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.