Commuting

On my way to work this morning, I walked past a barrier constructed from poles with a hoop either end, snugly fitting around the peaks of traffic cones; a seemingly pointless erection (of which Japan has many), since it consisted of three sides of a square and contained no immediately obvious chasm.

I was walking at the same pace as a very busy, and no doubt, incredibly important man who appeared to be heading straight for this apparent impasse.

Just as quickly as I'd noticed him, he produced his umbrella and used it to lift one of the poles, as if it were the automatic arm of a car park. Not even stopping to look, he passed under, let the arm drop and it fell back into place with a precision to make fairground attendants weep.

I was very impressed, and not a little incredulous, as there was ample space for him to simply walk around it. This uncompromising approach to obstacles didn't strike me as particularly Japanese until I remembered what time it was.

The deferential manner one imagines the Japanese possessing simply doesn't apply during rush hour. It's every man for himself, and God help you if you get in someones way. This unremitting zeal for getting to work isn't one I subscribe to. I'm fortunate in that most days I'm able to walk to my assigned school. Hayley on the other hand, having to travel to and from Tokyo every day, is experiencing a notoriously Japanese phenomenon - that of starting the day by being tightly packed into a tube of suits and briefcases. Commuting by train clearly demonstrates the Japanese "you can fit more in there" ethic.

Indeed, few are at their best first thing in the morning, least of all me. I however am yet to let my moral fibre take a tumble greater than cycling on the pavement. In recent weeks, Hayley has witnessed near fisticuffs between two elderly "ladies" over a seat on a bus, whilst I have seen a doddery old gentleman, taking his time in disembarking, actually being pushed out of a train by younger, more able bodied folk with a greater than octogenarian awareness of how truly short life is.

Situations like those seen every morning at train stations across Japan, in the UK would produce pitched battles and quite possibly deaths, as jostling commuters are shoved beneath oncoming trains. This hemmed in tension is very Japanese.

The day to day "let's all get along, ooo don't we live in a crime-free happy paradise?" attitude conceals the deeper resentment of keeping face within the group, readily submitting to others, putting oneself second; an active volcano that still erupts every now and then.

Which is not to say the explanation that the anonymity of commuting allows people to exorcise their anger in a scramble for their immediate needs is anything more than an oversimplification. It may be that uchi and soto (inside and outside) are at work here, and those outside of your group, be they Japanese or non, simply aren't as important as your group...and God help them if they get in your way.

Text found on the front of a diary in a bookshop

"There is a deep seated tendency among Europeans to make much of things which have come down from the past."

...erm...pot, kettle, black?

...done it again, haven't I?

...must...keep...writing...

In defence of English Cooking...the birth of a paradigm

I'm standing on the shoulders of a giant here, but it needs to be said.

At school today (a new one) I got chatting to the Kyoto Sensei (Vice Principal) about a variety of things, for example, whether or not England uses the Euro. He was surprised to learn that she doesn't, and I can understand that gap of knowledge - manners monetary bypass me deftly.

Something that has come to my attention frequently however, is how revolting English food is perceived to be. He approached me conspiratorially,

"Chris, I've heard that English food really isn't nice at all..."

I then went on to describe the joy of Shepherds Pie and the necessity of a gas oven.

The list is interminable. Who can beat a full English Breakfast? Yorkshire Puddings sailing across a sea of gravy to a continent of beef? Cheese & Pickle?

Japanese isn't a cuisine which uses herbs - maybe a shiso leaf underneath a piece of raw squid, but the emphasis is on the purity and freshness of ingredients. There, the cannon is loaded for a common volley. The perception of English food, much like one I've heard about curry, is that condiments and flavourings are used to disguise the taste of food, which in its basic form is unpalatable. English folk (vegetarians aside) know as well as I do, that a nice bit of chicken is only made nicer by a bit of Rosemary.

Boiled meat has noses turned up from all across the world, but I'm not sure that the Kyoto Senseis' opinion of English cooking stems from that, as Shabu Shabu, one of the pricier dishes over here, is high quality meat boiled in a tofu & seaweed stock.

Invariably, when two cultures meet, differences are talked over, and food is an obvious choice. I've yet to meet a Japanese person who isn't deeply suspicious of English food, despite being unable to name a dish apart from Fish and Chips.

Once an idea begins to put down roots, it's difficult to prune it without access to the right information. Rumours about the low quality of raw ingredients, requiring a list of condiments that themselves may be off-putting to the uninitiated (brown sauce?!) coupled with minimal opportunity to provide the accused with a fair trial, results in the poor image English cooking receives.

Then characters like Jacques Chirac denounce English cooking as second worst in Europe after Finnish. Proving, indubitably, that whatever our problems internationally, it's all the fault of the French.

Mou chotto yukuri itte kudasai...

...or in English, "can you speak a little more slowly please?"

I've been saying that a lot for the past couple of days. The Koucho Sensei of my current school is a splendidly nice man, friendly, enthusiastic, interested in Japanese history and quite willing to share his views. The problem is that he overestimates my language abilities, and talks incredibly fast in a very gruff, manly accent, akin to Rowlf speaking Japanese whilst buzzing his tits off.

I did manage to glean the following from him - that he is incredibly interested in old things...that Kiyomizudera is best viewed in the early morning when there are no tourists...that, although not quite on the same scale as Stonehenge, Japan has her own stone circle and that ancient records from European countries are easier to read than those in Japan, because of the way in which paper was made...I think...

Attention please...

Not content with just three, I've started yet another new blog...expect a fifth shortly...

You all look the same to me...

I've been to an elementary school today - not one of my most frequently visited, but one I've seen enough times to recognise most of the staff. This familiarity isn't totally reciprocated.

This morning, I was mistaken for the ALT who visited the school yesterday - a bespectacled gentleman with blonde hair who goes by the name of Andy. We're hardly separated at birth.

This has happened many times. John is a well built fellow with very little hair. His own students (at the Junior High level) thought I was he, presumably wearing some sort of toupee, when I happened to walk past their school. Most bafflingly, I have been mistaken for Erik - an indeterminate weight of muscle and drive with a near fluent command of Japanese...not attributes I can stake a claim to.

To be honest though, I find it nigh on impossible to distinguish Chinese from Japanese (until they start speaking that is); a short-coming that would touch a nationalistic nerve on both sides of the faux pas.

Everybody's sick...

A banner hanging from one of the third grade classroom windows, visible from the school gates, once read "A RAY OF HOPE" . Maybe in sympathy towards the current health of much of the staff, the banner has seen better days, now bearing the legend "A RAY OF H P".

The morning meeting is punctuated with sneezes, like a bizarre reworking of the 1812 Overture. Faces are white, eyes red. Everybody looks like two Japanese flags lying next to each other.

The pinnacle (or should that be abyss?) of our collective sickness is a certain science teacher, who currently resembles an animated corpse. The last time I was at this school, he collapsed. He isn't an elderly chap either, spending just as long on this planet as I have.

Why doesn't he go home? Would anybody hate him? Why is he here? I know why I'm here - I'm not anywhere near as sick as he is, and I don't have half as much work to do as him. I couldn't possibly take a day off...

...and suddenly, part of the Japanese mentality was revealed unto mine eyes...

It may be that our valiant teacher has some form of Wonder Drug coursing through his system, which prevents him from melting into the puddle of goo he clearly feels like.

Government approved drugs are the answer to all our physical problems it would seem. On those odd occasions when I've decided I'm far too snotty to risk infecting my students (the poor little lambs), I've called in sick. In response to my declaration of having a cold, my illustrious employers have suggested I take some medicine and see a Doctor. Being British, I know as well as any Doctor, that the only cure for the common cold is sleeping in, drinking tea and not getting out of ones pyjamas.

The attitude over here seems to be that unless the ailment is life threatening, the correct approach is to block out the symptoms, so the person can continue to work. Take my infamous back complications (please, take them) - flared up again after a reckless approach to picking up toothpaste.

When I finally made it to the Doctors, I presented the history of my treatment. He knew the word "physiotherapy", but that level of treatment apparently wouldn't be necessary. What I needed was drugs and lots of them - muscle relaxants, pain killers & stomach settlers to combat any adverse reactions from the other two.

This however is merely brushing dust under a carpet - I have since run out of drugs & am in considerable pain. The problem is that encounters like this leave me deeply mistrustful of Japanese hospitals...only in March, they wanted to keep me in for tonsillitis.

I know the NHS has its' problems, but I wouldn't say no to a waiting list right now...

To smoke, or not to smoke?

The authority of the Koucho (Principal) Sensei, one of the most profoundly uncharismatic men I’ve ever met, is a flimsy thing. That the aforementioned smug buffoon has a picture of himself over his desk, bearing the kanji Gakkouchou (lit. "School Chief") is but a minor raspberry.

Once upon a time, before I arrived in Japan, teachers could smoke openly in the staff room. A Government proclamation changed all that, and teachers were required to leave the premises in order to smoke. That makes perfect sense to me - after all, the students are in and out of the staff room all the time, and aside from the example that the teachers are supposed to lead, there are health issues.

All well and good. Some schools however, have secret places within the grounds where those of a fumigatory inclination can engage in a sneaky puff or two inbetween classes. The smokers den at my current school isn't so secret, it being nothing more than a step outside the teachers room, which the students walk past every day in order to come to or leave school. So much for setting a good example.

Then, this year, the Kouchou Sensei declared that enough was enough, and that the smokers had to behave. Each offending party (myself included at the time) was presented with a portable ashtray. That seemed to do the trick for a month or so...

I gave up smoking a while ago, but I still like sitting on that step every now and then. I noticed today that an old tin has been reinstated as an ashtray and general fag-end tomb. Who should then walk by, but the Administrator of School Affairs (a Social Studies Teacher, who seemed genuinely surprised when I told him that English people don't drop everything at three o'clock in order to have a cup of tea), no less than the third in command to the Kouchou, wandering around, smoking a cigarette with an attitude I can only describe as cavalier.

Tobacco is virulently available in Japan, most street corners sporting at least one vending machine, the only thing stopping minors (ie, those under twenty) from purchasing, being a drawing of a hand in the "STOP!" position, and one of those red circles with a line through the middle. On top of this, the average price of a packet of twenty is one pound fifty, and for Asia, that's expensive.

According to an article in the New York Times from 1993 by James Sterngoldlt,

"The Finance Ministry, the most powerful arm of the (Japanese) Government, operates a near monopoly in the production and sale of cigarettes."

In 1992, the company Japan Tobacco (two thirds of which is owned by the Government), generated a staggering $15 billion in taxes. This Government involvement in tobacco production stems from the turn of the century, when Imperialist Japan needed to fund wars with China, and later Russia.

I heartily recommend reading the full article, as it's really very interesting, and has some almost hilarious quotes from pro-tobacco voices, naturally from the Ministry of Finance/Japan Tobacco...




Thirteen years after that was written, there seems to be a series of foils to these diabolical machinations, finding form in the truly inspired "smoking manners" campaign, some slogans of which verge on poetry. It is definately worth looking at.

Smokers face restrictions in where and when they can smoke, and are encouraged to carry portable ashtrays, resulting in streets that put England to shame. Despite this, one "smoking manners" poster complains that the most frequently spotted rubbish is discarded cigarette ends. It then goes on to depict a crushed stub, uncannily shaped like an adjacent map of Japan.

One writer has observed that the bulk of such campaigns are geared more towards tidiness rather than health. This is probably because research into the ill effects of tobacco naturally isn't getting funded by the Ministry of Finance. All is not lost though - last year in sunny Kawasaki, the Council decreed that people would be fined for walking and smoking at the same time. This was in order to, and I quote,

"...reduce the risk of smokers setting fire to passers-by."

I'm glad somebody finally decided to tackle that issue.

Eikaiwa...and Nihongo kaiwa?

Well, so much for updating every day. In recent months, my evenings have been chocka-block with English conversation classes.

English education is a massive industry in Japan, the diabolical Nova being but one head on a veritable Hydra of Eikaiwa Kaisha (English Conversation Companies). Although some former employees have said it isn't all that bad, I consider myself fortunate not to be attached to a company like Nova (running joke over here is that it's short for "NO VAcation"). What I have is a couple of private classes, both of which just seemed to fall into my lap.

One is about fourteen adults in Yokohama, from all walks of life. This is in something of a classroom setting, and I am completely responsible for materials, lesson plans et al. This is the sort of thing I learned to do in the CELTA. Teaching adults who actually want to learn allows me to things that I'd never dream of doing with teenagers.

Tonight, I've been at a much more informal affair at a local Elementary School. My students are all teachers at this school, and I've worked with them in my day to day job.

The set up is this - we sit around a table. We drink coffee. We eat biscuits. We gossip. I get paid.

Tonight, I did something I've been planning for ages, namely, creating a CD of the most weirdly obscure and scary Japanese music I could, and subjecting these poor women to it. They were very patient, considering the looks of genuine anguish on their faces.

If that wasn't enough, on wednesdays I have a Japanese conversation class...this has had me appearing on Kawasaki Radio, and on saturday, will take me to some education centre, where I'll be giving some sort of presentation for some reason in front of an indeterminate number of people...so, the only writing I've been doing in recent days is this speech...

...so, no daily update, and a series of excuses...tune in next time when you'll read Shining Love Pig saying...

The Tension of Tests

The English testing system over here is idiotic.

Today, I took a class of Third Year students through the rough equivalent of a dry run of their upcoming tests...although, they do so many a year that it's hard to know how decisive this particular run will be.

The procedure involves a simple greeting and maybe a few appropriately pitched questions. Then I hand them a small piece of text that may have come from a copy of "101 Paths: A Road Map to Good Citizenship". The student then reads this special brand of Japanese English and answers some utterly facile questions about what was written within. This done, the paper is discarded to make way for a couple of completely unrelated and confusing questions, before being returned to for a "what do you think?" section. There are two given answers, a positive and a negative, implied by the text and expected of a well behaved member of society.

Naturally, the students who did well in this little ballet are those I know to be diligent and capable. However, it's not their English prowess that is being stretched. The answers came verbatum from the sheet.

What is being measured here isn't an actual communicative skill; rather, it is the ability to spot hoops and jump through them.

By contrast, not an hour earlier, I had a Second Year class, where the little tykes were preparing for roughly the same thing. Being an academic year below the aforementioned class, you'd expect Second Years to have a lower ability...but surely, what marks competence in a foreign language is having the crutches and scaffolding removed, and actually being able to communicate. I had conversations with these students - we talked about their dreams. They understood questions that, as the textbook dictates, they shouldn't be able to answer.

Maybe the difference in each lesson lies in teaching method...

BANG!

In 1605, a group of Catholic conspirators tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament, hoping to also take out the Protestant King James I (who brought you the standard issue Bible of English Christians). They failed, and the man responsible for actually setting off the explosives, one Guido or Guy Fakes, was apprehended and tortured into revealing the names of his co-conspirators. Our narrow escape from a descent into anarchy is celebrated on November 5th, the day the plot was foiled.

Given the behaviour of our current Government, it's tempting to ask why we celebrate the death of a man who tried to blow up Parliament...but in all probability, had the Gunpowder Plot succeeded, we'd be living under a Catholic Government rather than a Protestant one.

As with most Western festivals, it has its roots in Pagan traditions; specifically the Celtic Samhain (pronounced "sow-in"), from which Halloween also comes. Sacrifices were made to a variety of deities at the start of the winter - a time associated with death and hardship for the ancient Britons.

Bereft of organised bonfires on this auspicious night, Hayley, myself and two blokes called Andy indulged our barbaric Anglo Saxon instincts of fire worship and lager drinking. Photos courtesy of Hayley.

Beach Hopping

Travelling off the beaten track is a risky venture, even more so when you have no real idea of where you're going. Today, we fancied getting away from the relentless ugliness of Kawasaki, and off to somewhere a bit more rural. A random recommendation in an interview in this magazine had us hot-footing it over to Zushi, where apparently, the Elite of Tokyo (including your friend and mine, Shintaro Ishihara) make their homes...

There was something derelict about that place, despite the obvious wealth of the inhabitants. The whole estate, for want of a better word, felt like the money had been made decades ago, now a slow decay encroached. There were exceptions of course, the Peach palace being but one.

Spotting rich folk wasn't our plan though - we were after forests & beaches. We found the latter in abundance, the former was just in the distance.

The problem was that, there not being a glut of tourist attractions in Zushi, our trusty Lonely Planet Guide had no information about the place. Consequently, the day has been a gentle wander through some sleepy beach towns.


We may be in Asia, but it seems unnaturally warm for November. This time of year makes us yearn for home, especially when we know that back in England, it is actually cold, wet and miserable - leaves are changing colour and it feels like winter. Last December, whilst I wrote a blog entry wearing a hat, scarf and gloves (and being able to see my breath) I was desperate for these temperatures. At least I've managed to retain that Englishness of complaining about the weather.

Culture Day

Just what we need - a three day weekend. This of course doesn't apply to everybody in Japan - take the tireless teachers of the terrible tykes who will the Tennos' of tomorrow. As I staggered outdoors for the first time today, I was greeted by an onrush of my students, jogging dutifully around the school. I however, had only been out of my pyjamas for fifteen minutes.

November the third was originally the birdate of the Emperor Meiji. It also commemorates the adoption of the post WWII constitution. Schools across Japan have been preparing for the event with Culture Festivals and the like...these have the school presenting all the meats of their cultural stew, such as drama, art caligraphy, music and foreign language ability. This last aspect usually involves resident Gaijin Assistants presiding over a competition of English Presentations...and it's sometimes fun, especially when one sees the schools who work out that the way to win these things is to entertain the judges.

My favourite school in the whole of Kawasaki (alas, one that I have lost) presented an English version of an old Japanese folk tale...

An old man accidentaly drops a rice ball down a mouse hole...he then hears celebrating mice, and drops another one...the excitement down below mounts, and the kind old man gives them the last of his lunch. The grateful mice give the old man a box, and tell him to take it home. This he does, and he and his wife open it up, only to discover a large amount of gold. Popular in tales involving a kind old man is the mans neighbour being mean and spiteful. Upon discovering what has happened to the nice old man, this sour character decides to see if he can get a similar result...naturally with dire consequences.

What I really enjoyed about this presentation was that every time the old man dropped some food, a student would appear from behind the wings with a cardboard cut-out rice ball mounted on his arm like a shield. He would then adopt a Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers stance, bellow "Rice Ball Number 1, GO!!' and do a series of somersaults towards the prop representing the mouse hole.

Also of note was a retelling of Urashima Taro, which interestingly enough contains that old story germ about time in "faery-land" running at a different pace from the Earth. In this updated version, when Urashima Taro returns home, he is of course in smelly, noisy and utterly bewildering 21st Century Japan.

More plays would have been fantastic. Unfortunately, there is a tendency in events like this to be presented with monologues. Some of the issues these kids battle their way through are undoubtedly important. The problems come when such speeches are translated directly...

When listing things, such as the contents of a bag, the Japanese would say enpitsu ya megane ya seifu nado, the ya almost acting like commas and the nado meaning "...and so on". Unfortunately, this applies to all lists, and when translated into English, something is lost by this linguistic quirk. The earnest outpourings of these bright-eyed teenagers seem lacking in sincerity when they appeal us to consider the horrors of "...famine, poverty, war and so on."

Halloween...my 100th post!...and a resolution...

Yes indeed, truly the heights of the Kawasaki social calendar are the cock fest & the Halloween Parade - Kanagawas' biggest festival of its kind - people come from all over the prefecture to dress up & dance up like a fool...pictured is Father Murray and myself, sporting a fine effort courtesy of my fair maiden, in honour of Wasureki san, who appears to have vanished...although the costume looks unwieldy, it doesn't stop one from dancing, as Hayley proudly demonstrates in this video...

Crumbs - there isn't a lot I can do, save show pictures of this momentous event...I was particularly taken with these characters...

...as was everyone in fact...making similar waves in terms of effective make-up was a manifestation of the infernal Ronald McDonald...

The route through Kawasaki Centre had us following a Monsterified Techno-Wagon, dancing merrily away. Choice characters were selected to lead the revellers from the tops of the huge amplifiers, thus...



Brilliant stuff, although my highlight was scaring a little girl. Her big brother was incredibly amused.


...and now, a resolution...

Coming here has taught me a thing or two about myself...maybe when I first arrived, I had grandiose plans to master the language and set the foundation for a career in teaching....this far away from home, and alone as I was for the first six months, it's easy to lose touch with yourself and what you enjoy doing. What I really enjoy doing is writing...so, by Thor, I'll write.

First up, I'm going to make the effort to update this blog every day. All the extra work I've taken on recently might make this impossible, but it's a goal to set myself. Consequently, it probably means a change in writing style - less pseudo-scholarly generalisations, more journalistic pontifications...and as if that wasn't enough...

The more observant of you may have noticed two new blogs in the links menu - My Blog of Anger and My Blog of Lucidity...these were conceived after a very stressful day...as the name of the first one implies, you will not find a balanced arguement therein....that's where the other one comes in...although, a hairs breadth away from writing my first post, I am feeling less than lucid...