Along with the New Year's holidays and obon, a four-day festival in August to honor one's ancestors, Golden Week is one of only three relatively long vacations that Japanese workers get every year.
If you ask me, Golden Week needs to be renamed. For one, Golden Week has nothing to do with gold. For two, you only get a maximum of three consecutive days off from work (not including Saturday and Sunday), not an entire week. Golden Week would only be "golden" if most workers were given Monday through Friday off every year, which would result in a lovely 9-day vacation.
Golden Week stretches from April 29 to May 5. Four of the seven days, April 29 and May 3, May 4, and May 5, are holidays. If you check your calendar, you'll see that this year, May 3 and May 4 fell on a Saturday and Sunday. So Golden Week turned out to be an Especially-Not-so-Golden-Week.
Luckily, however, there's at least a provision in the law that assures workers of a "real" day off if a holiday happens to fall on a Sunday. So this year that extended the holiday through Tuesday, May 6. Nevertheless, two days off (or, if you count the weekend, four days off), is hardly a week.
What's more, we actually had to come in to school on Saturday, May 3, since we had a type of open house that day. In lieu of having to work that day, we at least got Wednesday, May 7 off. But that still left us with only four consecutive days off, which is nowhere close to being a "golden" week.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Translation in Lost
How many cities in the U.S. (or anywhere in the world) have the word "City" in their name? Not many, as far as I know. Or at least, not many well-known ones.
There's New York City, of course. And there's also Carson City, Iowa City, Jefferson City, Kansas City, Oklahoma City, and Salt Lake City, for example. (The only one of those that popped into my head right away was Kansas City. The rest I found with a little help from Google.)
And what about locales with the words "Town" or "Village" in them? I suppose there might be a few of those in the U.S., too, but I can't think of any offhand.
Here in Japan, however, it seems that just about every community is categorized as either a city, town, or village. That fact is quite noticeable as soon as you reach the border of a community, since there will inevitably be a sign in both Japanese and English (at least along the bigger roads) announcing where you are: "Nobeoka City," "Tsuno Town," and "Shiiba Village," for instance.
It seems that whoever was in charge of translating the signs into English must have thought that you have to also translate the kanji that indicates whether the place is a town, city, or village. But that is gen
erally incorrect, except in cases such as New York City, Kansas City, and Oklahoma City, for instance, when the "City" in the name helps to distinguish the city from the state. (Here in Japan, many prefectural capitals have the same name as the prefecture. Locally, for example, we have Miyazaki City, Miyazaki and Nagasaki City, Nagasaki, just to name two.)
Unfortunately, the result is that most people include the word "City," "Town," or "Village" when they tell you where they are from. So here at school, I'm doing my best to eradicate that movement from the language. Whenever a student tells me "I'm from ______ City/Town/Village," I tell them to leave off the "City/Town/Village." And whenever they write the same thing, I cross out the "suffix." That's just one of the one-man crusades I'm on over here.
At least the town of Hinokage got it right. But that's a rarity. And don't ask me if the Korean is correct.
A similar goof-up is how the Japanese translate teachers' names into English. In Japanese, teachers are called "______ sensei," which in English is the equivalent of "Mr./Ms./Mrs. ______." But somehow, someone had the brilliant idea of saying "______ Teacher" instead and that seems to have stuck with everyone over here. So I'm also on a crusade to put an end to that practice, too.
Oh, and here's another great screw-up that is probably my favorite: For whatever reason, something as simple as "Pardon me?" as in the case of, "Could you please repeat that?" has yet to establish a firm foothold in the vocabulary of Japanese students who are learning English.
I'd like to give you three guesses as to what they say instead, but you'll never come up with it. See, what they say most of the time is: "One more, please." And the kicker is, they almost always hold up one finger while saying that.
One time, when I tried to explain to a class why "One more, please." was wrong, I said the following:
If someone just said something and you'd like them to repeat it, "Pardon me?" is a great way to get that point across. And if someone just gave you a chocolate donut and it tasted really good, that's when you want to say, "One more, please."
There's New York City, of course. And there's also Carson City, Iowa City, Jefferson City, Kansas City, Oklahoma City, and Salt Lake City, for example. (The only one of those that popped into my head right away was Kansas City. The rest I found with a little help from Google.)
And what about locales with the words "Town" or "Village" in them? I suppose there might be a few of those in the U.S., too, but I can't think of any offhand.
Here in Japan, however, it seems that just about every community is categorized as either a city, town, or village. That fact is quite noticeable as soon as you reach the border of a community, since there will inevitably be a sign in both Japanese and English (at least along the bigger roads) announcing where you are: "Nobeoka City," "Tsuno Town," and "Shiiba Village," for instance.
It seems that whoever was in charge of translating the signs into English must have thought that you have to also translate the kanji that indicates whether the place is a town, city, or village. But that is gen
erally incorrect, except in cases such as New York City, Kansas City, and Oklahoma City, for instance, when the "City" in the name helps to distinguish the city from the state. (Here in Japan, many prefectural capitals have the same name as the prefecture. Locally, for example, we have Miyazaki City, Miyazaki and Nagasaki City, Nagasaki, just to name two.)Unfortunately, the result is that most people include the word "City," "Town," or "Village" when they tell you where they are from. So here at school, I'm doing my best to eradicate that movement from the language. Whenever a student tells me "I'm from ______ City/Town/Village," I tell them to leave off the "City/Town/Village." And whenever they write the same thing, I cross out the "suffix." That's just one of the one-man crusades I'm on over here.
At least the town of Hinokage got it right. But that's a rarity. And don't ask me if the Korean is correct.
A similar goof-up is how the Japanese translate teachers' names into English. In Japanese, teachers are called "______ sensei," which in English is the equivalent of "Mr./Ms./Mrs. ______." But somehow, someone had the brilliant idea of saying "______ Teacher" instead and that seems to have stuck with everyone over here. So I'm also on a crusade to put an end to that practice, too.
Oh, and here's another great screw-up that is probably my favorite: For whatever reason, something as simple as "Pardon me?" as in the case of, "Could you please repeat that?" has yet to establish a firm foothold in the vocabulary of Japanese students who are learning English.
I'd like to give you three guesses as to what they say instead, but you'll never come up with it. See, what they say most of the time is: "One more, please." And the kicker is, they almost always hold up one finger while saying that.
One time, when I tried to explain to a class why "One more, please." was wrong, I said the following:
If someone just said something and you'd like them to repeat it, "Pardon me?" is a great way to get that point across. And if someone just gave you a chocolate donut and it tasted really good, that's when you want to say, "One more, please."
Monday, May 19, 2008
Salt 'n Pepper
Lunch at school was such a disaster last week that I went out to eat twice. Both times I went to a restaurant that is about a 10-minute walk from school called kajika no sato (frog village). When I choose to eat out like that, I sort of have to pay double, since I pay roughly 300 yen (USD 3/EUR 2,00) for lunch in the dorm, whether or not I eat it. Since the type of meal I usually order at kajika costs 800 yen (USD 8/EUR 5), eating out is a rather expensive undertaking, at least in term
s of dollars. (The meal pictured here is a rather delicious pork cutlet "set.")
Why did I skip out on lunch twice? Well, Monday's main course was supposed to be some kind of bean dish. No thanks! And Wednesday's meal was the ol' "Hungry Menu." Double no thanks!
I guess you could say I'm slowly running out of patience with the dorm food!
********************
Today's baseball game was postponed due to rain. For whatever reason, we're not making the game up until next Wednesday, as in nine days from today. The weather for the rest of the week is supposed to be nice and sunny, so why can't we play tomorrow, instead, for instance? It's not like there are a bunch of games taking place all week. So now we have (our final) two games scheduled for next week: Monday and Wednesday.
I love how the league office spreads our five games out over about seven or eight weeks. How am I supposed to get any kind of rhythm going by playing so few games spaced so far apart? By the way, we lost our second game but won our third, so we're now 1-2. Oh, and in case you're wondering, yes, I did redeem myself in game two. With a vengeance.
********************
The other day, I talked to my supervisor about testing the first-graders (as a reminder once again, I'm talking about seventh-graders in the U.S.) in oral proficiency just about once a week. My idea is that the kids should have to see me some time during the week and recite x amount of sentences, with the x increasing by 1 every week. That way, by the time the kids move on to the second grade, they'll be fairly fluent in basic conversational English, unlike most of the students at my school (and all over Japan I dare say).
For the first test, I suggested that the kids tell me their name, where they were from, and how old they were. My supervisor wasn't so keen on the idea initially but later agreed to let me carry out my plan.
So last Wednesday I explained the concept to the students in class, in English. At one point, my supervisor wanted to start telling the students my idea in Japanese, so that they would all understand me, but I did my best to keep him quiet.
I explained the test over and over, in as many ways as possible until I finally got through to some of the kids. To make sure I got through to all of the students, I asked for a volunteer to come up and introduce himself to me according to the "rules." He mastered his test like a champ, rattling off the three sentences in error-free English. I gave him a high-five and was sure I got my message across.
Wrong.
Friday morning, my supervisor told me that several first-graders' parents had called their kids' homeroom teacher and told him that their children were confused by my explanation and didn't know what their assignment was.
It figures. All I was asking the kids to do was introduce themselves to me, something they had already done on the first day of class! Am I really such a bad person for trying to teach the kids some English in English, for crying out loud(!)? Why is it that whenever you try to challenge kids, you end up getting an earful from a bunch of their parents? And I thought that only happened in America.
********************
A few weeks ago, most of the rice fields around here turned into rice paddies. All that water is now home to hundreds or perhaps even thousands of frogs (and other creatures such as snakes). So for the past few weeks, there's been a regular frog-croaking symphony going on at night.
Tonight, it sounds as though a woodpecker has joined in, since there's a loud "tap tap tap tap tap" coming from somewhere out there at regular intervals as well. Somehow, I've been able to sleep through the "music" just fine so far. I hope my luck continues. By the way, the rice paddies are about 50 feet from my balcony. I have to figure out a way to record the sound.
s of dollars. (The meal pictured here is a rather delicious pork cutlet "set.")Why did I skip out on lunch twice? Well, Monday's main course was supposed to be some kind of bean dish. No thanks! And Wednesday's meal was the ol' "Hungry Menu." Double no thanks!
I guess you could say I'm slowly running out of patience with the dorm food!
********************
Today's baseball game was postponed due to rain. For whatever reason, we're not making the game up until next Wednesday, as in nine days from today. The weather for the rest of the week is supposed to be nice and sunny, so why can't we play tomorrow, instead, for instance? It's not like there are a bunch of games taking place all week. So now we have (our final) two games scheduled for next week: Monday and Wednesday.
I love how the league office spreads our five games out over about seven or eight weeks. How am I supposed to get any kind of rhythm going by playing so few games spaced so far apart? By the way, we lost our second game but won our third, so we're now 1-2. Oh, and in case you're wondering, yes, I did redeem myself in game two. With a vengeance.
********************
The other day, I talked to my supervisor about testing the first-graders (as a reminder once again, I'm talking about seventh-graders in the U.S.) in oral proficiency just about once a week. My idea is that the kids should have to see me some time during the week and recite x amount of sentences, with the x increasing by 1 every week. That way, by the time the kids move on to the second grade, they'll be fairly fluent in basic conversational English, unlike most of the students at my school (and all over Japan I dare say).
For the first test, I suggested that the kids tell me their name, where they were from, and how old they were. My supervisor wasn't so keen on the idea initially but later agreed to let me carry out my plan.
So last Wednesday I explained the concept to the students in class, in English. At one point, my supervisor wanted to start telling the students my idea in Japanese, so that they would all understand me, but I did my best to keep him quiet.
I explained the test over and over, in as many ways as possible until I finally got through to some of the kids. To make sure I got through to all of the students, I asked for a volunteer to come up and introduce himself to me according to the "rules." He mastered his test like a champ, rattling off the three sentences in error-free English. I gave him a high-five and was sure I got my message across.
Wrong.
Friday morning, my supervisor told me that several first-graders' parents had called their kids' homeroom teacher and told him that their children were confused by my explanation and didn't know what their assignment was.
It figures. All I was asking the kids to do was introduce themselves to me, something they had already done on the first day of class! Am I really such a bad person for trying to teach the kids some English in English, for crying out loud(!)? Why is it that whenever you try to challenge kids, you end up getting an earful from a bunch of their parents? And I thought that only happened in America.
********************
A few weeks ago, most of the rice fields around here turned into rice paddies. All that water is now home to hundreds or perhaps even thousands of frogs (and other creatures such as snakes). So for the past few weeks, there's been a regular frog-croaking symphony going on at night.
Tonight, it sounds as though a woodpecker has joined in, since there's a loud "tap tap tap tap tap" coming from somewhere out there at regular intervals as well. Somehow, I've been able to sleep through the "music" just fine so far. I hope my luck continues. By the way, the rice paddies are about 50 feet from my balcony. I have to figure out a way to record the sound.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Hitching Rides with Yama
I'm reading a book called Hitching Rides With Buddha. It's about a guy who hitchhiked all the way across Japan, from south to north, following the spread of the cherry blossoms.
The other day, I had my own little hitchhiking-like encounter that reminded me of the author's adventure-filled journey. But I wasn't the hitcher. Rather, I was the one offering a ride.
The encounter probably never would have taken place had I not taken a detour to the local "Y" shop* (a convenience store like a 7-11) on my way to school. The slight delay caused me to arrive back at the main intersection in town at the same time as another walker, rather than a couple minutes ahead of him. (I noticed him quite a ways behind me when I turned off the main road through town).
My first instinct was to speed up to avoid this stranger, since he appeared a bit odd to me. But I quickly changed my mind. Remember the croquet-golf lady? I certainly did,
and I figured this was another chance to practice some Japanese. So I ended up traveling (walking) with the stranger half-way to school.
This guy was quite a character. (He looked familiar to me, but I just couldn't place him.) Despite the fact that it was around 8:00 in the morning, he was already pretty hammered. And even though I figured he must have been on his way to work, he said he was actually on his way home. And when I asked him what kind of work he did, he said something about working in the rice fields. (I have no reason to doubt him, but I really don't think anyone plants rice at night.) And he knew where I worked and asked me a couple of questions about the school. And he had no trouble walking up the steep hill, either. (He even mentioned that he has strong legs.)
Even though I didn't understand everything he said, and I couldn't say everything to him that I wanted to, I was happy to be able to carry on some sort of meaningful conversation with him. I'm glad I decided to take him along for the ride.
*Another local convenience store is called the "I" shop, prompting me to often sing the following little ditty that I made up:
"Why shop at the I-shop, when you can shop at the Y-shop? Why shop at the Y-shop, when you can shop at the I-shop?" Cool, eh?
The other day, I had my own little hitchhiking-like encounter that reminded me of the author's adventure-filled journey. But I wasn't the hitcher. Rather, I was the one offering a ride.
The encounter probably never would have taken place had I not taken a detour to the local "Y" shop* (a convenience store like a 7-11) on my way to school. The slight delay caused me to arrive back at the main intersection in town at the same time as another walker, rather than a couple minutes ahead of him. (I noticed him quite a ways behind me when I turned off the main road through town).
My first instinct was to speed up to avoid this stranger, since he appeared a bit odd to me. But I quickly changed my mind. Remember the croquet-golf lady? I certainly did,
and I figured this was another chance to practice some Japanese. So I ended up traveling (walking) with the stranger half-way to school.This guy was quite a character. (He looked familiar to me, but I just couldn't place him.) Despite the fact that it was around 8:00 in the morning, he was already pretty hammered. And even though I figured he must have been on his way to work, he said he was actually on his way home. And when I asked him what kind of work he did, he said something about working in the rice fields. (I have no reason to doubt him, but I really don't think anyone plants rice at night.) And he knew where I worked and asked me a couple of questions about the school. And he had no trouble walking up the steep hill, either. (He even mentioned that he has strong legs.)
Even though I didn't understand everything he said, and I couldn't say everything to him that I wanted to, I was happy to be able to carry on some sort of meaningful conversation with him. I'm glad I decided to take him along for the ride.
*Another local convenience store is called the "I" shop, prompting me to often sing the following little ditty that I made up:
"Why shop at the I-shop, when you can shop at the Y-shop? Why shop at the Y-shop, when you can shop at the I-shop?" Cool, eh?
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Let the Cleaning Begin
Two Sundays ago, it was time to finally clean the gutters in my part of town. The cleaning was scheduled to begin at 8:00 a.m., but by 7:45, the fire truck had already showed up in front of my apartment building, the highest point in the neighborhood and therefore the logical starting point for the cleani
ng. Within a few minutes, several people were already helping out.
ng. Within a few minutes, several people were already helping out.I don't like to get up early on my days off, so I was slow to make my way downstairs. Besides, as you must know by now, I like to take pictures to document events. So when I opened my third-floor window and saw all of the action going on below, I realized I had a great vantage point from which to snap some pictures.
I tried to do so without drawing any attention to myself, but that didn't work. Nevertheless, I took several pictures over the course of about 10 minutes before I finally headed downstairs to take part in the cleaning.
I tried to do so without drawing any attention to myself, but that didn't work. Nevertheless, I took several pictures over the course of about 10 minutes before I finally headed downstairs to take part in the cleaning.
By the time I got down there, there were so many people helping out that I felt like I was getting in the way. So what did I do? Well, I took more pictures, trying to capture just the right mood on film.
Naturally, some of the volunteers shook their heads at me, as if I were not taking the job at hand seriously. But that didn't bother me. I had a job to do and I was doing it, even if it wasn't the job that most of them wanted to see me do.
The cleaning essentially worked as follows: A couple of people went ahead of the pack and removed some gutter covers. The pack, which must have numbered about 30-40 at one point, then followed, with the leaders moving the fire hose into place and shooting water through the gutters, thereby flushing stones and other debris downhill and eventually into the river. The rest of the crowd followed, holding on to the fire hose and moving it when necessary. Finally, someone would replace the gutter covers. The process was repeated over and over.
The leaders were members of the volunteer fire department. Everyone else was someone from the neighborhood. Besides the leaders, no one was assigned to any particular duty. So I did everything from holding the hose, to removing gutter covers, to replacing gutter covers, to standing around, to taking pictures.
Most of the people were involved with the holding-of-the-hose part of the job. Which means that most of the people could have stayed home.
But in Japan, as far as I know, showing up is at least as important as participating. And I guess looking busy is important, too.
So in between taking pictures, I held on to the hose valiantly, wondering what the point was. And wondering why we couldn't be more practical about the whole affair.
Instead of figuring out an efficient way of moving the heavy hose, such as placing it in an appropriate place and then leaving most of it on the ground until it had to be moved again, for example, just about everyone grabbed the entire stretch of hose and held on to it practically the whole time. And since there were so many people holding a fairly short stretch of hose, you could usually just put one finger underneath the hose and pretend you were "working." Sometimes there wasn't even an opportunity to hold the hose. During those times, you just had to stand
around and act important. Or take pictures.
This one elderly lady must have thought she was Queen of the Mighty Hose. She constantly made a great effort to pick up the hose before anyone else. And she kept moving the hose, even when it wasn't necessary. And she always stayed near the front of the pack, ready for action. How about a nice round of applause for the Queen?
One time when the Queen was standing right behind me, I momentarily took my hands (fingers?) off the hose to snap a couple of pictures. Right away, I caught an earful from her. But I ignored her. Besides, I don't understand Japanese, right?
One of the strangest moments of the day came when the firefighters started to clean the river! Sure enough, they climbed down into (what
remains of) the river and appeared to be trying to move rocks and other natural debris downstream. I have no idea what that was all about. Any ideas?
Around 11:45, nearly four hours after we had started, we had made our way throughout the whole neighborhood and passed the reins (reigns? rains?) on to the next squad.
The cleaning was a lot easier than I expected. I'm glad I showed up to do my part, especially since that gives me a few more brownie points with the locals. Even the Queen must have forgiven me, since she was talking to me at the after-party. Long live the Queen!
Naturally, some of the volunteers shook their heads at me, as if I were not taking the job at hand seriously. But that didn't bother me. I had a job to do and I was doing it, even if it wasn't the job that most of them wanted to see me do.
The cleaning essentially worked as follows: A couple of people went ahead of the pack and removed some gutter covers. The pack, which must have numbered about 30-40 at one point, then followed, with the leaders moving the fire hose into place and shooting water through the gutters, thereby flushing stones and other debris downhill and eventually into the river. The rest of the crowd followed, holding on to the fire hose and moving it when necessary. Finally, someone would replace the gutter covers. The process was repeated over and over.
The leaders were members of the volunteer fire department. Everyone else was someone from the neighborhood. Besides the leaders, no one was assigned to any particular duty. So I did everything from holding the hose, to removing gutter covers, to replacing gutter covers, to standing around, to taking pictures.
Most of the people were involved with the holding-of-the-hose part of the job. Which means that most of the people could have stayed home.
But in Japan, as far as I know, showing up is at least as important as participating. And I guess looking busy is important, too.
So in between taking pictures, I held on to the hose valiantly, wondering what the point was. And wondering why we couldn't be more practical about the whole affair.
Instead of figuring out an efficient way of moving the heavy hose, such as placing it in an appropriate place and then leaving most of it on the ground until it had to be moved again, for example, just about everyone grabbed the entire stretch of hose and held on to it practically the whole time. And since there were so many people holding a fairly short stretch of hose, you could usually just put one finger underneath the hose and pretend you were "working." Sometimes there wasn't even an opportunity to hold the hose. During those times, you just had to stand
around and act important. Or take pictures.This one elderly lady must have thought she was Queen of the Mighty Hose. She constantly made a great effort to pick up the hose before anyone else. And she kept moving the hose, even when it wasn't necessary. And she always stayed near the front of the pack, ready for action. How about a nice round of applause for the Queen?
One time when the Queen was standing right behind me, I momentarily took my hands (fingers?) off the hose to snap a couple of pictures. Right away, I caught an earful from her. But I ignored her. Besides, I don't understand Japanese, right?
One of the strangest moments of the day came when the firefighters started to clean the river! Sure enough, they climbed down into (what
remains of) the river and appeared to be trying to move rocks and other natural debris downstream. I have no idea what that was all about. Any ideas?Around 11:45, nearly four hours after we had started, we had made our way throughout the whole neighborhood and passed the reins (reigns? rains?) on to the next squad.
The cleaning was a lot easier than I expected. I'm glad I showed up to do my part, especially since that gives me a few more brownie points with the locals. Even the Queen must have forgiven me, since she was talking to me at the after-party. Long live the Queen!
Saturday, April 26, 2008
I Went For A Walk. In Sandals. Made of Straw!
Every April, the students and teachers at my school go for a walk in sandals called "waraji." We make the sandals ourselves, with a little help from a group of expert elderly ladies and gentlemen.
The sandals aren't all that difficult to make, as long as you understand the concept of weaving. You need the sandals to last, so you have to make sure
you keep tugging at the rows as you weave, keeping them densely packed.
If you work relatively fast and don't have to wait too long for help with the more difficult parts (getting started, adding the toe strap, and putting on the finishing touches), you should be able to finish a pair of waraji in under two hours.
As I started to make my sandals, I talked to another teacher about the upcoming walk. I was under the assumption that we were going to take a bus somewhere, go for a leisurely walk for maybe 15 minutes, go to a museum or whatever, learn something about the history of the sandals, and then eventually walk back to the bus and return to school. Boy was I wrong!
The teacher told me that we were going to be walking "7 kilometers ... one way. And 7 kilometers ... back." What the? Are you kidding me? 14 kilometers? In sandals? Made of straw? Oh my God!
I'm glad that I found out about the length of the journey early enough, since that inspired me to make a rock-solid pair of sandals. If there is such a thing.
Even though I felt that I was doing a good job making my waraji, I was so worried about the possibility of them falling apart during the hike that I kept asking the students and teachers who had already been on one of these walks if they thought my waraji would last. Luckily, everyone I asked gave me the thumbs up.
My supervisor was so impressed with my work that he asked me if I could make a pair for him, as well. Besides, he said he had no time to make his own. Since I had plenty of time, and since my supervisor does me countless favors, I immediately obliged.
One of my buddies joked that I should keep the extra pair as a backup just in case my original pair ended up falling apart after all. He said I should tell my supervisor that I lost the second pair or that someone took it. I definitely gave that idea some thought, but only for an instant.
The last thing I was wondering about concerning the hike was whether or not everyone went barefoot or wore socks. It turns out there was no rule for that; everyone did whatever they felt most comfortable doing.
When I tried out my sandals in my bare feet, I actually liked the feeling so much that I decided to go without socks on the
hike, at least to start. But I planned to bring a pair of socks with me, just in case.
The next day, Friday, just before the hike began, I taped up some of my toes, gave my waraji one final inspection, and was good to go.
The outbound hike went better than I expected. I was able to walk fairly fast, the sandals weren't nearly as uncomfortable as I had imagined, the sandals didn't come close to falling apart, and the seven kilometers seemed to fly by. Before I knew it, I had arrived at the campground where we stopped for lunch.
There we divided into groups of about 12 students and 2 or 3 teachers and were all responsible for cooking our own food, which was a strange concoction of pork and vegetables turned into soup.
For whatever reason, my group decided to eat rather close to the smoky "kitchen" area. At first, so as not to insult anyone, I remained with my group. But after only a few minutes, I got up and walked away. I really couldn't stand the smoke. And I simply couldn't understan
d the idea behind sitting on the hard cement floor when we could have been sitting on soft grass, as just about every other group in our area was doing.
After lunch, we all relaxed for a while, cleaned up after ourselves, and hit the road again.
I thought the return hike would be about as easy as the hike to the campground. But that wasn’t the case.
I guess the main reason for that was that my waraji were wearing out fast. They were noticeably thinner than they were when I started walking in them, so I began to feel just about every step I took. What started as a fairly enjoyable walk was slowly turning into an exercise in pain.
I suppose I could have taken off my waraji and switched to the pair of "normal" sandals that I was carrying in my backpack, as many of the kids had done by that point. But I wanted to stick it out until the end. So I persevered.
Eventually, I made it back to school. And, unlike many pairs, my waraji survived the ordeal in great shape.
Too bad I can't say the same about my legs and feet. I can still feel some muscles in my legs that I never knew existed. And the blisters on my right foot are still bothering me. But I’ll be back to normal in a few days. And I’m another experience richer!
To celebrate the occasion, I’m thinking about making a T-shirt that reads: “I’d rather be walking in waraji.” Of course, that’s far from the truth. But it does have a nice ring to it.
The sandals aren't all that difficult to make, as long as you understand the concept of weaving. You need the sandals to last, so you have to make sure
you keep tugging at the rows as you weave, keeping them densely packed.If you work relatively fast and don't have to wait too long for help with the more difficult parts (getting started, adding the toe strap, and putting on the finishing touches), you should be able to finish a pair of waraji in under two hours.
As I started to make my sandals, I talked to another teacher about the upcoming walk. I was under the assumption that we were going to take a bus somewhere, go for a leisurely walk for maybe 15 minutes, go to a museum or whatever, learn something about the history of the sandals, and then eventually walk back to the bus and return to school. Boy was I wrong!
The teacher told me that we were going to be walking "7 kilometers ... one way. And 7 kilometers ... back." What the? Are you kidding me? 14 kilometers? In sandals? Made of straw? Oh my God!
I'm glad that I found out about the length of the journey early enough, since that inspired me to make a rock-solid pair of sandals. If there is such a thing.
Even though I felt that I was doing a good job making my waraji, I was so worried about the possibility of them falling apart during the hike that I kept asking the students and teachers who had already been on one of these walks if they thought my waraji would last. Luckily, everyone I asked gave me the thumbs up.
My supervisor was so impressed with my work that he asked me if I could make a pair for him, as well. Besides, he said he had no time to make his own. Since I had plenty of time, and since my supervisor does me countless favors, I immediately obliged.
One of my buddies joked that I should keep the extra pair as a backup just in case my original pair ended up falling apart after all. He said I should tell my supervisor that I lost the second pair or that someone took it. I definitely gave that idea some thought, but only for an instant.
The last thing I was wondering about concerning the hike was whether or not everyone went barefoot or wore socks. It turns out there was no rule for that; everyone did whatever they felt most comfortable doing.
When I tried out my sandals in my bare feet, I actually liked the feeling so much that I decided to go without socks on the
hike, at least to start. But I planned to bring a pair of socks with me, just in case.The next day, Friday, just before the hike began, I taped up some of my toes, gave my waraji one final inspection, and was good to go.
The outbound hike went better than I expected. I was able to walk fairly fast, the sandals weren't nearly as uncomfortable as I had imagined, the sandals didn't come close to falling apart, and the seven kilometers seemed to fly by. Before I knew it, I had arrived at the campground where we stopped for lunch.
There we divided into groups of about 12 students and 2 or 3 teachers and were all responsible for cooking our own food, which was a strange concoction of pork and vegetables turned into soup.
For whatever reason, my group decided to eat rather close to the smoky "kitchen" area. At first, so as not to insult anyone, I remained with my group. But after only a few minutes, I got up and walked away. I really couldn't stand the smoke. And I simply couldn't understan
d the idea behind sitting on the hard cement floor when we could have been sitting on soft grass, as just about every other group in our area was doing.After lunch, we all relaxed for a while, cleaned up after ourselves, and hit the road again.
I thought the return hike would be about as easy as the hike to the campground. But that wasn’t the case.
I guess the main reason for that was that my waraji were wearing out fast. They were noticeably thinner than they were when I started walking in them, so I began to feel just about every step I took. What started as a fairly enjoyable walk was slowly turning into an exercise in pain.
I suppose I could have taken off my waraji and switched to the pair of "normal" sandals that I was carrying in my backpack, as many of the kids had done by that point. But I wanted to stick it out until the end. So I persevered.
Eventually, I made it back to school. And, unlike many pairs, my waraji survived the ordeal in great shape.
Too bad I can't say the same about my legs and feet. I can still feel some muscles in my legs that I never knew existed. And the blisters on my right foot are still bothering me. But I’ll be back to normal in a few days. And I’m another experience richer!
To celebrate the occasion, I’m thinking about making a T-shirt that reads: “I’d rather be walking in waraji.” Of course, that’s far from the truth. But it does have a nice ring to it.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Odds 'n Ends
Two things I noticed at school today:
1) This morning in the main teachers' office, a teacher was practically yelling at a student for whatever reason. I've heard of kids being yelled at by teachers in the teachers' office at other schools here in Japan, but I honestly can't recall the same thing happening at my school. Because the teacher doing the near-yelling was one of the new (to my school) teachers, and because he's a rather young teacher, I felt like telling him, "Hey, man, that's not how things are done around here."
I hope he lays off with the yelling, but I doubt he will. After all, I've witnessed countless instances of a teacher berating a student in or near a classroom, sometimes rather viciously, with many students present. And it's absolutely normal for a student to be counseled at a desk in one corner of the teachers' office, sometimes even with the student's parents/guardians present. (I have seen students and teachers discuss various matters in private, as well, however.)
I have no idea what the kids did wrong, if anything, or what the teacher doing the yelling is saying. So it's not entirely fair of me to criticize the yelling. But I don't like to see kids getting yelled at, and I imagine there must be a more effective way of getting a point across.
I just hope the new teacher doing the yelling today doesn't start a trend.
2) A little later in the day, I saw a teacher tell a student to stop running in the hallway. At least that's what I think she said to him. I'm pretty sure that's also the first time I've seen that happen at my school.
In the U.S., teachers are constantly policing the hallways and yelling at students for running and other such "infractions." But not here in Japan, at least not at my school. Why? Well, for the most part, the students don't run. And if the students are running, they're usually not running out of control. So the teachers usually let the kids be kids, if you will.
Guess who told the kid to stop running: Yes. A new (to my school) teacher.
**********************************
Lunch at my school is over at 1:00 p.m. The students are basically free to do whatever they want from after lunch until 1:35 p.m.
I usually hang out in the teachers' office after lunch. But last week I realized for the first time that right after lunch many kids go the the gym or the gym area to play soccer, badminton, volleyball, and basketball, for example. So lately I've started to go to the gym to shoot some hoops.
Today, I'd say there were about 20 kids in the gym while I was in there. There were no adults present, besides me. Even had I not been there, the kids would have been free to do whatever they wanted. Isn't that fantastic!?
See, over here, the kids are rather responsible, even at an early age. So they go to the gym, grab whatever equipment they need, and put everything away when they're done. And I'd be willing to bet that if they broke something, they'd tell the appropriate person. Too bad that's not how things work in the States.
**********************************
Tonight I have a "baseball" game. (If you're not sure why I write the word "baseball" in quotes, read this.) It's game two of the season. We play the Pirates. Last Monday we lost the first game of the short season 4-3. We played against "yakuba," the town hall team. That game was extremely disappointing and frustrating for me. Why? Well, I made two errors and feel responsible for three of the opponent's four runs.
I expected to be playing in the outfield, but shortly before the game started, when I asked the coach what position I was playing, he said, "Sado" (third base). No problemo, I thought.
We scored a run in the top of the first to take a 1-0 lead. We didn't hold the lead for very long, however.
The first batter in the bottom half of the inning bunted, and in my attempt to get the speed burner, I rushed my throw and overthrew first base.
Two outs later, with their leadoff batter then on third and us still ahead by a run, the clean-up batter hit a shot to my left. I reached down for the ball and got a glove on it, but the ball popped out of my mitt. I still don't understand why that happened, but I obviously must have not been "concentrated" enough. (Sorry, that's a bit of an inside joke.) 1-1.
The next batter hit a two-run inside-the-park (or, as the Japanese say, "running") homer. 3-1. Ugh! That's just baseball being cruel, I suppose.
We gave up a run later in the game and came up in the last inning trailing 4-1. We managed to score two more runs, but we left the tying run on second.
I was in the on-deck circle when the game ended. So I didn't get another chance to redeem myself. That's just how it goes sometimes.
Yeah, so as you can imagine, I'm pretty fired up for tonight's game.
1) This morning in the main teachers' office, a teacher was practically yelling at a student for whatever reason. I've heard of kids being yelled at by teachers in the teachers' office at other schools here in Japan, but I honestly can't recall the same thing happening at my school. Because the teacher doing the near-yelling was one of the new (to my school) teachers, and because he's a rather young teacher, I felt like telling him, "Hey, man, that's not how things are done around here."
I hope he lays off with the yelling, but I doubt he will. After all, I've witnessed countless instances of a teacher berating a student in or near a classroom, sometimes rather viciously, with many students present. And it's absolutely normal for a student to be counseled at a desk in one corner of the teachers' office, sometimes even with the student's parents/guardians present. (I have seen students and teachers discuss various matters in private, as well, however.)
I have no idea what the kids did wrong, if anything, or what the teacher doing the yelling is saying. So it's not entirely fair of me to criticize the yelling. But I don't like to see kids getting yelled at, and I imagine there must be a more effective way of getting a point across.
I just hope the new teacher doing the yelling today doesn't start a trend.
2) A little later in the day, I saw a teacher tell a student to stop running in the hallway. At least that's what I think she said to him. I'm pretty sure that's also the first time I've seen that happen at my school.
In the U.S., teachers are constantly policing the hallways and yelling at students for running and other such "infractions." But not here in Japan, at least not at my school. Why? Well, for the most part, the students don't run. And if the students are running, they're usually not running out of control. So the teachers usually let the kids be kids, if you will.
Guess who told the kid to stop running: Yes. A new (to my school) teacher.
**********************************
Lunch at my school is over at 1:00 p.m. The students are basically free to do whatever they want from after lunch until 1:35 p.m.
I usually hang out in the teachers' office after lunch. But last week I realized for the first time that right after lunch many kids go the the gym or the gym area to play soccer, badminton, volleyball, and basketball, for example. So lately I've started to go to the gym to shoot some hoops.
Today, I'd say there were about 20 kids in the gym while I was in there. There were no adults present, besides me. Even had I not been there, the kids would have been free to do whatever they wanted. Isn't that fantastic!?
See, over here, the kids are rather responsible, even at an early age. So they go to the gym, grab whatever equipment they need, and put everything away when they're done. And I'd be willing to bet that if they broke something, they'd tell the appropriate person. Too bad that's not how things work in the States.
**********************************
Tonight I have a "baseball" game. (If you're not sure why I write the word "baseball" in quotes, read this.) It's game two of the season. We play the Pirates. Last Monday we lost the first game of the short season 4-3. We played against "yakuba," the town hall team. That game was extremely disappointing and frustrating for me. Why? Well, I made two errors and feel responsible for three of the opponent's four runs.
I expected to be playing in the outfield, but shortly before the game started, when I asked the coach what position I was playing, he said, "Sado" (third base). No problemo, I thought.
We scored a run in the top of the first to take a 1-0 lead. We didn't hold the lead for very long, however.
The first batter in the bottom half of the inning bunted, and in my attempt to get the speed burner, I rushed my throw and overthrew first base.
Two outs later, with their leadoff batter then on third and us still ahead by a run, the clean-up batter hit a shot to my left. I reached down for the ball and got a glove on it, but the ball popped out of my mitt. I still don't understand why that happened, but I obviously must have not been "concentrated" enough. (Sorry, that's a bit of an inside joke.) 1-1.
The next batter hit a two-run inside-the-park (or, as the Japanese say, "running") homer. 3-1. Ugh! That's just baseball being cruel, I suppose.
We gave up a run later in the game and came up in the last inning trailing 4-1. We managed to score two more runs, but we left the tying run on second.
I was in the on-deck circle when the game ended. So I didn't get another chance to redeem myself. That's just how it goes sometimes.
Yeah, so as you can imagine, I'm pretty fired up for tonight's game.
Friday, April 18, 2008
New Pictures Posted
I finally got around to adding some pictures of desks here. Please check them out!
It wasn't the "Hungry Menu," but you could have fooled me.
Today's lunch was really bad, at least as far as my palate is concerned. Just take a look at this picture on the right, and you should know what I'm talking about.
Usually, there are three food items on my tray, plus perhaps a cup of tea. So as far as that goes, there's nothing very unusual about the meal pictured here. But check it out: I have a bowl of rice on my tray! What does that mean? That means I knew that if I didn't eat rice, I'd go hungry.
Why? Well, take a look at the next picture, and you'll see why. That's a bowl of "hijiki," a black vegetable that looks a bit like wild rice but is more like seaweed, "konnyaku," a terribly bland, oddly textured gelatin that looks as unappealing as it tastes, and beans. I actually like hijiki, at least to some degree, but konnyaku isn't worth eating, despite its health benefits, and beans give me gas. So I passed on that dish.
So my lunch consisted of rice, which I almost never eat, egg rolls, and soup. Yummy!
I'm not even sure which of the dishes was supposed to be the main course. See, the main course is usually the secon
d item that the food servers place on the counters where we grab our food. But that salad concoction was second. Which means the egg rolls must have been thought of as an appetizer. Which they are. But how can that salad be the main dish? That just doesn't add up, does it?
Well, at least we are free to get "okawari" (seconds), assuming there are any and as long as they last. I wasn't interested in having any more soup, but I was dying for another egg roll or two.
But when I went up for seconds, I was told to come back in a little while. (Well, actually, for those of you who are interested in learning a little Japanese, what the lady really said was, "Cho(tto) matte kudasai," which means, "Wait a second, please." Besides words like "atsui" and "samui," which I've already introduced you to, "cho matte kudasai" is definitely on the Top Ten List Of Words And Phrases That You Can't Help But Learn In Your First Few Days Or Weeks In Japan.)
So what do you think I grabbed? That's right! More rice! Oh, joy!
A few minutes later, I noticed a crowd slowly forming near where the food is given out. So I scurried back up there, hoping to score a couple more egg rolls. I didn't get two, as I had hoped, but at least I did get one. And I even grabbed more rice. (Yes, I was that desperate!)
And then one of the kids I was sitting with made my day. How? Well, he whipped out a small packet of rice flavoring that he had left over from breakfast and gave it to me! So my bland rice instantly became rather tasty. It wasn't quite dessert, but it was the next best thing. I owe you one, dude!
Usually, there are three food items on my tray, plus perhaps a cup of tea. So as far as that goes, there's nothing very unusual about the meal pictured here. But check it out: I have a bowl of rice on my tray! What does that mean? That means I knew that if I didn't eat rice, I'd go hungry.
Why? Well, take a look at the next picture, and you'll see why. That's a bowl of "hijiki," a black vegetable that looks a bit like wild rice but is more like seaweed, "konnyaku," a terribly bland, oddly textured gelatin that looks as unappealing as it tastes, and beans. I actually like hijiki, at least to some degree, but konnyaku isn't worth eating, despite its health benefits, and beans give me gas. So I passed on that dish.
So my lunch consisted of rice, which I almost never eat, egg rolls, and soup. Yummy!
I'm not even sure which of the dishes was supposed to be the main course. See, the main course is usually the secon
d item that the food servers place on the counters where we grab our food. But that salad concoction was second. Which means the egg rolls must have been thought of as an appetizer. Which they are. But how can that salad be the main dish? That just doesn't add up, does it?Well, at least we are free to get "okawari" (seconds), assuming there are any and as long as they last. I wasn't interested in having any more soup, but I was dying for another egg roll or two.
But when I went up for seconds, I was told to come back in a little while. (Well, actually, for those of you who are interested in learning a little Japanese, what the lady really said was, "Cho(tto) matte kudasai," which means, "Wait a second, please." Besides words like "atsui" and "samui," which I've already introduced you to, "cho matte kudasai" is definitely on the Top Ten List Of Words And Phrases That You Can't Help But Learn In Your First Few Days Or Weeks In Japan.)
So what do you think I grabbed? That's right! More rice! Oh, joy!
A few minutes later, I noticed a crowd slowly forming near where the food is given out. So I scurried back up there, hoping to score a couple more egg rolls. I didn't get two, as I had hoped, but at least I did get one. And I even grabbed more rice. (Yes, I was that desperate!)
And then one of the kids I was sitting with made my day. How? Well, he whipped out a small packet of rice flavoring that he had left over from breakfast and gave it to me! So my bland rice instantly became rather tasty. It wasn't quite dessert, but it was the next best thing. I owe you one, dude!
Thursday, April 17, 2008
This isn't exactly topical, but...
I mentioned a while back how important New Year's is to the Japanese. Well, one neat tradition that I meant to write about but haven't written about until now is the sending of "nengajo," or New Year's postcards. (I know that "nen" means "year" but I haven't bothered to ask what "gajo" refers to.)
I guess you could say nengajo are the Japanese equivalent of Christmas cards. Except sending nengajo is far more a part of Japanese culture than sending Christmas cards is a part of American culture, for instance.
You can buy nengajo in many places, such as department stores, convenience stores, home improvement stores, and the post office, starting sometime in November, from what I remember.
Most nengajo, especially those that you buy at the post office, are of the "pre-paid" variety. That is, there is an image of a stamp
already on the card. Those cost about 80-100 yen each (50 yen for the stamp and 30-50 yen for the card). You can also find plenty of postcards without the stamp, but most people obviously prefer the "pre-paid" type, since they save you a trip to the post office (or at least a wait in line for stamps).
Lots of companies also give people the option of personalizing their postcards, usually with family pictures. Those tend to be higher quality cards, so I imagine they must cost at least another 20 or 30 yen each. Considering that it's not unusual for families to mail about 100 or more cards, sending nengajo can be an expensive tradition.
In any case, for weeks and weeks, the post office collects all of the cards that people mail and then delivers (or at least tries to deliver) all of them on New Year's Day! How wacky is that? From what I understand, the post office hires thousands of college students to help deliver the mountains of cards.
I probably received about as many cards as I mailed (12 or so), but I didn't mail a card to everyone who mailed one to me, and I didn't receive a card from everyone to whom I mailed one. As far as I'm concerned, that's fine. But some Japanese apparently feel the need to even things out.
So days and even weeks(!) after New Year's, you'll find people frantically writing postcards, trying to make sure that everyone who sent them a card also gets one in return.
One guy I talked to told me a funny story about the reciprocity deal:
He decided this was the year to cross one of his "friends" off his nengajo list, since they hadn't seen or talked to each other in years. So he didn't send him a card. But sure enough, he got one from the guy. So he decided he had no choice but to write back. In the end, I guess he just didn't have the heart to leave the guy hanging, even though that is what
he would have preferred to do.
Another cool thing about the postcards is that most of them have a six-digit number on the bottom right, along with a series number on the bottom left. The six-digit number is a lottery number. To win a "big" prize, such as a TV, an oven, or an iPod, you have to match the entire number on your postcard with the winning number(s).
But there are also "lesser" prizes, such as pasta sauce, chestnuts, or canned soup. To win those, you have to match the last four digits.
And to win (the) "el cheapo" prize, which this year was a set of two stamps totaling 130 yen, all you have to do is match the last two digits. Guess what I won?
Heck, I'm just glad I won something! I guess no one I sent a card to won anything "big," because I imagine I would have heard about it. Too bad the bigger prizes aren't money. That way, you could make a deal with everyone you send a card to: "If you win, I get half." But how do you share a TV?
I guess you could say nengajo are the Japanese equivalent of Christmas cards. Except sending nengajo is far more a part of Japanese culture than sending Christmas cards is a part of American culture, for instance.
You can buy nengajo in many places, such as department stores, convenience stores, home improvement stores, and the post office, starting sometime in November, from what I remember.
Most nengajo, especially those that you buy at the post office, are of the "pre-paid" variety. That is, there is an image of a stamp
already on the card. Those cost about 80-100 yen each (50 yen for the stamp and 30-50 yen for the card). You can also find plenty of postcards without the stamp, but most people obviously prefer the "pre-paid" type, since they save you a trip to the post office (or at least a wait in line for stamps).Lots of companies also give people the option of personalizing their postcards, usually with family pictures. Those tend to be higher quality cards, so I imagine they must cost at least another 20 or 30 yen each. Considering that it's not unusual for families to mail about 100 or more cards, sending nengajo can be an expensive tradition.
In any case, for weeks and weeks, the post office collects all of the cards that people mail and then delivers (or at least tries to deliver) all of them on New Year's Day! How wacky is that? From what I understand, the post office hires thousands of college students to help deliver the mountains of cards.
I probably received about as many cards as I mailed (12 or so), but I didn't mail a card to everyone who mailed one to me, and I didn't receive a card from everyone to whom I mailed one. As far as I'm concerned, that's fine. But some Japanese apparently feel the need to even things out.
So days and even weeks(!) after New Year's, you'll find people frantically writing postcards, trying to make sure that everyone who sent them a card also gets one in return.
One guy I talked to told me a funny story about the reciprocity deal:
He decided this was the year to cross one of his "friends" off his nengajo list, since they hadn't seen or talked to each other in years. So he didn't send him a card. But sure enough, he got one from the guy. So he decided he had no choice but to write back. In the end, I guess he just didn't have the heart to leave the guy hanging, even though that is what
he would have preferred to do.Another cool thing about the postcards is that most of them have a six-digit number on the bottom right, along with a series number on the bottom left. The six-digit number is a lottery number. To win a "big" prize, such as a TV, an oven, or an iPod, you have to match the entire number on your postcard with the winning number(s).
But there are also "lesser" prizes, such as pasta sauce, chestnuts, or canned soup. To win those, you have to match the last four digits.
And to win (the) "el cheapo" prize, which this year was a set of two stamps totaling 130 yen, all you have to do is match the last two digits. Guess what I won?
Heck, I'm just glad I won something! I guess no one I sent a card to won anything "big," because I imagine I would have heard about it. Too bad the bigger prizes aren't money. That way, you could make a deal with everyone you send a card to: "If you win, I get half." But how do you share a TV?
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