Igirisujin Ni Nihon

お疲れ様でした- O tsukaresama deshita

2008-03-27T14:51:00.006Z

Being the eve of our computer being stuffed into a box, this is indubitably the sayonara entry...such a sudden, ignoble end is not what I had in mind for this blog, but the past few weeks have proved that leaving Japan (especially in the manner we have chosen) is possibly even more difficult than coming here in the first place. Presenting a "final word" on an entire country seems premature after such a relatively short time here, so I will satisfy myself with...

What I won't miss about Japan

Commuting
Xenephobia (although I know what to expect in the UK)
Being asked if I can use chopsticks
Being complimented on my language skills for saying "hello".
Certain students
Natto

What I will miss about Japan

The public transport system
Certain students
Certain teachers
My flat
My landlord
The food

Tonight, for the first time, I had the chance to eat fugu, or puffer fish, that most famous of Japanese fish-stuffs, prepared by the most skillful of chefs, deftly separating the meat into that which is palatable and that which is deadly poison.

It really does taste like chicken.

日本語能力試験三級

2008-02-06T07:38:00.000Z

合格した！！

Sankyuu berry macho.

Sayonara Sale

2008-01-04T16:04:00.000Z

B'Jayzuz, we have some stuff to get shot of before we leave...if anyone fancies a peek, here is a website cataloguing the aforementioned. Dozo, irasshaimase.

Manner Mode

2007-12-29T16:56:00.000Z

I loathe mobile phones. The only reason I have one of the damn things is that my company insisted that I have some means of being communicated, and as far as setting up goes, it was far less troublesome than a land line.

In defence of mobile phones over here, they are equipped with that most pleasing of functions, "manner mode," the miracle button which silences the caterwauling of contemporary pop hits rendered into dial-tone soundbites.

The beauty of manner mode is that in locations where one is requested to set it to "on" (trains, buses and hospitals), there is also the expectation that people refrain from talking on the phone. This generally ensures a peaceful commute for all concerned, free from being unwillingly privy to when ones' fellow passengers are going to meet their friends, and what colour underpants they're wearing. This prohibition is, of course, enforced with that most rigid of state police, the complicit public.

Not a month ago, I found myself aboard a bus. The mobile phone of an elderly woman suddenly went off, shattering the silence with all the cooth of a sloppy fart. That was more than enough to direct the contempt of all and sundry towards this old dear. The fact that her conversation partner seemed to be speaking from inside a wind tunnel and was struggling to make themselves heard, further soured the bile poured over her.

"Turn that mobile phone off!" bellowed the bus driver over his omnipresent tannoy.
"I'm sorry, I can't talk now..." muttered the unfortunate granny to her oblivious friend, who nattered away without a thought in the world.
"Kindly turn it off." commanded a fellow passenger.
I'm sorry, no, no...no, I can't...now is really...I'm sorry...no, no, no, NO, I...GOODBYE!"

Abruptly, the sound ceased. Suddenly, the desolation, the solitude, became unendurable. After maybe thirty seconds of being the centre of attention, our senior citizen could once again disappear into anonymity.

I compare this encounter to my first half hour of re-aquaintance with the UK in 2005, on the Tube, listening to an unbearably vulgar woman yakking away on her mobile, and wishing that I didn't understand what she was saying.

Moving House

2007-12-29T03:10:00.000Z

In about three months, Hayley and I will be saying sayonara to our flat and Japan, slowly working our way back to England via a variety of other countries. We've started a new blog here. I'll still be writing about Japan here until the end of March...

So here it is...

2007-12-24T15:59:00.000Z

Sushi War

2007-12-12T15:19:00.000Z

I return, drunker by far than I should be at this hour on a Wednesday, fresh from a midweek sesh with the clerk from one of my schools, who also happens to teach in the weekly assembly of studious foreigners and native Japanese volunteers I've been frequenting since September. Apart from a mutual love of Eberhard Weber, I have learned also of the profound battle between Sushi chef and customer.

Apparently (and bear in mind that at the time of writing, I am pretty damn drunk) when entering a sushi restaurant (a real sushi restaurant, not one of those Kaiten [conveyor belt] places frequented by plebs) the first thing one orders is Japanese style omlette, a.k.a yakitamago a.k.a gyoku. This is the initial yardstick by which the merit of the establishment is measured. The pernickity, overtly sadistic or just plain savvy customer will first examine the colour and aroma of this offering, then taste it. At this point, the chef, or sushi-ya-san will be fretfully awaiting the connoisseurs judgement. As an alternative to a speedy "bill please," the customer may decide that the gykou is good enough to warrant staying, at which point they will order hot sake

Relief for the sushi-ya-san!...for now...

There then follows a battle of the wills, both chef and customer testing the others depth of knowledge in this chosen battlefield. The customer will ask the chef to recommend the days special, a challenge which will reflect on the chef, as he no doubt chose the special himself from the fish market at some ungodly hour in the morning. This is a ritual battle with one victor. The cunning customer could potentially walk away from a sushi banquet fit for a Daimyo for as little as twenty-five quid, the alternative being twice as much if the sushi-ya-san works out that his opponent is in fact blagging it.

This confrontation with the chef is apparently typical of Japanese cuisine, and now this factoid has been imparted to me, it makes perfect sense. In most of the restaurants I've been to here, there is naught separating chef from customer but a modest kitchen counter. Here, the cook is completely responsible for what is served in their restaurant, with none of this hiding behind the double-swinging kitchen doors. If a customer doesn't like what they've been served, then the chef will answer to their complaints, before the entire shop if need be.

Diving deeper into the Japanese consciousness and acknowledging a profoundly militaristic culture, this practice presumably has its roots in the tea ceremony - Samurai, preparing to go into battle would have a nice cup of tea beforehand. Perhaps they had families and children. Perhaps they would go on to win a great victory for their Lord and lands. Perhaps they would die in trying. Perhaps this would be the last cup of tea they would ever drink. Better then, to make it the best cup of tea ever, before them, to make it with all the effort one would put into fighting for their home and to be answerable to ones comrades before death and glory.

It's funny and frustrating that I feel I'm only just getting a handle on this amazing country with only four months left of being here.

Power up! V(^-^)V

2007-11-30T11:47:00.000Z

Ten years ago, the seventh incarnation of the erroneously titled Final Fantasy series bleeped into life on the original Playstation. It may have cost many their degree. It damn near cost me mine. A colossal virtual world and the means to navigate it were presented along with a story arc that potentially offered infinite gameplay. One commanded an increasing troupe of wanderers encountered at different parts of the tale, enemies became friends, friends became enemies and the death of one corner of a love triangle simplified matters in one sense, but deepened them in another. Video game characters had taken a great leap away from the pill popping madman who can only face his ghosts when he`s pumped up with the right stuff.

Ten years on, this supposed Final Fantasy has apparently left more of an emotional dent than the following five (possibly six) – not only are we graced with a feature length, absurdly dense CGI animation, but limited edition drinks bearing the ambiguous moniker of “Potion.”

This has been tickling me for a couple of days now, especially considering where it`s come from – to find, in Japan, source of the life consuming computer game, echoes of the mortally wounded sprites` most treasured resource, precious, life-giving, healing potion, lying around in a convenience store is like a pixelated half-dream come true.

Indeed, this country can be a paradise for the easily amused.

Only in Japan

2007-11-20T06:17:00.000Z

It is only natural, when encountering another culture, to compare it with your own. In recent days, I've found that my Elementary Students are more surprised at England's' similarities to Japan than they are at the differences.

Their questions invariably take the form of

"Do you have (insert object) in England?"

Somewhere along the line however, possibly around the same time they learn that foreigners can't use chopsticks or speak Japanese, the question changes into

"You don't have (insert Japanese object/concept) in (America/England/whatever foreign country you come from) do you?"

The enquiring nature and curiosity about another place has been replaced with Nihoncentricity. This isn't a quirk of the indirect approach to conversation expected of adults - the only way to compare "gaikoku" to Japan is to find what is wanting and revel in the wonder that is Nippon.

These thoughts are stirred by a conversation with the principal of my most recently visited Junior High. He is a good natured, affable and hearty fellow with terrible teeth. A conversation starts about food, questions arise as to what certain things are called in English, and up floats the word "wabi-sabi" (侘寂).

This word embodies the Japanese aesthetic of transience, the beauty of impermanence and impermanence of beauty. Naturally, such an ancient philosophical ideal from the other side of the planet doesn't have too many easily produced equivalents in the mongrel tongue that is English, and this only confirms what is generally considered a given - Japan is brilliant and unique. The principal tried to console me with the oft quoted dictum

"Nihongo ga muzukashii yo ne?" (Japanese is difficult, isn't it?)

followed up by my first encounter with

"Kotoba ga ooi." (There are many words.)

Indeed there are.

Not too late I hope.

2007-11-12T22:00:00.000Z

This petition calls for the abolition of the upcoming law demanding that all foreigners be fingerprited upon entering Japan. Sign and pass it on.

On Dying with Dignity

2007-11-02T10:15:00.000Z

Oh, that this blog could pass away silently, without eulogy, like those which have come before, free from excuses as to absence, brimming with resolution to be a firmer presence on the web.

There is little dignity in death though.

"My friend's friend is a member of al-Qaeda. I have never met him, but I heard that two or three years ago he came to Japan several times."

Thus spake Hatoyama Kunio, Justice Minister, outlining the (official) reasons for his support of fingerprinting foreigners entering Japan.

"I myself am not a friend of anyone who is thought to be a member of [al-Qaeda] and I don't know them personally. I can't verify the authenticity of what my friend said." (full article)

Backtracking there in a way I've only ever seen Japanese Politicians do - there seems to be a pattern of reactionary comments, followed by a stumbled denial that anything untoward was actually said. At least Shintaro Ishihara sticks to his guns of bigotry, probably accounting for his popularity.

In older news, NOVA, giant of Japans English Conversation School market finally came crashing down after a long and unpleasant demise chronicled by Of Rice and Zen. Lest anyone else thinks that I too have been taken down by this fallen leviathan, I work for an entirely different company that seems to be in no danger of failing, especially with the glut of unemployed foreigners suddenly in existence.

Mosquito

2007-09-20T09:03:00.000Z

I've often said that having five cockroaches in your house is preferable to one mosquito. Cockroaches, be they bigger, shinier, faster, creepier and prone to suddenly fly at you, can be humorous in a Keystone Kops kind of way. There's nothing funny about mosquitos though.

Their refined purposeness is but one of their hideous traits, including the way they fly with their legs splayed like a grappling hook, the way those limbs fold beneath them once they've landed, a squatting machine extracting resources, the way ones gradual sink into sleep is yanked upwards by the whirring of tiny wings, the fact that they're too small to dispose of easily.

The morning saw me engaged in combat with a particularly vile specimen - blue, with white band around its legs, the bite of which leaves an ugly red welt which is insanely itchy for about a day, then lingers looking foul. I lost this bout and saw the thing, weighed down after its meal, hopping across my desk, sunlight revealing its formerly slender abdomen, now bloated and red with my blood. The little shit.

Repeating oneself.

2007-09-12T07:57:00.000Z

Maybe I haven't written anything for a while because Japan and the lifestyle I've been leading recently have ceased to inspire me. I can't remember the last thing that surprised me about Japan, but there's one thing I will never get over...

...at my current school, there is a teacher now working on a part time basis. This is due to a sickness which has bound him to a wheelchair - it isn't the result of an accident, rather a peculiar wasting disease. A woman comes in to help him negotiate the trickier parts of the school. Yesterday, as the afternoon slump took hold, I saw him, clearly finished for the day, reading a newspaper, whilst his lady-friend buried her nose in a novel. Such blatant procrastination is all in a days work in any job in the world...but an hour later, I saw he had finished his paper and was staring into space, whilst the lady put her head on the desk and had a nap.

Why didn't they just go home?

Oh, and Abe Shinzo just resigned.

Cut the clap.

2007-08-18T08:27:00.000Z

DISCLAIMER: the title of this entry is not a reference to the myth that Japanese people mix up their "l's" and "r's". "L" doesn't exist in their syllabic alphabet, and the closest thing it has to an "r" only slightly resembles an "l"...anyway...

I’m on a very long holiday right now, and I love it. I have a life beyond public school education and English conversation classes – I can go exploring in Tokyo.

Nestled in between the super-hip neighbourhoods of Harajuku and Shibuya, Yoyogi Park is like the chill out space of a three-room club. It attracts creative individuals looking for a place to do their artistic thing, more often than not, varying degrees of pop group and a near residential tribe of dread-locked percussionists but it also sports jugglers and dancers wielding fans or Santa costumes (depending on the weather).

Yesterday, I discovered in a large concrete boulevard (the starting point for last weeks’ Tokyo Pride March) small pockets of break-dancers. I’ve always found something slightly ludicrous about hip-hop; I simply can't, won't and don't stop. This could be down to a combination of the absolute nonsense some rappers come out with, and bad luck – I’m assured that there is “intelligent” and “right-on” hip-hop out there, but I haven't found enough to convert me. To be fair, my own record collection hardly displays Wildean wit, but lyrical content becomes insignificant when one is witness to the astounding acrobatics on display to the tune of ripped wax.

Back in Kawasaki, itself no stranger to street performers, one such dancer had attracted a crowd of Friday evening shoppers. His backward somersaults were accompanied by a hip-hop soundtrack and the audience doing the unthinkable – there are few things I hate more in the world than rhythmic clapping. The appreciation of a good performance is dulled into shameful silence when one discovers their fellow punters have been reduced to a legion of imbecilic sycophant sea lions.

That’s a rather unkind analogy, reminding me of a trip to the dilapidated dream that is Coney Island, and my first and only attendance to a Sea World style performance. The audience was made up of an elementary school outing and a couple of squadrons of US Marines, clapping the rhythm of a turgid sub-Ibiza house drone, whilst a graceful, beautiful creature of the deep, a sea lion no less, spun round on a back flipper. Our entertainer didn’t clap once, and I was with him on that, although I would have given him a fish had I the chance. Truly, he was a seal of quality.

Ice Cream & Salt.

2007-08-09T04:50:00.000Z

Sailing away from Tokyo bay at night, millions of light bulbs dimly sketch the outline of skyscrapers, whilst more prominent and famous landmarks have their own source of illumination. Having this notoriously cramped city spread before you grants a perspective of scale previously only offered by outings to towering vantage points. Even the pale imitation of the Eiffel Tower looks impressive.

This metropolitan manifestation of the ever-imminent future recedes into the black distance with each wave, and we seem to travel back in time to Hachijojima (八丈島), southernmost of the sub-tropical Izu islands.

Formerly a prison colony of the Edo period, the island boasts an extinct volcano, Hachijo Fuji, Nazumado (one of Japans' top ten scuba diving locations), consistently warm water and no less than seven varieties of mushrooms that glow in the dark. Significantly, it has two features absent from Tokyo; an abundance of space and comparatively few people.

Not ten minutes walk from Sokodo Port lies a free campsite commanding a view of a dark volcanic rock beach and the Mihara mountain range. For the past eleven years, from July to September, a typhoon shelter on the grounds has accommodated Watanabe san, a construction worker from Tokyo who visits the island every summer to go fishing. He is a deeply tanned, well built man of fifty-eight, with a disco-stud curl to his salt and pepper hair, a gold chain hanging around his neck, and a mouth of perfect teeth which appear to be false, but reside in a genuine smile. He is well known amongst the fishermen and professional chefs of the island, and draws a crowd when bearing his prizes from the ocean

There is a great supply of dry wood and fire pits. Our clothes bear the aroma of a week spent cooking by campfire. The highly suspicious Japanese sausage (related to the wiener) is rendered more than palatable with a smoky taste, whilst corn on the cob is fired with a more vigorous character than if it had been boiled, but no campfire pleasure can best baked potatoes and beans after a lengthy abstinence.

In contrast to the emptiness of the streets, the beaches and oceans are teeming with life. Amongst the rocks, coral and rippling polygons of sunlight, it's possible to see puffer fish and stingrays, but also less notorious denizens; butterfly fish sporting black and yellow stripes; long and incredibly thin flesh-coloured creatures, with large eyes and no discernible mouth; lone hunters who seem to change colour, red, blue brown and green; glittering, silvery fish like a shoal of daggers with quietly chattering beaks; graceful streaks of brilliant yellow, delicately nibbling on the nutrition-rich sea-bed; a multitude of tiny flickering wisps of light that swim together like a breathing cloud.

The Uakari is commonly known as the English monkey, as its' red face resembles those of Britons in hotter sunnier climates than they're used to. Within two hours of pitching our tent, we were sunburned to within an inch of our pallid lives and spent the rest of the day sitting in the shade and complaining about the weather.
The Japanese word for sunburn is "hiyake," a fact conveyed to us many times by passers-by. Such is the hospitality and helpfulness of these island folk that we merely had to walk into a shop in order to be directed to the suntan lotion. Aloe Vera is also a suitable balm for this bugbear of the travelling Englishman.

Time is meaningless when you're being a beach-bum for a week. There has been no urgency to our activities, no need to be anywhere or do anything. A week with nothing to do in a beautiful spot has been enlightening, especially upon returning to Tokyo bay. The air became dusty and harsh, eyes itched, previously un-sneezing noses erupted in abrupt reports and we found ourselves surrounded by millions of people, with very little time to do what they had to, crammed into a space which appears both colossal and absolutely tiny. I wonder about our chances of getting a seaside cottage on prescription.

You're not from round 'ere, are you?

2007-07-19T07:43:00.002Z

Some months ago, I was killing time when an old woman stopped me in the street with "Oooo, you're not Japanese are you?" Comparing her with the robust physique of my septuagenarian landlord, she must have been at least eighty, with poor eyes, as she was within a foot of me when she made this disovery. I explained that I was English, and her expression was one of colossal surprise, spilling over into delight.
"Hajimete!" she exclaimed, meaning "first time," and in this context, "this is the first time I've met an Englishman." We bade each other well, and kept walking to wherever we were going. I forgot about it until today.

During the break at school today, I was chatting with the Principal, when seven or eight second year students came to have a chat. Readers who know me will be aware that I have a somewhat flexible face. To children of a culture that doesn't usually communicate with facial expressions and body language, this can be hilarious.
"Foreigners are funny." remarked a girl, mid-giggle. The Principal pointed out that, as far as I was concerned, everybody in the room was a foreigner.
"Really?!" asked the girl, genuinely surprised. Then again, she is only seven.

七夕祭 - Tanabata Matsuri

2007-07-07T11:07:00.000Z

Princess Orihime (織姫, Weaving Princess) and Prince Hikoboshi (彦星, Cow Herder Star) fell in love and were married. Unfortunately, being Gods, they had a number of responsibilities which, post-nuptially became neglected, and chaos was caused by Hikobashi's wandering cows, whilst Orihime's father Tenkou (天工, Sky King) had no more cloth. In his fury, he demanded that the lovers be separated, but then in a moment of fatherly remorse, he permitted them to see each other once a year on the seventh of July. People in Japan celebrate by writing wishes, usually in the form of poetry, and tying them to a bamboo tree.

The number seven is traditionally a lucky number in Japan. For starters, there are the Seven Gods of Fortune, the custom of eating Nanakusa, or "seven herbs" (Seri (Japanese parsley), Nazuna (shepherd's purse), Gogyou, Hakobera (chickweed), Hotokenoza, Suzuna, Suzushiro) in porridge on January 7th to cure illness, seven sins, seven virtues and let's not forget the Seven Samurai.

All this generally tends to point to the 7th of July 2007 (7.7.07) being a pretty damn auspicious day. Not surprising then that my favourite Japanese band, Boredoms (now recording under the name V∞redoms) are performing a once in a lifetime concert with no less than 77 drummers...

...in New York...which is surprising, but not the nice kind. Feast your eyes on the press release, then weep.

Hardly hot off the press, but...

2007-07-05T10:05:00.000Z

On Tuesday, Japan's Defence Minister resigned over comments he made about the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Giving a speech on Saturday, Fumio Kyuma said that the deployment of atomic weapons was inevitable. Japan being the only nation to have been subjected to a nuclear attack, widespread outrage at his remark was perhaps equally inevitable. The sting is in the fact that Mr Kyuma represents Nagasaki in the Japanese Parliament.

Japan's position towards nuclear weapons is that there is no justification for their use. Mr Kyuma has brought further shame to the administration of Shinzo Abe which, ten months in office, is limping under the weight of sundry blunders, scandals and embarrassments.

However, in his apparently thoughtless comment, Mr Kyuma touched upon an element maybe not considered enough in the debate - that the nuclear strikes weren't just in an effort to end the American/Japanese conflict, rather they also served as a show of strength to Russia, of whom America was growing suspicious and didn't want involved in the Pacific War.

Japanese politicians rarely mention the atomic bombings, as the issue could harm relations with the USA. Mr Kyuma, in his defence, stated that he was merely describing what America's position would have been at the time of the attacks. This is not to suggest that he's playing lap-dog to the USA - in January this year, he came under fire from his colleagues for suggesting that the American led invasion of Iraq was a mistake.

On the other side of the planet, The National Army Museum displays a work by Gerald Laing. Titled "Truth or Consequences", the painting shows an image of Tony Blair next to one of the London bus of July 7th. When viewed from a different angle, the painting morphs into George Bush next to a picture of Baghdad in flames. The title (apparently a "scathing critique" according to an unnamed source) refers to the idea that Blair knew claims of weapons of mass destruction were false, the "consequences" being events like July 7th, as if one was an inevitable effect of the other.

While Laing's statement may seem similar to Kyuma's on the surface, there is an important difference - Laing oversimplifies the Iraq conflict and the reasons July 7th happened, whereas Kyuma's voice argues from the broader historical context of a world at war.

Moreover, Laing's message is inconsistent - is it an attack on Blair, or Bush and Blair? There seems little point in having Bush in such a controversial work if he isn't going to at least draw some criticism.

If, by placing Blair next to the bus, the implication is that July 7th is a direct consequence of the Iraq conflict, then what are we to make of Bush and Baghdad? What is the Iraq War a direct consequence of? It's tempting to say 9/11, and it certainly makes sense in the context of the 7/7 image - if the London bombers are to be believed that what they did was inevitable because of what the British Government did, then shouldn't similar ears be given over to the New York hijackers? Did 9/11 happen as a result of Western foreign policy, or do "they" really hate our freedoms? Laing doesn't put the same questions to the American public as he does to the British. Perhaps using 9/11 for political purposes (heaven forbid) would be tasteless and too controversial for Britains leading pop artist, but in that case, "Truth or Consequences" rings like a cyncial, ill-informed nudge and wink.

These are two similarly insensitive statements with different pedigrees. On the one hand, a blunder, albeit contextually accurate, is shamed out of the public eye, on the other, a half baked idea is displayed in a museum. In a funny way, I prefer the latter, but it would be better still if it actually said something constructive.

Chapter the one-hundred-and-fifty-fourth - In which Mr Pig is struck with fresh revelation as to the nature of the Land of the Rising Sun.

2007-06-29T07:27:00.000Z

The Japanese Post Office doesn't sell envelopes. I should have seen that one coming.

蒸し暑い - Mushi Atsui

2007-06-28T08:29:00.000Z

蒸し - mushi, meaning steamed.

暑い - atsui, meaning hot (weather).

The Japanese summer is like nothing I've ever experienced before. The atmosphere is cloying, close, and there is a distinctive smell, as if all the roads and pavements were melting, yet are made from decaying vegetable matter rather than concrete. Sweat is cascading from my forehead, everything is sticky and damp. Shops offer a moments bliss from air conditioners set to full blast, then disappear as you walk past the open door. Now is the season for ghosts and beasties, appearing out of the sweltering madness to say "boo!" before turning back into innocuous objects. The crazy thing is, it's not even July yet. It's going to be much hotter come August.

The dreams of the boy are those of the man.

2007-06-22T08:03:00.000Z

I staggered out of bed this morning, grumpy, drowzy, stiff, barely articulate and fiercely reluctant to go to school. I arrived bang on eight, only to be greeted by the Principal and told that my lessons were cancelled, and my presence wasn't required. He was actually quite embarrassed that my company hadn't been contated to let me know. Naturally, I was very understanding, and not in the least bit cross. What a great start to the weekend.

If it ain't broke...

2007-06-10T09:04:00.000Z

I have become a semi-willing cog in the machinations of the laws to teach patriotism in Japanese schools. The new drive is to be incorporated into the current “moral education” classes. At the school I’ve been to this week, “moral education” is taught by Sakuta sensei, a woman for whom I have tremendous respect, who mostly teaches English. On the first of July, she will teach in an “open class”, observed by dignitaries from the Board of Education, sundry local schools and some of the students parents.

Considering my status as “resident foreigner who came to Japan because he’s interested in the culture”, and in the wake of the 3rd graders trip to that colossal museum/amusement park which is Kyoto, it’s been decided (in the event of my absence) to present video footage of me being interviewed.

She is of a similar opinion to me on the issue (namely that teaching somebody to love their country is akin to teaching them how to love their mother), but she has a job to do, and she’s nothing if not a dedicated teacher. For this reason, I have been holding back some of my more unrefined thoughts as to the line of her questioning and what she is expected to achieve as an end result. The interview was built off the back of an English lesson we taught earlier.

Some of her questions were undoubtedly pitched to lead me to a certain answer, namely that Japanese culture is special in some way. I’ve stopped short of doing that, instead focusing on what I find appealing and interesting about it. I was also given the opportunity to say what I liked or didn’t like about Japan. Bearing in mind that I want to help Sakuta sensei, that I like the students and don’t want to subject them to the brunt of shortsighted ranting about how infuriating I find this country sometimes, I didn’t say everything that was on my mind. One angry foreigner isn’t going to change the attitudes of a civilization older than his ancestors, and can only shoot himself in the foot by using the classroom as a podium to disagree with authority.

That understanding of Japan’s “uniqueness” is the goal of this class is irrelevant – I think it’s fair to say that most Japanese people are born with that sense, whether they realize it or not. To teach it is to define it further, to focus on what Japan has to be proud of. I talked about little things in day-to-day life that I’ll miss when I go back to England, but also the historical trappings, the Tea Ceremony, the legendary sword making, bushido, the concise elegance of haiku.

As for what I don’t like about Japan, complaints of rudeness are a little churlish – human beings are without a doubt the rudest creatures on the planet. Yes, Japan has it’s fair share of imbeciles, ignoramuses, perverts, liars and gits, but there’s just as many in England. I said that what angered me most about Japan was the reduction of the rest of the world into “Gaikoku,” or “foreign country.”

Most importantly, I was asked to give a message to the students. I suggested they imagine everything they loved and hated about their country being taken away, and then replaced with another way of life, different attitudes and people and the necessity to adapt to these things. I said that living in a foreign country will teach you not only about that one, but also your own, and urged them to try it.

There is a wider debate to all of this, not one that’s going to be resolved any time soon and one in which I have little room to comment, primarily because Japan isn’t going to be my permanent home.

Many of Japan’s Asian neighbours (and quite possibly some of her foreign residents) see this as a gradual return to her nationalistic past. On the other hand, maybe Japan feels swamped by Western influences, and needs to re-assert her national identity. Certainly, the main focus of this lesson seems to be instilling an awareness and a sense of pride in Japans cultural heritage.

In England however, ministers have proposed a Britain Day, which Minister of Immigration Liam Byrne describes as a chance "to stand up for the values that we've got in common" in the face of "a new extremism." It's interesting that both the leaders of a near mono-cultural and a multi-cultural society are considering the need to rally around common principles.

With the far right seeming to grow stronger, and the organs of multi-cultural Britain feeling persecuted, a unifying drive is undoubtedly what we need, but looking away from the obvious "them & us" stance, could it be that British citizens have lost sight of their own cultural heritage? Surrounded as we are by what we have achieved, it's easy not to notice it and understand how we've ended up here. Perhaps the fog of the modern world needs clearing, and we need to have a re-appraisal of who and what we are, and what we are capable of, warts and all.

I've joked about it before...

2007-06-04T13:53:00.001Z

...prior to commencing my Monday night English conversation class, I partook of a hearty swig from my water bottle.
"Ah, that's nice." I remarked, to which the lady who organises the class said,
"Ah, you think Japanese water is tasty?"

The new laws requiring that patriotism and a love of the nation be taught in schools seem a trifle unnecessary.

Sushi Bar in Asakusa

2007-05-29T11:27:00.000Z

For those of you viewing at work, volume isn't essential, but it adds something.

The Last Sanja Matsuri?

2007-05-20T07:33:00.000Z

"Oh, you like Asakusa? There are many foreign country people there."

I've received this response from Japanese people with practically every mention of my fondness for this area of Tokyo, as if what drew me was kinship with my fellow non-Japanese, whatever country they come from.

Of course, these demographic commentators are quite right - Asakusa is crawling with tourists, hardly surprising since it's dominated by the magnificent Sensō-ji, Tokyo's oldest Buddhist Temple.

Asakusa is almost like a theme park of traditional Japan, as if Kyoto had been heavily edited and compressed into a Tokyo neighbourhood. Kaminarimon, the Thunder Gate, opens into a long market street, where shopkeepers, well versed in "trade English" provide innumerable trinkets to legion of foreign visitors. I am the slightly embarrassed owner of what I perceived (before purchase) to be a stylish sake flask. Of course, once I actually took the time to read the kanji on the side, I learned that it said 'Asakusa, Tokyo." I might as well have bought a T-shirt reading "I went to Japan and all I got was...<insert joke here>".

The more I think about that slightly ill considered purchase, the less bad I feel. It's like a moment of clarity, because it is so typical of Asakusa. When I arrived over two years ago, alone and illiterate in a strange country, the way Asakusa looked and felt was adequate balm for lingering doubts and fears I had. Now, a bit more savvy and considerably more cynical, I can see the place through two different eyes. Despite its' colossal tourist trap status, Asakusa is still a beautiful neighbourhood, and whilst there isn't an awful lot to do after seeing Sensō-ji (except for holing up in one of the countless restaurants) what I find appealing about it is, when compared to the rest of Tokyo, the relatively gentle pace. This usually doesn't apply when describing Tokyo's most boisterous O-mikoshi festival, Sanja Matsuri.

Over three days, hundreds of portable shrines are carted around the area by packs of able bodied young people, gradually getting drunker. Moving one of these things takes a great deal of effort, even if you are being supported by about twenty other people. The endorphins are palpable, the rhythmic chanting joyous and exciting, the atmosphere utterly electric. For some reason, this year was much quieter than other occasions, but no less charged with a massive sense of community, something I greatly admire about Japan. This communal sensibility isn't extended to all by all of course. Brian overheard an elderly man grumbling that the name should be changed to Gaijin Matsuri.

Perhaps feeling this kind of inclusion in a sprawling metropolitan labyrinth like Tokyo is only for people who live there. At the same time as the overwhelmingly huge Sanja Matsuri, was a smaller but no less rambunctious festival in and around our local shrine, the small and simple Hiedaijinja.

The mood here is warmer, more intimate and familiar, helped no doubt by the presence of my students from several different schools. Stall holders exercise what English they possess, undoubtedly directed at us because we are almost certainly the only non-Japanese present. Local bigwigs have directed us to the centre of activity, asking us to enjoy ourselves, and even greeted us with genuine bonhomie.

As far as our long term plans go, this will be our last Oda Matsuri (although the festival season is just starting). Maybe what we'll miss most about Japan isn't the magnificent otherly architecture, interesting culture or sense of adventure, but the fact that this quiet little nook of a huge alien industrial city has been shaped into a home.

Rapture

2007-05-17T12:32:00.000Z

To my profound joy, a couple of my second year boys have hit upon the hilarious revelation that my name, with regards to the Japanese rendering of Western words, is but two syllables away from "clitoris." That they excercise their discovery with such regularity makes me hope they might actually start learning some new words...but I'm not holding my breath.

Brass Band Club

2007-05-12T10:34:00.000Z

Yesterday, I played my trumpet for the first time in a long time, but perhaps more significantly, the first time since I've given up smoking. Clearly my lungs have had plenty of time to recover, and I wasn't as breathless as I thought I would be. Perhaps it's time to get back into music. Finding the right outlet could be tricky though. The only one I've discovered thus far is the school Brass Band club.

Of course, five minutes into the club activity, I remembered why I never go. A word now irrevocably linked to my idea of Japanese education is drilling. Yes, all my teachers over the years have told me that it's really useful to spend ages doing long notes, and by thunder, it'll build your stamina, but where's the fun?

A typical brass band club session will commence with the designated leader announcing what particular warm-up exercise will be played. Everyone responds with "Hai!" which although means "yes" is probably closer to "affirmative". This exercise will be done for a minute or two. At this point, I'm usually raring to play some actual music, but there's more to be had. Much more. In the past, I've joined brass band club sessions where the kids have played long notes and scales for an entire hour...five minutes break...another hour of long notes and scales, thankyou very much, time to go home.

This particular brass band did something I've never seen before - at a command from the leader, every child produced a plastic bag, and started breathing into it whilst the percussion section dutifully beat out an increasing number of beats on a row of desks behind us.

The weirdest thing I've experienced thus far in brass band club is the tuning up process. There's nothing wrong with using an electronic tuner, but they seem to be speaking a foreign language (in terms of the music vocabulary I was raised with) when they hold a beeping box in front of my instrument and declare "plus four" as opposed to "sharp" or "flat."

Although music is something I want to get back into, I'm faced with the choice between intense study of Japanese (at a desk and everything) and playing long notes for two hours...what to do...

見て、見て！

2007-05-03T11:27:00.000Z

「ATOK」というソフトウエアを買った!

So now, I can type in Japanese...just have to work out how to use the thing properly...

...er...

2007-04-27T15:21:00.000Z

Part of me doesn't want to accept this, mostly because every source I've found is almost identical word-for-word, but something about it doesn't surprise me in the slightest...

EDIT : ah...

京都へ行った

2007-04-26T11:42:00.000Z

Yes indeedy, nearly a month ago, we went to Kyoto. Our thanks go to the magnificent Japan Rail Network, for the ludicrously inexpensive seishun ju hachi kippu.

Pictured is one of the myriad corridors of torii in Fushimi Inari, amongst Kyoto's most famous shrines (apparently featured in the film Memoirs of a Geisha.)

Written on the torii are names of individuals or businesses who have donated money to the shrine...our saintly landlord being one of them. A day or two before we left, he charged us with finding his torii...since there are quite literally thousands, he drew us a little map, and even wrote us a note which we were to give to a certain store owner, who would be sure to guide us...

...of course, the night before we left, we joined Brian & Kaori for their housewarming party...thusly, alcohol was consumed, bed was entered at an irresponsible time, and exited at a risky hour. We forgot both the map and the note. No matter, thought we, we can find the right torii...and we tried...

...did we find it?

No.

The rest of Kyoto was, of course, lovely, despite bursts of rain & cheap hostels (free dead cockroach with your duvet).

As mentioned earlier, we have also been graced with the prescence of my mother.

Cheers mum.

I can feel my English deteriorating exponentially to the improvement of my Japanese. Recently, I have been a man possessed when it comes to studying. This is partially why I haven't been blogging a lot of late. However, assuming after such a lengthy period of slack I still have readers left, (and to quote Dave) this blog isn't dead...not by a long shot...

?!?!

2007-04-19T10:06:00.000Z

Yesterday, I used the school computer to visit All Music in pursuit of information about Rainer Bruninghaus. Today I discover that this little trip has infected the computer with spyware, and I'm sort of in trouble. An apology from me isn't enough, in fact a senior teacher has to write a letter of apology to the board of education.

Flabberghasted just isn't strong enough.

入学生

2007-04-05T07:49:00.000Z

Their uniforms are pristine and slightly ill-fitting. Their dazzling white trainers squeak on the shiny floor of the gymnasium. They are absolutely tiny and some are clearly wary of me. It's funny that when I saw some of these students in Elementary School, they seemed too big and in need of getting into Junior High very quickly indeed. Now this has been accomplished, they still look out of place, but in a different way. I look forward to embarassing them in class.

Confessions of a less than dedicated blogger...

2007-04-04T13:01:00.000Z

...mother's here...having fun...bye for now.

Belated Birthday Blogging

2007-03-23T09:47:00.000Z

There's us with that stalwart of Japanese animation, the giant robot, this character appearing in the film Laputa by Hayao Miyazaki, perhaps the most famous animator in Japan. Studio Ghibli, which he founded, was responsible for 2001's magnificent 千と千尋の神隠し, Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi (released in the West as "Spirited Away") amongst other notable releases.

We've long been admirers of his work, so for Hayley's birthday, we went to the Ghibli Art Museum, well worth the thousand yen price.

...and now we're on holiday...in fact we're going to Kyoto on monday...watch this space...

...it's been a while...

2007-03-21T02:41:00.000Z

...and I have plenty of stuff to write about life in Japan...but I've just found this meme from Chicken Yoghurt, asking what you were doing on the 20th of March 2003, when the current Iraq War started.

Hayley, Chris & I had just arrived in Barcelona for a short holiday. No sooner had we dropped our bags off at the hostel, than we found a colossal group of protesters, converging in a square to march. Even after we had got off the plane, we had seen banners denouncing the war hanging from apartment windows. We joined the march for a while. I remember feeling relieved and elated that people in another country were as opposed to it as I.

Another Graduation...

2007-03-09T07:51:00.000Z

The year seems to have passed in the blink of an eye, but at the same time dragged like a leaden coat and tails. The proceedings were just as emotional as last year, but we were graced with no less than three teachers wearing Hakama. Pictured is Endo Sensei, a teacher of Japanese who sits next to me, and one of the special needs teachers, whose name I haven't caught yet.

As is the way with these things, everybody filed into the ostentatiously decorated gym, applauded whilst one hundred and fifty students marched slowly to their seats (by the end of two out of four classes, I was desperate to stop clapping), possibly daydreamed whilst those same students were presented with certificates, and almost certainly fell asleep during the Koucho sensei's (Principal's) speech. Notable this year was the fact that the farewell procession of sobbing third graders went out through the sports ground. By the time that had been organised, most of them had cheered up.

I signed a lot of year books, posed for an inordinate number of pictures, had a very tasty bento, complete with sekihan (rice steamed with sweet red beans) and then...nothing...

Long term readers of this blog will be aware of my most common complaint with work. For those of you who have come here by accident (and have made it this far), regardless of my workload or the actual presence of students, I'm required to stay on school grounds until 4:30. Usually I use this as an opportunity to really hammer my Japanese studies, but today (and days like it in the past) a cloudy block descended, rendering me incapable of concentration due to the sheer absurdity of it all. Why was I there? What purpose did it serve?

I sat there for a while and actually managed to get a bit of study done, but that niggling sense of being able to do it at home kept knocking. Then teachers started leaving at the morally reprehensible time of 2:30, and I began to question my sanity.

At the end of each day, I'm supposed to get a stamp on my time sheet from the Vice Principal (Kyoto Sensei). At Elementary School, where I usually finish at 1pm, I can coax permission to leave from the Kyoto by handing them my time sheet for the stamp, which invariably ellicits the salutation "O tsukare sama deshita," which literally means "honorific tired person was" and kind of means "very good day at work, you must be tired, (I'm) go(ing) home". Faced with another couple of hours of enraged thumb twiddling, I readied my paperwork for the walk up to the Kyoto's desk, only to be stopped by one Kamihara sensei, a Social Studies teacher for whom I have tremendous respect, not least of all for his affable charisma, who suggested we go to the gym and practice Kendo. Strike me down with a bamboo sword if I didn't say yes.

Kendo, simply put, involves donning cumbersome and visibility-reducing armour, before bashing your opponent with a big stick and shouting at them. There are three strike points, the head, wrist and body (or rather, right hip). Kamihara sensei is very good.

Kendo might look simple, but precision is the key. Kamihara sensei was really walloping me - I could feel it with the blows he rained down on my head - but I emerged relatively bruise free. The armour is pretty solid, and a direct hit will do little more than ring in your ears. I however have all the precision of a rabid elephant on a motorcycle, as Kamihara sensei's right hip can no doubt testify.

That done, he suggested we have a bout of Aikido which I am genuinely interested in. Quintessentially a self defense martial art, Aikido relies upon using the energy expended by potential attackers back on themselves. Kamihara sensei is also remarkably good at that, flooring me several times during our spat. I returned to the teachers room an hour later, sweaty, bruised and in the highest of spirits...

...until the Kyoto sensei (who can't speak a lick of English) asked an English teacher what I was doing today. That ruffled me a bit because I can actually speak Japanese. Said English teacher didn't ask me, rather she said she didn't know, and we should ask a different English teacher. Bear in mind that I am within spitting distance of these people. Off goes the Kyoto to find this other teacher, whilst I ask the English teacher if there was anything I could help with. She looked me in the eye and shook her head. I held my gaze, and she eventually came clean, not that there was anything to bloody well come clean about - grrr! I hate this country sometimes.

Peculiar day, highs, lows, tears, laughter, civility, lack of and bashing people with sticks. I'm going out with Hayley for her birthday.

The first cockroach of the year...

2007-02-27T09:43:00.000Z

...pretty damn huge for February...we've broken the planet. Thankfully, this antenna waving monstrosity didn't have me in quite the same paroxysms of horror inflicted by it's kin nearly two years ago. Just as I'd made my mind up to leave as well...

Reading

2007-02-23T10:26:00.000Z

There is nothing more likely to ruin a consistently solid run of reading than starting a book reviewing blog, but I've not stopped completely. At the moment I'm wrestling with ゲゲゲの鬼太郎 (Ge ge ge no Kitarou) and since it's in Japanese, I'm struggling.

First published in 1966, this series of manga by Shigeru Mizuki features pretty much the entire bestiary of traditional Japanese monsters, or 妖怪 (Youkai). The protaganist, Kitarou (meaning Ogre/Demon Boy) occassionaly acts as a go-between for the worlds of Humans and Monsters, helping out one when the other oversteps their bounds. What I've read so far is gleefully ghoulish. Take for example, Kitaro's father, Medama Oyaji (eyeball father) who lives in his son's empty eye socket, usually obscured by that rouge flap of hair.

At the moment, a young baseball player has happened across Kitarou's bat (lying about in a graveyard). The bat of course has magical powers, and the team are on their way to becoming professionals, when Kitarou turns up, wanting it back. The young player is reluctant to relinquish his tool to fame, so a challenge is declared, naturally, with a game of baseball...Kitarou's team mates are a variety of nasty creatures, and the human baseball players are appropriately terrified, as this game may cost them their souls...

...so that's what I'm doing now...

In defence of Native English Speakers in Japanese schools.

2007-02-20T09:10:00.000Z

Mary Newton has recently written a rebuke of an article which appeared in the Daily Yomiuri on the 9th of February. Within, James W. Porcaro, Professor of English as a Foreign Language at Toyama University of International Studies, calls for an end to the Assistant Language Teacher (ALT) program (provided by JET and various private companies) on the grounds that it is a massive waste of money with little in the way of observable benefits.

The basis for his argument is a pessimistic criticism of Michael Auslin, a former ALT (from 1991-'92) who, as Prof. Porcaro neglects to mention, is himself a Professor at Yale. The picture Porcaro paints from Auslins remarks that he had "few responsibilities" and "a lot of fun", combined with his own opinions that the "fun and games" had by students in English class are in fact "detrimental" portrays ALT's as workshy graduates, looking for one more opportunity to slack off before they have to find jobs. Porcaro states that Auslin, and a total of 9,000 ALT's,

"...continue to demonstrate the same lack of educational value...at an annual cost of about 50 billion yen to Japan's taxpayers."

In an ideal situation, ALT's and their counterparts, the Japanese Teachers of English (JTE's) are supposed to present a "double act" in order to put an emphasis on communication, rather than learning grammar by rote, which doesn't necessarily aid conversation skills. The core of an effective English lesson with a JTE and an ALT is a good working relationship, but this isn't always possible for a variety of reasons.

For starters, I've been visiting four schools this year. No matter how good your relationship with the JTE is, it is impossible to be a consistent benefit to the students, because every other week, the ALT goes to a different school. When they return, the students and the JTE have adopted a routine that works without the ALT because they aren't there most of the time. Efforts are made to include the "guest", but usually these don't stray beyond the "human tape recorder" phenomenon.

Elaborating on the JTE/ALT relationship, very often, even with the most experienced JTE, they still make obscene errors of grammar. Some JTE's are hardly the "models of English-language" Porcaro describes. The ALT is useful because they represent an opportunity to communicate with the correct grammar. If the teacher is getting it wrong on the assumption that they're not, then they'll give this erroneous information to the students, which itself is deterimental to "cultivating Japanese with English abilities".

Prof. Porcoro dislikes the manner in which English is taught by ALT's, through the use of games,

"...as they merely reinforce the impression that learning English is not an important and serious endeavor..."

but a way needs to be found that makes the subject appealing to students. Many children don't see the point of learning an alien language spoken in countries on the other side of the planet. The serious approach apparently favoured by Prof. Porcaro could potentially be another opportunity for students to sleep in the middle of class, rather than a chance to get involved in speaking.

Prof. Porcaro suggests that the money thrown at ALT programs would be better spent on more training for JTE's, but I know few of these overworked and underpaid public servants who have time to spare. Also, on a broader level, there is the fundamental fallacy of "education for all" - the fact is that the only students who will be good at english are those who are interested in it, and no amount of penny pinching will change that.

He also complains that the prescence of ALT's,

"...marginalizes and diminishes the role of JTEs in front of their own students..."

as if the JTE's were the most important thing in the classroom. Education is not about the "professional growth and development" of the teachers; it is about educating students.

What Prof. Porcaro completely misses is the cultural benefits of ALT programs. This is a opportunity for genuine cultural exchange on both sides. As many ex-JET ALT's have said to me, the JET program is less about English language education and more about introducing Japan to the rest of the world. Professor Porcaro's proposals completely erase this benefit for both students in a relatively isolated society and foreign visitors with a lot to learn.

Product misplacement

2007-02-17T04:22:00.000Z

Laugh? I seem incapable of stopping.

Another enkai

2007-02-16T13:52:00.000Z

I have been home for two hours since this seemingly purposeless gathering of teachers. I was warned previously that the principal of this school has taken to getting extremely drunk and making inappropriate speeches...thankfully, my Japanese ability is still equal to that of a particularly gifted chimp, and I missed the bulk of any faux pas he may have made...but he did get drunk extraordinarily quickly...and I was sitting next to him, and consequently, was denoted his drinking foil for the evening...suffice to say, it's friday night where I am, and enkai has been confirmed as my favourite Japanese word.

You ain't got nuffin' on me...

2007-02-14T09:03:00.000Z

Today, I was stopped by the police. Considering that I've been here for nearly two years, I'm lucky that this is my first brush with the law. I was on my bike, approaching some roadworks when they hailed me to stop. First they told me it was dangerous, then asked me if I was going home. They then informed me that they wanted to check the registration number of my bike, presumably to make sure I hadn't stolen it. It's a good job I told them that it was a Christmas present from my girlfriend, and therefore would have been registered in her name. They radioed whichever bureaucrat they had to talk to, who checked the appropriate documents and confirmed that it was indeed registered to the person whose name I gave them.

It could be argued that these guardians of society were just doing their job, but as any disgruntled ex-pat in this country might point out, I was stopped because I'm not Japanese.

Recently there was a bit of a hoo-ha over the magazine Gaijin Hanzai Ura File (Foreigner Crime File), an undeniably racist publication that depicts foreigners committing crimes across the nation, touts the statistic of 47,000 felonies committed by non-Japanese each year and, according to Radio Australia News, asks

"...whether they (foreigners) should be allowed to devastate Japan."

The chain of convenience stores, Family Mart, pulled copies of the magazine off their shelves in response to complaints from customers. Considering that foreigners make up a tiny percent of the population, one can take comfort in the probability that it was Japanese customers doing the complaining. However, in the wake of such a row, it's still easy to feel threatened, especially with the apparent resurfacing of Nationalism in Japan

Claims like "47,000 crimes a year" can be misleading though. Whilst foreign crime is increasing, so is the foreign population. Also, according to statistics found at Japan Reference, over half of the 20,007 foreign nationals arrested in 2003 were apprehended for "offences" such as drug use, prostitution, speeding etc, as opposed to "crimes" like murder, robbery, arson, rape etc. Most of those arrested for offences were charged with overstaying a visa. 50% of the serious crimes were thefts, whilst only 477 arrests were for vicious crimes. Also, what is recorded is the number of arrests, rather than convictions.

There is the added problem of the language barrier - whilst most disputes between Japanese can be sorted out amongst themselves without the need for Police intervention, if one side of the conflict doesn't speak the language, it's inevitable that at some point, the Police are going to be called upon, thus adding another foreign "crime" to the pile.

According to the Instituto de Estudos Japoneses, promotion in the Police force is determined

"...as a rule, by recommendation on the basis of evaluation of their ability to carry out their duties, their experiences and their record of service."

Reading between the lines, and considering how important appearance is over here, if an officer is seen to be making a great effort, then that promotion is within their grasp. At the end of the day, if they can produce a folder bulging with potential offenders, stopped in the nick of time, then surely they must be doing something right. I, and quite possibly many others like me, are easy targets. My mistake of riding a bike in the wrong place at the wrong time, although not an offence, is no doubt going to go on a file somewhere and resurface in the next deliberately inflammatory publication as one of 47,000 "crimes" committed by foreigners each year.

Their investigation complete, they thanked me, and before sending me on my way, advised that I carry my rucksack on my shoulder rather than the basket in front of my bike, lest an "unknown person" apprehend it. If only they'd told me how to take precautions against ambitious or bored policemen.

Hakone

2007-02-13T13:04:00.000Z

During the Tokugawa Shogunate (1603-1868) this town was an important stop off on the old Tokaido, the route which connected Kyoto to the new capital of Edo, now Tokyo.

At the base of Kamisan (God Mountain) lies lake Ashi, pretty much the centre of our long awaited break.

However, a surprisingly constant companion was the notoriously elusive Mount Fuji.

I still find it astounding that such a prominent mountain can be so difficult to spot. Our excursion last autumn to the Five Lakes region, at the very base of Fuji, gave us only this vague glimpse.

Fuji cheered us home on the way back to Kawasaki, its' unmistakable silhouette standing out against the orange sunset like a massive mound of mashed potato.

This trip was all about relaxing, which we did in style at the Fuji-Hakone Guest House, truly worthy of the plug. After the madness of commuting on a friday night from Kawasaki, we stepped off the bus into the mountains, fresh air and utter silence. Within an hour, we were in a rotenburo, unconcerned about the rain beause of the geothermally heated water. One drawback of bathing in volcanic springs is that you will reek of sulphur for days to come.

Hakone also, surprisingly, contained a museum dedicated to the novel Le Petit Prince.

The story being a memory from childhood, it was great to find this place, but one wonders what the hell a museum devoted to one book by a Frenchman is doing in a mountain town in Japan.

What have you done to me?!

2007-02-08T12:38:00.000Z

Even in English, I struggle to tell hairdressers what I want. I'm going to get so teased at school tomorrow...

...thankfully Hayley & I are off to Hakone after work...photos to follow...

日本語能力試験四級 - Nihongo nou ryoku shiken yon kyuu - Japanese Language Proficiency Test Level 4

2007-02-06T12:02:00.000Z

I passed! 328 out of 400, boo-ya! I may even go for level two this year, the exam I've just done being but small potatoes, especially compared to the glut of alien grammar already encountered after only two months of level three study...

凄い上手 - Sugoi Jouzu - Amazing skill!

2007-02-03T08:01:00.000Z

Recently I've been engaged in a very short debate with Andy about the way Japanese people react to foreigners using their language - one almost universally receives hearty congratulations for displaying the most elementary linguistic hoop jumping, so readily that doubt is cast upon sincerity.

This is something I noticed just weeks after my arrival...reading back, those entries betray a wide eyed bubble of enthusiasm, a sharp contrast to some of the black rage I've since experienced...at worst, being complimented for being able to say "yes" in a foreign language is patronising, insulting and makes a mockery of ones efforts to communicate.

However, the consistency of this response makes me think that there's more to it . Also, the remnants of my faith in humanity convince me that not even a society as unconsciously racist as Japan can be so uniformly condescending.

Since the dawn of Japan, the backbone of this society has had everybody mucking in and working on labour intensive rice production. With such an impetus, it's vitally important that everybody gets on with everybody else, even if it's only on the surface. In all probability, such freely given praise is a reflex - they don't even think about it, being neither complimentary nor patronising.

All this was churning about whilst I was doing my shopping. As I'd finished, I was unlocking my bike, and an elderly lady next to me apologised for having the audacity to be potentially in my way (she wasn't in the slightest). In Japanese, I replied "no, no". She looked at me and noticing that I wasn't Japanese did a double take. The inevitable resounding compliment arrived. Considering what I had just been thinking about and the conclusion I'd reached, I had no choice but to laugh in her face. I thanked her and cycled off, utterly bewildered.

That'll be it.

2007-01-30T08:19:00.000Z

Last night, whilst standing on a train platform, I realised once and for all that no matter how much money is pumped into British Rail Networks, regardless of the attempts by sundry rail companies to better the service, that branch of public transport will never in a million years be as efficient, punctual and reasonably priced as its' Japanese counterpart because of a profound difference in attitude. That which led me to this conclusion was the sight of two train drivers, one relieving the other from his shift. They saluted each other.

The Gentle Art of Diplomacy...

2007-01-29T13:01:00.000Z

...Japanese style.

If you can't beat 'em...

2007-01-25T09:16:00.000Z

This article has recently been a point of conversation amongst my fellow ALT's. In the midst of national conerns about bullying, student suicides and a perceived decline of standards, a government appointed panel has urged an end to the lenient approach favoured by schools in Japan.

As the situation stands, no form of punishment is acceptable in Japanese schools, whether it's detention, exclusion or physical violence, although according to ALT's who have worked in more rural areas, this isn't always the case. Stories of students having chalk thrown at them or being dragged through a corridor by the hair have reached me from forgotten sources.

There is a law in Japan, expressly forbiding students from being excluded from class, as they have a fundamental right to be educated. Of course, what looks good on paper rarely stands up to reality. If the student has made up their mind to be as disruptive as possible, then there is literally nothing the teacher can do.

Perhaps there are some who would welcome the chance to hit their students, but this could only create more problems, as some of the most troubled children are probably getting this at home. One of my more volatile students was hospitalised by his father for playing truant. This "protruding nail must be hammered" attitude is all well and good when constructing houses, but human beings are another matter. Unfortuantely, such attitudes don't recognise individual cases because of a historic denial of individuals.

Japan in one day.

2007-01-23T09:13:00.000Z

In recent months, both Hayley and I have experienced a profound disillusionment with Japan. Perhaps it's a symptom of homesickness, or maybe a comedown from the initial shock and thrill of being here. We have started making (elaborate) plans for a grand exit, but neither of us wants to leave Japan with such a nasty taste in our mouths. We've concluded that in order to depart in a good mood, we have to spend the rest of our time here behaving like tourists. I present you the extravaganza of saturday...

We woke up at the masochistic time of five in the morning, in order to visit the biggest fish market in the world at Tsukiji.

Breakfast was absurdly fresh sashimi from this place. Yum.

Tsukiji is also notable for Tsukiji Hongan-ji, a remarkably Indian looking Buddhist temple, reminding one of the religions' roots.

We found this to be a friendlier temple by far than others we've encountered in more touristy spots. Signs above pamphlets, declaring "It is free" or inviting visitors to look at the "beautiful golden altar" melt all but the iciest of hearts.

Also in the vicinity is the Hama Rikyu Teien, an ornamental garden, originally used as a duck hunting ground, now home to some very fat, un-hunted ducks.

All very lovely, but I prefer my parks a bit more rugged.

Our last stop, before collapsing in an exhausted heap, was Ginza, just up the road from the Imperial Palace, and one of the first places in Tokyo to Westernise. Ginza is certainly striking, but it's not one of my favourite places, mostly because of a certain snob factor. Ginza is the place to be seen. A former private student was what I dubbed a Ginza Granny - a moderately wealthy woman who likes nothing better than to put on her finest clothes and walk through Ginza, just to be associated with the place. For the dirtier visitor, like myself, there is little to keep one occupied, unless you relish the idea of buying a box of chocolates that costs the same as a CD.

Ginza is however, home to the SONY Showroom, exhibiting the very latest in life-devouring gadgets and toys, most notable of which were video cameras of a hyper-reality-dream-like brilliance, and a demo of the upcoming (and erroneously titled) Final Fantasy 13, which would have most definitely stopped me from graduating had it been released back then...the showroom was, sadly, bereft of robot dogs.

Also present was the latest offering from Nissan...

...apparently friendlier to the environment than your average fuel guzzler...but I didn't have a clue what the accompanying placard was talking about.

...all that done, we staggered home and watched a silly film. In the face of our recent gripes with this infuriating country, behaving like tourists had us enjoying and discovering things for the first time in a long time...expect more entries like this dotted about over the coming year.

大寒 - Daikan

2007-01-21T09:11:00.000Z

Literally "Big Cold", Daikan is the coldest part of the winter before spring, the period from the 20th of January until the 3rd of February, or Setsubun. Our saintly landlord came round last night with a large bowl of Japanese pumpkins. Apparently, if one eats pumpkins on the first night of Daikan, then catching a cold can be avoided all year round. Tune in at the same time next January, when the mettle of this tradition will be scrutinised.

Unexpected sources

2007-01-19T20:48:00.000Z

It strikes me as funny that, in the face of everything else he's done, what may ultimately bring down Blair is something that politicians have been doing since the dawn of politics.

Bikes

2007-01-17T09:21:00.000Z

I had a conversation with a friend once about the merits of bicycles, and my views on how laws should be applied. My stance at the time was that, as bikes pose no real risk to anybody, in comparison to cars, they should be given free rein to cycle on the pavement, in the middle of the road, down the wrong side of the road, anywhere they bloody well pleased. My friend called me a damn fool, or something similar at the time, but I was adamant. Matt, if you're reading this now, I was wrong. Enjoy my new bike as I do, it's quite a shock to be more terrified of my fellow cyclists than I am of my former enemies, the cars.

My return to England will no doubt be backed up by a new found respect for the order of cycling laws, but something I mustn't forget is that if I leave my bike unattended and unlocked in Britain, it will be gone within seconds.

Recovery & burnout

2007-01-16T05:50:00.000Z

I'm cured!!! After a week of being pumped up with antibiotics (experiencing my first drug induced hallucination in a number of years) and gone at with the very latest in big syringe technology, I am all but empty of pus, capable of speech, laughter, and above all, that essential paving of the path to recovery, eating.

I look at my blog and see how neglected the poor dear has been. I also remember a time last year, brimming with bright eyed "I will be a writer!!!" earnestness, when I declared that I would update it every day, whilst maintaining no less than four others...oh foolish boy, where was that energy when you were at school? I've seen a significant drop in the quality of entries since that ambitious mission statement, so I am beating a retreat, back to the safety of the weekly post...and maybe more if I feel inspired...I thank you.

Tonsillitis? Again?

2007-01-09T09:44:00.000Z

With a vengeance it would seem. Where last years throat infection was "acute", this one is "chronic", and there was never a more fitting adjective...except perhaps "fucking".

The left side of the back of my mouth has swelled to the point of my throat closing up, resulting in my only being able to eat soup...certainly, a harsh way to fight back the Christmas Belly. Furthermore, as well as being slightly swollen itself, my tongue has not the free space it formerly did to dart about, where once the cavern of my mouth was a glorious echo chamber for my favourite wobbly pink bit of flesh. That constant pitter-patter of talking, indicitive of my genus has been replaced with a thick, plodding tumble of muddy syllables, and now I sound like Sloth, only less articulate.

Up and down, this has given me a week off work...so I can go to the hospital everyday & they can stick things in me...but it will make me better...but I won't get paid for that week. Life, oh life, oh life...

I'd better make some observations about Japan then...what they expect you to know and what they are surprised at you knowing is another example of the "either-or, nothing in the middle" mentality. Although I understood the pathologically complicated, yet grammatically speaking, refreshingly simple, directions and procedure to register as an out-patient, my directee didn't appear convinced of my comprehension. Not two minutes later, she corrected my use of Honorific Japanese (or Keigo), something that the Japanese themselves find difficult, and I've not even started studying it yet...although I suspect that this week will have me galloping through my textbook...or sitting on the sofa drinking tea.

Of unprecedented generosity and unremitting bastardry

2007-01-05T05:24:00.000Z

Last night, Hayley and I went to a banquet at the house of our venerable landlord, Tsuchiya san. On the menu was Sukiyaki, basically high quality beef, thinly sliced & cooked at the table in a pan of soy sauce and sugar with a variety of vegetables and tofu. It was huge. He also presented a massive dish of sushi, about fifteen varieties, so the negligible journey home was accompanied by an invisible orchestra of timpani.

Our host wasn't eating much, spending most of the night cooking for us. We felt a little self conscious about that, but he didn't mind, and informed us that he had to keep below a certain weight, for the good of his health.

The Japanese Ministry of Health has approved an equation for determining your relative height to weight ratio. I, for example am roughly 186cm tall, and I weigh 80kg. For the equation, you need to put a decimal point after the 100 for your height, and multiply it by itself, thus

1.86 x 1.86 = 3.4596

Then divide your weight by the answer above.

80 ÷ 3.4596 = ?

If your answer is between 20 and 24, then you are, by official Government standards, healthy. Myself scoring 23.12406 means I could be healthier, but I've always known that. Hayley (despite her adoption of my uncompromisingly large diet) is remarkably within the gap.

Given that it's a rarity for the Japanese to entertain at home, this was something of an honour, so we bought desert, in the form of dango and cakes shaped like fish, stuffed with soy bean jam. These, however, were immediately offered up before his Shrine to Inari, the Shinto Rice Deity, and his family Buddhist Temple, adorned with pictures of his parents. Buddhism and Shinto are intimately linked in Japan.

Tsuchiya san went on to talk about the history of Japanese Buddhism and how there is no religious conflict within the country. True, Christians were persecuted in the Edo period, but that probably has more to do with social, political and cultural factors, rather than being an ideological disagreement.

Tsuchiya san is a member of the Soutou sect of Buddhism, although his family has been traditionally associated with a different sect. He is enthusiastic about Soutou Buddhism because he feels it is the root of Japanese culture.

I may be accused of oversimplification by any Buddhists who might be reading, but Soutou Buddhism works on the principal that Buddha nature is inherent in everybody and everything, and it doesn't need to be attained, just harmonised with. Simple rituals, such as the Tea Ceremony, or Zazen, are intended to realise this clearness of mind and spirit. Soutou Buddhism has rules for every aspect of life, from opening doors to going to the toilet.

For a people famed for avoiding the direct and embracing the general, at least when it comes to communication, the Japanese can be sickeningly specific. This is understandable when one considers their complicated religion and language, where a slight mis-pronunciation can result in wildly different meanings, but the condition takes a near pathological twist when it comes to matters bureaucratic. Today, I have returned from the local ward office, defeated in my attempts to avoid paying a bill I don't think I should.

Humph...entries like this make me want to resurrect the late Blog of Anger...basically, Health Insurance is mandatory out here. When I arrived, my illustrious employers provided me with an insurance plan they recommended. Unfortunately, when it came to an old injury flaring up again, this proved to be as useful as a chocolate teapot. In order to avoid paying the catastrophic fees I incurred for a bout of tonsillitis earlier last year, I had no choice but to sign up for the National Plan...and how glad I am that I did.

I've complained about this in another entry, that an injury in need of therapy was provided with painkillers, but now it seems that they want me to pay for a years worth of cover, namely the first year I arrived, when I was on that money-pit advised by the bastards I work for. Today has been a bitter test of my Japanese and basic tolerance of mankind.

That was a bit of a tangent wasn't it? Didn't go anywhere other than complaining either...I seem to have lost touch with my Buddha nature.

Christmas & New Year

2007-01-01T08:30:00.000Z

The day before her departure from Japan, whilst repeatedly kicking me, my sister said
"This time tomorrow, you'll be wishing I was here doing this."
The infuriating minx was quite right.

This holiday has seen us investigating the works of Bill Viola, whose exhibition "First Dream" is on display at the Mori Tower in Roppongi Hills.

We've been to Asakusa, danced around the shiniest bits of Tokyo, and had, in total, eight hours of karaoke, a past-time seemingly conceived with my dear sister in mind...but perhaps most significantly, we re-created the Nativity using our sundry toys & things...sadly, my inability to find a friendly video hosting website means I can't cram all of it on here, so thusly, we present the final scene...

...close friends and family shall be privy to the full version just as soon as we get round to putting it onto DVD...

Having Liz here has given us a taste of home at a potentially trying time of year. In the spirit of New Year, we've formed a rough plan of action that will (one day) deposit us safely in Blighty, maybe even London, via bits of Asia & anywhere else we fancy...and in that same spirit, we went out last night to an all night event (we went home at three) in the heart of Tokyo, headlined by none other than the BOREDOMS, quite possibly one of the reasons I came out here in the first place.

To say that they rocked our socks off would be an understatement. Three drummers, going at it like the clappers, and their notorious singer fiddling with a variety of electronic squiggle boxes, shrieking down a microphone, and striking a tall totem pole contraption made out of six guitars. The Japanese ethic of "you can fit more in there" was once again demonstrated in vibrant colours, as surges of people anxious to get close to the performers thought not of those puny fleshy things in their path...Hayley & I retreated to a safe little haven on top of a recycle bin, where we could both stick our heads around the corner, and occasionally grasp an unimpeded view.

The rest of the night was a bit of a damp squib, (after seeing the headliners, how could it not be?) but I was only interested in the Boredoms. Two extremes of the DJ world were presented to us...if a DJ can surprise you with a skillfully executed blend of music and make you want to dance to it, then they're doing something good, and I doff my hat unto them. The other side of that coin is the DJ who poses, preens and peacocks about on the merits of his record collection, dress sense and attempts to rouse the crowd with a battery of hand gestures.

Present also were a troupe of "belly" dancers, but frankly, they were undeserving of the moniker (to quote one Andy Forster, inspiration for my recently acquired facial fungus, "skin and bone"), as an inflated abdomen is something I have become intimately familiar with, now that another Christmas has ended.

Off topic...

2006-12-30T05:44:00.000Z

Less than three hours ago, Saddam Hussein was hanged for crimes against humanity.

I'm not mourning the passing of this man, but the way in which this has happened has left me feeling odd. President Bush has described the trial as "fair", but I don't agree with him. Surely, the former dictator would have received a less biased hearing at the International Criminal Court at The Hague, rather than an Iraqi court, and that's without mentioning the three Judges and three Defence Lawyers the proceedings went through.

A cynical man might point out that this sudden execution, announced hours before it occured, has come very soon after the ISG report.

Beards

2006-12-20T13:26:00.000Z

No berd hadde he, ne nevere sholde have, As smothe it was as it were late y-shave; I trowe he were a gelding or a mare.
- Geoffrey Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales

There, Chaucer was describing the Pardoner, one of the Pilgrims to Canterbury. He refers to the characters' lack of facial hair, comparing him to either a horse that has been castrated, or a female.

Beards have commonly been seen as a sign of virility. Hercules is often depicted as bearded, whilst pretty much the whole Canon of Norse Gods sported vigorous efforts.

For Romans (variously adopting or rejecting the beard several times in their history), the bearded man was a model of virtue & simplicity, or he was a slave. In some periods, they wore beards in imitation of the Greeks; in others, to distinguish themselves, they didn't.

Clergymen in 16th century England were usually clean shaven to indicate their celibacy, or bearded in order to demonstrate their acceptance of Protestant Reforms. Sikhs regard the beard as sacred, as it is part of Gods' design of mankind. In a similar vein, St Clement of Alexandria, himself possessed of a fine specimen, had plenty to say on the subject of beards.

"How womanly it is for one who is a man to comb himself and shave himself with a razor, for the sake of fine effect, and to arrange his hair at the mirror, shave his cheeks, pluck hairs out of them, and smooth them!…For God wished women to be smooth and to rejoice in their locks alone growing spontaneously, as a horse in his mane. But He adorned man like the lions, with a beard, and endowed him as an attribute of manhood, with a hairy chest--a sign of strength and rule."

"This, then, is the mark of the man, the beard. By this, he is seen to be a man. It is older than Eve. It is the token of the superior nature….It is therefore unholy to desecrate the symbol of manhood, hairiness.”

Bearded men are also frequently cast as sages, a pantheon of fictional wizards cementing the image of the mystical old man. This element of mystery can cast suspicion or doubt over the bearded man,

Ned: What's wrong with my moustache?
Homer: Makes it look like you got something to hide.
Dialogues III, 8F16

and it's important to consider the horrors of the beard of Mr Twit, said to contain sardines, stilton cheese and cornflakes, which he would eat later at his leisure.

Before going to war against the Persians, Alexander the Great commanded his army to shave,

"...for there is not a better handle to take a man by than the beard."

Whether this proves to be my downfall at school or not is another matter.

End of year party.

2006-12-15T10:30:00.000Z

This time of year is the season for enkai, feasts, banquets, celebrations, drinking. Last night, a gaggle of elementary teachers I've been teaching English to for the past year or more, congregated at a Teppan-yaki restaurant not ten minutes away from home.

Teppan-yaki is that entertaining genus of Japanese food which requires you to cook it at your table on a huge hot-plate, the teppan. On a night as miserable as last, the very notion of sitting around a large hot thing and cooking food on it is very appealing.

Until last night, the most interesting food I've had out here has been okonomiyaki (cook it as you like it), a savoury pancake with a variety of fillings. My new love is monjayaki, essentially the same thing as okonomiyaki, but considerably thinner, not making a pancake so much as scrapings of thin batter with an intense flavour.

Whilst okonomiyaki and monjayaki are quite elaborate, what I really love about Japanese food is the simplicity. One "course" was a cabbage on the hot-plate, fried in butter. It might sound bland, but with a little sprinkle of dark vinegar, it was one of the high points. One other plus for Japanese style feasting is that it consists of lots of little dishes, often acting as ostentatious beer snacks.

Another feature of the enkai is vast quantities of alcohol. I will say no more on that subject.

Particularly pleasurable was the company, specifically the lady (of an indeterminate age) who is the ringleader of this operation. There are many reasons to admire her, an impressive command of English being the least. Her spirit of adventure has had her out of Japan every year for the past twenty, visiting a new country each time. To be as well traveled as her is something to aspire to. What I also like about her is that she's a strong and independent Japanese woman, which considering the reputation this country has for sexism and flouncy ladies, is refreshing.

Whilst waiting for the other ladies to don their glad-rags, she mentioned to me her disappointment in young people who abandon duty to their fellows, and focus on one path of work and goals. Although she is by no means elderly, it was interesting to hear this inversion of a common criticism.

How about you? Is there somebody you work with or you've met through work who you find inspiring, or is there anybody you want to bitch about?

Yet another entry wherein I bewail a timetable that leaves me scarce opportunity to blog...and some announcements...

2006-12-13T10:18:00.000Z

I seem to be absurdly busy this time of year. This is not to say I have run out of ideas, no, no, no, rather, I am gradually coming to realise that a sure sign of getting old is constantly having stuff to do, and yet never seeming to get anywhere.

Something has to give, and I'm afraid it's the blogs of Anger and Lucidity. Since November, I have only recently been inspired to write something in that bleak little corner of cyberspace, and now I'm having second thoughts about the idea.

The original plan was to have a foaming blast of pure anger and then a calmer counter-argument...recently, I've found it difficult to separate the two sides into two different pieces of writing, thusly they're both for the chop...having two less blogs to manage will no doubt allow me to pay the attention I promised to this one, and let me concentrate on learning this damn language.

...but it's not like I've been idle in terms of writing. My efforts for the Design Festa have finally seen the light of day, and I've encountered my first ever buzz-word - on-spec, meaning on-speculation, which means that I've sent something to the editor of a magazine, and he's pondering whether or not it's going to be published...I think...

Hayley, me & eighteen kids.

2006-12-09T13:54:00.000Z

How did that happen? An entire week has gone by without me doing an entry...Christmas is approaching, Hayley and I have done the mother of all clean-up operations, and I have fulfilled a (hitherto secret) life-long ambition.

Design Festa 24 & The Japanese Language Proficiency Test, Level 4

2006-12-03T08:11:00.000Z

My, what a busy weekend this has been. As part of my resolution some posts back, I've vowed to do as much writing as I possibly can, so on saturday, I volunteered at the Design Festa, interviewing artists, visitors and writing it all up for the website. At the time of writing, the event is still in full swing, but I have had totemo ooki sakana wo furai*.

For the past couple of months, I've been kicking myself for not going that bit further and taking level 3. Since then, I've bought the level three text book (how many kanji?) and come to the realisation that this is the first exam I've taken for ten years...maybe I could do with getting used to that situation again.

So today, myself and another couple of hundred ex-pats hot-footed it over to a temporarily vacated University building to take our test. Our besuited monitors didn't speak at all. The instructions, in very slow and soothing Japanese, possibly narrated by a kindergarten teacher, came from a stereo. Something I don't remember from my GCSE's is that the monitors had a series of cards to issue warnings to misbehavers; yellow for "watch it", red for "in the shower!"

The test was divided up into three sections - writing and vocabulary, listening, reading and grammar. I stormed the reading and vocabulary, even if I do say so myself. The listening was a bit ropey, and the grammar, uncertain...

Japanese students of English have tremendous difficulties with articles (at, on, in, to etc), and I myself struggle with their equivalent, particles.

The particle ni for example, indicates movement.

"Ie ni kaerimasu."
"Return home."

It also indicates a place of existence...

"Tokyo ni imasu."
"(I'm) in Tokyo."

...and the subject towards whom an action is directed.

"Yamada Sensei ga Gaikokujin ni Nihongo wo osheteimasu"
"Yamada teaches Japanese to foreigners."

It's fairly easy to work out how ni is used from the context of the sentence (vanquishing supernatural warriors for example), but my confusion comes with the particle "de, which is also used as a place of existence,

"Kissaten de kaimashou."
"Let's meet at the coffee shop."

Of course, now that I have my books with me, and I'm reading up for this entry, I realise that de indicates a place where action is performed, whereas ni refers only to location. Which I'm sure you all wanted to know.

So, it's done. The only thing left to do is start studying for level three. Results in February, see you then.

*Very big fish to fry.

Commuting

2006-11-28T09:01:00.000Z

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

2006-11-25T18:30:00.000Z

"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?

2006-11-24T04:41:00.000Z

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

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

2006-11-22T08:34:00.000Z

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...

2006-11-21T10:11:00.000Z

...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...

2006-11-19T13:33:00.000Z

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

You all look the same to me...

2006-11-16T09:35:00.000Z

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...

2006-11-15T09:31:00.000Z

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?

2006-11-10T09:15:00.000Z

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?

2006-11-09T13:59:00.000Z

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

2006-11-07T11:12:00.000Z

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!

2006-11-05T16:10:00.000Z

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

2006-11-04T14:14:00.000Z

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

2006-11-03T12:34:00.000Z

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...

2006-11-02T13:43:00.000Z

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...

...and Rock & Roll.

2006-10-29T11:03:00.000Z

I was twenty-one when I first heard John Zorns’ Naked City project - a super-group of established jazz artists such as Bill Frisell and Fred Frith, with the occasional appearance by Yamatsuka Eye - a shrieking ball of howls, grunts, roars and belches.

“He can’t possibly do that for a living.” I thought, filing Yamatsuka san under “investigate”. Months later, he popped up again on a recording of an improvised gig in Manchester no less, under the truly inspired moniker of MC Hellshit. That did it, and I decided to read up on him.

Imagine my joy when I found out that he fronted a Japanese rock band called Boredoms. Thus, a love affair which continues to this day was born. I started listening to their music just as it changed direction, towards psychedelic trance-rock, but they had a back-catalogue of more abrasive stuff. One reviewer described Boredoms music of this period as “punk rock torn to pieces and then stapled back together again”…sections of improvised noise from Yamatsuka san and the rest of the band (of a similar vocal persuasion) complimented with cartoon rock, which is heavy, obnoxious, definitely not the sort of thing you’d play to your mother or in-laws and laced with a gloriously demented sense of humour.

Joy, thought I. Rapture, even. Here was a whole new world of music to discover. I then began investigating what Japanese music I could. Just as noisy as Boredoms, but a lot tighter musically, are Melt Banana. To call upon another reviewer, Melt Banana are a “steel locomotive going full speed through a brick wall”. It’s excellent cleaning-the-house music, fast, relentless and exhausting.

My stint at the Library had me encountering the delightful peculiarities of Asa Chang & Junray, the likes of whom I’ve never heard before. Asa Chang formerly led the Tokyo Ska Paradise Orchestra, then from what I can gather, took up the tablas and went off to form this group. They combine elements of traditional Indian music with…whatever they can find by the look of it. There’s something Gilliam-esque about Asa Chang and Junray. Each piece is like a weird little machine, sometimes gracefully and beautifully complex, other times slightly comical.

Like a Lovecraftian hero, I discovered the chaotic horrors of Merzbow, who since the 70’s has plowed a deafening furrow in a field occupied by groups such as Throbbing Gristle. Then I found the sublime work of Susumu Yokota. He made his name in the Rave craze of the early nineties, then retreated into the mountains to construct artfully restrained ambient works. He has a prolific output, still releasing an album of DJ fodder every now and then…I heartily recommend anything of his to anyone.

So anyway, with these characters under my belt, I hopped onto a plane to Japan, part of me expecting rather naively that I’d discover a dearth of interesting music…

J-Pop (go here for an article about the history of…) is a term that describes the bulk of pop music made in Japan. Other genres are marked as J-Club, J-Reggae, J-Punk etc…Jazz however is Japanese Jazz (J-Jazz is just silly)…I think the obscene creature that is J-Pop has grown out of Japans insatiable thirst for the rest of the world, and their desire to make it Japanese. It’s like they’ve seen what is considered pop music and imitated it, exaggerating what is to them, its’ most prominent features. Thusly we have very highly produced, glittery, shiny, spangly AUDIO-JOY, or poignant, heart-breaking, desperately earnest POWER-BALLADS. It is hideous. If ever a nation deserved to drown in a lake of cheese…

You can accuse any Pop Music market of being obsessed with the young, fresh faced and new…one group however manage to take that thought to it’s most ridiculous extreme, yet still remain perfectly logical (especially if you're a foaming cynic). Morning Musume was founded in 1997 by producer Tsunku. The group (made up of girls aged from 12-24) exists independently of the members, who have a near constant turn-over, retiring once they're considered too old, or if they’re found to be doing anything inappropriate to the bands image, such as having a relationship. Yes indeed, sex sells.

There’s still fun to be had in the mainstream though. Big in the mid to late nineties were Judy and Mary, truly everything you expect a Japanese Pop/Rock group to sound like - boppy, noisy, stompy, cheerful and unsophisticated yet competent, bringing you songs such as “Cheese Pizza“ wherein the heroine’s icy heart melts like a...yes. Poetry. Their former front-lady, Yuki, has had a successful solo career since then, and I will confess to being partial to her squeaky voice.

Exploding with success just before I arrived were Orange Range, performing a kind of rap, with a kind of heavy rock, with lots of squiggly synth noises. Success over here is equated with having your music associated with products, movies and adverts, which makes sense, as Japan has the second largest music industry in the world, and you’d be hard pressed to hear of any of their famous bands outside of the country.

But, what of Boredoms? What of Susumu Yokota? In all the conversations I’ve had with Japanese people about music, only two of them have heard of Boredoms. Unsurprising really, considering what they are faced with in terms of popular appeal. The upside is that when I happen to play MC Hellshit to my students, I take an impish glee in seeing the looks on their faces when I inform them of his origins…

...my thanks to Wikipedia...

...Drugs...

2006-10-22T05:23:00.000Z

Kids, just say no. Especially here. Penalties are harsh. From other stories I’ve read about Japanese prisons, it’s clear that the emphasis is on punishment rather than re-habilitation. The mere possession of cannabis, by far the softest substance covered in a certain informative chart I‘ve discovered, carries a sentence of up to five years. Drugs are the ultimate evil over here (apart from minority groups), although it’s only recently that Psylocibin (Magic Mushroom) has been declared illegal, previously enjoying, as it did in my own green and pleasant land, an ambiguous legal status.

Most of this information comes from a pamphlet entitled “NO, Absolutely NO!” to drug abuse! circulated in Kawasaki schools last year. Whilst I’m not advocating widespread drug use, this document is a piece of propaganda…and since it’s Japanese, it’s told with adorable cartoons.

Drug users are depicted as blue-skinned zombies with no pupils, surrounded by small squiggles, thunder bolts, and occasionally pursued by ghosts with knives. Whilst this is endearing for a while, the cracks in the relentless argument start to show with the persistence of the medium.

When they show an actual photograph comparing the brain of a clean member of society with that of a paint thinner abuser (apparently, it’s the drug of choice for penniless teenagers), then the argument carries weight. However, the same page presents two arbitrary drawings of a spiral, one supposedly by a normal person, the other supposedly by a paint thinner abuser…

This demonstration of points through patterns of an indeterminate source is repeated with a sketch of two rats, one normal, the other drugged. Their routes to various foodstuffs in a simple maze are traced with two lines, one smooth and precise, the other, erratic and wavy. The diagram clearly indicates that a cartoon rat under the influence of drugs is less likely to find food than a sober cartoon rat.

Maybe the authors realized that their constant use of cartoons to illustrate a point was in danger of not being taken seriously, so they backed it up with some photographs of rats under the influence of cannabis. The caption beneath a photo of four rats seeming to have a fight, claims that cannabis makes creatures attack their non-drugged fellows. I have spent a long time looking at this photograph, and I am convinced that it actually shows two very stoned rats mesmerized by their own reflections.

The interesting thing about this pamphlet is the very Japanese tone. First of all, when describing the cons of drug use, the authors highlight the effects it has on society - namely people dropping out, not working and subsequent economic losses, which is a stance I’ve never seen before in similar literature.

Later on, there is a world map showing the routes that illicit substances take to get to their destinations. Even though some opium reaches the rest of the world from Japan, the big arrows make it clear that the drugs came from China first.

To sidestep for a while, and mention how Governments see fit to conveniently forget some embarrassing segments of their history…opium was a strong source of revenue in countries occupied by Japan. Consequently, the Japanese Government created millions of addicts in an act of state sponsored drug dealing. Governments of the West, you’re just as guilty.

Back to the drug booklet, and one picture of the blue drug zombies claims that they’re criminal gangs from the Kansai region (West Japan). That one still baffles me. Why, out of all the BDZ’s in the pamphlet is one group singled out as being from Kansai, and from nowhere else, as if Kansai was the source of all that is evil in Japan?

For some reason, people from Kansai seem to take a beating from those in Kanagawa and Tokyo. One of my most recent private students was telling me about a trip she took to Osaka, as her son is studying there. Despite the legendary friendliness of the Osaka-jin, she didn’t like it there as she found their Japanese to be “dirty”. In the hope of discovering some actual Japanese swear-words, I pressed her on the subject, but it turns out it was their accent that disgusted her so.

This is an attitude I’ve encountered several times since being here. I once had the misfortune to meet and have a prolonged conversation with the rudest woman in the world …she, of course, was oblivious to her odious tongue, and we were with mutual friends, so I had to hold mine…anyway, the bulk of her galloping faux pas has been lost in a blurry flurry of beer and other social occasions…but I remember her making frequent aspersions as to the moral fibre of everywhere in Japan she didn’t have intimate knowledge of.

Once again, I only skirt around that core of Japanese society - Uchi & Soto, inside and outside…it’s like Japanese society is made up of gossiping circles who strengthen their internal bonds by demonizing everything outside their group.

Back to drugs - I agree with a great deal of what the pamphlet says. Drugs, legal or otherwise, when consumed regularly are bad for you. Maybe what is a bone of contention for myself and others of a similar persuasion is the imbalance and sometimes outright lies of the anti-drugs argument. It seems that here, just like everywhere else, drugs are tolerated as long as they’re useful to society. Ripobitan D anyone?

Sex...

2006-10-15T11:39:00.000Z

In (eventual) response to a request from Dave, here's the first of a trilogy about the racier side of Japanese life...no prizes for guessing the titles of the next two entries...

In such a rigidly conservative society as Japan, you'd expect an appropriate stance towards sex, but this isn't always the case. Japan actually displays attitudes that seem to contradict each other; on one hand, no kissing in public because of sexual connotations, on the other, a troupe of transvestites carrying a gigantic pink cock down a main road. Surprisingly enough, in the dictatorship of the Edo period, attitudes to sexuality were considerably more lenient than they became with the introduction of "Western Enlightenment" in the Meiji period. The new rulers felt that public morality had to be tailored to strengthen ties with Western powers.

During the hoo-ha over Brokeback Mountain, I remember one particularly virulent critic saying they found it highly offensive that cowboys, truly a Great American Symbol were presented as gay men, and that the Japanese probably wouldn’t like it if there was a major film made about a gay Samurai…well, the thing is…what do the Japanese and the Ancient Greeks have in common? Medieval Japan (and to some extent, modern Japan) was a rather misogynistic, men-first society. Women were there for sex and making babies. There were those who felt that ones true equal, intellectually and emotionally could only be found in one of the same sex - women simply weren’t made of the same stuff that men were, consequently couldn’t relate to their deeper feelings. Therefore, it wasn't uncommon for some Samurai to have page boys as lovers.

Today, as in the past, most Japanese live with several generations of their family, in a house with paper thin walls. Even those who live alone aren't assured privacy from their neighbours. This is where the uniquely Japanese phenomenon of the Love Hotel comes in handy. These are establishments, usually located away from the activity of a city, where couples can have sex in private surroundings, staying for just a few hours, or overnight. The facades are usually ornate in an ex-Mafioso Riviera Mansion style, whilst the entrances are discreet. Then there's the rooms themselves, legendarily displaying a wide range of decoration, from Medieval Palace to '50's Diner (complete with a bed shaped like a car), with some places incorporating an S&M room in the basement. These days, Love Hotels are trying to lose their sleazy image, so many of the Disneyland style theme rooms are disappearing, in favour of less cartoonish (but not necessarily more tasteful) apparel.

As mentioned before, you will almost never see Japanese couples exchanging a kiss in public. This is because in Japan a kiss is seen as a part of foreplay. Hayley and I once ran into a gaggle of some of my 3rd year girls. In the midst of their giggles, they asked us to kiss each other. Naturally, we didn’t humour the little voyeurs. There was actually a law against kissing in public in the 1920's, rescinded during the American occupation in 1945. The Japanese word for kiss, seppun, is rarely used, the English derived kissu being a substitute. According to one writer (very interesting article if you have the time),

"many Japanese consider kissing to be an import from the West..."

This same writer recounts a story of Rodins' sculpture "The Kiss" being exhibited in Tokyo in 1930. The nudity of the figures wasn't considered problematic by the authorities, but they insisted that the heads be covered up. This is echoed in the attitude towards pornography, which has its traditions in the erotic Shunga prints of the Edo period.

The legality of pornography in Japan is a peculiar old fruit. Whilst titles of a violent or scatological nature don't seem to be a problem, genitals and pubic hair on the other hand are an absolute no-no. Toshio Maeda's "Urotsukidoji" series of Manga (not for the faint hearted) got around this problem by presenting the penis as a tentacle appendage attached to a big scary monster.

Pornography is widely available, sometimes on display in the most ill advised places. One video store in Kawasaki happens to have their adult section right next to a shelf of cartoons, and there's even a porn-dispensing vending machine in central Osaka.

Worryingly famous are those who decide to take advantage of the anonymity of crowded trains and have a cheeky squeeze of tender parts of someone’s anatomy. Thankfully, train companies have considered this matter, and added “women-only” carriages to trains at certain times, when they consider the chikan to be out in force…plus, read any internet message board about Japan, look for this subject and read with glee the stories of ladies who take their revenge on the filthy gits.

All this seems to paint the Japanese as a nation of sexual deviants, but that's only because the data has been clumped together in a sweaty writhing mass. The fabled vending machines of school-girls panties caused a moral uproar when they first appeared in Chiba in the '90s. The public was horrified on the whole, but legally, the authorities couldn't do anything about it, as there were no laws in place covering the sale of used underwear. Suddenly, an idea was born. The garments were brought under the control of a law governing the sale of antiques, and declared as such, since they were second hand. Anybody wishing to sell antiques had to apply for a licence from the local governing body, which could naturally be refused during the process, as it was in most cases. I never thought I'd type this ever, but...bureaucracy saves the day!!

The Sins of the Father

2006-10-11T06:19:00.000Z

Following WWII, Korea was separated into two states after “liberation” from the occupying Japanese. Then allies, Russia & America chose to divide the territory. The encroaching Cold War led them to install governments to their liking. America engineered Democracy in the South, whilst Russia installed a Communist regime in the North, led by Kim Il-sung, father of the DPRK’s current ruler.

On the whole, Korea desired re-unification. Unfortunately, occupation and war from several powers (Russia and Japan had been at war over Korea at the turn of the century) had left conflicting interests amongst its people. Occupying forces had helped contribute to a “brain-drain”, as gifted Koreans were recruited for Government Agencies, thus seen as collaborators with the invaders. Such disunity was increased with the emergence of and conflict between Communist, Industrialist, pro US, pro Russian, pro Chinese groups, and early attempts at unity failed.

In 1950, as part of a relaxing of military commitments, US forces pulled out of South Korea. Comments later made by then Secretary of State, Dean Acheson (which have since been branded as careless) implied that South Korea wasn’t seen as a priority by Washington.

Effectively, this gave the green light to a well equipped North Korea, who wished to unify the country under a Communist Government. On the 25th of June, 1950, the DPRK launched a surprise attack on the South. The Korean War raged for three years, devastating the South. A ceasefire was drawn up, ending hostilities, however, nothing more substantial has been agreed upon. Technically, North and South Korea have still been at war since then.

The death of Stalin in 1953 came as a huge blow to the Communist World. The orthodox Communist leader Kim Il-sung rejected the de-Stalinisation that followed, thus isolating the DPRK from its’ former political friends. Kims’ focus on the policy of “Juche” (self-reliance) has cemented this isolation, and probably contributed a great deal to the current situation of poverty and famine in North Korea. In order to achieve independence from the Soviet Union, Juche focused on heavy industry. Unfortunately, this is mostly geared towards the manufacture of arms.

In the course of the DPRK’s hermeticism, a colossal personality cult has been built around Kim Il-sung and his son, Kim Jong-Il. Campaigns such as the building of monuments, opening facilities and staging political events cost an estimated $890 million, annually. Even aside from an already impoverished country meeting that absurd figure, it’s clear that the DPRK is an unstable regime, which probably explains why neighboring China has been so careful in handling any related issues. What China and South Korea fear is the regime collapsing, and themselves being flooded with refugees.

Along with the mismanagement of national funds by the Government, the North has been suffering sanctions for years. As is always the case, such measures never affect the leaders making the decisions; only the people. The action of further sanctions could go either way - make the people of North Korea resent the “rest of the world” even more, or contribute to the eventual downfall of the regime.

Defense analysts believe that whilst the DPRK may have nuclear capabilities, they are still a long way from being able to deliver a warhead by missile. The biggest problem however is with the DPRK’s secrecy. Have they really tested a nuclear weapon, or have they set off dynamite in an underground facility? This ambiguity is exactly what its’ leaders want. Military action from the UN is inconceivable, sanctions may only make the problem worse. Whatever their abilities, this small, poor and heavily armed country has the attention of the world.

Bugger.

2006-10-09T07:43:00.000Z

Today, at 1:36am GMT, North Korea tested a nuclear warhead. Naturally, in the wake of the Taepodong-2 test firing in July, nations in the region are more than a little nervous. The move has been internationally condemned, even by China, possibly the North’s closest ally. The Chinese Foreign Ministry described the testing as “brazen”.

The saga of the Democratic Peoples Republic of Korea (DPRK) nuclear ambitions has been churning for at least fourteen years. In 1993, the DPRK refused to allow the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) to inspect two unreported facilities. Shortly afterwards, the hermit state withdrew from the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty. Tensions were high, but in 1994, Washington & Pyongyang signed an agreement that stated the DPRK would cease attempting to build nuclear weapons, in return for the USA providing her with the means to set up a nuclear energy program. This aid never materialized.

In 2002, George Bush described the DPRK as part of the Axis of Evil, and months later, Intelligence claimed to have found evidence of a new nuclear warhead producing operation. The US, South Korea and Japan then halted the supply of oil, which had been a condition in the 1994 agreement. The following month, North Korea reactivated its nuclear facilities at Yongbyon.

Since then, the North has been persuaded to join the Six Party talks, involving the US, Russia, South Korea, China and Japan. Some commentators have suggested that the DPRK’s tactics have been to make the world sit up and take notice of her demands, namely the lifting of economic sanctions.

Apart from an unpredictable nation like the DPRK having nuclear weapons, the other worry is that other countries could be inspired to start their own program. Nuclear warheads are the ultimate bargaining chip, a self perpetuating necessity. If a potential enemy has such power, it’s almost insane not to acquire it yourself. This, of course, is the stance of the DPRK, their statement claiming

"It will contribute to defending the peace and stability on the Korean peninsula and in the area around it."

meaning they’ll be dealt with on more equal terms. What the International solution to the crisis will be is anybodies guess…I’m going to be watching this space.

The Holiday, summed up in a huge post, with a large group of pictures and some text.

2006-09-29T11:12:00.000Z

Well, this one’s a bit late in coming…but I’m still more punctual than Dave…

Always splendid to have guests, especially old friends. Our flat was tested to breaking point, carrying no less than four sweaty, smelly bodies over a fortnight, but to be fair to everyone, summer over here is nonsensical.

Plenty of memorable moments, such as what I thought was the biggest cockroach I have ever seen…which actually turned out to be two cockroaches having sex…which is just as bad.

Those of you who’ve been following this blog for a year or more will be aware that we have a selection of places within the locality that we take people to see…and what could be a better place to start than my most frequently visited spot; Kamakura, where the first Shogun established his capital.

…doesn’t it look lovely? And don’t Sam & Hayley look ladylike?

Pictured is Sam & Dave performing the closing stages of a fortune ritual at Zeniarai-Benten - a shrine built into a very exciting cave which has a small stream running through it. The story goes that if you wash your money in the stream, then dry it with the smoke from one of the massive incense burners they have lying around, then good fortune will come your way…possibly of a financial nature, but I doubt that - I’ve visited Kamakura and done all that six or seven times since I’ve been here, and I am still hilariously skint.

Another favorite shrine is Sasuke Inari, Inari being the rice God, having a fox as a messenger. Unfortunately, the nature of the shrine (up a hill, surrounded by trees, mostly dark green, not much space) makes it a bugger to photograph, which is a shame, but I doubt many photos could adequately portray the atmosphere up there…so instead, here’s a picture of a stone fox with something in its’ mouth (probably a rice-ball).

Even the brief tour of Kamakura that we offer is a full day out, and it’s not even scratching the surface of all the various Temples & the like…and the giant Buddha…I left everybody at that point in order to be on hand at the flat to receive Daves luggage, lost somewhere in Europe…fortunate for me that I did, for on the pilgrimage to the Big Buddha, Hayley, Sam and Dave fell foul of treacherous paths rendered muddy by recent rain, and ravenous mosquitoes, which, as if I had to point out, really suck.

Home for a quick, cheap, and above all, tasty (as it’s cooked by me) lunch…

…and then off to my favorite place in the whole of Tokyo…

Asakusa! Yes, even more pictures of Sensoji!

There’s Hayley tying a Temple Fortune (O-Mikuji) onto something that the priests will notice…don’t know what it’s called, but that’s a charm which seems to work - she drew the Highest Possible Good Fortune from a random drawer of seventy-odd, and is now on her way to getting a full working visa - woo-hoo!

…and Dave bought a silly hat…we all got drunk and tried it on…

Unfortunately, Hayley was momentarily sucked into her job, so Dave, Sam & I went off to the Nihon Minka En - a museum of old Japanese houses from a variety of periods.

Then, off to Nikko, where I took almost exactly the same pictures as last time.

Sam described Nikko as one of the most amazing places she’s ever seen. Result. It’s an exhausting day out, so the next day was something of a write-off…but we did manage to go to Shinjuku…

…and squeeze in a bit of karaoke, accompanied as we were by the dulcet tones of Brian…

…and Dave - look at him - he loves it!

Such is the insidious pull of this national past-time. When Matt came last year, we went to Kyoto, the cultural heart of Japan. We saw a Temple covered in Gold. We ate a Japanese banquet on tatami boards over a river. We climbed a mountain and had an onsen at the top. We fed monkeys by hand on top of another mountain…but his favorite bit was the karaoke…certainly, after hearing his rendition of “Don’t stop me now”, it’s probably also mine…

Quick trip to Harajuku in order to see some cosplay; alas, a quiet day for one of Tokyos most notorious sights…but as compensation, following a tip from our benevolent landlord, we hot-footed it over to Roppongi, for the Bonodori dance, featuring that stalwart of childrens TV, Doraemon...

…complete with a special Doraemon dance for the kids…let me assure you, it was disgustingly cute.

And finally, away to the dizzying heights of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government building, thus…

Lordy Lord that was fun…and another visit is wrapped up in a spectacular manner…cheers for coming Sam & Dave - utterly spiffing to see you…next up, my sister, who has just started a blog of her own. Go and taste her brain.

Anybody still there?

2006-09-24T07:21:00.000Z

A World Cup ago, a truly inspired act of clusterfuckery resulted in the death of my faithful laptop, hence the inactivity here in recent months. The unprecedented generosity of my mother has bestowed upon us a shiny new beastie, which permits us, from the comfort of our home, to keep in more frequent touch with friends & family, refresh web & photoblogs on a regular basis, remain savvy with regards to the planet but most importantly, resume watching this.

This sudden acquisition of a new computer took us both by surprise - thusly this weeks entry has about as much substance as what we did this weekend...tremendous fun, friday night was...a thirty-eighth birthday party in the heart of Tokyo, held in a popular bar, which sells 200 yen beers, although "beer" is a very generous description of what we were drinking that night.

Verily, 'twas a night of random encounters, perhaps the most entertaining being these two funny German fellas...

...and a gaggle of London girls, as it's always refreshing to hear an English accent this far away from home...that particular thirst was sated in a very surprising way whilst I was waiting for Hayley outside the station.

The Hachiko exit of Shibuya station is named after a certain dog, whose story echoes that of Edinburgh’s Greyfriars Bobby. The difference here is that the statue of Hachiko was erected before the death of the actual dog. Cynics have pointed out that maybe Hachiko didn’t visit Shibuya in order to wait for his departed master, rather to accept food from the people who had started recognizing him…but no matter…it’s a popular and convenient place to meet somebody in the madness of Shibuya.

Whilst I waited, I noticed a couple of Christians (specifically, Baptists, as I later discovered) wandering through the crowds, talking to people and trying to persuade them to come to church. Knowing what my answer would be, I tried to look inconspicuous, but non-Japanese tend to stand out over here. Naturally, I was spotted, and approached by a gentleman who, (well, I’ll go t’t’foot of our stairs) turned out to be from my hometown, sporting the delightfully Boltonian name of Roland. I found out later that his mother was Italian, his surname is “Franz” and that he’d been in Japan for about as long as I’ve been alive. I resisted the urge to point out that, in a sense, he represented the Axis powers of WWII, and did my best to avoid the subject of Theology. As far as people go, I liked Roland, and in a place like Tokyo, it was good to feel the “Bolton Kinship”, despite our wildly differing world-views. The crunch came when he tried to fulfill his mission and get me to Church, which was when I had to put my foot down and point out, without going into detail, the distance between our opinions.

Certainly, if I were to go to a Christian Meeting, I wouldn’t be able to do much, other than argue against their beliefs with the perseverance of a demolition worker, which I don’t really have the right to do…I think I surprised him with my refusal - although his face didn’t move a muscle, and he still kept his smile, there was the sensation of a sudden jolt, as if a pleasantly cruising vehicle in his head had just struck a solid object.

I wish him luck - although there are Japanese Christians, Shinto had deep roots long before Buddhism came over a century and a half ago…

Bonodori

2006-09-13T03:45:00.000Z

Bonodori
Originally uploaded by Shining Love Pig.

Definately a highlight for me - this dancing festival marks the beginning and the end of the Obon holiday...apparently it only lasts a week, and I suspect that different Japanese people celebrate it a different times of the year...one of my next door neighbours introduced it to me in July...maybe she comes from another prefecture...

Anyway, Obon welcomes the spirits of ones ancestors into the family home. Depictions of horses made from aubergines & cucumbers are left outside the doors, facing towards the home at the start, and away when the period is over. The spirits are suuposed to ride in and out on the animals.

This particular Bonodori was held in Roppongi Hills - a complex of buildings that wouldn`t look out of place in Logans Run, containing expensive cafes, cinemas, shopping malls et al...more noteworthy, it houses the Mori Art Museum and the headquarters of Asahi TV, which filmed the proceedings, so naturally it was hosted by a few celebrities and an old woman who was there as a crowd-exciter...I loved her because she looked like Jimmy Cranky...

...and yes, of course I danced. Photos exist, but to see those, you`ll have to pester Dave at No Compassion Without Suffering in the blogs menu...

Hayley`s not getting deported!!!

2006-09-12T04:49:00.000Z

Originally uploaded by Shining Love Pig.

Woo-hoo!

Dave sings karaoke...and loves every second...

2006-09-09T04:02:00.000Z

Dave sings karaoke...and loves every second...
Originally uploaded by Shining Love Pig.

I never imagined for one second that he`d do it. I think everyone was pleasantly surprised. God save the Queen in the style of Harry Hill.

The conspiracy continues...

2006-09-09T03:39:00.000Z

Originally uploaded by Shining Love Pig.

My earlier plan to post an entry directly into blogger using the flickr URL`s has gone the way of my other plans...Kawasaki BOE has seen fit to block the screen that allows me to write in blogger, whilst the internet cafe I`m now in won`t let me use their hard-drive as a go-between...thus you have this sporadic, piecemeal and wholly unsatisfactory account of the holiday.

So anyway, this gentleman was spotted in Asakusa. At the end of his leash is a corn on the cob, which he was taking for walkies, occassionally bending down to stroke it. Shortly after taking this photo, my fascination was suddenly replaced by guilt at being so morbidly fascinated by someone with mental problems. The guilt abated however when we saw him again in Shibuya, with a friend, also with an edible pet. I now believe him to be some kind of performance artist. The chances of finding, in a place the size of Tokyo, two madmen taking a corn-on-the-cob for a walk on the same day are too ridiculously huge to be a coincidence.

SUSHI CLOCK!!

2006-09-01T05:40:00.000Z

SUSHI CLOCK!!
Originally uploaded by Shining Love Pig.

It seems this is the only way I can write an entry, as previous attempts have been confounded at every turn...and this isn`t even a gnats piddle of what I wanted to write. There appears to be a Kawasaki-wide conspiracy to prevent me from posting photos to a blog, or writing an entry driectly...God bless flickr.com and watch this space...

Oops...

2006-08-06T08:52:00.000Z

Done it again...sunday has rolled around with me doing no actual preparation for this blog...maybe it`s got something to do with The Japanese Language Proficiency Test which your humble author is studying for...the level I`m taking, 四きゅう is the most basic "I like sushi, but I don`t like natto" stuff, but I`m not sufficiently confident to make the leap into 三きゅう...

I did intend to write in greater detail about this man as I`ve just read his book, "The Japan that can say No", written before the collapse of the Soviet Union, wherein he calls for Japan to assert her international clout by refusing to supply superior Japanese semiconductors to America, and stops short of suggesting changing "allegiance" to Russia. The book itself, in the wake of Japans` economic slump & the end of the Cold War seems pretty irrelevant right now, and although I agree with him when he complains of powerful countries like the US & the UK throwing their weight around, in the chapter entitled "Racial Discrimination: The Root of Japan bashing?" he draws the flies of my wrath to the steaming faeces of his opinions.

In describing the idea that the Japan is suffering from a morbidly low self esteem, he writes of a "contemptible" piece of work from a Japanese writer who states that he considers his countrymen to be "...no more attractive than pygmies."

Another quote I`ve heard attributed to Mr Ishihara is a voicing of his fears regarding Chinas` sudden economic rise, a potentially catastrophic state of affairs, since the Chinese "...have no morals and will pollute the world."

And if that wasn`t enough, why not have a look at these pearls of diplomatic wisdom and a word from another blogger?

When however, he says that racial discrimination is the root of Japan bashing, I agree with him...but our interpretations of that statement are polarised somewhat...

So anyway, we`ve got Dave and Sam (although bereft of an online prescence that I`m aware of, still very lovely) visiting over the next two weeks...consequently, this blog will be neglected for just as long...indeed, history does repeat itself...

Of short tempers, vacuums & landlords

2006-07-30T09:49:00.000Z

It`s summer! I`m sweating like a legion of bastards! The cockroaches are multitudinous and colossal! We`re getting eaten alive by mosquitoes!

When taking a break from the Japanese study that my holiday daily permits me, I inevitably find some excuse to wander down the local shopping street, ostensibly for little domestic things, in reality, to bask in the glorious air-conditioning. On friday, I had a valid reason, namely the pursuit of that most elusive of creatures, the correct hoover-bag.

Even in English I don`t like to ask for things in shops; doubly so in Japanese, as I still haven`t developed the habit of checking my dictionary for the right word. This oversight frequently leaves me stuck & eventually having to perform a little mime, complete with sound effects to a politely amused assistant.

Three such captive audiences later, and it seemed to transpire that I had to buy a new hoover, as the right bag had apparently been discontinued. As I walked home, my brain was exploding with the absurdity of it all - the typically Japanese desire for new products lest the old ones come to life.

As one particular rant stampedes through my skull, so it kicks open the sluice gates that hold back a rabble of volcanic diatribes. On bad days, the cultural and linguistic isolation of being an ethnic minority makes you question the sanity (and if you`re really angry, the morality) of your host country.

In more lucid moments, I realise that this frustration can be overcome by studying the language voraciously, which, hangovers permitting, I`ve been doing. Peculiarities of accent however can lead to misunderstanding, something I`ve experienced the other side of when dealing with foreign students in the Library. Sometimes, when hearing your own language spoken to you by someone from another country, a mysterious fog descends, filtering out recognisable sounds and creating a near shapeless mass of weird noises. This is a double edged sword, requiring clear speaking & intense listening from each party, which isn`t always possible. My own shortcomings in this field have tested the patience of many a foreign student wanting to get a point across, and so here the roles are reversed - when somebody can`t understand my Japanese, I become frustrated, as someone else I was talking to not an hour ago had no problem whatsoever.

With these mini-tempests boiling away inside, it`s easy to forget the other side of human beings. Stomping home from a communicative conundrum, I often run into the benevolent Tsuchiya san, our landlord, next-door neighbour, a spectacularly well preserved sixty-eight, these days mucking about in the garden a great deal, with an endearing straw hat (one of which I am now the proud owner).

More often than not, he wants to give us food. Our fridge frequently creaks under the weight of his generosity. Recently, I think he`s clocked my new found zeal for Japanese, as the past few times he`s called me up to his flat, I`ve been given kanji lessons (the record time a staggering three hours). We sit on his porch, perched on a single geta each, him demonstrating the correct stroke order for sundry kanji (the difference it makes is staggering), or how to look the things up in a dictionary, myself listening to the best of my ability, as it`s all in Japanese. It`s not unheard of for us to share watermelons or corn on the cob, both in season now.

Tsuchiya sans` family has lived in this part of Kawasaki since the Edo period; a good three hundred years. The collection of buildings wherein we live carries his name, and was, I suspect, at some point part of a larger Tsuchiya estate. I`m the first foreigner he`s met. He couldn`t speak English before then. It seems that the prescence of Hayley & myself has inspired him to study. He uttered his first English word ("trash") just over a year ago when explaining the rubbish collection procedure to me.

On bad days, I`ve come to expect dismissal, ignorance, coldness and racism from many elderly Japanese. It`s refreshing that my cynical prejudices are consistently swept aside by none other than my landlord.

...and it seems that the only thing that`s changed about hoover-bags is the serial numbers. Halleluia.

今日は　いろいろ　約束が　あります。

2006-07-24T02:49:00.000Z

I have various errands to do today.

First day of the summer holidays proper (for me at any rate) and I`m in the midst of doing a billion and one administrative things required of me, by this nation & my own...coupled with Hayley getting back from Blighty, I`ve had very little time to put my ideas for blog entries onto paper...thanks for tuning in...normal service will be resumed soon...one day...

I wish I`d brought my camera.

2006-07-16T08:06:00.000Z

Roppongi is an area of Tokyo, famous for being the place to go if you fancy an international romantic interlude. A recent acquaintance suggested that we go out for a lads night...this coupled with his conspiratorial "don`t tell your girlfriend" and description of himself as a "dirty old man" made me think that his intentions were less than gentlemanly, and my panic that he was going to try and take me to a hostess bar led me to call on a friend for backup, but this proved to be totally unfounded, and the night a good deal tamer than what I had expected.

The most notable venue was Gaspanic, a nightmarish flashback if ever I had one. Painted red, with a sweaty R&B soundtrack (which turned out to be the flavour of the evening), strutting hip-hoppers, randy army types, forty-somethings who looked like they should really know better, and the immortal sight of a line of blonde female patrons, dancing, nay, gyrating on the bar, wearing glittery hats, and clutching bottles of some girly non-beer drink...

...the bottle clutching was all important, and various signs in the establishment revealed it`s character - the strange one that declared "No tap water", and a lengthy one that stated the necessity of having a drink in ones hand...

"patrons seen without a drink in their hand will be asked to leave"

I managed three...having a beer in your hand in a place where conversation is nigh-on impossible makes you feel the need to do something, rather than observing the pulling prowess of your fellow patrons.

In a slightly more tasteful incident of Japanese life, today is the last day of Obon. One of our next door neighbours, a delightful old lady who can`t speak a lick of English, tried to explain it to me when I got home from school...she was sitting outside her front door with a dish of burning wood. She seemed to be saying something about bringing something into the house, and made a reference to Setsubun, so I thought it wa just a changing of the seasons thing...to be honest, I had other things on my mind, namely protecting the futon (left out to air that very day) from the threatened bout of 大雨 (Ouame - lit. big rain) announced on the school tannoy...I found out more later from a lovely group of ladies who pay me to practice their english conversation...

Obon is a period similar to Halloween, but with positive overtones. During Obon, lanterns are lit outside of homes in order to guide the spirits of ones dead ancestors to the family. Toy horses are made out of aubergines and cucumbers and left outside the front door. The idea is that the ancestors ride to the house on the vegetable animal. On the first day of Obon, the animals face the door, to signify arriving, whilst at the end, they face away, signifying the ancestors returning to from wherever they came.

...actually, a straight changing of the seasons wouldn`t go amiss right now - have I mentioned how obscenely bloody hot it is? Even though now, I`m in air conditioner paradise in this lovely internet cafe, when I step out, it will be a very different story...and the flat`s full of cockroaches...ugh...

Nationalism and the talking umbrella

2006-07-09T09:51:00.000Z

Wasuerki san has been rather quiet of late. Of course, now Hayley`s gone back to England for her sisters wedding (congratulations Laura & Mark), the bakegasa has re-affirmed its prescence like a bitterly jilted john. This week, it`s been all I can do to get away from the thing. When I`ve spent the day at elementary schools, chasing kids with as much energy as I have biomass, the last thing I want to do is talk about history with "someone" who can only get offended by my opinions.

Take for example all this broohaha over the PM Koizumi visiting Yasukuni, wherein are enshrined Japanese soldiers of WWII, including several convicted of war crimes. Repeated criticisms from nations considering themselves victimised by Japans` actions in the war has not stopped Koizumi from making a visit each year. He has responded by saying that he`s doing it as Junichiro Koizumi, rather than as the Prime Minister of Japan. Protestations from other Asian countries aren`t being dealt with on a diplomatic level.

I personally think that a politician can`t keep his personal and private life separate (Bill Clinton might have got off much lighter in tht case), especially when making such a controversial move as that.

Wasureki san on the other hand is incensed that one should even criticise Koizumi over this affair. It argues that other countries honour their war dead, and that Japan is no worse, in regards to war crimes, than any other nation. Oft overlooked when denouncing the evils of Nazi Germany is the fact that Britain invented the modern concentration camp during the second Boer War.

The bakegasa is also keen to point out the post WWII Constitution of Japan, effectively written by General Douglas MacArthur after the nations` defeat. Article 9 specifically demands that Japan surrenders the right to a military, except for self defence purposes. A unit of the SDF is currently in Iraq under the protection of Coalition forces.

Wasureki san argues that article 9 cripples Japan, renders them impotent internationally, and that the American military prescence makes the country nothing more than a gigantic aircraft carrier. Japan is limited when it comes to forming a foreign policy independant of the United States. The right wing Revisionist Party seeks to strike article 9 from the constitution, or maybe even re-write the whole thing. If Wasureki san had arms, I`m sure it would vote.

A recent issue in Asia is that of the approval of certain text books for use in Japanese schools, that gloss over or omit the atrocities committed by the military before and during WWII. The umbrella & other voices from the right believe that the current perception of Japans` conduct has created a culture of shame which erodes the spirit of the nation, and consequently, the ideals held dear. I will not play devils advocate over this issue. No country should forget their history, no matter how shameful.

But the broader issue isn`t quite so simple. Isolated for so many years from a rapidly changing world, Japan has had a unique history. The indigenous culture fomented in private for over two-hundred years before modernity came a`knocking in the form of Commodore Perry and his Black Ships.

Previously, only limited trade with the Portuguese and Dutch had been allowed. In all other respects, Japan was a closed country. It seems that Perry was charged with making Japan and offer she couldn`t refuse. Certainly, much of his diplomacy took the form of veiled threats, as he suggested that the next industrial nation to arrive on their doorstep with a battleship might not be as friendly as the US. This indirect directness more than likely struck a chord, and thus was Japan unwillingly introduced to the world.

Wasureki san was still part of a tree at that point, but I can detect a certain resentment. What really resonates is the post WWII occupation. Even today, Japan is proud of a culture which, despite external influences, is uniquely hers. For many, the defeat of a fiercely nationalistic stance and the Emperors subsequent renunciation of Divinity probably came as quite a blow. Having the constitution re-written by an occupying power can`t have made them feel any better. Maybe part of me can understand the animosity received by Gaijin from some of the elderly.

The bakegasa argues that recent issues like Koizumis visits to Yaukuni, the inclusion of the aforementioned textbooks and the re-adoption of the National Anthem & flag as state symbols are merely assertions of Japanese confidence, and that as far as war crimes and nationalism go, Japan is no worse than any other country. I think it`s important to remember that she`s no better either.

最期ですね。

2006-06-30T10:53:00.000Z

When I first arrived at Kyomachi Junior High, I had only been in Japan for ten days. Needless to say, with it also being my first day in a teaching job, I was utterly terrified.

Since then, I`ve been to several schools, worked with many teachers and met literally thousands of students, but I`ve always had a soft spot for those at Kyomachi, my first base school.

Being, from the point of view of the school, essentially a part time teacher, I`m more susceptible to this risk than those who don`t change location every week. The Japanese education system likes to move people around. After a certain tenure at one school, teachers may be given orders to transfer to another. Yesterday saw a shake-up in the schedules of the Kawasaki ALTs. I`ve lost Kyomachi, and my other favorite, Kawaski Junior High.

...and I`m aware that this post has tremendous whinge potential. As you can probably tell, I`m not happy. I`m going to miss this place. Thanks to this school, I`ve been drunk at ten in the morning, carting a bloody great portable shrine around the area in which I live. But that`s not saying anything really. Maybe all teachers feel like this once they`re separated from their charges, but these kids are amazing - charismatic, capable, friendly, hilarious...I could go on...

The good news is that Kyomachi is but a (powerful) gnats fart away from my humble abode, and running into the students whilst doing laundry or shopping is not at all uncommon.

So, from September, I`ll be getting two new schools - Miyuki, by all accounts, a wonderful place, and Minami Daishi, by all accounts, hell on earth. We`ll see what those bring later...

Apologies for the bleak tone this week. Even the title, "saigo desu ne?" means "it`s the end, isn`t it?" Fatalistic, but that`s Japan.

More English than the English?

2006-06-25T14:47:00.000Z

The list of those sports invented by the English but now dominated by other nations is a lengthy one...

...so writes Jack Crossley in an imitation English newspaper that lined the basket of fish & chips consumed by Hayley & myself in the English themed Hub Pub of Kawasaki & sundry other neighbourhoods in Japan. Extending this idea towards food, even though the Japanese take on fish & chips is way off the mark, it is healthier by far than what one receives in Blighty. Does this make it better in the long run? In terms of coronary crises, one could venture a hearty "certainly", but I think they`re missing the point somewhat...

...short entry this week for a couple of reasons...

1) We`re off to see England play...some other country...Ecuador?

2) I`ve spilled beer on my laptop rendering it immobile for the forseeable future. Hopefully, normal service will be resumed shortly...

Things are different...

2006-06-19T07:01:00.000Z

WARNING; contains high levels of Petulance, Fury and Arsey-ness.
Reading material of this nature harms your unborn baby.

Culture shock can be a misleading term, conjuring up images of the lone traveller, seeing a country for the first time & being whisked away on a magical rollercoaster of new sights, sounds and smells. Whilst this is certainly true on some days, the reality of the experience lingers more. The leering face of differing notions of perceived common sense takes the time every now and then to pop up and say "boo".

Though I`m scarcely a lifer, after a year and a bit over here (language aside) I thought I`d done a fairly good job of adapting, but there are still things that ruffle me spectacularly. Case in point, the Japanese Post Office, home of my yen account.

Even in English, I have a hard time with the nature of bureaucrats. None however are quite so particular as the Japanese.

In order to keep my bank happy, I need to send some money back to the UK every month. Due to my nature as an immigrant (I`m tolerated because of my usefulness), this transaction needs to be done in person with all the requisite forms, ID, et al. Sounds OK - even though I work at several locations in a month, there are Post Office branches everywhere...

...but no...

...only specific branches deal with International Money Transfers. Sounds OK - some of my schools are reasonably close to Kawasaki Centre. I can pop in after work...

...but no...

...even though the Central PO closes at five, the actual desk I need shuts up shop at four...half an hour before I do.

So today I did the unthinkable. Faced with an afternoon of no classes, wherein I am free to do as I please, as long as I stay in school, I asked if I could take some time just to nip into town and sort out this very important bit of paperwork. This is a truly cavalier defiance of my illustrious employers` "don`t-ask" policy and Japans` national pathology. I was reluctantly given permission.

Off I trundled to the Central PO, already in a Great British huff, as there`s a branch not two minutes away from this particular school, that couldn`t help me for reasons of procedure. I should have known better than to assume that all I had to do was hand over the already completed form & let the assistant carry out whatever jiggery-pokery she needed.

The first problem she encountered was that the name of the payee was the same as that of the payor. This always foxes them, so I was prepared, informing her that it was my account in England. The second problem was a bit more infuriating.

In Japan, ones` surname comes before ones' given name, hence my ID card having me as Kearton Christopher. I made the colossal mistake of writing my name in the Western order. She didn`t like that, and proceeded to draw a series of arrows on the form.

Then there`s the frankly absurd amount of names I have. I deliberately left out "Louis" on all my applications to get into the country. I didn`t leave out "Patrick".
On the money transfer form, I left out "Patrick".
My ID card says "Patrick".
She asked me to write "Patrick".
I wrote "Patrick".

I wish I knew the Japanese word for "flexible".

The last problem was partially my fault, as my language ability is still very basic. When the time came for the closing stages of the application, it transpired that I had to give her the money in cash, even though I`ve done this procedure several times now & this is the first time I`ve had to do that. When I think about it, she might have asked me if I had the money now. Understanding only part of that question, I answered yes...so off I go to the corner of the room to draw out the money, walk all of a yard back and hand it to her...but this is the sting...

...it turns out that there are two kinds of form for this process - one that requires cash, and one that allows you to transfer money directly from one account to another...the latter is the form that I handed to her in the first place.

Why did she ask me about cash? Why? Why? Why?

There aren`t enough curses in the lexicon of profanity to adequately express my bile.

Lighter news - a couple of third year girls, fresh from a school trip to Kyoto, brought me back a fan depicting Kinkakuji...oh Japan, I can`t stay angry with you...

The bakegasa speaks

2006-06-11T05:37:00.000Z

I'm really quite embarrassed that my umbrella has achieved a command of English in considerably less time than it's taken me to learn pidgin Japanese. My attempts to speak in its native tongue are met with scorn to say the least. Accusations of crimes against the Japanese language are the most diplomatic of responses I've received. Having a kancho performed upon my posterior by a hopping umbrella is the least.

It's chosen a name for itself; Wasureki, or lost/forgotten tree. The name implies a sense of regret or melancholy, not evident in conversation, except for the odd moment of dewy-eyed patriotism. Wasureki san is well assured of its pedigree, insisting that part of the tree it came from was made into the hilt of the katana that Mishima Yukio used to commit seppuku. Like most Japanese, it has a very clear awareness of its roots.

As I said last week, objects become tsukumogami after they've existed for one hundred years. The interesting thing about Wasureki san is that it appears to have been self-aware for quite some time, even before it "came to life". When I think of the wealth of experience this umbrella has, I realise that I'm on to something amazing. It's seen four Emperors, two world wars, economic depression, boom and bust, the industrialisation of Japan, Hiroshima & Nagasaki, the Great Kanto Earthquake...20th century Japan on a stick you might say...but not directly to Wasureki san.

The precedence of seniority being what it is over here, I have to show the utmost respect to this former umbrella. This, coupled with my sketchy knowledge of Japanese history has resulted in several informal lectures on it's part. I can do little but sit and listen, which galls me sometimes, as I can detect a certain bias in its ululating.

Cultural, linguistic and generational factors aside (and disregarding the odd rectal intrusion), we get along fine. My interest in Japanese culture stands in my favour, but debating issues could be problematic.

Incidentally, I've received a few private emails that call the authenticity of last weeks photograph into question. With reference to other crypto-zoological images, I'd like to point out that an inferior photograph doesn't necessarily disprove the existence of these entities. Patrick Harpur, for example, postulates that the ambiguous nature of such creatures is reflected in their physical attributes; that they are neither corporeal nor ethereal, hence, are buggers to photograph. I've sent the picture to Fortean Times...time will tell...

How my umbrella made me late.

2006-06-04T05:46:00.000Z

Punctuality is extremely important over here, and in all my years of dodging PE or oversleeping, I`ve never had such an improbable excuse as this.

Until recently, Japan has resembled a generous English summer. Now an early rainy season is gradually making its presence known. Last Friday, my semi-regular trudge to the school furthest from home was announced with a clap of thunder, and clouds that in a cartoon would have grumpy expressions, so I armed myself with one of the umbrellas we`ve inherited (this one being a gift from Kitsune sensei, a social studies teacher who`s now gone to another school).

As I picked it up, I noticed that the handle now looked like a foot, complete with toes that wiggled mischievously. The umbrella curved upwards, there was a rustle and a huge eye opened in the fabric, followed by a smile shaped orifice directly below, from which lolled a thick pink tongue.
“BLEARGH!!!” said my umbrella. Naturally, I screamed like a girl and fell over backwards, letting go of the thing. It hopped up and down on my chest, babbling in Japanese that I couldn`t keep up with.

I`ve often thought that the true test of ones language skills is against small children and drunk old men. I now count umbrellas amongst these challenges.

It got off me and bounced around the room, clearly excited, but I didn`t have time to indulge it (cloudy skies usually make me oversleep) and Hayley had already gone to work. I attribute my quick thinking to the phenomenon that makes grannies wrestle crocodiles. In my pre-stove existence, I lived on take-out bento, the net result being the acquisition of a small fortune in elastic bands. Grabbing the umbrella in one hand, I bound it securely with the other and hurriedly stuffed it into the shoe cupboard. I left home in a rush, thanking River Island for selling me a coat with a hood.

I made particularly grovelling apologies to the Vice Principal when I got to work. Hopefully she won`t tell my illustrious employers.
As you can imagine, thinking of grammar activities throughout the day was difficult because my head was full of umbrellas. I was sure I`d seen something like that before. Then I remembered a stall in Kyoto selling representations of what I`d seen.

I also remembered, from the reading I did for the Halloween entry, that the Japanese word for ghost (obake) means “changing thing”. Since a ghost is something that has changed from a living into a dead thing, and considering that the animistic spirit of Shinto sees life in all things, it started to make a bit of sense.

I googled (funny how that`s become a verb) bakegasa (ghost umbrella) and discovered that it`s a “species” of tsukumogami (artifact spirit). When objects reach their one-hundredth birthday, they come to life. It`s said that such creatures are repelled by electricity, so modern objects don`t become tsukumogami. All reasonably clear so far, but it doesn`t explain why Kitsune sensei randomly gave me an antique umbrella.

I was a little nervous on the way back home. When I arrived, I was greeted with an open shoe cupboard and the remnants of my rubber band collection. The bakegasa was sitting on the sofa, next to a Japanese/English dictionary and reading one of my grammar books, turning the pages with its tongue.
In broken Japanese, I apologized for my conduct that morning and bowed lower than I`ve done to any Koucho sensei. The umbrella responded with
“Nidoto surunai!” (roughly, "Don`t ever do that again.")

And yes, of course I`m the only person who can see it. When Hayley got home, it decided to turn back into a normal umbrella, leaving me to explain why it was on the sofa surrounded by textbooks. I don`t think she believes me. Rest assured, updates on this situation will be posted as they occur.