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!

Parking Ticket Woes (I never know what's going on)

Over the weekend, I parked my car in the Uniqlo parking lot, which is vast and never more than half full. Usually, it's not a problem to park there overnight, but this time when I arrived at my car, I saw that it had an absurdly large sign tucked under the windshield wiper. The kanji was incomprehensible to me, but the picture defied linguistic limitations – an enormous red circle with a line through it; the world-wide sign for BAD. "Crap," I thought. "A parking ticket."

On my drive home, I contemplated how much The Parking Ticket would cost. It couldn't be less than 2,000 yen, but probably not more than 5,000. Right? Wrong. There was a ticket waiting for me in my mailbox, which I read with a nauseous, sinking feeling. As predicted, it wasn't less than 2,000 yen, but it was definitely more than 5,000. This parking ticket was 27,260 yen, which is the approximate equivalent of $250. Oh . . . my . . . God. I had to blink back tears.

I took the ticket to school with me the next day and showed my friend, Hiromi. "Look at this parking ticket!" I waived the offensive thing in front of her face. "Tell me what this says!"

"Eeeeeehhhh?! Honto?! 27,260 yen! SO expensive!" She turned the ticket it over and read the back, as well. "And you have to pay it by today! Or it will become even more expensive! You'll have to take it to City Hall."

My stress level was at its peak. How would I pay for the rest of my trip to Hokkaido? How would I put any money in savings? Would I get to City Hall before it closed? Where could I find a hairstylist that knows how to cut western-style hair?! Unrelated, true, but stress is a funny thing.

At City Hall, the woman at the reception desk looked at The Parking Ticket and shook her head before launching into a long and, I assumed, detailed explanation in Japanese. I was only able to catch the words 'bank account,' 'money transfer,' and 'do you understand?' I nodded my head frantically, "Yes, I understand!" But I didn't. I didn't understand at all. 5 PM was quickly approaching and I needed to pay The Parking Ticket or risk deportation. The consequences were quickly multiplying in my head.

I sprinted across the street to the Toyooka International Association, praying that my friend Takako was in. She was! "Takako-san, help me!" I gasped. "Where can I pay this parking ticket?!"

Takako looked at The Parking Ticket. She looked at me. She looked at The Parking Ticket. She looked at me. She looked at the back of The Parking Ticket. She looked at me. Then she started laughing. I laughed, too, but not because I was amused.

"Ailey," she said. "This isn't a parking ticket. This is a notice from the school board that they're going to transfer 27,260 yen into your bank account today to pay for the mid-year conference expenses."

"So, wait. This isn't a parking ticket?" The realization was slow in seeping into my brain. "You mean that this is money that I'm going to be getting? I don't have to pay this money to anyone?"

"No," she said. "Which is good, because that would be a really expensive parking ticket." She laughed some more. "But maybe you shouldn't leave your car at Uniqlo overnight anymore."

I'm baaaaaaaaaaack!!!

And you can only begin to imagine my deep feeling of bleakness when, getting off the train, I had to wade through shin-deep slush to get to the taxi, then wade through shin-deep slush again to get to my house. Once inside, instead of being greeted by a warm rush of air and the smells of dinner cooking, I shivered my way into five sweaters and avoided the refrigerator as it seems to be emitting a pungent odor. Such is life back in the real world. And don't even get me started on the fact that school starts tomorrow! When, oh when, can I go on vacation again?

Last day in the Western World!

Today is my last full day in the United Kingdom. It has been such an awesome trip and so, so busy. I spent Christmas in Luton with Ritchie's family, saw Oxford, St. Albans, Cambridge (fun to see Ritchie go all dreamy-eyed as he showed me around, Pembroke, his former college), and London. I've spent the past four days in Newcastle with my friend from Japan, Liz. We went up to Edinburgh for a night and a day and had a raucous time, enjoying the castle, Christmas Market, and beautiful scenery. Other than spending time with Ritchie and Liz, my favorite parts of the trip have been seeing the Tower of London and the British Museum (SO much old shit!), walking around Cambridge, and the trip to Edinburgh. I've also loved eating fish and chips and various pies, as well as drinking tea for breakfast and pints with lunch. I'll be sad to leave the Western World, but I've stocked up on English tea and chocolates, so that should tide me over for a while. My Canadian friend just sent me a message, warning me not to come home with an English accent. Quite.

Cleaning Day or How Would Their Mother's Feel?

We’re nearing the end of the term here at Minato Jr. High School and, in honor of this special week, today we had a school-wide cleaning extravaganza. Initially, students’ cleaning the classrooms was a surprise to me – I still remember Rick the Janitor at Redmond Elementary School and his huge, powerful vacuum cleaner (I also remember him being hugely fat and driving a tiny, red sports car; how did he fit in it?). I was never expected to wield a broom or mop the floor with cold water and a dirty rag. But, here, every day after lunch is designated ‘cleaning time’ and the kids half-heartedly sweep, mop, dust, and scrub for twenty minutes.

Today went above and beyond. Today was the cleaning day to end all cleaning days (until next year, anyway). Today was . . . wait for it . . . Window Cleaning Day! Okay, maybe I was a sheltered child, but I when I was growing up, public schools took down swing-sets because they were considered too dangerous. The Big Slide was disassembled in my fifth grade year because kids acquired WAY too much velocity on it, turning them into tiny, hurtling bullets. There is no such concern for safety here. I saw students straddling the third-floor window sills to better clean a spot off the glass on the outside. They leaned precariously far outside and scrubbed while the teachers yelled, ‘Gambatte!’ and I internalized my fear for their lives. They stacked three shaky desks on top of each other and stood at the top, in order to reach the windows nearest the ceiling. I thought I was going to have a heart-attack.

In light of my newly discovered over-protectiveness, I think I’ll plan to be absent on Roof Cleaning Day and Trimming the Tops of the Trees without a Harness Day, much less Standing in a Pool of Water while Fixing the Electrical Wiring that’s Still Plugged In Day. However, one benefit to working at Jr. High School? There are no swings to be worried about.

Let's going to Kobe (captions provided in Engrish)!

Let's loving creativity of faces with Liz!

Let's experiencing exciting sights of Chinatown!

Let's enjoying delicious taste of expensive fruit!

Let's encountering funky pets!

Let's tasting spicy flavors of Indian food!

Let's having fun and memory times with friends!

Just a wee bit behind . . .

After an entire month, I am finally posting pictures of Ritchie's trip to Japan. They're late, but they're still good!

I hate you more than what?

While at a late dinner with Travy tonight, I was reminded of an amusing interaction from Luke's birthday. To preface this, you should know that Luke is from New Zealand and therefore the good-natured recipient of frequent jokes at the expense of his funny (to us Americans) sounding accent. Luckily, he takes it in stride and can dish as well as receive. But this is how the conversation went:

Ailey: You suck, Luke (or some such banal remark about how Luke is less-than-cool).

Luke: I hate you, Ailey. I hate you more than dith.

Ailey (to Travy in a whisper): Um . . . what's 'dith?'

Travy (to Ailey in a whisper): I'm not sure, but I think he means 'death.'

Ailey (to Travy in a whisper): Oh, death! He hates me more than death! I get it now.

Luke: I can hear you guys and now I hate you even more.

Sigh. Just remembering this conversation makes me laugh to myself. It's not quite as funny, though, as the story that Travy told about the German who pronounced anise wrong. When asked what the Greek liquor tasted like, he said:

"It tastes like anus."

And few things can compete with that.

In Tatsuno, trying to survive until tomorrow.

I came down south this afternoon because I have my first soccer practice tomorrow. The soul purpose of me traveling four hours by train (other than to pay Pumla) was to meet the girls that I'll be playing in the tournament with next weekend and figure out what team I should be on. The only problem is that I'm staying at Loz's apartment and Liz and Ryan are in attendance, as well. This might not sound like a problem, but when Loz greeted me at the door, he also greeted me with a beer and now there's some kind of concotion in the works that, I'm told, tastes shockingly similar to Chu-hi. So now I'm convinced that I'll be attending soccer practice tomorrow with a raging hangover and will instantly be relegated to the 'recreational' team. But you know what? That's alright. I'm not a competitive person anyway. Bring on the Chu-hi!

They are everywhere!

In response to my recent blog post about ‘The ghosts in the temple,’ my friend, Manabu, sent me this message:

‘Yes, it was just a ghost.

My friend used to live in an old house in Ahiya, Kobe. The house dated from the Edo period (1603 – 1867). The first time I went to his house, he said, “Small children are running around, but you won’t see them. They’re harmless, so just let them go.”

The next time I stayed at his house, he said, “If you see yourself from the ceiling, don’t worry. You’ll come back to yourself in about 30 minutes.”

Some Japanese people live with spirits and it’s natural for them. But it’s freaking scary for the rest of us.’

Tell me about it.

Pictures from Kyoto

This dragon reminds me of the character from The Neverending Story. Anyone remember him? What was his name again?

Taka and his family have a really old hat - it's from 16th century Portugal. How did it end up in Kyoto, I wonder?

Ailey and Taka in front of the golden pavilion. Yeah, that's right. It's a pavilion made of gold.

Actually it's just covered in gold, but it's still pretty cool.

Ghosts in the Temple

Taka and I arrived back at the temple gate at around 2:30 AM. The sounds of the city didn’t reach the building in the middle of the complex of temples and monasteries and the stars were bright. As I looked up at the gate made of wood weathered to black and the traditionally sloping tiled roof, a creepy thought crossed my mind:

“Taka, how old did you say this building is?” I asked.

“This part is about 400 years old,” he replied.

“I don’t want to sound silly, but do you think that there are ghosts here?” Saying this, I already knew that I sounded silly. In fact, Taka would probably think that I was so ridiculous that he would discontinue our new friendship.

But he responded, “Oh yeah!” and then went into a detailed account of the ghosts wandering the premises. There were ghosts walking in the graveyard, ghosts in the hallway, and ghosts in the bedrooms. Sometimes when he woke up at night, there would be a ghost standing over him. Sometimes when he opened his eyes, a ghost would be several inches from his face.

While brushing my teeth, I threw panicked glances into the mirror, half expecting to see a ghost standing behind me. I dreaded going to the bathroom in the middle of the night, fearing that a ghost would catch me unawares on my way to the toilet. I tried to settle on my futon, but couldn’t get the idea out of my mind.

“Taka!” I yelled through the sliding door. “When you’ve seen the ghost in here, where was it exactly?”

“Well, it’s usually standing right where your futon is. But don’t worry, it doesn’t mean any harm.”

I thought about how I would feel waking up to a gentle ghost hovering over me, wearing the white funerary robes that Taka told me tends to be his favorite outfit. I thought about it until my palms went clammy and my eyes wouldn’t stay closed. And then I decided that, if I did wake up to a gentle ghost hovering over me, I definitely wouldn’t like it.

“Taka!” I yelled through the door again. “Will you move your futon in here?”

“Ugh,” he sighed in disgust. “Ailey, it’s JUST a ghost.”

School Lunch

What images does the phrase ‘school lunch’ conjure for you? If you, like me, attended Redmond Elementary School, you’re probably thinking of green hotdogs, greasy pizza, and an iceberg lettuce salad bar. Here in Japan, the fare is a little bit different, though generally no less disgusting.

This is what we had for lunch yesterday:



Here in Japan we eat the insides of the crab as well. Even the brown, squishy bits.

Hiroshima

This past weekend, Travy, Katie and I made the long journey down to Hiroshima. It was three and a half hours on the train to Himeji, then another hour on the Shinkansen from there to Hiroshima. The trip home on Saturday/Sunday was about twelve hours longer, but I’ll get to that in a bit.

Hiroshima is a new city, mainly because it was completely obliterated by the atomic bomb in 1946. Every American knows about the atomic bomb, but it was something completely different to see the twisted atomic dome and the human shadows imprinted on concrete steps and the burned articles of children’s clothing. Each artifact was accompanied by a heart-breaking story like this: ‘Saori’s mother went looking for her after the bomb fell. She found a body clutching this lunch-box to its chest. She was able to recognize Saori by her favorite lunchbox.’

I went to Hiroshima not knowing what to expect, but the museum and the preserved atomic dome did a good job in conferring the horror of the bomb and its aftermath. Prior to this trip, I didn’t know that the citizens of Hiroshima weren’t warned about the bomb despite the protests of the scientists who worked to develop it (as the U.S. had warned other civilians of bombing raids), that Hiroshima had never been bombed before so that the U.S. could take notes on the destructive powers of the bomb, or that the U.S. had considered using an atomic bomb in the Korean War. The entire experience was shocking and emotionally draining.

Fortunately for my sensitive spirit, this trip wasn’t all about horror and war. We also took the ferry out to Miyajima – an island famous for its ‘floating’ gate and temple (the tide was out when we arrived, so it wasn’t exactly ‘floating’). The island is populated by tame deer that are greedy for bland wafers and, apparently, monkeys and wild apes. Though we paid the ludicrous 2000\ to take the rope-way to the top of the mountain, no monkeys or apes were spotted. We did, however, see some really funny signs warning about the dangers of looking a monkey in the eye.

That night (here is where the LONG journey part comes in) we left the island fairly late. It was around 8 PM when we finally got to the train station and bought our shinkansen tickets. After some sprinting for the train and some nomadic traveling up and down the length of it looking for seats, we were settled and on our way to Osaka. Aaaah. Sigh of relief! However, when we got to Osaka, our train for Tajima didn’t depart until 10 PM. As we were arriving at the final stop of Fukuchiyama, we realized that there were NO MORE TRAINS THAT NIGHT. Aaaah! Scream of horror and frustration! It was midnight, freezing cold, and the train station was going to close in one hour, so sleeping on the floor was out of the question. Luckily for us, an elderly Japanese couple took pity on our plight and helped us search out a hotel room. The first two were full, the third (and final) hotel, thankfully, had a room that could sleep three people. I fell onto my expensive futon and gratefully passed-out. I didn’t get home until 12:30 the following afternoon.

The atomic dome.

Fortunately for us, we didn't encounter any of these angry monkeys.

Some of Miyajima's tame deer share a nuzzle.

The famous 'floating' gate of Miyajima, at sunset.