Golden Weeking

Today, as you probably know, it is April 26th. That may not mean much to you, but it certainly means something to me. And what it means is this:

Golden Week is coming.

Very soon, in fact. It will arrive in TWO DAYS. That's right, you heard me. Two. Days. If today is Thursday, then Golden Week will be here on what day? Come on now, say it with me. Saturday.

Good job.

You get a Gold Star!

What is Golden Week, you ask? Golden Week is a short period of time in which there are several national holidays. Essentially, this results in a week during which the entire country goes on vacation. This year, Golden week consists of two successive long weekends, one being a 3 day long weekend and the other being a 4 day long weekend.

But this is not necessarily the fantastic, wonderful gift that you might expect it to be. Plane, train, bus, and hotel prices sky rocket. A trip that might only cost you $300 at any other time of year will now cost you at least twice that amount. And you may not even be able to make the trip in the first place. Why? Because hotels at popular destinations may have already been entirely booked up for six months to a year in advance.

Yes, really. In fact, this happened to me. A few friends and I were planning to go to Yakushima for the second part of golden week. It's an incredibly gorgeous island that is famed for its nature, its obscenely old trees, its incredible hikes, and its mind-bending beauty. It is so beautiful, in fact, that Hayao Miyazaki based the forest setting of his famous movie, Princess Mononoke, on the island.

Unfortunately, despite looking a full two months in advance, my friends and I could not find a single place to lodge ourselves. Sadness. :(

Yeah, that sucked. But we all ended up making new plans, so it's okay. And now, Golden week is just around the corner. In fact, it begins tomorrow for me. When school gets out I will head down to the city to see my friend put on what will certainly be a super awesome DJ set. From there, it's Ise, Osaka, and later Fukuoka. Should be a good time.

What about you? If you live in Japan, what are your plans for Golden Week? If you don't live in Japan, what WOULD you do given a free week to travel?

~Jeffles

The Shigyoushiki

Please pardon the lateness of this post. I fully intended to write yesterday, but somehow it just never happened. But it's for the best, really, because now I can write about the "shigyoushiki," or Opening Ceremony.

This story really begins a couple weeks ago. School had just ended for the year and I was mentally preparing myself to spend all day, every day, sitting at a desk with nothing productive to do. I would study Spanish, I decided. And because I am incapable of actually focusing on just one goal, I also decided to relearn how to do some basic programming. And to read some of those books that keep staring at me every time I go home.

Then my laptop exploded.

Jeffles Two Weeks Ago

Okay, I exaggerate. But the power cord had melted and the side of the computer started smoking. At first I smelled something burning, so I looked around. Had I lit incense and forgotten? It has been known to occur, but no, I hadn't done so this time. That's when I realized something was wrong and saw the stream of smoke rising from my laptop. Wasting no time, I reached for the power cord, hoping to yank it out and shut down the computer as quickly as possible. My first attempt was driven back, though, by a flurry of sparks erupting into my hand.

The true effect of the sparks, though, was to steel my determination. Lappy needed to be put down.

Heedless of the flying specks of fire, I grabbed the cord and yanked it out.

And I breathed. The sparks stopped, as did the smoke.

It's possible that all I needed was a new power cord, but between this event, my laptop's truly horrible speakers, its penchant for literally dying for no apparent reason, the common refusal to start up, the visual hues that keep changing and dead pixels that keep popping up, and the pure slowness and lack of power of the machine in spite of its annoyingly large size, I needed a new laptop. The next day I found PCTokyo and ordered myself a brand new machine. A week and a half later, it arrived.

With it also arrived a certain desire. This was a desire to play a new(ish) game. The newest game I've been able to play on my previous (exploded) laptop was a full five years old. So you see, I haven't exactly been enjoying top-of-the-line products. Thus it was, with a heart full of anticipation, I logged onto amazon.co.jp and ordered myself Skyrim.

What does this have to do with the Opening Ceremony? Well, you see, Skyrim arrived yesterday. And the Opening Ceremony was today. This morning, in fact.

Yes, I admit it. I did stay up until nearly 4:30 in the morning playing Skyrim, only to awaken three hours later to rush to work. Is Skyrim the reason I was late to the Opening Ceremony, the reason I wore an unwashed shirt covered in lint from an old sweater, but not a tie or a suit jacket, the reason I nearly fell asleep in the middle of the ceremony? Maybe not. But the chain of cause and effect has to start somewhere and that's as good a place as any.

I tried to waste no time, tried to get out the door as early as I could manage. But alas, fate was working against me.

I logged off my chat messenger and shut down my computer a full five minutes earlier than normal. Not thinking of anything beyond getting out the door, I grabbed the nearest button-up shirt, which ended up being the aforementioned lint-covered shirt. I grabbed my bag, affirming that all the necessary materials were present, and stepped toward the door.

Then I remembered, Friday is bottles and plastic garbage day. I checked I my watch. Crap. Fast as I thought I'd been moving, somehow five minutes had passed by in my preparations. Well, if I didn't take my trash out now, I'd have to wait two more weeks and plastic seriously knows how to pile up in Japan.

So I got my bags of plastics and bottles together, put on my coat and my bag, walked over to the garbage drop-off point, and then made my way back to my bike. Another five minutes elapsed. I was now officially late.

Well, I can just bike fast, I reasoned. Perhaps that might have saved five minutes, but at that moment I remembered something else I had to do: buy a bento lunch.

Normally, elementary school teachers (which is what I am on Fridays) eat the same school lunch as the students do. In fact, I have my very own personal schedule for which group of students I am supposed to eat with on which day. But today was a special day. Today there would be no kyuushoku. And late as I already was, there was no chance in hell that I'd be making my own lunch.

So I biked to a grocery store that is thankfully open 24 hours and somewhat on my way to school, picked up something tasty-ish looking, paid for it, and hopped back onto my bike. I was now a full ten minutes late.

If I bike really fast, I might be able to do it, I thought.

And maybe I would have been able to. Except that today I was biking directly into very strong winds for the entire ride. I'm talking the kind of wind that blows your umbrella inside out and threatens to pick up your grandma and deposit her in the next county over. Any dreams I had of making up the time I had lost were thereby shattered.

Grandma This Morning

Half an hour later, I arrived at a suspiciously quiet school. Suspiciously quiet in that it was as quiet as a school would be if all the students had been gathered into a single room and told to be quiet.

But here's the worst part. It hadn't even occurred to me that there might be an Opening Ceremony today until half way through my bike ride. On my schedule, all it says is that my day is full of meetings. No mention of the Opening Ceremony. (This would be why I was not wearing a suit and tie.)

So I arrived at the Opening Ceremony entirely unprepared, under-dressed, and late. What a way to start the school year and make a good first impression on the new teachers, eh?

The ceremony itself was quite boring, actually, and not very different from the sort of assemblies we have in Canada and the US.

All the students sat down in lines according to what grade and class they were in. Then the principle stood up and introduced the new teachers to the students. All the main players then gave speeches. Topics were standard fare ("Study hard and do your best!", "Don't forget your manners!", "Don't forget to have fun!"). We sang the school song (I mostly just pretended as I have no idea what the words are), then the students were introduced to their teachers.

This was one point that was slightly different. From what I remember, my schools when I was a kid always posted lists of who was in what class with what teacher. In Japan, though, the class stays the same. Only the teacher changes and even then, sometimes the teacher stays the same across several years. And again, slightly different, the teacher assignments were announced at the Opening Ceremony rather than posted somewhere as a list to be read.

Of course, there was also copious bowing, all the students wore uniforms (which they always wear, not just during ceremonies) and everything was conducted in Japanese. In these ways, the Opening Ceremony here in Japan is different from what we might experience in Canada or the US. That is, for schools in Canada and the US that actually have assemblies at the opening of the school year (and I know some do).

When the ceremony finally finished, I slunk out of the gym and went to the teacher's room to write this post. And so here I am.

~Jeffles

China: Part 3

Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final act is about to begin. If you would be so kind as to return to your assigned spots, we may commence. Thank you for your cooperation.

Please be warned that this is the longest of the three acts. If you require a bathroom break or a drink, please take care of that now. One the act begins, there will be no stopping.

And here we go in 3...

2...

1...

*



Let's fast forward now to my final full day in China. It was a Monday, a fairly normal Monday. A curtain of smog hung over the city, though its threat level hovered only at a mild "unhealthy" rating. Certainly manageable. Nonetheless, I had no plans to bother managing it.

I had booked a ticket to the Great Wall.

It's said that when a person goes to Beijing, there are two things he must do: eat Peking Duck and see the Great Wall. I'd managed the Peking Duck the previous night and it was time to his the second item on the list. The question was, where to start?

Lucky for me, my hostel had a Great Wall tour on offer. In fact, they had two. Seeing as how I was feeling a little tight - 900 yuan in cell phone rental fees will do that to you - I opted for the cheaper one. Nonetheless, it looked pretty cool. I'd been told to avoid the tourist trap otherwise known as Badaling and this tour quite clearly went somewhere else. Good enough for me.

(For the curious, my destination to-be was Jinshanling.)

The girl behind the front desk informed me of the price and the pick-up time. 6:20 AM. My first thought: "Damn, that's early." But it was a full day at the Great Wall that I'd wanted and it was a full day that I got. This information was followed up by a reminder that it took three to four hours to drive to the Great Wall, thus the early pick-up time. We wouldn't be back until five or six in the evening.

I happily told the girl that would fine and wandered up to my room to read my book and get some early shut eye.

6:20 rolled around and with it a knock on my door.

"Coming!" I replied. The lack of response suggested I was not dealing with an English speaker. Opening the door confirmed that yes, the man outside was Chinese and spoke no English.

I raised two fingers. Two minutes and I'll be ready, I was trying to say. Sign-language was never a strong suit of mine, but he nodded and headed downstairs. I hurriedly slipped on my jacket and hat, swung my bag around my shoulder, and headed out the door. No time to shave, but that was okay; I could think of no particular need to make myself presentable.

When I arrived downstairs, I noted a distinct lack of people. There was only myself, the desk girl, and the Chinese man who was, I presumed, my guide. Perhaps everyone else was already on the bus, I thought.

Following the man outside, however, showed me that there in fact was no bus. We walked to a black car parked along the curb. It was in relatively decent condition. Corrosion from rust was limited to the edges of the car's frame and nothing too serious. I climbed into the back seat.

Well, I guess it's just me, I thought to myself.

My driver opened his door and sat down. He fiddled with the radio for a moment before selecting a Mandarin talk-radio station. At the same time, I searched for a seat belt, which I quickly realized was a futile search.

Then we were off, driving through the center of the city, around the Drum Tower, down the street, then onto the second ring road. For those who don't know, Beijing's walls were knocked down in the cultural revolution to be replaced by the second ring road. While a convenient road for transportation, it is also a reminder of what the city has lost.

After driving for about half an hour, we stopped at a light. Crossing the road in front of us was a group of nearly thirty tourists (exactly 28, I later learned). Oh, I thought. Maybe they're going to the Great Wall, too. Clearly they were headed for one of the buses parked just to the side.

As it turns out, my guess was dead on.

The man driving the car executed a U-turn as the light turned green and drove to a stop in front of the bus. I was, I suddenly realized, not alone. And this man was certainly not my tour guide. He'd simply been asked by the hostel to take me to the tour.

The light bulbs, they flicker in my head.

I gathered up my bag and rushed onto the bus. Just in time, as it turned out. They were ready to leave.

Three hours later, the duration of which time I had been crammed into a tiny space between my arm rest and a large German man, we arrived. Only one stop had been required on the way, a bathroom break.

I note this because the tourists coming back on the bus made several incredulous noises relating to the dirt-hole nature of the bathroom. I barely suppressed my own incredulous noise; what exactly had they been expecting, I wondered? Just how romanticized were their views of rural China?

At any rate, we arrived at Jinshanling with no further incidents.

We got off the bus and had our first real glimpse of the Wall. The road we were on winded up the hills on the Northern side. On the highest hills in the distance, rising above the rest, was a lone tower. It was brownish in color and squat-looking, but clearly formidable. Off its sides ran two long, jagged lines, like the flattened wings of a ragged bird. Somehow, it was smaller than I had expected. But I also knew it was still quite far away and would seem much bigger soon enough.

What was exactly as expected was the crowd of local villagers trying to foist their assorted coke bottles and snickers bars onto us. Thanks to my unshaven face and dark sunglasses, they didn't seem to bother much with me. Still, a few people did approach me with offers. I simply shook my head in response and turned my face in another direction.

We continued on the road to the wall and discovered another group waiting for us. I took this group in stride, too. The same routine followed.

"Snicker? Snickers?" A chorus of 'no' erupts in response. "Water? Coca cola?" This time a few low chuckles are mixed in with the 'no.'

The group gets through, more or less unscathed.

After this second assault, we regroup in front of a map of the Jinshanling section of the Great Wall. Our tour guide informs us that we are to be back at that sign by 1:30 for lunch. Our bus will depart at 2. He drives this point home a few more times, then sends us on our way.

The way to the Great Wall consists of three parts. First is the bus to the entrance. Second is the road from the entrance to the trail. This bit has to be walked. Third, and finally, is a slim, ice-covered trail up the hillside from the road and onto the wall itself. Each part has its own group of vendors attempting to sell you various snacks and drinks. Mostly snickers bars, water, and coca cola. A few also offered beer, but whether anyone has ever actually bought that, I have no idea.

As we came up to the final third of the approach to the wall, the expectant group of vendors was waiting. They chatted among each other and seemed generally more jovial than the previous two groups. They were also all women.

When the trail, it was impossible to not also approach them. They had positioned themselves directly between us and the trail head. Frustrating though it was, I put my head down and tromped on through.

Something interesting was happening this time, though. Unlike the previous two groups, these women were following us up the trail. It sounded like they were propositioning us with goods, but I didn't hear any of the previous goods mentioned at all. No snickers, no water, no coca cola. In fact, the more I listened, the more I realized that the chatter I had been tuning out was actually chatter between the women. They weren't even talking to us.

I began to wonder what was going on. Was this another, domestic tour group? Their friendliness seemed to push this proposition forward. For instance, I slipped on a patch of black ice at one point and heard an accented voice behind me say "Be careful!" A light chuckle followed. These did not seem like the attitudes of saleswomen.

And yet they were sticking awfully close to us and some of them did not appear to be very well off. I couldn't decide what was going on for the first few minutes of walking on the trail. Who were these women?

Finally, once we were actually on top of the Great Wall itself, surrounded by a ring of these women, who were seemingly just waiting for us to move, I realized what was happening. Our tour guide, who had essentially disappeared, was not our real guide. These women were. And they were going to expect some sort of reward at the end.

I didn't like this very much. I had paid for a guide and I wanted the guide I had paid for. Either that, or I was going to be on my own. So, determined, I set off. It wasn't long before I was clearly in the lead, outpacing most of my fellow tourists.

It was also clear that I had a acquired a guide. She managed to stay a few steps ahead of me the entire time. At first, she offered to show me a route through some of the more difficult terrain, but those offers soon disappeared as she realized I didn't actually need that sort of guidance. Instead, she started explaining little features about the wall. Things like how you can tell which side is North, which are the newer sections, and which sections are 500 years old. Before long, I started to find I actually liked the woman.

We talked a little bit about where I was from and where she was from. Turns out she had been doing this every day for the past 10 years, that she was actually a farmer from over the hills, that she had two sons. Most shockingly to me, she said she was 37 ("old" by her reckoning). When I first saw her, I had estimated her age to be at least ten years older. Whether she was telling me the truth about her life of not, she clearly had had a difficult time.

The hike took me about an hour and a half each way. My guide and I were both sweating and panting by the time we reached the end. I had pushed her hard. Even though she had essentially forced herself onto me, I decided in the end that she had earned her souvenir. The prices were steep, but I didn't bother to haggle. I bought a book and a shirt and said farewell.

Lunch was an interesting affair, mostly because the food was not that interesting. Nearly all my other meals in China were delicious and very noteworthy, but this one was not. There was a lot of it, though, so I filled up and climbed on the bus.

On the way back, I discussed my hatred of Twilight with a French woman who was also part of the trip. And, as promised, I was back at the hostel by six that evening.

The next day, I woke up bright and early, climbed on a plane, and made my way back to Japan. And here I am, once again, Jeffles in Japan.

~Jeffles

An Excusable Absence

Sorry! I haven't been around in a while, I know. I actually have legit reasons this time, though.

Last week, I was in China! Yeah, that's right. That country with the billions of people and one-child policy and communist crazies. And as China has a firewall that blocks blogger, I couldn't blog.

Then, last night, my computer pretty much exploded. At first it started smoking, then the power plug started shooting sparks into my hand as I tried to unplug the cord. So I shut it down and today ordered a new computer. It should arrive in two weeks.

Each one of these things constitutes several blogs in themselves, but I only have about half an hour left in the work day before I have to return home. Where I have no computer. For the weekend.

So I just wanted to let you know what was up.

There will be multiple blog posts next week to cover these topics. This is because I have no classes right now and am basically just sitting around at my desk with nothing to do. Hooray spring break! Maybe I'll talk about that a little bit, too.

For now, a little anecdote about China.

It was Friday morning and my plane was arriving in Beijing. The flight had only been a short three hours, a mere hop and a skip from Osaka. As the plane descended and I thought about how it seemed to be landing altogether too soon, I thought back to Japan.

"To tell the truth, I've never been to a foreign country," admitted one teacher of mine. She's in her late 40s and exactly like a depressingly large number of her fellow countrymen and women.

But it's not just foreign countries. Japanese adults seem to rarely take any vacation time at all. Not because they don't have vacation time; they do have vacation time, though from what I understand it may only be as little as 6 days. No, it's because they'd feel bad if they left work. Vacation is, from a Japanese perspective, selfish.

This is one thing I'll never understand. Vacation is enlightening. It makes us more well rounded people. And most importantly for a business, it refreshes an reinvigorates us.

I thought about all of this as the wheels dislodged themselves from the body of the airplane. They were accompanied with a clunking sound like boiling water crashing through an old radiator. Nothing to worry about, though. This was hardly my first time on a plane and sounds like that are pretty well par for the course. If anything, it's a sign that all is well and working. Next to me, a Japanese man bobs his head in his sleep, his mouth making a funny little pout.

We had been enveloped in clouds for about five or ten minutes when the ground appeared beneath us, rising toward us like the back of a gargantuan whale. Then, with a jolt, we were down. The wheels of the plane raced across the asphalt, great gusts of air pushing on the wing flaps, trying to force them back down.

As the aircraft, now little more than an over-sized bus, finally slowed down, I took a look outside.

Beijing looked grey. The sky was invisible. Nothing was up there except static, like a tv at two in the morning on mute. Off in the distance, I thought I could make out the outlines of tall buildings. They were pretty obscured, though. Well, Beijing is a pretty polluted city, I thought. Everyone's heard the stories.

"Welcome to Beijing," chimed a flight attendant's voice over the intercom. "You may notice that the air quality is a little different from Osaka."

I took another look outside the window. Damn. Talk about an understatement. "A little different?"

Those weren't buildings I had seen in the distance. Those were trees. And they weren't so distant, more like sitting on the edge of the runway. Somehow, they had been so obscured, I thought they were far off buildings.

I was no longer in Japan.

~Jeffles

Remembering the Red Men

Just a short post today. I don't have a lot of time, just wanna update you on the Saidaiji Naked Man Festival (Hadaka Matsuri).

To put it shortly, the festival was amazing. If you come to Japan and are here while it is going on, you MUST see it. There's nothing like it anywhere. At least, not that I know of.

It was admittedly pretty chilly outside, as it was nighttime in the middle of February. Given, though, that there were 4000 men wearing nothing but a loincloth (fundoushi), a pair of socks, and the skin they were born with, I decided not to comment on the weather. Hidden beneath four layers of fleece and windproof jackets, I really was in no position to complain.

Then I saw what they had to go through. While preparing to make the run into the temple, the men joined arms and had to run through a series of locations where shop owners, passersby, and firemen threw ice cold water at them. In a show of manliness, though, they simply turned that freezing water into steam as soon as it touched them. Alternatively, it may have been a show of drunkenness and simple body heat, but my bet is on manliness.

Finally, after charging through an ice cold pool that (I suppose) is meant to purify you before you enter the temple, the thousands of men converged. The result was a fleshy mound of butts, hands, and fundoushi. For the better part of an hour, they swayed along the stone temple steps, sometimes falling down the aforementioned steps in horrendously painful-looking avalanches. At one point early on, the police were needed and somehow, using what looked to me like Roman centurion tactics, forced their way into the center of the throng to retrieve a man. From what I've been told, he was either a trouble-maker or an casualty of the unrestrained masculine forces surrounding him. He looked like he could barely move as they pulled him out, so I'm guessing it was the latter of the two options.

Eventually, once the holy sticks had been retrieved and liberated from the killing grounds, they red men trickled away. That was the sign for us to begin our true drinking. Much of the remaining night is now a black haze for me. I know there were at least two bars and karaoke was involved. I also know that nihonshu is now my nemesis. Alternatively, it may be my kryptonite. A nemesis can be defeated, but I don't think this is a battle I could ever win.

At any rate, I trust the night was a good one. Best of all, more goodness is yet to come. Such is life in Japan.

~Jeffles

It's that time of the year again...

Happy Valentine's Day! And, for those of you who didn't know, Happy Birthday to me!

Yup, that's right. Good ol' Jeffles has aged yet again. He just can't stop! He's like a rabid badger on fire, running for a shiny, silver river! Not a damn thing could slow HIM down!

Sorry, I went a bit overboard there. I can't help it, birthdays always make me want to be silly like that. Actually, every day makes me want to be silly like that. Birthdays are just another day. Hrm.

Anyway, yes, I was born on Valentine's Day. That usually gets one of two replies, which tends to be divided along gender lines. From girls: "Aw! That's so cute!" From guys: "Huh." This is often followed up by a declaration that I'm incredibly lucky and that the girls must looooove me. Well, let me tell you! They most certainly do!

Wait, no, that's not what I meant to say. I meant to say that a Valentine's Day birthday actually kinda sucks because, on my birthday, all my friends are either with their girl/boyfriends or thinking about the boy/girl they wish they were with.

When I was a little kid, probably in Kindergarten, I discovered for the first time how poorly timed my birthday was. Valentine's Day rolled around, just like it does every year, and I trudged through the February snow to my school, just like I did every day. (In fact, I was probably driven there and had barely even touched my feet to the ground before I was inside the school.) Then, a wondrous thing happened. People started giving me cards. I did as my mother had told me I should do and gave back some cards. They were, as best I could figure it, thank you cards for all the cards that THEY had just given ME.

The day ended and I ran home (again, I was probably driven, but let's pretend I ran). When my mother finally came back from work, I proudly showed off all the many birthday cards I had received. It was clear as could be: my classmates loved me and praised my very birth like it was a holiday.

Barely restraining her laughter, my cruel mother then informed me that I was slightly misguided. Those were not Birthday cards in my hands, they were bloody Valentine's Day cards.

Ever since then, I must confess I've held a little grudge against the day of my birth. It's like the world saw me coming and thought "Nah, this guy's just too awesome. He's gonna have to be born on a day that can steal some of his glory or else none of the rest of us are gonna have a chance!"

Well fuck you, world. You can't bring me down!

This is why I, in fact, rarely celebrate my birthday on the actual day itself. Usually I designate the nearest weekend as party-time. Then, on my actual birthday, I tend to sit at home with a beer and be antisocial. This year, my beer of choice was Asahi and my antisocial activity of choice was watching Annie Hall. Pretty good movie. Not great, in my opinion, but pretty good.

This year I have two celebrations. Sort of. The first one was last night (the day after my birthday, a.k.a. February 15th). An influential townswoman who is very kind to us ALTs here in town took a few of us out for dinner. A few days beforehand, another ALT here in town informed her that I had be unsuccessful in acquiring the fabled Kobe beef during my recent trip to Kobe. So, wise woman that she is, the townswoman took us to a yakiniku place which, in her words, had even better beef than Kobe!

Well, I can't quite say if that's true or not since I've never eaten Kobe beef. But I can say that this was, without a doubt, the most delicious beef I have ever tasted in my life. I can hardly even comprehend the idea that more delicious beef might actually exist. Look, I even wrote a haiku about it.

This thick red wagyu

ravishes me to my depths...

joy unrelenting.

Sure, it's not a haiku in the truest sense - while beef is a natural product, the poem isn't exactly about nature - but I think you'll forgive me and enjoy the sentiment. Normally, I prefer my steak to be cooked about medium. Too much blood at it turns me off a bit; I want to feel like a civilized human eating a civilized meal, not a stranded castaway who couldn't cook his meat because the rain had prevented him from building a fire. But this beef... my god. Cooking it beyond rare would be a fucking tragedy. This is how good it tasted: if I died today, I would be satisfied knowing that I had eaten of the finest foods that mankind could even conceive of creating.

But enough about that. My second celebration is going to be this weekend, at the Saidaiji Naked Man Festival, also known as the Hadaka Matsuri. It promises to be a riotous good time and a sizable group of us have rented out an izakaya in the city for an after party. And to those who are wondering: No, I am not participating in the festival. It's not because I don't want to, but rather because temple rules disallow anyone with a tattoo from participating. :(

Anyway, I will have a good time regardless. It will be cold, but fun. I doubt it not.

Next week, I'll let you know how it all went.

~Jeffles

A Night in an "Internet Cafe"

Last weekend I went to Kobe. That was kinda interesting. I saw a Chinatown for the first time since coming to Japan, walked by a weird fountain of dead babies clutching a pumpkin, and purchased an extremely fashionable bow-tie. But I kept thinking how much more awesome it would have been if it was warmer out. So when it's warmer, I'm gonna head back again and give it another try.

And then there was the whole lack of finding a place to sleep thing.

After a full day of wandering about from spot to spot, the six of us settled in for some food and beverage consumption. As per normal, this then progressed to a second bar. And from the second bar, we then went on to karaoke and two hours of all-you-can-drink, all-you-can-sing awesomeness. Before we knew it, it was 3 AM, we were all drunk (for the most part), and we were all exhausted. So we hopped on over to the nearby manga cafe, as planned, and set about reserving a spot for the night.

Oh. Hm. Maybe I need to explain something. Japan, just like most countries, has internet cafes. But they do them a little different here. In most countries, an internet cafe is just a bunch of desks with computers and chairs and you pay something like $1 or $2 for half an hour. Sometimes you get fancy internet cafes that cater to gamers who need a place to be their hardcore selves. In places like that, the lighting might be a bit different; they might have sodas for sale; the computers are top notch gaming beasts; and, of course, you can become a member and pay special member rates.

In Japan, that would be considered a half-hearted internet cafe. At most internet cafes here, there are multiple levels of computer environment that you can reserve. The most basic of environments in which you can rent a computer for a time is the standard that I just described above for specialty gamer cafes. From there, it only goes up. At most levels up from there, you essentially rent a small, enclosed booth in which you can do whatever you want. And yes, people really do whatever they want. When I went to Kyoto, I stayed in the massage booth. The massage booths were slightly larger than normal booths, situated in a private, dimmed area, had blazing fast computers, and most notably, were equipped with obscenely comfortable, leather massage chairs. My friend and I rented ours for five hours, went to sleep, and woke up ready to face the day.

But there's more. In Japan, they're not called "internet cafes." They're called "manga cafes." That's because, on top of the computer cubicles, they also have rows upon rows of manga (Japanese comics). They also usually have unlimited free beverages, hot meals you can buy from vending machines, showers, and sometimes a spa room. In Japan, an internet cafe is not just an internet cafe, it's a fucking luxury retreat.

So this is what we thought we were getting in Kobe. Unfortunately, it didn't work out that way. The place had been completely booked up, except for three rooms, which we let the three girls take. Then us remaining three guys wandered about the city, searching for a place to rest our heads. The first stop was a capsule hotel, but they were completely full, too. Then we found another internet cafe, but they were totally full, too. Then we found yet another internet cafe. THEY were full, TOO! Except, wait! No, they did have a spot for us, if we didn't mind it...

"What is it? What is it?" We were pretty much desperate by this point.

It was... the basic option. The one that's just a long table with a bunch of computers and some chairs. Basic as it comes.

Fuck it. There wasn't anywhere else to go. Or, at least, we couldn't push ourselves to keep looking. So instead of a snazzy, cool place that you can't find anywhere else in the world, we actually slept in an internet cafe.

We put in our two hours, then got up and grabbed the first train back to Okayama.

And here I am. Been here ever since. Just whiling the time away until I've got someplace else to go to. I was going to go to Naoshima Island next weekend, but I just can't be bothered. Too cold and trying to figure out how to get there and back in time is too much of a pain. So I think I'm just gonna hang around town, study some Mandarin, maybe some economics. When it's warm again, that's when I think I'll start getting out and about.

I should be honest, it's not that cold. Even compared to Toronto, probably one of the warmest places in Canada, it's not that cold. The temperature hasn't gone below -8 Celsius, as far as I can remember, and even then it was night time. There's just something about Japan that makes it feel so much colder...

This time last year, I was getting ready for my JET interview. I remember that. I had just bought a new suit and was trying to figure out how to get to the interview without getting salt stains all over my suit from the snow drifts. Eventually I just tucked my pant legs into my boots and hoped for the best. I never have to worry about that kind of cold here. I haven't even had a moment where I thought "I need boots." It snows occasionally, but it certainly never sticks to the ground.

I guess I'm just a winter wimp. And you know what? I'm okay with that.

~Jeffles

P.S. My suit was fine. It survived the snowy encounter with nary a salt stain to be seen.

Attack Of The (Killer?) Flu!

The flu has come. The season has arrived. And are we ready for it? Maybe.

On the one hand, Japan seems to take this stuff seriously. Every day at the office/teacher's room, I overhear phone call after phone call talking about influenza. For weeks, teachers have been asking me, "How are you feeling? You know, the flu is going around." I've heard that at some schools, teachers are even showing kids videos on how to defeat the evil flu monster, should they encounter it in their travels. And of course, there are veritable hordes of people wearing those oh-so-effective face masks.

At some of my schools, classes are running at minimum capacity. I say minimum capacity because there actually IS a minimum capacity. If more than a certain percentage of students call in sick, that entire class is told not to come to school. I'm not sure what the exact percentage is, but let's just say, for the sake of this example, that it's 40%. If more than 40% of grade 5 students call in sick, no one in grade 5 is allowed to come to school. But grades 1-4 and 6 would still have to come to school. The threshold hasn't been passed at any of my schools yet, but I know of a few other towns nearby where it has been.

This in particular is kind of interesting to me. Usually it's impossible to take kids out of a classroom. Suspensions and expulsions, for example, simply don't exist here. At least not in Elementary and Junior High School. This is because, in Japan, children have a constitutional right to be in the classroom. (Senior High School is the exception because mandatory education ends after Junior High School.) So when I say that the Japanese really seem to take the flu seriously, I mean it; they'll break the fucking constitution in the name of the flu.

On the other hand, they seem to lack many basics. For example, it's considered extremely rude to blow your nose in public. Even if you happen to have a packet of tissues on you, you'll have to find some way to excuse yourself every time your nose starts running. And when you're in the middle of teaching a class, that's pretty damn difficult. And god help you if you sneeze and have end up with a booger hanging loose.

Also, I have yet to see a single Japanese person so much as possessing hand sanitizer. But I suppose that's not too surprising given that most people's idea of washing their hands is to splash a little water on their palms and walk out the door. Actually, I exaggerate. Usually they just walk out the door.

Anyway, strange hygenic practices aside, it's certainly been somewhat interesting to be in Japan during a flu outbreak. Unfortunately for me, I have also become a victim. Today is day four and, while I'm finally starting to feel a little bit better, it's probably going to take another two or three days before I'm feeling up to scratch. Which sucks, because I was planning to go to Tokyo this weekend.

Poop.

I have noticed something interesting, though. All of my schools appear to have been forewarned as to my sickness. Allow me to illustrate with an example.

It was about two days ago. I had just finished up lunch after teaching all morning and was heading to my afternoon school. It's a pretty cool place, one of my favorites actually, but it's a twenty minute bike ride in the cold. And half way through it started to snow. While I was shivering from fever.

I suppose I should have just taken a sick day, but you should know that things are never that easy in Japan. Taking a sick day means first taking off vacation days when I call in to say that I can't go to work. Then I have to go to the hospital to get a doctor's note saying that I'm too sick to go to work. After acquiring such a note, only then am I allowed to exchange the used vacation days for sick days. Unfortunately, I was neither convinced that I possessed the Japanese skills to get the correct note nor certain that I was sick enough to be excused from work. And given that I only have five vacation days left, I didn't exactly want to give them up. So instead, I gaman'd.

I arrived at the school and, as normal, proclaimed a loud "konnichwa!" to let my presence be known. I slid open the door and, almost immediately, was asked by the head teacher if I would like some miso soup for my cold.

Remember, this was only the second day of my illness. I had barely told anyone that I was sick, and absolutely no one I'd told was connected to work. So how did she know? And clearly she did know, because she'd been waiting for me with miso soup which had clearly been prepped and cooked in advance of my arrival. I can only surmise that one of my coworkers had noticed I was sick and spread the word.

This soon proved to be the case at every other school I went to. While no one else had prepared miso soup for me, they had all clearly been forewarned. There were cough drops and cups of tea waiting for me on my desk, that sort of thing. Which is kinda creepy when the only way they could have known that I was sick is by either stalking me or being told by someone else who knew.

Life in a small town, eh?

At any rate, I hope that this time next week I'll be feeling great again. I'll let you know then (yay another blog post!).

~Jeffles

P.S. As far as I know, no one has died yet from this outbreak of flu, which has spread all throughout Japan. But I'm probably just poorly informed and lots of old and already sick people have kicked the bucket. The title is just a bit of dramatic flair. Because flair is COOL.

The Saga Continues: Part 2

Ah, relaxation. It's good, isn't it?

Consider this a follow-up post to my last post.

As I mentioned in the aforementioned post, I spent last weekend in Beppu. And you know what? It was amazing. It was everything I needed. What was it exactly that I needed? Well, let me tell you. Onsens, warmer weather, alcohol, beautiful views, and no responsibilities. And let me tell you, I got all of that.

Beppu is, in fact, known for onsen and going into an onsen is something that has always been on my list of things to do in Japan. Because many (most?) onsen do not allow people with tattoos in, though, this has proven to be a bit difficult. Thankfully, as I just said, Beppu is known for onsen. That means that much of its income relies on tourists coming to use their onsen. If they rejected people with tattoos there, they would probably be rejecting quite a few tourists who may have gone to Beppu only because of the onsen. Then those people would probably be upset and and say bad things about the city and blah blah blah... Anyway, I figured my chances of getting into an onsen were highest in Beppu. And apparently I was right - no one had any problems with me at any point.

I went to three different onsen while in Beppu. The first was one that had been recommended to us by the guy who worked at our hostel. Given that he was a resident of the city and had named the spot as his favorite in Beppu, we figured it would be pretty good. And, in my opinion, it was.

The place was right next to a couple of the Jigoku. ("Hells" - particularly hot and strange hot springs for which the city is famous. Note that you don't actually go into these Hells, they're just cool things to look at.) This meant it was placed in a fairly touristy area but, surprisingly to me, there were not actually that many people in the onsen. Maybe it was the time of day that we went or maybe it was something else, but there were only two or three other people (besides us) in the guys' side and, from what I was told, no one else in the girls' side.

There were three different baths available at this onsen. The first was an indoors bath, with glass screens to look outside. Because it was indoors, both the part of you under the water and the part of you above the water were warm. The second was an outdoor bath on the first floor. There was a greater contrast of warm/cold in this bath because, guess what, it's winter and winter air is cold. The third bath was another outdoor bath on the second floor. It was supposed to have a scenic view, but in reality was just a spot that was slightly colder above water due to a light breeze. The "scene" was, well, meh.

Anyway, something about the place really jived with me. It felt cozy: not like a bathing complex with a bunch of rooms, but like someone's personal onsen mansion. And maybe it's because it was my first one, but all my nerves and tensions were essentially wiped away by the time I finished with the place. In truth, I felt kind of like a limp noodle - a fact that I regularly brought up - due to just how relaxed my muscles had become. It was a feeling I could get used to. In total, the experience cost only ￥600. An awesome deal.

Anyway, after that we took a short break, had a beer, and rested up at the hostel. Then we headed to our second onsen, which was really a rather different place.

First, to get to this place, we had to walk through what was clearly the red light district. Between Honey Bee and Universal Babes, it was quite obvious what normally went down there. There were some playful elbow jabs, jokes, and other efforts made in the name of relieving the tension of being in such an odd place. Then, we rounded a corner and encountered a truly massive wooden building built in an old Japanese style.

I should explain something. The reason we had picked this place was because it was apparently known for doing sand baths. As you might imagine, most onsen do not have a sand bath. Even rarer is the mud bath, but that comes later.

Anyway, we purchased our tickets for sand bath & onsen and proceeded into the change area. We put on our yukata, walked by the bath that was our "onsen" and into the sand room. There, we were instructed to lay down and not move. Meanwhile, the attendants shoveled mound after mound of warm sand on top of us. I've been told that the sand was supposed to be hot, that it's supposed to make us sweat like mad. Unfortunately, the sand was not really hot and I certainly was not sweating. It just felt like someone had put a really heavy blanket around me.

I gazed at the ceiling, wiggled my toes, thought about how nice a beer would be after all this. To me left, I watched one of my fellows get buried as well by a rather serious looking attendant. Then the guy to my right, another one of my fellow onsen-goers, mentioned that he could feel his pulse in his legs and could I feel mine, too? Well damn if he wasn't right. I really could. And it was weird. Ba-dum, ba-dum. I returned my thoughts to the ceiling, trying to distract myself.

Then, before I knew it, ten minutes was up and I was instructed to go shower myself off. I did so, then climbed into the bath tub (holy crap it was hot). There was a Japanese guy in there who spoke some English, so we had the conversation that I always have when meeting a Japanese person for the first time.

"Where are you from?"

"Canada. These guys are from England, though."

"I see. So, do you like Japan?"

"I love it! Actually, we live here."

"Eeeh? Truly?"

"Yes, we're English teachers in Okayama."

"Ah, is that so... Where in Okayama?"

"A tiny town, you probably don't know it. It's called ."

"Ah, I see. No, I don't know that town."

"Where are you from?"

"Oh, I'm from ."

I've probably had this conversation a hundred times. Anyway, we talked with him a bit. Turned out he had traveled to Canada before, so that was cool. He left about five minutes later and the two other guys and I relaxed in the tub and chatted a bit. Strangely, the attendants kept poking their heads into the room, as if worried that we crazy gaijin were going to fuck everything up. I say strangely, because the attendants were all women and this was clearly the guys' section. Ah well. Nobody goes to an onsen expecting privacy. The whole point is public nudity, after all.

After a little while, we climbed out, dried off and got changed. The rest of the night was spent drinking and doing karaoke. That night alone could be an entire blog post. Suffice to say, since I only have about 10 more minutes to write this and the post is already getting quite long, it was an eventful night.

The next day we trekked out to the mud bath place. The mud bath place, we later learned from a lady who interviewed us as we exited, was quite a rarity. The word she used was "special," but you get the gist.

This place was huge. Like the other two, it was split into a male and female section. Each section had an indoor regular bath, and outdoor "falling" bath (it had a stream of water that fell into the bath from about two meters up - you were supposed to sit under it and let the falling stream massage your back), a steam room, and an outdoor and indoor mud bath. Well, I say both sections had all this, but I don't actually know if the female section also had all that. But I'm pretty sure it did.

Anyway, we wandered about from spot to spot, covering ourselves when possible, and just generally trying to get the full experience of each area. I should mention that the outdoor mud bath was mixed while all the others were separated by gender. For the outdoor bath, though, the girls had a curtained off area where they could enter the water without exposing themselves to the men. The guys, of course, had no such thing. They simply had to enter the mud bath and not care that all the girls were likely to see their package.

I thought the mud was kind of weird. Not my thing, I guess. The baths were really just regular onsen with a grey, muddy floor. The mud diluted the water so that it was all opaque, but the only thick mud was on the floor. In my opinion, it was just some slimey stuff. I rubbed a little over my tattoo, thinking myself intelligent for finding a way to cover it, then remembered that the water would wash it off as soon as I put it under water. So that didn't really make much difference.

After a while we moved to the indoor mud bath, which was pretty much the same. Amusingly, a group of older women wandered into the guy's indoor mud bath and stood about tittering when they realized they had entered the wrong bath area. After then left, we went back to the indoor onsen for a couple minutes, then decided enough was enough and exited.

All in all, I've decided that onsen are awesome. I'm planning another trip next month to explore one on Naoshima Island, which isn't too far away. I'll let you know how that goes afterwards.

Alright, I'm out of time. Hope you have a good one and I'll see you again next week. Ciao, bella.

~Jeffles

Epiphanizing

Howdy there. What's up? How's it going? Done anything cool since last we spoke? Yeaaah, I am pretty much amazing at icebreakers. I practice them every day in the mirror. Step out of the shower and BAM ICEBREAKER TIME. Can you tell?

So last week, I mentioned that I had come to some epiphanies. Really, there's one important one which has suddenly explained a lot of Japan to me. But a few weeks ago I had another epiphany which, on further reflection, turned out to be only a small epiphany that tied into a previously held belief. It did, however, reveal something else. So...

Epiphany #1: Japanese people out here in this part of the country are essentially just like small town, suburban people back home.

I came to this epiphany at the mall in Kurashiki. I'd gone down for the day to pick up a few important items for my home and life in general. An electric kettle, for instance, so that I didn't have to boil water in a pot on my stove every morning, which for some reason I find hugely unappealing. I also needed a light for my bike, because my previous light (a motion-sensor thingie that I don't pretend to understand) mysteriously stopped working

Anyway, I was walking around and I realized that it was a scene I had seen before. Though I didn't understand most of the words that people were saying around me, I did recognize the social dynamics, the tones of voice, even the underlying feeling in the way everyone was dressing. Parents were just like suburban moms and dads back in Canada/America and the kids were exactly like the kids I had known in high school. (Side note: my high school was in a small town that was sort of like the central hub for all the surrounding towns which were even smaller.)

This lead to the further understanding that I had been thinking of Japanese people first as Japanese and second as people. That might be understandable. The first thing you say to yourself when you get off a plane in Japan is "Sweet, I'm in Japan." The second thing you say is "Hey look, everything's in Japanese." And finally, you say to yourself, "Check it out, everyone's Japanese."

So when you are in this foreign country, you automatically distance yourself from it. You become an observer and everything around you becomes something like a reality TV show. This is fine, but when you distance yourself from the people around you, you create an Us And Them scenario that tends to dehumanize the Them. No longer are the people around you people, they're Them, the Japanese People.

This was something I had already known might happen, so I wasn't too surprised to notice it. Thus why Epiphany #1 is really only a small epiphany that builds on what I already know; people around the world are ultimately the same - they're just people.

I remember being about sixteen and speaking to an older friend of mine who was in the military, serving in Afghanistan at the time. He told me something that I've never forgotten, mostly because it is simply so true. "People in countries other than America aren't any less stupid than Americans, they just speak a different language."

Epiphany #2: The uniqueness of Japanese culture is derived from an obsession with details.

I came to this realization not too long ago and it explains so much about things that are considered to be traditionally Japanese. Kimonos, ikebana, calligraphy, karate, everything. It also extends to things like their reputation for being amazing at math, for producing consistently high quality electronic goods and cars, etc.

Now, before I'm accused of making a sweeping claim of an entire people, let me forestall you: I'm only talking about a cultural point of emphasis. I'm not saying that every Japanese person is detail-obsessed. I'm saying that most of the things that make Japanese things seem Japanese are all about being detail-oriented.

I don't know how to explain the logic behind this one other than making an a priori argument: it is simply what I see every day.

The other day, for example, I was inside a house that I regularly go to. This house is a marvelous work of traditional Japanese culture. The construction, the grounds, the garden, the decorations, everything about it is Japanese. In the genkan (entrance where you take off your shoes), there is a flower vase. It is quite well arranged and placed in a pot that is itself rather nice. So I asked the lady of the house if it was ikebana.

Her reply, which I admit I only partially understood, was that it was not ikebana. But the reason it wasn't ikebana was that the details were slightly off. The angle at which this stem sat, the number of flowers in it, the fact that there were plants instead of flowers, etc. She listed several reasons, all of which seemed to be saying "This is not ikebana because the details are wrong. Ikebana is not just the arrangement of flowers in whatever pretty formation, you ignorant lout."

Well, she didn't call me an ignorant lout. She was actually quite nice about the whole thing. But I started to look around realize that everything the Japanese do seems to emphasize getting the details right.

If you wear a kimono, you better damn well make sure that every fold is perfect. Make sure the left side crosses over the right side, or damn you to hell and back. Make sure the collar at the back of your neck exposes just the right amount of skin, or your life ain't worth one yen. And if you get the bow wrong in any way, God help us all.

Judo is seemingly slightly more lenient, but the emphasis is on slightly. (Oh My God, you mean there's more than one way to tie a Judo belt?) In practice, the main point is to use what you like, when you like. But, of course, whatever you choose to do must be done perfectly. Feet placed at the perfect angle, head turned just the right amount, torso twisting exactly to 15 degrees - any more and you'll fly off your feet, as I've embarrassingly done several times before. There are so many little details that have to be perfect, and I haven't even mentioned the greetings, the seat assignments, and even the way you're supposed to move between drills.

I could go through probably every Japanese cultural activity I mentioned and point out how detail obsessed it is. But I won't bore you with that. Look for yourself. It's more amusing that way.

Anyway, I can totally understand now why Japanese people are also so obsessed with the enkai (after work party). Every day, all day, they put their all into making sure every little detail is perfect. That has got to be exhausting. Never thought I'd say this, but thank God I'm not Japanese.

~Jeffles

Forming Habits

Forgive me if this blog post is a bit shorter than normal, I just squeezed out two thousand words of novel. If it sounds painful, that's probably because it was.

The last couple of days were actually quite good. I seemed to know what to write and where to go. Today I knew where I wanted to go, but had no idea what to write. I think there's just days like that. You just gotta push yourself and do it. Like any other habit you're trying to form. Speaking of which, I had a funny moment yesterday. It requires a little back story, though.

After the Halloween party on Friday, I found that I had become sick. What I have decided is that my body had actually been fighting something off for a while, then my deluge of fun times ruined all those efforts. Thus the disease won, my body lost, and the rest of my weekend can be described accurately as: snot, sleep, and holy crap gross.

Saturday and Sunday were definitely the worst days with Monday being pretty bad, but slightly better. Tuesday was pretty much the same as Monday. Luckily, I didn't have to go to any classes on Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday. (My schools were having culture festival things.) And then Thursday is a national holiday, so hooray. My sickness did not, in any meaningful way, affect my job. However, Tuesday is Judo day.

Yeah, that wasn't going to happen. As I missed the previous practice on Friday due to the Halloween Party, I had fully intended to go on Tuesday. But alas, my body cried "no!" and I listened. So I tried to call my sensei, but for whatever reason he wasn't there. Well, I tried.

Or so I thought. Yesterday, my sensei actually called the office and told me to come to Judo. Oops! Anyway, I explained to my boss that I was sick and that was why I hadn't gone on Tuesday. Given that my voice sounds like something out of a horror movie, he had no doubt I was telling the truth. Even jokingly told me that my voice sounded sexy. Hah! Whoever said the Japanese don't know how to be sarcastic obviously never met my coworkers. :D

Anyway, he said he'd let my sensei know and I was able to relax, greatly relieved. Yet I also know that, should I slack off any more, I'm probably in for a world of hurt. Tomorrow is Friday, another Judo day. And my voice may have been replaced with that of some hellish demon's, but you can bet your butt that I'm going. No matter how I'm feeling. Which brings me back to my earlier point.

Feeling like crap? Who cares! Your habits are your responsibility. Take it seriously, yo.

At least, that seems to be the opinion here. I've seen it lots of other places, too. I can't talk about them, though, as they deal with stuff at the workplace and, as I said a while ago, I intend not to talk about that kinda stuff on the blog. Anyway, we foreigners get cut a little slack, but just a little. (Obviously.)

And that's all I've got for today. I've made a few observations, actually. Come to some epiphanies. That kinda thing. No drugs required, just Japan. But I don't feel like typing anymore today. So... have a good one.

~Jeffles

Food Is Culture

Food. It's why we manage to keep going as the day progresses. It's a spicy touch to our day, a bit of pleasantness if we're lucky. It reflects the culture of those around us and they way we eat it broadcasts our own personalities to those same people.

This is why, I believe, one of the most important things you can do when you travel is to eat. Of course, if you're traveling, you have to eat. If you're alive you have to eat. Unless you want to stop being alive, that is.

But we should pay attention to what we eat, why we eat it, where we eat it, who we eat it with, etc. Why? Because it's of the utmost important, especially when we're traveling. Food is one of the best ways to experience a culture. If you traveled to Italy and ended up just eating McDonald's hamburgers the entire time you were there, that would be the epitome of a travesty.

A little anecdote:

About seven or eight years ago I was in Paris with my mother. We were on vacation for a few days after a long work trip to England. As tourists in Paris, we of course did all the typical things. Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe, Notre Dame. And, of course, we sampled the culinary delights of Paris. As I'm sure you know, France is known for it's amazing food. And nowhere is that more evident than in Paris' Latin Quarter. To this day, I still dream about the food there.

One day, after an exhausting afternoon spent wandering the streets, we ducked into a small cafe. Recuperation was, at that point, an absolute necessity. So we ordered a couple of drinks and reclined into our chairs. As we sat there, sinking into a wonderful bliss, we heard someone approaching. Someone who spoke English.

In through the door walked a family of five white Americans, each one fatter than the next. Two children, a mother, a father, and a grandmother. In a city of slim Europeans, this alone would be worthy of comment. If nothing else, we would laugh at the stereotype. But alas, the stereotype went even deeper than we thought. Apparently, this family had been in Paris for three days and hadn't managed to find a single good thing to eat. Apparently, even McDonald's had let them down. I'm fairly certain that I nearly choked on my drink at this point. Laughter always seems to sneak up on me at the most inopportune moments.

My mum and I were so shocked that we may have actually burst out laughing. To be honest, I don't quite remember. I do remember how pathetic we thought that family was, though. Perhaps we're being elitist, judgmental snobs. Or perhaps the way people interact with food is revealing of both themselves and the culture they're in.

So I have adopted the stance that, when I travel, I am an open book. At least as far as food is concerned. When I was a kid, I was the pickiest eater you can imagine. For a long time, breakfast, lunch and dinner all consisted of one staple: honey sandwiches.

Thankfully, I have since improved my diet. I still have a lot of problems with foods that have disagreeable textures (mostly mushy stuff that looks like it's supposed to be solid, which tends to provoke a reaction of "ew, it's rotten isn't it?"). But I make daily strides and am constantly increasing the number of things that I can not only eat, but also enjoy.

Since coming to Japan, as you might imagine, I have had several encounters with food that I would not normally choose to eat. Every Monday and Friday, for example, I eat lunch with the elementary school kids. Lunch is made by a central "authority" and distributed to all the schools in my town, so everyone eats the same thing (including me). And what Japanese school kids eat is definitely not what I would normally eat. Hell, I don't even know what I'm eating half the time. But eat it I do. And sometimes I even like it.

Sometimes I'm surprised. There are two examples off the top of my head.

First, I have eaten live squid sashimi (cut into strips and eaten raw). That may make no sense, but let me explain. The squid is spread out on a long rectangular dish. It is alive, but its nerves have been deadened. For the most part, it can't actually do anything, but every once in a while a tentacle flops around pathetically. If I were a more empathetic person, I might pity the creature. But no, I eat it. The shell that encases its head is cut up into strips beforehand and served on top of the creature as sashimi. With a pair of chopsticks, you pull the desired strip off, dip it in your soy sauce/wasabi mix, and eat it.

When I first learned about it, I had a hard time deciding whether or not to eat the meal. I may not be the most empathetic person around, but eating something while it is still alive is taking things to a new level. But then I reminded myself, I am here to experience Japan at its best. And if this is what they tell me is a good thing about Japan, I'm sure as hell going to try it. And damn them if they weren't right. That is the best squid sashimi that I have ever eaten. Even better, once you've finished the sashimi they take the rest of the squid away and cook it up for you. Nothing goes to waste and it's quite literally as fresh as it gets.

The second example that comes to mind is more recent. Last weekend I was in Osaka, as I mentioned in my last blog post. On my second night, the family I was staying with took me to a small restaurant that specialized in Okinawan cuisine. Awesome, I thought. I'd never had Okinawan cuisine. We ended up ordering a buffet of food on small dishes that the three of us picked at as we pleased.

And, of course, this buffet of food included sashimi'd pig ear. That's right, raw pig ear, cut up into small strips. It looks just like bacon, but the white streaks weren't fat. They were cartilage. Still, keeping in mind my maxim to try everything, I gleefully (okay, somewhat apprehensively) indulged. And surprise of surprises, it was actually delicious.

It had been sliced extremely thin, as thin as a slip of paper, so the strange texture of it was nearly negligible and I could really appreciate the taste. As well, it had been prepared in a peanut sauce. I love peanut sauce. I am of the opinion that almost anything prepared in peanut sauce will be delicious. So did I like the pig ear? Hell yes I did. And much to the shock of my gracious host, I ended up eating more of the dish than anyone else.

Would I order it again? Maybe not. But that's only because I would want to try something new.

So next time you find yourself in a new place, do yourself a favor and don't eat the same thing as you always eat. Why live in the same old shell all the time when there's so much outside of your shell that's interesting? Even if you don't like it, you'll have gained a unique experience. And what's the point in life if not gaining experiences? It's like pokemon, you know; gotta catch 'em all.

~Jeffles

Kyoto Days and Kyoto Nights

Last weekend was yet another long weekend and, as I mentioned, I went to Kyoto. As a result, I have decided to blog about it. Unfortunately, I have no idea where to begin.

My friend told me to begin at the beginning. Fair enough, I said, but where does the beginning begin? Is it when I arrived in Kyoto? Is it when I boarded the Shinkansen in Fukuyama? Is it when I rushed out the office door in hopes that I would make it to my train on time? Or perhaps it begins with my blog post last Thursday, when I expressed my hopes for momiji in Kyoto?

For that matter, where does it end? I did far, far too much over the course of my weekend to divulge information on every single occurrence. And besides that, this is a public blog, you know. Some things are probably better left unsaid. Perhaps you're thinking "He must be exaggerating. How much can you do in just a few days?" If so, you've probably never been to Kyoto.

Okay, I've decided. I'm going to take the path of the wanderer, probably the one most apt for me. That is, I'm just going to say whatever comes to me as it comes to me. Let me begin with my last blog post, because that's where I last left you off and I'm not cruel enough to simply leave you hanging around like some lost little kitten.

There was no momiji in Kyoto. I had been misled. Not by anyone else, of course; no, I'd been misled by myself and my own experiences. That's the one thing you have to remember when you go to a new country and it's the one thing that I, of course, forgot. When you're halfway across the world, you cannot expect things to work in the same way. By now, back in Canada and the Northern US, leaves are probably changing colors. By halfway through November, the trees will be nearly bare. At that time, the first cold breaths of winter will be yawning after a long summer's nap. Not in Japan.

Here in Japan, the rice may be ripe and the humidity may have left us far behind, but the trees are not yet ready to change. True, a few select trees are now clad in a glorious red like the setting sun, but they are the exception, not the rule. While in Kyoto, I was told by my friend that momiji will be in its fullest splendor sometime in mid-November. Given the previous paragraph, you are probably not surprised that this was not what I expected. So, no momiji for me.

But that was probably the only disappointment of the trip. Well, that and the fact that I didn't see any geisha. But that doesn't really count, because Geisha are not a once-a-year occurrence and I will almost certainly be going back.

In truth, I may have seen a pair of Geisha and simply not remembered it. You see, my friend and I, along with a group of other foreigners that we met up with, decided to indulge in a little karaoke. But the price of nomihoudai (all you can drink) plus karaoke was a bit high, so we decided to bring our own drinks in with us. And I think you can see where this is going, so I will stop there. This is a public blog, after all. Who knows who could be reading it. Hell, my mother could be reading it... Hi Mum.

Anyway, the point is, I didn't see any Geisha. But I did get to sing Sum41, Beastie Boys, and Queen, so it all balances out in the end.

But let me talk a little bit about the cultural aspect of Kyoto, because it really is quite something. It is, after all, the city of a thousand temples. And I do mean that literally. In fact, it is so amazing that the president of the United States during WWII ensured that Kyoto was taking off the list of bombing targets. Neither regular nor atomic bomb touched the city at any point in the war. Military importance be damned, Kyoto would not be harmed.

Of all the temples that I saw, I would have to say that Sanjusangendo was probably my favorite. (It translates roughly to 33-length-hall, but I'd say it's something more like The Hall of 33 Spaces In-Between... not that that makes much more sense unless you've seen it.) Anyway, Sanjusangendo is famous due to its 1001 Buddha statues. But just saying it like that fails to paint much of a picture, so let me describe my experience.

First, I walked into the hall and looked to my right. I saw something like a set of wooden bleachers, upon which stood several shiny statues. As I came around to the front, I realized that these statues, each one of which was life size, had been lacquered in gold. And more over, every one of them was different in little ways. The angle of their hand, the slant of their eye, and often something major like what they held in their hand would be different from every other statue. You could practically taste the effort the original artisans had put into creating these statues.

So there I was, walking along, looking at these gorgeous creations. In front of them were 28 guardian dieties, the two most prominent of which are Fujin and Raijin. The inner nerd in me rejoiced to see those two dieties in particular. You see, I am a fan of the Final Fantasy games and Final Fantasy 8 features two characters named Fujin and Raijin. And now I have first-hand experience of the inspiration for these characters, who are far and away two of my favorite characters in the game. Anyway, enough of that.

I could go on and on about the deities represented in this hall. Fujin and Raijin, for example, are the gods of wind and thunder respectively and some of the oldest gods in the Shinto pantheon. They are feared and respected and almost always seem to come together. The statues in the Sanjusangendo are particularly important statues of them, as they date back very far and are some of the most detailed, unique, and well crafted versions of them. In fact, a great many subsequent statues of the gods were little more than copies of these two originals.

But it's probably better if you just research it yourself. There's far too much to say. It is important to mention, though, that the 1001 statues are all statues of Kannon, a very, very important god in Buddhism.

So there I was, in the midst of an intellectual amazement. I looked down the hall a bit and saw that the block of statues had an ending point soon. But as I walked a bit farther, I realized that this was not the end. No, not at all. In fact, the hallway went down even further than I thought. I reached the end of that first block of Kannon statues - it must have been about 500 - and was gobsmacked by a gigantic statue of Buddha. It was probably the size of 100 of the other statues. Its eyes were gigantic crystals, its cheeks were jolly, and yes, it too was lacquered entirely in gold. More importantly, I was only halfway through the hall.

Eventually, I reached the real end of the hallway. At that point I learned that in the Edo era (1600 - 1868), the hallway behind all the statues (which was just as long, I assure you) was used for a famous archery competition. The archer would sit down at one end of the hall and, for 24 hours, fire as many shots as possible at the far end of the hall. Mind. Officially. Blown.

After a short recovery period, we headed off for Kiyomizu temple to watch the sunset and meet up with some foreigners who were coming up from Osaka. The night was just beginning.

I could give you the highlights for the rest of the trip, but highlights are boring. Highlights are vague, non-descriptive entities for the lazy. I could tell you I played with monkeys, but that would leave out any description of the view from the top of the mountain, or the fact that we initially didn't even climb the right mountain. It would leave out the koi fish pond and the children's playground beside the monkey haven. I could tell you that I saw the kinkaku-ji temple, also known as the Golden Pavilion. But that would leave out a description of the reflection pool in front of it. That wouldn't mention the historical importance of the temple, the fact that it was designed as a zen retreat, the fact that only the most splendid of the temples has survived to the current day, and that even that most splendid of temples was actually burnt down in 1950 by a crazy monk/student guy, then rebuilt in 1955.

So I'm going to leave it at that. If you're reading this and you have not seen Kyoto, believe me when I say that you are missing out. I don't say that a lot, because I think that people should be happy with the choices they've made. But seriously, you need to see Kyoto.

~Jeffles