Davin Does Japan

THE TOP FIVE: #1 Baird Brewery

2010-07-26T23:06:00.007+09:00

Number one. #1. First place. No doubt.

Japanese beer sucks. I am in the habit of generally qualifying my statements with things like "I think" or "I have heard." But there is no need for that now. I don't think Japanese beer is bad. I know it is. I know it like I know I breathe oxygen. Along with qualifications, I am a fan of colorful adjectives. Japanese beer doesn't even deserve that justice. It sucks.

Now all of that might sound quite harsh, but I would like my readers to fully appreciate the expanse of the hopless desert I have found myself in. I had been here for a few months before I got in good with another ALT, Brian, and he saw that my passion for beer was like his own. Serious passion. So he said he knew a place. We went, I fell in love, and have returned many times since.

Baird Brewery is in Numazu, a port city well known for its fishing industry. It is a 55 minute train ride on the local, costs me 950 yen one way. Then a 30 minute walk from station to pub. Its a pretty natural trip at this point. They now have two other establishments in Tokyo, but the Fishmarket Taproom in Numazu is the original and flagship.

Last week I helped Baird Brewery celebrate its ten year anniversary. It is still a young business, but doing quite well. This year they won three gold medals at the World Beer Cup, tying a Californian brewery for most medals.

On any given day they have about ten year-round taps, and 4-8 seasonals that are always changing. The brewmaster is always experimenting and infusing local ingredients like mikan, yuzu, and tea. One beer used green tea as a source of bitterness instead of hops. While not every beer may be for my palette, they don't ever make a less than great beer.

Never before, and probably never again will I find a brewer that is so aligned with my own preferences. Essentially, they LOVE to use hops. Three of the year-round beers are IPAs. And they are always brewing seasonal India Pale Ales featuring English hops, American hops, or a mix of both. Some truly bitter stuff.

The taproom is cozy place where one pulls up a stump to drink a pint. There is a strong log cabin decor, very warm. Until sunset, the place gets by just fine with the natural light of the big picture window facing toward the bay. Even though it takes me an hour and a half to get there, the place is full of familiar faces. There is a definite community. Locals and commuters, all gathered because they know they found something special. One of the best breweries in the world, growing in the middle of a hopless desert.

Baird Brewery, the Fishmarket Taproom, and all the wonderful folks working and drinking there, will above all, be missed so much. I have a few days left here. Time for one more visit...

More about Baird:

New Huffington Post article

World Beer Cup

Baird Brewing

THE TOP FIVE: #2 Fujisan

2010-07-22T15:36:00.002+09:00

One of the best known and most recognizable mountains in the world sits in my backyard. Or perhaps I am in Fujisan's backyard. It took a few weeks before I first saw it. Especially elusive in the hot summer haze. Winter is when Fuji really dominates the horizon, all skirted in snow. Unless you are behind a hill, Fuji can be seen from all over the place. Visible at three of my six schools, I would steal away to the upper floors in the afternoon, and just stare at the mountain. I stared at it as if in a moment it might be gone. I stared at it in preparation for the days, most days, when it could not be seen. In my final week, hot and humid, I am unlikely to see it again. But mountains are unpredictable, and I retain some hope. One last peak.

I've seen bigger, but nothing compares to Fuji.

THE TOP FIVE: #3 Mikans

2010-07-22T14:54:00.005+09:00

I like fruit. Bananas are solid. Grapes are tasty. Apples have their moments. I never really cared for oranges. Perhaps they were just too much work. Too messy. Whatever the reason, I didn't often bother with them. That changed rather quickly in Japan. Mikans (Japanese oranges) happen to be among the numerous agricultural specialties of Shizuoka, my prefecture. At farms, in yards, and all over the city, trees were full of these little orange balls. They were so readily available that I began packing them in all my lunches. Then teachers, wanting to share their regional heritage, would share even more of the things with me. There was no getting enough. I loved them. And golly were they easy eating! They would get to the point where the orange outer layer was no longer skin, but a loose pouch holding the firm and juicy fruit inside. I have never held a fruit so ready to bust out of its casing. Of course this is all past tense. Mikan season is over, and not soon enough to occur for me. I am glad that the grocer isn't pushing some imported crap upon me, but sad that I had to say goodbye to mikans many months ago.

For me, a mikan is the flavor of Japan.

THE TOP FIVE: #4 Shinkansen/Trains

2010-07-22T14:25:00.006+09:00

It has been two years since I have last operated an automobile. I have been a passenger a few times, but I have gotten by pretty well without driving. For trips around town I usually bike. When I go a little further, I take the train. The Japan Railroad has been quite accomplished in moving me around. For bigger trips I opt to take the Shinkansen (bullet train). There have been a few occasions here where we start tracing lines across an imaginary United States map, wondering where all the hubs could go for American high speed rail. What cities are crucial, what states to bypass. There is nothing like it back home. I remember people getting excited last year when the president was talking about high speed rail. The "high speed" that he was talking about was the same speed that Japan was talking about prior to World War 2.

I will really miss having a good train system.

THE TOP FIVE: #5 Drinking in the Street

2010-07-22T13:47:00.004+09:00

For most of my second year here, I have had an ongoing list loosely rolling around my head. It was a list of my favorite things in Japan. The things that would be hardest to replace, and I would be missing the most. I am inside of my last ten days here. Time really does have a knack for moving fast. There are many unique things that I have experienced. Some well known, some less so. (As a side note: There are no people on the list. I have met some wonderful folks here. I just don't want to place people on the same list as things.) So here it is, straight from the east, we're going live, far from the least, its the Japan Top Five.

#5 Drinking in the Street.

I must admit some reluctance to having this on the list. Being able to have some alcohol out in public is not a cause I fight for, or something to write home about. But it is something that I will certainly miss. It is done well here. People go for a picnic and bring some rice wine. They have a beer at a parade or festival. Movie theatres have beer vending machines. It doesn't cause a scene. Its one more excuse not to sit in some overpriced smokey bar.

My second night in Japan, I was in Tokyo for orientation and we went out to dinner for a prefectural welcoming party, then to karaoke, then one of the ringleaders, a British guy, said "I know a place." So we followed him to a convenience store. He bought everything he needed to mix up some drinks, and a group of us proceeded to sit on the curb and chat until we realized the sun was up and we had to get back to our workshops.

That's something I am going to miss.

Tokyo Marathon 2010

2010-03-14T22:22:00.005+09:00

A couple weeks ago, I ran in a marathon...

Sunday morning I woke up at 5:30. I was within walking distance of a race that was 3.5 hours away. I ate a quiet breakfast in the bathroom while my cheering section was still asleep in the hotel beds. Less than two hours to race time, I wandered out into the morning. I saw a man with a Tokyo Marathon bag, and followed him to the starting line. It was raining. We stood, stretched, and waited in the rain. I felt so weird standing in the middle of 35,000 strangers. I was a cold, wet, bundle of nerves. I did not want to stand next to these people. I wanted to run against them. I am generally a social person, but that morning the only way I could see communicating was by placing one foot in front of the other.

The gun fired and the clock started. Three blocks ahead I could see the confetti canons. We all cheered and slowly made our way forward. Upon reaching the starting line we could begin to jog. It took me a few miles to shake the desire to jog. It didn't feel like a race, the pace was far too relaxed. Anyone fast was way up ahead. I spent half the race trying to accelerate to my desired pace, and the other half maintaining it.

While I never took quitting seriously, it felt like an ongoing mental battle to stay in the race. My body was trained and was doing its job. Nothing was too sore. But my mind kept making suggestions. Everyone was having so much fun on the sidelines. I could be one of those people. No. I had to stay with it. Shut up mind. There was a sign to mark every kilometer. I worked out all the math of what fraction or percentage I had done. Converted it from kilometers to miles. Thought about what pace would put me where and what I needed to do to break my goal

It continued to rain. Rain can add some adrenaline to a five mile workout, but not so much to a twenty-six mile race. That's just wet. The greatest moment arrived as I turned up the street toward Shinagawa and I saw some of the leaders running back down the other lane. Right there it was evident how far ahead they were and how they were in a completely different league. I didn't mind all that. I was thrilled at the realization I was running in the same race as such world class athletes. I wasn't about to challenge any titles, I just want to share the same piece of asphalt.

In addition to the official race food provided along the course, families were handing out sweets and home baked goods. I never partook because I did not include food in my training, but the offerings to the runners were warmly accepted.

It was somewhere around my last few kilometers that the sun broke out. I didn't really notice. I just saw the road ahead. A few bridges into the Tokyo Big Site provided the only course inclines. I lost no stride pushing over them. I continued to count kilometers, but my sense of time as a whole seemed rather muddy. All of a sudden I was dashing through the finish line. After 3 hours and 50 minutes* I stopped running, and I experienced about ten seconds of weightlessness. Then it all got stiff.

Upon signing up for the Tokyo Marathon I set a goal of four hours. I beat that. In doing so, I also beat the time of my friend that encouraged me to sign up. He has informed me of his intentions to run again and beat my time. Once he does this we will go head to head in another race, likely in another country. We shook on this.

*3:50:43 from gun to finish line, but 5-6 minutes less from start line to finish line.

Patrick and I posing with a bunch of our cheering section. It was pretty great to hear my name and see a few familiar faces when I was in the middle of such a crowd. Big high fives to my friends that ran all over Tokyo and bounced from station to station to catch a couple glimpses of my run.

The medal seen around my neck is given to every person that finishes the marathon. I kept the medal around my neck for the following 48 hours, it only came off for showering.

Heading Down South

2010-01-08T23:31:00.010+09:00

Saturday morning, 19th of December, I caught a flight out of Tokyo to Bali, Indonesia. My headphones did not work for the in-flight movie, but the flight was otherwise agreeable. My traveling companion was Jess, another ALT from my city. On arrival, we were hung up getting the Visas, and so we were the last to the luggage claim. The conveyor was stopped and our two bags were in the hands of three uniformed men. With an assertive nature the porters swept us through the final steps of the airport, nearly barking orders at us. “Hand over the pink slip here.” Exchange money there.” Then it was over and they asked for a tip. I rummaged in my fresh envelope of Indonesian cash and gave the man who carried my bag a pink bill. Then the other two put out their hands. Okay, two more notes. The cab ride was near an hour, and about halfway through I decided to count my rupies. My first observation was that the pink bill is 100,000 rupies, or $10. I gave three guys a ten dollar tip each. And so did Jess. $30 rendered for a (no lie) 100 foot walk through the airport, more frustrating than helpful. But that was the racket.

WELCOME TO INDONESIA!

The Airport is actually fairly close to the city center, but traffic gets pretty thick. I have no idea where so many people on scooters need be to going, but there they go. For the first few days we stayed at Sugi Bungalow in Kuta, Bali. Kuta is the tourism focal point of Indonesia. The spring break/Cancun/party central destination of Bali. We stayed about ten minutes of narrow street walking from the ocean. The hotel was a gated compound, complete with broken glass molded into the top of the fence. A pool, outdoor dining area, and a scattering of quaint bungalows gave little reason to leave.

For three days we hoofed it around town enjoying the international cuisine (lots of Mexican) and avoiding being made suckers. Kuta is a playground for tourists (mostly Australians) and a hunting ground for local vendors. I say “local” but it seemed that folks came from all over Indonesia to tap into this thriving tourism community. I have read that tourism has been down due to terrorism in the last decade, but it is hard to imagine there being many more people.

The beach is something else. A few miles of sand against the Indian Ocean. The sunsets are nothing short of amazing. The beach is well attended throughout the day, but especially at dusk the people pour out. And mostly locals at that. Its great to see people recognizing the good stuff that they have. But on the flipside, the beach and water are in a terrible state. Hundreds, no, thousands of fish are washed up dead on the shore. I don’t know what killed them, but I doubt it was kindness. In addition, garbage is everywhere. Not sure if its the locals or the tourists, but its bad.

I wanted to hang around the beach town to observe the Solstice. How grand it was to celebrate my second Summer Solstice of the year. The day loses a little flare being so close to the equator, but I enjoyed it just the same. Unlike those heathens in Japan who celebrate the Equinox. Dinner was at the Havana Club. Great food, good wine, and framed pictures of Che Guevara all over the walls. Then it was bedtime. The morning would include an early flight to Jogyakarta on the island of Java.

February 28th, 2010

2009-11-09T11:53:00.003+09:00

It has long been a life goal for me to run a marathon. Yet I always pictured myself doing the race a bit further down the road. My friend Jackson did the Tokyo Marathon last year, and this year he put a little pressure on me to join him.

I applied back In August. I was notified of my placement in October. And today I started training.

I am fortunate for the race placement. I have heard about 300,000 apply, and 30,000 get in. To date, 10 miles is the furthest that I have ever run. I accomplished that feat ten years ago on a Saturday morning high school cross-country running practice. I now have 26.2 miles of Tokyo street to look forward to.

Since the start of October I have run most days. Now, under my 16 week training program, I am looking to run 5-6 days a week. It feels good. At present, my only concern is with my knees. I think I may have to do some additional strength training for them. I am not so excited about that part.

I’ll keep you posted.

Hello Again!

2009-10-22T17:59:00.002+09:00

I have always relied on the kindness of strangers. This was certainly the case for my internet connection the last 15 months. Odds are, that my neighbors are not so kind as they are just slightly ignorant about modern technology. Specifically, insufficiently securing their wireless router, and thus providing free internet for the neighborhood. This worked out quite well for a while. Recently the connection has been growing more weak and less frequent. It made tasks, such as updating a blog, not worth doing. I finally just sucked it up and decided to pay for internet. It took a month and a half for them to hook me up, but here I am. It feels nice.

I am a fan of karma. One good turn deserves another. I am appreciative for the year of free internet, but I am not a fool. My router is secure, and there will be no squatters on my bandwidth.

Cambodia part 1

2009-09-28T18:13:00.012+09:00

So long, June and July. Summer vacation in Japan is just August. I suffered half of my month to sit in the Board of Education office. There, we can work without actually having to work. And that is the worst part. Summer in an office is unfortunate. Summer in a workless office is hideous. August is time for travel, and so for the second half I did.

For previous travel I have had to start with at least two train rides to Narita airport in Tokyo. This time I rode the bus to the newly opened Mt. Fuji Shizuoka Airport. From there I hopped to the much larger Incheon Airport in Seoul, South Korea. I hung out for a few hours, got excited about finding the Minnesota based coffee chain, Caribou, then I caught a plane to my ultimate destination, Cambodia.

I arrived on August 16th, at about 10pm. In my online booking I had arranged for the hotel to send a taxi. After waiting 40 minutes, I found my own ride. The driver took me to the hotel, but they were full, and seemed confused by my reservation. The driver then took me to the hotel’s “other location.” They were also confused by my reservation, but at least they had room. I went to bed in my windowless room. Rough start.

My travel companion, Jackson was not set to arrive until the 18th. I had a full day to myself, so I walked through some markets and neighborhoods of the capital Phnom Penh. Cambodia has laws, but limited enforcement. All of the street signs and traffic signals were little more than soft suggestions. The only law I saw steadily observed, was an unspoken rule similar to the food chain. Pedestrians made way for bikes, bikes moved for motorcycles, motorcycles for tuk-tuks, tuk-tuks for cars, and cars for trucks. I came closer than is comfortable in testing this hierarchy. It is engineered into my brain that cars will stop, or at least slow for pedestrians. It took a local yanking me out of harm’s way to shake this instinct.

Before Jackson’s arrival, I confirmed his reservation and taxi with the hotel. The taxi still failed. Despite the hotel’s failings, the area was quite accommodating for travelers. Many the buildings hold a strong French influence. A lasting mark of the country’s colonized past. The easiest thing, is finding a decent meal in a country that strives for the international spread of its neighbor, Thailand. Eating was always an agreeable event, and quite vegetarian friendly.

The day after Jackson arrived we took a bus to our next destination Siem Reap. The bus was no common vehicle. It came equipped with a karaoke system and wireless microphones. Upon setting out, the two guys in front of us sang Hero by Enrique Iglesias. That was the only song sung on the six hour ride, and I am ever so thankful for that. Whether it is a polite warning or a threat, it is common for the bigger vehicles to honk as they approach others on the rural roads. I will stake money on the fact that our driver beat a random pattern into the bus’s hideously screechy horn at least once every 30 seconds. The countryside was lovely.

3 dishes

2009-08-11T22:49:00.002+09:00

I woke up at 5:07 this morning. I never really thought about what it would be like for an entire city to wake up at the exact same time. And I was not thinking about it this morning as I jumped from mattress and positioned myself in the door frame. Things shook and made noise. I really wish that I had had the clarity to take good mental notes of this morning's earthquake. When I find myself in a new and exciting experience, my internal voice kicks in and narrates the scene until I can find some paper. There was no voice at 5:07 am. I heard noise, I saw and felt things shake.

It must have been over within a minute, but I didn't have my watch on. And it is doubtful that I would have checked it. In my apartment, things that were almost a mess, were now a mess. A mirror fell, but did not break. Less lucky was the houseplant that it fell on. The recycling was less orderly than it had been.

Casualties are limited to a glass, a cup, and a plate. The glass had come from Okinawa back in March. There are two left in the set. The mug often sported coffee and the occasional tea. It is survived by its twin. The plate, split down the middle, leaves two other plates behind. The losses of all are felt.

I picked up and dealt with the remains. Curious of the earthquake details, but more anxious for sleep, I crawled back into bed. I laid there for an hour feeling the aftershocks and hearing the alarms outside. When I did get up, I saw that the quake measured 6.4 on the Richter Scale. It struck off the coast, 20 miles S/SW of my city. None of the locals I have spoken to can remember a stronger quake in their lifetime. One lady said this was even the strongest for her 75 year old mother.

details

Happy 233rd!

2009-07-08T15:10:00.009+09:00

The Fourth of July, brought with it a strong taste of home. At noon, about 15 ALTs and friends of ALTs, converged at a park a couple blocks behind my house. This was convenient for me, as I biked there with a grill in hand. The grill always takes about an hour to get going. The available charcoal is simple burnt wood. A nice burn, but a pain to set fire to. In the meantime, there were plenty of other potluck options.

I then set up the lawn game. Earlier that morning I went to the big hardware store, Jumbo Encho. Its like Menards, but not owned by a jerk (I have no idea who owns Jumbo Encho). In addition to a box of charcoal, I was hoping to find some form of driveway marking stick. There are few driveways in Japan, so I was not sure how to communicate this. Finding some wooden dowels was easy. Tracking down an employee was difficult. Once I had someone, I showed him the dowel, and asked for a plastic version. He understood instantly and took me to some corner. The clear plastic tubes he showed me were expensive, questionably flexible, and a meter at best. These would not do.

I was making to leave when another possibility caught my attention. Long, brown, organic, I eyed up some bamboo sticks. I am not sure what their purpose was, perhaps fishing rods. All I cared, was that they were cheap and absolutely perfect for the best yard game since the advent of gaming in yards.

I widdled a couple feet off each of the four sticks. I then placed them in pairs a frisbee and a fist apart, and approximately 25 feet from the other pair. The game is Cups, and I learned it at an Ultimate Frisbee tournament in college. I have played very little Ultimate Frisbee in recent years, but Cups has become a staple. Until I came to Japan, I was always in possession of one, maybe two, sets. Upside-down plastic cups are placed on the sticks. Players throw a frisbee and knock off/catch cups for points. Simple, and great for people of any frisbee ability.

I teamed up with a Canadian, Rob, and we went 3-0. We probably could have kept the court all afternoon, but we opted to let more folks try. Playing Cups for the first time in eleven months, was seriously an exciting event. Lawn space is sparse, but I hope to get many more games in.

Once the grill was finally ready, I threw on my black bean burgers. Something about the Fourth of July demands grilling, and I abide. Folks were curious about my meatless burgers, but anxious to try. I was so busy running around, that I let the patties go a bit dry. Fortunately I was able to wash it down with a fine selection of American brew. I stood outside that morning, waiting for the import store to open so that I could buy up their entire selection of American beer. I came away with Anchor Steam, Brooklyn Lager, and Samuel Adams. Kirin, Sapporo, Asahi... Take a hike!

The day ended by doing something very un-American. We went to a soccer match. My friend Mark had some free tickets, and I had wanted to see a game for a while. Even though I had threatened Mark all week long with tar & feathering if he came to the Fourth of July (he's British), he still shared his tickets. What a chap!

I did purchase a package of fireworks, we launched a few bottle rockets and blasted a couple of roman candles. Most of my explosives remain, and so I will have to find other events to commemorate with combustion. There was no big fireworks display for the Fourth, but the big boom season is just around the bend here in Japan. Late July through August has plenty of fireworks shows in nearby cities. I am certain to be satiated of any sulfurous lust.

...the news

2009-07-02T22:25:00.002+09:00

Way back in the beginning of February I was presented with a rather tough decision. Upon making up my mind, I began telling friends and family, but I neglected to make any large announcement. Then I just started assuming everyone knew. Some friends have recently asked about my upcoming plans, and I realized the lapse in my communication.

My English teaching position works on a yearly contract, and I can extend it up to five years. While some folks come here with five years in mind, I was quite resolute about staying for only one year. I was only six months into my contract when the paperwork for the following year came due. It was a simple sheet of paper that required date, signature, and a circle of yes or no. I signed and dated it, and then I stared. I stared at it up until the last moment of submission.

YES. I am staying in Shizuoka, Japan, teaching English until August 2010.

Coming here was easy. Deciding whether or not to stay, tore me apart. I am exceedingly grateful for my time abroad, but I do long for home. I have a great job, a good living situation, and the whole eastern hemisphere to explore. Economic security is generally not a significant factor in my decision making process, but now seems a proper time for exception. …Times is tough.

Alas, my triumphant return to the States is postponed to the tune of one year. I will be back. In the meantime, for those of you hankerin’ to see Japan, the window for visitation has now been extended.

Nakawarashina Elementary

2009-06-22T11:19:00.009+09:00

Right now, during the peak of the school term, I am going on elementary school visits about once a week. I show up at a school, have a brief meeting with a teacher, and we go over the lesson plan that they have, hopefully, prepared. In a typical lesson I give a shortened version of my self introduction, they ask a ton of questions, we practice simple vocabulary/alphabet/numbers, and then we play a couple games where I stand back and let them scream.

Last Friday I went to Nakawarashina Elementary School. Getting there required a 30 minute bus ride, and a 15 minute car ride from the vice-principal. The school is out in the mountains. It is small. There are two students. The 5th and the 6th grader are taught together. At their disposal are a principal, vice-principal, and I think two teachers.

We had a lesson where we worked on numbers 1-30, then we went on a hike to a nearby overlook. I watched as the two boys gave a serious beating to a tree stump with some sticks. We got back and it was not yet lunch time, so they opened up a shed and brought out a set of wooden clubs for some form of golf game. The students, the teachers, and I all played the four-hole course. I took second place to one of the students.

Lunch was delivered and ready to eat. It was a sunny day so we sat outside at a table beneath an awning. They pretty much eat out there everyday. As per usual, my peanut butter & jelly sandwich and carrot were quite amusing to everyone. After a break I gave another lesson. This time their mothers came to watch and participate. We all worked on pronouncing numbers together. A lot of time spent on 13 and 30, a lot. After class the students went off to play and I gave my self introduction again. This time for the vice-principal, the teacher, and the mothers.

I then had a little time to hang out before it was time to go. I was reading a book when the vice-principal came to give me a tour of the school. He showed me the science room with a kiln, so it also doubled as a clay-firing art room. There was a home ec. room, and a technology room with some pricey items. The mountain schools always get the nicest stuff.

The last stop was the history room. Along the four walls were pictures detailing the history of the school. The school has been there since 1890. The buildings have changed, but there was always a school. The older pictures showed much more traditional architecture. Moving across the timeline, one could see all the typical transitions of time. Uniforms disappeared, bodies became less posed and more active, and even some smiles began to show up in the seventies.

Another thing that the images captured was the shrinking numbers. The vice-principal showed me a long vertical chart printed off a computer. It had a line for each year of the school from 1890-2010. When the school began its numbers were around 60 students. That climbed a little bit into the next century, but has since dropped. Especially in the last couple decades have the numbers been decreasing.

Next year one of the students will be graduating and moving on to junior high. It is likely that Nakawarashina Elementary School, for the first time in 120 years of operation, will be closing its doors. When asked, the vice-principal was not sure of what would happen. He seemed mostly concerned that his student would have a playing companion. It has been the opinion of everyone I have spoken to, including my own, that a school for two students seems a bit ridiculous and probably should not exist. The vice-principal did not seem to take any issue with his 40 minute commute to a rural mountain placement overseeing two students. That math did not disturb him. It is the thought of one kid and no friend to play with that seems to justify closing the book on over a century of history.

I can not argue with that.

That's a Wrap.

2009-06-07T14:38:00.003+09:00

On Friday night, my buddy Jackson celebrated his 30th birthday by throwing a YouTube party. After going out to dinner, about ten folks gathered at my apartment to watch a selection of YouTube videos projected on the wall. Everyone in attendance had previously submitted their choice for screening.

Once we were half way through the video list, I added another selection:

I have been absent from video editing for too long, and so about a month ago I started a project. These days I do not have a video camera, so I must settle for what I do have. And that is a pretty good digital still camera. Digging through my archive of Japan photos, I settled on an album from Halloween. I previously blogged about dressing up and doing the Thriller Dance for Halloween, but a week earlier we had gone to a costume party on the other side of Mt. Fuji.

I took a ton of pictures that night, but my favorite series was Jackson covered in bubble wrap. I chose to ignore almost every other person at the party, and make Jackson the focus. In doing so, I removed the suggestions of Halloween and created a bizarre bubble-wrapped character. Making the video has owned the last month of my life. I took about two dozen images and made a three minute video. It was a good learning (and re-learning) experience, as well as a pain in the ass.

The video was well received by the birthday boy and everyone else. I am hoping that I can retain this momentum, and kick out a few more productions soon.

Greening Up.

2009-05-13T17:54:00.005+09:00

It is with a poor sense of timing that I now grow some roots, literally...

I have had a yard, big or small, pretty much all my life. But not once did I care to garden. When I was little, I resisted every overture of my parents to help with the weeding. That was their project, not mine. And until you could show me a flower that grew Doritos, I was not about to care. Just before coming here, I had begun to help occasionally with a campus/community garden. But even then, I was just backup to be called upon in a pinch.

I have spent most of my time having the resources, but not the ambition to plant some seeds. Now that I am on the other side of the world, these factors have flipped. I have been increasingly motivated to grow some things as of late. It started as a couple indoor potted projects in the winter, and they have now moved outside. I have no lawn to speak of, and the same goes for the rest of the neighborhood. I am working from my third floor balcony, to the right of the washing machine, and the left of the air conditioner.

Currently there are four troughs: the first has two tomato pants, the second has lettuce/basil/mint, the third has green pepper/mystery Thai pepper 1#, and the fourth has spinach. In pots: there are six chive sets, a parsley plant, aloe, mystery Thai pepper 2#, and a bipolar strawberry plant.

We hoped for cilantro, but ended up with parsley. It works well in falafel at least. I think I am compensating for something, a lack of interaction with nature. Maybe I just like having the project. My predecessor left me a mini hammer that I just put to use making a shelf for the troughs to sit atop the AC unit. It is always a fun trip to bike back from the gardening shop, bikes loaded down with organic soil, plants, and cut boards.

Spring Break Okinawa!

2009-04-27T09:35:00.018+09:00

After a little airport excitement (lots of running) in Tokyo, we had a spacious relaxing flight. Okinawa welcomed us with soggy arms. The city Naha has a nice monorail that gave us a dry view of the wet city, while bringing us to the hotel.

The hotel was near the main drag, and so we hit it up the first night. The street has the restaurants of local fare as well as American inspired. Gift shops pouring onto the sidewalk, mostly selling the same wears as the next shop. Okinawa does have some colorful items to shop through. They are quite proud of the regional sake, awamori. It is a stronger batch, and if you pay enough, it comes with a snake inside. I tried it, tastes like sake to me, not impressed.

The next morning we strolled down to the docks with all our gear on our backs. We did not stroll fast enough, as all the ferries were gone for the day. Our hopes of going out to another island were momentarily dashed. Plans were altered, and we bussed up to the northern end of the main island. There are some closer islands up there.

In our new area we found the docks just as they were closing. No ferries this day. We did however make it to a small island connected by a bridge. Once on the island, a fellow working a roadside food stand told us which beach permitted camping. The beach right under the overpass, okay. The night was the first trial of a new tent bought specially for Okinawan beach camping. The rain came out heavy, but did not come in. We thought we parked it safe, but morning light showed that the tide had come up to lick the tent.

The next day we headed back south. We stopped in Nago for awhile and got a tour of the Orion Beer Brewery. There was also plans for seeing a pineapple themed amusement park/winery, but doing so would require missing the last highway bus. I really wanted to ride the pineapple carts.

Back in Naha, we played it safe, and stayed in a hostel near the docks. The next morning we were then able to catch a ferry out to Kume-Jima. A four hour boat ride to the furthest of Okinawa's first island set. There are three sets. We both managed to keep our food where it belongs on the ocean ride. Not all passengers displayed such fortitude.

Once arrived, there was confusion as to which bus was ours, or whether we even had a bus. The lady behind the counter grabbed her keys and gave us a lift to our beach destination a few miles away. Lovely. Our literature spoke well of this beach that was off the beaten path. Tide was out, and we could have walked a ways out. Everywhere were mounds of rocks and seaweed. If your passion is collecting shells and coral pieces, this is your beach.

The kind dock lady was s quick to give us a ride, we did not even have time to evaluate our resources. Once we decided to find dinner, it became evident how removed our location was. Taking a good sized walk, we were able to find some snacky basics between a small store and an airport giftshop. The walk did showcase some nice farmland.

After filling up on our snack meal, we wandered into the building 20 feet to the right of our tent. It was a small shop/bathroom/hangout to oversee the beach. This night it had an older lady on duty and two guys hanging out, one old, one younger. She was watching a documentary on TV about Okinawa, and they were playing a local stringed instrument and singing traditional songs. If they sang too loud, she turned up the volume on her show. The trio welcomed the presence of Lindsay and I. The lady gave us bizarre little snacks long after we were filled, and the guys bought us some beers.

I came across this cryptic message on the beach.

The morning's goal was to catch a bus to the other side of the island for the primary beach and a higher traffic area. Walking back to the little store, we found the bus stop. It listed a bus once an hour, most hours. The bus time came and went. We saw nothing. A guy across the street came out of his house and asked what we were doing. He gave us a ride to the other beach in his car decorated with Lilo & Stitch items. It seems that here, spring break does not correspond with tourist season. Except for wandering locals, the sand was empty. A non-camping beach, we had to walk a couple miles to a health spa/campground that rented us some grass in their backyard. Down on the shore, some ladies were harvesting the green stuff off of the rocks. We saw this a few times.

Sadly, we never swam. But we did get our feet wet. We walked the couple miles back into town and were able to get a warm meal, Mexican. A welcome change to the convenience store camp food. With plenty of doubt, we were actually able to catch a bus back to the docks the next day. The ferry seemed a little quicker the way back, and we got a semi-Japanese style hotel in our original neighborhood close to the monorail.

The trip was three nights camping on/near beaches, two hotels, and one hostel. We never stayed in the same place twice, and much of the time we spent walking with all our gear on our backs. Much time was lost moving from one area to another, as it seemed we were always in transit. Camping was our goal, but hotels were needed when we were trying to get from one place to the next. The trip was great, but far from a relaxing day at the beach.

There and back we rode in a Pokemon plane. Japan!

I am growing familiar with the train rides back from the Tokyo airport.

Thai'd up

2009-04-01T21:20:00.012+09:00

We woke and packed ourselves out of the Chinatown guesthouse, walked to the nearest dock, and caught the river taxi north to our next neighborhood. After settling in on Khao San, we went up to the roof to relax by the pool.

We spent a fair amount of time walking up and down Khao San, the parallel streets, and winding passages that connect them. It was your one stop tourist shop. Everything you could want as Thailand memorabilia was sold there. And while the vendors probably saw a healthy mark-up, the prices were still reasonable. Certainly the best collection of tshirts I have seen anywhere. For all of its commercial activity, the street was still great. All the food was cheap and delicious. The merchants were locals. The community was quite international.

The next morning was our last. We checked out and headed for some more sights. First stop was the Golden Mount, a giant artificial hill with a golden bell-like object on top. It was too giant for my small camera to handle, so please enjoy this photo of some small bells, also found atop the Golden Mount.

The next stop was Wat Suthat, a meticulously neat and ornate temple. The hot Bangkok sun was bouncing off of everything including the shiny tiles on the ground. On occasion a monk would pop out, going about his business. Us tourist folk were free to wander the lovely grounds and snap our photos.

Inside a large central building sat a substantial bronze Buddha. To his front a monk was leading a small service for a group of worshipers and/or tourists. To take a close look at the tall dark walls, I could see an unending spread of story telling pictures.

The sun had peaked and was starting its descent. We started our lengthy walk back toward the hostel, where our bags were kept. This stretch offered a better look of some everyday Bangkok life. Construction workers, laundry hangers, and a fresh market buried along the riverbank.

Slowly walking through the market to eat all the curries, fish, and vegetables with my eyes. Here and there the setting sun would find a hole in the tarps and junk piles, illuminating an otherwise hidden pocket of color. The whole tent was ready to burst with radiance, but the locals managed to keep some order by hiding their market in tarps, and repressing the dangerous colors.

We quickened our walk by cutting over to the river and taxiing up a few stops. The move was further improved upon by catching the sunset from the riverbank. The sun did its thing, and went away. We ate a last meal on the tourist drag, and used up the remainder of our baht on a few end of trip purchases. Bags on back, we wandered the street until shuttling to the airport for a 2am flight home.

Thailand is the best place yet.

Thai two

2009-03-01T10:16:00.008+09:00

Despite the “help” of the friendly stranger, we were able to arrive at our first site on foot. Wat Pho is the home of the world’s largest reclining Buddha. The great gold being is kept inside, and there it is behind many columns, making it difficult to behold in its entirety. With the exceptions of feet and face, the Buddha was quite plain, and impressive in size only.

More exciting, was the playground outside. Well, not a playground, but it had me running around every corner. We were in an open-air fenced off complex full of ornate spires and engaging statues. The spires and their foundations were coated with colorful mosaic tiles. Each statue was a character full of personality.

I have seen a healthy handful of Japanese shrines, and I am far more excited by what Thailand offers up. In color, detail, and imperfection, Thailand dominates. Yes, even imperfection. There is something quite honest about the cracks and missing tiles. Walking through the historic shrine, I felt as though I was… well, walking through an historic shrine. Not to beat-up on Japan, but they are so neat about everything. The result feels like plastic, or Disney Land.

Our next stop was the Grand Palace. It was a quick stop. I was wearing shorts, and did not feel like renting the necessary pants to enter. We moved on to find another site, with lower standards for its visitors. A quick ferry across the river landed us at Wat Arun. Right on the river bank and a recognizable Bangkok image. The structure was a huge spire/tower surrounded by smaller, closely related versions of itself. It was accessible by a couple stages of steps, and a third roped off section. I felt no loss of the roped off section, the first two stages were literally climbing the stairs.

It was another ornate structure, superb in detail. The height granted a fine view of the river, an eaves-dropping look of surrounding neighborhoods, and a postcard shot of the modern skyline hazy horizon. I am sure what purpose they set out for with this shrine, but I am sure they accomplished it.

Back over the river, we continued our way north to arrive at Khao San Road. This is the traveler spot. The whole area is outfitted for tourists, but this street in particular is the backpacker/spring breaker mecca. The street is laid out wide, but populated thick. A constant flow of travelers coming and going with bags, eating international street cart cuisine, drinking cheap domestics, shopping for friends, and shopping for self. And for every tourist, of which there were many, there was also a local, selling something.

Some streets have a hum, the buzz of life happening all around. Khao San has something more. Khao San has a roar. Stepping onto the street is stepping into a stadium. Inside, everyone is part of the spectacle. There was plenty to see, and we were not about to see it all, so we stepped into a hostel and booked the next night.

It was dark, and we were a few neighborhoods away from our current dwelling, so we started walking. After a day on our feet, an epic stretch of backtracking was not ideal. We did manage to cover some familiar area in new light, or… dark. A big central park became a market for random items. The shrines glowed with their night lights, and then at 10pm they disappeared. We walked through the flower market, easily the most colorful sight yet. Fruits, vegetables, and flowers by the bag load. At this point my camera battery decided to run down.

We hit our Chinatown, walked the length of it, and found our guesthouse. Sleep was perfect.

Going out for Thai.

2009-02-24T22:11:00.026+09:00

We returned form our Winter Weekend in Hokkaido on Monday night. Tuesday morning I went to school for a regular work day. I came home and repacked my bag. Heavy clothes out, light clothes in. Without managing a wink of sleep, we left the apartment at 2am, and caught a 2:19 train, the first of a few to Tokyo/Narita Airport. A 9am flight on Air China brought us to Beijing. While Lindsay savored her layover in a new country's airport, I played it cool. I knew that scene. After a couple hours we were on a new plane headed to Bangkok.

Arrived at 6pm, and it was hot. We chose the cool season, but that is really only the slightly-less-hot season. Out front, armed with internet research and guidebook savvy, we approached an official taxi booth. The signage of the booth notified any tourists that these particular taxis were legit, would use their meters, and would not pull any scams. The driver took us to our location, though he did insist to have known a better/cheaper place, and he did take a couple extra laps around our neighborhood to settle at the right place.

We stayed in a colorful, out of the way guesthouse on the south end of Chinatown that we had booked last minute. Much of the trip was actually last minute. I generally cannot get time off from school, but saw an opportunity of a Wednesday holiday followed by tests on Thursday and Friday. I am of no help for tests, and Lindsay is proactive is making travel plans, so a Bangkok we will go!

After dumping the bags and dressing appropriately, we set out to spend our little energy on exploring the neighborhood and finding dinner. Wednesday night, and the street was where everyone should be. There were other tourists, but this was very much a spot for living, and so much for sight seeing. What we saw were colorful buildings and lights, cars speeding and braking, vendors with recognizable animal parts and mysterious fruits. At the end of one street, a group of people gathered around an old film reel projector to watch a movie projected on the side of a building.

Everywhere were people watching, walking, sitting, drinking, and shopping. I was ready to stop and be a part of everything that I saw but did not have the time. For as far as time was concerned, I had come on a budget.
After a couple sweeps of the main drag, we settled on a street corner populated by tables and chairs. The outdoor restaurant specialized in fresh seafood. I know this because I sat alongside the stockpile of crab & friends, on the rocks.

For our first meal we had a mix of sautéed greens and chili peppers. The rice was late in coming, so I did my best to cut the spice with my coconut milk drank from a coconut. The beverage was tasty, but did little to curb the delicious suffering of my meal.
I think Lindsay rather enjoyed documenting my ever-shinier complexion as I did not relent. ...He asked if I wanted spicy. I said yes, and would do so again.

In the morning we had fruit and coffee at the restaurant on top of our building. Then set out to get a better sense of our area. Each neighborhood seemed to have a niche, and Chinatown was scrap metal. Our immediate area especially looked like a chop shop. The sunlight showed what the moon had left alone. Streets full of cars, mostly dead. Some awaited surgery, while others served as impromptu garages. Neat stacks of engines and axels. Large saws taking things apart, and torches putting them back together. It was all so interesting, and yet I felt like a trespasser. I kept walking, and took minimal photos.

It was a working city. Shops kicking out smells, and people pushing carts, wheeling loads far bigger than themselves. After Chinatown, everything seemed a little bigger. We had a map and a mission, but found it quite difficult to deny the back alleys and side streets. Tight, canopied markets, where you had to be willing to rub hips with anyone to get anywhere. Fruits and fabrics transitioned to radios and remote controls. We emerged into the electronics neighborhood. Tents with tables of car stereos and racks of home receivers. Speakers larger than me, sitting on the sidewalk. And everywhere, tables of open circuitry being poked with soldering irons. Had my camera gone missing, this would have been my first place to look. Many items were probably hotter than the sun.

We avoided doing so, but on occasion it was necessary to pull our map out in public. I never like to be the obvious tourist, but maps are especially fatal in Bangkok. Taxis, tuk-tuks, and kind strangers are all aggressive. One kind fellow grabbed our map, told us where we were going was closed for ceremony, and we should go to this other place. He drew all over it (mostly useless information), and played tug-of-war with Lindsay while hailing a tuk-tuk for us. Lindsay recovered the map and we disengaged from the stranger and cab, determined to put the mileage on our sandals.

...As a side note, the tuk-tuks are cheap, common, abundant transportation for the locals. For tourists they can be more of an adventure, including: paying way too much, going to the wrong place, propositioned a jewel scheme, and arguing over agreed upon fare. We abstained from such excitement this time around.

-- Oh gosh, I am getting lengthy. I shall take a pause here, and post more shortly --

Winter Weekend

2009-02-17T22:49:00.015+09:00

I have been fortunate, over-stimulated even, to have been raised by four seasons. My adopted climate does not boast this, at least not to my taste. Winter in Shizuoka (Autumn extended), bottoms out at freezing, and even that is sparse. I have had a few opportunities to wear my rain gear, but there will be no snow pants this season.

I have discovered that I am only as tough as my climate, and what once was t-shirt weather, now gives me a chill. To retain identity and jumpstart physical memory, I took a little trip. My winter weekend.

I joined in for a trip organized by some of the prefectural contacts for my program. We flew to Japan’s northernmost island, Hokkaido, for a four day weekend. By no coincidence was it the weekend of Yuki Matsuri, the winter festival in the city of Sapporo. Parks and streets became galleries of snow and ice sculptures. Some of which could fit in a living room, while others could flatten a house. Every year an international crowd of 2 million converge in the city for the occasion.

My time there was winter at its finest. We arrived to find abundant fluffy stuff, and it just kept coming. The temperature hovered just below freezing. For all I know, I was trapped in a snow globe clamped in a paint mixer. Perfect.

Friday night a couple dozen of us met for dinner at the Sapporo Brewery Beer Garden. It was a Genghis Khan, cook your own, all you can eat lamb deal. I passed on the mutton, but found my fill in the vegetables and beer. An excellent snowball fight took place as soon as we got outside. I lost my hat while being on the receiving end of a snow tackle, and then lost a glove in transit home. I love playing in the snow.

The weekend was mostly walking around as a group of individually wrapped, climate controlled, photo snapping bundles. Occasionally we stopped walking to sit and eat. Folks were rather excited to try the ramen and crab, popular winter grub in Hokkaido. With the exception of the hotel’s bountiful breakfast buffet, I was less enthusiastic about the food. A while back I had decided to try veganism for the month of February. And unless a region is particularly vegetarian friendly, it is difficult to stray far from a kitchen. However, Hokkaido is the dominant farming region of Japan, and I would absolutely love to return in the warmer months, perhaps a harvest festival. They fancy themselves makers of cheese. I will be the judge of that.

On Sunday Jackson, Tatyana, Lindsay, and I took a local train to its end and then hopped a bus for another hour to an area in the mountains known for onsens (Japanese hot springs). We walked through the smallish town and decided upon a random onsen that seemed acceptable from the front. The choice proved good. The boys and girls split, and we were able to bathe outdoors alongside the hills and amongst the trees.

There were usually a couple other guys out there with us, but as soon as they were gone, I took my opportunity to climb out of the bath and into a snowbank. I was as civil as a naked man in a snowbank can be, but still opted for discretion because who knows what the locals might think.

I know some folks back home may enjoy packing their winter into a weekend, but such would not be my choice. I want my winter long. I want my winter tough. I want the weather to break just before I do. Then I can feel deserving of the warmth to come.

My winter season began and ended with a plane ride. Back in Shizuoka, I have another month or so until fall shifts into spring.

Fukuoka Yes!

2009-01-29T22:42:00.013+09:00

Six hours on the right course, and we arrived in Fukuoka. The proper one. It was noon and we could not check in to the hostel for a few hours, so we did not venture very far with our packs. The city has some nice riverfront through much of the downtown. It reminded me of the revitalized Milwaukee banks. We sat down and watched the coy in the dirty shallow water. We drank a soda, I think it was grape.

Dropping bags and putting up the feet for a minute in the hostel, we then ventured out for dinner. The Lonely Planet guidebook directed us to a pub boasting 1,000 beers, and appropriately named Van Beeru. Sounded too good to be true. It was. After walking the block and then walking it a couple times more, we looked elsewhere for our meal.

As an exercise in decisiveness, we opened the door to a Chinese restaurant and committed to the choice. It was prime eating hours and we were the only patrons. The small kitchen had a man making the food, a woman watching figure skating on TV, and a dog watching both of them from the counter. The food was fine, and the three staff saw us off with a smile.

We found an excellent Irish pub that could fit inside my apartment. After a couple guys at the counter left, we were once again the only customers. The beer selection was a welcome sight, and the proprietor was a friendly fellow. He gave us some recommendations for the city and our future trip to Hokkaido.

Each night we stayed out late, as that was when things were happening. And each night we stayed at a new hostel. The Lonely Planet continued to give great suggestions that did not pan out. This included planning our night around a midnight breakfast in a place that was now a dance club, no thank you, and going across town for a museum closed at an odd time.

The missed midnight breakfast was replaced with a 1:30am dinner at a food cart by the river. Fukuoka, above all, is known for its food carts that set up shop all over town. The carts are dingy shanties on wheels that go up as the sun goes down. Usually there are a few of them together on a corner. Along the river, they stretch for blocks. Some have picnic tables, others have seating at a counter inside. The shanty town food courts look semi-permanent, but they are packed up and wheeled off each morning before sunrise. I cannot remember the proper name, so I just call them “feedpods.”

An amazing number of people were out on a Monday night. I could not imagine a weekend to have more. Seemed every corner had a group of men in suits, swaying side to side. Sidewalks of staggering stumblers. Fukuoka is a great place to roam streets at night, and it is different than other cities I have seen in Japan. Fukuoka has more action, but it has more litter. The homelessness is a bit more apparent. Sidewalks are more likely to be sticky.

It was a few days of heavy walking and late nights. There was consideration of shooting south to Nagasaki, but in the end we were spent. We got our Shinkansen tickets and had a pretty straight forward shot home. We even splurged for reserved seats, so as to avoid battling for a spot in the unreserved cars.

A big tower near the Sea.

Touching the ocean at every opportunity is a must for any Midwesterner.

Where's the Fukuoka?!

2009-01-20T21:10:00.007+09:00

Lindsay has now arrived in Japan. For the first few days I gave her the best Shizuoka foot tour I knew how. After feeling that we had exhausted everything of interest within a sneaker’s range, we opted to vacate the city. I had been bouncing around and making inquiries as to different locations to visit over break. We decided to not decide our plans until Lindsay had arrived and caught her breath, fair enough.

We felt cool to both the hot and cold climates. Okinawa would be a mild temp at this time, and we would be visiting Hokkaido in a couple months, so we were not especially tempted by any temperate details. With enough time to cover some distance, but too short of notice to leave the country, we went for distant domestic. By some combination of a Lonely Planet guide book, websites, and a map, we set our sites west, to the modern city of Fukuoka.

Around lunchtime on the 27th of December we strapped on our packs and hoofed down to the JR Station downtown. At the ticket purchasing machine I could not get the price I had found online, so I went to the window. The ticket agent gave me the same price as the machine. Wise as I am, I pulled out my laptop that still had the corresponding webpage queued up. The agent immediately understood, and gave us the proper price.

The train rides were fine. We were headed a little south and a lot west. We set out on the Shinkansen (bullet train), and with three transfers, worked our way down to the lesser, regional trains. Covering so much turf, I loved that we never really left the mountains. We zigged away, but would always zag back. Soon after leaving Shizuoka, the snow caps popped out a little more. As the day of travel progressed, the snow dropped from the summits and into the fields. Suddenly, I was in winter again.

At about 7pm we arrived at Fukuoka Station. We stepped off our small train into a small station. It was cold, and it was snowy. At a loss for any flashing arrows or trail of crumbs to guide us, we approached the one visible being, a lone station agent.

Davin: Fukuoka?

Agent: Hai (yes).

Davin: points to the station on the Lonely Planet map of Fukuoka.

Agent: No Kyushu! …as he says this he crosses forearms to mimic an “X”, a national sign for absolutely no. (I am acquainted with this gesture, as I use it with my students all the time.)

The agent then pulls out a map book and shows us where we want to be, in the city of Fukuoka on the north end of Kyushu Island. He flips a couple of pages to show us where we are, Fukuoka Station in the town of Takaoka, a bit west and well north of where we began. In a quick conference, Lindsay and I determined that we did not pack sufficiently to make this our destination. The Agent then laid out a travel itinerary that would get us to our proper city. We stepped outside, made a snowball, and then back tracked a half hour to a bigger city, Kanazawa.

We were fortunate to find a room in a ryokan, a Japanese style hotel. The place was great, with a wonderful older couple running it, but it would be a brief stop for us. Wandering the city to find dinner, I was rather bummed for my shotty navigation, but Lindsay did well to keep the night upbeat. Kanazawa seemed like an acceptable place to spend a stranded night, but we were worn out, and had to catch a 6:30 bus for a 7am train.

Day one route: brown
Day two route: blue

more to come...

Food: first bite

2008-12-18T19:42:00.012+09:00

Obviously one of the greatest changes in moving to Japan, is diet. We have land, they have sea. My appreciation of fish has grown ten fold in the last couple years, so that was one thing I could look forward to. One hang up that I had planned to hang at the door, was my preferences regarding meat. For just over a year now, I have narrowed my carnivorous scope to animals raised humanely. This worked beautifully back home, with the farmer’s market I knew exactly where my meal was coming from.

With my personal restriction designed as a critique of America’s food system, I had never planned to bring my concerns abroad. Yet being here, I find it quite difficult to shift on the matter. I walk a line of desire to try new things, wanting to be a good guest, and concern for the animal’s well being. This is a tough spot to be in, especially here.

In Japan, meat is not on the side. It is inside, on top, underneath, fused to the rest of the meal. You can order something without meat, but it will have meat. You can point out the bacon atop your salad, and they will tell you it is not meat. It is just a flavoring agent.

This is a hefty change for a formerly Buddhist/vegetarian nation. The word, vegetarian, has dropped from their vocabulary. Most people do not understand it, and not because it is English. The concept is just far too foreign. It is like the Inuit tribes with no word for murder. The practice does not exist, so why speak of it? The advice typically given to foreigners in my situation, is to say that I am “allergic” to meat. Allergies have greater universal understanding. While this tactic may work for some, it completely falls short of my purposes. Keeping the undesirable meat off the plate is half the battle, while the process of rejection is the other half.

There is the possibility that the Japanese treat their animals with the utmost care. I do not know of this one way or the other, but in this realm I pair my ignorance with cynicism. It is here that the language barrier is most trying. My greatest desire in learning the language, is to learn a little more about the food. Even then, the story may not change much. It seems to be the case that while the Japanese love food, they have no love for knowledge of food. At least not when it pertains to sourcing.

For all its flaws, America has a growing awareness of food issues, and desire to know where food comes from. Though I think there is much more to accomplish, I see that we are on the right track.

For the first two months, I went with the flow. I did not intentionally purchase meat for my meals, but I did eat what was given me. To be particular, would have been especially difficult for my 1.5 months at the Ikawa mountain school. While there, I ate school lunches with the staff and students, and dormitory dinners with the teachers. Breakfast was usually just fruit. I was also more apt to sample things out and about downtown.

Upon concluding my time at Ikawa, and returning to the heart of the city, I decided to be more proactive with my dietary concerns. Since October I have been a vegetarian in respect to land animals. If by chance, I stumble upon a small farm with some lovely chickens, or a nice slab of bacon, I may be inclined to get some. But until such an instance happens, I do not know where my meal comes from, and thus I shall avoid it all together.

Sourcing from the sea, is another can of worms that I do not wish to open today. I eat the variety of critters that come from the ocean, but even that, only to a limited extent. And less and less so.

It is unfortunate to be limiting my eating experience this year abroad. Though I will have it no other way. I do like to try new things where I can. My job is to share both the English language and western culture. Being an outspoken vegetarian seems to fit under the cultural understanding bit. While I do not preach to the students, I am eager to field their questions as to why I am eating something different. Accept it or not, it is good to know that it exists.

Kyoto

2008-12-02T17:47:00.029+09:00

We picked the season to go to Kyoto. We picked this season to go to Kyoto. This season is the season that everybody goes to Kyoto. If you like pictures of people, I have those. In between the clutter of blue skies, red temples, and yellow leaves, I was able to gather some photographs of people. I had hoped to capture these individuals in a natural state, and to this end I succeed.

It has been my observation, that people are nervous around cameras. And yet, I was able to wade through huge clusters of people, while raising no alarm with my picture taking. With disregard to the mildly overbearing presence of the historically significant temples and shrines, my people watching weekend was a fantastic success!

An out of focus person in the background, paper prayers in the foreground.

What a herd!

The Geisha look is very big in Kyoto. There are actually salons where tourists (such as these two) can pay to be all geished-up.

I came across a baseball game in the trees. If you are not within spitting distance of a baseball game, then you are not spitting hard enough.

I led my team to victory in the sand castle competition at summer camp once, but these monks are out of my league.

Aqueduct.

Aqueduct from above.

From the roof of my hostel.

A narrow street with many people, and a restaurant for each one of them.

Jackson loves the taiko arcade game, and will play at every opportunity.

I had my portrait professionally done by this machine.

The final day was a wet one. And I am a weirdo for not traveling with an umbrella.

Last moments walking around before catching my bullet train out of town.

Do the Shuffle!

2008-11-12T20:45:00.013+09:00

I am not entirely missing out this year. Many things, seemingly unique to western culture, are still present here. A couple of the holidays that I have grown up with, have been adopted for one reason or another by my new culture. A couple of weeks ago was Halloween. Many stores set aside departments stocked in costumes, plasticy items, and candy excess. Window displays let you know who was Halloween headquarters, and everyone wanted to be. The inventory was there, but for who? The locals know Halloween, but they know it like I know Ramadan. I do nothing for Ramadan. Halloween comes to the stores, and it leaves. The merchandise actually begins to shift towards Christmas the week leading up to Halloween.

Being that our jobs involve, in part, the sharing of our culture, and we are such workhorses, many of us ALTs observed Halloween this year. We each came out in flair. Ranging from “Hey didn’t you wear that yesterday?” to “Geez, I am glad you are on my side!” The night happened at a bar on one side of town, a dance club at the other, and a packed train in between.

Among the witches and the cats, the pirates and the superheroes, there were a sad sort of souls. If you could be so kind to describe them as having souls. What they were is something that none should want to claim. An evening so full of life, and they had none. A night where the dead are walking. But dead? No, something more, maybe less.

Not living. Not dead. More shuffle than walk. And perhaps, more dance than shuffle…

ZOMBIES!!!

But not just any zombies. These three dancing zombies were straight out of the epic music video for the 1982 Michael Jackson hit Thriller. Equipped with synchronized dance routine and all! The idea popped up over dinner less than two weeks prior to the big night. We found video dance lessons on the internet and donated a solid six nights to learning the Thriller choreography. Knowing full well it was Michael Jackson, and he is an incredible dancer, it still was more difficult than expected. The week was a pain. I was sick and getting sicker. But we stuck to the task.

Friday night, the performance. After dawning our costumes, applying makeup, and a final rehearsal, we shuffled our limbs across town to Shimizu. If zombies are to be found anywhere in Shizuoka, it is in Shimizu, the shipping port neighborhood that is dead during the day, and deader at night. A friend dressed as a witch organized a small get-together that served to start off the night. She was a good witch, in that she looked bad, and not like a super-sexed-up witch of the neo-Halloween persuasion. (I have a mild distain for costumes that favor sex appeal over scare appeal, its Halloween) The pub was a pleasant beginning, where we could show and tell costumes and do some chatting. The floor was small, and mostly occupied by stools and tables. It was requested, but Thriller would not happen there.

We smartly exited in just enough time to catch the night’s final train. At 11:30, the train was surprisingly loaded with suits. Suits, and the men inside them are not uncommon on the train. But most of the benches being occupied by such this near to midnight, was peculiar. More fun for us. For the 25 minute ride I managed to make very little eye contact and still engage my audience. Mouth agape, staring unfocused into space, I sat next to various passengers. I had my photo with some, some had their photo with me. I moaned on occasion. Some of the guys got quite excited by the influx of strange foreigners in costume, others did as they always do on the train, just stare at their lap.

We found our club, and for 1000Yen were in the door. As good a price as can be had in this town. And apparently this place has better music. Still bad hip-hop music, but better than the worse hip-hop music we could find for more money elsewhere. We danced. I wish that I could always dance like a zombie. Staying in character is so easy, as it requires complete avoidance of fluid movement. My body has a natural aptitude for ignoring fluid movement while dancing!

After establishing our zombie presence, I crept over to the DJ. Being Halloween, and Japan, Thriller should have automatically been on the playlist, but just in case, I requested it. He seemed uncertain of having it, and I was worried that he would settle for some other Michael Jackson ballad, or worse, just a sample. One does not invest a week to the study of a unique dance routine, and arrive unprepared. I reached into the pocket of my tattered jacket, and emerged with a compact disc of the very track I wanted. Mr. DJ seemed quite pleased at my undead foresight and took the disc.

It may have been another hour to pass, but our song did get played. A stage presented itself as the room’s occupants cleared to the walls. It was obvious to everyone what the song was, what we were, and what we were here for. A small dance floor that was little better than the practices on my small apartment tatami floor. We did our thing, and were pleased with it. The DJ graciously observed the entirety of the song and did not attempt to improve upon it as DJs so often do.

The club was dark, and bore no videos of our number, but we did manage to capture an alleyway encore. As originally recorded, the rough alley take, had only the music in our heads. But friends have managed to add sound after the fact.

Look over here --->

2008-11-03T17:47:00.002+09:00

I have added my address to the sidebar on the right. The formatting is funky so acknowledge my "[line 1/2/3]" notes. Otherwise here it is:

Davin Haukebo-Bol
Shizuoka-Ken, Shizuoka-Shi
Aoi-Ku, Otowa-Cho 26-27
Haitsu 26#301
420-0834 Japan

Where we like to go large to small, they do just the opposite. Prefecture, city, ward, neighborhood, street. Please feel no obligation to send me stuff, unless of course, you do feel an obligation to send me stuff. Then, by all means, send me stuff.

Ketchup!

2008-11-02T21:48:00.005+09:00

Okay, so we are well overdue for an update here. I have been a busy fellow. October 10th marked my last day at the mountain school, Ikawa. The day was also an end of term for the students. And as there were only ten of them, each one had to stand up and give a speech. I could not tell you what they spoke about, for it was all Japanese. The seventh graders read their words directly off sheets of paper, the eighth graders had note cards, and the ninth graders had theirs memorized.

As their ceremony ended, the focus shifted toward me, the departing ALT. I stood on stage and the oldest student addressed me of behalf of the students and teachers. I then gave a small speech, and they gave me a couple lovely gifts. I received a photo album of my time there and an Ikawa Mempa, a handmade wooden lunchbox special to the area. At one point before receiving one, I inquired about purchasing such a lunch box. There would have been a three month wait. After their gifts, I gave them mine. I grabbed my guitar and played a song. The night before, the science teacher (whose apartment shares a wall with mine) asked me to play guitar for the teachers and students. I agreed, and shifted through the songs I know, trying to find the appropriate one. I did not find such a song, so I wrote it. At the time of its performance, the song was not yet 12 hours old. Perhaps I will post it here some time, but it is not quite ready yet. Just imagine it to be really fantastic.

With a three day weekend for a buffer, I began my time at my next school, Ozato Junior High. I live on one edge of the downtown area, and Ozato is on the other end of downtown. So it is a perfect 25 minute bike ride away. Lately I have been shopping the raingear aisles as I do intend to bike every single day. On that first day, same as Ikawa, I was asked to stand up and address the student body. Except this time it was 727 students. With 21 separate homerooms, I spent two weeks giving my self introduction lesson.

There is no questioning the differences between the city and country kids. While my last batch was quiet and shy, the current crew is what I would expect of junior high students, but with a splash of elementary maturity. On average I can dedicate at least half my day to staring at my desk, so I try to break it up by strolls through the hall. Without fail, I am confronted by students in the hall, and every conversation goes like this:

Student - “Davin, hello!”
Me - “Hello/hi/howdy”
Student – (giggles)

Sometimes there is a student that will try for a better exchange, and they do alright. But mostly it is the above conversation, and that takes place maybe three dozen times on a slow day. I am the recipient of many giggles and much attention these days. To say that I am irritated or above such attentions, would be false. I do enjoy my current celebrity and do not look forward to its eventual waning. Every teacher should meet such enthusiasm when entering the classroom.

So much more active! While Ikawa’s extracurriculars were limited to badminton, Ozato offers the works. In my free time I wander around and have watched judo, table tennis, art club, basketball, brass band, chorus, kendo, and more. In my self introduction I talk about ultimate Frisbee, and have subsequently been invited to play it with the P.E. class and an enthusiastic group of boys after lunch. One boy in particular is responsible for coming to retrieve me for game play. With them I have also played “police & thieves,” but had to turn down dodgeball, as I was sick. And in doing so, the students were quite concerned.

It goes well. I am digging this placement. The downtime is monotonous, but the rest puts me on my toes. Working alongside four different teachers for 21 classes should keep things shifting.

More to come
And plenty to say
But we’ll pickle that plum
Another day.

Sports Day!

2008-10-20T17:36:00.011+09:00

Growing up in Minnesota, my elementary school had field day. It was a once a year opportunity to skip classes for an extended period of gym. It seems the youthful jocks could not make me feel inadequate enough during our regularly scheduled gym class, so they got a special holiday for just that purpose. That was my adolescent outlook on physical education, anyway. I have since improved my ability a bit, and my attitude more so.

From what I can see, every Japanese school has a special day that translates as Sports Day. It is like American Field Day, plus a truckload of steroids. The format is as follows: Sports Day is on a Saturday. The entire school (staff & student) attends. Everyone gets the following Monday off. Everyone is divided between two teams, red and white. The day is an excuse for teachers to wear their new tracksuits. They all do. There is a great deal of pride involved, and the losing team cries. But to be fair, the victors may also cry.

I have heard accounts of these Sports Days from other ALTs. Being at a mountain school, my day was slightly different. Ikawa Junior High is the smallest junior high in the district, so they combined with the elementary school and kindergarten for a total of 22 students. This was still not enough, so the teachers and townspeople joined in. With a local population of 700, we had a turnout of roughly 200 people at the Ikawa Sports Day.

To prepare, students and staff left school after lunch on Friday and met at the elementary school, where the bigger field was located. There, a healthy handful of locals came to assist with setup. Tents were hoisted, a track was chalked, international flags flown high, and various items carried around. The tents were substantial, but probably did not require the two-dozen people that helped to put each one up. If I stood still, I was asked to help, and when I helped, I was in the way. Every age group assisted, but the retired old men ran the show. Readily available, and eager to make something, the majority of the two-dozen tent-raisers were in the retired old man faction. You have never seen such incompetence as a collection of competence with the same goal. Two-dozen master chefs destroying a simple broth. I stood aside, and the tents eventually found their way up.

The next morning, I walked with the teacher group to the elementary field (all the teachers live in the same dorm). Townsfolk trickled in, and we saw to the final touches of setup. A group of women working over numerous cutting boards and two cauldrons, oversaw the miso soup that would be for lunch. They faired much better in the group effort than their male counterparts.

There was an opening ceremony, where a guy who must be important talked, the kindergarteners took turns speaking to announce something, and the three sixth graders played some huge mountain horns that the elementary school saves for special occasions (they let me blow one once). Then everyone participated in a group stretch routine. (you saw the photos in the Thriller post) They played some goofy and really perky song over the loudspeakers that barked commands in Japanese. I started out mimicking other’s movements, but was soon very lost. I later heard that everyone learns that stretch at a young age. I missed out

The games began. The first was a goofy relay for the elementary and kindergarten. Little kids rode on shoulders as the bigger kids ran fifty paces to a pole. On the pole were loosely clipped packages of individual rice crackers. The kids grabbed them in their teeth and rode their partners back to the starting line. Then roles reversed, and the little ones led their bigger, and now blindfolded, partners to the rice cracker distribution pole. Too much fun to quit, the organizers summoned the principals and me to participate. Once blindfolded, I was given the hand of my partner. It was tiny. I was teamed with a three-year-old boy. Adorable, but not the greatest competitor.

Throughout the day the events varied greatly and had multiple categories. Men’s, women’s, youth, adult, and elderly. And not just athletic competition, but there were also exhibition events. A group of women performed as a dance troupe in special colorful outfits. Japan loves these dance routines, and makes use of them at many festivals. The same dance number was repeated a few times, and more groups joined in. There was a tug-of-war that I joined in on, losing once and winning once. The final athletic event was the adult relay, a 4X150m (approx) foot race. This was the one event I new I would be participating in with advance notice. For everything else I was dragged out. We got fourth of five.

After all the events, the fire department (who had competed, as well as the police), made use of the assembly to give a fire safety seminar and demonstrate their equipment. People took turns spraying the extinguishers in the dirt and hoses in the trees. The day was a fantastic time, and an all-around positive sporting experience. Being off in the mountains, Ikawa is free to do things a little different than the city folk. They dropped the competitive edge, and boosted the community engagement. I cannot remember if I was on the red or white team, but I do recall we lost by a small margin. I did not see any tears.

Townspeople spontaneously perform Thriller

2008-10-05T18:25:00.007+09:00

Combating the monotony of mountain life, at least one hundred Ikawa residents performed segments of Michael Jackson's popular Thriller dance routine.

"Like nothing I have ever seen," said an undisclosed source.

The performance contained representatives of every age group, but was primarily the elders of the community. Many had track suits, but few had rhythm.

Asked for comment, temporary village squatter, Davin, said, "I am not entirely sure that this happened. In fact, I do not think it did. Hey, you don't look like a reporter?"

Engineered Slop Appeal

2008-10-02T14:53:00.001+09:00

As I sit down and type, I have just returned from my first kanji lesson. This morning I was invited to sit in on Vice Principal Mochizuki’s calligraphy class with the 7th grade students. I started out by writing my name in Katakana. Ms. Hanamura, my tutor for the class, laid my name out on a sheet of paper so that I may use it as a guide. I went through seven or eight sheets practicing my stroke order and brush control.

I might as well had used a magic marker. My quickly scrawled Japanese John Hancock looked dull and malnourished when compared to the juicy lines of what I was trying to emulate. Ms. Hanamura and Mr. Mochizuki determined my best piece and placed it aside. Before tackling the next word, I wandered the room to see how the students were fairing. The word of the day that I would shortly join them in practicing was “dream.” The first thing I noticed was the speed, or lack of it, with which they moved. I understood that we were practicing writing, and so I wrote quickly. My results were ugly. What they were doing was closer to drawing.

I set to work on “dream.” The word comes in two vertically stacked parts, the first in nine strokes and the second in seven. I slowed down for this round, and plumped up my lines. This time they were thick. Too thick. There was no variation. Thick lines complimenting thick lines insults the art of Kanji. My fat little dream stared up at me, wanting a Snickers bar. A few more passes, and things improved. Seems more esthetic than practical, but I would like to learn more Kanji.

What struck me the most was the control. Not just of the brush, but the whole outcome. Every shift and shuffle of the brush is an intentional move. The contact when it first engages the paper is angled just right. Pressure is lifted then reapplied and the stroke thins and thickens accordingly. And to finish, the stroke slowly trails off, immediately lifts, or thickens and then cuts to a sharp point. The last one is lovely and most difficult for me. Each of the motions is practiced, the final result being organic, flowing, and casual.

The casual presentation is in truth completely intentional. It is like the model with a hairstyle that looks fresh off the pillow, but we all know a world class stylist spent a great deal of time to primp it just so. The manufactured natural look.

Regardless of the language, I have always been a fan of the unique traits that appear in writing. A flick of the wrist and pen or brush trails off. Too much ink and you get a bulge or drip. The beauty is born of those fine serendipitous details that occur. But here, where such unteachable things are taught, we learn a uniform uniqueness. It is said of Japan, that the nail who sticks up shall be hammered back down.

So then it is okay to draw outside the lines, just so long as that is the way you were taught…

Something familiar also.

2008-09-28T19:18:00.005+09:00

A group of folks can only play so many games of hearts before a deck of cards will just not cut it. On this note, I figured each of the ALTs should become responsible for one game. I found my game in a toy store a couple weeks ago. Actually, it was a toy/ninja weaponry/extremely realistic airsoft guns/gaming store. I did not find the game upon my first visit, as the Japanese packaging is radically different, and I was distracted by shiny throwing stars. I was also looking into purchasing a samurai sword to send home for my brother’s birthday. I was not sure of the legalities, so I dropped that quest. Sorry Gerbs.

I am now the proud owner of a Japanese edition Settlers of Catan board game. To break it in, we spent a low key Friday evening at a hip but humble bar named Photo. The place has a black and white decor accented by neon drink coasters showcasing some of my least favorite American presidents. The bartenders were likely pleased that we doubled their business, so they left us to a table in the back.

We had attempted the game a week earlier, but I was rusty on the rules, and far short of able to read the Japanese instructions. This time I came armed with an internet printout of English guidelines. The inaugural victory went to me, and not just because I shared rules when they were convenient. I rolled well, and proved my dominance in the settlement of a fictitious island nation.

As with any time I win something upon my first attempt, I considered retiring for good. That way I can maintain a 100% average. Though as early retirement would defeat the purpose of my purchase, I elected to take my chances within game play. I lost the second game, but I can no longer remember to whom. I think that shows a highly developed sense of acceptance.

Right now I excitedly await the arrival of Bang, an out of print game that Jess had a friend locate and ship from the States.

Something familiar.

2008-09-23T22:27:00.007+09:00

I may have a substantial percentage of German blood, but I have yet to visit the fatherland. My familiarity with German culture comes second hand through family and friends. Though last weekend when Oktoberfest came to Shizuoka, I was all too ready to embrace my heritage.

It was not until last year that I first paid any notice to Oktoberfest, when I had my own backyard Munich, a neighborhood success. I was all set for it to pass right by this season. Then a couple days beforehand, I caught word on an events calendar.

Now I may be a native Minnesotan, but my appreciation for beer was born in Wisconsin. In addition to having a Wisconsin pallet, I also have a Wisconsin wallet. I find myself the frugal fellow on evenings out and about. That said, my inner-accountant did not attend Oktoberfest with me. He stayed home to see that the air conditioner remained off.

Not knowing what they would ask, I was certain the price would be right for a proper German lager. And at 1300Yen (approx. $12) a half liter, it was fine. Here, key ingredients to brewing are heavily taxed by the government. As a result beer is either expensive, or lacking essential components.

The three day event was very well attended. Tables of strangers were filled up cheek to cheek. When I sat down for a few minutes, the Japanese fellow next to me was anxious to practice a little English. A live band played American jazz standards (jazz is everywhere here), and then broke into YMCA by The Village People. You can be anywhere in the world, you need not know the ABC’s, but you will know YMCA. Folks kept their seats, but sure did let their hands go dancing.

Next up was a proper lederhosen laden band flown in from Europe. They had the instruments for squeezing, strumming, blowing, and a whip for cracking. I met up with them at a convenience store after the show. They gave me a card and told me to look them up when I make it to Bavaria. Sure thing.

In addition to sampling the local culture, it is always of great interest to see what bits of our culture are imported. Some things are good, while others should keep to where they are from. I took this particular western import to be a fine success and a positive exchange.

The steep path

2008-09-15T19:02:00.006+09:00

It was bound to happen sooner or later. I am in a new place, away from home, exposed to new things. I consider myself to be sufficiently open-minded. In my time here I will try new things, maybe change a couple ideas. But there are some occasions where I need to put my foot down and hold fast to my convictions.

On Friday just before lunch, the 8th graders invited me to their class, for what I can only assume was a recruitment event targeting yours truly. They had picked some leaves that very morning from green tea plants on the school’s property. I appreciated their inclusion of me to the affair, but I was privy to their agenda.

I played along. The process from leaf to tea was already underway, but I had not missed much. For about an hour they rotate the leaves between a bowl and a skillet. In the bowl, the leaves are rolled lightly between the hands, making them more compact. Dumped on a paper towel on a low set skillet, the leaves are continuously shuffled with chopsticks. This is to dry the leaves.

I asked questions to learn more about the process, as our method did not seem the most efficient – a few people working for an hour to produce 100g of tea. Ikawa is after all, a big tea region. From what I could understand, there are big machines that both heat and shake the leaves. Seems elaborate for the local farmers, but I will have to look a little further.

After the work was done, the students heated some water and steeped our fresh tea. It was good. I think I enjoyed it more having just seen it made, and being a part of the process. And kudos to the students for the role reversal. It was fun having them give me the lesson.

Though for such a great attempt it was fruitless. No one has yet confessed, but I am well aware of the nation wide conspiracy to derail my coffee love. A personal message: “Japan, I know what you are up to, and you have your work cut out for you. Well you can not stop my love of coffee, you can do your best to build my like of tea.”

Ikawa/School begins!

2008-09-07T22:12:00.007+09:00

…First off, I apologize for my posting absence. The reasons will be apparent soon enough…

Last Monday morning I found my way to the Shizutetsu Station, and hopped a bus for Yokisawa. The ride was about an hour long. Once there, I waited 40 minutes on a bench to transfer to my next bus. The next bus was a van. It had a driver, an old guy with a backpack, and me in a suit. That ride was a bit over an hour, and took me to Ikawa. Ms. Hanamura picked me at the bus stop and brought me to Ikawa Junior High School. There I met the 11 staff that instruct the 10 students.

Yes, 10 students - four kids in seventh grade, three in eighth, and three in ninth. Ikawa Junior High School is the smallest school in Shizuoka City. And at two hours drive into the mountains, it is also the furthest. This is my placement for the first month. Because of the distance, I am supplied with a local apartment about a mile from the school. Monday mornings I bus from the center of Shizuoka to Ikawa. I teach for the week, and then a teacher gives me a ride back to center Friday after work.

I have never lived on my own before, and now I have two apartments entirely to myself! It does make things a bit difficult when I barely have the goods to furnish one apartment, let alone two. The apartment in Ikawa is in a building with the rest of the teachers. They are all in the similar situation of commuting home for the weekends. Every night dinner is served on the main level, and people can come and go. This has provided for a nice casual way to chat with my colleagues. At this point of the evening, people have typically dropped their pants and dress shirts to dawn t-shirts and shorts. The food has been pretty tasty and mostly traditional. We had sashimi on Wednesday night.

Ikawa has a population of 700, and it boggles my mind that the city provides the resources that it does. The school is about ten years old, not even a toddler when converted to human years. It looks like it could support about 200 students, I guess it is good to be prepared for expansion. The rural students are thus far a quiet bunch. I hope to shake that up a bit. As for now, I am still an outsider. The teachers/staff are extremely friendly, helpful, and sharing. If I have not tried a certain kind of sweet, they will see to it that I do!

For my first week I gave nine lessons, three of which were self introductions. The self introduction is a big deal and oh so mandatory for an ALT such as myself. I must admit, I am a bit of an authority in the field, when it comes to lecturing about myself. I gave them the geography - America/Wisconsin/Eau Claire. I made certain that they knew the importance of cheese, and what a Cheesehead was. There would be a quiz on it later. Then I introduced my immediate family. They are Minnesotans, but it is forgivable. I then shared my interests. Saturday mornings are a must at the Farmers Market and Ultimate Frisbee is the greatest sport. They would ask me about some famous baseball player, but I would steer it back to Frisbee. I showed photos of Romar Greenhouse where I worked. The kids were rural, and some farmers, but they were still pretty impressed by “1,000 chickens!”

The triumphant photo was always saved for last. I always qualified it by saying it was very special. Once I had their full attention I would present them with an 8x10 glossy color photo of Lindsay and I all dressed up at the Viennese Ball. Every good story needs a romantic interest, and the kids loved it. Sometimes other teachers would be in the class, and they would tell other teachers who would then ask to see the photo in the office. I currently have an outstanding promise to share the photo with the principal’s wife.

Thus far I am quite pleased with my assignment. I am splat in the middle of the mountains, the area is beautiful. I have already seen a monkey climbing a power pole. It was big with shaggy grey hair and a pink face. We had a two second staring contest, which I won, and then he jumped into the trees. I hope there will be a rematch.

Now that it is the weekend, I have come back to the city and have had the opportunity to swap classroom tales with the other ALTs. All of us are having different experiences, though mine are emerging as the most unique. The more I hear, the more it seems that I have a great classroom situation as well. Ms. Hanamura, my JTE (Japanese Teacher of English), whom I assist, has been ever so helpful, and enthusiastic to work together. Some ALTs are already collecting the horror stories.

More than anything it just feels great for school to be in session. It was quite difficult to travel halfway around the globe and spend a month in detention at the Board of Education Office. None of us were hired for our skills in sitting and waiting. My story could change, but for now I am feeling great. The classroom is comfortable, people are interested in me, and everything is new.

Oh yeah, internet. I have a wireless internet service that, though portable, is limited to the urban realms of the city. The school office has one computer with access to the web. I may be able to sneak online occasionally, but for now my blog posts will be mostly weekend happenings.

Fuji Part 3

2008-08-31T11:46:00.014+09:00

Through the night we laid there. Make-believing at sleep in hopes of making it true. The room was a large group effort to slumber, but no one was cooperating. Each had their own sound, a breath, snore, whisper, shuffle, hopping off a bunk. In a room of thirty I am not sure who found sleep, not our group of four. Jackson started to stir and rotate, and did so all night. Kat talked to Mark, trying to help him relax and breathe. He took a giant involuntary breath once or twice a minute, his body gasping for oxygen at high altitude. He had a couple shots of canned oxygen, but saved most for the summit.

At 1:15 we sat up and slowly got our items, still wet, in order. I at best had a half hour of sleep, and that may have been the best of us. We ate our cheap, but somehow 1,000 yen breakfast in the front entry, and then headed out. The late night/early morning was quite windy and had the occasional star. We were rained on from time to time, even a bit of snow, but all that eventually quit.

Unlike the day before, we were among many others on the trail. The early morning summit is a popular hike. Within the first hour we came upon a line that continued its way to the top. A single file line that moved a quarter of our desired pace. Before long Jackson and I opted to exploit the width of the trail. 95% of the hikers kept to their spot in line, probably a fine example of the national groupthink. Sometimes the trail would narrow and we would fall in suit, but mostly we could bypass the crowd, sometimes taking the slightly tougher route. We were not budging, but just making more efficient use of the trail before us.

An hour prior to summit, streaks of light steadily formed on the horizon. The sunrise was beginning before we arrived. Fortunate to us, the sun first graced our face of the mountain. We could still see it. It was about 5am that I reached the summit. Jackson, and his long stride, beat me by five minutes. The summit was sprawled with people. Hiking through rain on a Tuesday morning, I expected nowhere near the present crowd, but evidently the popularity of Japan’s great mountain does not flux with the weather.

The sky cleared for us, leaving plenty of clouds to catch highlights of color and produce contrast. A perfect end to the ascent. Halfway down the mountain, began a rumpled cloud blanket cast as far as could be. Well above my head was another such layer. And here me, in between, my own partition of the sky. Well, mine and the rest of the life on the summit. We all earned it. The sun stirred from the covers, and its audience went wild, thrusting arms upward, hooting, and yelling “Banzai!” we were all glad for the unexpected cameo. The hour spent on summit, I danced around behind a camera lens, while the others took residence by a small fire in the lodge. I really wanted to make the loop around the crater, but could not inspire such of the group.

"Three cheers for the sun!"

The descent was sunny and beautiful. The trail was a different one, less a decline, but longer as a trade off. I found it most suitable to do a jog/slide combo, as walking was painstakingly slow. By 9am we were at the fifth station where we caught a bus direct to the train station. The general consensus is that you must do Fuji, and once is plenty enough. For me, the next climbing season (July-August) is too far off.

Kat and Mark headed down (the surface of Mars).

The fun way down (mildly narcissistic).

Fuji Part 2

2008-08-28T21:15:00.012+09:00

Just after 8am the hostel shuttled us back to the train station, good service. By 9am we were moving along the tracks. A short ride brought us to a town right at the mountain’s base. We followed a map to find our point of entry. Usually the location of a mountain is rather apparent, but it was foggy, we needed our map. One, two three stoplights, buy umbrellas, four stoplights, take a right into a shrine. We walked under the great structure and entered an old growth boulevard of statues and enormous trees.

The shrine could have been a destination all its own, but as we had an agenda, we found our trail. And finding only required asking a few locals. We were starting at the bottom, very few people do this, and so the trail was less apparent. Somewhere in our planning it was read that although nearly everyone busses up to station five and then hikes, starting at the bottom is regarded as the “purist” approach. The words sank in.

At 10am the mountain was underfoot. The introductory slope was gradual, mostly drawn out investigations of how beautiful a forest can be. Quite. Within a couple hours uneven pacing separated Jackson and myself from Kat and Mark. Choosing the proper hiking buddy turns out to be an important step.

Fuji can be attacked from multiple sides depending upon environmental preferences and geographical conveniences. There are different trails, but along each is a series of stations for resting and refreshing. Ten stations to each route. One being toward the bottom, ten on the top. We packed water accordingly. At 2pm Jackson and I reached station five, and awaited the other two. All stations leading to this point were either crumbled shacks or non-existent. We had been ill informed. Fortunately station five was overseen by a friendly fellow who let us dry our soaked garments over his wood stove. A newer station five that draws all the bus traffic, was located just off to a side trail, and so we were the first hikers he had seen all day. We all bought a warm lunch to avoid paying the 1,200 yen resting fee.

Moving on at 3pm, we emerged from the woods. Trees became rocks, and we traded our umbrellas for climbing gloves. After the sixth station the crowds appeared. Were it a sunny day, we would have seen them hours earlier. We passed many people that were either too tired or too polite to pass themselves. The mountain, as it had been all day, was still held by the clouds. We could see the mountain beneath our feet, sometimes the face before us, ridges left and right, but for everything else, was whiteness.

We had reservations for a lodge just after station seven, and yet at 6pm we found ourselves at station eight. Fortunately they had space available, we were in no mood to backtrack. So at 3,100 meters above sea level, we settled in, and looked for a place for our perpetually wet clothes to dry. The place was not there, and/or was spoken for. The lodge fed us a simple meal of rice and curry, and at 7:30 we went to bed. Kat set her alarm for 1am.

Fuji Part 1

2008-08-26T22:23:00.004+09:00

On Sunday I woke up at 7am. Shortly after that I received a text message on my phone inquiring as to the weather forecast. It was raining out. Our plan was to hike Mt. Fuji. A flurry of messages (this is how we communicate) passed in the next 30 minutes between myself and four others. All our preparation and reservations were beginning to look a wash, but upon our indecisiveness, we decided to meet at the JR Station as per the plan.

At the train station I was quite pleased to encounter enthusiasm other than my own. Personally, I was ready to hike a mountain in the rain, but that was not a proper sales pitch. With plenty of talking and a little motivational speech, we hopped aboard our train, though minus one group member.

The train ride was six hours long and consisted of five transfers. We were headed for the far side of Mt. Fuji, and a bullet train would have cost four times as much. I lost a game of hearts during the longest segment of travel. Our hostel hosts picked us up at the station, sparing us a minimum 40 minute walk. There would be enough of that in the days to come. Finest hostel I have been to. The four of us had our own room furnished in traditional Japanese décor.

With a map and some advice, we ventured into the city. It was a comfortable enough size to have only a night, walk around, and have dinner. We had Indian food. Japan has its own rendition of curry that I can take or leave, but this place was authentic. The owner was not much for smiling, though it did not detract from his service any. The food was fantastic and the portions more than enough. For the most part, portions have been quantitatively lacking in these parts. What can I say, I have an American appetite.

To close our wander, we went to an onsen located right behind the hostel. Onsens are Japanese hot baths, and people have not stopped talking about them since we arrived. A cheaper one, at 800 Yen for two hours, but no shortage of beauty to the joint. A beautiful building, the girl in our group went one way, and us three guys went the other. We went into a changing room, locked up or clothes, showered off, and went outside into a small courtyard with open sky and three tubs. The baths were made of stone and had a natural appeal. The sulfurous hot spring water came down a small waterfall into the first tub. This one had a thermometer declaring 47 degrees. It was not used much. The water spilled over the far edge into the next tub, a mid temp pool where we spent most of the time. Then that one poured over into the final outdoor and most mild tub.

Having went right for the tubs outside, I could not imagine spending our full two hours just boiling away. I explored the indoor options, a room between the lockers and the outside pools. There, among the showers was also a sauna, another really hot pool, and a small cold pool. I loved that cold pool. It was such a shock, but once my body became accustomed to the cold water, I was ready for any of the other pools, even the super hot ones. I would love to have taken pictures of the setup, but neither the locals, nor my friends would likely care for me to have photographs of their naked butts. And this is not that kind of website anyway.

To be continued…

August (no) rush

2008-08-19T22:35:00.001+09:00

Everyone goes back to school on September 1st. Until then, I and the rest of the assistant language teachers have little to do. I can only imagine that it is because the city does not want us wandering around aimlessly, that they require us to be in the office everyday this month. So for my 35 contracted hours each week, I show up to the Board of Education office in a government building that is 25 minutes train ride from my apartment.

Orientation has been a small portion of this time. So mostly right now I am studying my Japanese with Rosetta Stone software (thank you friends), learning the Hiragana alphabet, playing cards, and passing the time.

Most of the ALTs are using vacation time now, as it will be difficult to use during the school year. Fortunately I have five days of summer vacation that must be used this month. Plans are coming together for a Mount Fuji trip.

Not much more to say than I spend my days in a room. They shift us around. Sometimes we get windows, sometimes not. Some rooms are larger than others. All of the rooms have squeaky tables that slide when you try to put your feet up, but you still try.

I feel unprepared for the classroom, but quite ready to get out of this current storage locker situation. I am happy, but it does not matter which country I am in… four walls look the same everywhere.

Mobility Matters!

2008-08-14T01:31:00.000+09:00

Before making the journey, I was in communication with an exiting ALT (assistant language teacher). We arranged that I would purchase some of the items he acquired in two years here. One oh so important item that he did not transfer to me, is a bicycle. The public transit seems to be fairly solid here, but my daily usage really adds up. Even if the train were free, I would still want a bike, it is just one of those necessary things.

Last week I arranged to go bike shopping with Jess, a veteran ALT that knows the shops and speaks some Japanese. I was shooting for a simple device that would move me around, and be an alright ride. I soon discovered the used bike market to be a sad one. Here, good bikes are kept, and bad ones are ridden into the ground. I would have to go new. I shopped the bike shops, I shopped the department stores. On the streets of Shizuoka, and probably most of Japan, you will find two primary types of bike. Type 1 is an old style cruiser: heavy, short pedals, and a mandatory grocery basket. This model makes up about 80-90% of the bikes around here. Type 2 is a smaller model that often has the ability to fold up, though I doubt anyone uses the feature. They make up about 10% of the bike population. Both of these styles accomplish A to B travel, but do not look like much fun or comfort along the way.

I was faced with a decision. I could spend a minimal amount of money and get a working bicycle that I could leave behind when I move on. Or, I could spend some more money, and get a bike that I would definitely bring back to the States with me.

Tossing my original budget out with the rubbish, I went for option two. I will say right now that I have a bike back home that I love very much. I would never replace my Bianchi road bike, not even for a newer, faster model. I made a point to get a bike very much different from the one I already have, and love.

In shopping the stores I saw the brands available. I then went online to find the best model. I read reviews. I looked at pictures. Sometimes I would just stare at the pictures, as if they might materialize. I tried showing the pictures and the specs to my new friends here. They did not really get into it. Once my mind was made, I went to the one shop in town that carries the brand, and placed my order. I was going to play hardball, and work my way into some free accessories, but once I pointed out my future ride in the catalog, the twinkle in my eye outshined my poker face.

The mighty stead arrived today. Outfitted with headlights, fenders, and a complimentary bell, I picked it up coming home from work. The bicycle is a Trek Soho S model. Quite different from my 27 speed road bike in that this one has only one speed, an increasingly common commuting outfit. On days that I am feeling especially frisky, I can flip around the rear wheel and the single speed becomes a fixed gear. For those unfamiliar, a fixed gear bike is essentially locked between the pedals and the rear wheel. If the pedals are moving, then the bike is moving. If the bike is moving, then the pedals are moving. No coasting. A serious fixed gear bike has no brakes, and the user just locks their legs to skid to an eventual halt. I am not so brave, and so I have breaks.

I do not yet own a wrench, and so I can not perform the gear switching operation just yet. Hopefully this weekend I will get to try the fixed gear feature.

The biking/driving/walking in this town is a whole other matter. That may be subject for a later day.

Things Explode.

2008-08-10T23:36:00.000+09:00

Last night we hopped on a train for what I believe was Aino, Japan. The ride was a crowded hour on the JR Line. A rig with more of a feel for commuting than for travel. The train’s occupants were a mix of folks in your everyday clothing as well as traditional garb. Most popular were these classic outfits, among teenage girls. With hair done up, wooden sandals, and a big bow holding it all together in back, these young ladies were ready to see some fireworks. It appears that for many community events it is typical practice to dust off tradition and dawn such attire. A couple of ALTs that have been here a few years, had their own such outfits and joined in.

Arriving at the station, men in uniform were everywhere, some armed with megaphones. All with the goal to corral us from train to outside, where we were on our own to find the best vantage point. The first staging outside was a carnival-like series of food tents. Everyone had hotdogs. The Japanese love hotdogs. You could get a basic dog on a stick, a coiled dog on a stick, a dog wrapped in dough, a corndog, and probably more variation. You would not, however, have found a dog in a bun. That just does not happen here.

We got off the train at 6:00, which seemed early for seeing fireworks, but apparently the show was to begin pre-sundown. We found a nice plot of grass (a rarity in these parts) on the lawn of some big business building. We had plenty of space leading me to believe our squat was less than legal. No complaints surfaced, so we enjoyed the show.

The show burst to life just as the sun was considering its last act of the day. It was then I saw justification for the early start time. I have worked up a little mathematical equation that does well to explain the setting:

if…
Sunset = Pretty
and…
Fireworks = Awesome

then…
Sunset + Fireworks = Pretty Awesome

It has been a while since I have taken such a class, but I feel my tabulations to be quite sound.

The show went on for two hours. Every now and then there was a pause so that the viewers could consult their guide and know who was responsible for sponsoring each section. Personally, I would had liked to have seen the two hours of ammunition shot up in one hour’s time. But it was still great. They had some stuff that I definitely have not seen in the United States. Apparently we are not the best at blowing things up. As I am still in the honeymoon stage with my digital camera, I spent near the whole duration bouncing around trying to snatch the right shot. Why did I not bring a tripod?

A shot of some traditional garb on one of the ALTs

Some footage from the beginning, with random commentary

Look what my toilet can do!

2008-08-08T00:46:00.000+09:00

While back in the states, a few folks had expressed concern for my upcoming Japanese bathroom situation. They were of course, reasonable concerns. In China I had encountered “non-western” toilets before. These are pretty much holes in the floor, no seat. I have never been fond of the hover squat technique. Especially not with one leg immobilized in a brace. However, that is an experience I can leave behind me.

Japan has not only adopted the western toilet, they have embraced it. At the hotel in Tokyo, my toilet had digital adjustments for a bidet and other features that I could not identify. Had I been there longer, I may have experimented a bit. But in my few day stay I did not venture to let loose a super soaker upon my rectum. Perhaps some night I will awake with great pangs of regret. For now I feel fine.

That was the big city, I am in Shizuoka now. So my toilet should be normal right? I think it might have been day two in Shizuoka that I first utilized the sitting function of my apartment’s toilet. Man, it was hot out. My head was hot. My arms were hot. My legs were hot. My butt was… hot? Something was off here. I stood up, sat back down, touched it with my hand. Yes, my seat was heated. I have a heated toilet seat. It is a humid 90 degrees everyday, and if I am not yet doing so, my toilet sees fit to make me sweat. I tried to make sense of this. Was there greater relaxing purpose that would somehow encourage my digestive system? I do not think so. There is an adjustment dial on the side, but I can make no sense of it as it is in kanji. After a week of bathroom sweats, I took charge and unplugged the toilet from the wall. Somehow that option had eluded me.

Another detail I noticed first day/first flush, was a faucet and basin parked right on top of my toilet. The moment I hit the flush lever, water flowing out the top caught my attention. As seemed natural I placed my hands under the spout and cleaned them. I then thought better of my action, and wondered whether this was some unique draining system. I gave my hands a second wash in the outer bathroom sink (My bathroom is actually three rooms: toilet, sink, shower) just to be sure. Every time I flush the toilet, the faucet automatically kicks in. It is probably just fine, but I have since not been able to comfortably make use of a toilet-top sink.

I have only used a small portion of bathrooms so far, and thus I cannot gauge what makes up a typical Japanese toilet. I will however, do my best to get to the bottom of this.

...and here I am.

2008-08-06T23:27:00.000+09:00

For the last month it seems that I have been in a fog of sorts. I have had a swell time of seeing friends and family prior to departure, but my knack for last minute preparation left me in a jumbled state. Where I would have loved to walk slow and take in every last bit of home, I instead found myself rushing to satisfy the needs of scrap paper lists.

To the thousand questions of “was I excited?”

I said, “Yes.”

I said this, knowing it to be the answer wanted of such a rhetorical question. In all actuality I was at a distance of any great emotion. Pulled too far in any direction to feel anything of merit. I say all of this, not to paint me a cold person, but to lay the scene of confusion that has escorted me here.

…and here I am. Three nights in Tokyo. From the Tokyo Tower, the city reaches the horizon in every direction. I have never seen a spread as that one. A week now in Shizuoka. My eyes are beginning to focus. Shizuoka is a squat city of ¾ million people. Buildings give up at about twenty stories, but the pavement reaches for the hills, and then some. As I hear it, Shizuoka is Japan’s second largest city in occupation of space.

It took about 1.5 hours upon the medium paced bullet train to arrive from Tokyo, keeping the metropolis within reach of weekend excursions. On the north end of my prefecture resides the local giant, Mount Fuji. As the air cools, I can expect to trade glances with the slope on a daily basis. For now, I can just trust Google Earth that it is in fact there. The city is coastal, but I will have to trek to find sand. Easier it will be to find ships and docks that make up the respectably sized port.

In the process of application, I gave no request for city, region, or even an urban/rural preference. I arrived having packed no expectations, and I could not imagine a better placement.

Please check back here, to see what I am up to…