1980s – Dog-eared Stories

Just West of the Midwest Chapter 12: Mountain Splendors, Mousy Men and Massive Ego Trips

Last weekend was a three-day holiday due to the Emperor’s Enthronement, so it was decided that me, Sam, Kyoto (the teacher/bartender that supposedly has the hots for me), and several of his friends would head to a festival in the mountains in the northern part of the prefecture.

I spent a very quiet Saturday night in Hyuga with Sam (it’s been known to happen) and early Sunday morning, Kyoto arrived at her doorstep in his Jeep, sans roof and doors.

Things were off to a good start.

About 45 minutes into the trip, we met up with the remainder of our party (which consisted of 4 cars and 8 people) and off we headed to Shiba for the Hietsuki-bushi Festival. The festival is a re-enactment of the love story between a young samurai of the Genji Clan and a Samurai’s beautiful daughter of the Heike Clan – the sworn enemies of the Genji. The epic feud (much like our Romeo and Juliet) between these two families to control Japan during the 12th century is one of the most famous of all the Japanese legends.

After enjoying the brisk but beautiful ride up, we came upon the tiny mountain town. Squeezing into a parking space and then squeezing through the crowded, narrow streets of the old village, we slowly serpentined our way through the masses to the parade route where – for once – my height had me at an advantage for being able to see over most of the crowd.

I began to hear a slow, low drum beat in the distance and anxiously waited for the procession to begin, watching the on-lookers around me as they, in turn, gave Sam and I a good looking-over. Slowly, the pageantry made its way in front of us and I was soon transported back in time, as all signs of the present faded away and my eyes focused solely on the ancient ceremony which strode past.

The soldiers, both young and old, marched by in somber procession clad in armor that clicked like winter branches against an icy wind. From behind them, I heard the steady, slow and mighty steps of mountainous horses as they made their way up the small street lined with hundreds of eager faces. A horse whinnied, which drew my attention toward the handsome and statuesque Samurai astride a massive, DaVinci-like steed.

Adorned in a rich tapestry of armor, he stood so tall and grand on his mount that he seemed to reach the ashen clouds above. He looked straight ahead, somber, dignified and determined in his role of lover and soldier. His almost perfect, almond-shaped eyes, shaded by thick, feathery lashes drew me into one, long gaze and spurned a desire for him to turn my way. Yet he never shifted his purposeful gaze. I watched he and his companion until they rode out of sight, at which point I turned my attention to the next procession that would prove even more enchanting than the last.

What I assumed to be Ladies in Waiting were next to pass before us. The kimono they wore were of such colors that a rainbow would have wept at the sight of them. Perched upon their heads were large, round headdresses draped in a white fabric that thinly shrouded the upper parts of their bodies, with the exception that through the front of the veiling you could just make out their silken, white complexions and dark, painted lips. I thought nothing could be more beautiful, more divine, until, close behind, I saw four soldiers carrying upon their shoulders the platform which held the Samurai’s love.

To try to find the words to describe her beauty is almost like trying to capture an autumn day in the palm of your hands. But when she passed my way, and our eyes met for a brief moment, I felt as if I had stared into an ethereal light.

Resplendent.

Perfection.

The slow beating of drums and the low rumbling of horns approaching from behind the beautiful, young lover intensified the already intensely hypnotic scene.

“Now this,” I whispered into the din of the crowd, “is the Japan I’ve been looking for.”

As I looked over the heads to Sam, who stood a few feet away, we both smiled, silently acknowledging how fortunate we were feeling. Even the intrusive attention Sam and I were receiving during the breathtaking procession did little to quell the joy I felt. I figured the sighting of two gaijin was probably a less common occurrence in this tiny, mountain village, than was this splendid festival. So, I simply kept my frustrations at bay, offering a friendly smile and hearty “Hello” to all who wanted to greet us with the one of the two English words they knew.

When the cavalcade disappeared behind the walls of the rickety, old village, Kyoto and I hopped back into the jeep (Sam now rode in one of the other cars, no doubt in order to give Kyoto and I some “alone” time – the manipulative wench.) and led the way further up the mountain, along the narrow, curving roads, passing one pastoral scene after the other. Somewhere along the way, as we edged along the road overlooking the valley far below, I noticed something rather peculiar in front of an old, tumbledown shack teetering on the mountain’s edge. It was a large, medieval-looking cage of rusted metal bars and within it, two immense, hairy beasts. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me and what I actually saw were, perhaps, two very large family dogs But a little further along, I saw a similar scene and turned to Kyoto with such a look of bewilderment that both he and I began to laugh.

Still laughing, Kyoto asked me if I knew what “inoshishi” was.

Responding with an even greater look of confusion, he pulled over at the next cage and gave me a good look at the objects trapped within. I now know the word for huge, smelly, hairy, black, wild boar. Obviously, these are not house pets, but what appears to be common fare for the mountain folks here.

“Aw, Mom, not wild boar AGAIN!”

Although I cringed at the thought of the creatures’ inevitable demise, , I had to remind myself that the only difference between this and passing a pig farm back home…

Sheer volume.

We drove on for quite some time, getting further and further from civilization.

And caged wild boars.

The further we drove, the more I was enjoying the day, despite the cooling temperatures and lack of protection from the elements. I simply wrapped myself in Kyoto’s jacket and found warmth from his smile.

He really is a very sweet fellow.

But before you “awwwwww” in unison, I’m just not feeling the sparks.

Yes, he’s kind.

Yes, he’s fun – and funny.

Yes he’s single.

And he’s showing me a Japan I would never see on my own.

But I’m just not feeling “it”.

Good thing you’re all thousands of miles away because I’m quite sure that last comment would have summoned hearty slaps from each of you.

But I can’t help it.

If there’s no chemistry, there’s no chemistry.

Before you verbally assault me, however, I’m not giving up altogether. We continue to do more and more things together and I enjoy his company, so let’s just see where that takes us.

Honestly, I was lying in bed last night thinking about all of this and it hit me.

I actually enjoy being single.

I like the freedom.

I like the flirtations.

I like the fact that I’ve made certain choices in my life without having to consider how it will affect another individual.

It’s only the lack of sex that really sucks.

And until someone comes along to change my mind about all of this, there’s not much I – or for that matter, you – can do about it.

So, offering forth my very best raspberry, I salute you!

And with that, on with the story at hand.

The further we headed up the mountain, the narrower and less travelled the roads became until they were barely more than dirt ruts towered over by tall pines and snow-capped peaks. About an hour passed when Kyoto finally pulled over beside a river and with his huge, crooked grin, informed me we had arrived. Crossing through the river (there was no bridge), with the caravan close behind, we began to set up camp on an embankment close to where the river tumbled over a waterfall and continued on its southern course through the mountains.

Firewood was collected, tents were pitched and sleeping gear was stowed. For Sam and I, this consisted of several pastel-colored comforters from Sam’s house.

What can I say, camping gear did not make the short list of “Things to bring to Japan.”

We stuffed the blankets into our tent and tried our best to ignore the obvious… Most likely, we were going to freeze our asses off that night.

Kyoto was suddenly looking more attractive.

Though our camping gear was sparse, our fellow campers accoutrements made up for it. At first, I thought they’d overdone it by bringing practically an entire kitchen and three-quarters of their living room, but I had to admit that all of these luxuries added to our enjoyment of the evening. After settling in, the women (of course) began food preparation and although Sam and I offered repeatedly, they politely refused our assistance. I didn’t know whether to be indebted or indignant, but after sitting next to the fire with a blanket wrapped around me and a beer in my hand, I quickly chose the former and spent the remainder of the evening eating, drinking, laughing and stargazing.

I did, in fact, freeze my ass off, but managed to wake the next morning with a surprisingly sunny disposition. Especially considering there were several points during the evening when I couldn’t decide whether to cry – as I shivered uncontrollably through the various stages of Hypothermia – or simply skip all the stages of freezing to death and slip into a sleepy coma.

After a leisurely breakfast (which Sam and I, once again, had absolutely nothing to do with) we packed up our gear, cleaned up our mess and headed further north through the mountains.

The scenery was extraordinary.

The autumn colors were at their peak and being in the jeep made me feel as if I had plummeted into a pile of leaves. It’s hard to compare the fall colors here to those I grew up with on the shores north of Chicago, except to say that the autumn of my upbringing bellows and blazes and brags of its fleeting beauty; while here, on the island of Kyushu, autumn floats in with a whisper.

Subdued.

Serene.

All along the gravel road which took us further and further into the forest, waterfalls cascaded down the mountainside. As we passed nearby in our open vehicle, I could feel the icy mist against my wind-blown cheeks. I felt so alive and so happy to be alive that I was sure an irrepressible squeal of delight would force its way through my throat at any moment. But startling Kyoto while he maneuvered along the edge of these precarious roads was probably not the best idea, so I suppressed my urge into a smile so unyielding that it made my face hurt.

We stopped and drank from one of the waterfalls. It was sweet and cold and clear. And flooded my mind with wonderful memories of the summers I spent at camp in Colorado.

The higher and higher we climbed, the sharper the air became and the more the autumn colors began to melt away, leaving in their wake forests of naked trees with branches as waxen and sullen as icicles set against a grey, winter sky.The further down the road we travelled, the more I began to understand the significance of the mountainscape, or fukei, which is reflected everywhere (besides those “western-styled” rooms) in Japanese culture.

In traditional clothing.

Earthenware. Art. Music.

Even the quintessential Japanese garden is designed to mirror what is seen in a natural mountain setting.

Once reaching the peak, we pulled to the side of the road and climbed out to have a look at where we had just been and there we stood, smiling and giggling and rubbing the cold out of our hands, until the caravan became anxious to move on.

We continued west through the spectacular countryside of Kumamoto-ken until we reached Naidai Jinkyo, an enormous red bridge that spans over a valley and river. The bright red of the bridge set against the deep greens of the fields and forests below was both dissonant and dynamic, making me feel as if there ever was a man-made object created to worship and respect the scenery it intrudes, this was it.

We bought some roasted corn from a vendor set up nearby and strolled to the center of the bridge where we gazed down below at the tiny village and geometrically aligned rice fields. From where we stood high above the rolling terrain, the sleepy countryside looked like the coolest model train set ever. Not wishing to miss a single perspective, I leaned over the edge of the bridge until my head began to spin and a brisk gust of wind set me right again.

As we wove our way back home, Kyoto asked me if I wanted to join him for a dance festival in Nishimura the following week and without a moment’s hesitation, I said yes. The festival is known as “Yokagura” or God’s Banquet. Beginning in November, the festival gives thanks for a good harvest and offers prayers for next year’s harvest. It’s a celebration during which people gather weekly at different homes (or public stages) called Kagura Yado. There, participants drink sake, sing and watch dancers perform the “Kagura”, ancient theatrical dances which, Kyoto tells me, tell tales of Gods and Goddesses and the creation of Japan.

The dances – and the celebration – last all night long.

I can hardly wait.

All I Can Say Is…<

The other day, as I was returning home after school, a little girl was walking just ahead of me after having purchased candy from the local grocer. Eager to bite into her sweet treat, she tore off the wrapper and threw it on the ground. I didn’t mean to startle her, but I’ve never been tolerant of littering. So, I picked up the wrapper, tapped her on the shoulder and explained in my broken Japanese that what she did was not good and would she please throw the paper in the garbage. I then continued on my way, looking back only once to see her still standing there – wrapper in hand – as chocolate dribbled from the side of her mouth, desperately looking left and right for somewhere to deposit her trash. All I can say is… although she probably only understood half of what I was saying, I think I made an impact on her. I’m just not sure how much the environment will benefit from my scaring the crap out of a little girl.
Something happened at the office the other day which gave me hope that I was making some progress with my Japanese. Tomioka-san came into the office and noticed that I was wearing my Greek sailor’s cap in my usual manner – in reverse. He commented that my hat was on backward. Without hesitation, I corrected him – in Japanese – saying, “Actually, my head is on backwards.” The look of surprise on his face (and those who overheard our conversation) was absolutely priceless. Suddenly the entire office was laughing. All I can say is… for the first time since I arrived, I feel as if there’s a chance of hurdling myself over the language barrier.
Sam has been dating this guy in Hyuga and after they’d been out one night, he walked her home. When they got to the door, she thought she’d help him in his assumedly romantic endeavors by suggesting he give her a goodnight kiss on HER CHEEK. His response was simple and direct. He croaked, “SHY BOY!” and ran screaming into the security and dark of the night. Sam sat on her stoop for moments afterward trying to make some sense of it all. She then calmly picked herself up, walked into her house, stuck her head in a pillow and screamed. Combine this with the fact that I spent an entire weekend with Kyoto and he never even tried to hold my hand. All I can say is… there may be a lot of roosters around our proverbial hen houses here, but all they do is “Cock-a-doodle-don’t!”
As for things back in Shintomi… the other day, I got on my bicycle and went to Tonda Beach for the first time since my arrival. The beach is very close to my apartment and quite lovely, except for all the litter. It inspired me to talk to the Board of Education about arranging a clean-up day with my students and trying to get some trash cans, trash bags and t-shirts donated from local businesses for the event. All I can say is… if that little girl with the chocolate bar has spread the story of her scary encounter with me, I should at least be able to intimidate of few children to participate in the event.

I had my first visit to an elementary school this week. I visited Kaminyuta Shogakko and the entire school was led into the gymnasium to greet me. Two students welcomed me with speeches in English and I introduced myself in Japanese. I was then serenaded by all the students and was invited to play Dodge Ball during lunch break. During the course of the game, I was barely allowed to move my hands – or body – into action, as at least four children on either side of me held onto my arms, dragging me from one end of the playing field to the next, screaming, “Anne-san, Anne-san, Abunai! Abunai!” (Watch out!) I felt like a human wishbone. I loved every second. All I can say is… the stir my visit caused was no less exciting than a child’s first encounter with Santa Claus (and considering my recent weight gain, the physical similarities were eerie, to say the least).

During the game, one little girl did not move from my side. Her teacher explained that even though my little companion did not like the game in the least, she was willing to risk being hit by the ball for a chance to be near me. And if this wasn’t enough, after lunch, I was presented with an armful of gifts the children had made in honor of my visit. There were beautiful origami figures, a paper necklace, paper dolls, an array of pictures illustrating famous Japanese cartoon characters, and even portraits of me. I was also bombarded with questions – one of the most popular being what kind of music I like. Sadly, the answers, Pink Floyd, Frank Sinatra, and The Beatles left my tiny interviewers with lost expressions. As far as their knowledge of Western music goes, it’s either Michael – or Janet – Jackson, Madonna, New Kids on the Block – or nothing. All I can say is… music will NOT be our common ground for promoting international understanding.
As we drove away from school that day, many of the children ran beside the car, calling out my name and yelling good-bye, and for days, the thought of my visit has brought a huge smile to my face and a pang in my heart. All I can say is…. talk about your ego trip.

Just West of the Midwest Chpater 26: We Wish We Were Well

Last Saturday, I was up bright and early and on a 7:30 a.m. train to Miyazaki. Not for shopping, sightseeing, or even a lovely breakfast, mind you, but to pick up trash along the Oyodo River. It all started a few weeks back when my friend, Vance, asked some of us if we wanted to do some rafting.

“Sure,” I said eagerly. I hadn’t been rafting since my summers in Colorado and I was itching to do it again. I signed my name on the dotted line, paid my fee, and only then did Vance offer more details. It seems that for the past 15 years, a rafting race called the Ikada Kudari has been run on the Oyodo River from Takaoka to Miyazaki. But it’s not just any ol’ race. Contestants are also required to build their rafts from scratch.

Not exactly the whitewater excursion I had in mind.

Good thing I adore Vance. He’s such a great guy – with his big Beagle eyes and huge grin – funny as hell, animated as all get out, and speaks Japanese with such proficiency that I love to just stand back and watch him blow most Japanese away.

Vance and I were our team’s only representatives on the day of the river clean-up (a warning sign, in hindsight), but we happily joined a crowd of about 500 people strolling along the grassy banks picking up an odd piece of refuse here and there. While talking with people along the way, I learned that there would be a total of 90 rafts and about 1,000 people involved in the race and that our team would be the first gaijin – sorry, “foreign” team ever to participate.

After the clean up, Vance and I headed out of Miyazaki to where the raft and most of our other team members were. There would be a total of nine people, including two Japanese girls, Miho (who arrived at the site with her boyfriend in tow wearing a lime green track suit, criticized the raft and, two minutes later, departed) and Miki, whom we would not meet until the day of the event.

When I initially caught sight of our raft through my sweat-soaked eyes (it was about 100 degrees F and 5,000,000% humidity) I knew we had a long, long, long day ahead of us.

Earlier that week, we had come up with a team name of “The Sirens” named for the mythical mermaids who lured sailors to their deaths with their songs. Looking at our sad, half-built, wholly unsound vessel, however, I was now confident that the only thing we would be tempting was our own fate.

The contraption being built was supposed to stay afloat for the 6 hour journey down river, but all I saw was a lopsided platform that couldn’t possibly stay afloat for 6 minutes – let alone hold a team of nine. But as the Japanese say, “Ganbatte!” (Do your best!) and we did just that. By the end of the day, and after many revisions, the original design (which was about as balanced as a drunk on a roller-coaster) was modified and we were almost completely confident the platform could, quite possibly, stay somewhat afloat.

We also came up with an additional environmentally-themed slogan which matched both our ecological concerns and our sentiments at day’s end: “We Wish We Were Well.” We even created a large banner to bring aboard which was the image of the Earth – cracked and bandaged.

The next weekend, we made our final revisions, delivered it to the riverside, hoisted our team flag and joined in the opening night festivities. Once again, without the assistance of our Japanese teammates. The only reason we can now figure why they wanted to be a part of this event was to have the novelty of saying they were on the gaijin, sorry, “foreign” team.

At the opening event that night, I ran into several of the fellows from my town hall’s computer department, including Sunada. Apparently, they’ve been in the race for the past 3 years and boasted that they would certainly beat us the next day.

Race? I’m just looking to stay afloat!

That evening, we ate and drank to our hearts – and stomachs’ – content. We danced and sang, agreed to do a couple of television interviews and, at the end of the night, there was a raffle. Believe it or not, for the very first time in my life, I won a prize, a really nice CD/Radio/Cassette player!

As for the next day’s race… when we first dropped it into the water, I found myself almost as embarrassed as the time in 8th grade when Blake Heron (on behalf of Tom Peterson, 8’11”) broke up with me (at the time about 3’7″) at the beach in front of all my friends. Blake said that Tom said that it was because I told him to “shut up,” but I knew it was because everyone thought we were a joke.

Our Japanese team members finally showed up minutes before we were to disembark and I have to admit that Miki (the gal I had not previously met) turned out to be quite lively and fun. Miho (once again wearing that damn lime green sweat suit), however, was about as bearable as the black plague.

Despite how mortified I felt hopping onto our sad, little receptacle, I have to admit I was soon having a great time – thanks to Audra and especially, Vance, who (clad in his khakis, white button-up, white gloves, sunglasses and green fedora) looked a sight lounging and laughing as if our raft was a yacht in the Hamptons. And so we began our journey, slowly floating down the river on this warm, overcast day, passing and being passed by rafts of all shapes and sizes.

Some of the rafts were truly spectacular. Decorated from bow to stern. Complete with gadgets and devices. Ranging in design from the sublime to the ridiculous. One team built a raft which resembled the Red Baron’s bi-plane, complete with spinning propeller. Another was built from the frame of an actual automobile. There was a giant Buddah, a monstrous devil, an Egyptian barge, an enormous Japanese folk dancer whose arms and legs moved. And my favorite, a massive black beetle whose legs, wings and antenna all moved, propelled by a bicycle in the belly of the insect.All in all, the rafts were awesome and we were soon comforted by the fact that at least four other rafts that we saw were as ugly as ours. This gave us strength to hold our heads high.

At least high enough to down a few beers.

Our raft got off to a good start and soon showed every sign that it might actually stay above water for the entire journey. As we made our way down river, we exchanged drinks, jokes and food with other rafts. (Side note: I unwittingly ate tongue for the third time since being in Japan. If it happens again, I plan to cut out my own.) Except for a few sand bank hazards and a couple of very timid areas of whitewater, the Oyodo is a mild river, which meant much of the time we took turns paddling just to keep moving.

At least most of us did.

Miho, that paragon of lime green polyester, never lifted a finger.

And Cherri only pretended to paddle.

Despite a few mutinous moments, we did manage to act as a team. We were also surprised that we were not only passing many of the entrants, but witnessed raft after raft break apart or run ashore while ours not only stayed together, but stayed the course. Many of those who ran ashore simply couldn’t be bothered to turn their attention from their grills to find the right current to move down river. It was clear that everyone was simply there to have fun and enjoy the day. And not a single raft followed any of the event rules – no alcohol, no swimming, no feet dangling.

In the end, The Sirens actually made great time, finishing 6th out of one hundred teams. We blew Sunada and the other computer boys out of the water. One of their two rafts sank, while the other arrived an hour after us. Our team didn’t stay for the closing ceremonies because we had to get our raft moved to an abandoned lot and completely disassembled before heading home and to work the following day.

Miho conveniently got seasick and disappeared before the disassembly of the raft began.

I hope she threw up all over her lime green sweat suit.

Final Tidbits

Last week, I had my last Eikaiwa (Adult English Conversation Class) for the year at the Community Center and they threw a party afterward. I’m really going to miss this group. They were always so much fun to be around. I can only hope my next group will be as pleasant.
I learned last month that Yamamoto-sensei was diagnosed with cancer. He went into the hospital last week and had most of his left lung removed. I went with Kubota-sensei to visit him and was surprised to see how well he seemed to be doing… considering. Man, I’ve got to quit smoking.
Two of my Kyoiku Inkai (Board of Education) Family, Akiko-san and Hiejiima-kakaricho, have been moved to different positions in the Town Hall and I’m very saddened by their departure from my office. My remaining office family has informed me that they never want me to leave Shintomi. I told them it was a lovely thought, but that I honestly couldn’t see myself being an AET for more than another year. They’ve decided to make it their goal to make me fluent by the end of my contract so that I can apply for a CIR (International Relations) position. If I accomplish this, they’ve promised to buy and renovate an old, abandoned schoolhouse I’ve fallen in love with near the beach. Much of this was discussed under the cozy blanket of food and drink. However, it’s nice to dream. And even nicer to be wanted and loved.
Last weekend was the first free weekend I’ve had in months and I enjoyed it all by myself. I went to the beach on Saturday and was the only one for miles. With no swimming at the beach due to heavy currents, I simply basked in the sun, read and wrote. Relishing the peace and solitude. That is, until two Jeeps filled with obnoxious teenagers came screaming onto the beach, revving their engines just a few feet from me and attempting something vaguely similar to wolf whistles. I desperately wanted to give them the finger and tell them to “Fuck off!”, but there were two inherent flaws in this. One: They likely wouldn’t understand what “Fuck Off!” meant (or at least what I meant by it). Two: Japanese youth seem to think that giving someone the finger is equivalent to a friendly wave, or a peace sign. The only other downer that day was getting a flat tire on my bicycle.
I was put into an awkward cultural corner the other night when I was given the honor of being served whale. I detest the idea that these gentle giants are still being slaughtered and really abhorred the idea of eating it, but I had no choice. Refusing the honor would have been a grave insult to my host. Damn, that sucked. And to the curious, remember back to the National Geographic photos of Inuit chewing on blubber and imagining what that must taste like? That’s exactly what it tastes like. Cold, greasy, flavorless blubber.

My love to all and here’s hoping that your summer days are mild and breezy, instead of so hot and sticky that one day, as you innocently walk down the street, you fall prey to someone’s discarded chewing gum and in the same fashion as the prehistoric tar pits, you begin to trap small animals, children, city refuse and other nasty, little life forms on the bottom of your shoe until you, yourself, are merely one more victim who has fallen prey to the Juicy Fruit nightmare that haunts us all.

Just Wet of the Midwest Chapter 32: Festival Fever

There’s a never-ending cycle of organized social festivals found throughout the year in Japan where I’ve been able to experience this culture in all its splendor, ceremony and sameness. The festivals usually involve synchronized dancing, a copious amount of drinking and eating, and the generally happy gathering of a remarkably large and similarly dressed extended family.

Somewhere – at some point – at nearly all of these festivals, there’s a parade.

A stream of objects and people. Colorfully costumed.

Radiant.

Graphic.

Assembled in ensembles.

Moving en masse.

From the streets, as an innocent onlooker, it’s a delight to watch the well-oiled cogs of the Japanese community at play.

Great rivers of color and movement.

Drifting and converging.

On January 16th, there’s the national holiday, Seijinshiki (Seijin meaning adult or grown-up), which is a celebration for those reaching the age of twenty.

Towns and villages throughout the country sponsor “Coming of Age” ceremonies. It’s hard not to get lost in the elegance and awkward grace of these young adults.

Especially the young women.

So rich in color and texture that anything or anyone surrounding them dissolves into the background.

Their black, shiny hair curled and twisted with flowers and ribbons.

Their skin, milky white.

And lips, cherry red.

Hidden smiles behind colorful fans.

Or delicate, porcelain hands.

Each kimono, bright and splendid.

Each obi, so masterfully and uniquely tied.

Reading like a family crest of silk, ribbon and embroidery.

Quintessential.

Exquisite.

Timeless.

On March 3rd, even though the festival originally marked the passage of 5 years for boys, Koimatsuri (Boys Day), now shares the pond with Kodomo-no-Hi (Children’s Day) and Hina-matsuri (Girls’ Festival). During this celebration, brightly colored Koi streamers flutter overhead everywhere.

Across streets.

From tree to tree, house to house.

Swimming against the currents of wind.

Symbolizing the hope that the children of Japan will be strong.

Healthy.

Perseverant.

Such as the carp fighting its way up stream.

Where, it is said, lie the great falls.

Where stands a gate.

Beyond which is a dragon’s life for the determined koi.

In first part of April there is the fantastically fragrant Cherry Blossom season (Hanami) during which celebrations to welcome spring take place day and night beneath the blossoming trees.

The other day at work, Kuranaga-kacho told Akiko and I to go.

Honor the blossoms.

So, the two of us drove to Saitobaru Burial Mounds where we lazily strolled down the rows of cherry trees.

Beneath their brief, but intoxicating peak.

Relishing, amid the petals, our temporary release from the office.

After the graduation ceremonies in March, come the entrance ceremonies in April.

During this time, there are also parties to say good-bye to old office mates and hello to new co-workers when transfers, promotions and retirements happen in one broad sweep.

Just as in mid-December, there is a Bonnenkai, or Year End Office party, during which failures, frustrations and disappointments are forgotten and only successes are toasted.

Oddly enough, this notion strikes the same chord as the unspoken day-after-drinking protocol in Japan. Whatever happens the night before, remains in the already-forgotten past by morning.

Convenient.

If not slightly lily-livered.

Especially since this applies mostly to men who seem to imbibe – and misbehave – far more than the women here do.

Even with the festival-filled days of summer past, the Japanese fill the cooling days and typhoon season with athletics, as well as cultural and harvest celebrations, such as the Tsukumatsuri (Festival of the Moon) in September.

Being the Land of the Rising Sun, you’d think they’d worship that big red ball on their flag a bit more. But here in Japan, men and women (especially the women) shun the sun with scarves, hats and parasols.

Sometimes all at once.

Instead, they worship the moon and love spending time celebrating its greatness beneath its fair light.

And no fall – or spring – would be complete in Japan without Ensoku, an athletic festival. Exercise is elemental to the Japanese way of thinking. It’s not only a part of school life, but office and social life.

I remember attending my first Ensoku at Tonda Junior High. The school grounds and surrounding woods were an ocean of sea green, genderless, gym suits milling about or engaged in some planned activity or another.

I swam among them.

Joining a search.

Or a game.

Making them use English.

Struggling with my Japanese.

I always love the time I have outside class with my students. When the eyes of their sensei are no where in sight. And the distance to the front of the classroom has disappeared.

All I Can Say Is…

Yet another birthday has passed and even though I kept things far more subdued than last year, I still managed to celebrate plenty. In addition to flowers, a boatload of handkerchiefs and more booze than is good for me, my office family gave me an unbelievably cool Canon 35mm camera. All I can say is… if they get any more endearing I might consider adopting each and every one of them.
I’m trying to keep up with world events, so I won’t get too out of touch with the outside world. All I can say is… What the hell is going on out there?