'I Went to England' or 'Blogs Galore'

I went to England with Ritchie. We visited family and friends, saw some sites, drank a lot of tea, and ate a lot of Marmite. If you like to read (or even just enjoy looking at pictures), peruse the posts below. If you're impatient and don't count reading about other people's lives as one of your favorite things, here's a brief overview:

1. I went out to dinner.
2. I celebrated Fake Christmas (I was hungover).
3. I went to London.
4. I went to Bath.

And there you have it!

Ritchie with his Mum (note my cultural awareness in the spelling) and Dad, Diane and Pat.

Ailey and Laurence, a good friend from Japan.

Bath

Ritchie, like locals of any place in the world, hasn't seen many of the famous sites in the UK. Because I'm not a UK local, I try to remedy this whenever I visit. Therefore, we journeyed to Bath. After three hours of driving, we easily found the city, but it took us an hour of driving up and down medieval streets to actually find the Bed and Breakfast where we were staying.

Tensions were high, so we decided to decompress by buying tickets to a Pantomime - Aladdin:


Though the story was Aladdin, the Pantomime took place in Peking. Were the writers trying to avoid offending the Middle Eastern population by packing the play with Chinese stereotypes instead? Despite the untraditional setting, the play was a lot of fun.


A trip to Bath is not complete without a trip to the city's namesake, the Roman Baths:

This picture shows the Baths as the were in Roman times, with Bath Abbey in the background. In Georgian times, the water level was higher.

Ailey converses with a Roman aristocrat.

Ailey and Ritchie in front of the Roman piping that feeds water into the Baths.

The city of Bath offers free walking tours of the city, so we braved the freezing weather to brush up on our Georgian history:

The tour guide gives a history of the Royal Crescent.

Some very expensive real estate, the Royal Circus.

A sample of the city's narrow, winding streets.

We also visited Bath Abbey, but it looks like any other medieval/Renaissance church so I'll spare you the photos. After a day of walking in the freezing cold, we scrapped plans to drive across the bridge into Wales and returned to Ritchie's parents' house.

London!

Ritchie and I took the train to London for a day of culture. Last year, we visited the Tower of London, Borough Market (spelling?), the British Museum, Leicester Square, Hyde Park and other stuff. Lots of other stuff. This year, we were far less driven. On the train ride into the city, our conversation went something like this:

Ritchie: What do you want to see?

Ailey: I want to go to the Tower of London again.

Ritchie: The portrait gallery is free.

Ailey: I want to go to the Tower of London again.

Ritchie: The British Musem is free.

Ailey: I want to go to the Tower of London again.

Ritchie: The Tate Modern is free.

Ailey: Fine, lets go to the Tate Modern (but I really wanted to say was, "I want to go to the Tower of London again").

So, we went to the Tate Modern. While impressed by the large crack that is running through the ground floor - it's a meaningful crack, of course - after two hours, I was ready to move on. My artist friends may shun me for saying this, but as far as modern art goes, I'm a cretin. I like the pieces with bright, bold colors and interesting designs, but large slabs of concrete hanging from the ceiling hold very little interest for me. Our walk through the museum was filled with "hmmms . . ." and "ummms . . ." and, the most hated comment of all, "I could do that."

After meeting Ritchie's friend for lunch, we did something a little more to my interest - the British Museum! Thousands of ancient artifacts collected (stolen?) by The Empire on view for me at no cost! With exhibits ranging from Viking Europe to ancient Egypt, the British Museum is definitely the best that I have ever seen. We arrived just an hour before closing, so we wandered my favorite exhibit, the ancient Levant.

Ritchie reads about an artifact while a bust of Rameses II holds.

We ended the day by meeting Ritchie's university friends for dinner at a Lebanese restaurant in Piccadilly Circus. Good (expensive) times!

Fake Christmas, number 2

My family celebrated Christmas on December 1st. Not to be outdone, Ritchie's family had Fake Christmas on December 15th. Unfortunately, I'd decided to celebrate Fake Christmas Eve by drinking wine and dancing (see below) and was not in top form. As the kids ran around and the adults engaged in distinguished English conversation, I moaned on the couch and stared at the TV. After downing tea and shunning all offers of alcoholic beverages, I retired to bed a 3 p.m. only to wake up after everyone had gone home. Merry Fake Christmas, indeed.

Dinner at the Green Man

We met Ritchie's brothers, Martin and Vinny, and a few of their friends for dinner at the Green Man. I had the duck salad, pheasant, chocolate mousse, and a mince pie. I also had a lot of wine.

Following dinner, Ritchie, Martin (Ritchie's brother), James (Martin's friend), and I went to Ivory for dancing and chav-viewing.

Martin, James, and Ritchie pull a manly pose while a fight breaks-out just outside the club.

Women! Issues! Women's issues!

I just got home from a six-hour women's summit. The day started with coffee, pastries, and opening remarks. The keynote speaker was a local woman who has lobbied for women's issues and is now a consultant for environmental policy. I was impressed by her credentials and energy, but as her speech went on, I began to see that her main focus was on a very particular aspect of womanhood - women as mothers and mothers as women.

She described her efforts to change policy for Family Leave, healthcare for women and children, after school programs for children, and equal pay for women with children. She even had an anagram - MOTHER - that we had to stand up and spell out with our bodies.

I support the issues that she discussed, but I found myself asking . . . what about me? How did the opening remarks get stolen for the 'mommies'? Why was the introduction into this women's summit focused on an issue that only applies to some women?

The summit was very diverse, including women from all races, ages, and sexual preferences. There were recent immigrants, there were transgendered people, there were homeless women. There were even men! Were I the keynote speaker, I would look at this group of people and draw similarities based on what I knew about them - they're interested in women's issues, they're interested in social change, and they want to talk about it.

Instead, we were all drawn together by motherhood ("Stand up if you're a mother! Okay, now stand up if you've ever had a mother! See, this is all something we have in common!). I'm not a mother and I may never be a mother. This doesn't make my concern for women's issues less valid. I want to talk about issues that affect ALL women - sexism, the glass ceiling, healthcare, reproductive rights, and education - and I don't really want to have a warm-fuzzy talk about mommies in action (no offense, mommies).

In the end, I'm tired of the idea that motherhood describes womanhood. Or that a woman isn't complete unless she's a mother. Who I am is far more complex than my ovaries.

Back in the City

After a year of teaching English in Japan, two weeks of traveling with my parents, and another two weeks of (insert cricket chirps here) absolutely nothing, I'm back to work and back to life in the city. I'll be working part-time at an international nonprofit and part-time at a locally famous coffee and doughnut shop. I can't say that I'm excited about waking-up at 5:30am on weekends, but income is income and I'll need it to survive graduate school. Those late-night coffees don't come cheap, you know. Well, if you work at a local coffee shop they do, but you get my gist.

Lots and lots of old stuff.

Yesterday, my parents and I traveled to a place called Yoshinogari, north of Nagasaki. The area is a huge archaeological sight that was discovered in the 1920's. The sight dates from the Yayoi Era (300 BC - 300 ACE) and the Japanese government has recreated the city as they think it was at the time. There were pit-dwellings, storehouses on stilts, temples, shrines, and military barracks. In addition to the recreations, there was lots and lots of old stuff. Archaeologists excavated the sight and found metal tools, foodstuffs, clothes, wooden utensils, and burial urns - with bodies inside, of course - most of which were on display. I was seriously impressed by the seeming organization of the society at the time. Growing up in the US, I never learned about Japanese history, so it was all new to me and I was fascinated. What were my ancestors doing 2000 years ago? Probably shivering under a sheepskin and foraging for roots in the British isles. Because that's what people did back then, right? Okay, maybe my European history isn't what it should be either . . .

Temples, nuns, and typhoons.

After five hours of train travel, my parents and I have finally made it to Nagasaki on the south-eastern tip of Japan. For several hundred years, Nagasaki was the stronghold of the Christian daimyos (regional lords) and, despite being terrorized by various shoguns over the years, there's still a noticeable Christian presence here. Yesterday in Tsuwano, I visited one of the top five Inari shrines in Japan and watched temple priests perform chants in their traditional garb. This afternoon on the train to Nagasaki, I saw a Japanese nun. This country is filled with contradictions.

I'm interested in Nagasaki because it's where foreign and Japanese cultures have been mixing for centuries. In a country as insular as Japan, cultural fusion is fairly rare. Nagasaki is famous for the atomic bomb, but also for its 'castella cakes,' Dutch-style houses, Chinese food, and cathedrals. I'm curious to see what has been absorbed into the local culture and what stands out as noticeably Portuguese, Spanish, Dutch, Chinese, or Korean. Obviously, the Iberian regard for arriving late never caught on - our train pulled in to Nagasaki station right on time.

Tomorrow I want to see all the sights within the city so that, on Saturday, I can head out to Aso-san and peer into the world's largest active caldera. I want to take a big whiff of the sulfurous air that oozes straight from the earth's core. Unfortunately, a typhoon with estimated 100 mph winds is expected to hit Kyushu tonight. Sightseeing in a hurricane has never really topped my list of favorite things, so I may find a shrine and rattle the bell, appealing to the gods to hear my weather-related prayers. Or, better yet, I'll find a cathedral and light a candle.

Maybe both would be more effective.

These are very strange days.

This morning, I ran 13 miles. When I began my run, it was 6 AM and overcast and cool. I started off through the rice fields and saw a large remote-control helicopter being flown back and forth across one of the fields.

"Oh," I thought. "It looks like the quarry guys are having a bit of fun on their break."

As I got closer, I realized that the remote-control helicopter was actually dusting the field with what I assume was pesticide. I ran on. Further ahead, another helicopter was dusting a field. And another. And another! The fields were covered by these hovering crafts dispensing chemicals. I wondered if the technicians shouldn't be wearing gas masks.

Now my parents are in town and the strange days continue. My Dad is sleeping on the floor next to my couch, my Mom is in my bed, and I'm shivering under a thin fleece with the air-conditioner cranked to 22 degrees, Celsius. My parents claim that this is the most comfortable they've felt since they've been in Japan. I, on the other hand, am freezing my butt off.

Tomorrow, my parents and I will visit each of the schools that I've taught at in the past year and exchange pleasantries with my coworkers. I'll introduce them to my students. This will also be the very last time that I visit any of these schools or see any of my colleagues, at least for a long, long time.

In less than two weeks, my parents and I will have traveled to Hiroshima, Nagasaki, Kyoto, and Tokyo. Then we will board a plane for Seattle and I will say goodbye to Japan after an entire year. In Seattle, I will hang out with my girlfriends and make dinner with my boyfriend and go camping with my sister and search for gainful employment and it will be like this year of sushi and chopsticks and kanji and Sports Days and anime and yukata and soft tennis and futons was just another twelve months.

As I was finishing my run this morning, a group of young firemen said 'good morning' to me. I responded with the Japanese greeting, "ohayo gozaimasu!" They doubled over with laughter and I blushed.

Indeed, these are very strange days.

Lord of the Flies

As I sat down to eat my baked potato last night, a fly fell on my head. I brushed it off and continued eating. Twenty seconds later, a fly fell on my arm. Could it be the same fly? I glanced at the ceiling and, much to my chagrine, saw that it was covered with a swarm of little, black flies! Disgusting! I ran to make sure all the windows were tightly sealed, then looked in my bedroom - my bed and the ceiling were carpeted with flies. I stood perplexed for a moment, wondering what to do. Do I leave the flies and let them die on their own time, or do I spray them with super fly-killing poison and burn a few brain cells of my own at the same time? The thought of sharing my bed with egg-laying flies led me to choose the poison approach. I sprayed until there was a fog of chemicals clouding my apartment. The flies died. They dropped like . . . flies. I vacuumed them up, then sprayed some more, then vacuumed them up, and then sprayed some more. Two hours later, flies that had hidden from the massacre were still appearing. I sprayed and vacuumed well into the night - I had to be certain that they wouldn't be falling on me in my sleep. Finally, I went to bed, but guess what I dreamed about? That's right, flies.

Musings

Tonight, I had my last English conversation class. Even though it's been a month of 'lasts,' I feel even sadder now than I have before. Once a week for the past year, I've spent an hour with the same six people - playing games, discussing cultural differences, and endlessly teasing each other. This class and this group of people is one of the only things about my life in Japan that hasn't been a challenge. Our age differences span as many as fifty years, we all come from different backgrounds, have different interests, and very separate lives and yet, somehow, we managed to have a good time whenever we were together. I have been really moved by this experience and can honestly say that it's one of the best I've had in Japan.

And, because I'm in a sentimental state of mind, I'm going to reminisce on my other 'bests' from this year past. There are a few (okay, a lot) and they're in no particular order. So, if you've got some time to kill, read on my friends! It's a rare glimpse into what I've been doing over on this side of the world.

My most memorable experiences have been:

Playing 'Would you Rather' at Yashiro with Liz, Ryan, and Loz and laughing until I couldn't breathe; seeing Ritchie walk into the terminal at Narita airport, riding rental bikes around Kyoto, and singing karaoke in Tokyo; playing dodgeball with the 1st and 2nd graders at recess (and getting my butt kicked); meeting Taka and his amazing family who now call me Ailey-chan and always make me feel at home; playing with the InterHyogo soccer team in Awaji and taking first place (Go, go, Hyogo!); spending Christmas in England with Ritchie and his family; riding the ferris wheel with Liz in freezing-cold Edinburgh; skiing with Travy, Carly, and Liz in Tajima - the few times that it actually snowed; the night that Jennie made apple pie; my shoes icing over in Sapporo, followed by skiing in powder up to my knees and then warmed up with hot drinks; experiencing The Dune with Reuben Rye and drinking beers with my English conversation class; spending one short but fun weekend with Nate and Marissa; nomihoudai night (oh, but it was dangerous and I have scars to prove it) and playing darts in Tokyo with Denise; cooking dinner with Dirty Mario on the beach and watching him throw tennis balls at the hawks; making pottery with Kazue and her family and having them sing Happy Birthday to Ritchie (the long-distance version) in the backseat of the car; tasting home for one week, then coming back; planning, teaching, struggling, and generally growing.

Now I only have one week left in this too small town, in this tiny apartment with the absurdly low door frames. Just like this time last year, it's hot and humid and miserable outside. The difference is that now there's a life I've made for myself that will be left behind. And that's damn hard thing to say goodbye to.

Nevermind

I lied in my previous post - I have let a 'little' typhoon ruin my weekend plans. However, this doesn't mean that I don't have alternatives! Rather than navigate a rushing river on an inflatable raft, I will navigate a crowded subway system on my own two feet. Rather than rapell down a 70 foot waterfall into a pool of crystal-clear water, I will ride a glass elevator to the observation deck of the tallest building in Japan. Rather than set-up camp on a riverbank, I will curl up on my friend Carlton's apartment floor. Yes, that's right, I'm going to Tokyo!

I've been to Tokyo (three times), so it's not as exciting as Shikoku. It's also drenched in concrete and neon, so it's not as picturesque as Shikoku. And the masses of buildings, people, and cars make it difficult to enjoy 'nature,' so it's not exactly what I had planned for my last three-day weekend in Japan. However, Japan is a relatively small island and this little 'typhoon' is negatively affecting ever possible outdoor activity. Therefore, going somewhere with indoor offerings is a must.

I'm disappointed about missing out on rafting and canyoning, but I love Tokyo and shouldn't complain. Even though I've been there (three times), there's still so much that I haven't seen! The Chinatown in Yokohama, for example, or the Daibutsu in Kamakura. That's one of the good things about Japan - even if you've seen it all, there's always something more.

The little typhoon that could (ruin my weekend plans).

Actually, the typhoon isn't little. In fact, it could be really, really big and it's supposed to hit Shikoku this weekend. Coincidentally, I'm also supposed to hit Shikoku this weekend. I've been looking forward to this weekend for over a month. Some friends and I gathered camping gear, assigned a driver, and booked our places on the dual white-water rafting/canyoning trip through one of Japans biggest gorges. That sounds fun, right? I thought so, too! I even though that doing it in the rain would be a good time, until I came to my senses and realized that a typhoon means sheets of rain, thunder, lightening, and gale-force winds. Needless to say, the rafting company is threatening to cancel our trip. One friend has already backed-out. Should the rest of us admit defeat in the face of this little typhoon and cancel our trip altogether? No, I say! We will forge on, despite the rain and wind and possible electrocution! I refuse to let a little typhoon ruin my weekend plans. There might not be rafting, but there WILL be huddling in a tent, trying not to drown. So, take that, typhoon. We might even play cards.

Farewell speech to Koto Elementary School

This speech is written for elementary school students and it's definitely not going to win any awards for eloquence, but I became very emotional while writing it. Teaching at elementary school has been one of my favorite parts of working in Japan and I feel very sad knowing that tomorrow will be my last day. Even on my angriest days, having little kids chase my bike on the street yelling 'Ailey-sensei! Ailey-sensei!' always seemed to lift my spirits. That's the funny thing about kids - though I may look different (very different) and speak poor Japanese, they don't seem to care.

"Good morning, everyone!

Today is my last day at Koto Elementary School.

I am excited to go home to my family and friends in Seattle, WA, but I will miss you all very much. My first day at Koto seems like just last week, and not one year ago. Now, the kindergarteners are 1st graders and the 6th graders have moved to Minato Junior High. There have been a lot of changes and you are all growing very quickly.

Next year, even though I will be thousands of kilometers away, I will always remember cooking curry and rice with you in the home economics room, playing soccer and dodgeball at recess, and picking 'wakame' at Tai Beach. My days at Koto Elementary School were some of the best that I had in Japan. You are very special students and you always made me feel welcome, even though I look different and cannot speak Japanese well.

I hope that you are as kind and friendly to the next English teacher, who will be just as nervous and scared as I was when I first came here.

I will leave Kehi in three weeks. Before then, if you see me on the street, please say 'hello' and 'how are you.' It will make me happy to know that this isn't our last goodbye. Otherwise, please remember me when you speak English or listen to the news about the Seattle Mariners. I know that I will always remember all of you."

My sister and brother-in-law are so much cooler than me . . .

Tales From the Tube: Aiguille du Midi: Climbed

Not only do they have an awesome dog, but they do awesome things! Also, my sister speaks Spanish (cool) and my brother-in-law is on the news (cool). What did I do while they were climbing a potentially deadly rock face, you ask? Well, I went to a rainy and humid beer garden in Kobe, then slept in a capsule hotel. If we were to wage a battle where our only weaponry was coolness, who do you think would win? I'm afraid we all know the answer to this one.

I like Speaking Japanese

I had a friend in the Peace Corps who didn't know the Kyrgyz word for 'rain' so he called it 'sky ink.' A bit confusing, perhaps, but it still got his point across and has provided endless amusement for me whenever I remember that story.

To me, that story shows why languages are so fascinating. Each language has a strict set of rules - sentence pattern, verb conjugation, etc. - and yet, if you're creative, you can communicate without knowing all the rules. In essence, you can cheat.

It's easiest to cheat on vocabulary. Much like my Peace Corps friend did when describing 'rain,' you can talk your way around the problem spot. For example, if you don't know the word for 'wild boar' you can say 'a really big pig.' If that doesn't do it, you can say 'with really long teeth' (you probably don't know the word for 'tusks'). If you don't know the name for 'honeymoon,' you can call it 'marriage travel.' If you don't know the name for those little floating trays they serve alcohol on at some onsens, you can call them 'sake boats.' The possibilities are endless!

It's like a really big word puzzle and it's quite fun. And an added benefit is that people automatically think you're funny, even if you're not. Referring to 'rain' as 'sky ink' is pretty much gauranteed to get a few laughs. We don't have this flexibility in our own languages because we're too aware of the rules and anything outside of them is deemed inarticulate or uneducated. When speaking a second or third language, people find it charming when you make a few mistakes. Therefore, I will continue to charm and cheat my way through Japanese through the next month and a half and enjoy it thoroughly the entire time.

Guess who I ran into at the Yukata Matsuri?

The legend himself, Dirty Mario! Because he has taken it upon himself to prove every Italian stereotype to be true, he was cooking pizza, sporting a generous moustache, and gesticulating wildly to the bemused Japanese passers-by. And to really drive home the fact that he is, indeed, Italian he played his accordion on the sidewalk in front of the pizza stand! Mario pushed so many pieces of pizza on Travy and I that I felt full to my toes. Then, true to form, he gave us each a sweaty hug and said, "Heya! I've been-a waiting all day to touch a pretty woman!" and laughed his dirty laugh.

He may be dirty, but he makes some damn good pizza.
I don't know why I'm about to insert this piece of pizza into my nose.Does he look Italian to you?

Best Engrish of the Day

'I think that I like the home.'

I'm relieved that I won't need to call Child Protective Services for Mr. Kadono, though I'm left dangling with that 'I think . . .' Could things be bad at home and he just doesn't know it?

'My birthday on December twentyth six. My birthday eat cake. It is Derishas.'

I don't even know where to begin on this one, though I give Miss Imazue an A for effort. At least she was able to put three sentences together! I also like the idea of a birthday eating cake, if a birthday had a physical form. Very creative and avante garde.

'I don't think I like baby.'

Considering that the student who wrote this is only fourteen and just getting involved in all of those mixed-up adolescent feelings, I'm pleased to see that he's lucid enough to recognize that there is only one thing that could make his life more awkward right now - spawning.

And here's my personal favorite from today:

'I think that Miss Ailey is a great teacher.'

Aaaaaaaawwwwwww!!! Alright, that one is a perfect English sentence and obviously not funny, but I posted it so that everyone can see how awesome I am. That's right, love me. Adore me. I am deserving.

Maybe I've Done Something Right

One of the benefits of working in a small school is that I know each of my students by name, I can recognize their handwriting when grading tests, and I've come to understand their personalities. For example, Maeba-san loves to play the clarinet, but she hates cleaning and will do anything she can to get out of it, including faking menstrual cramps or conveniently losing a button on her blouse. Ujou-kun wants to be a translator when he grows up, but all he really thinks about is soccer. Kitani-chan isn't very good at English, but she has a great sense of humor and will always yell random English phrases in the hallway, such as “Wow! Unbelievable!” Over the past ten months, I've really gotten close to some of them, so I shouldn't have been surprised when a group of 8th grade girls cornered me in the hallway.

“When are you getting back from Seattle?” they asked.

I told them that I'd be back very, very late on June 17th. “But that's your birthday!” they said and hurriedly whispered among themselves in Japanese

I was shocked; they'd remembered my birthday?!

“Where's a calendar? What days will you be at home?” We looked at the calendar together while they chatted rapidly in Japanese and I tried to disguise my confusion. Why were they being so persistent and mysterious? “Please be at home on June 24th and be there ALL DAY. Promise that you'll be there?” I promised, but I asked why.

“Because we want to bring you something for your birthday!” Morimoto-san yelled and Kitani-chan hit her in the arm, “Ssssshhhhh!!! It's a secret!”

I had that tingling in my scalp that you get when your Mom kisses your forehead or your Dad tells you that he's proud of you. It was the same feeling I got in Kyrgyzstan when one of my students introduced me to her parents and said, “I've told them all about you and that you're why I want to learn English.” And I had the same feeling in Spain when one of the German girls in my class told me that she'd had a bad opinion of Americans, but after meeting me she'd realized that maybe her prejudices were wrong.

I don't know quite how to describe it, but I think it's the feeling that maybe, just maybe, I've done something right.

Dirty Mario and His Dirty Posse of Traveling Silver Salesmen

Doesn't the name just say it all? College jokes aside (where are Reuben, Kevin, and Newt when you need them?!), I had never truly experienced a 'Dirty Mario.' This past weekend, however, all of that changed!

Takeno Beach in all it's pre-Mario glory.

Picture this: Liz, Rob, Travy, and myself relaxing at Takeno Beach, taking in the sunshine, the turqoise water, and the lack of people.

Now picture this: An old, fat, Italian man in his boxer shorts (and JUST his boxer shorts) with a team of equally shady characters. Dirty Mario and His Dirty Posse of Traveling Silver Salesmen have entered the scene.

Dirty Yuki, preparing some dirty Asian/Italian fusion antipasto.

On arrival, we noticed the presence of other foreigners on the beach. Naturally, my curiosity was piqued, but Liz was reluctant to converse as 'we might not be able to escape.' A valid concern, but we didn't have much time to contemplate our situation as one of the foreigners yelled 'hello' and gesticulated wildly (we knew then that he was Italian) for us to come and sit with them. We did.

After talking with Dirty Mario and His Dirty Posse of Traveling Silver Salesmen, we discovered that they were a mixed trio of Italian, Sri Lankan, and Japanese descent. Their life goal was relaxation. Their plan to achieve it was sitting on the beach. Their source of funding was intermittently selling silver out the back of their van at various locations across the country. Dirty Mario's life philosophy went something like this: "Hey! I see a beautiful woman, I say, 'Hello, beautiful woman!' Then I drink some wine and eat some food and I like the accordion! Life is good!"

And then Dirty Mario and His Dirty Posse of Traveling Silver Salesmen cooked us a fusion of Italian and Japanese food, right there on the beach. They passed around beer and cognac and spoke in Italian and Spanish and English and heavily accented Japanese and it was true - life was good.

Ailey and the man himself - Dirty Mario.

Not the best coffee I've ever made.

It was Saturday morning. Liz, Rob, and I awoke groggy, sweaty, and in some serious need of caffeine. "Never fear!" I said, valiantly. "I've got true Starbucks coffee - guaranteed to give you what you need!" I went to work making the coffee; not too strong, but not too weak. I am, after all, something of a connouisseur. Rob asked for his with milk and sugar - I gave it a stir and handed it over.

"Is this a special kind of coffee?" Rob asked. "It's got a really fruity flavor."

A fruity flavor? Rob must be a connouisseur, like me! I drink the same Starbucks coffee every morning and I never noticed a fruity flavor! Prepared for an enlightened experience, I took a big sip of my coffee . . . and promptly spat it back into the cup.

"What the h--- is this?!" I said. "It's vile!" I sniffed the water in the teakettle - it seemed okay. I sniffed the coffee - it seemed okay. I sniffed the milk - it was fruit yoghurt.

"I'm such an idiot, Rob. I'm sorry."

"That's alright," he replied. "But I'll always remember this as the day that a person from Seattle put fruit yoghurt into my coffee." And he finished the cup.

Teaching Spanish in Japan (in English, of course)

One month ago when my friend, Takako, asked me to teach a beginner's Spanish language course, my response was excitement. My eyes grew hazy as I remembered shaking my hips to Latin beats at Salsero Mayor, meeting my friends to botellon in Plaza Nueva, taking a siesta every afternoon and drinking a bottle of wine with my bartender-friend, Juan Jesus, every night. "I love everything Spanish!" I thought.

"I love everything Spanish!" I said.

"Good," Takako replied. "Classes start on May 14th. We'd like you to teach the entire course in Spanish."

Reality quickly fast-forwarded four years to the present day. I am living in Japan, speaking Japanese, and I haven't studied Spanish since my final test at the Universidad de Granada. When I search for a word, it's like reaching into a bag of languages and pulling out whatever is nearest to the top - How do I ask the time? Emne caat? No, that's not right. Nan ji desu ka? No, that's not it either. My Spanish is rusty, to say the least, and I'm beginning to feel sadly as though it was never very good to begin with.

Now, when driving to class, I find myself chanting, "I love everything Spanish. I love everything Spanish. I love everything Spanish." To bolster my sense of well-being, I conjure images of elderly Spaniards playing bocce ball in El Parque de Lorca as I run laps around the perimeter. I block out the memories of random men exposing themselves from park benches.

Before I drown in this bath of self-pity that I've drawn for myself, I will look at the upside. What better way to refresh my passion for Spanish than to teach it to others? Taking on this class has really inspired me to pursue a higher level of language ability. The first step is going back to Spain - I'm convinced that some cultural immersion will force all of those Spanish words back to the top of my brain. Also, the daily siestas, bottles of wine, and salsa dances will help me to remember that, really, I love everything Spanish.

Like clockwork

There is a beer vending machine ten minutes from my front door. For this very reason, I don't usually keep beer in my refrigerator. Instead, when I'm in the mood, I walk down the road, put my change in the slot, and select my beer of choice. Sometimes I open it there and sip while I'm walking home. Sometimes I walk to the beach (if the weather is nice) and drink it there.

Lately, though, something has been happening that has rained on my beer parade. The benefit of living in a very small town is that everyone knows you. The downfall of living in a very small town is that everyone knows you. Like clockwork these days, whenever I'm reaching down to grab my beer, someone I know appears over my shoulder. The most common question I get asked is an innocent, "What are you doing?" But it's not that innocent! I'm convinced that said person has seen me put my money into the vending machine, select my beer, and they know that I'm trying to not-so-discreetly keep it behind my back.

Inevitably, the can is spotted and said person will say, "Hey, what are you drinking?!" This is a thinly veiled attempt to hide the REAL question, which is, "That's not a beer . . . IS it?" At which point I meekly show the offending beverage and say something along the lines of, "Yeah. I'm drinking a beer. I thought it was a soda (when all else fails, plead ignorance)." If I'm feeling truly ashamed, I might add something like, "It's for my Dad." This is a good excuse because everyone knows that Dads are the official drinkers of beer.

But I'm tired of the lies! I am tired of masking my love of beer. Though it's true that Dads are the official drinkers of beer (and makers of breakfast - these are universal truths), it's not true that they are the only ones who find beer delicious. I've decided to face the situation head-on. From now on, I will walk the streets drinking beer openly and proudly. Let my neighbors think that it is a crazy foreigner habit - I don't care! I just want to enjoy my beer and not feel guilty every time I bask in the inviting glow of a vending machine.

What did you do at work today?

As per usual, I got to work at around 8 AM and prepped for my classes. Fresh coffee was brewing in the teacher's room and everyone was joking around and cheerful. The sun was shining outside and kids popped in and out with questions and random anecdotes that only young children and adoring adults find interesting.

And so began another day teaching at elementary school. Out of everything that I've experienced in Japan, teaching the younger students has been the highlight. Why? First of all, because they're still too young to worry about being 'cool' and instead bring a refreshing sense of excitement to learning. Second of all, they don't seem to care that my Japanese is . . . shall we say . . . lacking. Even if I don't understand what they're talking about, they continue to run their mouths at 100 miles/hour. If their monologue ends in 'ka,' I respond with a 'hai' and they seem satisfied. If only all communication was that easy! Finally and perhaps most importantly, the kids really seem to dig me. Maybe that sounds egotistical, but the truth is, how can you NOT like what you're doing when ten kids jump up and down screaming your name after you walk through the door?

So, in case you were wondering, at work today I sang some songs, practiced counting from 1 to 20, played games, and went to the beach to pick wakame - a form of edible seaweed. When I got home this afternoon, my pants were soaked with sea water, my face was sunburnt, and I was exhausted, but who can argue with such a day?

What did you do at work today? I can only hope that you had as much fun as I did.

The Six Week Festival o' Fun

It's Monday morning, I'm back at school, and I'm very tired. The past month and a half has been a tornado (un-PC in light of recent events in the mid-West?) of travels and events and good times. From now on, I will refer to this period as the Festival o' Fun. So far, it has been one of the best times I've had in Japan. This is thanks to the visits of friends and family who are determined to use me as an excuse to see a little more of the world. Ha! Luckily for me, I was able to convince them to visit me in my town which sits somewhere between elsewhere and nowhere. Hilarity ensued. I’m wondering if I should even begin to detail what I’ve been doing these past weeks, or just let it go with a simple, “Good times were had.” But that is a cop-out and, as a Creative Writing major (thanks, Mom and Dad!), I feel the weight of responsibility – writing is a heavy burden.

Three (not-so-brief) synopses of my recent adventures with friends and family are below. Pictures will follow soon!

Losing our Way (finding her way?)

If there were to be a contest of who had the largest cojones (even though girls don't actually have cojones), I think that Denise would be the winner. Even though she'd never been outside North America, much less traveled to a foreign country on her own, Denise booked her trip to Japan and didn't seem to care that I wouldn't be able to meet her in Tokyo. I bit my nails and stressed when I didn't hear from her on the first day. Or the second day. Or the third day. But then an e-mail arrived! Somehow, she'd made her way to Kyoto, found her hostel, booked a tour of the city, and made new foreign friends, but she was feeling a bit tired, so was it okay if she came to see me a day early? I was so relieved! I'd had visions of her having a nervous breakdown in Tokyo Station and sleeping in the cold glow of a beer vending machine.

On the first weekend of Denise's trip with me, my friend Laurence was feeling a bit lonely down south and decided to drive up. We went hiking and then had a night on the town (it's not a very big town, but we seemed to have a very big night). The next day, we bid farewell to a sluggish Loz and began our drive to Kyoto. The drive through the countryside was beautiful, but getting into the city was a nightmare. I was foolish enough to think that I'd just be able to drive into Kyoto and find Taka's temple. I was wrong. We finally arrived at 10 PM, the temple gate had long been closed, and so had to take the super-ninja route through the complex. Have you ever driven through a temple complex? Imagine driving along a balance beam – the width of the road is pretty equivalent. The next day, Denise and I contemplated a rock garden, imagined ancient warriors squatting over ruined pit toilets, and saw about 500 red gates. We then collected the car and drove back home on the wrong road, turning a 2.5 hour trip into 5 hours.

The next weekend, which thanks to Golden Week began on Thursday, we woke early to make the six-hour trip to Tokyo. First a drive, then a bus, then a train, then a shinkansen, then another train, and finally we were at our hotel. What can be said of Tokyo? It’s the biggest city in the world and therefore has everything to offer – any kind of food that you could want, shopping, people from all over the world, and lots and lots of flashing neon. I love Tokyo. It's expensive and huge and crowded, but the streets are strangely clean (don't Japanese people litter?) and most people are far friendlier than they would be in an American city. Also, it has excellent public transportation. Why is Seattle so far behind in that regard? Step it up a notch! Japan has bullet trains, express trains, local trains, express buses, local buses, ferry boats, monorails, and trolley cars. If you can't get to your destination one way, you can get there another.

In Tokyo, Denise and I shopped in Harajuku while gaping at girls dressed as Little Bo Peep – bonnet and all – wandered the Imperial Gardens as a token cultural activity, and drank beer on the street. That's another thing I love about Japan – there are no public drinking laws! By the end of the weekend, I was exhausted from a lack of sleep, too much spending, and too much beer. I was also ready to go somewhere where I wouldn't have to constantly fight my way through a crowd, so I said goodbye to Denise and began the long and lonely trip back home. This marked the end of my Festival o’ Fun. Denise made her way to the airport to catch a flight to Okinawa. I suspect that they made her check her cojones – they are too large to carry on.

'Nate and Marissa' or 'Shinagawa isn't a word?'

My brother, Nate, and his wife, Marissa, came to stay with me for a long weekend in April. Despite the relatively short length of their trip, we were able to go hiking, attend a barbeque, eat soba and sea salt flavored ice cream, and take a road trip to Himeji Castle. Aside from the near-constant political and ethical debate insisted on by my brother, the most amusing aspect of their trip to Japan was the confusion that it caused to the local Japanese. Marissa is Chinese-American and, therefore, much more Japanese-looking than I (obviously). Whenever we went to a restaurant or were in a situation that required speaking Japanese, the person we were conversing with would automatically direct their questions and responses to Marissa. Marissa would then shrug and look at me to translate. This resulted in the usually-collected Japanese becoming flustered and awkward. A blonde woman? Speaking in Japanese? Impossible! I was also amused by Nate's propensity to develop his own language when stumped by Japanese: Shinagawa! When you can't remember the correct word, just create your own.

*Writers note: 'Shinagawa' IS a word, but it's a place name and definitely not the thing that Nate meant to say.

Reuben Rye and The Dune

Reuben stayed at my house for the majority of his three week trip to Japan. Apart from some side-trips to Tokyo, Hiroshima, and Kyoto, we were together the entire time – and we never fought! I'm convinced that this is because I've reached a higher level of Nirvana, but it could also be that Reuben is a laid-back kind of guy. My adventures with Reuben had two marked differences to most adventures I've had here so far. First of all, the man has a large red beard that both scares and startles Japanese children. Second, eating fish causes him to break-out in a mysterious red rash, which ruled out eating any sushi, sashimi, ramen, or udon. This means that our adventurer's cuisine consisted of KFC, McDonald's, and knock-off Italian food. Feeling strengthened by my new diet of vitamin-rich western food, I was eager to see the exciting things that my area has to offer; for example, a very large sand dune. This is no ordinary sand dune – it is The Dune. Some local entrepreneur even had the brilliant idea of offering camel rides, because what goes better with a sand dune in Japan then a camel? Unfortunately, it was too early in the season for exotic pack animals and we contented ourselves with running up and down the dune and taking pictures of the sunset. It was all very romantic, in a platonic sort of way. But now Reuben is back in Seattle and my couch is missing its favorite surfer. At least I can eat fish again.

It's time for something new.

In other words, it's time for something a little more upbeat. I apologize for the downer post, but living in a foreign country is a series of serious ups and downs; if I didn't reflect them in my blog, I wouldn't be true to the experience. But onwards and upwards!

I said goodbye to my dear friend Reuben on Monday night and drove home to nurse my lonely, aching heart. Soledad, o soledad! However, I'm left with some great memories, not least of which was our most excellent trip to Himeji! I'm told that going to the Hanami in Himeji is a must-do in Japan, so I'm glad that I was able to experience it. In essence, it's a big, drunken picnic in the shadow of the castle and under the cherry blossoms. The day was slightly overcast and drizzly, but well worth it.

Looking at the pictures, you might notice an abundance of cherry trees and foreigners. We might have been the largest group of westerners that the Japanese had ever seen together. In fact, I'd

say that Japanese tourists took a pretty equal share of pictures of the castle and pictures of us.

Those are some mighty fine cherry blossoms!

And those are some might fine looking foreigners!

Updates from Japan

Actually, there really aren't many updates. I mean, what can I say? I'm moving back home in 3.5 months and, in the meantime, I'll do what I always do. I'll come to school every day and stare out the window. I'll think about studying Japanese, but pass it by for something more engaging. I'll go running, I'll watch rented episodes of Prison Break, I'll hang out with my friends, and I'll buy beer out of vending machines. Because that's what life is all about. It might be obvious that I'm feeling a bit weary of the situation right now, but no worries! It's Friday, and that means that I have an entire weekend to boost my mood.

If Oprah can do it, then so can I.

Inspired by my friends Liz and Rob who are running the Nagano Marathon next weekend, I've decided to dust off my running shoes, banish the icecream and beer, and start training for a marathon. To cement my commitment, I even booked my place! Okay, okay, I've signed up for a marathon before and not run it, but I'm older now! You know, more mature and determined and stuff. Barring injury, illness, or death (my own), I WILL complete this race. If you're interested, check out www.bellinghambaymarathon.com. It's a new race, so I'll be one of the first (hundred or so) people to do it. Cool! Oh, and wish me luck.

So you want to work in Japan?

This interesting (and telling) excerpt was taken from the book Behind the Japanese Bow, by Boye Lafayette De Mente:


Except for new recruits schooled in technical skills, managers do not look for the most intelligent, most ambitious, or the most energetic employee candidates. In fact young people who fit these categories may not fit into the typical company system in Japan. Many managers look first for young people who do not have strongly held opinions or ambitions and can be molded into what the managers regard as company soldiers - people who will adhere strictly to the military-like hierarchy of the Japanese company, obey rules without question, and devote their lives to working diligently and rising slowly in the ranks.

Female employees are usually excluded from the male bastion of management in Japanese companies, and are generally not required to undergo 'boot-camp' training. Their training usually ends with how to sit, how to stand before superiors, how to respond with the proper speech, how to bow, and how to serve tea. Not surprisingly, Japanese women bow more often than Japanese men.


Unfortunately, my college degree didn't include training on how to bow, how to speak to my superiors, or how to serve tea. I also, sadly, have many strongly held opinions and ambitions. I don't have much desire to be a company soldier and adhere to a military-like hierarchy. It seems that I'm destined for corporate failure in Japan, which maybe isn't such a bad thing - I'm coming home in four months, anyway.

For all of you women who spent over $30,000 on higher education and devoted four years of your life to the study of tea service and subservience, Japan is the place for you! Or you could get a job at Starbucks (the tips are a benefit).

Kyoto, Nara, Osaka . . . oh my!

In two days, Reuben, Travy, and I have managed to hit three of the top tourist destinations in Japan. Reuben is visiting from Seattle and Travy had yet to see The Largest Bronze Buddha in the World, Housed in the Largest Wooden Building in the World, so we decided to make it a weekend of destinations. On Friday night, we took the train to Kyoto, where we drank sake with Taka and Hillary before bedding down on thick, comfortable futons. The following morning, we set out for Nara, which is about forty-five minutes from Kyoto. In Nara, we managed to see The Largest Bronze Buddha in the World, Housed in the Largest Wooden Building in the World, wander the scenic gardens, gape at the ancient pagodas, admire the view from a temple perched over the city, and feed the (not so) tame deer. We ate some meat-on-a-stick to tide us over, then hopped a train to Osaka. After spending an hour underground trying to navigate our way out of the death-cave that is Osaka Station, we finally managed to breath fresh air and check-in to our hotel. We gave ourselves an hour to rest, then headed out in search of Indian food, which we savored for as long as possible. Actual spices! In the food! It was unbelievable . . . The next day, we woke up early and took the train across the city to Osaka Castle (a 1931 re-build, complete with a glass elevator), then another train to the Osaka Aquarium to see the whale shark and watch the otters float around on their backs, then to the Suntory Museum, to cultivate ourselves by viewing the Dali exhibit there. We managed to make our way back to Osaka station, where Reuben and I enjoyed HUGE bowls of ramen, then spent another thirty minutes in search of the exit to the death-cave. Today, I am exhausted and sore, but I can die happy knowing that I've seen The Largest Bronze Buddha in the World, Housed in the Largest Wooden Building in the World (twice!).

Books are great!

I just finished a great book and I'm so pleased. I'm so pleased and so affected by this great book that I'm going to begin using words like 'pernicious' and 'occult' and 'diverting.' I am of a higher intellect, thanks to literature! I have 'improved my mind by extensive reading'! However, I am embittered knowing that, had I read this book prior to taking the GREs, I probably could have improved my score on the Verbal section.

Coincidentally, I rented the movie (definitely not as good as the BBC version) based on said book this weekend. While watching, my friends amused themselves by asking about 'Sir Hughes' family fortune' and whether or not 'Mr. Hughes' had taken me to 'the family estate in Derbyshire' yet. I assured them that 'Mr. Hughes has an excellent family estate in Luton-shire' and that 'it boasts all the amenities essential to gentle living.' They were satisfied.

But back to the book! Really diverting (ahem) books are difficult to put down and you never want them to end. They are also, sadly, few and far between. But because I don't understand the TV and there's no social scene in my town, I've had enough spare time over the last eight months to read some very, very good books. That said, few come close to the one I just finished. Sigh. It makes me happy just thinking about it.

I must remember to ask Sir Hughes about that estate . . .

Ailey: English instructor, soccer player, student of Japanese, runner, Spanish teacher?

I just agreed (against my better judgement) to teach the Beginner-Level Spanish class at my town's International Association. Have I gone completely mad?

Oh, a soft-boiled egg? Please restrain me from devouring it right now!

I swear, if I have to watch one more middle-aged Japanese man hoovering food noisily from his bowl, I think I'll go insane. Every night, the TV has back-to-back cooking shows and each one features something new and exciting: Sushi! Yakisoba! Hamburger! Curry and rice!

Oh, wait.

They're not new and exciting; they're what Japanese people eat every day. And yet, when the food is set down in front of them, they react as though they've been given a plate of deep fried gold smothered in diamonds to eat. “Ooooooooooooooooooooooooh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oiiiiiiiishiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!!!!!” Then the cameraman zooms in on one of the diners cutting a soft-boiled egg open with his fork, the yoke spills out, the diner hoovers (slurping sounds included) it into his mouth, and then proclaims: Oishii! Everyone gasps and inquires, “Oishii?” To which he responds, “Oishii!” Then there is a still shot of said soft-boiled egg poised on said diner's fork and the announcer describes what we, the viewers, are seeing.

Am I alone in thinking that this is lame? It’s JUST a soft-boiled egg! I can make it at home! In fact, I can make soft-boiled eggs, hard-boiled eggs, poached eggs, scrambled eggs, and fried eggs with no problems whatsoever and I definitely don't slurp while I'm eating them. For one of the most advanced countries in the world, the Japanese certainly have some of the stupidest television and, if I lived somewhere with any kind of social scene, I wouldn't be bothered to watch it in the first place. If, on my return to Seattle, I act amazed over the stunning feat that is a soft-boiled egg, please reject me from your company. It will be the least I deserve for acting like a twenty-four-year old with a lobotomy.

What's your best guess?

Some excellent Engrish was spotted today. Can you guess what it's an advertisement for?

MANDOM

Everyone loves a lover. Everyone loves Mandom. Man oh man, that's Mandom.


In case it wasn't blaringly obvious, that's an ad for men's hair gel. Man oh man, that's Mandom.

St. Patrick's Day Adventures

“Happy St. Paddy's!” Liz shrieked as Travy and I walked in the door. We'd been driving for three hours and were weary, but Liz was wearing a bright green wig made of tinsel and shoved a beer into each of our hands. “Where in the hell is your green?!” she demanded, again in a shriek. I looked down at my brown and pink shirt. Alas, I'd left my green at home.

“I have something for JUST this situation!” Liz ran into her bedroom and reappeared with a green plastic bowler hat. It looked like something I'd wear while dancing in the follies and singing, “Hello my lady, hello my darling . . .” but in an Irish accent. I gamely shoved it on my head. Celebrating Saint Patrick's Day in Japan is all about flexibility.

The night began with discussions on the Japanese language, world travel, and the state of international affairs (we're really quite deep and intellectual) but quickly – very quickly – degenerated into games of ‘Would you Rather’ and ‘Vegetable.’ Rob mimicked a sprout by punching his arm forward, Travy was an angry eggplant (or aubergine), I was a sack of potatoes, and Liz was, of course, a leek. But she said it more like this: LLEEEEEEEEEEEKkkkkkkkkkkkkk!!! Again, in a shriek.

It was great fun and an excellent way to take my mind off St. Paddy's Day one year ago, which is when I started dating my boyfriend, Ritchie. Celebrating your one-year anniversary is difficult when one half of the couple is in Seattle and the other is in BFE Japan. Instead of a romantic dinner, I ate Liz's drunkenly prepared carbonara. In lieu of champagne, I drank cheap Japanese beer. Instead of watching a movie together on a comfortable couch, I curled up next to Travy on the floor of Liz's apartment. Very romantic, indeed.

But we had fun with our make-shift holiday. It's also quite possibly the only anniversary I'll spend wearing a green plastic bowler hat and sharing a futon with one of my girlfriends. Travy is definitely not as good of a cuddler as Ritchie.

How would YOU describe a semicolon?

This morning, one of my students called me over to her desk and showed me a scribble on a page of her notebook.

“Miss Ailey, what called this?” she asked.

“Oh!” I said. “That's a semicolon!”

She looked at me questioningly, which I took as an unvoiced plea for explanation. But how does one explain a semicolon? More importantly, how does one explain a semicolon to someone who's only been studying English for twelve months? I was perplexed. I was flabbergasted. I was embarrassed by the fact that I probably couldn't explain a semicolon to a natural English speaker – and I majored in Creative Writing.

In the few seconds between the student's questioning look and my shaky explanation, I did some deep thinking about the nature of the semicolon. I thought about how creative it was for someone to combine a colon with a comma. I pondered the graceful curve of the semicolon's lower half and how it seemed to beckon the reader on – don't stop here, the best is yet to come! – while warning them to slow down, something new will be revealed on the other side of this punctuation mark. Do you really dare to venture on?

I pointed at a sentence in the student's textbook, “See this? This is a comma. And this? This is a period. A semicolon is somewhere between a comma and a period.” Then I drew a mini graph that looked like this:

, (comma) ---------------- ; (semicolon) --------------------- . (period)

Does it matter that I completely left out the existence of the colon? I don't think the student will notice. But my question is this: How would YOU explain the semicolon?

And why don't I have a better explanation for what it is?

I'm going to grad school!

I found out the good news today - I've been accepted to the University of Washington graduate school! This is very exciting and, hopefully, will be a good start to a . . . gasp . . . career. I'm really excited to be back in school. As nerdy as this sounds, I really like studying and learning and being in a mentally stimulating environment. For those who are curious, I'm going to get concurrent Masters degrees in Public Affairs (with a focus on International Development) and International Studies. I also hope to keep up with my languages by taking Spanish, Japanese, and possibly Arabic or French throughout my time at the UW. So, wish me luck!

And please send money.

School Lunch, Part III

This is 'natto,' quite possibly the most foul concotion known to man. To quote Wikipedia, natto "is a traditional Japanese food made from fermented soybeans, popular especially at breakfast. For some, Nattō can be an acquired taste due to its powerful smell, strong flavor, and sticky consistency." Wikipedia says 'powerful smell,' but it's clearly trying to avoid offense; the odor of natto is far beyond powerful. It smells like dirty socks left in a puddle of vomit and then dried under a very hot sun. The taste isn't too far off, either. But even grosser than that is the 'stickiness,' as Wikipedia calls it. A bowl of natto actually looks like one thousand slugs melted into it - when you take a bite, a string of slime connects the beans in your mouth with the beans in the bowl. Care to try some?

This thing called cooking.

I was raised by an indifferent cook. My Mom, wonderful soul that she is, has professed to hate cooking and, under her tutelage, I learned to make tacos, spaghetti, breakfast-for-dinner, and (in case of special occasions) beef burgundy. It's not a very diverse menu and, here in Japan, it's often difficult to find ingredients for tacos or beef burgundy. I also don't have an oven. But something has come over me! I don't know if it's the constantly repeating menu at my school or the dead fish glaring at me out of the sides of their heads when I go to the supermarket, but I've been overcome by a fever to cook anything and everything that I can. Who knew I had it in me? I've made curries and cacciatore, alfredo and mussels. There's no limit to what I can make! Wait, I take that back. I can't make anything that involves an oven. But anything that involes a stovetop is within my range! I can't wait to show off to my parents and Ritchie.

'A Weekend Away' or 'A Much Needed Break'

This past weekend in Kyoto turned out to be just what I needed to pull myself out of my low. I've come to realize that the majority of my frustrations stem from work - when I'm sitting at my desk with nothing to do, it's so easy to think about what I COULD be doing. That said, I've reached a new peak of self-motivation to try and avoid this.

But back to the topic at hand! It was refreshing to walk around the big city and, of course, to hang out with Taka, Hillary, and Taka's family. The main event of the weekend was the Plum Blossom festival. Taka's father had purchased tickets for us in advance, so we took the tram downtown and got in line.

After waiting in line for about half an hour, we were finally seated in an open-air tent. It was time for a tea ceremony that was, crazily enough, served by real-life geisha! Geisha are so mysterious in the western world as to be something of an enigma, but they're a fairly standard feature in hyper-traditional Kyoto. That said, tourists (Japanese and foreign) crowded the tent to take pictures and videotape the geisha at work. They wore beautiful kimono and had white-painted faces. Being served by such a gorgeous personage, I felt slovenly and gross. I stumbled through my 'thanks,' executed a sloppy bow and glanced over to make sure that my foreign friends felt the same – they did.

After finishing our 'macha' with the three required slurps, my friends and I left the tent and the geisha to wander the temple and museum. I bought some Buddhist prayer-charms for my friends back at home and took what seemed like hundreds of pictures. However, my attempts at artistic photos are very, very sad; maybe I should take a photography class when I get back to Seattle so that my experiences aren't wasted on poor digital photos.

I've seen better days.

The past two weeks have been strangely difficult for me. I find that I'm more frustrated at work than usual, I'm more sensitive to my cranky coworker's suspected slights, and I'm less patient with cultural differences and language barriers than I have been in the past. For example, while writing the interview test for the 1st grade students today, I decided to run some questions by my co-English teacher. She glanced at my proposed questions and said, "They won't know how to answer these questions. You need to change them."

"But I've taken them directly from the book!" I protested. "We've covered them in class. They should know the answers."

"No, you need to change them. And this . . . (insert an actual snicker here) . . . this is not even a good question."

I imagined tearing the paper in half and throwing it on the floor, stomping on it, spitting on it, then storming out to go find and eat the biggest cheeseburger known to man. I wanted to stand up for myself and tell this coworker, finally, that I'm not an idiot, that I've noticed her criticisms and growing resentment of me, and that I don't respect her for it.

But I didn't do any of the above. I acted like an adult would in a similar work situation, anywhere in the world. I took her comments in stride and I changed the questions, but I gritted my teeth while doing it and said bad words in Spanish.

This may not seem like a big deal, but it's these situations, every single day, that begin to exhaust me. This same coworker speaks to me condescendingly in class (in front of the students!), she asks for my ideas, only to automatically shoot them down, and she actually told me to NOT talk to the students during class. I'm at a total loss.

I think my frustration at work has begun to show itself in my daily life. I'm more critical of myself when I can't understand what someone is saying to me. I'm far less patient with the Japanese way of avoiding the subject. And I'm much more eager to move on to something new.

I think I need to take a step back and refocus on the positive aspects of my life here. I need to remember how much I value my students, how happy it makes me to see the elementary kids jump up and down when I come to class, how much Japanese I've learned in the past seven months, how important my friends here have become, and how much I've learned about myself. I'm going to Kyoto this weekend and will stay with Taka's family, which is always a welcome respite. We're going to practice Zen meditation, sightsee, and attend a Plum Blossom festival. Hopefully, this will rekindle my interest in Japanese culture and my excitement about being here.

And hopefully this will outweigh the current downfalls. Hopefully.

A new name in world news.

Finally, the day that you've all been waiting for has arrived; the first edition of the Minato English Newspaper is hot off the presses and being distributed around the school! In this month's paper, our fine journalists have addressed the meaning of the kanji for 'sing,' Daisuke's new contract with the Boston Red Sox, lucky sweets to eat before taking entrance exams, and, perhaps most importantly, school lunch. As the editor-in-chief of this fine publication, I am happy to say that the first edition was received with excitement. So much excitement, in fact, that students decided to share their copies with garbage cans and recyle bins all over the town! This is definitely a noteworthy day.

Here is an example of our superior reporting:

'School Lunch

by Hirai Yuki

I like school lunch, because it is very delicious. For example, curry and rice, karage, milk and yakisoba. But sometimes student leave some food from their lunch. This is very bad.

Everyone, let's eat all the food at school lunch.'

Thank you for your fine contribution, Hirai-san. You are plunging forward in a promising journalistic career.

The Milky Kiss

This is quite possibly the best post-skiing drink I've ever had. Thanks to the Black Diamond Lodge in Niseko, Hokkaido, for putting this exquisite concoction together. And thanks again for sharing the recipe. I can't wait to make one!

Recipe for the Milky Kiss (maybe best hot drink ever)
1/2 shot Baileys
1/2 shot Kaluha
A bit of sugar and cocoa
Steamed milk
Topped with cinnamon and cocoa

Drink after a long day of powder skiing, preferably in a warm lodge while it's snowing outside. It's a recipe for complete and total contentedness.

I don't know if you've heard . . .

But I'm a pretty big deal!

Gaijin Traps

At Tokyo Orientation, we were warned about something called 'Gaijin Traps.' These are large, uncovered ditches on the side of the road, presumably used for drainage. They're called Gaijin Traps because unsuspecting gaijin (foreigners) fall into them while walking and, sometimes, while driving. Until today, I have managed to avoid an embarassing and painful encounter with the Gaijin Trap. Inwardly, I laughed at those who fell prey to their yawning jaws. I mean, seriously, you'd have to be blind not to see those things!

But, remember, she who laughs the loudest laughs the least (or something like that). In any case, as I was walking home tonight, I stepped sideways off the road in order to avoid an oncoming car. I thought there was grass bordering the lane; an easy enough mistake. I quickly worked out that something wasn't right as my body poised in mid-air, prepared to dance the tango with gravity.

Luckily, the Gaijin Trap wasn't that deep and I only scraped the skin off my knee and the palm of my hand. Not-so-luckily, the oncoming car saw the entire encounter, so I jumped out of the pit and pretended to laugh hysterically. Oh my God! Isn't falling into a dark pit on the side of the road funny?! Hahahahha! The car paused for a moment, saw my maniacal laughter, and drove on. I limped the rest of the way home, though my pride was a little more raw than my skinned knee.

One thing a major in English did not teach me.

Apparently, four years of university were wasted on me, as it turns out that I can't spell simple words like 'rip.' I must have missed the day that we covered spelling. I was also absent for spell-checking and editing. Wrip. Wwwrrrrriiiiiiip. It kind of rolls of the tongue, actually.

Red Rover, Red Rover . . . I'm going to wrip your still-beating heart out of your chest.

This past Saturday, we celebrated winter with the Yukigassen - a highly organized and competitive snowball fight that closely resembles Capture the Flag. Unfortunately for the Yukigassen, our area is sadly lacking in yuki (snow). It's not much of a gassen without it, but we soldiered on and did the next best thing; played at Yukigassen in the school gym wearing helmets and pelting each other with bean-bags.

Our men's team was the first up. There were gasps of awe from around the gym as they strode onto the court. All seven were over six feet tall and dwarfed the opposing Japanese team who had two women that would be lucky to see five feet. But the Japanese team wasn't afraid! They were quick and wiry, sliding behind the barriers and revealing throwing arms that were honed in hours of after school club activities. One by one, our men fell and they limped off the court nursing their bean-bag wounds. This was not looking good for the women.

Luke looking very bummed after getting out.

"I hope we play that team!" Travy said, pointing across the gym at a group of middle-aged women wearing matching sweatshirts.

"Oh, no you don't," Tanya replied. "Those are the defending champions. They practice for two months before the tournament and play in Hokkaido every year."

"Right. Nevermind," said Travy and we watched in silence as the team jogged onto the court and stripped off their sweatshirts to reveal matching jerseys and elbow pads. It was a bloodbath for their opponent. Tension was running high among our group.

Finally, it was time for us to take the court. I nervously buckled my helmet and adjusted the chin strap, shaking out my tense limbs as we lined up on the center line. The referees checked our shoes for spikes (spikes?!). We said, "Onegaishimasu." We shook hands with our opponents. And then it was time for the game to begin.

On the whistle, we sprinted off the starting line with our bean-bags in hands. I ran straight for the barrier that marked the center line; the perfect position to pick off my prey. The only problem was that my throwing arm seemed to be a little rusty. Whenever I'd wind up and release, the bean-bag would end up about three feet ahead of where I was standing. Oops! But then, I aimed at their machine-gunner who had been destroying our defensive line with fast and accurate bean-bags. My bag hit her in the side of the helmet with a satisfying 'smack'. "Out-O!" the judge yelled. Success!

From the defensive line, Carly yelled the numbers of the opposing team and, in unison, we would direct all of our ammunition on that girl. We were running low on bean-bags and accuracy was the key. "Red Rover, Red Rover, send Number 2 right over!" Carly screamed from behind a barrier.

"Red Rover, Red Rover . . . I'm going to wrip your still-beating heart out of your chest!" I was overcome with bloodlust and a desire to hold the opposing team's flag in my shaking hands. It was time for our top secret attack plan - Operation Kamakazi.

I darted from behind the barrier and ran at a diagonal angle across the floor. I was on the other team's turf now and they turned all of their attention on me. The scene is burned on my brain in slow-motion; I dodged bean-bags and screaming girls, ran around a barrier (the flag was in my sight!), and was almost free and clear. I was almost touching the flag. It was almost mine! I could hear the guy's from the sidelines yelling encouragement, but all I could think about was slapping the other team across their faces - with their own flag. Only two steps remained and no one was in my path. One (only one step remaining). Two (I was there). As my fingers were closing around the flag shaft, I felt a ping in the small of my back. I looked over my shoulder and there it was. The bean bag.

"Out-O!" the referee yelled and I dejectedly jogged off the field, my competitiveness throbbing like an opens sore on my chest.

Our team, looking fierce.

Skiing Again!

We decided to risk the possible lack of snow this past Saturday and go skiing. And thank God we did! When we arrived, the sun was shining, it was warm, and the snow was corn-y. Also, because of the poor conditions, most people seemed to be avoiding the slopes and we almost never had to wait in a lift line. Halfway through the day, it began to snow, so all of the runs were covered in a fine powder. It was so, so much fun and such a great way to spend the weekend. After skiing, we drove to Kinosaki Onsen for a long, hot soak in one of the hot springs there. Then, it was back to my house for tacos (purchased in England, of all places), hot-buttered-run and freshly baked apple pie (the latter two courtesy of Jennie, my own personal hero). Somehow, we found room for four people to sleep in my tiny apartment and we didn't get up until 1 PM the following afternoon. What an excellent weekend!

The weather is beautiful! The skiing sucks!

Lately, the weather feels more like mid-March than late January. The air has that fresh, spring smell, the birds are chirping, the sun is shining, and it most definitely is NOT snowing. Anywhere. The ski conditions are so dire, in fact, that our school ski trip has been canceled for the first time ever. Though I volunteered to be a chaperone and ski instructor, I'm secretly relieved that it's off. I don't want to pay $250 for the joy of watching a hundred teenagers ski and throw snowballs at each other. That said, I still want to enjoy skiing on my own time and, sadly, the warm weather means that it's not possible. I'm beginning to feel opressed by the not-too-warm, not-too-cold weather because there's very little that I can do outside. I still go running, but my town is laid-out along a narrow valley, so my running routes consist of either (a) running up the road and back or (b) running down the road and back. So, since winter seems to have skipped Japan this year, all I can do is wait until spring. Hurry up and get here already!

School Lunch, Part II

Another memorable school lunch. This is a small, dried fish, coated in something sweet (honey?) and sprinkled with sesami seeds. Delicious!

Skiing at Hatchi-Kita

I went skiing with friends at Hatchi-Kita yesterday. It hasn't snowed very much here this winter and dirt and rock were showing through in several places (the PNW has been stealing all the snow!). They had a snow machine going at full blast to make up for it, but it wasn't doing a very good job at covering the bare patches. Much to his chagrine, Luke got some deep scratches on the bottom of his snowboard. I was using rental skis, so I didn't care very much, but the thought of falling on those rocks sent shivers to the bottom of my fluorescent green rental boots.

There may not have been a lot of snow, but the view was still pretty nice. We had to take the lift down to the other side of the mountain because the run leading to it was closed.

Despite the crappy conditions, I had a really good time. Look at how big my smile is in this picture!

Next weekend is the Tajima ski trip. I might try snowboarding for a day - it's been a while since I've gone and, with all of the black runs closed, I might as well go for something new. I hope it snows, I hope it snows, I hope it snows!