Summer (or, How I Rediscovered my Love for Akita)

I woke up one morning a couple weeks ago, cold in my bed. Noteworthy, because the pressing sweaty heat of a Japanese summer had somehow made all memories of a frigid winter and the possibility of a future cold season seem inconceivable. I honestly could barely believe that the weather would one day change. Thankfully, fall has finally hit Akita, the “autumn rice field”of Japan, and with it comes some relief from the sweltering summer.

To be honest, though I detest the constant muggy air in summer, especially when sitting at work all day with no A/C in 34+ degree heat, I love summer here. I love its busyness and the loud buzz of cicadas around quiet shrines and the frogs that echo on back country roads and around the rice fields after dark. Those sounds, to me, characterize summer in my corner of rural, northern Japan.

This summer was a bit chaotic, from Japan to Canada and back again. Somewhere in there, I managed to rediscover my love for life in this community as well as my reasons for staying a second year, and happily reconnect with the people, places and food I've missed the most while away from home. All in all, a pretty wonderful season, I'd say.

My summer kicked off with my first (but not last) climb of Mt. Chokai, our token Big Volcano – our “Akita Fuji”. I am convinced that Mt. Chokai must be one of the most gorgeous hikes in Japan. After almost a year of gazing at its peak looming in the distance on clear days, I was eager to conquer it and gaze back at my town from the top. There was still a lot of snow,which made the scenery even more striking, in my opinion. White patches against vivid green, with rocky ridges and ledges and paths all the way to the pile of rocks at the top, the view stretching out over the sea. Mt. Chokai, for me, marked a turning point in my experience of Japan. I was left with a vivid impression of the beauty and thrills of Akita, and after a few months of apathetic drifting I felt myself falling in love with the place again (cliche, but true).

Sometimes, you get stuck in the snow. Avoid this if you can.

Soon after, I felt the year come full-circle as I drove my car up the mountain to the Sanboen cabin for the Akita ALT goodbye party. The last time I had been there was for the welcome party only a month after arriving, so it was an interesting way to get some perspective on the place I found myself in now compared to ten months ago. On the whole, I feel a lot more at ease, more independent and more self-confident after a year of forging my own way in a foreign country. Perhaps these sound like obvious reflections to be having after a year of living on my own in a strange place, but actually feeling the difference it's made is pleasantly surprising. 

We strung together a new “superband” to play some jams, which was a blast but a bit messy as always.

Kneeling at the keys lasted for all of 10 minutes. Not comfortable.

The next month was a blur of goodbyes, hikes, getting dressed in yukata for a small local festival (the“All-Japan Sparkler Festival”), barbecues and picnics on the beach and at the lake, my first slightly-disastrous camping experience in Japan, and more goodbyes.

Cozy and warm after setting up the tent and futons in the dark

Sleep-deprived and chilled after abandoning said tent during a midnight thunderstorm, which blew off the tent fly and soaked the futons.

Yamadera, Yamagata

But literally, I was saying sayonara one day, and then suddenly welcoming the new Yokote ALTs the next. New Yokote is awesome, by the way...

Arts and crafts time at the Board of Education; we've become quite good at drawing Akita's mascot, Sugichi.

One more day and I was on and off a night bus and on and off a plane and walking out of Pearson's Airport in Toronto, eating Subway and drinking chocolate milk. Coming home was a distinct marker between Japan, pt. 1 and Japan, pt. 2. It made things that happened before the trip home seem like they belong to adifferent time and era in my experience. The feeling I had upon returning to Japan was so much more comforting than what I had experienced when arriving for the first time. Riding the shinkansen back from Tokyo to Akita, I remember searching through my jet-lagged grogginess to see if I could find any trace of wistful longing to be still back in Canada. There was none. Not that I don't dearly love Canada and all of the people and places it represents; instead, I had enjoyed my time but felt like I was coming back to what I am really a part of at this point in my life. It felt natural. It was reassuring to be so certain I had made the right decision in re-signing my contract, as there were weeks and months this spring where I wasn't so sure.

I wasn't just resigned to the fact that I was back; I was excited for it. Nikki picked me up at the station, and it felt so good to see a familiar “Japan” face, and to hear about all of the new things that had been going on. Walking into my apartment, I finally had that feeling of “coming home” that so many JETs had told me they experienced when returning from vacations, that moment where they realized that their corner of Japan was not just a place they happened to be stuck in for a time but actually felt like home. This was My Home, My Apartment, My Bed, with My Pictures of all the wonderful people in my life from back home surrounding me on the wall. Time to hit the ground running, and I've barely stopped since.

I finally have a local convenience store.

Considering these things exist on just about every block in Japan, I was surprised that I didn't have one within less than a 15-minute walk of my apartment. Until this weekend, when a 7-11 opened basically across the street.

Convenience stores (or conbinis) in Japan are nothing like what they are in Canada. For one thing, they actually are convenient, carrying more than just junk food (including freshly made salads, sushi, and onigiri), and the prices are pretty cheap. You can buy your coffee, your microwaveable bento lunch, your makeup, a fresh shirt to wear to work if you're out on the town all night (seriously, some people do that), a rain poncho and umbrella in case of sudden downpour, a beer, a hangover-preventing turmeric drink to have before the beer, tickets to see your favourite band or to fly to Hawaii or to bus it to Tokyo - whatever you need. And in Yokote, conbinis seem to be one of the only businesses that are growing - at least 5 new ones have opened in the centre of town this month.

On opening day, I went in to get stuff for a picnic because everything was on sale. There were three men with batons directing traffic into the tiny parking lot, another one waving a banner on the street corner, one manning an inflatable pool where children could fish for prizes, three more employees shouting out greetings and two offering me samples of melon pan (a kind of sweet bread) the instant I stepped into the refreshingly air-conditioned store.

So. Including the two employees stocking shelves and two more at the checkout, that makes...14 workers at one time in a tiny shop.

I think I understand why unemployment is so low in Japan.

What did you want to be when you were a child?

Just some more stuff from my ever-creative students. I think they outdid themselves this time.

The third-year junior highs had to write an interview script asking a friend about what they wanted to be when they grew up and various dream-related things.

...There was the heart-warming:

"A: What did you want to be when you were a child?
B: I wanted to be a doctor.
A: Why did you want to be that?
B: Because I wanted to help lots of people.
A: What will you need to become a doctor?
B: I will need a lot of knowledge."

"B: I wanted to be a great father."
A: What else?
B: I wanted to be a priest.
A: What is important to you?
B: I think that comics are important."

"A: What is important to you?
B: My family is important.
A: Why is that?
B: I love family.
A: Why do you love family?
B: They always care about me."

...There was the absurd - many students apparently wanted to be inanimate objects and plants:

"A: What did to want to be when you were a child?
B: I wanted to be a wheat."

Really? I asked. He showed me the word in the dictionary and described the plant to me - definitely was wheat. Silly boy.

"B: I wanted to be a tomato.
A: Why did you want to be that?
B: Because its colour is passionate."

"B: I wanted to be a doctor.
A: What else did you want to be?
B: I wanted to be a big dog."

Yes, yes, really.

"B: I wanted to be a worker at Google.
A: What do you want to be now?
B: I want to be a shell. [yep, definitely no mistranslation]
A: Why?
B: Because it's cool.
A: What else do you want to be?
B: A VIP man and has lots of money."

Also, "I wanted to be a pirate."

...There was the magical:

"B: I wanted to be a wizard.
A: Why did you want to be that?
B: I think that making fire with my hands is very cool!!
A: What is important to you?
B: Learning magic is important to me."

And finally...the future evil overlord, with words of wisdom we can all learn from:

"B: I wanted to be a world ruler.
A: What do you do now?
B: I am a convenience store ruler.
A: Why is that?
B: Because the world is bigger than I thought."

The cherry race: 10km that I simultaneously remember and forget

Five months ago if anyone had asked me if I liked running, my answer would have probably been -

"Mmmm...not really. I mean I go running, *sometimes*, but I don't particularly enjoy it."

This is still the case, sometimes. But now, sometimes, I actually do like it.
It's not really something I expected to get into in a big way while in Japan - or ever, in fact. I think the main thing is, after a long run, the endorphins or whatever kick in and make me feel pretty good and manage to convince me that I truly enjoyed what I just did. Somehow all the discomfort of the run itself is forgotten.  It's all a mental thing, convincing myself to keep going, to forget about the hot pounding of my feet on pavement, that uncomfortable spot in my shoes, the shortness of breath, that point halfway through where I just want to stop and maybe never run again.

No, all of that is replaced by a sense of power and accomplishment and even elation at being able to cover a lengthy distance purely on my own strength. Everything I thought I hated about running is immediately erased from memory when the pavement-pounding ceases and I realize I've reached my daily goal.

Thanks to Kathie and Shirley, I've discovered that, while I'm still hesitant to say I LOVE running...I kinda like it. I had imagined myself one day in my life *maybe* trying a 5k race; instead, Kathie somehow convinced me that it was a good idea to sign up for a 10.

The race was in Higashine, Yamagata. A huge crowd showed up; whole classes of elementary students and families and babies and grandparents lined the streets to cheer and hold painted signs and high-five us as we ran by. Many people were costumed. Not the onlookers; the runners, especially the half-marathon participants. I even saw two guys going that distance in business suits; full-on business suits.

There was another guy who was just finishing his 21k as we passed on the way back to the car - he was wearing a long cape with the Japanese flag on it, some crazy gold hat, and carrying a giant golden ball. "Ganbare, ganbare! (good luck, fight, keep trying, etc.)". He stopped running, all smiles, and tossed us the ball, which appeared to be made of styrofoam. Not sure how he ran that distance carrying that thing, but he seemed to be having fun.

Cute babies! everywhere.

I was going a bit faster than I usually did in training - which I suppose is good, except I felt just about ready to pass out in the home stretch as I sped up to cross the finish line. And as usual, though I thought I hated my life for several kilometres and swore I would never put myself through this again, shortly after finishing I was already thinking about when I might try to do a race again and how it "really wasn't so bad". I'm not sure which side of myself I should believe.

Race swag.

It probably helped that we got cherries and onigiri for finishing the race. Yay Japan!

On Generosity

The other day I had no classes in the afternoon, and was trying very hard not to fall asleep at my desk, struggling to think of ways to keep myself alert, when the science teacher came over and offered me a dish of homemade yogurt. This is the fourth time in about a week that he’s brought his homemade yogurt to share with the entire staffroom. Times like these I think about how lucky I am to be here and in such a warm, friendly school.

Japanese people are overwhelmingly generous and hospitable, in a way that’s so engrained that thoughtfulness doesn’t even get a second thought. Take the science teacher, for instance. I had barely spoken to him at school before I ran into him at a local arts festival. He came with his wife, who had been invited by a friend of mine, the leader of her English conversation group. We chatted for a bit, both surprised to see each other outside of the staff room. The following Monday, he came by my desk to say – rather, read; he had prepared what he wanted to say on a piece of paper – that he enjoyed the arts festival and my set with Anthony; he said we had very good singing voices. He then asked if I liked Japanese culture (of course!), and lent me a book about traditional Japanese things like rock gardens, paper fans and soba noodles, written in both English and Japanese. Awesome, right?? Later he gave me some photographs he had taken at the event, and he gave gifts to my mom and aunt when they visited. Now he regularly comes and asks “can I talk with you?” whenever he’s looking for a chance to practice his English.

Last time he came over to chat was the time he brought the yogurt. He then asked me if I liked movies. He told me he had recently watched a Johnny Depp film with his family, and then mentioned another Japanese film, wondering if I had heard of it. I wasn’t sure until he began explaining the premise of the comedy – a man from ancient Rome is somehow transported to Japan. “Oh! I saw a preview…” hm. Would he be familiar with the word “preview”? “Chotto matte” (wait a minute) – and he ran back to his desk. To fetch his dictionary, I assumed. Nope. He came back with his iPad, and before I knew it he was pulling up the trailer and hitting play and we were watching it in the middle of the staffroom. Students coming in and out to ask teachers questions, teachers bustling by, busy with photocopying and lesson prep no doubt. And here we are, watching a trailer that is primarily made up of comedic scenes of men in bathhouses. But every other teacher who stopped to look at what we were watching immediately said, “ah, Thermae Romae! Funny movie. You should see it.”

Instances of generosity don’t stop there. There was the time my school nurse kindly helped me fix up my busted lip (*snowboarding incident*), and didn’t even laugh TOO much at my ridiculous-looking face. There was the time my school invited not only me but my mom and aunt as well to join the second-graders on their school trip to Hiraizumi. Or the time an elementary school secretary gave me her fan because I commented that it was nice. I tried to refuse, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Lesson learned: be careful with your compliments? Now whenever I compliment someone on something they have I get worried that they’re going to turn around and give it to me. There was also the time someone from my English conversation group sent me home with a loaf of fresh bakery bread and homemade jam because I had remarked that I missed the bread from home. Or when that same lady asked for my aunt and my mom to stay overnight at her house, and then treated them to a private onsen visit the next day while I had to work. Or the woman in a Kamakura cafe who gave us paper cranes made my her mother and told us to enjoy Japan.

I could go on. But basically Japan is pretty freakin generous and I never feel like I can quite repay it.

From the classroom, lunchroom and halls

My students crack me up daily. They are honestly the best part of my days, weeks, and life here.

For one thing, they are endlessly creative in their translations to English.  "Japanese speedy-speak" for "Japanese tongue twisters", "my foot was shocking" to describe how their feet fell asleep in Buddhist temple meditation, and "playing human watching" to describe the act of people-watching.

Sometimes it's just passing comments.

(at an elementary school)
me: How are you??
little boy: I'm CANDY!!!

(junior high - supposed to find a way to ask a teacher what they did on spring vacation)
"Do you spring vacation?"
(teacher relates the proper question to him) "What did you do on your spring vacation?"
"Yes I am!!"

(conversation in the hall with one of my junior high boys, who has clearly met me many times before)
"Hello!".
"Hello."
"Uhhhh...nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you too."
"I am...nice body!!!"
"oh."

I had a boy hand in a written assignment that said he got drunk on the bus on the class trip...but my teacher told me the Japanese sometimes translate the same word for "drunk" as "sick". That was an interesting one to figure out.

Sometimes they get creative with names.

Sometimes they mishear my English - today, instead of "at the end of April", they got "endless April", which they thought was hilarious. Everything in that class became "endless" - "endless April", "endless worksheet" (or something) and finally the classic "I am endless boy!"

One day at lunch one of my third-years decided it would be a good idea to make his regular milk into strawberry milk by mashing up his strawberry inside the carton. He enlisted his friends' help by asking for scissors so he could cut a hole in the top, which turned out to be a bit too small. Instead of fixing it he just set to work poking at the berry with his straw, attempting to squish it into his drink. During this process he squirted milk onto his school uniform. Panic ensued. His friend calmed the chaos by whipping something out of his pocket and saying reassuringly (in Japanese), "don't worry, I have tissues!!" I turned to the girls next to me and asked what they thought of the whole project.
"Crazy, crazy, crazy!"
"No. It's good idea."
"He's crazy. Crazy boy."
"No I'm not. I'm great!"


Later, to himself:
"I'm great!"


Later still:
"I'm strawberry."