting at an outside table on the sidewalk a block up from the guest house, we were waylaid by street hawkers. These were selling books, and Augie agreed to buy the Lonely Planet for Thailand if the girl could find one. She darted off and came back twenty minutes later with one.

Surrounded by an awesome lightning storm, Augie and I talked a lot about all kinds of random stuff. Chilling out like that is one of the things I miss most about college. At one point, we noticed a rat scampering around the sidewalk. Soon afterwards, we called it a night. I was in bed by 11.

Macaques, Angkor Wat, and bar trivia

2009-04-30T17:25:00.005+09:00

We were up and out of the hostel by 8. We met Noah and had a quick breakfast together. Augie went with banana pancakes, while I went with an awesome fruit plate. Theng was waiting for us, and we went right back to Angkor. On our way back in, we saw some macaques waiting patiently to sucker tourists out of food. We happily obliged them, and they let us take their picture.

One of our first stops in the morning was Preah Khan. After that was Neak Pean, a temple atop an artificial island surrounded by a moat. The coolest part of that was the huge millipede I found when I ventured off to pee behind a building.

For lunch, we stopped at a grouping of restaurants. We were accompanied by a little merchant girl who kept at us with her impressive English. Tired of just saying "no thank you," Noah decided to get creative. The girl had a cute stuffed animal attached to her belt loop; Noah asked her how much that would cost. Her eyes bulged for a beat, but she quickly recovered: "One hundred dollars." Noah played right along, agreeing. She didn't like this at all, and left us alone.

Meanwhile, I ordered chicken green curry with rice. I think it ran me $3, and it was amazing.

After lunch, we continued on to Ta Som, East Mebon, and Pre Rup. Ta Som was interesting, but I got tired of walking with the group, and decided to wander around on my own at each place. Armed with the Indiana Jones theme on endless loop in my head, I clambered around temples, imagining what the builders and original inhabitants thought about them.

I've since learned that East Mebon dates from the 10th century, making it about 200 years older than most of the other temples. Pre Rup was made even more interesting by the thunderstorm that blew in while we were there. We took cover in a central chamber, but that only kept us partly dry--the ceiling was open. It was a great chance to huddle next to other tourists. I counted Spanish and Japanese being spoken!

Having come perilously close to being sick of temples, we decided to finish with Angkor Wat itself and be done with it. The thunderstorm had moved on, leaving a steady drizzle in its wake. We decided to try waiting it out in a cafe across from the temple moat, and paid entirely too much for a ham sandwich and coffee.

On our way to the bathroom before heading to the temple, we were marauded by a particularly persistent group of ten-year-olds. Realizing this was probably our last chance to mess with them, we each struck up conversation with one. Mine went this way:

Girl: "Hey mister, where you from?"
Me: "Cambodia."
Girl: "I don think so!"
Me: "Where are you from?"
Girl: "Cambodia!"
Me: "I don't think so. You're from Vietnam."
Girl: (looking like I just hit her) "No! I'm from America!"
Me: "Okay. Who's the president?"
Girl: (without missing a beat) "Obama. Who's the president of Cambodia?"
Me: "...I don't know."

I think we were the funnest group of tourists they'd had all day. Mine stuck with me:

Girl: "Buy a bracelet!"
Me: "No."
Girl: "Buy one for your wife!"
Me: "I don't have a wife."
Girl: "Buy one for your girlfriend!"
Me: "I don't have a girlfriend."
Girl: "You know why you don't have a girlfriend?"
Me: "Why?"
Girl: "Because you don't buy my bracelet!"

When it became apparent that I wasn't buying any of her wares, she asked me to buy her some ice cream. I said maybe, after we came back from the temple.

Angkor Wat proper is surrounded by an outer moat 190 meters wide, which is outside a 30-meter-wide apron of ground, which is outside a 1024-by-802-meter, 4.5-meter-high wall. We took some pictures on our trek across the moat, and I kept mistakenly thinking we'd finally reached the temple.

The wall encloses a massive plot of land, split down the middle by the causeway entering from the moat. We made our way down, marveling at the openness and the crowds before finally reaching the temple entrance.

The temple itself was nothing less than amazing. The outer walls of the temple are a gallery of bas reliefs depicting many Hindu stories, including the Churning of the Ocean of Milk and several epic battles, including the Battle of Kurukshetra. We dutifully walked along all four walls in the prescribed order, able to appreciate them only as works of art. I felt as though I'd wasted a wonderful opportunity to learn about Hinduism, but there wasn't much I could do about it there.

The central temple was off limits to tourists, as it was being restored by some German outfit. Mildly disappointed, but still satisfied, we made our way out. I was only slightly surprised to see the same girl come running up to me asking for that ice cream. We headed to where we'd seen it, only to find out that it'd left for the day. She wasn't terribly happy.

We headed back to Siem Reap, thanked Theng for his services, tipped him, and said goodbye. We just made it to the day market as it was closing up; I bought a silk hammock for $3. The four of us headed to dinner. As we were ordering, Rachel and Carol--two ALTs from Sasebo--walked up. I'd known they were in southeast Asia for Golden Week, but we hadn't been able to line our plans up. They joined the table, and we had an awesome dinner.

Afterwards, we headed to the Funky Munky for bar trivia. It was exactly the style of trivia I miss--teams huddle together, write their answers down, and turn them in to the emcee. We finished in the middle of the pack, but we didn't really care about the points anyway. No, really. The group broke up afterward, and we three went back to the hostel at about midnight.

Baphuon and Ta Prohm

2009-04-29T14:45:00.008+09:00

After finishing at Bayon, Theng drove us over to the Baphuon, Phimeanakas, and the Royal Palace. The Baphuon has a causeway raised about five feet off the ground, and we saw what appeared to be a wedding ceremony taking place. It was starting to get cloudy, which made us a little worried for her dress.

The temple at Baphuon was originally built to honor the Hindu god Shiva, but it was converted to a Buddhist temple in the 15th century. As part of the rededication, a statue of the reclining Buddha was built onto the temple. It was being restored, so we had to walk around wooden decking. As we looked at it, it started pouring down rain. We cowered under a roof with a few workers and enjoyed an apple and some Oreos.

After the storm, we found Theng and headed west of Angkor Thom. He took us to the Terrace of the Elephants. We walked around some more before stopping at a group of restaurants for lunch. They had a nice menu, featuring all kinds of rice and noodle dishes, but we went for fried rice for about $2 each.

Finishing lunch, we met back up with Theng. He drove us to Ta Prohm next. This was easily our favorite of the day. The temple ruins have been left mostly untouched, with many trees growing atop eight-foot walls and piles of rubble. We did a little impromptu exploring, taking a few somewhat-hidden passages through walls. Feeling particularly adventuresome, I started scrambling up a wall, only to be called back by a nearby guide. A bit later, I saw the NO CLIMBING sign.

After Ta Prohm, we went to Banteay Kdei, a temple to the southeast. By this point, we'd just about had our fill of awesome temples for the day. That's why I don't remember the name of the small temple we stopped at after Banteay Kdei. I didn't even take pictures of the lake we stopped at. The children who swarmed us at that stop (as they did at every stop; I've stopped mentioning them because they sort of fade into the background) were among the most creative of the day, carrying on whole conversations with each of us. One of the boys decided to try a new approach and called me a ladyboy.

We'd planned to stop at Angkor Wat itself on our way out and wait for sunset. It'd been overcast since the thunderstorm, though, so we decided to head back to Siem Reap.

We took a quick break at the hotel, then headed to a Mexican restaurant. It was probably a lot more of a treat for Lada and me than it was for Augie, since neither of us get to eat Mexican often. Augie and I got into a fairly long conversation about free market economics. I've been reading Naomi Klein's The Shock Doctrine, and it was stimulating to discuss it with someone so strongly in favor of the idea.

After finishing dinner, we headed to the night market again. I bought an alarm clock for $4, then joined Augie and Lada at the Lunar Bar. None of us want to deal with sketchy long-fingernailed bikers and obnoxious border patrol officials, so we did some brainstorming about our trip back to Bangkok. We got back to the hotel and to bed by 11ish.

Angkor Wat, day one

2009-04-29T13:52:00.007+09:00

I woke up at 7 this morning without an alarm, and was ready to go at 8. Stepping outside the hostel into the gorgeous heat and humidity, we were immediately greeted by the several tuktuk drivers lining the street. We picked one, and had him drive us to the ATM for Augie. He offered to drive us somewhere else. Rather than turn him down directly, we said we wanted breakfast first, figuring he'd take the hint.

We ducked into a restaurant appropriately named "Why Not?" Bacon, eggs, and hashbrowns ran me $3. There was a white guy seated next to us, eating by himself, so we invited him to join us. His name is Noah, and he's a Canadian teaching English in Korea.

After saying goodbye to Noah, we headed out of the restaurant... and found the same tuktuk driver cheerfully waving at us. He'd waited the half-hour it took us to eat. His name is Theng, and he offered to drive us anywhere for the day for $15. We agreed and set off for Angkor.

Angkor is the name of the region that served as the seat of the Khmer empire, the second-largest empire in Southeast Asian history. The Khmer reigned for about four hundred years, from the ninth to the thirteenth centuries. The region contains the ruins of many temples, palaces, and other structures. (Angkor Wat is the most famous surviving temple complex in the area; we're going there tomorrow.)

The ride to the entrance to the complex took about fifteen minutes. Three-day passes cost us $40 each. From there, Theng proposed a route for us to take. Joey, Mike, and several others had told me not to even try doing everything in one day, but it wasn't until I saw the map that I understood why: there are easily twenty points of interest spread across the region. Theng's plan would take two days; we agreed to it and headed in.

We decided to save Angkor Wat itself for tomorrow, so we drove right past it as we entered the complex. Bypassing it, we made our way north. Stopping for pictures at the southern gate to Angkor Thom, we were waylaid by the first of many hawkers.

As we stopped, we were greeted with several chants of "Sir?" except without the "r" pronounced, so it came out sounding more like "Suh?" This group had booths set up, selling everything from Lonely Planet books and Angkor guidebooks to hats and bracelets. We had no desire to buy a guidebook, and Augie politely told them no.

Being good and persistent salespeople, though, they didn't take no for an answer. I decided to try a different tack, and declined in Japanese. The lady didn't miss a beat, and replied in Japanese as she brandished guidebooks in Japanese. I thought of Tsushima High's library, and caved.

We moved on, already sweating from the gorgeous heat and humidity. There were huge cottonball clouds drifting overhead, and the tuk-tuk provided a very nice breeze. Out first stop was at the Bayon. We ran into a Brazilian guy who we'd met earlier at the border. We also saw some tourists riding elephants around the city ruins.

There's way too much to say about way too many temples to mention, so I'll just say each was amazing. I understand that restoration has been necessary for all the structures, which were in varying degrees of disrepair. Much like Prambanan and Borobudur, the walls use no mortar of any kind. Beautiful carvings and sculptures adorned every structure we visited.

Siem Reap

2009-04-28T16:35:00.004+09:00

The cab from Poipet to Siem Reap took about two hours and cost US$45. To pass the time, we played Go Fish and took naps. Lada spoke to Narin in Thai, asking him about Cambodia. He in turn asked all about us, and taught us some bare-bones Khmer. Six through ten in Khmer are expressed as five-something: six is "five one," nine is "five four," etc.

We arrived outside Siem Reap at about 2. Narin couldn't bring his taxi any farther into town, so he dropped us off near some tuktuks. He made it clear that we were not to pay the tuktuks, that he had already taken care of it. We found a tuktuk with a driver and a guy who spoke good English, and took off for town. On the ride, the guy flat-out ignored Lada. It wasn't until she spoke up in English that he seemed to acknowledge her.

The first guest house we arrived at was pretty nice. The guy's price was US$18 per night for one bedroom. We decided to shop around some, and got back in the tuktuk. The second place was full. The third place, called Ancient Angkor, had a two-bed with AC for $18, and a two-bed as single for $15. Tired of looking more than anything, we agreed, paid, dropped off our stuff, and went for a walk.

Siem Reap has a paved main road and a whole lot of dirt side roads. There are street vendors everywhere, and stores selling bottled water, produce, and cooked goodies. Tuktuks, motorbikes, and cars zoom by everywhere you go, and there are almost as many tourists as locals running around.

We ducked in for lunch at an Indian restaurant. After gorging ourselves on curry, tandoori chicken, and naan, we stopped at a store to exchange currency, only to find out that Cambodia uses US dollars almost exclusively. (They use their riel for denominations lower than US$1.) The exchange was about 4000 riel to one dollar, so they'd give 1000-riel notes as quarters.

Wandering back to the guest house, we chilled out in our rooms until dinnertime. We headed out at 7, taking Lonely Planet's advice and aiming for Pub Street. The name is fitting, as the road is packed with restaurants and bars, obviously the main tourist trap in town. We chose a restaurant, recommended by LP, that featured live dancers. It reminded me of Bali, but it wasn't as good, of course.

I ordered the crab sandwich. As you can tell by the picture, something got lost in translation. Augustin, meanwhile, got Amok trey, a green curry with chicken. It was awesome.

After dinner, we went to a bar across the street and talked over drinks. Augie mentioned how surprised he is at how much I've opened up and chilled out. I guess he was worried I'd wuss out on some stuff, like I did for the drag show back in Myers. Anyway, we headed back to the guest house and got to bed at about 11.

Cambodia Ho!

2009-04-28T05:13:00.006+09:00

We dragged ourselves out of bed at 5 this morning, and got ready to go by 5:30. Lada's mom drove us to the spot where the van picked us up. The van was taking us to Aranyaprathet, at the Thai-Cambodian border.

Augie, Lada, and I had discussed this off and on before meeting up. Pretty much the only big thing on my to-do list for this trip was to visit Angkor Wat in Cambodia. Everything else was debatable for me. Fortunately, that jibed with their plans, as neither had been, and both are avid backpackers. We talked it over, Lada sorted out details with the help of her parents, and we lined it up: three hours by van to the border, cross, and take a taxi or a tuk-tuk to Siem Reap, the town closest to the Angkor complex.

The van drove us up to the Thai exit point. We were immediately swarmed by poor-looking children, hands outstretched for food or money. They didn't look like they were starving; rather, they looked like rural kids trying to score a snack or money for one. Backpacks slung across our chests, my hands shoved in my pockets, we made the short walk to the exit.

฿300 each had gotten us to the border. This is apparently a bit of a deal, because the van is part of a promotion. Although gambling is illegal in both Thailand and Cambodia, the neutral zone between the border checkpoints has been loaded up with several casinos. Included in the price of the van was lunch at the casino. The van drove us to the Thai exit point. and a tram was waiting on the other side to take us to the casino. At that point we were technically free to walk away. As fools with money from which to be parted, though, Augie and I decided to linger and play some games.

I suddenly realized how badly I missed Texas hold 'em. In the span of ten minutes I went from indifferent to frantically walking the floor in search of poker to frustration and despair at not finding any. We settled for blackjack instead. We did pretty well early, which had me all ready to introduce myself as Mr. Pappagiorgio, but soon enough, gambler's ruin evened things out.

After burning the rest of our chips on roulette, we gathered our stuff and headed out. The opulence of the casinos gave way abruptly to squalor, with street urchins, tuk-tuks, and seedy-looking folks all over. We knew we had to purchase a visa, for which we'd taken pictures the night before, but we mistakenly walked up to the Cambodia entry point. Sent away, we found the official Cambodian Immigration office.

Posted above the window to the office was a sign that conveyed, in clear English, that a Cambodian tourist visa for a US citizen was US$20. Before we got to the window, we were greeted by a uniformed officer who told us the price was ฿1000 (≈US$30). We'd all been warned about this; it's apparently common knowledge among travelers to Angkor via Thailand. Augie and I kind of laughed and pointed to the sign. The officer not-unkindly repeated his original price. Lada wasn't having it, and made for the window, walking briskly past the officer. The clerk closed the window in her face.

By this point, my frustration at being screwed like this was balanced by the understanding that there wasn't much we could do about it. We could make a big stink about it, get upset and hoot and holler at the guy, but in the end, we'd be handing our passports over to him. Fear of them "misplacing" my passport (or, somewhat more frankly, giving me its shredded remains) led me to cave in.

Lada, unflappable, tried a different approach, claiming we'd only brought US$20 each. This brought the price down to $20 plus ฿190, which came out to about $25. We were haggling with the government of Cambodia over an entry visa. At some point, one of the officers explained that $30 would get us the visa in three minutes; $20 would get it to us in three hours. One man's highway robbery is another man's expedited bureaucratic processing, I guess.

We paid the $25, got our visas, and crossed into Cambodia proper. Just as sketchy as the in-between section, Poipet was dirtier and dustier. One of the border patrol officers recommended his friend's taxi. We decided to hear him out. The driver, Narin, quoted us at $45. This sounded reasonable based on all we'd heard from Lonely Planet, Seat 61, and friends who'd been. We piled into his mid-90s Camry and headed out.

Not two minutes after we started, we were stopped by a skinny older man on a motorbike. The guy had a wiry beard, was missing several teeth, and one of his pinky nails was about four inches long. I might have been reading him wrong, but he scared the hell out of me.

Anyway, he said something unpleasant-sounding to Narin, who reluctantly handed over some money. We started again, only to be cut off a few minutes later by the same sketchy guy. He yelled something at Narin, who followed him to a taxi office. This was beginning to bother Augie, Lada, and me, and we sat nervously in the car while Narin went inside. He came back a few minutes later, though, and we started off.

Lada found out that he spoke fluent Thai, so she got the lowdown from him. Apparently the sketchy guy was a lackey for the taxi office, and Narin was being accused of shorting the company on their share of fares. It felt a whole lot sketchier than that, but oh well. We settled down and started the two-hour drive to Siem Reap.

Guitar Hero in Bangkok

2009-04-27T14:06:00.006+09:00

Yesterday we decided that today we'd take it easy. That in mind, we snoozed until about 8:30, when we couldn't sleep through the sound of the rooster anymore. Breakfast was the same as yesterday, though Lada's mom was out running some errands.

We talked with Lada's dad for a while. He's a retired colonel with the army, and did intelligence field work in Cambodia and Burma. To this day, he's still afraid of someone finding him. Lada told me later that he spends a good portion of every day walking around the house and the yard, keeping an eye out. He's a very kind, soft-spoken, funny guy, so much so that I have a hard time imagining him doing some of the things I'm sure his job required of him.

He also told us about his childhood. His father wanted him to be a farmer. He wanted to study, though, so he ran away from home. He worked at a temple, performing menial tasks for the monks in exchange for room and board. The way he tells it, he walked 24 kilometers each day for school.

He decided that his children would surpass him in education. To that end, he made sure both Lada and her older sister went to university. Both of them went to universities in America, and both received doctorates.

After breakfast, we got dressed and drove to Lada's apartment. She received a full scholarship for her bachelor and doctorate work in America. In exchange, she works in the genetic engineering and biotech laboratory of a university outside Bangkok. She works on fungi, and she and Augie assure me her work is boring.

We dropped by her apartment so she and Augie could pick up some things. She also had to take care of a couple of things in the lab. Augustin and I found a clearing on campus and threw the frisbee for about twenty minutes. The last time he and I did that, we were both still at UGA. That made the experience kind of trippy.

When we got back to the car, we found that someone had parked right behind us. The parking lot was full, and the person had nowhere else to go, but it completely blocked us in. We puzzled over it for a minute, and Augustin tried to push the car forward. It moved easily; the driver had left it in neutral.

We headed back to Bangkok and went to a mall. We hit up the food court KFC for lunch. Much like Japan and Hungary, they didn't have biscuits or macaroni and cheese, but it was tasty nonetheless. After lunch, we headed to a bookstore to study up on our next adventure. Augustin and Lada found a Lonely Planet for the place and got some coffee. I left to do some wandering around, and to give them some time alone.

Roaming the mall, I saw a bunch of stores that would fit right in back home. I also saw several Japanese restaurants, which made for good pictures to show my students. Eventually I came to an arcade, my all-time favorite place to go in a mall. Whereas I used to go to the mall in Springfield for the express purpose of playingStar Wars Trilogy Arcade, recently I'm plenty amused just by watching. (Also, SWTA is pretty much gone from the world's arcades, which makes me feel old.)

Today, however, I did a doubletake when I saw a familiar logo: Guitar Hero. Somebody has (legally or otherwise) ported the first game--complete with the guitar controllers--into arcades. It's a pretty rough port: the game that loads is literally the PS2 version of the game with a command added to automatically take the player into quickplay mode.

After getting a small pile of tokens, I tried to find the least-crappy guitar controller. This was mostly a failure, and I lost because, each time I played with a different controller, a different button was nonfunctional. There was a version with buttons like Pop'n Music, but I wanted the guitar.

Anyway, I headed back to the bookstore. We made our adventure plans (more on that later), and headed to the theater. Regular seats cost $4 apiece, though they had a king option that consisted of a recliner and concession delivery. Nachos (with cheese, not salsa!) and a can of root beer set me back another $3.

The lights dimmed, and we watched the standard slew of commercials and previews. Before the feature presentation, when American theaters usually play their own promotion, there was a tribute to King Rama IX. Lada explained earlier this afternoon that standing during this tribute is mandatory. The Thai constitution contains a lèse majesté clause forbidding anyone from insulting or offending the king; failing to stand and pay respect to him counts. This is the clip we saw.

The movie was The Haunting in Connecticut, which was creepy and entertaining. The theater kept the AC at what must have been 65, which I think made everyone jumpier.

After the movie, we headed back to Lada's parents' house. Augustin and I watched Snatch on a local network. Standard profanities were bleeped, which I expected, but I also noticed that cigarettes were blurred out. Lada explained that sex, nudity, smoking, alcohol, and cursing are all censored on Thai television. Interestingly, some of Mickey's accented swearing got through.

I had mentioned that I wanted to eat Pizza Hut at some point. Lada wanted pizza, too, so we ordered Pizza Hut delivery. She ordered two larges for us to split. One large was ฿600. What arrived would barely pass as a personal pan pizza back home. It was plenty tasty, though.

We spent the rest of the evening relaxing. Augustin and Lada took a walk down the street to find something we'll use on our adventure tomorrow. I stayed behind and talked to Aom. She taught me some Kyoto dialect, and I tried to teach her a little bit of Nagasaki's.

Augustin and I had brought gifts for Lada's parents, and we decided to give them to them tonight. Augie's mom had picked out a pretty for Lada's mom. For Lada's dad, Augie brought a full set of the 50 State Quarters with a map. Her dad was mesmerized by it. The quarters came in two rolls, and he very carefully opened each roll and took out the quarters to look at them. Augustin explained about the map and how to match each one. When Lada's dad was finished, he meticulously put each quarter back into the rolls, slid the map back into the box, and put everything back in the bag. It was precious.

For my part, I brought some local treats from Tsushima. Lada's mom was thrilled at what she saw as the beautiful packaging. She very carefully opened the wrapping, took out one of the treats, and tried it. It's sweet to the Japanese palate, but to folks used to fresh mango, it's not that impressive. The packaging tickled her, though.

We said goodnight and headed to bed sometime around 11, planning on getting up at (groan) 5.

Khaosan Road

2009-04-26T19:27:00.005+09:00

After the massage, we left the palace and hailed a tuk-tuk. Tuk-tuks like mopeds with a small trailer attached. They're absolutely everywhere in southeast Asia. ฿40 got us to Khaosan Road.

Khaosan is a road in Bangkok that's apparently a renowned tourist stop. We got there in the late afternoon, so it was pretty quiet, but the place was covered with not-yet-opened street vendors, as well as cheap hotels, restaurants, and hawkers selling everything from clothes to DVDs to ivory to laser pointers.

We decided to relax and kill some time. A jug of beer at the Susie pub, enough for three glasses, set us back ฿150. After that, we noticed the market was starting to open up. I bought a linen shirt, something I've been after for a while, but couldn't justify the $50-$70 stores back home want for one. It cost me a whopping $5 in Khaosan.

As we walked around, we were constantly approached by hawkers and tuk-tuk drivers. Almost all the drivers said the same thing: "Hello, sah! You wan tuk-tuk?" Lada soon noticed that none of the merchants addressed her. Knowing she could speak Thai, some even refused to talk to her, going so far as to respond to her questions--asked in Thai--by answering Augustin in English.

It got even worse when we got ready to go home. Lada called her parents and found out exactly how much a fair taxi fare was from Khaosan to her house. She wouldn't go any higher than that with the drivers. She explained that most of them try to pick up passengers and charge them without using the meter. After a few drivers pulled off in a huff, we finally got one for ฿15.

Running around in Bangkok

2009-04-26T11:00:00.005+09:00

We finished up breakfast and went with Lada's mom to the local temple. The overwhelming majority of Thailand is Buddhist, and the official religion is Theravada, the oldest surviving school of Buddhism. Lada's mother had prepared plastic baggies with food offerings for the monks. She dropped us off and we brought the offerings with us.

About twenty monks were seated in what looked like a park on a raised ring of concrete, facing inside the ring. Laypeople like us were gathered around the ring, seated on benches, against trees, or just on the ground. The monks were chanting in unison, and the supplicants would join in at times. Lada thinks they were chanting in Sanskrit.

The whole scene was very interesting to me. The gathered people didn't seem to be dressed according to any rules. The ceremony was completely open: people came and went as they pleased. Some had books from which they read along during the chanting, while others simply sat meditatively, chanting along from memory. Knowing this may sound silly, I'll say it anyway: it felt a lot more religious than every other church service I've been to. And that's without even being able to understand what they were saying.

After the chanting ended, people gave their offerings to the monks. Some offerings were cooked rice and vegetables in baggies like ours, while others were fresh fruit. The scene was rounded out, however, with bottled water and prepackaged candy.

Lada's mom drove us next to a port on the Chao Phraya river. Tickets were 13 baht each. (US$1≈฿30) The long, diesel-powered boat came puttering up to the dock pretty quickly. It seated about 40 people. As we got on, it came a cloud, and we had to pull down the plastic window flaps before we got soaked from the sideways rain.

We got off the boat about five stops downstream. There was a little market at the port, so we decided to stop for lunch. We went for some Pad Thai, a common Thai dish. It's a mixture of stir-fried rice noodles and egg, with varying mixtures of shrimp, chicken, bean sprouts, or other add-ons. This was my first time trying it, and it was amazing. Three orders of Pad Thai and three bottles of water ran us a total of ฿150.

After lunch, we headed to the Grand Palace. The complex has a dress code for visitors, so Augie and I had to rent a pair of MC Hammer pants before entering the palace grounds.

The palace was spectacular. We arrived just in time for a free guided tour, and our guide was great. His English was really good, though I enjoyed listening for his pronunciation problems. (He seemed to have trouble producing a "v" sound, just like most Indonesians I met last year.)

Besides the palace, the grounds house several temples. One of them is completely plated in gold, and is restricted to the royal family. Another houses the Emerald Buddha, a green jade statue clothed in gold. Encircling the complex is a wall displaying a mural of the Ramayana, a Sanskrit epic.

As we were nearing the end of our tour, an afternoon thunderstorm rolled in. Had it not been for my camera, I wouldn't have minded getting soaked; the shower was a refreshing change from the sweltering heat. As it was, we waited for the rain to subside somewhat, and made our way out of the complex. Along the way, we stopped at a massage parlor. Augustin wanted to get one, since Thai massage is apparently world-renowned. I didn't really care either way, so I went in for one, too.

Half an hour's massage cost ฿220. Lada couldn't justify paying this much, so she sat and waited for us. The massage was nice. I haven't gotten any kind of massage since the Rutherford Massage Club at UGA, which made this one turn me all nostalgic. The lady didn't use any oil, and she wasn't very rough, which I had been worried about. To Augie's great dismay, there was not a happy ending.

Lada's house

2009-04-26T08:59:00.004+09:00

After dinner, we headed to Lada's parents' house, where we would be staying for a couple of days. On the way, we talked about all kinds of things related to Bangkok. Augie's visited before, and they both told me about some of the seedier tourist attractions the city has to offer.

We got to their gated community at about 10. Their two-story house has a gated driveway. We took our shoes off before going in, and went to the living room to greet her father. I was a little tired by this point, so I can't remember exactly what we talked about, but he's a very nice guy who speaks just a little English.

We said goodnight and headed upstairs. Augustin and I are sharing Lada's bedroom, while she sleeps in her sister's old room. The bedroom has an AC unit, which I wasn't expecting, but didn't complain when Augie cranked it up. We crashed without talking much more.

During the night, I woke up to the sound of heavy thunderstorms. Tsushima gets about two thunderstorms per year, a far cry from the almost-daily storms we often get in Georgia and Florida in the summer. The flash of lightning and the sound of rumbling thunder, combined with the heat and humidity, made me feel more at home in a strange bed in Bangkok than I do having lived two years in Japan.

The next morning, I woke to the sound of a rooster. While that's happened to me a couple of times, in places like Alabama and Romania, it's never happened in the middle of a city. Anyway, I ignored it and dozed until about 8:30. After taking a shower, I went downstairs with Lada and Augie and met her mom. Lada cooked us breakfast: scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. Despite speaking only a little English, her mom carried on with us as if we were her kids, too.

Toward the end of breakfast, she served us two kinds of mango: green and orange. I soon learned that they had just been picked from trees in their yard. In Thai, mango is มะม่วง, which comes out sounding to me like [mɑː'muɑŋ] to me.

Through Lada, she explained the two types she was cutting up for us. The green one, which tasted kind of bitter and had a chalky texture, has a name that means rhinoceros, which refers to its little horn-like bump. The orange one, which they both said is the best in Thailand, sounds to me like [ok'ɾɔŋ]. Its name means "cleavage," owing to a distinctive crease at one end. That's irrespective of tones, which have always scared me.

Lada's parents are both retired from the military. Her father worked in special forces, and her mother worked as a nurse. They live in a two-story house in a gated community. The neighborhood isn't wealthy-looking, but I get the feeling they're very comfortable.

We finished breakfast and went next door to Lada's uncle's house. Lying on a wicker sofa on the porch was Lada's grandmother. She looks very, very old, but cheerfully if quietly greeted us. We sat down with Lada's uncle and talked for a while. He's retired from teaching English, which explains how easily and happily he talked to us. He talked to us about working in a province in northeastern Thailand famous for gemstones, and listening to the Voice of America broadcasts from D.C.

Saying goodbye, we headed back to Lada's house and sat down to talk some more. Lada's cousin, Aom, joined us. Though she doesn't speak much English, she just got back from studying in Kyoto for a year. I was delighted, and we started talking in Japanese. It was kind of strange: Aom and I would say something in Japanese, and then either she would tell Lada and her mother in Thai, or I would tell Lada in English who would then tell her mother in Thai. Poor Augie was off to the side, only grasping 1/3 of what was going on.

Cabbages & Condoms

2009-04-25T08:59:00.003+09:00

Augustin and Lada met me at the airport. It's more than a little trippy seeing them: this is only the second time I've traveled in Asia with friends from back home. Augie had arrived the day before and was jetlagged pretty badly. We caught up on random things as we headed to Lada's car. The heat and humidity of Bangkok felt amazing to me, having come from still-chilly Japan that morning.

Lada drove us into Bangkok. Augie commented that he still hasn't gotten used to the roads, and it took me a minute to realize what he meant: Thai folks drive on the left side of the road. That is, of course, the opposite of America, but it's the same as Japan, so I hadn't noticed.

It was coming up on dinnertime, so Lada took us to a restaurant she'd heard of called "Cabbages & Condoms." I didn't believe her until we pulled up to the place. Sure enough, that's the restaurant's name. We walked past a gallery of various condom-related posters and works of art, including two mannequins decked out in condom apparel. On our way to the table, we noticed most of the floral arrangements were composed of condoms.

The food itself was great: various types of curry with rice. Lada also ordered a condom salad. It gets the name from having a type of noodle that's slick and chewy, which I suppose is how one would describe chewing latex. Augie and I discussed economics and culture over dessert, and I was surprised to discover how badly I've missed having someone to talk to about deep stuff.

In preparation for meeting her parents, I asked Lada for a crash course in Thai etiquette. The biggest thing she taught me was the wai. When greeting someone in Thailand, it's customary to clasp your hands as if praying, lower your head so that your index fingers are touching the tip of your nose, and bow slightly.

The total for all three of us came to about $15. On our way out, there was a stand set up. On a sign was written an apology for not having after-dinner mints. Instead, it offered condoms.

Golden Week: Leaving Japan

2009-04-25T08:57:00.003+09:00

Literally right after ensoku, I left Tsushima for Fukuoka. Yonekura-sensei gave Joe and me a ride to the airport. Joe, Joey, and Mike are heading for Bali, where I know for a fact they'll have a mind-blowingly good time. The three of them were planning on staying at their regular hostel, and they booked me a room, too. It was about $20 per person for a four-person room, with a clean communal bathroom. The whole thing was great, and it makes me feel dumb for having spent triple that each night I've stayed at the Comfort Hotel in Hakata.

After dropping off our stuff, we headed over to El Borracho, our favorite/the only Mexican restaurant in Fukuoka. We feasted on an awesome dinner of sincronizadas and margaritas. Anticipating the tiring travel day ahead of us, Joe, Mike, and I got back to the hostel by around 1. Not surprisingly, Joey went out to party.

We all got up and out by 7:30. Check-in at the airport was uneventful, and I hung out with the guys at their gate until their boarding time. Joey broke out his football and we started tossing it around. Not long after, we were approached by someone from their airline. We expected them to ask us to stop horsing around, but instead he asked Joey to deflate it before takeoff to prevent explosion. Odd.

My flights were kind of screwy: first was Fukuoka to Hong Kong, though we stopped in Taipei to refuel. In Hong Kong, I had 40 minutes to disembark, go through a ridiculously crowded security line, and take the skyway to my gate. Thankfully, Cathay Pacific (my airline) had people along the way keeping an eye out for us. I made it just fine.

The flight from Hong Kong to Bangkok was awesome. Cathay Pacific (or at least this particular plane) is pretty swanky. The TV screens had a ton of movies and TV shows on demand. The flight arrived in Bangkok right on time, and I didn't have to fill out a visa application. Hooray for America!

Ensoku

2009-04-24T16:06:00.002+09:00

Today was Tsushima High's school picnic, called ensoku. The English teachers like to use the term "excursion," but for me that connotes a trek through perilous terrain, so I hesitate to use that word. Anyway, last year I missed it because of my Indonesia trip. (Though it had been clearly indicated on the school calendar, handouts had been given out, and it had been mentioned during the morning meeting several times, I wasn't paying attention.) After I decided not to stay a third year, I made sure that my travel plans wouldn't make me miss this year's.

The... excursion consists of a two-hour hike from the school to a park, followed by a picnic and general revelry. Most of that hike is off the road, through hilly forest. The weather forecast had us worried: 20% chance of rain may not sound like a big deal, but having a 1 in 5 chance of being caught in a downpour one hour away from shelter was cause for concern.

This morning, despite the cloudy conditions and light drizzle, everyone gathered on the school field. All the kids were in their full P.E. uniforms: t-shirts and polyester two-piece track suits. It was kind of chilly, but I went ahead and wore a t-shirt and shorts. Not surprisingly, this got a big reaction from all the kids, with everyone asking me the classic "aren't you cold?"

After some announcements, everyone divided by grade level and homeroom, and we set out. I'm attached to the first-years, and the third-years get to lead the pack, so we chilled out for a while. Takahira-sensei invited me to walk with his homeroom, the 1-3s.

The beginning of the walk was exactly the way I go from my apartment to the school. From there, we crossed the street and headed up a road I haven't used much. It gets pretty steep pretty fast, and Takahira was huffing and puffing before too long. I've been good about going to the gym over the past few months, so it didn't bother me as much.

Along the way, I talked with the students. The boys jankenned to see who would ask me a question. I pretended to be offended when I learned that the loser had to ask me something. I also talked to Yoshihara and Hamasuna, both of whom were not enjoying the exertion. I learned that Yoshihara had been in art and guitar clubs, while Hamasuna had been in the biology club.

The road we used gets pretty narrow and curvy, which is dangerous enough without 600 pedestrians marching along one side, so we got off the road quickly. From there we took a trail more or less paralelling the road. The path led us through beautiful cedar forest. It's still too early in the season for birds, much less bugs, so the forest was almost silent. At one point, a student behind our group broke out a bar or two of the theme to Mononoke Hime, which got a laugh from everyone.

We finally arrived at the park. Though the drizzle had stopped, it was humid and cloudy enough to feel like the rain could come back at any minute. For all that, it was a reasonably pretty day.

The second- and third-years headed into the park, while the first-years lagged behind. The upperclassmen needed a few minutes to prepare for the freshmen's arrival. We marched the rest of the way into the park amid polite applause.

Next, Tomomatsu-sensei and the student council gave some introductory remarks. That done, they explained the first activity: double dutch. Each homeroom class had a long rope. One student took each end and began swinging it. The other students would jump into the rope. After the first three students, everyone else began shouting out how many people they had going at once. The top 3 teams got candy.

After that, we broke for lunch. Most people had bought normal bentō lunches, but I had planned something different. Knowing the bentos from this place aren't very good, and that I would want something more appetizing than pickled vegetables and oden, I brought my own lunch: a sandwich and chips. This week when I went shopping for today's lunch, though, I bought some extra. I made five peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and cut each into quarters. I made my rounds, offering them to teachers and students alike. They were a pretty big hit.

The clearing everyone occupied for lunch was at the top of a hill. I noticed birds overhead, but that didn't surprise me; kites are common in Tsushima. What did surprise me was seeing the kites start dive-bombing the picnickers, trying to snatch their food. This got shrieks from the girls and laughs from the boys. Thankfully, nobody got hurt or even hit, though the kites kept it up for a good fifteen minutes.

After lunch, the three new teachers--Ms. Yonekura, Mr. Tomino, and Mr. Kusano--performed for everyone. They danced to Chocolate Disco, a J-pop song by Perfume. Everyone found this highly amusing, especially because of the cute little ribbons they wore.

Once this was done, everyone was free to play around. Students had brought soccer balls and volleyballs. I brought my baseball glove and three frisbees. The first-year students had heard me talk about frisbee in my introduction, so several of them ran up to borrow one. I ended up throwing the frisbee with several teachers and students, and then tossing the baseball around toward the end.

We ended the day by breaking into groups and scouring the park for trash. Once this was done, everyone was free to go home, which meant that most of the students headed back to school for club activities. Matsushita gave eight of us a ride in his van, including Nanami, a second-year who had sprained her ankle the week before. As we rode down the hill, he tried to get her to make fun of the students as we passed them.

First-year welcome party

2009-04-22T22:59:00.002+09:00

Having had both the faculty-wide, departmental, and apartmental welcome parties, the last party was tonight. This one was for all the freshman teachers. We got together at Haccho, which is termed a Chinese restaurant for reasons I can't figure out. After drawing lots, I found my seat between Ontsuka and Oishi. Ontsuka is a grammar teacher, and is the head of the first-year teachers this year.

Oishi is a math teacher, and is one of the more intimidating teachers at my schools. He practices karate, often in the afternoons in a practice room adjoining my English classroom. Most of the students are scared of him. For my first two years, he was a third-year teacher, meaning he handled the highest-level math classes. This year, however, he's a first-year teacher, which I find highly amusing. It's just about impossible to teach the first-years without having a sense of humor; even the harsh P.E. coaches laugh at times.

This marked the first time I'd talked to Oishi outside school. He's rather gruff, but has a good sense of humor. (He also laughs just like Dr. Hibbert, which makes it impossible for me not to like him.) He gave the toast, and he began by talking about Wii Fit. One of the things the game does is tell your age based on your fitness level. He was proud to announce that, according to Wii Fit, he's 26. (He's much closer to 60.)

After the toast, we tore into the food. While not entirely Japanese--sashimi surrounded by chicken wings, fried shrimp, and salad--the food wasn't what I would call Chinese. I talked with Oishi and Ontsuka about things I can't quite recall. It's fuzzy in part because Kimino-sensei decided to toast Oishi's youth.

The toast was supposed to be each person downing a beer in his honor. As Yakabe prepared to down his pint, Oishi stopped him and insisted Yakabe drink from a bowl filled with beer. Nobody seemed to have a problem with this, so I played along. Each person, in turn, guzzled a bowlful of beer. It finally came to me, and though I made a few pauses, I managed it.

Kimino later explained the significance of drinking that way. At some point in Japanese history, sharing a communal bowl for drinking was considered a strong display of trust. Passing a bowl among the group showed one wasn't afraid of being poisoned by the other members. At least, that's what I gathered from her explanation. I could be way off.

Anyway, I sat down next to Yoshihara, the art teacher, and we talked about Kamito-sensei. She's apparently struggling at the new school. There are lots of problem students, and she's a third-year teacher for the first time in her career. We moved on to talking about her art class.
Yuki, one of my English Club girls, is taking art class with her this year. One day last week, I found her poring over a label for a plastic bottle. It was a project for art class: designing a label for a drink product. Yuki's product was a play on a Japanese story analogous to Snow White: a witch gives a woman a poisoned apple. Inspired by this, Yuki was advertising juice made from that apple.

Yoshihara got a kick out of my noticing this. She explained that that was Yuki's second idea. Her first had been to sell a product that was straight-up poison. (She has a weird sense of humor.) Yoshihara had to talk her out of that, and they settled on the poison-apple juice.

As we were talking, I noticed that Kimino was still sitting seiza-style. Although we all assume that position during toasts and other official procedural things, almost everyone relaxes afterwards. Girls wearing skirts can't sit cross-legged, but they find positions more comfortable than seiza. Kimino, however, seemed just fine. I asked her about it, and she explained that as a child she wasn't allowed to eat dinner unless she sat seiza-style.

Shigematsu arrived late. She's one of my favorite teachers, though she's not an English teacher, which means I've never taught a class with her. This year she's the homeroom teacher for the multicultural class, and they're already proving troublesome. She stays at school until about 8 every night, either doing paperwork or talking on the phone with parents. Despite this, tonight she was moving and talking with the same elegance and grace she always has.

I declined the second party, especially once I found out the guys were heading toward a ramen shop. I started walking with the ladies, assuming they were heading home. Kimino, Maeda, Yoshihara, and Hamasuna instead made a beeline for Kazeneya for some ice cream. I went along, and had fun trying to keep up with their gossipy Japanese. I ended up getting home by around 11.

Freshman orientation

2009-04-22T14:58:00.000+09:00

The first-year students go through a lengthy orientation. I don't just mean the ceremony with lots of speeches. That was more for the parents' benefit than the students'. Every day since then, the freshmen have done at least one thing that has nothing to do with academic pursuits and everything to do with group bonding.

For example, last week all the freshmen were gathered in the gym. While the second- and third-years were going on with class as usual, the newbies learned and practiced the school song. Nagao-sensei, the music teacher, stood at the front of the gym and addressed the group. They all had the lyrics in their orientation packets, and he gave a lengthy speech the content of which I couldn't entirely understand, but the gist of which sounded like "all students must learn this song." It didn't take me long to think of Lean On Me, and Morgan Freeman requiring the kids to sing "Fair Eastside" on demand.

Nagao played a recorded version of the song a few times for them to listen, then had the students sing along with that. He ended by having them sing without accompaniment. Though they still needed to look at the lyrics--it's hard to memorize a song from scratch in 45 minutes, and I'm told the lyrics are hard to understand even for native Japanese--they made a lot of progress by the end.

Another example is homeroom activities. Next to the school's soft tennis courts is the seminar house, which is used for things like extra classes in the summer. Each of the freshman homeroom classes has been spending a full day in the seminar house. I'm told they introduce themselves, listen to music, have low-intensity classes, and generally just spend time with each other.

The seminar house contains a full kitchen. In the afternoon, the homeroom class using the seminar house has cooked curry and rice. Given the raw materials, the students have prepared the curry, the rice, and the place settings for all forty of their classmates, plus their homeroom teacher, plus a few extra. After finishing, they work together to clean up the place, from washing dishes to scrubbing the pots to breaking down the tables.

I was invited to join the 1-1 class for lunch today. Having been secretly hoping this would happen, I was thrilled: I never got the chance to do this last year. After my fourth-period class, I hussled over to the seminar house to find everyone seated and waiting, presumably for me. I sheepishly darted over to my seat amid giggles from the students. The homeroom teacher, Yakabe, was joined by the head first-year teacher, Ontsuka, my supervisor, Kanemoto, and the vice principal, Kusano. Nobody seemed the least bit upset with me: they hadn't been waiting long.

The curry and rice was delicious. I talked a good bit with Shiho, the girl sitting next to me, and thanked my lucky stars that I'd been invited to join the group with the best English ability. Just as I almost cleared my plate, one of the students hopped up and offered to get me more. He was on his way to get seconds for himself, so I accepted. I think I had thirds, too.

After we finished, the students divided up, with roughly half each taking the kitchen or the tables. Cleanup took about twenty minutes, during which Kanemoto showed me around the seminar house. He explained that last year's freshmen had slumber parties in the seminar house, using the large tatami rooms upstairs. Sure enough, the place is equipped with enough bathroom and shower facilities for a large group of people, and even has bedding for everyone.

After cleanup, we played games, and they invited me to join. First, Yakabe had everyone order themselves by birthdays, from January 1 to December 31, without speaking. This was, of course, brilliant, with lots of frantic gestures and suppressed giggles. Using that order, he broke us into six-person teams for the next game. I was teamed with five girls.

For this game, two people were given the task of drawing something. The other four people had to go outside the room, look at a picture, come back to their team, and describe the picture. The people drawing would then recreate the picture based on the description. After ten minutes, each group presented their picture, and we voted on the best. I drew, and, thanks to some awesome descriptions containing bits of English, ours was voted the best. We played again, with two new people drawing. It was a lot of fun.

We next arranged ourselves by date of birth--from 1st to 31st, irrespective of month--without speaking, and used that to make different teams. I was teamed with boys this time, and we played a board game with dice. Each space contained a question or conversation topic, and according to Yakabe's instructions, we had to speak for at least twenty seconds. It wasn't nearly as much fun as the drawing game, but it was a good bonding experience.

By the time we headed back to school for sixth period, everyone was talking to me. I had learned about half their names, and was chomping at the bit to learn the other half. Man, I love these kids.

More tennis

2009-04-19T09:23:00.001+09:00

I've been keeping up with tennis pretty well. Yagi can't go on account of badminton, and sometimes Kim goes, but usually it's me going solo. That's just as well, though, because none of them seem to be taking it as seriously as I am. I've learned that Nishigami's family comes to practice, too: his wife, middle school-aged son, and elementary-school-aged daughter all play. The wife is a solid enough player and the seven-year-old daughter could probably beat me in a game. The son plays for his junior high school, and is apparently the third-best for his age in Kyūshū. Despite this, they're all extremely nice.

Today, Mr. Nishigami and his son were gone, so the Mrs. and the daughter (everyone calls her Hi-chan, short for Hikaru or Hikari) helped me out. Fujiwara and Totoki, two of the regular guys, helped me practice my forehand, and explained the basics of the backhand, serve, and volley to me. I'm not good by any stretch of the imagination, but I'm progressing. I really like how everyone helps each other out, as opposed to having one designated leader and a clump of students.

Kita welcome party

2009-04-18T09:22:00.000+09:00

After talking to Mom and Dad this morning, I got ready for tennis. Nobody was there by 2, though, so I gave up. I called Naomi, the new English teacher who's fresh off the boat from Canada. We drove out to Green Park in Kechi and threw the baseball, softball, and frisbee at the beach.

That evening, Kita Sho had its welcome party for the new teachers. I was shocked as the teachers began arriving: almost half of the faculty was new. The principal and the tea lady had retired, which I'd known about, but the first-, second-, and third-grade teachers had all transferred. Tanaka, the vice principal, was still there, thank goodness.

Dinner was nice. I learned that the new tea lady, who can't be any older than me, is the daughter of Tsushima High's endearingly surly math teacher, who is likely the oldest teacher at the school. She couldn't be more different from him: she spent the evening bouncing around and talking to everyone, though she spent decidedly more time flirting with the principal and vice principal.

After the meal, Umeno and Araki gave a "test" to the new teachers, as part of their initiation to Tsushima. After a few Tsushima- and Kita Sho-related questions, they gave a few in English. For this, they asked me to ask one question. They wanted me to make something up, but to be sure to ask it at native speed. Araki warned everyone to listen carefully, and imitated how I would sound by trilling his tongue. Seizing the moment, I gave the question by trilling my tongue. This went over pretty well, and my real question was easily handled: who is the president?

We headed to Pleasure for karaoke afterwards, and fifteen of us crammed into one room. I spoke at length with Tanaka, and found out that his son is 21, which explains even further why we get along so well. He told Umeno and others about when he picked me up for my first day at Kita Sho. I spoke very little Japanese at the time, and he spoke very little English, so we mostly grunted, laughed, and played charades to communicate.

The new P.E. teacher, an older guy from Kuta Sho, shocked me by busting out some very impressive English. He sang a Ray Charles song before asking me to sing LINK Georgia.

First first-year lessons

2009-04-15T13:57:00.000+09:00

Having attended the entrance ceremony and spent the better part of two weeks in awe of how tiny and cute the new freshmen are, I've finally started teaching them. As with the previous two groups, I used the first lesson to introduce myself. When I use the projector and screen, I'm usually at the mercy of the weather: the classroom we use has crummy drapes, so sunlight streams in easily. This is great on frigid winter days, but not when I'm trying to show pictures. We got a new projector recently, with a stronger bulb, but that's still not enough to overcome full-on sunny days.

Sniffing around, I heard about the audio-visual room. Usually only used by the brass band for after-school practice, it has beautiful thick black drapes, a screen, and a full complement of VCRs, DVD players, and a fancy-pants projector bolted to the ceiling. I found out who was in charge of the room, and made all the necessary arrangements.

It worked brilliantly. The drapes made the room pitch black (as drapes tend to do), rendering all my pictures completely visible. I built my introduction around Google Earth, which remains the single most successful element of my classes. The students go nuts the first time they see it. I'm not even using it to the fullest extent of its capabilities: I just use zoom and the occasional downloaded 3D model. The students, however, are simply mesmermized by it.

I've noticed that my lessons go much more smoothly than when I started. I have to pause less often for help from the teacher, either because I've learned how slowly to speak or I've learned how to detect confusion on their faces in time to slow down. They all get a kick out of my ability to speak Japanese, so much so that I kind of wish I'd kept it a secret a little bit longer. Some classes literally collectively gasp when I unthinkingly slip into Japanese--even if it's something simple, and even if I make a mistake.

This year's Tsushima High freshmen are on the whole smarter than last year's. However, last year seemed to have more standout personalities, most of whom were in one of my classes with Satomi-sensei. (The girls outnumbered the boys 2:1 in that class, and they totally knew it: the boys sort of huddled in a corner while the girls giggled their way through class.) I can't decide which I like better, and I've learned a valuable lesson about the difference in students from one year to the next.

Toyotama High has helped me learn that lesson very well. Last year's freshmen were, on the whole, bad. Yoshida-sensei warned me of this going in. It wasn't just in English, either: this was the group that included the boys who threw things at a teacher, and at least three of the students couldn't write in Japanese, much less English. There were a few bright kids, like Sayaka and Koji, and most of them were harmless, but on the whole, their ability level was abysmal.

This year is drastically different. One of the two groups of freshmen is awful, with nobody saying a thing during class. The six boys in the class keep mostly to themselves, and only a couple of the girls say anything. The other group, meanwhile, is almost the exact opposite. I've never seen a group of students more irrepressibly enthusiastic. I don't think it's a coincidence that only two of the 23 students are boys; it's almost as if the girls have consciously united and resolved to study hard. This is one of the groups that gasped in unison when I spoke to them in Japanese for the first time.

I absolutely love my kids. Even the bad classes aren't awful; if nothing else, they make me appreciate the good ones that much more. I'm well aware that I have precious few weeks with them, and I'm certain this is a large part of why I'm having so much fun with them.

Knowing everybody

2009-04-15T09:39:00.000+09:00

JETs enter and leave Japan on a different schedule from normal teachers. Whereas rank-and-file Japanese are transferred at the end of the academic year, we're inserted between the first and second terms. I didn't like it at first, but I've come to understand their reasoning: schools have enough to worry about with getting the new teachers and new students oriented. Having to show the ropes to a foreigner--who likely knows nothing about the Japanese school system, and in most cases speaks almost no Japanese--would be overwhelming.

The greatest benefit to having come here one-third the way through a school year is that I've gotten to see three completely different groups of students. Tsushima High offers three courses for its students: college/university-track, commercial-track, and a multicultural program. They divide the students into numbered groups, with the college-bound students classified as groups 1 through 4, the multicultural program 5, and the job-bound students as 6 and 7. (Beginning last year, however, we only had enough freshmen to fill one commercial group; there's no longer any 7th group.)

I help with the oral communications class for the freshmen in the college-bound program. That's groups 1-1 through 1-4. I teach the multicultural class in their second year: the 2-5s. I also teach the commercial students--the 3-6s and 3-7s--in their third year. That means that, in any given year, students from all three programs get to play with the ALT. With this being the third academic year I've been here, I am teaching or have taught nearly everyone at school: 16 of 19 groups, or about 570 of 670 students. That means 85% of the school is currently attending or has at some point attended my class.

Suffice it to say, I'm thrilled about this. Every chance I get, I take the long way to the classroom, picking a route that takes me past the third- or second-year classrooms. The hallway fills with hellos. It's strange seeing the third-years, taller and more grown-up versions of the kids I taught a year and a half ago. I wince a little when I go down the second-year hallway, not only because I so recently was teaching them every week, but also because they're the group with whom I have the strongest bond. I taught them for a full academic year, after all. They entered school halfway into my first year, when I'd gotten some semblance of a bead on things, and I'm proud of how many of their names I learned. Aaron and Evelyn were right: calling a student by name is the surest way to make them brighten up.

Toyotama High is even better. With only two groups of students per grade year, it's not hard at all to keep up with them. Since my first year, I've taught both the first- and second-years, which means everyone was familiar with me last year. This year's seniors, however, know me the best of any of my classes at either school. I've seen them twice a week, three weeks a month, without fail for the better part of my time in Japan. No more, though: according to Iwase, a lot of the students are aiming for college, so they need to study a lot harder than last year's seniors. That means I won't get to teach an optional class like last year's writing or the previous year's oral communications.

Tennis

2009-04-11T20:51:00.002+09:00

Today I played tennis for the first time in years. Last weekend I had seen Yagi, Kim, and Kimino heading out, and they had invited me to join. I didn't get many details, but my impressions of high school club activities (practice every day until 6, spend weeks learning every small part of every movement) made me wary. They planned to start going on Saturdays and Sundays. I made sure it was okay if I went only occasionally, and they laughed. I should have realized who I was talking to: high school teachers hardly ever get Saturdays off, so they won't be able to go every weekend, either.

I bought a racket at Osada (the closest we have to a Wal-Mart), got my two-liter bottle of water ready, and set off with Yagi at around 5. She was late on account of badminton practice, of which she is the new coach and which she had forgotten about. Practice was at the tennis courts in Izuhara General Park, a place in Kuta I'd never heard of.

The first thing I noticed was that the court surface was sandy turf, not paved. The second thing I noticed was that, though there were about eight people there, nobody was lined up for the kind of formal drills I'd expected. Four were playing doubles, and the other four were just hitting back and forth to each other, practicing.

Yagi introduced me to the teacher, Nishigami. He looks like he's in his mid-30s (which, based on my experience with apparent age among Japanese people, means he's probably ten years older), and he's very nice. Though he's apparently the main teacher, I quickly discovered there wasn't any structure to speak of. He gave advice to people along the way, but so did several others. Everyone seemed to be helping each other out.

Anyway, Yagi and I met Ms. Noguchi and started hitting the ball around. Ugh. I knew how to make contact, but that was about it. I played with Mom, Dad, and Heather one summer about nine years ago, and never got far beyond slapping the ball over the net. Trying a full forehand was, to put it lightly, awful.

After watching for a few minutes, Nishigami came in and gave us each some advice. He explained basic forehand technique--turning your wrist as you hit it gives spin, but that's tricky, so lay off that for now; rotate your body with your arm; keep the face of the racket perpendicular to the ground as you make contact. He was careful not to blow my mind with too much tutelage in one session, and I made some decent improvements just from what he told me.

I introduced myself to a few of the other players, but didn't stand a chance of remembering all their names the first time around. I contented myself by learning Nishigami and Esaki, a funny guy who studies Korean.

Afterwards, the three of us went to dinner with Kim. We ate at Otako, a tonkatsu restaurant I'd been to with Aaron and Evelyn last year. In most restaurants in Izuhara, you feel like you're eating in someone's living room. I'm pretty sure this place is the lady's living room. It's run by a sweet old lady (I think I heard she's in her 80s), and the food is cooked by Esaki, who might be her son. We got a table and ordered bite-sized katsu and chijimi. It was delicious.

Seated near us was a pair of guys enjoying their after-work dinner and beers. The drunker (and, thus, less inhibited) of the two began talking to me. He asked the basic questions: where I'm from, where I work, how old I am. When he asked my name, I responded as I always do in Japan: first with the English pronunciation, and then the Japanese pronunciation, which makes the as sound like Spanish, removes stress from the syllables, and turns the m into a slight moo. He promptly called me "Adamo," which got the girls rolling. I laughingly and politely corrected him, but he got it wrong again. His friend, having been trying to restrain him since his first question, finally succeeded, and the two paid and left.

New English Club

2009-04-10T14:49:00.002+09:00

This afternoon, the freshmen joined club activities. Each club went to a designated area--the sports clubs went to their gyms, courts, and dōjō, of course; other groups simply used classrooms--and waited for the new fish. This was the first time we'd met since before the entrance ceremony, so I was ecstatic to see the girls again. I was even happier when everyone showed up: Akane, Yuka, Azumi, Aya, Nozomi, and Yuki (the six who normally make it), plus Shino, Mikoto, Yuki, Miyuki, and Nanami (the five who don't). Not content to sit and wait for people to come in, I stood out in the hall and talked to everyone who passed by. I tried my best to get them to join, even if they weren't freshmen, and even if they were already wearing a basketball uniform or carrying a trombone.

Slowly, we picked up new students. First were two girls who came together, followed by two who came separately. I was shocked to see a boy walk in. A boy! In the English Club! There hasn't been a boy in the English Club since I've been here, and at least for the year before I got here. I was stoked.

Once it became clear that nobody else was roaming the halls, everyone introduced themselves. The new recruits include Natsumi and Yuu (the two who came in together), Misuzu, Tomomi, and Koji. Despite the first-year and new-recruit shyness, all of them were chatty. Yuka and Akane, two of the newly-christened third-years, were much more relaxed and talkative than they had been all last year.

Departmental welcome party

2009-04-10T09:16:00.002+09:00

Tonight was the welcome party for the foreign language department. We got together at Border, the Italian restaurant, which seems to be everyone's favorite. (It's definitely mine.) There were nine of us, with Kim coming along, too.

Fukuda has just gotten his masters from Hiroshima University. Masuda went there, too, so they spent most of the evening chattering away about that. Kim kind of felt left out, because she was seated at one end of the table, with those two across and beside her. I tried talking to her, but didn't want to cut into Fukuda and Masuda's conversation.

Border's food is delicious. (They've recently taken out all their tatami, too--fully western-style seating!) They offer salads, carbonara, arrabiata, and pizzas. Conspicuously absent, though, is any kind of bread on the side. You can order garlic toast, sure, but (as with everywhere else I've been to in Japan) there's no complimentary bread. I've thwarted this before with Joe and Rose by bringing a baguette from a local bakery. However, I felt that might be frowned upon by this group. To make do, I saved my pizza crusts, and used them to sop up the leftover sauce in my bowl. Masuda liked the idea, and did the same.

Masuda is, in my opinion, the best English teacher at my schools. At the same time, she's the most intimidating. She and Satomi spent the past year and a half tearing apart my lessons, helping me build new and better ones. She's driven me to be a better teacher, and for that I'm grateful. In the classroom, she's assertive, engaging, and enthusiastic: she makes jokes, scolds the students with appropriate severity, and makes sure they understand what's going on. In the staffroom, she's equally outgoing, making jokes and coquettish smalltalk with the guys.

Outside of school, though, she's extremely shy. Tonight I talked to her about that, and asked which one is the real her. She explained that she's very shy, and that her school persona is the product of years of effort. She went on to tell me that the hardest thing for her to learn has been how to scold students. (She's a devastatingly effective practitioner of the get-very-quiet-and-make-the-victim-feel-horrible style.)

Takahira sat on my other side, and we talked a good bit. He apologized for having made so many changes to my lessons this year. We've only had one lesson, so I wasn't sure what he had to apologize for. He also apologized for not having kept last year's third-year students in line. This was something that had irked me throughout the year, and we talked more about it. He explained his reasoning, which I agreed with: making a show of abrasively scolding the students, regardless of how much they deserve a reprimand, kills all motivation in the class. I've seen that happen once with Kurokawa and to a lesser extent with Masuda and Satomi.

Murahashi and I talked about my rapidly-approaching departure. He fully understands why I'm leaving, and actually told me they would all be okay. He basically explained that it sucks that I'm leaving, but the world will keep turning. He wasn't being insensitive at all; he just wanted me to know they would be okay, so that I don't have second thoughts or feel like I'm abandoning them. He told me that my leaving is not a mistake, but that it will be a mistake if I get home and regret having done it.

Toward the end of the meal, Masuda and I discovered a create-your-own-drink section of the menu. I ordered a Black Russian, and she giddily ordered a fuzzy navel.

Entrance ceremony

2009-04-08T09:45:00.000+09:00

Today was the opening ceremony for the new term. First, though, was a smaller ceremony opening the first term for the (newly-promoted) second- and third-years. The principal gave a brief speech, and, as per usual, I couldn't keep up with much. I did, however, hear him say that, though the students had been gone only two weeks, they seemed different. While I agree that the students had changed, it's nothing like the 10-12 weeks I remember getting for summer vacation. No wonder my kids can't imagine what it'd be like to go that long without seeing everyone.

After the smaller event, everyone cleaned the school for an hour in preparation for the entrance ceremony. The gym was set up with almost as many seats as for graduation. The (newly-promoted) second- and third-years were seated in the back, with the incoming freshmen seated front and center, grouped by homeroom. Parents were seated on either side of the gym, with the teachers in a small section toward the front.

The band played the national anthem, and the principal gave some opening remarks. The homeroom teachers then stood and read each new student's name. The first student on the roll--the freshman boy who scored the highest on the entrance exam--read a brief thank-you statement on stage, facing the principal. This seemed different and more personal than last year's, which I liked a lot.

After this, the head of the PTA gave a speech to the new students. He got a bit fired up, but I couldn't understand him, and I still don't know what the PTA actually does, so I tuned him out. In my desperate attempts to stave off sleep, I noticed the shoes the freshmen were wearing. The students' school shoes are color-coded by grade: the (I keep wanting to specify "new") third-years wear green, and the second-years red. The freshmen had blue, which naturally was the color of the graduating class. At any rate, the head of the PTA finished, and the students were dismissed to their homerooms.

The parents remained, and there were speeches by the various heads of departments, like the dean of students, the head of new student affairs, etc. There were more speeches by the principal and the head of the PTA; by this point I wasn't bothering to listen. I felt bad about being bored until I noticed Tomino (the third new English teacher) falling asleep beside me, Kanemoto sound asleep in his chair, and several parents nodding off.

The principal gave a brief speech, and, as per usual, I couldn't keep up with much. I did, however, hear him say that, though the students had been gone only two weeks, they seemed different.

Nixed plans and school uniforms

2009-04-07T15:29:00.002+09:00

Cord and I resolved in January to take the Trans-Siberian and go from Beijing to Moscow this August. We'd been dreaming about doing it for a long time, and we decided to quit putting it off. Sure, it would be freakishly expensive, but it'd be worth it.

It didn't work out. I spoke to Cord today, and he wants to back out. He works for a real estate company, so he's pretty wary of blowing his savings at a time like this. This actually was a good thing: I had been having second thoughts for a while. The go! you only live once! part of me had been receiving a stern talking-to from the look at how much money that is! and do you really think you'll be up to 2+ weeks of travel after saying goodbye to everyone in Japan? parts. In short, the trip ain't happening this year.

In other news, today's morning meeting at Toyotama was amusing. There was a staff meeting devoted entirely to uniform enforcement. As part of the orientation process for the newly-christened freshmen, the meeting was supplemented by an illustrated guide to dos and don'ts. Covered in the packet was hair length (no longer than the ears for the boys, no longer than the neck for girls unless tied back, and no longer in the front than the eyebrows for both), skirt length (must touch floor when kneeling), shirts (fully buttoned, always tucked in for boys), and piercings (none whatsoever). My favorite was the explicit prohibition of eyebrow shaving, which is apparently a mark of beauty among traditional Japanese.

Random

2009-04-06T10:36:00.001+09:00

Today, Kanemoto asked me when I'm planning on leaving Japan. At first, I thought he was asking me on behalf of the school, so we could get the ball rolling on buying my return ticket. I mentioned the first week of August, because I'm planning to stay through the Arirang festival.

As we talked, I realized he wasn't asking on behalf of the school. Rather, he was planning to go to Bangkok the first week of August. Planning might be too vague a word: he had already bought the plane ticket. However, he had been designated the ALT picker-upper, meaning he's responsible for going to Omura to pick up Me, Jr., and fly back to Tsushima. He was a little worried about this, because it'd be kind of a big favor to ask another teacher to cover for him.
r to cover for him.

Hanami and Kobito

2009-04-04T20:30:00.002+09:00

The sakura had been slowly blossoming over the past two weeks. This being only my second time experiencing it, I kept taking drives to see them, afraid I'd miss out. By the first week in April, they were just about in full bloom. Joey, Joe, Rose, Kim, and I planned a hanami party. I couldn't find spot Aaron and Evelyn took me to last year, so we tried a new place: Aso Bay Park.

After the previous night's festivities, I slept until about 10. I picked Rose and Joe up, and we headed up north. Along the way, I stopped at Woods Motors to pay for my insurance. The awesomely nice lady (whose name I still can't remember) had tried calling me during the week, but I don't answer if I don't recognize the number. She was calling to remind me to bring my inkan, something I forgot. She smilingly chided me, basically saying "you'd know these things if you answered your phone every now and then."

We got to the park a few minutes ahead of Joey. Kim had arrived first, and had already staked a claim to a beautiful patch of sakura trees. The air was filled with the dull roar of bees gorging themselves on the blossoms. Rose was none too happy about being so close to bees, but, as we all pointed out, they weren't interested in us in the slightest.

Joey had invited Haruka and her friend, Mami, who brought her daughter, Manaka. We all had a picnic lunch under the trees. It was a breezy day, which made it look like it was raining cherry blossom petals. I had done a little reading about Maine the day before, and asked her about blueberries. She told us all about the two main kinds of blueberries, and how Maine is famous for the bush variety. Blueberries from this plant are harvested by raking, and the harvest peaks in August. She told us about local blueberry farms paying people $10 per bucket to come and rake blueberries for them.

After lunch, we decided to go exploring. Just down the hill from our picnic spot, we found stables with pygmy horses. I recognized the spot as one of the places Toyota brought David, Sean, and me on my first weekend in Tsushima. Each of the horses had a name, and they all seemed happy to let us pet them. There was also a deer in an enclosure.

Farther down the hill, we came to an open field alongside an inlet of Aso Bay. Having been seeking just such an area, we kicked off our shoes and played sports for the next three hours. Frisbee, baseball, badminton, and soccer: we played everything we could. I spent about 45 minutes trying to teach Kim how to throw a skip with the disc. She understood what I was saying, but I couldn't convey it well enough to get her to throw it at the right angle. The closest we came to success was when I stuck my hand in the way of her throw, forcing her to drop her arm angle.

Toward the end of the day, we decided to do dinner at the restaurant Joey, Joe, and I had "discovered" a few weeks ago. We invited Haruka, Mami, and Manaka, too. They showed up about ten minutes after us. Haruka had brought her kids: Shizuku, a fifth-grader; Ryouta, a second-grader, and Souta, a five-year-old.

Souta had brought a book about Kobito, which means "little people." After Haruka tried to get the kids to talk to us, Souta slowly worked his way over with the book. I was genuinely interested in it, and he got so caught up in showing it to me that he forgot all about being shy.

The book described little creatures who live everywhere around us: some look like mushrooms, some have hats that are lilypads, some play tricks, etc. It functioned as a compendium and bestiary, cataloguing the different types. There were just as many kind-spirited ones as there were mean-spirited and neutral ones.

As we thumbed through the book, it struck me as introductory animism. It was teaching readers to wonder at the myriad creatures living all around us, often hidden just well enough for us not to notice. Some are helpful to us, some are harmful, and some just are--they don't worry about us one way or the other. While the book didn't explicitly teach reverence for the kobito, it also didn't portray them as pests to be squashed or dangers to be avoided. I found the whole thing fascinating.

Souta, for his part, told me all about them. It took him a few minutes to warm up to me, but once I started asking him questions about various kinds of kobito, he got on a roll. He first showed me his favorites, describing them and reading the captions under their pictures. I read with him, wanting to practice my Japanese. He occasionally asked me to read something, or to help him with a difficult kanji. I was able to handle some of it, but more often than not Haruka had to save the day.

Souta went back to his seat when the food arrived. This brought my attention back to the grown-ups section of the table. Kim had tried hard but given up on War and Peace, unable to keep up with all the characters. Joey had been reading the Bible, which got us talking about some of the stories and the apocrypha. Kim, Joey, and I talked about gardening. I had unexpectedly hit a topic of interest: Kim had worked on an experimental farm that did farm scouting. She recommended an author (whose name I forgot) who wrote a book about living with her family for a month on foods only available within a 50-mile radius.

Not bad for a Saturday, huh?

Hellos, continued

2009-04-03T22:30:00.001+09:00

The second party was at Billy's Bar, a place I'd heard of but had never been to. As we arrived, Kimino, Tagami, and Kusano (the new vice principal) invited me to join their table. I had apparently given Kusano the impression that I spoke Japanese very well, because he treated me as fluent, conversing with me at full speed. This was a little awkward, because I caught barely half of what he said. Thankfully, this didn't bother anybody. He did a homestay in Australia, and neither party spoke the other's language. He and his host family had to get by with gestures and pictures.

As people began shuffling around, Tagami and Kusano left. Yoshihara joined our table. As per usual, Yoshihara had us laughing pretty quickly: somehow it came up that Kimino is an only child, which prompted Yoshihara to accuse her of being spoiled.

I mentioned I have a younger sister, and she smoothly said that explains why I'm so nice. I disagreed, explaining that I was pretty mean to my sister growing up. I also mentioned that this was why I'd liked Kamito so much. She laughed and asked me who I regarded as a younger sister: her or Kamito. I explained that it was more reminding me of home in general.

As the conversation went on, Kimino called me the last samurai. This got laughs and agreement, with a couple of folks telling me I'm more Japanese than Japanese people. I still take this with a grain of salt, but it's nice to hear.

We were joined by a drunk and rather obnoxious Fuji, one of the office workers. Maeda and Ms. Noguchi came over, too. I murmured something playfully snide about Yoshihara, and Kimino, the only one to hear it, cracked up over it.

Most parties like this in Japan feature an all-you-can-drink menu, containing both soft drinks and alcohol. Since most groups of Japanese partygoers are lightweights, and a large portion of the groups either drink very little or none at all, these things are usually cheap. Tonight was no exception: $20 for a menu that included well drinks and cocktails. However, conspicuously absent was draft beer. Saito brought me a black Russian to go with my brandy and water.

I noticed Naomi was sitting by herself, texting. I joined her, mainly to keep her company, but also to pester her. A nearby Murahashi joined us in a discussion about the usage of "sasuga," a word that expresses someone having exceeded your expectations. Naomi told me that she was very nervous about teaching at high school, especially with having to juggle Korean and English classes.

As folks started getting ready to go, I noticed one of the waitresses. I recognized her as also working at Mos Burger. She smiled and waved at me at first. As we were paying up, she leaned in close and sheepishly asked me not to tell anyone about her working there. I'm not sure whether it's the fact that she's moonlighting at a bar, or if it's that she has two jobs at all.

It being a Friday, for once I was interested in heading to the third party. I didn't have much fight left in me, but I wanted to see what went on. Something got mixed up, though, and I ended up going to a shot bar with Maeda, Fuji, and Yamamoto. The bar was tiny, filled with smoke, and the TV featured a PS2 playing demos of World Cup Soccer. I should've gone home when I had the chance--I started yawning as soon as we entered the bar--but at least now I know what goes on: nothing different.

Two days later, we had a welcome party just for our apartment building. We had a good time, though Yonekura and I were confused when one of the platters was hot dogs.

Teacher hellos

2009-04-03T21:30:00.002+09:00

Barely five days after saying goodbye to the departing teachers, we had a school-wide welcome party for all the newcomers. It was held at the same, tired old place we had our schoolwide goodbye party this year and last year. Six of us left from the apartment building, deciding to walk on account of the pretty weather.

Maeda is a first-time teacher, having worked in the office of Higashisonogi, a school near Omura. Though this is her first year teaching, she's 28. We talked a good bit about Omura and Tsushima on the walk to Shimamoto.

Naomi is one of the new English teachers. As Satomi's successor, she'll also be teaching Korean. She's two months older than me, and this is her first year as a high school teacher. She taught for a couple of years at a junior high school in Iki, where she's from, but didn't like it. She decided to move to Canada, where she found a job waiting tables at a Korean restaurant. Nagasaki prefecture called her literally three weeks before the transfers were announced, asking her to come teach in Tsushima.

Having been in an English-speaking country so recently, she's almost more of a foreigner than I am. I have more teaching experience than she does, albeit a different kind and in a more limited role, and I'm more familiar than she is with high school in general, Tsushima High in particular, and Tsushima. Like anyone who waits tables for any length of time, she's quick to swear, often reflexively. We had fun talking, and wound up lagging behind the group: she wasn't used to walking this much.

At the party, the lot I drew had me sitting with Noguchi (the chorus conductor), Sunagawa, and Hamasuna. After the opening speech and the toast, we tucked into our food. I'd talked a little with Sunagawa, but I'd never had the chance to speak with Hamasuna. She's a grammar teacher who was called in on short notice last year because one of our teachers had to withdraw on account of cancer.

As we were talking about life in Tsushima, the topic of laundry came up. I mentioned how frustrating it is trying to line-dry clothes during the June rains. She, on the other hand, expressed how much she dislikes doing laundry entirely. She apparently had been living with her parents prior to coming to Tsushima, and presumably her mother washed her clothes.

As people began roaming around, filling each other's beers, Saito, a new teacher last year, approached me. We talked about our favorite alcohol--just about everyone is amazed that my favorite drink is a Black Russian--and he told me about his experience tending bar during college in Tokyo.

I caught up with Shigematsu, the coordinator of the multicultural program. She told me that she wanted to learn more English, and so we tried speaking only in English. This worked surprisingly well--she wasn't kidding about being interested in the language. We talked a lot about differences between American and Japanese schools. I expressed my admiration for Tsushima High's style, in that the teachers are practically surrogate parents, contrasting it with what I perceive as the much more limited role of American teachers. She agreed with me, but said she envies American teachers having relatively less demanding jobs.

Toward the end of our conversation, Kim joined in. We talked a little about school life, and she asked me to call her 누나 , which is the title for "big sister." Korean is apparently like Japanese in that elder males and females can be referred to by the general title of "(older) brother/sister." Men and women old enough to be your aunt, uncle, or parents can be referred to that way: aunt, uncle, mother, and father. (Sajikibara often refers to Nagato in the third person as "father.")

I also talked a little with Wakasugi. She was new to Tsushima last year, and is one of the two home ec teachers. (Yagi is the other.) We discussed Japanese cooking, and she laughed when I said I haven't tried making curry or omuraisu. She went on to tell me exactly how to make both, and I could understand why she laughed: the directions took maybe two minutes.

Teacher goodbyes

2009-03-29T09:19:00.000+09:00

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

2009-03-28T22:15:00.001+09:00

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

2009-03-27T08:38:00.000+09:00

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

2009-03-24T23:30:00.000+09:00

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

2009-03-24T21:30:00.003+09:00

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

2009-03-24T14:39:00.001+09:00

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

2009-03-22T10:19:00.004+09:00

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

2009-03-21T20:42:00.002+09:00

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

2009-03-21T14:30:00.001+09:00

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

2009-03-21T11:30:00.001+09:00

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

2009-03-20T23:45:00.003+09:00

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

2009-03-20T16:24:00.001+09:00

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

2009-03-20T15:15:00.001+09:00

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

2009-03-20T14:30:00.000+09:00

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

2009-03-20T13:50:00.003+09:00

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

2009-03-19T13:47:00.000+09:00

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

2009-03-18T13:44:00.003+09:00

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

2009-03-16T13:37:00.005+09:00

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

2009-03-16T09:18:00.002+09:00

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

2009-03-16T09:06:00.003+09:00

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

2009-03-16T09:04:00.004+09:00

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

2009-03-16T09:02:00.002+09:00

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.

Easter: Preparation for second-years

2009-03-15T08:56:00.001+09:00

Easter isn't until April 12 this year. However, with the way the school year is set up, April is dominated by freshman orientation, placement tests, and lots and lots of meetings and introductions. That means the nearest blocks of time sufficient for teaching Easter are in March or May, and who wants to celebrate Easter in May?

Like last year, I was determined to go to any lengths to ensure all my students got to decorate eggs. Tsushima High is set up such that the ALT never sees the same group twice--I see groups 1 through 4 of the first-years, group 5 of the second-years, and groups 6 and 7 of the third-years--which means most of my lessons can be recycled without fear of boring anyone except the teachers. More on their Easter lesson later.

At Toyotama, however, my second-years had class with me last year as first-years. Iwase-sensei and I talked about it, and decided doing the same thing again would be boring. We toyed with the notion of having an egg hunt, but ultimately weather and logistics--no plastic eggs in Tsushima; and preparing 50-70 boiled and decorated eggs, many if not all of which would be dropped, was something we preferred not to do--nixed that idea.

We next thought about having an egg decorating contest. We wanted to afford them more time than just one class, though, and worried that unrefrigerated boiled eggs wouldn't stay edible more than a couple of days, and might start stinking after the week we were planning on giving them. Iwase sniffed around on the Internet for more ideas, much like we did for Halloween and Christmas. She stumbled upon an alternate way of preparing eggs for decorating: emptying a raw egg of its contents, leaving the eggshell for decoration.

Neither of us having any idea how to do this, and with a free afternoon, we bought some and tried it out. Using a pushpin to poke two holes in the egg, we stood over a bowl in the sink and blew. It took a long time--about fifteen minutes per egg--but slowly the contents dribbled out. The chalaza was the trickiest part, as it clogged the hole.

Not pleased with the amount of time it was taking, we did what lazy, frustrated primates do: we experimented. I tried using a paperclip and stirring the egg's contents, to make it come out more evenly and quickly. Iwase procured a plastic syringe from the science classroom, to save the effort of blowing to apply pressure on the egg. Stirring only saved a minute or two--no appreciable difference--and the syringe, though faster and easier, required a bigger and thus more visible hole in the shell.

Despite the length of time it required, we decided to go with it. We wanted to give each student one egg, which amounted to a total of 52. We split the load, each agreeing to prepare 26 at home.

The first evening I did it, I tried desperately to make it faster. I expanded on my stirring approach, using an unfolded paperclip to stir the contents. When that didn't save much time, I reasoned that warming the eggs might make them more runny and thus flow more readily. To accomplish this, I first tried leaving them out instead of refrigerating them. No dice: with highs still only in the upper 50s, they were only slightly less cool than they would be in the fridge. Next, I tried soaking them in hot water. Better, but counterproductive: the time spent warming them more than erased the time saved in actually draining the egg.

My third and final method for warming the eggs was microwaving them. I was careful not to go longer than ten seconds, for fear of the egg exploding. Indeed, this did make the egg thinner, which markedly decreased the time required per egg. Emboldened, I tried microwaving them longer, eventually going as far as twenty seconds. That, however, ended badly, as I was left with a cooked chunk of yolk inside the shell.

At this point, I was more than a little frustrated, so I grabbed an egg and shook it. I wasn't going anywhere with this; I just had frustration to vent, and thought better of chucking a raw egg at the wall. After a few seconds of shaking the egg, I thought about it, considered the possible effects of shaking it, and gave it a shot. Sure enough, the egg spilled out much faster. It didn't get much faster than eight minutes or so per egg, but that was almost twice as fast as it was to begin with.

Of course, after emptying that many eggs, I was left with a very large bowl full of mixed egg. If it hadn't been 11pm, I might have tried making a ginormous omelet. I wasn't comfortable saving it for breakfast in the morning, since by that point it had been sitting out for an hour or two. While wondering if ingesting that much cholesterol in one sitting would kill me, I poured it all into the trash.

Bowling and frisbee

2009-03-13T08:53:00.001+09:00

After work on Friday, I met up with Joe, Kim, and Rose at MOS Burger. We caught up on the latest island gossip, and whispered conspiratorially about the coming end of winter. Afterwards, we went bowling with Joey and a slew of Joe and Rose's teachers: Tachiko-, Shibata-, and Nishio-sensei. I bowled about as well as I usually do--just over 100, enough to do well in 11th grade team sports--and we headed upstairs for some karaoke afterwards. Mayumi, one of Mike's teachers, joined us late.

The next day, I met Joe and Joey for lunch at a restaurant overlooking the ocean. It's at a spot everyone passes every time they drive between Izuhara and the airport, but none of us had ever eaten there. We talked about our Golden Week plans while enjoying our katsu curry and enjoying the view. After finishing, we went out on the restaurant's deck and discovered it was a wonderfully comfortable afternoon. What was going to be a quick peek off the back porch turned into another two hours just talking and basking in the sun.

After that, determined not to let such beautiful weather go to waste, Joey and I headed up to Mitsushima Green Park to play catch and throw the frisbee. It wasn't long before a group of kids passed by. As often happens, they tried to gawk at us without being too obvious about it. We each invited them to join us, in English as well as Japanese, and each time all we got was giggles. (This group happened to be girls, but the only difference that makes is that a similar group of boys would have giggled in deeper voices.)

Joey threw the disc such that I caught it closer and closer to them, and I finally just turned and tossed it to them. They squawked, three of them jumped back, but one of them caught it without flinching. I knew they'd wanted to play! We slowly coaxed each of them into throwing, and they made a valiant effort not to be too obvious about how much they enjoyed it.

After Joey left to drive back up north, I saw one of the girls at Saiki (the supermarket), and she ran up to me and asked my name and what school I teach at. She told me her name was either Sashio or Sachio (I'm bad about hearing the difference in full-speed Japanese), and she goes to Kechi Junior High.

Exam grading

2009-03-12T08:48:00.002+09:00

The next day, all teachers spent most of the day grading exams. They did this by confining themselves to rooms by departments, allowing them to discuss and debate the finer points of scoring. The English teachers were no exception, and sequestered themselves for a couple of hours somewhere in the building. (I was at my desk throughout all the testing. I didn't really feel left out--I've seen enough of the process to know it's a lot of roundabout discussion to get everyone into a consensus. Due either to their preference or prefecture regulations, I don't get to do any actual grading, either.)

Kanemoto-sensei, finishing his first year teaching in an academic high school, has been the closest I've found to a war buddy. He's often as openly confused and exasperated as I am by the rigamarole of Tsushima High, which gives us plenty to talk about. At one point in the afternoon, he strolled into the staffroom and sat at the desk next to me. He told me the other English teachers were "debating philosophy."

Murahashi-sensei had graded some of the papers. As per protocol, Kurokawa-sensei had re-graded the same papers, and had disagreed on some small point. Similarly, Kanemoto-sensei had awarded partial credit to students who chose the proper verb root (play) but used an incorrect conjugation. (Playing instead of to play, for example.) This didn't sit right with the other teachers, and little things like this had launched them into discussions about English semantics and grading philosophy.

As he was talking to me, the vice principal strolled over, politely apologized for interrupting, and asked Kanemoto-sensei about some trivial aspect of the exams. I'm almost positive this was a hint--"Boy, those tests you're grading sure must be difficult"--but Kanemoto either missed it or chose to ignore it. He politely answered the question, and the vice principal diplomatically walked away.

A few minutes after this, Takahira-sensei came into the staffroom. Takahira-sensei doesn't stroll. A scatterbrained intellectual, he's always busy, and always making a beeline for wherever he's headed. (I'm not being mean; we can smell our own.) He approached Kanemoto, mentioned something not impolite but not nearly as diplomatic as what the vice principal had said, and Kanemoto returned to the grading room.

Before he left, though, Kanemoto-sensei taught me something very interesting. Having no idea how admissions work, I asked if the other teachers were trying to grade strictly in order to whittle down the number of accepted students. Kanemoto explained that, out of 500 points (five sections at 100 points each), students needed only 50 points to pass.

Fifty. Out of five hundred.

After the first round of grading, in which the teachers exercised their unrestrained judgement as to who passed and who didn't, the principal was given a list of those students who had failed. He called the prefectural board of education to notify them of the names and the reason for their failure. After doing this, however, the board of education apparently ordered him to admit those students. Out of 200 applicants, 200 were to be accepted.

That makes the tests all but meaningless. If every student who applied can get in, the lowest score--in this case, 50/500, or 10%--becomes a passing score. The same thing happened with last year's students as well. This explains why there's such a huge gap between the top and the bottom of the freshman class. I wonder why all the students were admitted. Do schools receive funding on a per-student basis? With the young population in Tsushima--and Japan in general--shrinking, are public schools competing for the increasingly fewer students?

Is it right to admit a student to a purportedly academic high school when that student scored 10% on the entrance exam? Doesn't that cheapen the effort of those students who busted their butts to legitimately pass? Doesn't it also set that student up for an agonizing experience in high school, when he or she will be expected and required to perform at the same level as those other students?

Entrance exams

2009-03-11T08:39:00.002+09:00

Since the seniors done been graduated, my schools feel kind of empty. The third-year teachers, having spent most of the past three months working even longer hours than normal, are taking full advantage: several are taking vacations, and the rest are visibly relaxed and easygoing. All the teachers, however, pitch in to help with the entrance exams for prospective students.

Middle-school third-years (ninth-graders, in other words) must pass an exam to enter high school. Exams for public schools are only given once per year, on the same day throughout the prefecture, which means students can only apply to one public high school. They make their decision at some point early in their third year, and spend the remaining time in middle school studying for it.

Testing this year was split over two or three days, with the high school students sent home to study (and given homework due upon their return). There are five sections: Japanese, math, science, social studies, and English. Each section is worth a maximum of 100 points. Again, the test is prefecture-wide--everyone in Nagasaki takes the same test.

The English portion consists of, among other things, a listening section. For this, a recording is broadcast over the school P.A., and students must follow along and answer questions. Both years I've been here, the speakers have been the head ALT and his supervising JTE. The script has been the same both my years and, according to other English teachers, for several years back. "It is spring. The birds are singing in the trees..."

After the testing, the students met with teachers for individual interviews. The teachers asked them about things like their hobbies and why they chose Tsushima High. Kamito-sensei tells me the responses have no bearing on the decision to accept the students; I imagine it's simply a way for the teachers to gauge each student's character and identify any potential problems.

As the teachers were returning from the interviews and milling around in the staff room the other day, they were gossiping about the interviews. Kamito-sensei was in on it, so she helped clarify. Tsushima High--and, I gather, high schools in general--pride themselves on drilling students on formal etiquette. That means they pay a lot of attention to the way students greet and address their elders, which includes teachers. A couple of teachers were highly amused by a few boys' untidy uniforms.

The story that got the biggest reaction, though, was about a couple of students who, after finishing the interview, excused themselves from the room with a mere "otsukareshita." That's roughly the functional and contextual equivalent of ending a job interview with a "See ya." (A more appropriate version--a "Thank you very much for your time"--would have been more on the order of "arigato gozaimashita. otsukaresamadeshita.")

Sometimes I feel like I live in Pleasantville.

Boat Trip

2009-03-07T21:14:00.001+09:00

On Saturday, I went on a boat trip with some Toyotama teachers. I drove an hour to Nii port, which is near the school, and met up with five or six teachers. We were picked up by a chartered bus, and made two stops in Toyotama to pick up the other teachers. Several came with their spouse, and two brought their kids. With about fifteen people assembled, we headed south on the bus, the plan being to take the boat back up to our cars.

We stopped at Saiki--the big grocery store--in Kechi to stock up on snacks and bentō. While reading on the bus and waiting for everyone else to finish shopping, I talked to a science teacher with remarkably good English. I very rarely get the chance to interact with Toyotama teachers outside of school. Subsequently, there's a big difference between the warmth and familiarity I feel at the two schools.

It's not that Toyotama folks are cold, but they haven't had a chance to get to know me and move beyond the standard arm's-length kindness. By comparison, I've had a beer with practically all my Tsushima High teachers, so they all know me as more than just that foreigner who waves at everyone.

Anyway, I also talked to the wife of one of the younger teachers. They can't be very far into their thirties, if that. He's a high school teacher, which means he works six and a half days a week, and she... just stays at home. They don't have any kids yet, and they live in one of the remotest sections of Tsushima. I don't see how she stays sane.

We got to the port and saw our ship, the New Toyotama. After taking a group photo with a Toyotama High banner, we all climbed on board. The cabin had enough normal chairs for about thirty people. In addition to the chairs, there were two raised sections of tatami seating.

The captain of the boat doubled as a guide, describing the sights as we went. We saw a couple of shrubs with purple flowers just beginning to blossom, which made everyone titter about spring coming. We passed the airport and Shiratake, Tsushima's most famous mountain.

Unsure of snack arrangements, I had brought some bread from the bakery in Izuhara. I shouldn't have bothered: everyone brought a couple of big bags of crackers, cookies, and other munchies. The vice principal waved me over to the tatami, where he was seated, and four of us devoured a bag of bar snacks. (True to Japanese form, the pretzel-ish snacks came in small bags that were themselves part of a bigger bag.) The vice principal downed a couple of beers, which was enough to get him nice and red, as well as clumsy and giggly.

We made a stop so one of the crew members could get off. On our way in to the pier, we saw some middle school boys fishing. It was pretty clear they weren't thrilled with our big diesel engine rumbling through their fishing spot, but a couple of them waved at me anyway.

Toward the end of the two-hour ride, we passed one of the more famous shrines in Tsushima. I'm such a bad resident that I don't know the name of it, but I'll find out and get back to you. Let's call it Watazumi for now. That sounds right. Anyway, this temple has five torii--stone gates for shrines--three of which are placed in the water. Depending on the tides, some or all of them can be submerged. The captain brought us by it at a perfect angle to get all of them lined up.

We docked at Nii at around 3, thanked the captain, thanked each other, and parted ways. Before leaving town, I dropped by Toyotama High to give something to Iwase-sensei... something I'll talk more about soon.

Supplies!

2009-03-06T14:29:00.003+09:00

Yesterday, I was at Toyotama, and there was another somber announcement during the morning meeting. Like back in January, the dean of students, Komatsu-sensei, stood after the normal announcements had been made, and delivered a very grave account of what had happened. I understood even less than last time, and there was no accompanying documentation for this incident, so I was at a complete loss until I asked Iwase-sensei afterwards.

She told me that a high school student used his cell phone's internet access to buy something. That's how she said it. I don't know about you, but my thinking, based on her phrasing, led me to believe that by saying "something" she was being intentionally vague. I figured the kid bought a dirty magazine, alcohol, or cigarettes.

Iwase clarified, though: we're not sure what exactly he bought, and that wasn't the important part. He did this off school property, not during school hours, and he bought nothing illegal. Furthermore, someone else apparently paid him the money to buy it. The impression I got was that what he bought wasn't the problem. That he bought something at all was the trouble.

Sometimes I think I'll never understand Japan.

--

Anyway, that was yesterday. Today, being Friday, we had English club. I headed up to the classroom toting my three Dr. Seuss books, planning to give the girls a basic rundown of rhyming in English. I rounded the corner to enter the room... and saw Mizuki, Manami, and Sawami sitting right where they used to, grinning at me.

After having said goodbye not even a week before, thinking I'd never get to see them again, I was floored by the sight of them. They were in their uniforms and, apart from the makeup Manami was wearing that would have been against the rules when they were students, looked exactly the same as the first day I joined the English Club.

I talked to all three of them in English, asking them questions for the benefit of the second- and first-years. I asked what they've been doing, which university they want to get into, and how the tests were. Mizuki and Manami answered my questions without even hesitating, which didn't surprise me. What did surprise me was Sawami: whereas eight months prior she would have immediately tugged on Mizuki's sleeve for a translation, she diligently if slowly processed my question and answered in English. I felt like hugging her.

They wanted to know what I'd brought, so I did a quick show-and-tell of the books, followed by a brief explanation of red-said-bed-led rhyming. It went fine--not great, not horribly, but fine--and as I was writing on the board and explaining, I behaved like I always do: I bounced around and made sound effects, most of the time without thinking about doing it. While the first- and second-years took it in with faint, bemused smiles on their faces, the graduates got a kick out of it. Having survived eight months of grueling exam preparation, without any of my everyday goofiness, they were supremely relaxed and a whole lot more sure of themselves.

I then asked what everyone wanted to do. The first- and second-years shrugged, as per usual. Mizuki and Manami said anything was okay. When I turned to Sawami, she reached in her bag, pulled out the frisbee I gave her, and smiled. I felt like hugging her.

We headed for the small park we use, only to find it was being used by the badminton club. Determined not to go back inside, we strolled around the school for a while, talking in small groups. I soon stopped trying to take charge and find something for everyone to do, noticing that everyone seemed perfectly content catching up with each other.

After an hour or so, we headed back up to the classroom. Sawami, Manami, and Mizuki said goodbye, and the rest of us broke for the day soon after.

I'm a weenie. I freely admit this. I get all choked up over the stupidest, cheesiest sentimental things. Seeing those three again moved me. I dislike using such a tired expression, but that describes it perfectly. My greatest fear (both as a person and, more specifically, as a teacher) is of being forgotten. I know that reflects some deep-seated insecurity issues I've got, but there it is. I don't presume that the girls came back for the express purpose of seeing me, but the fact that they dropped by to see me nearly made me cry. This is precisely the kind of bond that I've dreamed of establishing with students, and I was thrilled to finally find it.

As one might expect, this was the closest I've come to second-guessing my decision not to recontract.

Post-graduation farewells

2009-03-01T14:20:00.003+09:00

I wanted to give Mizuki, Manami, and Sawami a graduation present, since in all likelihood I'd never get to see them again. I'm normally terrible at finding gifts for people, but this time I'm actually kind of proud of how it turned out. I made a card for all three of them, and gave it to them along with something else.

Manami was the first student I ever interacted with one-on-one. The second week of classes last September, Takahira-sensei asked me to help a student prepare for the upcoming English speech contest. We worked together for about an hour a day, three afternoons a week, for about two weeks. I had no idea when the contest was, or how much practice she'd had before I came along, so I wasn't able to help her all that much. Still and all, those afternoons working together went a long way toward helping her open up to me. She was terribly intelligent, and every bit as shy, but she didn't have any trouble speaking up in English Club.

Last spring, well before the third-years left the group, I brought a chessboard to the club meeting one day. Manami was the only one who expressed even the slightest interest in it. I set the game up, and through a combination of my poor Japanese, gestures of piece movement, and her admirable English, she learned the game well enough for us to play. We only played once, and I didn't quite have the presence of mind to teach her en passant, but she understood the concepts enough to finish a game. That in mind, I bought her a chess set. It wasn't very expensive--a plastic, non-magnetic, travel-sized version--but I didn't want to get her something bulky to tote off to college, and besides, it was the exact same chess set she learned on. I figured that would count for something.

Mizuki was the head of the English Club my first year in Tsushima. She was more helpful to me than Takahira-sensei, the nominal faculty head of the group, who told me the bare details of the club on the first day--"we meet on Mondays and Fridays, but if it's okay, I would like for you to take care of the group by yourself"--and never appeared again. I was completely lost, and had to lean heavily on Mizuki for ideas on what to do. Still, most of the first few months' meetings were filled with idle smalltalk. Her intelligence, bounciness, and lack of shyness kept the club from being a complete wash.

I thought long and hard on what to give her. I wanted it to be something nice, in appreciation for all that she did to help the rest of the club warm up to me. Having remembered from my predecessor that she, like most Japanese high schoolers, loves Harry Potter, I had bought a Japanese copy of Deathly Hallows when it first came out last July. However, I found out (without tipping my hand) that she had no free time whatsoever to do any leisure reading until after graduation, so I had kept it hidden away since.

Sawami was in the lower part of the academic program, not for lack of ability, but by choice: she wanted to enter the police force, a field that requires passing a civil service entrance exam. That meant her English was never as good as Mizuki's or Manami's. In fact, she spent most of our meetings avoiding speaking English, using Mizuki to translate for her. Toward the end of each meeting, as my often-shoddy plan for the day petered out, she would start urging us to call it a day. All this made me think for a long time that she disliked either me or English.

Last spring, soon after the new first-years--Yuki, Aya, and Nozomi--had joined, we went outside to throw the frisbee. We did this partly at Sawami's request, as she liked frisbee and wanted to go outside and enjoy the weather. We had a blast throwing, and it made a great icebreaker for the new girls, just like it did for us in Myers. As we were heading in, though, I stupidly decided to try throwing a hammer. It came out just fine, and flew nice and long... and right into a tall hedge.

I could see that it was reachable, but getting to it would require squeezing between the branches. I was wearing my usual dress shirt and slacks, so I decided to come back later in jeans. Sawami, though, clad in her full uniform--blouse, blazer, skirt, and dress shoes--dove right into the hedge. After five minutes of grunting and swearing, she got it. Nobody had asked her to do it; in fact, I told her repeatedly that it was no problem, that I would come back and get it later. She thought nothing of it, though. Her uniform came out intact, and she didn't act like it was that big a deal. From that day on, we got along a lot better. I immediately knew what her present would be.

I wasn't sure what chance if any I would have to see them after the ceremony, so I came to school early and went straight up to the third-year classrooms. Manami was the only one I could find, so I gave her hers. She smiled big and bright and thanked me. I didn't get to see Sawami or Mizuki before the ceremony.

After the graduates' last homeroom, the rest of the students and faculty line the path from the school doors to the street, and cheer as the graduates depart school for the last time. Students give the graduates flowers and other gifts as they pass by. I found last year's Korean teacher, also named Kim, who had come back just for graduation. We were toward the end of the line, so it took the graduates a long time to reach us.

One student gave Kamito-sensei a CD with pictures from classes together. She was visibly delighted, and her way of expressing this was to say "Ureshii!" which literally means "(I'm) happy!" I applauded all the graduates that trickled past, and two of my former commercial-program girls took a picture with me. After a while, I began to worry that I'd missed Mizuki and Sawami, so I began heading up through the crowd toward the front of the group.

The brass band was playing as graduates said goodbyes to underclassmen friends from club activities. Some of them gave each other hugs, marking the second time in 18 months I've seen Japanese over the age of 10 give such physical displays of affection. I found among the crowd the other English club girls, who were giving their gifts to Mizuki and Sawami. I gave them their cards and gifts, which had been sort of wrapped. As they opened them, they smiled, which was about as much of a reaction as I'd expected. They both thanked me, I made sure Mizuki hadn't already gotten a copy of the book, and I made sure to get a picture.

They weren't audibly or visibly overjoyed. They didn't squeal with glee or give me a hug or any other response I might have hoped for had they been westerners. I was fully expecting a happy, genuine, yet appropriately distanced thank you, which was what I got.

Graduation 09

2009-03-01T13:39:00.005+09:00

Last year's graduation was fascinating because it was my first time experiencing one in Japan. Despite having taught two groups of those graduating seniors, I didn't feel any deep connection to them; I felt kind of like an outsider. This year, however, I knew three of the graduates very well: Mizuki, Manami, and Sawami, who were in the English Club. I also knew the International Studies group, as Urata-sensei and I had taught them last year.

The goodbyes began back in June, when all university-bound third-year students began taking extra classes every afternoon. This required them to withdraw from club activities, which meant those three left the English Club last summer. For the months since, my only interaction with them had been by occasionally seeing them in the hall. In this way, they halfway left: we in the English Club didn't get to see them anymore, but nobody got upset because they were still around.

Even in January, when regular classes ended for seniors, Manami and Mizuki kept coming along with the rest of the students aspiring to enter university. (Sawami was preparing for the exam to work for the police.) Sure, I didn't get to see them any more frequently, but I helped Takahira-sensei mark some of their English compositions. That made them still feel close.

In fact, today's graduation still doesn't mean they're gone for good. Manami and Mizuki will keep coming for another week or so, making last-minute preparations for the entrance exams. Mizuki is applying for Yamaguchi University; Manami is aiming for Kyushu University.

That didn't make graduation any less emotional, though.

With a different principal than last year, I saw how much influence he has over the ceremony. We began with the procession, while the brass band played "Pomp and Circumstance". With about 250 students, filing in one class at a time, the poor band had to play the song on loop for about fifteen minutes.

Once everyone had entered, we all rose for the national anthem. That done, the principal was to take the stage. The designated master of ceremonies, manning the microphone throughout the proceedings, announced that the principal was taking the stage. The master of ceremonies then called all students and faculty to attention--"Kiritsu!"--which brought all of us to their feet in unison.

It's one thing to say "all of us stood in unison." It's quite another to actually see this happen. Seven hundred bodies rising at the same time, in a silent, crowded gymnasium, is impressive, to say the least. There's an audible whump created by a combination of their bodies rising and their chairs being pushed back ever so slightly.

The principal rose from his seat, approached the front-center of the gym floor, and bowed to the PTA. He then made a crisp 90-degree turn, approached the stage, ascended the stairs, and walked to the podium. I spell out each of these moves because all of it was precisely executed, with all seven hundred students and faculty--plus the couple of hundred parents in attendance--watching. He turned to face the podium, and the master of ceremonies called for students and faculty to bow: "Rei!" That done, he took the podium. On his first step to the podium, students and faculty sat down, making another loud whump as some seven hundred butts hit chairs in unison.

These moves had been practiced at length the day before--Matsushita-sensei, a P.E. teacher and the master of ceremonies for graduation, coached everyone through it for about half an hour. All the other teachers stood by, helping identify pockets of students that were lagging behind. Matsushita went so far as to demonstrate--on stage, using a chair--how to position one's hands and feet to most efficiently rise. (I've got video of all of this--the practice, the teachers scolding the students, and the final product on graduation day.)

The principal didn't give a speech. Instead, he dove right into the awarding of diplomas. Starting with the highest-level group of seniors, each homeroom teacher announced each name, and that student would shout an acknowledgment--"Hai!"--then take the stage, receive his diploma, step back, and bow to the principal. Boys went before girls in each group.

There was a large projection screen set up, visible to all those seated in the gymnasium, with a live feed to a video camera set up over the principal's shoulder. This meant that the face of each graduate could be seen as her name was called. I think this is a singularly awesome idea. It makes the ceremony a lot more individual and personal, something I wouldn't have expected at a Japanese high school. I was able to take pictures of each of the students I knew.

After giving the diplomas, the principal gave a speech that took about ten minutes. In it, he thanked the graduating class for the huge projector screen. (Each graduating class buys the school a gift; past gifts include a new curtain for the stage and folding chairs for events like graduation.) Once he finished, he stepped back from the podium, and students and faculty were again called to their feet. We then bowed, and the principal headed off stage. As he took his first step on the descending staircase, everyone sat in unison. (We'd been coached the day before on this, too.)

The head of the PTA took the stage and gave a speech. I care very little for the PTA, as I have no idea what role they play other than having drinking parties with us. I'm sure they serve an important purpose, but I don't know what it is, so I don't really pay attention when they say things. I occupied my time by thumbing through the program. On the list of faculty for the seniors, I saw the ALT position--my position--and two names: David (my predecessor) and Ryan (David's predecessor). This is kinda neat: they remembered the two ALTs who helped the graduates when they were freshmen. Anyway, the PTA chief finished his speech and was followed by a graduate. I immediately recognized her as having been one of my commercial-course students.

She gave a speech addressed to everyone: her fellow graduates, us teachers, and the parents. She thanked us all in turn for our help over the years. She began to choke up not far into the speech, and while she didn't actually break down, that was enough emotion to cause intermittent sniffling around the gym.

My Japanese, though considerably better than it was last year, is insufficient for me to fully understand speeches. However, the parts that I did pick up on sounded awfully familiar. I realized that her speech was the same as the one given by the girl last year. I don't mean she was expressing the sentiments shared by all graduating seniors--parts of it struck me as being identical to last year's. I found out later that teachers help this student prepare her speech, which explains the consistency of content and style. I don't doubt that the words were heartfelt, but recognizing that it was unoriginal cheapened the experience for me.

Anyway, she finished her speech, and everyone rose for a song. The first verse was sung by the graduating seniors. The second verse was sung by the other students, and the third added the faculty. It was at this point that I noticed some of the seniors begin crying. Most of them were visibly struggling to hold back tears, and several of them were failing. We sang the school song next, marking the last time the graduates would sing it as students.

Last, the teachers lined the space around the exit and everyone applauded for the graduates' recessional. The chorus sang "Tegami: Haikei Juugo no Kimi e" ("A letter: Greetings to a 15 Year Old," a song about someone writing a letter to her younger self.) By this point, several students were crying, along with quite a few teachers. The homeroom teachers left after the graduates, returning to their classroom for one last homeroom. The remaining faculty returned to their seats. The vice principal then announced the PTA's departure, calling each by name as they stood and filed out. The head of the PTA gave another speech, congratulating the parents of the graduates, as well as the principal on his first graduation.

The parents were then invited to join their graduates for the last homeroom. After all parents had left, the remaining students and faculty took down the seats. The place went from a mat-covered 1,000-seat auditorium to a nondescript gymnasium in about fifteen minutes.

Usually, big school events are followed by big school parties. Last year, the post-graduation staff party was especially touching: the third-year teachers shared their fondest memories of the graduates, and most of the folks cried. This year, however, a former Tsushima High teacher had recently passed away from cancer. Out of respect for her, the party was canceled. Murahashi-sensei explained that it wouldn't feel right to celebrate something so soon after a death.

Party at the Vice Principal's House

2009-02-27T09:44:00.000+09:00

Tanaka-sensei, the vice principal at Kita Elementary, had a party at his house. He invited all the Kita teachers, as well as Joe, Rose, Gavin, and me. Joe was busy, so that left us three foreigners at the party. Tanaka's wife, Megumi, teaches at Ofunakoshi Elementary with Gavin.

Three other teachers from Kita--Araki, Shugyo, and Umeno--picked us three up on the way. Tanaka has a huge house, especially by Japanese and Tsushima standards. It's two-story, with a huge tatami living room. The Tanakas had prepared a whole pile of food. There were salads, drumsticks, and soup already on the table, along with two large bowls for nabemono The setup was simple: the bowls were half-filled with water, and were on top of a heating flame. The gas was turned on, then meat and vegetables from nearby plates were added to the bowl to stew.

When we were ready to take them out to eat, Tanaka pointed out two bottles of sauce. We poured some of the sauce into our bowl, and took stuff from the main cooking bowl and let it cool and soak in the sauce. There was ponzu, soy sauce, and a tangy green kool-aid-looking mixture. Tanaka explained that this was called mizutaki, a Fukuoka specialty.

I sat at one end of the table with Rose and Tanaka. We had a great time talking. Tanaka told me about his family: they have two children, a university-aged son and a high school-aged daughter. The son being the elder is apparently regarded as the more difficult among Japanese people. Something about daughters being more agreeable and submissive, and sons being more challenging. I know next to nothing about parenting, but I'd think daughters would be at least as difficult if not more so than sons.

Anyway, Tanaka and I talked a lot about teaching. I found out that elementary and junior high school teachers don't get moved nearly as often or systematically as high schoolers do. It sounds like they have a lot more say in the matter, too. He also explained that when he was in school, teachers were in high demand because, at the greatest expanse of the bubble, most graduates were heading straight into business to chase after money. I wonder if teacher salaries were scaled up to be competitive with the private sector...

While we were talking about education, I mentioned my plans to try teaching back home. I told him I was worried about the differences between teaching in America and in Japan. My biggest concern is taking charge of the students. Tanaka explained that when he was a kid, teachers could and did hit students, and that it went on without any interference from parents. Nowadays, he says, teachers aren't allowed to do that, and parents increasingly complain about teachers disciplining their kids.

Like most men his age in Japan, Tanaka smokes. After he got back from ducking out the back door for a cigarette, I asked why he doesn't smoke inside. He discreetly gestured to his wife, said, "If I smoke inside...," and stuck two fingers from his head like horns.

At one point, he showed Rose and me a room adjoining the living room. Inside were some paintings and other framed art. One was a head crafted from paper, made by Tanaka's mother on his daughter's birthday. There was a drawing of an ox--his daughter's birth sign--and an inspirational poem that I was shocked to find I was able to read.

We somehow got on a tangent about the inoshishi in Tsushima, which led to the Inoko festival. Inoshishi are problems for farmers, as they root around the ground digging up food. From what I remember hearing, one night every year, children traditionally go from farmhouse to farmhouse and ask for candy in exchange for not disturbing the crops. That's remarkably analogous to western trick-or-treating; I wonder how much influence the one had on the other.

This somehow led to another tangent about the deer population in Tsushima. With so many deer, hunters are paid by the city to bring in carcasses.

Anyway. There was a whole pile of food. Megumi didn't sit down to talk to us at all the entire night. She stayed busy, buzzing around the kitchen, serving one dish, preparing the next, clearing the table of empty plates, and generally playing the hostess. Megumi's from Kansai, which is famous for (among many other foods) takoyaki. She cooked some for us, and Rose helped out.

Observing Megumi, I realized that this is exactly how I've seen hostesses behave in snack bars. They flit around, refilling drinks, telling jokes, facilitating conversation, and serving food. That's the hospitality Japanese men go to snack bars looking for, and that's why they pay out the nose for the hostess' company. Understanding it doesn't make me any more comfortable with paying a woman to sit and talk to me, but it sure is interesting.

Eventually, things started winding down. Araki, Umeno, and Shugyo got steadily drunker, and began calling me Japanese. During conversation, we happened upon the fact that I had decided to leave in July. When Umeno heard this, he reached across the table and play-slapped me across the face.

I had work the next day, thanks to graduation rehearsal, so I (literally) bowed out at around 11:30. Megumi was still cooking: onigiri with coffee, after all the rest of the food she'd made. I had understood we'd be taking a taxi back, so I was ready to call one up when Tanaka told me his wife would drive me back. Rose and Gavin were ready to call it a night, too, so Megumi drove us all back home.

Fun in Sasebo

2009-02-22T09:40:00.000+09:00

In exchange for working the next Saturday in preparation for graduation, I had a three-day weekend. Itching for some adventure and willing to settle for hijinks of any kind, I booked a trip to Fukuoka. I let Carol and Mutia know I was coming, and they had a get-together in Sasebo that Saturday night. The plan was for me to fly in at around noonish, get to Sasebo by mid-afternoon, and have time to chill out with people before dinner and craziness that night.

I was stupid and didn't bother doublechecking the flight time. I could have sworn I'd booked the 12:30 flight. I got to the airport at 12:10, only to find out that I was in fact supposed to be on the 12:15 flight that was at that time taxiing for takeoff. The lady at the check-in desk was extremely nice and helpful, and got me on the next flight with no fuss. The next flight didn't leave until 4:45, however.

Furious with myself, and with nearly five hours to kill, I made my way back to Izuhara. Joey had driven down to pick up a friend at the ferry port, so I met up with them. We went to Tsushima Ramen with Joe. Gavin was going to come, too, but there were workers at his house installing a shower. (That's right. He'd gone seven months without a showerhead in his bathroom. Not surprisingly, he isn't recontracting.)

I made the 4:45 flight, and caught the next available Sasebo-bound bus, which left at 6:20. That put me in Sasebo a little after 8. Still fuming at my stupidity, I was thoroughly embarrassed and afraid that everyone either a) was waiting for me to eat or b) had finished eating and gone on about their evening. I found Carol, Mutia, Zoe, Rachel, Jacob, and Stephanie at Mike's Tex-Mex restaurant. They hadn't been there long, and were going to town on some frozen margaritas. Nobody seemed to mind that I was so late.

Dinner was a lot of fun--enchiladas and random catch-up conversation with folks I hadn't seen since the mid-year conference. Phase 2 of the plan was termed "marathon karaoke," wherein everyone gets a karaoke booth for about four hours. We finished dinner and met Laurence, Sarah, Sue Ann, Chris, and Eleanor at Shidax. It wasn't until I saw the special--three hours, all-you-can-drink, for about $30 per person--that I realized the group wasn't kidding about marathon karaoke.

We had a blast, with Rachel picking awesome songs for everyone to sing. Carol got me to sing "Georgia on My Mind", marking the second time I'd ever sung it, and Jacob and I, the only southerners in the group, represented with some Alan Jackson. We finished before midnight, which nobody could believe--this group's accustomed to getting out of karaoke no earlier than 3am. We were all pretty tired, though, so we called it a night. Rachel offered her couches and extra futons to Mutia, Carol, Stephanie, and me, so we made our way back to her place.

Sunday morning, Mutia had to roll out early for a magazine meeting in Nagasaki. The rest of us didn't start stirring until around 10. Rachel and I cooked hashbrowns, and I made cheese omelets for everybody. We planned to meet Zoe in town for a late lunch, and proceeded to spend the next three hours playing Catch Phrase in our pajamas. Rachel drove us back to Sasebo proper, where we dropped Stephanie off at a bar so she could see a friend DJing. We met Zoe at a nearby Starbucks, then headed to a bowling alley that offered Mario-themed scoring as a kids' option.

That evening, Carol headed back to Hasami, leaving Zoe, Rachel, and I to get dinner on our own. They took me to a nearby Thai restaurant. I've had Thai twice, both times in Japan, and I like it just fine--when it isn't burning my tongue off. With Zoe's advice, I managed to avoid the spiciest stuff, and we had an awesome dinner. It was great to catch up with them, reminisce about Indonesia, and talk about our plans after JET. We headed out at around 9. Zoe and Rachel had work the next day, so I got a hotel room near Sasebo station.

Monday, I did some solo adventuring in Sasebo. Nothing too exciting: I mainly walked around, window shopping, and eventually settled down at the bus station to read. I made a slight detour, but I'll talk more about that later.

The bus to Fukuoka was uneventful. On the shuttle bus between the international and domestic terminals, I overheard a conversation between two Americans on the bus. A girl was going on in remarkable detail about just how drunk so-and-so got this one night and how many people got naked and went running around town. Just as I was tuning her out, appreciating my inability to understand such inane conversations in Japanese, I heard her stop and say, "By the way, what's your name?" She had been talking to this guy--who I had assumed was her traveling buddy or at least an acquaintance--without even knowing his name.

The awesome lady at the check-in desk happily put me on an earlier flight to Tsushima, and I got back with no problem. The landing was exciting, though. Tsushima's almost always windy, which tends to create shaky landings. This was the first time I can remember actually bouncing off the runway during landing.

Tsushima Chorus Festival 09

2009-02-08T08:48:00.004+09:00

Today was the second annual Tsushima Chorus Festival. The setup was pretty similar to last year's: chorus groups from all over Tsushima attended, with ensembles ranging from mixed junior high school to older all-women groups.

A couple of weeks ago, posters were put up around town. I stopped to take a picture of one for posterity, when I noticed the photo at the bottom was from last year's concert. Not only was it a group photo of all the singers from last year, but it was the second take--the goof-off picture. I'm glad my best picture was chosen for the public to see.

The plan was for everyone to meet at 9 this morning for a final on-stage rehearsal of our set. The concert didn't start until 1, and I remembered last year's morning being full of lots of sitting around. For that reason, I wasn't in any hurry to get there, and rolled in at about 9:10. By 9:30, we were done, and had nothing to do until 11. Last year, I didn't have a car, so I just spent the downtime being bored with the rest of the group. This year, though, I sped right back home and enjoyed my midmorning.

I went back at 11, in time for the combined group rehearsal. Our finale was a group rendition of Shima Uta. (Watch a video of the song here.) The conductor was Mrs. Hirayama, one of the teachers at Kita Elementary. She's kind but very strict, and doesn't mess around too much with the flowery passive-aggressive formal Japanese speech. I simultaneously enjoyed and loathed her getting everyone lined up correctly. The other women in Chorus D spent the rest of the day bemusedly imitating her frankness.

We'd been preparing for this since Christmas. Sajikibara is the head of the group, but everybody in the chorus handles something administrative: Abiru is the treasurer, Kazumi contacts everyone regarding changes to rehearsal times, Ino photocopies music for everyone, etc. The group doesn't ask me to do anything extra outside of concerts. For the concerts, though, I give the introduction speech for our group. It falls to me as a way to make up for all the other stuff I don't do for the group. This one was no different.

As far as speeches go, it's not a bad deal: each time, they've given me the basic script to learn. Each time, they tell me I don't have to memorize it, but I do anyway. This concert is a pretty big deal for us--I think we're the main organizers of the whole thing--so we try to make the most of the chance to recruit new members. Kazumi gave me a script detailing what we've done over the past year:

こんにちは。　私たちはコーラス・Dと言います。
Good afternoon. We're called Chorus D.
現在女性８名男性５名の１３名で歌っています。
At present there are thirteen of us: eight women and five men.
去年は老人ホームへ慰問に行ったり、釜山で行われた国際コーラスフェスティバルに参加したりしました。
Last year we paid a visit to retirement homes and participated in an international chorus festival held in Busan.
コーラスに参加して楽しく歌ってみたいと思ってくれた方は、ぜひ私たちといっしょに歌いましょ！
For those persons who do us the favor of thinking they want to participate and have fun singing with us in the chorus, by all means, let's sing together!
水曜日交流センターのリハーサル室でお待ちしています。
We're waiting every Wednesday in the Exchange Center rehearsal room.
今日は釜山のコーラスフェスティバルでも歌った「朧月夜」とたけみつ・とうるの曲から「○と△の歌」と「島へ」の３曲歌を歌います。どうぞお聞きください。
Today we'll sing 'Oboro dzuki yo'--which we sang at the Busan chorus festival--and 'Circles and Triangles Song' and 'To the Island'--by Toru Takemitsu--for a total of three songs. Please listen.
アダム・シャーリーでした。　ありがとう。　Thank you.　감사합니다.
This was Adam Shirley. Thank you. (In Japanese) Thank you. Thank you. (In Korean)

I didn't get the script until Saturday night, so suffice it to say I spent all day Sunday chanting the speech to memorize it. When it came time for our set, I had it memorized, but the flow was throwing me off a little. (The line that begins with 'For those persons...' was especially difficult. Relative clauses in Japanese get longer to the left of the noun, which, combined with all the deferential and formal constructions Kazumi threw in, kept confusing me around that part.) In front of the audience, I actually got through that long phrase, but lost my rhythm and had to pause for a beat before finishing the sentence. The audience apparently understood me perfectly, and sympathized with me, because everyone laughed and applauded me when I finished the sentence. I made it through the rest of the speech, getting more than a few laughs at the trilingual 'Thank you' conclusion.

Somewhere between the end of my speech and the start of our first song, I looked around the audience and saw Joe, Rose, and Kim. While this didn't make me any happier about my speech--I'd kind of hoped nobody else there would recognize me--I was thrilled they'd made it.

Our set went well. We basses did fine, which allowed the women to wow the crowd with their harmonies. The finale was a lot of fun: after we sang the first verse, Mrs. Hirayama invited the audience to join in. By the end, the auditorium was filled with a few hundred voices singing in unison.

Afterwards, I mingled in the lobby with my fellow Anglophones. They said we were great, which made me reconsider how well my section did. One of Kim's junior high schools had performed, and she knew all the kids. We talked for a bit, then I broke away to help clean up.

English Day Party

2009-02-06T08:46:00.001+09:00

As with most school events, English Day was celebrated with an office party that night. We all got together at a local restaurant and ate, drank, and talked a ton. I've gotten increasingly braver with my Japanese lately, so I tried talking about deeper things than the usual "What's your favorite Japanese word?" and "Oh, you're very good with chopsticks!"

I was talking with Tsuiki and Takimoto, and we got on the subject of protests. I asked why there aren't many protests in Japan. They explained that the Japanese will demonstrate and protest when it involves international affairs, but with domestic issues, they're very submissive. (I've had lots and lots of time to observe and think on this, and hopefully I'll get around to putting those thoughts on paper at some point.) Slowly, our conversation brought in a couple of others at the table, including the vice principal, Tanaka-sensei.

Tanaka was the first person I met from Kita Sho. My first year, before I got a car, he ferried me to and from Tsushima High and Kita Sho. His English was about as good as my Japanese, but we laughed it off and understood each other through loanwords and charades. Slowly, as my Japanese got better and I got more comfortable with the teachers at Kita, he and I have been able to talk more easily about more things.

First he brought up something about the American financial crisis. He pointed out--very carefully and politely--that it seemed many Americans spend all our income on things like shopping. He fumbled a little with a concept, mainly because he had to put it in terms simple enough for me to understand, and it took me a minute to realize he was talking about credit. I'd managed to stop noticing that nobody in Japan uses credit cards or personal checks--all face-to-face transactions are made in cash. His point was that a benefit of dealing with cash is that you're always aware of what you're spending, and you can never spend more than you have.

Soon he and I were the only ones in on our conversation. We moved on to random things involving Japanese and American culture. He explained, for example, that part of traditional Japanese etiquette is leaving the last piece of food on the plate. He illustrated this by pointing out a fried shrimp that had been sitting on its serving dish for a long time, while people ate from other courses. Of course, he added, the younger generation doesn't always abide by it, which was illustrated by Takimoto taking that last shrimp.

Talk turned to my plans after I return to America, and I explained that I'd like to be a teacher. This led to talking about teaching styles, specifically with foreign languages. Tanaka argued that it's more difficult to learn a language "through your eyes and head"--as is done in language instruction--than it is "through your ears," the way we learn from our mothers. He explained that most of his English education was individual, with his time spent poring over texts, memorizing sentences, and listening to tapes of English conversation. I told him of how much swifter elementary students are than high schoolers when it comes to English education, citing the similarity in lessons used in the 4th and 10th grades. He suggested having high school English teachers observe an elementary English class sometime.

As the party wound down, and the guys started showing the effects of their drinks, I got several compliments about my Japanese. Umeno in particular called me Japanese. This led to somebody calling me "the last samurai," which got laughs and agreement from quite a few teachers. (I was sporting a beard at the time, so I particularly enjoyed the comparison.) There wasn't a second party, and everybody went home by 9:30, providing further evidence that the amount of time Japanese spend partying each night is directly proportional to the amount of time they spend at work. In the education field, anyway.

Dr. Seuss and English Day

2009-02-06T08:36:00.002+09:00

I went to my elementary school today. Most of the day was normal for my visits to Kita Sho: the teachers explained the lesson plan, I studied Japanese in my free time, and the kids were simply awesome. (I taught a food shopping dialogue with the fourth-graders, identical for the most part to the same lesson I'd used with my high school freshmen.)

Every year, the school has an English Day, and they gather as many ALTs as possible to play games and have fun with the students. Last year, they got all eight of us--no small feat. This year, they were only able to get the four southerners, plus Tsuiki, a local Japanese lady who speaks excellent English. English Day officially began at 2: all the students gathered in the gym, and they made a line of flower arches for us to enter through. Two students were the official announcers, and the principal gave an opening speech in well-practiced English. We each gave our self-introductions, and then the activities began.

The five of us each had a station, and the students would go from station to station every ten minutes. We each had prepared an activity: Tsuiki taught them one of those clapping rituals girls do all the time at recess in elementary school. Rose played musical chairs. Gavin had the students design and create their own flags. Joe had them make Valentines. I decided to be bold: I brought in Horton Hears a Who! and read it to the students.

I tried. Really I did. Tsuiki taught me a quick explanation of the book's rhyme to give to the students, and I read as loudly and clearly as I could. I used different voices for the narrator, Horton, the kangaroo, and the Mayor. (I even tried using a tiny voice for the Mayor and the Whos.) It didn't work out very well. It just wasn't the right setting for story time, situated as I was right after Valentines and flag making. I tried, though, and the kids paid attention to me, but it definitely wasn't a success.

We finished by playing a game of Sharks. The gym floor is strewn with several hula hoops. The hula hoops are islands, and everything else is the ocean. One person is the shark, and everyone else is a swimmer. A teacher calls out "Swim! Swim! Swim!" and everyone swims casually, while the shark swims among them. At some point the teacher calls "Shark!" and everyone races for the nearest island. The shark tries to grab as many people as he can, but he can't hurt anybody on an island. Anyone he catches becomes a shark.

This was a hit with the kids. The call of "Shark!" always got a scream from all 130 kids as they made a beeline for the closest island. Hula hoops were taken away after each round, until eventually there was only one hula hoop and about 20 sharks.

After this, English Day was formally ended. As with all Japanese events, I do mean formally: the vice principal thanked us in English, and the two student announcers officially ended the assembly.

New Year's Parties

2009-01-30T15:02:00.001+09:00

The day after I got back, Tsushima High had its New Year's staff party. Our big get-togethers are always at the same restaurant--called Shimamoto--probably because there aren't many places in Tsushima that can accommodate parties of fifty. I talked to Yamamoto-sensei, one of the first-year grammar teachers, and he explained that he chose his field because of an awesome grammar teacher he had in high school. That's the kind of inspiration I dream of being for my students.

Toward the end of the party, Murahashi-sensei--named the host of the party--did impressions of some teachers. He's a clever guy, sometimes obnoxiously so, and loves to imitate others. He nailed the voice and mannerisms of a couple of teachers before he began taking requests. Somebody shouted out "Adam!" After the briefest of pauses, he knelt down and said "Tsumaranai mono desu ga..." That basically means "It's not much, but...", and it's what I learned in high school is appropriate to say when presenting omiyage. It's apparently decently formal Japanese, and nobody else at school says it when giving omiyage. Everybody's amused when I say it, and everybody applauded when Murahashi did it in imitation of me.

On Monday the 24th, I had a party with Chorus D. It was primarily a party to celebrate our getting ready for the big concert in February, but it had a little bit of New Year'sness to it. There were only five of us, and we met at a nifty little restaurant that lets you do your own tempura. I had fun talking to them and eating... for the first two hours. After that, I was ready to go home. They kept right on eating and drinking, though. It wasn't like they were excluding me: they were asking me questions about life in Tsushima, explaining some bit of Tsushima dialect that somebody had used, and things like that. Even after a year and a half, I'm still not used to sitting in a restaurant for longer than two hours, eating and drinking nonstop. It didn't help that we were sitting on cushions on the floor.

Anyway, the party lasted until midnight. Midnight. I haven't been that mad in a long, long time. I kept waiting for the group to leave the restaurant and go on to a bar or karaoke, so I could casually bow out. They never did, and I didn't want to be the only one to stand up and leave, so I sat. I tried my best to understand how these people--three of them married, two of those with children--could be out at midnight on a Monday. I found myself wondering what was wrong with me that I, the youngest in the group by at least ten years, was the crankiest about being out so late. At any rate, I learned never to go out with them during the week again.

On the last Friday of the month, I was invited to a Toyotama High party for the first time ever. It's not that they aren't welcoming to me, but there's a clear distinction that I'm headquartered at Tsushima High, and that I'm on simply a guest at Toyotama. Anyway, Mr. Masuda (husband of Tsushima's Masuda-sensei) picked me up in Izuhara at 6. He had to pick up some sake on the way to the Grand Hotel. We talked a lot, in his surprisingly good English. He explained that his wife is very shy, and when they travel to English-speaking countries, she feeds him the lines and he speaks for both of them.

I sat next to Iwase-sensei at the party, and talked a lot to her. She, Sunada, and Yoshida all told me I'm great; Iwase went further and said I'm the best ALT she's ever had. (Of course, she's had a maximum of four ALTs. Still.) I apologized for all the poorly planned lessons. She fully understands, because, as she says, I'm not a full teacher. She also explained that she had a total of five classes this year, as opposed to the normal two or three, on top of tennis and the student council. That's why she's been so appreciative of me--every bit of work I do is a bit less for her to worry about in two of her classes.

Decision Time

2009-01-25T15:13:00.000+09:00

Our decisions about recontracting are due the second week in February. Like last year, I waited until I went home for Christmas to do the most thinking about it. It was a lot tougher to decide than it had been last year.

I looked first at how I felt about having stayed a second year. I chose a second year because I wanted the chance to experience a full academic year, and a second chance at teaching the same curriculum. Working with the new teachers would help smooth out my lessons, and being in Japan a second year would help my Japanese tremendously. Several people at the various orientations warned us that the year would pass before we knew it, and they were absolutely right; most of the first year is still a blur in my mind. In my mind, it would have been a shame to finally get situated in Japan, to finally settle into a rhythm with work and life in general, only to up and leave a few months later.

I still fully agree with all those reasons, and am proud of having made that decision. The case for staying a third year is only slightly different. I would get a third crack at the same lessons, giving me even more time to polish and refine the various parts. New teachers would offer new insights and new suggestions on fine-tuning my technique and my lessons. My Japanese would only get better. I would get the chance to attend the graduation of the students who were first-years when I arrived, something that would be enormously emotionally fulfilling as a teacher.

However, after having gone so long away from home, I've begun feeling the need to be back. Sure, two-week visits are great, and they help me stave off homesickness. What I've started feeling is deeper. I need to be home for longer than two weeks. Nobody has made me feel pressured in the slightest about coming home, either--this is entirely me. I have no doubt that all my family and friends would keep right on supporting me for as long as I wanted to stay away from home.

What bothers me is the realization that I'm slowly getting attached here. I can't help but yearn for the same sense of connection and belonging in Japan as I've had in America. I desperately need to be around friends that I can relate to, that I can talk to and bond with. The other ALTs are great people, but we stay so busy with our schools that we don't get to see each other that often. I've made a couple of friends at school, and all the teachers are great coworkers, but everybody stays so busy with work that there's not much time to hang out with those few teachers who don't have families at home. My Japanese and their English are insufficient for any of the deep conversations I took for granted back home.

If I stayed another year, I don't see myself getting around that. Every day I spend here, increasingly frustrated with my inability to communicate on a deep level with any of the people I see every day, is one more day since the last time I saw my family and friends at home. Despite the unconditional love and acceptance I get from all of them, I understand that those relationships can only survive so long on occasional visits, postcards, and the occasional phone call. While I have no doubt I'll always be able to hit it off with any of my friends after any number of years without having seen them, the familiarity won't be as strong. I don't want to lose any more of that connection than I have already.

Nothing about the drawbacks taints the benefits of staying or going. It'd break my heart to say goodbye to the teachers and students, while I'd be overjoyed to be a domestic phone call and a reasonably short drive from friends and family; it'd hurt a great deal to miss even more of my cousins' remaining childhood, while every day I'd keep on falling in love with my job all over again. I think part of being a grown-up is having to choose not between the right thing and the wrong thing, but between two great things that have fine print.

With all this in mind (and a lot more, believe me), I've decided not to recontract. I'm not deciding to go home for forever and ever amen, but that I just need to be at home for a while. Now I get to spend six months saying goodbye.

January Wrap-up

2009-01-25T14:55:00.001+09:00

The Saturday after I got back, I met Rose for lunch at Mos. We hung out for the afternoon and cooked spaghetti together at my place. It turned out pretty nice, especially with garlic butter melted on slices of a baguette from the local bakery.

Monday was Coming of Age Day. Not wanting to waste a three-day weekend, Joey, Joe, and I had talked back in December about going to Korea. I was kind of pooped from the trip, so I decided to pass. Besides, I'd rather not spend a couple of hundred dollars to be in freezing weather--even if there's Pizza Hut and Krispy Kreme--when I can wait until summer.

On Tuesday, I had one of my last classes with the Toyotama third-years. I'd spent a couple of lessons trying to teach them basic English rhyme and rhythm. They'd done fine with rhymes involving sounds that are the same (or almost the same) in English and Japanese (bed, sweet, etc.). Sounds not present in Japanese gave them trouble, but they got the gist of it. I even went so far as to try iambic pentameter, solely to get them to accent syllables. They were highly amused, and they got the idea, but I don't think it stuck.

Anyway, Tuesday I brought a Dr. Seuss book with me. Inspiration had struck at the Barnes & Noble in Springfield, and I'd bought three of his books. Looking at all three--Horton Hears a Who!, Oh, the Places You'll Go!, and And to Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street--Iwase-sensei and I decided on the last one, mainly because it was the shortest. The six of us sat in a circle and took turns reading a page. It didn't work out very well, but they picked up on the rhyme pattern.

I went up to Joey's on the weekend of the 24th. Bracing myself for a day and night of the usual craziness, I was surprised to find Joey, Mike, and Gavin bundled up in blankets watching Chappelle's Show. They had stayed up late partying the night before, and the hangover plus the bitter cold had taken the wind out of their sails. Kim and Joe came over, and the six of us hung out. Mike made tortillas, and we grilled them up and filled them with stir-fry chicken and vegetables. We didn't actually get dinner ready until 10:30, which is pretty much the norm when we party at Joey's.

The night was astoundingly chill. Mike, Kim, Joe, and I played Scrabble, and I used all seven of my letters for the first time ever. ('Citizens' with both blank tiles! 82 points, baby!) We moved on to poker, which we played (for no money) until around midnight. Kim went home, and the rest of us went to bed with Tropic Thunder playing.

Sunday, everybody slept until noon. I found this pretty remarkable, considering we hadn't been up all that late, and there hadn't been any serious drinking. Joe and I headed over to a friend's apartment to see their new cat. They're not technically supposed to have pets, but some of us have pretty relaxed offices who don't really keep up with us. The cat's name was Nagasaki, in honor of the place she was bought. She goes by "Saki" for short. Joe made the awesomely cruel joke that they should get a second cat and name it Hiro.

I headed out soon after, and took my time driving back. I went to Miuda beach, which looked just as gorgeous as it always does. I took a walk along the shore and passed a man and his granddaughter. He struck up conversation with me, asking where I'm from and where I work. He recommended I visit the Korean overlook, a designated spot from which you can see Busan on a clear day. He proceeded to give me advice that was highly reminiscent of small-town-gas-station-attendant directions: "head yonder way about six blocks, hang a left after the big pine tree--you can't miss it; if you see the Piggly Wiggly, you've gone too far." I took his advice, and eventually found the overlook. It was kinda hazy, though, so all I got as a gorgeous view of Tsushima.

Incident at Toyotama

2009-01-22T15:10:00.002+09:00

The school day for teachers officially begins with a morning meeting. The principal and head of the office enter the staff room, the bell rings (8:20 at Tsushima High, 8:30 at Toyotama), and the vice principal calls the meeting to order. He greets everyone--"Good morning!"--everyone bows and greets him in return--"Good morning!"--and he hands the meeting over to the head teacher. (The head teacher is a post assigned every year by the principal and vice principal.) The head teacher makes basic announcements involving things like changes to the day's schedule and upcoming events. Other teachers who have announcements to make are given the chance to do so. The vice principal will ask if there are any other announcements; if there are none, he will close the meeting: "That's all; yoroshiku onegaishimasu."

Today, at Toyotama, the last announcement was made by Komatsu-sensei, the dean of students. His tone was very somber and regretful, almost ashamed, as he explained an incident involving two first-year students a few days prior. There was an accompanying handout with the boys' names and a detailed report, but I couldn't read enough of it or understand enough of what Komatsu was saying to keep up. At one point, Komatsu's eyes were glassy; discreetly looking around the staffroom, I saw a couple of other teachers similarly flustered. All I could go by was tone of voice and body language, which let my imagination throw together possible explanations: had the two boys been in a fight? Had they been caught smoking? Had their uniforms not been up to standard?

After the meeting, I asked Iwase-sensei what had happened. The week before, it turned out, the boys had been throwing bits of eraser during class. Some of those bits hit the teacher, who told them to stop. They didn't. This was the same teacher who I had seen yelling at a first-year boy the week before, when that boy had been inexplicably left for a couple of hours in the soundproofed announcement room adjoining the staffroom. As Iwase explained it, I realized that had been the day it had happened, and that was one of the two boys who had done it.

It was also reported that several other teachers had told the same boys to stop doing the same thing. I know of one student who more or less constantly throws bits of eraser during my class (not at me), and Yoshida-sensei's mild scolding never stops him. (ALTs are more or less forbidden from disciplining students, which makes class that much more interesting when I have to fly solo because so-and-so is on a business trip.) It turned out that he was the other student involved in the incident.

After hearing the story from Iwase, I had two diametrically opposed reactions. The first was incredulous: Seriously? Throwing bits of eraser is enough to warrant yelling from the teacher, a ten-minute report during the morning meeting, and accompanying documentation? Warn the student, call his parents, and if he keeps doing it, kick him out of class. The second was disturbed: This is a big deal. Students simply don't display this kind of willful disobedience here. Sure, plenty of them misbehave and most of them get away with it, but to undermine a teacher's authority right in front of him?

Both of those boys seemed to be on much better behavior the rest of the week.

Third-year Easter lessons

2009-01-08T10:27:00.002+09:00

As soon as I got back to Tsushima, I went to lunch at Mos. Halfway into my shrimp burger, I got a phone call from Kurokawa-sensei. He apologized for calling me so soon after I got back, but wanted to let me know about a change to the schedule: the next day, Thursday, would use Monday's schedule, which meant we had our third-year class together. Because normal classes for seniors end in January, it also meant that would be our next-to-last class together.

I finished lunch and headed up to school. He and I talked it over, and decided to do an Easter lesson. Despite Easter being a full three months away, I wanted them to get to dye eggs.

I'll save for later all the details about the preparations, but we had the students make pairs, gave each pair a boiled egg, and let them decorate it with crayons and markers, and then dye it with food coloring.

Everybody hated the smell of the vinegar, and none of the students believed me when I swore the egg would taste fine. As I expected, the girls went nuts with decoration, covering their eggs in flowers, hearts, their friends' names, etc. The boys did a good job decorating, too. One of the boys drew boobies on his, and proudly showed it to everyone--girls included.

Back to Japan

2009-01-05T10:03:00.002+09:00

My flight out of Springfield was scheduled for a not-too-unreasonable 8:25 departure. Mom, Dad, and I set out right on time. We got to the airport, checked in, and checked my luggage without any weight problems. (Unlike back in August. With a little while to spare, we sat down for breakfast at the airport restaurant. I ordered the smallest-looking menu item I could find, and still ended up with a stack of buttermilk pancakes four inches tall. Knowing better than to stuff myself before going through all the drama of saying goodbye and being in transit for 20-some-odd hours, I only had a few bites.

I said goodbye, feeling bad for being in a hurry, but afraid of missing my flight. I got to the gate to find absolutely nothing going on, and immediately thought they'd already finished boarding. As it turned out, the flight was delayed until 9.

I was worried about making my connection in Dallas on time, but the Dallas-Narita flight was also delayed about an hour for de-icing. One of the last things I remember before passing out was seeing icicles hanging from the plane wings.

During the last few hours of the flight, I wondered what would happen once we landed: I had to take an hour-plus bus from Narita to Haneda, and the combined delays meant I'd have just about that much time before my Haneda-Fukuoka flight departed.

As we landed in Tokyo, though, JAL announced that anybody with connections should check in as soon as they got off the plane. I wasn't sure what they meant until I got to the end of the boarding breezeway thingy, when I saw desks set up with signs indicating connecting flight numbers. Finding mine, I was given a ticket for a new flight, this one from Narita to Fukuoka. Sweet!

I was standing in line at immigration, fishing my customs form out of my bag, when I heard my full name. My first thought was that someone had great English pronunciation, and then I realized I recognized the voice. I looked up to see Clark, a friend from high school. We hadn't seen each other since graduation, and I never knew he had any interest in Japanese. He'd been an ALT for a couple of years, and had stayed on in Japan after finishing the program. He was considering law school--in Japan--but hadn't decided yet. And he was standing in front of me in the immigration line at Tokyo Narita.

I made my Fukuoka connection with no problem, checked in at my hotel, and passed out.

The next day, I went back to Tsushima on the midmorning flight. I had to pay ¥4500 (≈$50) for exceeding the baggage weight allowance, which wasn't bad considering I was 27kg over.

Computer trouble

2009-01-02T09:21:00.001+09:00

Remember that one time, a couple of weeks ago, when I talked about avoiding buying things I don't need? You're going to think this post contradicts everything I said then, but I promise it doesn't.

I got this laptop for Christmas in 2005. From that day on, it's been quietly reliable. (It's amazing how long these things will last when open water bottles don't get knocked over onto them.) I've brought it to work with me every day in my JanSport backpack (itself at least ten years old), and it's gotten me through countless slideshows and trivia games for classes.

When I leave school, I stop at the genkan to change from my school shoes into my outside shoes. I pack the school shoes in my backpack, since I alternate between Tsushima High and Toyotama High. As I do this, I put my backpack down. I try to put it down gently, but sometimes (especially when I had to catch the bus, before getting my license) it makes a less-than-soft landing.

Thankfully, this hasn't kept the computer from functioning. Sometime around October, though, I noticed it was making a rather loud whirring noise. After a few minutes, I realized it was coming from the heat sink and cooling fan. The best I can figure out is that one of its harder falls (or accumulative damage from several smaller falls) jostled the fan just enough to cause the vibration of the spinning blades to rattle the casing. It doesn't hurt the performance of the laptop, but it does make a distinct noise, especially noticeable in quiet staffrooms.

This bothered me, but I wasn't about to buy a new laptop just because my current one sounds funny. A couple of weeks before I flew home for Christmas, though, it got worse. I was Skypeing a friend of mine, and she was having trouble hearing me. I tried everything I could think of--restarting my computer, changing the webcam's USB port, closing everything but Skype--but nothing fixed it.

A day or two later, I was listening to music on my computer through my headphones. I turned on a quiet song, and had to turn up the volume to hear it better. As I turned it up, though, I noticed a distinct whirring coming through my headphones. That was the problem: the vibrations from the whirring fan were being picked up by my headphones and my webcam's microphone.

I don't need my computer to run games spectacularly, start up quickly, or run quietly. I do, however, need it to talk to family and friends back home. Counting myself lucky for the problem having occurred right before I went home, I tried troubleshooting. I poked around through Google, finding several spare parts stores, but nobody carried the right part for my model. I resigned myself to getting a new laptop.

I waited for the after-Christmas sales, and made a trip to Best Buy and Circuit City every day after the road trip. Scoffing at anything over $1,000, I kept my eye on the clearance models. I saw several Vaio laptops that fit the bill, and waited a couple of days, wondering if the price would fall even more.

I finally found a returned item whose price sticker didn't match the model printed on the box. When I asked a worker about it, and she scanned it, the price turned out to be a bit higher. According to the box, it ran Vista 64-bit, and included a Blu-Ray player and burner. I didn't care in the slightest about any of those, but it did explain the jump in price. There was a 20% discount on returned items for that day, though, so the price ended up being under $600.

More than a bit nervous about such a big purchase, and wary of its having been returned already, I triple-checked on the return policy before toting it up to the checkout line. I got it home, fired it up, and made sure to check everything out before even thinking about relaxing.

Vista 64-bit is a headache sometimes, mainly because I can't find any free firewall programs compatible with it. (ZoneAlarm has a free beta available, but it sometimes makes my system crash.) However, it does the one thing I need it to do: it runs Skype. It also has a built-in camera that's much better than my old USB webcam, which is an added bonus.

New Year's Day

2009-01-01T08:44:00.001+09:00

After spending so much of my visit on road trips, I was determined to stay around the house as much as possible the last few days. The plan for New Year's was easy: Georgia football with Dad. He came home from work a little after noon, armed with beer and hot wings.

After watching the Bulldogs finish last season as arguably the hottest team in the country, begin this season #1, fall in the polls after beating the crap out of admittedly inferior teams, get destroyed by Florida, and edged by Tech, I'd set my expectations pretty low. It's a good thing: the Capital One Bowl was close for most of the way. Thankfully, Georgia finally woke up and finished off Michigan State in the third quarter.

Beer, hot wings, and Georgia football with Dad: it was a good day.

On the road again

2008-12-31T15:03:00.003+09:00

We woke up and got ready in time to meet folks at Shoney's for breakfast at 9. On the way out, I stopped to get a picture of Betty's grease cup.

In my experience, southern cooking revolves around grease, especially from pork and bacon. Whenever you cook sausage or bacon, you pour the drippings from the skillet into a jar or cup. Next time you cook, you grease the pan with those leftover drippings. That means bacon grease is an active ingredient in any traditional southern food involving a frying pan or skillet. I like this.

Mom never did this, because she wisely saw the drawbacks of using grease as an
ingredient when your family doesn't work out in the sun all day burning calories. I've since seen Granny and now Betty with a Pyrex measuring cup full of grease. I especially like that the stuff sort of settles into bands distinguishing the different sources, looking a lot like strata in a rock bed.

We had initially planned on eating at a local cafe, but it had only recently closed down. After a quick round of phone calls--with Betty using her cell phone--the three of us arrived at Shoney's right on time. Ronnie had to work, but his wife, Sherry, wanted to make sure she got to see us. Debbie came, too, along with her girls, Jennifer and Renee. Jennifer brought Jacob, her little boy.

We had a great time catching up with everyone. (Just like me, Mom hadn't seen any of them since Gatlinburg a year and a half prior.) Jacob, all of two years old, was already forming complete sentences. He was absolutely over the moon for Betty, and would readily do anything she told him to.

Saying goodbye was hard, like it always is. Mom and I weren't in a tremendous hurry--especially since Dalton is on the way to Missouri from Toccoa, knocking three hours off the trip--but Mom had to be at work the next morning, so we plowed on down the road. I did all the driving, just like on the way down. And, just like on the way down, we spent most of the time talking. We managed to go into things like environmentalism, education, and politics in general.

We got back home at about 9, ending a six-day, 2,000-mile road trip. I went to bed well before midnight, not even noticing the significance of the date until the next morning.

Family in Dalton

2008-12-30T14:45:00.002+09:00

After just a couple of missed turns, we got to the nursing home just fine. (We both recognized it as the same complex where my great-grandma stayed several years ago.) As we were pulling in, we passed Betty, who was pulling out at the same time. We stopped the car and leered at her until she took a good look at us. The grin on her face made the surprise worth it. She was going back to the house to rest up, so Mom and I decided to visit with Robert and my aunt Debbie.

We sat for a while talking to Robert and Debbie. Robert had recently suffered a mild stroke, which had prompted him being taken to the hospital and released to the nursing home. He wasn't having a very good day, and I tried my best not to wonder whether he recognized me or not. Mom and I had talked about it coming in, and we were both prepared for the possibility of his not remembering us. Debbie provided more than enough conversation to make up for Robert's silence.

Mom and I headed back to the house to visit with Betty. Not wanting her to cook, we took her out to dinner at Cracker Barrel. She was every bit as sharp as I could remember her having been all my life, though over the years she's come to look a lot like her mother, my great-grandma. We had a great time talking and catching up over dinner, then headed back to the house.

Betty and Robert have been in that house over fifty years. With the exception of central air conditioning being added and the bathroom being remodeled a few years ago, the house and the property haven't changed my entire life. The way I hear it, Robert worked as a welder, and both of them managed a full vegetable garden. I'm not sure exactly how many different things Betty grew in the garden, but she likely grew some combination of corn, tomatoes, sweet potatoes, butter beans, green beans, okra, squash, and collard greens.

Regardless of what was actually grown in the garden, she can cook the most amazing food I've ever tasted. She learned that from her mother, and in turn passed it on to Debbie. Mom got a good bit of it from a combination of her mother (Betty's sister) and from spending summers at Betty and Robert's. I've only just recently become interested in cooking, so I'm suddenly fascinated by the art.

Betty also did a lot of canning, pickling, and freezing with all the extra food they had. She told us about finding frozen peas a few years ago that were dated 10-15 years prior, and that they still tasted fine.

Several different nurses, upon examining Robert over the past couple of years, have raved about how healthy he is for his age. When they ask what he's been eating, his answer explains everything: home-cooked fresh vegetables, practically every day, for practically his entire life.

In addition to vegetables, they also have apple trees in the yard. Betty named off several apple varieties I'd never heard of; apparently they have one of each kind of tree. They also have pecan trees, which had dropped pecans that fall. That explained the buckets and buckets of pecans in the landing of the house.

The pecan trees had dropped that fall, and she had buckets and buckets to show for it. She insisted that we take some home, so we ended up toting the bucket in the bottom left all the way back to Missouri.

We sat up and just talked. Whether because of how long it'd been since I'd seen them, how long I'd been out of the country, or my being (I guess) a grown-up--or all three--I was perfectly happy sitting up talking. I learned that Betty and Robert signed a $5000 note on the house in '53, making monthly installments of $35.

Betty's always been a huge bookworm. (I wonder if that has something to do with why Mom and Dad read to Heather and me every night when we were little, until we were old enough to read to them.) She still tears through old paperbacks, and her guest rooms are full of kid's books that have been read by four generations in the past fifty years. She really liked my Reader, and seemed to be considering getting one. The thought of my 70+ year old great-aunt using the Sony PRS-505--something I have no doubt she could do effortlessly--makes me smile.

Mom's cousin Ronnie dropped by for a visit. He's a CPA, and before that night, I'd never heard him talk much about his job. None of us could quite figure out what brought it on, but he told us several great stories from his early days as an accountant, involving the ways businesses would try to cook their books and the ways he found to catch them.

He and I spent a long time talking about Japan. He asked me more thoughtful and pointed questions than anyone else has, and I was struck by how interested he was. With most people--even my family--I try to refrain from going into fully-detailed stories, for fear of boring them or sounding conceited. I know folks in my family love me and want to know about my adventures, but I'm also pretty sure there's a limit. Ronnie made it clear he wanted all the details.

Debbie came in at about 9, after having gotten Robert to bed. The five of us stayed up talking until what must have been 11, before Debbie and Ronnie went back home. Mom, Betty, and I stayed up until about midnight talking.

Navigating Dalton

2008-12-30T12:00:00.002+09:00

Mom and I headed out Tuesday morning at about 9:30. Though I felt much better than last year about the time I'd spent in Toccoa, it still hurt to leave. It's still hard to get used to not being an hour away from Granny and Papa's house.

Dad's people lives in and around Toccoa. Mom's people are centered more in Dalton. I hadn't been able to visit last Christmas, which meant the last time I'd seen any of them was the summer before JET, when all of us were up in Gatlinburg. I'd been thinking about stopping in for a visit, and Mom was up for it, so we decided to drop in.

On the way out, though, we stopped in Atlanta for an early lunch at The Varsity. I've never much cared for the food, but it's a tradition in the Atlanta area, and I wanted to take some pictures, having just taught my students a restaurant lesson. I thoroughly enjoyed my slaw dog and burger.

We decided not to call and let anyone know we were coming. (Looks like I get that trait honestly.) We pulled up to my great-aunt and -uncle's house, only to find they were gone. My cousin was raking leaves for my aunt, and we asked him where everyone was. My uncle Robert has Alzheimer's, and they'd been preparing for a while to put him in a nursing home. Betty and Robert were up at one of those homes, and we asked my cousin for directions there.

What followed was one of the most confusing sets of directions I've ever been given. I'm generally pretty good about landmarks, but only when I'm familiar with the area. I've been to Dalton twice in the past four years, and those have been the only times I've actually driven in the city. It's my fault for not coming to visit more often; if I had, I would've understood better. Mom didn't do much better.

Mom probably would have had no problem if the landmarks he gave were from when she was little, but parts of Dalton have apparently changed a lot. That left us both at a loss and forced us to use basic terms like road names and highway numbers. My cousin, a lifelong local, kept referring to things like "the bypass" and "the [name of newly-built restaurant]." Rather than take the time to get him to spell it out for us, we listened, interpreted what we could, and decided to wing it.

18 friends in 36 hours, part quatre

2008-12-29T14:21:00.001+09:00

I wanted to get over to Alpharetta to see Augustin and Lada, but I was running out of time. I had several people left to see in Athens, and Atlanta traffic was already starting to build up heading into afternoon rush hour.

I headed back to the Five Points Jittery Joe's, this time to see Ski. We had a great time catching up on the past two years--she's another I didn't get to talk to on my last visit--and talking about our plans. She's working on her M.Ed in School Library Media, and is head-over-heels in love with her field. She gushed about it to me, thoroughly dispelling the image I had of what being a school librarian entails. (The last time I paid attention to a school librarian, she was teaching us how to use the then-brand-new computerized card catalog.)

Hearing her describe it, the job certainly appealed to me. She told me about schools where the librarian works with the teachers to help integrate media center resources (books, video, internet) in the students' everyday lessons. That kind of interdisciplinary collaboration is right up my alley.

While she was at it, Ski went ahead and inspired me some more: she told me all about the GACE, a way for me to be certified to teach in public schools without having to invest beforehand all the time and money in a M.Ed. Ski rocks.

After saying goodbye, I headed to Watkinsville. Only halfway sure of where it was, I found my way to Jean's new restaurant. Called simply "Inoko Express," it was tucked away in a new shopping center. As soon as I walked in and headed up to the register, I heard a familiar voice call out in a lovable accent, "Whadayou doing?"

Jean gave me a big hug and showed me her restaurant. It's a much smaller operation than the full-blown steakhouse we're both used to. We both understand, though, that she'll never have half the headaches with hers that Mr. Inoko had running the big one.

She asked me all kinds of questions about me and about Japan in general. Having gone so long without talking to her, I noticed just how much she acts like a mother to everyone--just like Mom does with all her employees. No wonder I enjoyed working for her so much. After talking about me for a few minutes, we shifted over to her. She had tons and tons of things to talk about; I could tell she hadn't been able to vent to anyone in a while. (A small but nontrivial drawback to such a small operation: it's lonely at the top when you've got no assistant managers.)

She'd quickly learned just how many headaches she'd failed to anticipate, headaches that come part and parcel with owning your own business. (I don't mean to sound like I'd be able to anticipate them, but I've heard Mom and Dad talk about them for years now.) She'd been working seven days a week for a while--lunch and dinner shifts--and was clearly worried about building the business.

Despite all the problems, it was plain that she wasn't even thinking about giving up. She was so proud of the place, and of herself for taking such a big step, that I wanted to hug her again. So I did. She wouldn't let me take a picture with her, worried as she always has been about how she looks, so I had to settle for just saying goodbye.

My next stop was Athens proper, and another new-ish Inoko Express. This one was started about a year before by Tetsu, who had for years been the kitchen manager at the main Inoko steakhouse. Tetsu whipped me into shape when I was promoted to manager, and it took me a long, long time to learn how he (and, by extension, Mr. Inoko) wanted me to work. Being in Japan has done wonders for me: I understand perfectly his and Inoko's reasons for having such expectations of their workers in general and managers in particular.

Anyway, I showed up in the middle of a bit of a rush. Tetsu didn't hesitate to show me the place anyway, asking all about me and Japan. I told him I was thinking about leaving Japan after July (more on that later), and he told me that was a good idea, given Japan's recession and the possibility of anti-foreigner sentiment rising. We didn't get to spend as much time talking, as there wasn't a place to sit down, but--unlike Jean--he didn't mind taking a picture with me.

After leaving Tetsu, I headed back to Cord's. Cord, being as flighty and bad at planning as I am, understood just how tentative my plans were. He invited me to a goodbye dinner they were having for Jeremy, telling me to show up whenever I could. I made it by about 8, and found Cord, Beth, Jeremy, Brigitte, Adam Z, and Clay, relaxing in the kitchen.

The menu was prime rib with mashed potatoes and green bean casserole. I asked if I'd already missed it, which they all found amusing. They told me they'd put the prime rib in at about 5. I know nothing about prime rib; I asked if that meant it was almost ready. Turns out those things take a while to cook. They weren't expecting it to be ready until 11.

I did a little catching up with Clay, learning that he'd started working for DFCS, and was thinking about getting into social work. I helped Cord slice some potatoes for boiling, which gave us time to scheme. (More on that much, much later.)

Not wanting to get back to Toccoa too late, I had to leave. I said my goodbyes, thanked them all for making time to see me, and headed out. The trip back was awfully nostalgic, as I've made the Athens-Toccoa drive on Highway 106 easily a hundred times since 2001.

18 friends in 36 hours, part trois

2008-12-29T14:00:00.002+09:00

I woke up at about 8, had a quick shower, and managed to have a cup of tea with Cord and Beth before Cord had to go to work. After he left, Beth and I talked for a bit. I knew I had a lot of folks still to see, so I headed out.

My first stop was Duluth to meet up with Khanh. Khanh's one of my best friends from Inoko. She was a waitress while she worked on her Chemistry degree, and now she's trying to get into pharmacy school. My last visit to Georgia was too short for us to meet up, so this time we both planned ahead for it. She met me in the shiny new car she bought and gave me a combined birthday/Christmas present: the first two Twilight books. All I had for her was a dinky stuffed Cookie Monster, but she didn't seem to mind.

She drove us to a not-quite-nearby Vietnamese restaurant so we could have phở. She told me all about her mom visiting from Vietnam for Khanh's UGA graduation, and the cross-country road trip they took. She's thinking about doing pharmaceutical research in Africa, if she can get her pharmacy degree.

After a much-too-quick brunch, she drove me back to my car. I wanted to get a picture, and after a failed attempt in the parking lot, we headed into the nearby PetSmart. We couldn't find any bored idle workers, so I asked a lady in the puppy chow aisle if she wouldn't mind taking a picture. She didn't seem to mind--probably because of how cute Khanh is--and obliged.

We said our goodbyes, and I headed on to my next destination: the Cracker Barrel on Jimmy Carter Boulevard. As fellow polyglots and travelers, Ashley and I have done our best to keep in touch despite our laziness. We picked that Cracker Barrel because she knew I'd love some southern food and because it was the most easily-reached halfway point between us.

Ashley had been a flight attendant for Delta for a few months. She was certified in Spanish, Italian, and Hungarian, which meant she'd been flying regularly to Rome, Budapest, and various places in Latin America. I think that's just about the perfect job for her, as it lets her travel a ton, speak foreign languages almost all the time, yet still live near her family. I hope she realizes it, too.

We spent about two hours catching up and scheming our next moves. Just like with everyone else, I had to leave before I wanted to.

18 friends in 36 hours, part deux

2008-12-28T21:48:00.002+09:00

I left Barnes & Noble at sunset, and headed for Inoko. I worked there for two years, going from waiter to manager, and tried to keep up with everybody after I left. The owner, Mr. Inoko, sold the restaurant back in the fall, with Jean--the general manager, my former boss--setting up her own shop. I didn't know who all had stayed behind, but I wanted to see what had changed.

Besides some new carpet, everything was the same: dark, run-down, but serviceable. I didn't recognize the hostess, but Kelly rounded the corner a minute later. I watched Kelly go from itty bitty waitress to bartender, and heard that she got promoted to my job after I left. She had stayed during the change of ownership, and had been made general manager. I'm all kinds of proud of her, but I don't envy her in the least.

After talking with her for a bit, I said hi to Daniel, one of the chefs. They were in the middle of their dinner shift, obviously, so I didn't spend too much time there.

I had called Cord earlier in the afternoon, and he'd gotten the word out for me. Everyone who was free that night got together at Cali N Tito's. Cord, Jeremy, Adam Z, and Cord's roommate, Beth, were the only ones to make it. This didn't bother me in the least. It ended up being a perfect size for the group: everyone could comfortably hear and talk to everyone else. Last year, more folks showed up, but we were so many that it was hard to get to talk to everyone.

My timing was pretty good, as Jeremy was just about to move to Atlanta to start his electrical engineering degree at Tech. We had a great time just relaxing over dinner, talking about videogames, politics, Athens, and education.

After supper, we went to Hot Corner. Well, we tried going to Hot Corner. We went to the site of what once was Hot Corner. In its place, a bar called Trappeze [sic] has taken over. Hot Corner was once a 24/7 coffee shop where folks would go to study, right in the middle of downtown Athens. Business was declining even before I left for Japan, which is too bad.

Anyway, we talked over a couple of beers. The always-lovely Madeline joined us, having apparently just gotten back in town from Christmas in Atlanta. The group slowly dispersed, most of the people having grown-up stuff like work the next day. With lots to catch up on--I didn't get a chance to talk to her the last time I was in town--Madeline and I went to the Jittery Joe's at Five Points. We got our drinks right as they were closing, so we sat in the car and talked.

Cord had offered to put me up--he's an awesome guy like that--and I crept into the house a little after 3.