こんーこんーこんーこんにちは。 日本語勉強

I’ve been taking a lot of Japanese classes since I came to Japan.

I had that one community class with just me and the talking-so-fast-I-couldn’t-understand-a-word teacher from August to December 2010.

Then I started the private tutoring class once a week to prepare for the JLPT.

Then I got a different teacher at the community class and things went better.

And I was doing the mail-in JET course as well.

So in case you were wondering why my Japanese is so breathtakingly good (冗談！), that’s why.

I took the JLPT Level 3 on December 4, and I am fairly certain I failed miserably. I ran out of time on the reading section, guessed my way through the kanji part, but maybe have a fighting chance on grammar. Mmmm, so maybe it’s not so breathtakingly good after all . . .

On top of all these classes, I started a new one in Tamamura on December 2^nd. Unlike my other classes—which basically consisted of one or two students per teacher—this is an actual class class, taught by certified JSOL (Japanese ESOL?) teachers and with enough students to fill up a decent-sized classroom, about 15. Every student except one is female, and together we represent the U.S., Peru, the Philippines, and China. This class, unlike the others I’ve attended, facilitates guided conversation. The teacher gives us handouts on different topics, then we talk about them in groups and as a class. So far, I’m really enjoying it, especially because the main teacher is a hoot. She’s Korean, tall, beautiful, and stylish, and speaks Japanese like a pro. Plus she has a sneaky habit of making fun of us students when we can’t speak correctly. I’ve been the butt of several of her jokes. I’m sure she’s laughing with me when I make a mistake . . . right?

However good the class, though, it’s still a pain to get to. I’m going with two other girls from Maebashi, and all of us have to jump through several hoops to get to the south side of Takasaki. One girl has to ride her bike half an hour to Maebashi Station then take the train one stop away to Shin Maebashi Station, where I pick her and the other girl up. The other girl takes the train, too, but the bike ride is shorter. We all ride together to Gunma Prefectural Women’s University, where the class is, then I take them back to Maebashi Station before driving back to my house. I always knew I hated driving—working at the CNNC did it to me—but I doubly hate it in Japan. Why can’t there be more convenient trains in Gunma?! But since there’s no ginger, we just suck up and bear it.

To make my life a little less stressful, though, I’ve dropped out of my other two Japanese classes. I now have my Monday and Thursday nights free again. And I’m biking to school every single non-rainy day, too, which is making me a much happier person.

After this class finishes in February, I’ll probably start up my other classes again. I just want to use the winter to relax a little bit before life speeds up again in the spring. 

Music Japanese Junior High Schoolers Like

One of my last 3rd grade (14- and 15-year olds) lesson plans was on My Favorite Song. This was immediately following the Stevie Wonder lesson plan in the Total English book. Needless to say, they were not too impressed with Mr. Wonder, with all due respect. After listening to four Stevie Wonder songs and filling out a 5-question sheet on each one (this song is happy/sad/angry....the rhythm is fast/slow/medium...I give it a 1-10, etc.), we did the same with our favorite songs. Their song choices were interesting to me. I had expected a wealth of Arashi and AKB48 (idol pop music) but was astounded by the variety of their choices.

I haven't listened to all of them, but I've probably seen 30 or 40 of their recommended videos on YouTube. It seems like students really love Greeeen and Nishino Kana, as well as Exile, Funky Monky Babys, and Monkey Majik.

Here, for your listening pleasure, are some of the ones I enjoyed (and others that are just funny).

Enjoy!

Song for You - Mongol 800
Future Gazer - Fripside
Chocolate Disco (チョコレートティスコ）- Perfume
Sazaesan's Opening Theme (Japanese cartoon)
Iindeska (いいんですか）- Radwimps
Yell - いきものがかり
Oyoge Taiyaki-kun - およげたいやきくん
Even if (たえおえどんなに) - Nishino Kana (西野カナ）
Love Song - Funky Monky Babys
Miso Soup - Tegomasu

Thank you, guys!

If anyone wants my entire list of about 100 songs, feel free to ask. Because nothing beats YouTubing unknown J-Pop songs when you've got nothing else to do.

Tsukimi Part Two, But This Time It Was An Eclipse

            Last night, Saturday, December 10, 2011, from 9:30 p.m. to well past midnight, there was a full  lunar eclipse seen here in Japan (and throughout the rest of the world, for all I know).

            Mark and I got together the same team from September’s Tsukimi—Mr. K, the 60something hippie, Ryo, the nice Chinese guy, Ms. M, Mark’s Japanese teacher (this time, without her 16-year old daughter), Mark, and me. Unfortunately, Sho is in Canada and couldn’t join us, but our friend H from Australia came in his stead; not exactly the same, but quite a worthy substitute.

            Before leaving for the park, Mark, Ryo, H and I feasted on Ryo’s mouthwatering nabe—a huge hot pot filled with carrots, spinach, mushrooms, cabbage, mochi, and I don’t know what all else—to warm ourselves up. I put on about eight layers of clothing and we brought blankets and hot drinks to keep us warm. Then we went to the same baseball field in Maebashi, this time to watch the moon go black. It was deathly cold, but sitting in a circle with five other people kept us toasty warm—lukewarm toast, maybe.

            At first, it looked like someone had spilled ink on one side of the moon (an analogy stolen from Mark, I believe). Just the corner of it was turning black. As the shadow fell over more and more of the moon, though, the color changed to something in-between red or brown, not black. I was actually expecting the moon to be completely blotted out from the sky, so I was surprised when even at full eclipse (full shadowing?) the shape of the moon was still visible.  

            As we sat under the starry sky, we told moon stories like we did last time at Tsukimi. Gradually the conversation moved to moon songs, so H sang us a song in Spanish about a man who wants to die under the moon, Mark recited “Hey Diddle Diddle,” and I sang “Moon River.” (Audrey Hepburn would have been proud.) Since the six of us we were representing six different countries—Japan, Canada, the U.S., China, and Australia/Colombia—the topic of national anthems came up. So there we were, sitting in a near-freezing baseball field, watching the moon be swallowed up by shadow, each of us singing a few lines from our countries and talking about what it means. It was a fun night.

            Towards midnight, we were getting drowsy and it was getting to be colder than we could handle. A couple of us were lying back in the grass staring upwards, when flash! a shooting star darted across the sky. In the excitement of seeing a shooting star for the first time in years, I completely forgot to make a wish.

            We didn’t stick around long enough to see the moon become unveiled. Instead, satisfied by our Brazilian snacks, hot tea, and moon viewing, we retired to our separate houses, to await the next moon event that will bring us all back together again. 

Team Tsukimi

(All photos credit Liang Hongbo. Thank you!)

Ketchup

Well, let’s see what’s been going on. In no particular order at all:

1. I’ve been listening to a lot of NPR. I like to stay posted on current events.

2. I’ve been reading too many books at one time. Currently I’m swapping between Dickens’ David Copperfield, a Sookie Stackhouse novel, a children’s manga series called Ochibi San, a Julio Cortázar short story in Spanish, and Stephen King’s Four Past Midnight. I like diversity in literature.

3. I’ve been watching a lot of movies, namely, Paranormal Activity, which made me think my apartment was inhabited by demons and prevented me getting any good sleep for about a week. But then I realized that things weren’t moving around by themselves, so I calmed down a little bit.

4. I’m taking the JLPT on December 4, this time Level 3. I’m planning on failing, which means I’m not studying nearly as much as I should be. I just find it impossible to inhale as much kanji and vocabulary as I need in order to pass it. But, like they always say, ganbarou……ne?

5. I want to go look at autumn leaves! I just haven’t gone yet.

6. Since the weather is so nice, I’m riding my bike to school more often. I say hello to Kohei and Ryosuke every morning as I cycle by their house. At the traffic light, I usually run into Misaki, and from Mitsudera Park to the school there’s a steady stream of students to say good morning to. I don’t know why they still act surprised when they see me, though. . . I’ve been riding my bike off and on for months.

7. One terrible thing happened today that I didn’t find out about until later. A 2^nd grade student, a fellow member of the track-and-field club, got hit by a car on her way to school this morning! She is OK, but her left arm and shoulder got hurt pretty badly and had to be put in a sling. She came back to school this afternoon (just to pick up her assignments with her mom) after spending all morning in the hospital. Needless to say, she was still a little shaken up, but seemed to be doing all right. I love that brave little Moe!

8. For the most part, school is going pretty well. My 2^nd grade teacher had to suddenly resign due to health problems, which upset that grade a bit. She’s been replaced by an assistant teacher, who is slightly panicking but still doing a fine job. They say it’s just for a little while, but I also hear that it’s really hard to find a full-time English teacher mid-year. We’ll see if anything changes before the end of the school year in March. Some days I get upset at school because I have so much work to do, and some days I have time to tranquilly sip a cup of afternoon coffee while reading a book. It just depends on what week it is.

10. And last of all in my list of news, one of my Japanese friends is leaving on Sunday to go abroad to Canada for a year. We had a big farewell party for him with a lot of ALTs, which was both fun and depressing at the same time, as farewell parties are apt to be. Later, he told me, “It’s funny how one little incident can change the direction of your life. Two years ago Shinji invited me to have dinner in Shibukawa. If I wouldn’t have gone, we never would have become friends again. Then I wouldn’t have gone snowboarding. I wouldn’t have met Graham and Peter and Jacob and Kaitlin. And I wouldn’t have gone to Canada. And now I’m going to Canada. Just because me and Shinji went out for dinner.”

So now I’m thinking about those things, too, and tracing my life events back to their origins. Where would I be if things had been different?

Upcoming Events

November 13, International Bus Tour, hopefully to meet more Spanish-speakers

November 19, Wine Festival

November 22, ALT Thanksgiving Dinner

November 23, a day off (and my dad’s birthday)

Peru

One fine evening a couple of weeks ago I was walking around downtown Takasaki by myself, feeling hungry. Not wanting to be the girl who sits alone at an actual restaurant, I ducked into Sky Turk, a fast-food type restaurant run by a Turkish guy who works alone selling kebobs and pitas. I was the only customer in the restaurant, besides a college-aged Japanese boy chain smoking at the counter (a personal friend of the owner, I later discovered). The owner, who speaks pretty good English, started to chat with me, and soon found out that even though I live in Japan, my heart is still in some Spanish-speaking country.

“Spanish?!” he asked, incredulously. “Do you know Mr. So-and-So from Peru?”

I actually didn’t know Mr. So-and-So from Peru, and told him so.

“Well, that’s just something we’ll have to remedy,” he said, although not in those exact words.

A week later, I showed back up at the restaurant to meet this famous Peruvian. He’s a nice-looking guy somewhere in his 30s, who has been living in Japan off and on for several years now. Not only does he speak his native Spanish, but perfect Japanese and English as well. We sat down at a table and immediately started chatting in Spanish, while the Turkish owner and ubiquitous chain-smoker gawked at us and murmured, “I don’t understand a thing” over and over in Japanese. It was nice to be able to communicate fluidly in a foreign language for the first time in a while, although I noticed my espanol is taking on some distinctly Japanese characteristics. Mr. S and I decided to get together the following week and enjoy all the Peru Isesaki City has to offer.

I’d been to Isesaki a couple of times before, but only ever with Japanese people. It was actually kind of natsukashii (nostalglic?) to be back at Isesaki Station without having Shogo there. This time, though, I got to see the South American side of the city.

Mr. S and I took the train in and walked a couple of blocks to El Kero Peruvian Restaurant. It’s a little place about the size of my apartment (not very big, I mean) crammed with wooden tables and chairs and Peruvian decorations all over the walls. A television hung from the ceiling in one corner, blasting Latin American hits from across the years. How can I describe the feeling of listening to Elvis Crespo sing “Suavemente” (throwing me back to Cuernavaca, Mexico in 2001), while studying a menu of Peruvian food in some little city in Japan?

We split roasted chicken, some kind of cold sliced potato/mayonnaise deliciousness, a salad, and a beef/vegetable dish. It was truly delicious! After lunch, I mentioned coffee and dessert, and he told me he knew of just the place. Unfortunately, since we had taken the train and not driven, we would have to take a bus across town to get there.

So we walked back to Isesaki Station, just barely caught the bus, and got off about a kilometer away from where the Peruvian Cafe was supposed to be. Twenty minutes later we were still wandering around, but after asking a few people for directions we finally got on the right track.

We’d been walking around for another fifteen or twenty minutes, cracking jokes at how long it was taking and how no one knew where it was.

“Ja ja,” Mr. S said. “Ahora sólo falta que esté cerrado!” (Now all we need is for it to be closed!)

When we finally got there, I noticed four heavy-set Peruvian men standing on the other side of the street looking at the restaurant with their arms folded over their chests. The place is called Mi Casita Peruvian Café, and it’s the kind of place that serves sandwiches and cakes and hot beverages. I felt a little awkward, but tried to go in, anyway.

Yep. That’s all we needed. It was closed.

Mr. S called across the street, “So what’s up? It’s closed?”

“I don’t know,” they called back. “We’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes but they won’t open.”

I looked at the closed glass door. Hidden behind the random Christmas swirls was the schedule. Sundays were 9:00-1:00 and 6:00-10:00.

“Looks like they’ll be closed another three hours,” I said.

“Well, damn,” one of the men swore. “I’m starving. Now what do we do?”

“Do you want to go here? Do you want to go to McDonald’s?” asked another guy.

“I don’t care, as long as I can eat something.”

“Hey man, did y'all eat?" A third man, taller and leaner than the other guys, directed himself at us.

“Yeah, at this place called El Kero. Do you know it?”

“Never been. Is it any good?”

“It’s delicious.”

“All right, let’s go, then. Hey, you guys need a ride back to the station?” the driver looked back over his shoulder as they started to go off.

“That would be great,” Mr. S replied. “We’ve been walking for a long time.”

“Well come on, no problem. Y’all can sit in the back. If we were back home you two could sit up front but you know here the cops’ll see you and pull us over.”

“Tell me about it.”

The five of us piled into his Honda Fit—four beefy strangers, Mr. S, and me. Two of the biggest guys got in the front, and the rest of us squashed together in the back, me pressed between Mr. S and the passenger side door. Reggaeton poured from the speakers; the men’s chatter rising above it.

“Hey man, you got Facebook?” the driver called back to ask Mr. S.

“Yeah, I’m on there,” Mr. S replied. “Look me up.” He gave his name.

I repressed a sudden desire to burst out laughing at this macho man talking about Facebook. Instead, I concentrated on the rest of their conversation, now on to complaining why the previous restaurant had been closed, but so full of unfamiliar words and slang that I could only catch the basic gist of what they were saying. Something about having to call the owner and complain. “I ain’t gonna do it, YOU do it.”

Ten minutes later we arrived back in downtown Isesaki.

“You can let us off anywhere,” Mr. S told our new friends. “We can walk from here.”

“OK, cool,” said the driver, and turned left down one of the streets. “Is here OK?”

“Sure, it’s fi—” started to say Mr. S when suddenly “Oh SHIT!” cried the guy sitting in the front. “It’s a one way street!”

And it was.

Even though the road was two-laned, it was meant for two lanes of traffic going in the same direction. Our lane just happened to be empty. To make matters even worse, a policeman sat in his police car in the lane beside us. He was sandwiched in between two other cars, so he couldn’t stop us, but

“Oh shit, what if he gets my license plate?” whined the driver.

He gunned the car, and took a succession of turns through little side streets until he felt he had gotten sufficiently far away. He stopped again a few minutes later to let us out, this time on a two-lane street.

“I’m really sorry,” Mr. S told him. “It’s our fault you had to stop.”

“It’s OK,” said one of the guys in the back. “It’s his fault for being a dumbass and going down a one-way street.”

“I didn’t know it was a one-way street!” shot back the driver.

“Muchas, muchas gracias,” I said, the first thing I’d said since getting in the car. I opened the door and got out onto safe ground. “Adiós.”

“Adiós.”

It was kind of these strangers to offer us a ride back to town, kind of them to have pity on us for being one of them, and kind of them to risk getting a ticket for reckless driving. Let's hope nothing happens to them.

We only had an hour or so in Isesaki before we had to head back to Maebashi, so we went to a little Peruvian store near the station and looked around. It was similar to the Mexican stores back in North Carolina, except that there weren’t any Mexican products. There were lots of spices and teas I didn’t recognize, shelves full of dusty plastic-wrapped books in Spanish, and assorted South American snacks and beverages. I got some camote and banana chips again like I did when I was in Ota. Then it was time to go.

What a fun day it had been in Peru! But it was time to go back. We walked to the train station, bought our tickets, and took the train back to Japan. 

Thinking About Things

1982-2000: Littleton, North Carolina
2000-2002: Milligan College, Tennessee; Piedras Negras, Mexico; Cuernavaca, Mexico
2002-2004: UNC-Greensboro, North Carolina; Madrid, Spain
2004-2005: Greensboro, North Carolina
2005-2009: Kernersville, North Carolina; La Paz, Bolivia; Toronto, Canada; Oaxaca, Mexico
2009-2010: Greensboro, North Carolina; Oaxaca, Mexico
2010-2012: Takasaki, Japan; Manila, Philippines
2012 : ?????

Tsukimi, Opera, People, and Other Fun Stuff

There are so many things I’ve been wanting to write about but haven’t managed to do yet! Unsurprisingly, I find myself super busy with both school and extracurricular activities (which will look good on my college applications, let’s hope).

I’m at school almost every day from 8:00 to 5:30 or 6:00 busy with lesson planning, grading papers, and speech contest preparation. My student won 4^th place in the Takasaki City English Speech Contest, so now he’s on to the Prefectural one, to be held on Wednesday. Even if he doesn’t go to the Central Japan contest, I still feel as proud of him as if I were his mom . . . imagine me the mother of a 5’10” 15-year old Japanese boy. Last year I wasn’t quite so busy, but recently I’ve acquired all sorts of new responsibilities that keep me on the go all day long. I’ll never be able to pass the JLPT at this rate! No study time—!

Since I’m leaving school later, everything else gets pushed back later, too. I won’t show up for my weekly Japanese grammar classes until almost 6:00, when it’s almost full-on dark. And I recently found out the hard way that Costco closes at 8:00, so don’t saunter up to the door at 7:58 expecting to be let in.

It’s not all “work” things, though; I’m enjoying Gunma’s lovely early autumn weather and spending a lot of time with new and old friends.

On the Monday night of the full moon back in September, I joined my Japanese friend Sho, my hippie friend Mark, and some new acquaintances to celebrate “Tsukimi” (月見、Moon Viewing). I’d never heard of it before, but basically, it means just that: looking at the moon. My tsukimi experience was this:

The seven of us (Mark, Sho, a Japanese woman and her 16-year old daughter, an older Japanese gentlemen, a 26-year old Chinese immigrant named Liang, and me) sat in the middle of the Maebashi Baseball Field by the bridge, eating homemade dango and sushi, and telling stories about the moon. We made a fun bunch, ages scattered from 16 to past 65, representing four countries, all speaking in our varying degrees of understandable Japanese—but having a wonderful time munching on peanut butter-flavored dango and talking about rabbits. We sat outside enjoying the beautiful warm evening until almost 10:00, when we headed for home.

I had another internationally-flavored night last Thursday. Free tickets to see the opera “Carmen” were procured by methods I am unaware of but extremely grateful for. A group of us girls put on our elegant dresses and made our way to the stately Maebashi Culture Hall downtown. Imagine the Kennedy Center in Washington, DC, but in Maebashi, and you’ll understand. It really was a nice place, and brought back wonderful memories of seeing plays back at home.

I’d never seen the opera before, or heard of the story either, actually. And unfortunately, all of the singing and speaking were in French. There were tall contraptions on either side of the stage where the Japanese translation was digitally flashed, so I spent half of the opera looking at the stage and the singers, and the other half vainly trying to figure out what that kanji meant. I was proud of myself, though, because while I obviously didn’t understand everything that was going on, I did glean enough information to follow the basic story. I knew there was a letter from that guy’s mom, and that he had to go home, but I didn’t figure out he was supposed to marry the girl who gave him the letter until intermission, when I checked my understanding with the fluent Japanese speakers there. So “Carmen” gave me a bit of a headache, what with all that trying to read Japanese and listen in French, but it was a fun experience nonetheless. Next up, to find where to watch the Japanese version of “Les Miserables”!!!  

Finally, on October first, the Shibukawa International Association held its annual International BBQ at a big park in the mountains. I went with an American friend and my new friend Liang from Tsukimi, to join the other American, Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, Bangladeshi, New Zealander, and South African attendees. Maybe there were more countries represented but I’m not sure. We were put into teams and there we spent the afternoon, socializing, eating yakiniku, yakisoba, and roasted marshmallows. It was super fun. Afterwards, David (age, 29), Liang (age, 26) and I (age, 29) spent about half an hour playing on the playground. You’re never too old for merry-go-rounds and monkey bars, I always say. But you might be too tall . . .

Next post: My Peruvian adventures in Isesaki, from which I am happy to return alive. Talk soon!

Oze (Part One)

(Part Two will come in October, when I visit for the second time.)

In all of the Gunma travel brochures, the biggest spread always goes to Oze, a National Park located about two hours north of Takasaki. The pictures always show a valley full of wildflowers in full bloom and tiny crystal clear ponds scattered about, all surrounded by tall mountains on all sides. It looks relaxing and beautiful, and I’ve been wanting to go ever since I saw the pictures for the first time last July.

Luckily, I got my chance to go this past weekend. My Canadian friend Mark had been wanting to go, too, as had this English guy named Greg, so the three of us piled into my car and took off on Sunday morning bright and early. Monday was a holiday—Respect for the Aged Day, thank you very much—and we planned on camping out somewhere in the big reserve.

We took the Kan Etsu highway up to Numata, where we got off the interchange to wind our way on mountain roads to the top. We drove past numerous apple and honey stands and roadside vegetable stores, promising ourselves that we’d stop on the way back to fill up with fresh mountain produce.

Even though the map we had said we could park at the top, we soon found out that it was mistaken. We were stopped halfway up the mountain to be told that we’d have to park and then take a bus up to the real hiking area. For 900 yen, we rode with five other people even higher up the winding mountain road until we were dropped off at the base area: a few wooden buildings surrounded by halved tree trunks for benches lined up in front. The biggest building promised 350 yen hot coffee, 900 yen udon, and all the omiyage you could ever want.

However, we didn’t waste much time there, and immediately started our trek.

I soon found out that I had brought too much; the backpack I had borrowed was meant for its 6’4” owner, and seemed to be dragging me down at every step. The first 20 minutes or so were the roughest; the path went up the mountain at what seemed like a 45-degree angle over rocks and branches, and I felt unbalanced. When I tried to roundaboutly ask if anyone else’s shoulders hurt, Mark told me, “Yes, but I don’t complain about it,” and Greg asked, “You’re one of the lads now, aren’t you?” Thus chastised, I quit complaining.

After my body got used to exerting itself, I fell into a rhythm and was able to keep up fairly well with my long-legged companions. The tree-filled mountain path (as always, but for the bamboo, reminding me of the Appalachian Trail) gradually thinned out and soon we were walking up a huge open Sound of Music hill covered in billowing grasses and a few stunted birch trees. This was the marsh part that is so prevalent in all the magazines. Although Mark’s teacher had told him that September wasn’t the best month to see Oze, I found it to be one of the most beautiful – or perhaps THE most beautiful – place I’ve seen in Japan. Definitely in Gunma! And after scrambling up the mountain path to get up there, the flat wooden boardwalk was heaven to walk on.

(The mountains in the distance.)

We spent that first day hiking the paths, alternating between the thick natural preserve and the juxtaposed rest stops of ryokan-style hotels and amenity-filled toilets. It’s kind of funny how completely civilized Oze is when compared to hiking/camping places that I’ve been to in other places; you could only go two or three kilometers before you stumbled into another clearing with buildings. I never felt like I was actually “roughing it” because civilization was always very close!

Around 5:30, we stopped at one of the many hotels to ask if we could leave our bags in the lobby while we explored the waterfalls nearby.

The front counterman was cordial but dubious. “You can leave your bags here,” he told us, “But it’s going to get dark soon. Do you have lights?”

Mark and Greg both did, but I didn’t. However, the man was kind and lent me a light that strapped around my head on an elastic band. With many “arigatou”s and “sumimasen”s, we exited the building, feeling lighter and freer without our heavy backpacks.

The path to the first waterfall was quick and easy, but the waterfall itself was only so-so. Between the first and second waterfall, though, the path became rougher, steeper, rockier, and wetter. Greg and I spent thirty minutes discussing the old Oregon Trail game to keep our minds off the Waterfall Trail. Who’s going to die of dysentery this time?

It was totally worth the trek, though! After we crossed a wooden bridge and made our way down a precariously steep ladder/stairs combination, we stepped onto a platform with a perfect view of a powerful 100-meter tall waterfall. No one else was around because it was getting on towards dusk, and it was so nice to have the whole view to ourselves.

(And that was my last picture, of the waterfall, because then my batteries died and could not be resuscitated.)

It was getting towards dark when we left the waterfall, and full-on dark by the time we arrived back at the first waterfall to take a break. We sat there for a few minutes on some rocks watching the stars come out, then switched on our headlamps and walked back to the hotel, where we claimed our bags and had dinner outside.

It was another 30 minutes or so to walk back to our camping spot. The night was dark, but the boys’ lights illuminated the boardwalk enough to prevent any missteps. Once in a while, we’d stop walking to stare up at the huge starry sky above us, albeit gradually becoming cloudier. That night, the three of us slept in a tent on a wooden platform, cloudy skies above us, lizards all around us, and the sweet sound of grasses blowing in our ears.

Around 5:30 that morning, we started to hear people walking by us, but we didn’t get up until two hours later. It was a terribly cloudy morning, and I was afraid it would rain, but the sun soon burned through the fog and mist. It became another beautiful early fall day.

Mark and Greg wanted to climb a nearby mountain, but I decided not to try it. (Call me a wuss, but I wanted to take it easy.) We stayed together for a few hours in the morning hiking through the marshland and enjoying the lovely scenery before splitting up at 10:30. The boys went off to start their 5-hour hike, and I stayed behind at the rest area enjoying the sun and the breeze.

For me, it was only another hour or hour-and-a-half walk back to our rendezvous point, so I tried to drag it out as much as possible. I stopped at almost all of the stopping-places, and walked slowly through the woods gazing at the leaves and the river so as to savor the moment. After a while, though, my Thoreau-ian peace turned into “get this backpack off of me,” so I hurried it up a little more. The last 500 meters or so was made up of ascending steps that were painful to climb, but I finally made it, panting for breath, right behind the jocular retired couple in front of me!

It was 12:30, and I had about three hours to wait until Greg and Mark got back. I took a nap in the sun, browsed the unnecessary Oze omiyage, treated myself to a 350 yen cup of coffee, and watched the sky gradually darken and drizzle gray dreary rain before they finally returned, a full hour early. Apparently, Mark can make a 5-hour hike in half the time. I’m sure the view was spectacular, but I’m glad I didn’t go on the mountain hike. Surely I would have been left behind!

We only hung around for a little bit more before buying another bus ticket back to the car. Even though we had wanted to stop at a lot of shops on the way back, many of them were closed against the rain. We did find one place, though, a sprawling farmers’ market-type set of buildings, where Greg and I ate spectacularly delicious homemade udon and Mark bought a handful of fresh vegetables.

Greg went back to the train station around 6:00, and Mark and I enjoyed a relaxing onsen in Gunma-machi before going our separate ways. Our trip was physically strenuous, but still a very tranquil experience for me.  It was good to be out in the open, away from the cities and their stresses. And it provided me the best sleep I’ve had on Sunday night; I was out like a light by 9:00. I’ll be going back to Oze again in October with a big group of people, and I wonder if my experience will be any different.

(As a post script, I would like to mention that Japanese girls look so cute in their colorful hiking skirts, tights, and hiking boots! And they can sleep outside and wake up and still look amazing. Why can’t I have that gene?!)   

Lists

JAPANESE THINGS I DID FOR THE FIRST FEW DAYS IN THE STATES


• Kept sumimasen-ing people

• Kept saying “itadakimasu” and “gochisousama deshita” at meals (and taught my mom to say, “It was a feast” in English)

• Did the incredulity-filled “ehhhhh!” or the "un, un, un" while listening to people’s stories

• Responded with “hai” and “sou nan desuka” when speaking with my Spanish-speaking friends, mixing up Spanish and Japanese

• Bowed walking in and out of my old office

• Bowed and said “gochisousama deshita” in restaurants

• Kept running Japanese phrases through my head that I could use with the waitress or the guy behind the counter at Starbucks, before remembering that they could speak English, too (dolp)

• Forgot to leave tips in restaurants (and going back several days later to drop it off)

NON-JAPANESE THINGS I DID:


• Threw my feet up onto the seats of chairs when sitting at outdoor restaurants

• Made small talk with servers and cashiers, who kept calling me “sugar” and “honey”

• Struck up conversations with random strangers in stores (so fun!)

• Kept my shoes on in the house (but dang, that one was hard to do, and sometimes I’d kick them off at the front door out of habit)

• Walked around barefoot outside

• Wore spaghetti-strap tank tops and didn’t care

• Ate with a fork the whole time (well, duh)

THINGS I APPRECIATED ABOUT THE SOUTH:


• The food! (sure, a lot of it is fried and unhealthy, but there’s good stuff too, like fresh vegetables from the garden)

• The warmth of the people (yes, sometimes it’s fake, but it’s still a nice gesture) and facial expressions I can read

• The accent that can only be from rural North Carolina

• The natural beauty in the forests and fields and water

THINGS THAT I NOTICED:


• I had been wondering how they say, “Irasshaimase” because I certainly didn’t think it was “welcome.” What I got more than anything was, “Hi, how are you?” when I walked in a store.

• Customer service SUCKS. The cashiers act like they’re doing you a favor by allowing you to buy something.

• Finding a public restroom is a challenge. But when you find one there are always soap and paper towels. Having soap was great. But even though I gripe in Japan about the lack of paper towels, seeing how much mess and waste they cause has me thinking that maybe carrying around a little hand towel with you isn’t such a bad idea after all.

• There are public trashcans everywhere, but not as much recycling.

• Drinks were WAY too big! My dad got a 64-ounce Dr. Pepper at a convenience store for just a dollar or two. 64 ounces! That’s almost two liters! (1.89, to be exact.) And even the small drink at Chick-fil-A seemed too big.

• Nobody really wanted to hear any Japan stories. And I guess I didn’t really want to tell any, either. I didn’t miss Japan while I was gone. But I was really excited to go back. Why is that, I wonder?

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

I think my time at home was just right (ちょっどいい！). I felt like time didn’t go too fast or too slow; I just felt like I was never in one place long enough to enjoy all there was to do or see everyone I wanted to see. I only saw six of my friends individually; the rest were all lumped together in a group (so sorry, guys!).


In a way, it was all just a blur: three days here; two days there; three days back here. The longest I was in one place was the week I spent with my family in Littleton (The Small Town With the Big Heart, Gateway to Beautiful Lake Gaston). But even then I didn’t put my clothes into the dresser like I should have; I just kept living out of my suitcase.

After I got used to the time difference (for the most part), I went shopping! My mom took me to Hanes Mall for makeup, the Kernersville Salvage Store for salvage (), Old Navy and Gap for clothes, and Target for school supplies and everything else. I actually bought so much at Target to justify buying stock in it, I think. Being able to recognize brand names and read labels is so amazing! And I found a ton of stuff for school everywhere I went: lined manuscript tablets, vocabulary flashcards, reward pencils, $30.00 worth of paper-correcting stickers, and more, which I packed up and mailed to myself at school.

After a few days at my mom’s house, I went to my dad’s. I had been dying to go for a swim ever since the students started swimming in June, so I spent most of the first day in his pool. My second day, though, I walked outside at 8:30 in the morning to hang my bathing suit up to dry in the sun. But when I went to open the door to go back inside, I realized it was locked. So I spent the next four hours (while dad was at work) trying and failing to break into his house, sobbing in frustration that all my morning plans were shot, reading old copies of the Littleton Observer that I found on the porch, playing with Mangle (my cat), swimming, and being thirsty. Lucky I had my bathing suit, though, huh. And Mangle and I were due for a little quality human-cat time. It was a pretty rotten morning but eventually turned into a nice day of accompanying Dad to Warren County for an afternoon of work. (Honestly, it was fun!)

                                                                           Fun day!

Back in Greensboro, I had dinner with a big group of friends and a drink with a small group of friends. I was supposed to have a party with my old CNNC clients on Saturday, but the message didn't get around in time so it was cancelled. Instead, I just stopped by Dolores’s and Maria’s houses for a quick visit. It was fun, but I didn’t get to eat any home-cooked Mexican food! Maria did give Eddie and me a slice of cake, which was the size of the paper plate she served it on. It was delicious but hard to finish!

I spent the week of July 31 to August 5 at Stonehouse Timber Lodge in Littleton. It was so funny to be vacationing just three miles from where I grew up! There has always been a bit of tension between the locals and the “lake people” who just come on vacation, and here we were converted into them! It was really lovely though to spend a week with my brother and his family, my sister and her family, Mom, Rusty, and Duchess (the dog), after such a long time away. The whole week was spent swimming, boating, reading, relaxing, playing Bananagrams, eating delicious food, cracking jokes about the quantity of snakes in the lake, and spending time with my niece and nephews. It was definitely the best part of being home. Fambly.

BBQ at Grandpa's Barbeque

Sunset on Lake Gaston

You remember my long list of things I wanted to eat. Well, I got through almost everything on my list! (Not everything, but almost everything.) Sometimes it was just a bite (like of Jonathan’s biscuits and gravy) and sometimes it was more than I could eat (like that 16-ounce steak), but it was divine to savor so many exquisite tastes! I also enjoyed a different microbrewed beer with almost every restaurant meal I had! The only things I still have a hankering for are sliced dill pickles (not hamburger chips), spiced apple rings, and baklava (thank you very much for sending those through the mail).


On a final note, I’d like to ask you all to boycott Budget Rental Cars for me, please. I had reserved a car online for $350.00, but the price shot up to $600 when I added insurance at the desk at pick-up time. (“But don’t worry,” the lady behind the counter told me. “$200 of that is just a hold on your credit card; it’s really just $450.00.”) When I went to drop off the car (two days early, might I add), I was told I would receive no discount for dropping it off early, that my new total was $903.00, and that I still had to pay a balance of about $500.00.

“No,” I told them as politely as I could. “I signed for $600. I’m not going to pay more.” (Breach of contract, or something like that.) After a civil conversation with the incompetent soul behind the counter, the manager was finally summoned. It seems that I had been charged for extra services I didn’t receive (like satellite radio or GPS). The issue was finally resolved and I “only” paid $600.00, but I’m still furious about the whole thing because it was supposed to be just $350.00, so I thought. I’m also disappointed with the incompetence of people, who can only stare dumbly at the computer screen before them and not have a word of explanation for the politely irate customer in front of them.

All in all, though, I had a wonderful time, and I’m happy I was able to go back home! Now I just need to think about what to do next year.

North Carolina Preface

(I promise the rest of my NC blog will be jumbled together and in bulletpoint form, with actual events and perhaps pictures, so stick with me just a little longer.) 

When I first landed at the Minneapolis airport after 11 hours of flying, I was jetlagged, cramped, and not thinking clearly. My body was still on Japan time (somewhere around 4:00 a.m.) and my brain was mush. As I walked through the hallway towards the gate whose flight would take me to Raleigh, I stared openly at all the non-Japanese people and clutched my handbag to my chest as if I were lost in the middle of some unknown jungle, instead of just making a trip through an airport. Everything seemed both reassuringly familiar but disastrously different at the same time, and I waited for my flight in a fog of culture shock and sleepiness, listening to the English all around me.  

            Three hours later, we touched down at RDU, but I couldn’t summon the energy to cheer. Even when I realized that no one was waiting for me at the gate, I just sleepwalked over to baggage claim, then propped myself up against a pole while waiting for someone to show up. It was only about three minutes later when I saw my mom come flying through the crowd towards me to envelop me in a huge bear hug. Traffic had been bad, she explained with her arms around me, and they couldn’t get to the airport on time.

            On the two-and-a-half-hour drive back to Winston-Salem, I made myself stay awake, but as soon as we got home I had a shower and hit the hay. I slept from 10:00 p.m. to 1:00 the next afternoon.

            The next day, Saturday, I sat in mom’s backyard, reading “Spiral” by Koji Suzuki (what a terrible ending) and trying to soak up as much direct sunlight as possible, because that’s what all the articles say you should do to recover from jetlag. I don’t think I did one productive thing the entire day, and it was wonderful. Mom and I spent all day together, I played the piano a little, and didn’t do much of anything else.

            I went to sleep at 11:00 p.m. and was wide-awake at 3:30 a.m.

            At five, I got out of bed where I had been reading, and started to slink around the house. I couldn’t go outside because the house has an alarm system I was sure to trip. So I stayed in the kitchen and read the newspaper and ate cereal, watching the dawn slowly creep in.

            Somehow I made it through the day with only one nap, and then I was, more or less, back on the right schedule. 

Progress

I was organizing my apartment today when I stumbled upon the Japanese textbook for first graders that my first Japanese teacher gave to me back in September or October last year.

I opened it up to that hateful Mr. Fox and Mr. Bear story that made me cry, and wouldn't you know, I read the whole 9 pages (of really big type and colorful pictures) in under ten minutes. And I understood the whole thing! It's amazing what a few months of study can do. But I remember how much that damn story frustrated me back when I knew nothing, and it feels so good to be able to kick its ass now. (フランス語ごめん.）

In other literary news, I just finished wading through six months of "Umi to Kontakuto", a 124-page upper elementary school book, in June, and that felt good, too. I didn't understand about 40% of it, but I was able to follow the basic gist all the way to the end, page by excruciating page.

If I'm going to be taking N3 in December, I need to get on the ball! But at least I know I can hold my own against a Japanese six-year old. Let's do this thing!

14 Hours Till Take-Off

I will write a long post about my lovely North Carolina vacation very soon, but in the meantime I just wanted to let you know I am on my way back to Japan. I leave Raleigh at 11:00 a.m. on Wednesday and get to Tokyo at 5:30 p.m. on Thursday. See you soon!

21 Hours Till Take-Off

Tomorrow I will be getting on an airplane and flying back to America for the first time in almost a year. It's been just shy of a full 365 days, something like 51 weeks I think. I've absolutely worn myself out with travel preparations, coordinating transportation to and from all airports involved, packing my bags, cleaning my house, and making plans (seriously, I have a two-page "to buy" list and an absolutely packed schedule for every day I'm in the States). And emotionally, I'm fluttering between being absolutely ecstatic at to see my family and friends in America, and really sad to say goodbye to a lot of my ALT friends in Japan who are moving back to their home countries. This time of the year is just full of changes, and I'm all over the place! If I can survive the next 36-48 hours, I think I'll be OK!

Getting home involves:

1) Sleeping at a friend's house near Takasaki Station tonight because I live too far away
2) Taking the 8:25 a.m. bus to Narita airport (arriving around noon) on Friday
3) Taking an 11-hour flight from Narita to Minnesota (of all places)
4) A 2-hour layover which is hopefully enough time to go through customs and re-check in, plus eat something
5) A 3-hour flight to Raleigh, landing around 7:00 p.m.
6) A 2-hour-ish car ride to my mom's house, arriving around 9:00 p.m. Friday night, 8:00 a.m. Japan time.

Basically, it'll take 24 hours to get home. Uffff. I can do it, though! Ganbarimasu!

By the way, I find it fascinating that according to Google Maps (and personal experience), it takes 35 minutes to drive the 28 miles between Greensboro and Winston-Salem. And yet at the same time, it takes the exact amount of time to drive the 6.2 miles between my house and Takasaki Station.

Goodbye!

Would You Like Rice With That Newspaper Subscription?

A few weeks ago I had a pretty unnerving experience with a door-to-door newspaper seller. I was getting ready to go to a BBQ in the mountains when I got a knock at the door. When I opened it, the guy standing there gave himself an involuntary shake (“Who’s this white girl?!”) before giving me a sorta-kinda professional smile.

“Japanese, Japanese, Japanese, shimbun, Japanese, Japanese, Japanese,” he said. He was maybe in his early 30s, wearing regular street clothes and no nametag. He didn’t offer me a business card. His white van was parked in front of my apartment building.

“Shimbun?” I asked dumbly. “Newspaper?”

“Yes!” he said in English. “Nu-su-pei-pa!”

“Daijoubu desu, nihongo wo yomemasen,” I told him, and made to shut the door, thinking that was it. (That’s OK, I can’t read Japanese.)

“Japanese Japanese Japanese ikagetsu dake Japanese,” he told me, not letting me shut him out just yet. (….just for a month….)

“Honto ni, nihongo wo yomemasen. Shimbun ga irimasen. Arigatou.” (No, really, I can’t read Japanese. I don’t need a newspaper. Thank you.)

“Japanesejapanesejapanesejapanesejapanesericejapanesejapanese! Chotto matte kudasai.” (….rice…wait just a second.)

He bounded down the stairs and I shut the door, immediately grabbing my cell phone to call my Japanese friend who was on his way to my house to pick me up for the party. Unfortunately, his English isn’t all that good over the phone.

“Hey! Where are you?” I asked. “There’s some guy at my house. Will you please ask him what he wants, and tell him to leave?”

“Nani? Nani?” (What? What?)

I repeated myself slower, but by this time, Newspaper Man was back, carrying a 5- or 10-kilo bag of rice with him.

“Nevermind,” I told my friend. “Just hurry up and get here.”

Newspaper Man stepped into my entryway where I take my shoes off, and shut the door behind him. Oh no. Luckily he stayed there, and didn’t try to come all the way into my house. (Sure, the entryway is considered public property in Japan, but you’re not supposed to shut the door!)

“Nanika u . . . ura . . . ure . . urimasuka?” I stumbled over the Japanese word. (Are you selling something?)

“Sou desu!” (Yes!) He started chattering away in Japanese again, and I interrupted him in English.

“I’m sorry, I don’t want a newspaper subscription, even if it is just for one month, I don’t need one, I can’t read Japanese, and what’s that rice all about? Will you please leave?”

“Dou imi, dou imi? Wakarimasen.” (What’s that mean? I don’t understand.)

“Irimasen! Sayonara!” (I don’t need it. Goodbye!)

He put the bag of rice at his feet and switched registers from polite to casual, putting the bag of rice at his feet. “Hitori de sundeiruno? Kare ga iruka?”(Do you live by yourself? Do you have a boyfriend?)

“Kare ga inai, hoshikunai!” I matched his register. (I don’t have a boyfriend; I don’t want one!)

“Nande?!” (Why not?!)

“Iranai. Shimbun mo iranai. Sayonara.” (I don’t need one. I don’t need a newspaper either. Goodbye.)

I wish I knew how to say, “Please go away,” or “Please leave,” in Japanese. He was crouched down in the entryway like he was going to stay for a while, the bag of rice (whose purpose I still didn’t understand) lying like a well-trained dog between his feet. I was hoping if I just said “goodbye” often enough he’d get the picture. Obviously he didn’t.

I tried in English anyway. “Please go away. My friends are coming in a few minutes to pick me up. Please go away. I don’t want anything.”

Of course he didn’t understand, and I was getting frustrated with this failing conversation that I didn’t even want to be having in the first place. It’s not like I had invited him in. He smiled sleezily and pointed at his face.

“Ore ga? Iranai?” (What about me? You don’t need me?)

“Iranai yo!” I lost my temper. “NANIMO kaitakunai, NANIMO hoshikunai, SAYONARA!” (NO! I don’t want to buy anything, I don’t want anything, goodbye!”)

I pointed at the door, pointed at him, and pointed at the door again. “Sayonara!”

I think he got the picture that time. He picked up his bag of rice, and with a half-hearted “sumimasen,” walked out the door. I double locked it and waited for my friends to come.

The next day was Saturday. I was hanging my laundry out on my balcony around noon when I saw that familiar white van pull up. Newspaper Man got out, glanced up at me, and hurriedly walked to my neighbor’s door with his head down. When she didn’t answer, he scuttled back to his van, slammed the door, and drove away in a hurry. I haven’t seen him since.

Whatever happened to the polite Japanese not wanting to intrude on anyone? Why push the issue of selling a newspaper to a girl who can’t even read it, even if she does get a free bag of rice with a one-month subscription? Why not just say, “Oh, excuse me,” and walk away as soon as she says, “No thanks”? Why try to force the issue? And why get all personal?!

***

By the way, the polite version of “Please go away” is “Kaitte kudasai.” Or you want to be a bit stronger, “Kaere!” Things I wish I had known . . . 

Nothing Too Special

Nothing terribly exciting is happening, but here are a few of the normal things that have been going on.

1)   I’ve had a terrible cold for the past week and a half! It started in my head, moved to my throat, has now settled permanently in my nose, rendering a trash can full of tissues. Gross. I’m ready to be able to breathe! I went home from school early last Wednesday and missed my Japanese class, much to my teacher’s chagrin (this is the second time I’ve missed class in three weeks). That night one of my friends biked over from Maebashi to bring me ginger ale, throat drops, and lemon tea, which was much appreciated and helped a lot. The nurse at school finally convinced me to go to the doctor, so I went with her after school yesterday. The doctor’s visit was all in Japanese, but it was super quick (20 minutes from in to out) and super cheap (1480 yen for the visit plus 4 different kinds of medicine). I hope I get better soon: it’s been 10 days now! Come on!

2)   It’s been unbearably hot recently! Hot like you take a cold shower, step out, and are immediately covered in sweat again. During the winter’s frigidity, I had forgotten what the summer was like. Now I remember. The rainy season is over, and 90-degree mugginess has arrived. I come home from work, close myself in my bedroom, and turn on the air conditioner. Classrooms at school are sweltering, even though they’ve got the ceiling fans on. Only the staff room is air conditioned, and thank God for that. But we are all suffering.

3)   I haven’t gone to the track-and-field club after school for almost two weeks! It’s terrible! I just don’t feel like being outside and running recently. On Saturday, the big Rikujo Taikai (Track-and Field Tournament, kind of like Field Day in elementary school) was held. I really wanted to be there all day to cheer for my track friends, but I had to miss the morning to teach a class. I arrived in time for the all-class relays, which were done under a drizzly sky. I even met two girls’ mothers, and was happy that I knew who their kids were!

4)   The kids are starting to give their "Reflection" after cleaning time in English!  This started when the VP wasn't there one afternoon, so the secretary and I became in charge. For the past three days, the kids who clean the staff room are trying their best, and it's so amazingly cute! They come up with sentences like, “Today, clean-shimashita. Tomorrow mo fight-o shimasu! Gokurosama deshita. Thank you!” Today it was, "Today wa chotto slow deshita. Kondo motto fast shimashou." You tell 'em, Hajime!

5)   I have a story about a crazy newspaper seller guy, but I'll write that later. 

6)   I’m going home in three weeks, yo! In the meantime, here are my plans:

July 2: Fourth of July/Canada Day BBQ at Onogami Onsen Park

July 3: Japanese Language Proficiency Test (JLPT), Level 4

July 8-10: Fuji Lakes trip

July 15: Takasaki ALT Farewell Party

July 16: International party at Gunma University in Kiryu (my new Vietnamese college girl friend invited me)

July 20: Last day of school for summer break!

July 22: I’ll fly away, oh glory . . .

Tentative U.S. Schedule:

July 23-25: Sleep

July 28-30: Wilson

July 31-August 4: Lake Gaston with the fam

August 2: My 29^th birthday (eeeek!)

August 4-8 (?): Winston-Salem/Greensboro

August 9-10: Wilson

August 10: Depart from RDU

August 11: Arrive in Japan. Sleep for three days. 

I'll try to write interesting blog posts during all my travels. Thank you for being interested and for reading. :) 

Food to Eat

I'm going back to North Carolina from July 22-August 10. I just hope three weeks is enough time to eat all of this:

Breakfast

• Mom’s Homemade Waffles & real bacon
• Frosted Mini Wheats, Honeycomb, Lucky Charms (I can get the healthy stuff here in Japan)
• Blueberry muffins on Sunday morning
• Grits, eggs, and biscuits with sausage gravy
• Cream cheese, salmon, tomato and caper bagels
• Everything delicious at Jan’s Diner in Greensboro (with Eddie)
• Everything delicious at Smith Street Diner
• Mangos and jicama with lime juice and salt

Lunch

• Ham, tomato, lettuce, pickle, and bacon sandwiches
• Arby’s roast beef sandwich and curly fries
• Cheeseburgers at Beef Burger
• Homemade Mexican food from my previous TAT clients J
• Anything at all from La Vaca Ramona
• San Luis (with Kathy)
• Chick-Fil-A
• Wendy’s
• Cheeseburgers on the grill, potato chips, baked beans, and pickles
• Pizza from New York Pizza on Tate St.
• Pho from Pho Hien Voung
• Panera Bread (with my mom)
• Jack’s Corner  

 Dinner

• Fried chicken, sweet tea, and dinner rolls 
• Garden vegetables: green peas, green beans, summer squash, tomatoes, corn on the cob . . .
• Bobbi Jo’s roast with carrots and onions and potatoes
• Rusty’s homemade macaroni and cheese
• Spiced apple rings
• Peas with baby onions
• A real ham
• Mom’s lasagna with lots of ricotta cheese
• A steak and a baked potato from Fleming’s
• Tuesday night tacos at La Azteca (if that’s still its name)
• Plain applesauce
• Frozen pizza and/or Papa John’s
• Natty Greene’s or M’Coul’s
• The Filling Station

Dessert

• Angel food cake with strawberries and whipped cream
• Lemon meringue pie
• Pound cake
• Greek baklava from Jack's Corner
• Greek yogurt with fruit
• A cold watermelon and a cold cantaloupe, lightly salted

 I think if I eat all of this, I will have a good dose of North Carolina to keep me going, and I’ll be good to go back to Japan for another year. Before perhaps I head off to South America . . .

My Weekend in South America

I spent this past weekend in Ota City, Gunma, with my new Brazilian friend Ana Cecilia and her family: her Peruvian husband and model-beautiful-but-still-kind-of-whiny 12-year old twin girls. It was such a breath of fresh air to be around Latin Americans again, chattering away in Spanish and eating delicious South American cooking! I had met Ana and her friend Emy at the DMV a few weeks ago and exchanged phone numbers with the promise to keep in touch. Finally we decided to meet on Saturday at Kumagaya Station in Saitama, 50 kilometers east of Takasaki and a 20-minute drive from their house.

When they came to pick me up, the first thing that struck me was that Ana and her daughters were all wearing spaghetti-strapped tops! In this country of super-short skirts but always-covered shoulders, seeing bare arms was a shock. It was just like being back in America! I know that’s a weird thing to say, but it was nice to see them so very comfortable and free in this hot weather. I have succumbed to Japanese modesty and keep all my tank tops in my dresser drawer. 

As soon as I got in the car and we all had made our introductions, I was immediately peppered with questions about my life in Japan, my life in America, what I wanted to do while I was in Ota. Everyone kept interrupting and talking loudly over each other and there were a lot of light-hearted insults thrown around. Ana’s husband, Augusto, prefaced most of his questions with, “Now this is something I read on the Internet, and I’ve always wanted to ask a real American about this . . . “ before throwing out statistics about American foreign policy, President Obama, World War II, UFOs and Area 51, or the upcoming end of the world in 2012. It was a whirlwind of conversation before we even crossed the bridge back into Gunma (about a mile away). Oh, it was fun! To be surrounded by the sweet, spicy sounds of South American Spanish, like music to my ears! And I understood every word! After months of barely scraping by with Japanese, it was so NICE to be able to carry on a conversation in another foreign language I can actually speak. 

Our first stop was at a huge Brazilian shopping center/restaurant in Ota. It was about half the size of Target and filled with all kinds of things, from soap and t-shirts to whole roasted chickens and fruit. The restaurant was connected to the store, its menu hand-painted on a wooden sign in Portuguese. I felt exactly as if I had walked into La Vaca Ramona in Greensboro, except this time I was the outsider among outsiders, the American girl in the Brazilian community in Japan! But it was such a familiar feeling: I’m so used to being stared at when I go to traditional Mexican places in North Carolina. I smiled politely at the Brazilian folk sitting there, and looked around at all the new and interesting products, slightly familiar but still different.

There was a quick discussion about if we should eat there or somewhere else, and somewhere else won. We had lunch at a buffet-style Brazilian place called La Primavera a few blocks away. I had just eaten a little while ago so I couldn’t finish my plate, but I did enjoy the slices of roast beef (?), salad, white lasagna, rice and beans, and soup . . . and the continuing fun conversations about conspiracy theories and aliens.

The girls wanted to go to Aeon Mall after eating, so Ana and I sat in an open area talking while her husband and kids entertained themselves in the game arcade. We got home around 8:00 and rested for a bit before heading over to see Emy and her family a few blocks away. Just us girls went, leaving Augusto at home.

Up until then, I had been doing pretty well conversationally with the Spanish, but Emy and her husband, both from the middle of Brazil, barely speak it at all, even though they understand most of it. So I sat on the couch in their very nice upper-middle class house, listening to the swirls of Portuguese on one side as the adults talked, and the Japanese/Portuguese mix of Ana and Emy’s kids on the other side, and thought: Wow, I don’t know what’s going on. Once in a while Ana would look up and translate back into Spanish for me, but after a while I just gave up listening. There was a kid’s keyboard in the corner, so I entertained the kids (an 11-year old girl and a 5-year old boy) with “The Entertainer,” “The Nickelodeon” (is that its name?) and “Beach Ball Boogie,” that I drug out from somewhere in the far reaches of my memories and which reminded me of my brother back in 1994.

It’s amazing how similar the immigrant experience is all over the world. Back in the States, my Mexican and Central American clients would complain that their kids only speak in English and can’t think Spanish anymore; here on the other side of the world, Emy and Ana complain that their kids just speak in Japanese. It makes sense, since they spend all day in Japanese schools and have Japanese friends, but I’m sure there’s always that cultural identity balance they’re trying to achieve in school and at home. I wonder if there are the same statistics on Brazilian kids in Japan like there are on Mexican kids in America. I wonder if life is just as hard.

In any case, Ana’s kids are pretty bright to speak fluent Spanish, Portuguese, and Japanese, just like Emy’s kids speak Portuguese and Japanese. And if I keep hanging out with everyone, I’m going to have to learn a little português myself! They understand me when I respond in Spanish, but I only get about 70% of what they’re saying, and half of that is through body language. Alejandro and Emy's 5-year old son fell in love with me as the night progressed, and he kept chattering to me half in Portuguese and half in Japanese, with me understanding about every 20^th word. After a while I just gave up and said, “Uh-huh, uh-huh, oh, that’s great!” in English because I wasn’t sure what else to do.

At 10:00 p.m., the eight of us—4 adults and 4 kids—piled into Emy’s husband Alejandro’s car and drove to McDonald’s for dinner. The people behind the counter were all Japanese, but besides us, half a dozen white and dark Brazilians were in the restaurant as well. 

  

We got back to Emy and Alejandro’s at 11:00. Over the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had (my first Brazilian coffee?) we chattered on about languages, traveling, make-up, Avon, snakes in the Amazon, and how the Vietnamese eat spider legs. (No joke.) Alejandro could carry on a conversation in mixed-Spanish, so we could understand each other. Emy just speaks Portuguese so poor Ana had to translate a lot. It was still a really fun night, though!

I was absolutely exhausted and just wanted to go to bed as soon as we got home around 12:30, but the girls had rented a scary movie and wanted to watch that. So I crawled into bed with one of them beside me and the other on a mattress on the floor, and tried to sleep while they enjoyed their film (I'm not sure which one it was; I put earplugs in). I still hadn’t gone to sleep when it finished around 2:30 a.m., but I did manage to drift off for a little bit off and on until 9:45. Sleeping was almost impossible, though, because Shiori kept kicking me and shoving me to the other side of the bed in her sleep all night. This is what I get for doing the same thing when I was 12.

The morning was better, though: while the girls slept, Ana and I sat at the kitchen table in our t-shirt pajamas, sipping coffee and eating bread and eggs, our feet propped up under the table, completely at ease. It was relaxing.

Augusto came back from church around 12:30 (sorry, I was asleep when he left). The girls had woken up by then, and wanted to eat. We went first to Augusto’s mom’s shop, a little trailer-like thing that sells authentic Peruvian food. I bought camote (sweet potato) chips and banana chips, which I devoured that same day. Then we went to a restaurant for pollo a la brasa. It was just like being back in a Latina American place back in America, sitting on that bench in that tiny restaurant/store. We ordered a whole roasted chicken, salad, French fries, ceviche, and Inca Cola to drink. I kept marveling over the fact that I can sit in a Peruvian restaurant with South American friends in Japan! It’s so wonderful! Yay, diversity! 

They dropped me off at the station after lunch, and I was back in my apartment by 6:00. Ota is kind of a dull little town; I can see it doesn’t have great big attractions or anything. But it does have bilingual signs everywhere, and people in all shades of colors who speak different languages. It’s a nice break from the homogeneity of my daily life. It was really lovely for me to visit, because I felt, just for a little bit, like I was back at home.