Natsu

Today the sky blazed red as the sun was getting ready to set; and it was as if the intense heat which still lingered even at dusk, was radiating down from this blazing sky. Summer has returned and brings with it many things.


The green tinged rice fields of the rainy season have spouted forth and are now lush green carpets of summer. Farmers have armed their crops with their best ammunition: mannequin head scarecrows. They are all female, with varying shades of haircolor and hairstyles, and all with a full face of make-up. Being outside for weeks on end you can imagine they are a little worse for wear, but I think this gives them character. It is very eerie to see what appears to be a woman's head dangling from a rope in the middle of a field. It looks like something straight out of a horror film.

The frogs that serenaded have been replaced by cicadas-which are somehow not as soothing. They seem to be most active during the hottest times of the day, although they can be heard even at 7:00 AM and it stays quite hot until the sun sets and they are still active until nightfall. Their song is a rattling buzz. When they sing there is a slow ascension as the pitch gets louder and higher until it reaches it's peak at which point it seems the cicada might either shoot into the sky like a rocket or simply explode. The noise they produce individually isn't so loud, but collectivelly it is practically defening. They seem to "sing" in harmony as well. When one gets going they all chime in, go crazy for a few minutes, and then all will go silent. Again, slightly eerie.

Recently I have also seen an abundance of massive dragonflies. By far the largest dragon flies I have ever seen. I often see them flying about in large groups. The other days there must have been twenty or thirty in the courtyard at school. The third floor walkway provided the best veiwing point. The dragonflies were soaring high in the breeze and appeared to be windsurfing.

Sometimes I feel as though I've been transported back to a prehistoric time when massive insects and plants ruled the earth. I have encountered more bugs and larger bugs than I ever have before. Bugs that I don't see, I hear, some during the day and others at night. Vines grow fast and dense during this time of year, overtaking abandoned cars and boats like a spider catching a meal in it's web. I like to ride my scooter or bike on the country roads near my house. When I pass through a patch of the road that is particularly dense with foliage I can feel the air is considerably cooler. It has a dank quality and smells like the inside of an old stone castle.

Although the rains have gone I am still battling the effects of the hot, wet, humid, rainy season. My apartment, built of wood-some of which is untreated-and with tatami floors, does not seem like the ideal construction for a humid country with a rainy season. One unfortunate day I discovered that the shoes inside my shoe cupboard were all coated with a fuzzy layer of mold. It wasn't too surprising really; all the cupboards are made with untreated wood and have no means of ventilation. Even if I leave all windows and doors open the air still feels heavy and stagnant. Upon closer inspection of the wood I noticed the it appeared to be wet from having absorbed so much atmospheric moisture. My house was under attack-and this was a full out battle. I emptied everything from every cupboard: shoes, luggage, camping gear, etc. The downstairs floor was covered with a solid layer of stuff. Armed with anxiety and bleach I attacked. Like a bad case of bed bugs those little spores made me feel as though I might self destruct-or take a hammer to my moldy apartment-which would probably crumble and collapse upon the first blow. I have discovered mold on nearly every surface on the first floor of my apartment, but have since taken a more relaxed approach. I clean a little everyday and use fans to air out cupboards and places that lack proper ventilation. I'm getting used to having my junk lying about everywhere because I'm afraid they will mold if I return them to their condemned cupboard homes. Ironically, even though my apartment appears to be in total disarray, it has probably never been so clean. I just wonder why someone thought it was a good idea to build homes out of wood and straw (tatami) in a climate that is ideal for mold.

What exactly is "inaka"?

In my little town of Sakurai I have become very familiar with the term "inaka". Some might wonder, "What is inaka? What does it mean or what is it comprised of?" Let me clarify by sharing some aspects of my town that I think exemplify it's "inaka-ness".

1. The rice field to house ratio is nearly 1:1 and many of the homes included in that ratio have been long since abandoned and left to the vines.
2. The population is comprised mostly of elderly people and families with young children.
3. The rice fields and vegetable gardens that are such a large part of the landscape here are tended to by the predominately elderly community. Truly amazing because the summer heat is a force to be reckoned with. I'm truly amazed by their stoic nature.

4. At noon and 1 PM an alarm that is distinctly similar to an air raid siren sounds out. This is to announce the start and finish of lunch time to those working in the rice fields.

5. There are no new fangled organic markets that cater to the needs of special dietary restrictions like low-carb, gluten free, or even vegetarianism. In fact, many people don't even know what a vegetarian is. Or they think it means fish, chicken, and sometimes pork, are okay to eat.

6. My students, although adorable, are inescapable. I see them in the market, at the post office or bank, and especially at the local shopping mall . They live in my neighborhood and I inevitably always see them at the train station which is 10 minutes from both my house and school. They are like little spies that love reporting my whereabouts to other teachers on a daily basis. 7. Even after one year of living in Sakurai I continue to get the craziest looks; mostly from young children and elderly people while the middle-aged group tends to avoid making direct eye contact. I would say it's a look that expresses something between, "My goodness, what is it and where did it come from!?" and "THEY DO EXIST!" I have a game that I have been playing lately. If I get a stare, I give a big toothy grin. Unless the person is a complete ice queen (or king) I almost always get a bewildered smile back. It's great.

8. Any building that looks bright, flashy, fun, and generally garish is inevitably a pachinko parlor. Pachinko is a Japanese anomaly. Closely resembling a pinball machine, pachinko is a form of gambling. The parlors are deafeningly loud with the sound of metal ball bearings being bounced around. They are also filled with a haze of stagnant cigarette smoke. They are the most exciting looking thing around, and I am constantly fooled by them. An instant of, "Ahhah! What's this treasure I have found!" quickly passes when I soon realize that it is yet another pachinko parlor.


9. I live in a massive two story, four room apartment five minutes from the beach and I only pay 8500 yen a month (roughly $100).

10. BUT...my neighbor will call my landlord, who will call my school's office, who will relay the message to my supervisor...IF Joe goes outside without a shirt on. This is a true story! Joe went out for less than ten minutes on a Sunday morning to change a bicycle tire. Before long it seemed like the whole town knew about it.

11. Speaking Imabari-ben, the local Imabari dialect, while in a large city like Tokyo or Osaka would make me instantly recognizable as a country bumpkin. Not only would I sound totally uncouth, but city dwellers might not even understand me!

The Rains Have Come

The classroom is silent except for the sound of little hands writing. As I gaze out the window from my third floor classroom atop a hill I see a vast expanse of rice paddies-only recently planted so they appear to be flooded fields tinged with green. From my vantage point cars look like toys, teetering between rice paddies on dangerously narrow roads. As two cars pass each other in opposite directions they slow to a near stop-there seems to be just shy of enough room for both to pass.

It has been raining for the past three days. The air is heavy with humidity. Everything feels damp and nothing seems to dry. But today we are granted a reprieve in this season of rain

In the distance I see a shadow of the shaggy green mountains that flank one side of my town. Today they are enshrouded in a humid fog. I listen to the sounds outside my silent classroom. A myriad of birds are vocalizing their content now that the rain has finally stopped. I hear a train and look to see it quickly cutting through the green tinged fields, disappearing as quickly as it appeared. I hear frogs croaking. They must like the recently flooded rice fields because only in the last few weeks have I begun to hear a symphony of croaking frogs.

The smells of Shikoku's summer have returned and take me back to my first few weeks in Japan. It is a very strange, surreal sensation. This time warp, de ja vue feeling lasts only for a moment before disappearing. My brain shifts back to the present as one of my more enthusiastic twelve year old students yells "I'M FINISHED!" as he slams his pencil down on the desk and does a little victory pose. We have a mutually understood silent giggle as the rest of the students continue to work.

In my first season of rain life is good.

Tsukiji Fish Market

My mom came to visit in April and our plan was a 5 day road trip around my island. Our road trip was preceded by three days in Tokyo, the highlight being Tsukiji Fish Market. Tsukiji is the world's largest fish market and occurs six days a week. One of the main attractions of the market is the tuna auction, in which hundreds of massive tuna are auctioned at rapid fire speed. The tuna auction was our first stop in the market as it starts at 5:30 AM. Before the auction officially starts all the authorized buyers meander through the warehouse sizing up the selection. Each buyer seemed to have his own method of evaluating the tuna. Some poked with pick-axes, some rubbed the flesh, some tore off chunks and tasted it, all the while taking meticulous notes of their findings. There was such an eerie feel about the room. The hundreds of bulging tuna were laid out in neat little rows and their frozen bodies were enshrouded in foggy haze. There was hushed chattering and the mood was serious.

After the tuna have all been auctioned off they are hauled out of the warehouse to the authorized wholesale dealers in other parts of the market. Here the tuna are butchered and sold to restaurateurs.

But tuna isn't the only kind of fish sold at the market. Thousands of different kinds of fish and seafood can be found. Seeing row after row, and stall after stall with overflowing buckets of seafood I had to wonder; how can our oceans support this? Simply put, they can't. But I see no sign of Japan's populace slowing down or reducing their consumption levels. This market has been around for hundreds of years, and I imagine it will continue to operate until there are literally no fish left in the sea.





After touring the market we had a sushi breakfast at a famous sushi reatuarant just outside the gates of the market. It was a tiny little establishment that held no more than twenty people. Despite it's small size it had quite a reputation and there was a line outside the restaurant before 9 AM. It definitely stood up to its reputation. It was the most delicious sushi I've ever had.

Sado: The Way of Tea

For the past several months I have been learning a traditional Japanese art called Sado, or tea ceremony. It is the ceremonial preparation and presentation of matcha (powdered) green tea. It is more precise than I ever could have imagined; there is a correct way to carry out every movement and gesture. Objects should be picked up with a specific hand and held in a specific manner. Equipment required for the tea ceremony has to be laid out just so, and all objects must be ceremonially purified in the proper manner as well. Ones body positioning, the way one sits, stands, and walks is also very important.

The first time I practiced tea ceremony I felt like such a moron!! My tea ceremony teacher, Tabusa-san, performed it once for me to watch and then asked me to try. Of course I couldn't remember all the precise movements so she tried coach me along with words. There seemed to be a lapse between the words she was saying, my brain, and the movements of my hands though. I tried to carry out the movements exactly as she instructed me, but I just couldn't get it right!

When my mom visited me we went to Tabusa-san's house so my mom could see and try Sado for herself. Watching her fumble around and struggle to carry out the movements, just as I had struggled so much my first time, was absolutely hysterical! Sado is a pretty somber affair, and hysterical laughter normally wouldn't be appropriate, but in the company of close friends and family I just couldn't contain myself. It was pretty awesome.

After a few months of practice I was ready for my first real tea ceremony. It was at an Ohanami party held by the Imabari (my town) International Association. Ohanami, or cherry blossom viewing parties, are a very big deal in Japan. Cherry blossoms are the essence of spring; and the blossoms' limited lifespan illustrates just how fleeting this life is. I wore a kimono for the event, which was exciting, but also a little uncomfortable. I felt a little awkward in it as my movements were slightly restricted. I was so nervous because I was still learning and I was still a little shaky on some parts. Not to mention that I would be performing in front of dozens of people! I got through it just fine though and it was a great experience. I think the Japanese people that attended the Ohanami were moved to see a foreigner like me trying hard to learn about their traditional culture.

Here are some photos from the event:

Kodo: Taiko

Last month I went to see Kodo. Kodo is a Japanese music group that plays traditional Japanese instruments; primarily taiko drums, but also shinobue(Japanese flute), koto, shamisen, and other instruments as well. Their music is mostly instrumental, but a few songs have vocals too. The music produced by this group is unrivaled; it is amazing, and it is one of a kind. I love their explanation of the name Kodo-I think it really defines who they are. "In Japanese the word Kodo conveys two meanings. Firstly, 'heartbeat', the primal source of all rhythm. The sound of the great taiko is said to resemble a mother's heartbeat as felt in the womb...Secondly, read in a different way,the word can mean 'children of the drum', a reflection of Kodo's desire to play their drums simply, with the heart of a child. All members live communally on Sado island in Japan. Those hoping to join the group must first complete a two year apprenticeship while living communally on the island before they are even considered for admittance into the group.

The performance was held in a town called Uchiko. It had a real old world quality about it, almost like a mini Kyoto. It was fun to wander through the narrow streets and check out all the traditional old houses before the performance. The theater itself was quite a beauty too. It is a traditional old Japanese theater. Inside there are no chairs like one might find in a western style theater. Only tatami mats and cushions. The theater was packed so we had to sit on the second floor balcony, on the side of the stage. It was crammed even in the less desirable seats. Sitting shoulder to shoulder on the floor with hundreds of other theater goers gave the place a real intimate vibe. Before the show even started I could already tell that this was going to be a very cool new experience for me.

The show began. The air seemed charged with excitement and anticipation. The players were wailing away on their taikos and you could feel the vibration in your core. As they continued to play, subtle smiles appeared on their faces and it was easy to see that playing music was pure joy for them. They really do play their drums with the heart of a child. The show was about two hours in length and finished off with the largest taiko of all. It was about 8 feet high on its side and looked as thought ten men could fit inside it. The player pounded that taiko with all his might until he looked as though he might collapse.

Throughout the show I was literally on the edge of my tatami cushion and I think the joy they felt while playing was translated into their music and absorbed into my ears. I left feeling like I had experienced something so special. I think they do an excellent job of preserving and reinterpreting traditional Japanese music while using it to connect with people from all different cultures and backgrounds all around the world.


http://www.kodo.or.jp/news/index_en.html

Above is the link to their website where you can read more about them and sample their music. Click on "About Kodo" for an awesome video of them!

Keiji Trail Run-20km of Torture

A few weeks ago my friend Sarah and I ran a 20k trail course through Kyoto's mountains. When we decided to do the event months ago we thought we'd be running in the Kyoto City Marathon; a big event with a set course, water stations, and fans to cheer us along the way. What we signed up for turned out to be a beast of another breed, and had we known just how crazy it was going to be, we might not have gone through with it.

After signing up, realizing that it wasn't going to be what we expected, and deciding to go through with it anyhow, all we knew about the event was that it was a 20k course (roughly 13 miles) through Kyoto's mountains. We'd have to use a map and compass to find our way through the course. I researched orienteering (events where one must use a compass to find their way through a race course) and it looked fun. I was a little concerned so I emailed the race organizers and they informed that the race was easy, both physically and in terms of navigational skills required. We thought this might be a good introduction to orienteering, and a good opportunity to try something we might not normally do.

When I received my race packet the week before the event I was relieved to see that the race route was already worked out-we didn't actually have to find our own way. We just had to follow the clues given to make sure we were on the right trails. The only problem was that all the race information and clues were in Japanese. Sarah and I both had friends help us translate the clues; we figured that between the two of us we'd get all the important bits. I knew we had to traverse three mountains throughout the race, ranging in elevation from 50 meters to nearly 600 meters-a big challenge-but I was just so relieved the course was worked out for I us. I was feeling confident about our translation of the clues and our ability to successfully take on this challenge. And then I got the flu. The first time I've been sick in my 7+ months in Japan, and it was days before a big race. Great.

The day of the race I was still sick, but not nearly as sick as I had been. I was glad to be feeling better, and was so excited about the race I was hoping it wouldn't even phase me. When we arrived at the race we saw that nearly all 200 runners were wearing backpacks or camelbaks. Sarah and I just laughed, thinking that they were unnecessarily over prepared (seems to be the trend here-I went on a moderate half day hike and all the hikers we saw on the trail looked like they were hiking Mt. Everest or something!). We discussed our predicted finish time. I figured three hours-tops-to the finish, given my last half marathon finish time was 1 hour 52 minutes.

The race started and we all ran onto and up the trail, but soon we were all walking because 200 of us were jammed onto a trail that was too narrow to allow anyone to pass. Sarah and I laughed that maybe this was going to be a 20k walking event. We were high spirited and had no idea what lay ahead. Twenty minutes in and we were still half running/half walking up the first mountain-it was just too steep to run. I felt like my heart might explode in my chest. We came off our first trail and onto our first paved road. A steep decline. This was our first glimpse at what was in store.

One hour into the race Sarah and I hadn't even looked at our maps. There were so many runners on the course there was no need to check the map-we were all just following other runners. We came off another steep ascending trail only descend on a road just as steep. We hammered down the road as fast as we could. When we had nearly reached the bottom the group we were following stopped to check their maps and ask an old lady for directions. We had taken a wrong turn. Sarah and I looked at our maps and there it was plain as day, "Exit trail and make a left." We had made a right. We had to run all the way back uphill the way we came.

Our little detour set us back 30 minutes, but worse than that was now we were unsure of ourselves and were second guessing our instincts. Again we went off course, we took a turn prematurely and that set us back another 30 minutes. We were already two hours into the race and hadn't even reached the halfway point. And I was almost out of water. I was starting to freak out.

After asking a farmer on the road for directions we found our way again. It was Sarah and me, a real young kid, an older man who looked to be about 60, and a couple in their 30s. We were probably a funny looking group, but even when we were totally lost I was comforted to know that at least we weren't alone. We had 45 minutes to reach the halfway point or we would be disqualified and not allowed to finish the rest of the race. We all stuck together and pushed on, climbing hundreds of stairs and inclines that were far to steep to run . At last we came to a descent. It was a narrow little trail, maybe 1.5 feet wide, covered in slippery dead leaves, with a steep drop off. Running as fast as we could without slipping on the leaves and launching ourselves off the trail we ran down, down, down. Down several hundred more stairs and found ourselves at a dead end. We all collapsed onto the stairs, not wanting to think about climbing the mountain which we had just descended. Grandpa-what we named the old man-saw that I was out of water and shared half of the last of his water with me. It seemed we had formed a real team here. One of our team members shimmied past the vines that had overgrown the trail to find that it continued on the other side. YES! We hadn't taken yet another wrong turn! We made the halfway point just at the three hour cutoff. So much for thinking we'd finish the race in three hours!!

After making the halfway point I was totally out of water and totally exhausted. We had been running nothing but intense inclines and declines and my body was feeling it. And we still had the biggest mountain ahead of us. It was 600 meter (approx 1900 feet) climb to the top. Somewhere along the ascent we lost grandpa along with the rest of our group. The one big mountain alone would have been a challenge, but then to tack on another 10-15k of other mountain trails was just insane. It took us over and hour to climb to the top; I'd say about 65% of the climb was stairs. Sarah and I were doing our best to keep each other motivated and at one point we turned a corner to find the longest set of stairs I've ever seen. All I could see ahead were stairs, and I couldn't even see where they ended. As we began to climb Sarah told me about a book she once read about a man who survived the Holocaust, and how he somehow had the will the keep going when all odds seemed against him. This was good-I needed some real inspiration and motivation. In between gasping for air I asked, "so, how did he do it? What was his motivation?" And Sarah's response was "I can't remember-I don't think I got that far!" We were deliriously tired and both collapsed onto the stairs laughing hysterically at the absurd situation we were in.

When we finally got to the top there was nowhere to go but down. Right back down the 600 m we'd just climbed. Down hundreds of stairs again. At that point every single stair and step was painful. I wish I had brought my camera along with me because I feel no amount of description could accurately describe some of the trails we ran. At one point we were running across a narrow trail that was about a foot wide and all the earth on either side had eroded away. I remember thinking, "Man! I wouldn't be surprised if we turned the next corner to find a lava pit we had to cross!" Somehow we made it to the finish-in about 5 hours 45 minutes. Nearly double what we predicted.

Our reward was a free ticket to an onsen-but not just any onsen. This one was run by women who were over 80 years old and frequented by a crowd of the same age. The interior looked as though it were about 80 years old as well, with decor including the first model massage chair and hair dryer ever made.

The whole day was just one crazy experience; throughout the day I kept thinking to myself, "Where am I!? And how the heck did I get myself in this situation!?" Although I felt slightly defeated after the race I was still glad I did it and proud that I actually finished.

I was able to redeem myself when three weeks later Sarah and I ran anohter half marathon. It was the Matsuno Half Marathon and I finished with a decent time of 2 hours 10 minutes.

Koh Pha Ngan: The Trilogy Episode III

Our last day in Koh Pha Ngan was spent in Ang Thong Marine Park. The park a group of more than 40 islands that are protected and therefore uninhabited. The day included snorkeling, kayaking, and a hike up to Emerald Lake. It is a salt water lake connected to the ocean only through underground canals, but is otherwise completely encircled in limestone cliffs. Swimming is prohibited in the lake and it definitely has an untouched beauty. Portions of the movie "The Beach" were filmed in the islands, including Emerald Lake which was featured as the Blue Lagoon. My previous posts have been so wordy I want to keep it limited here. I think the natural beauty can speak for itself.

First stop: snorkeling

Fishing boats nearby

Second Stop: Kayaking
A views from the beach

Last Stop:Emerald Lake-View as we hike up




Emerald Lake

After the disappointing dives of the previous day this was the perfect way to finish up a week on Koh Pha Ngan.