I think it's safe to say I have a new obsession. I've felt this way before--about beer, Charles Bukowski, Ernest Hemingway, Formula One, jazz music, and probably a few other things--and know this feeling well. And this time the object of my affections is sumo.
I've always liked sumo in a mild sort of way but now it is taking over my life. And I like it.
I have read two books on the subject, have already been to sumo in Tokyo two different times (and am planning a third for May), watch it religiously every afternoon when there is a basho going on, during said watching time I am also online following the results as they are put up on the website, and I read about it in the paper every morning. I know the names of many of the top forty rikishi, sumo wrestlers, have my favorites, root for them, feel good when they win and rather pissed when they lose. And as I learn more about this whole subject, I just want to keep learning and watching. I can't get enough. It's madness, I tell you.
But sumo really is a great sport. Once you get past that voice in your head that says, "You do realize you are watching fat, near naked men, pushing each other around, don't you?" you can see the beauty that makes sumo such a fun sport to watch and understand. You develop an eye for it. You know what to look for. You know what each matchup means. And you begin to really understand what's going on (although I admit I still have a lot to learn).
I could explain sumo here, but I imagine most of you would either fall asleep or stop reading this journal altogether, so I won't. But just know that if you come to Japan to visit me during a basho (a basho is a sumo tournament, they last fifteen days and are held every other month), you will either be going to Tokyo with me or at the very least will see it on tv. And if you watch it with me, you will have to listen to me explain a few things to you. So don't say I didn't warn you.

Now, with sumo in you head and in my veins, I have to tell you that I don't normally get giddy about things. I prefer the calm, even-keeled approach. But I am damn giddy. Turns out that the sumo boys will be in Kofu on April 8th for some kind of a demonstration. I'm not sure exactly what it's all about but I saw the fliers in my favorite restaurant and I saw the dates and venues online and thought to myself, "Holy yokozuna (that's the highest ranking in sumo), I have to go to that!"
Unfortunately, after doing a bit of research, ie. looking at a calendar, I figured out that April 8th falls on a Thursday. A workday. So at that point I thought I might have to miss this once in a lifetime event. But as it turns out all is going to be ok and I will, in fact, get to go.
Here's what happened....
A couple weeks ago I went to my Friday school and there was a note on my desk. It was written by Katsumura-sensei and said something about Ono-san, from the Kencho, calling for me and asking me if I'd like to go to a festival on April 10th, a Saturday. Then it said that if I did want to go to the festival I could have a day off on some other day. This confused me and I dialed the number he had left to clear this up. So I got him on the phone and all I figured out--because of the language barrier--was that yes, if I decided to go to the festival, I could have a day off of my choice. "Damn," I thought, "I would have probably gone to the festival anyway. And now I get a day off for it." So that was that and I didn't think too much of it.
But this Tuesday, he mentioned the festival again. This time I was at the Kencho and he showed me a piece of paper, all in Japanese, of course, that essentially said that I, as a volunteer for this festival, needed to attend a meeting on Monday, April 5th. "A meeting for what?" I thought to myself.
Well, after a question as to the language of this meeting--Japanese--and a question that went, "Ono-san, what will I be doing at this festival?" I got my answer and it all came clear.
Apparently, you're going to love this, I will be dressing as a samurai warrior and parading down the friendly streets of Kofu. That's right, I will be dressing up as a samurai warrior. Ono said he did it eight years ago. And from the picture he showed me it looks like there will be a few of us, mostly Japanese men, of course. "Well," I thought, "What the hell?"
So I said to Ono, "You mean I will be the last samurai?"
"Uh," he answered, getting my joke, "perhaps not the last."
So yes, your humble narrator will dress like a samurai and march down the street. I don't know how I get into these things. Sure would help if I could speak Japanese, I imagine.
But anyway, getting back to sumo, after we had successfully enlisted me in the Japanese Samurai Army, Ono said to me that I could take a day off that week before the big day. And at that moment it clicked in my head, "Yipee! I can go to the sumo thing!" So I pulled out the flyer on it I had in my bag and showed it to Ono, "I want this day off," I said and he laughed. He laughed because many Japanese think a foreigner being interested in sumo is funny. I'm not sure why, but I find it funny that they find it funny. So anyway, he said I could have that day off and today Robin ordered tickets for herself and Gary and me.
Sumo in Kofu and I get to go. What could be better?

I might have to cut this short as I haven't been able to use the computer much here at the Kencho this week and might have to vacate it at any moment. Apparently one of the guys in here is doing real work and has needed it for much of this week. I'm not sure what he's doing but it seems to be legit as there are times where a few of the other guys in the office will come over, look over his shoulder, say a few things, and then maybe even help him point and click. So I don't think he's looking up sporting news, writing emails, or adding to his journal as some of us do.

Anyway, this morning Ono-san and I got in one of the government vehicles and went to Tokai High School. It will be school number seven for me starting in April. I will visit it every 1st and 3rd Monday of the month. Minobusan has been cut to every 2nd and 4th Monday. I met with three guys and we sat around a large conference table and asked each other questions. The info I got is that I have to arrive there by about 930am, will have two or three classes of about 35 students each, will have to somehow supply my own lunch, will be staying after school for about half an hour to attend the English Club meetings, and will get to leave somewhere between 4 and 430pm. Two of the guys were really nice and the other one seemed ok but didn't say too much. All in all I think things will be just fine. I am getting to be an old pro at this multi-school thing.
And the really good part is that I get to ride my bike to this place. I don't have to take trains or busses or the occasional cab. It is past the Kencho by about another 15 minutes. So it should be about a 25 to 30 minute ride. No problem.

In other news....Amy's parents have come and gone. They seemed to enjoy themselves and I enjoyed showing them and helping them what and when I could. We stayed in Tokyo the first weekend they were here and then they came up to Kofu a few times with Amy during last week and then this last Sunday we all went out with Yamashita-sensei.
He took us down to Shizuoka, the prefecture south of Yamanashi. The best part was that I got to go to a beach and walk on the sand and touch the ocean. It's amazing how much I unconsciously missed it. When I lived in Monterey and near San Diego I definitely didn't go to the beach everyday, sometimes it was a month between visits, but I liked knowing it was there. Some kind of a strange mental thing, I guess.
Anyway, I found a dead shark, a small one, and we walked around on the dark volcanic sand and then went to eat.

Uh oh, the computer man is back. I should get off this thing. Not really much more to tell about that day except that we visited the ocean, a waterfall/small river, and then a lake. It was a water-themed day.

This Friday the arrival of my parents will occur.

Bye for now.

Back in early February Mashi asked me if I wanted to help make a few things for a local festival that my neighborhood would be having in early March. At the time I wasn't sure what the festival was all about, how much time he was asking for, what we would be making, or who else would be there. But, as is often the case over here, I just agreed and said I would help. So that was that.
During the next couple weeks I ran into Mashi a few more where we usually just greeted each other but once in while we'd mention the festival. When I was with Amy once, Mashi stopped us and asked if she was coming. She answered in the affirmative and at that he went into a hard-to-understand explanation of what the festival was about and then ran into his house, appearing a brief time later with a box of pictures. The pictures were of this same festival in the previous years and we saw happy children, hanging red lanterns, and various other things. "Sure," we thought, "it'll be fun."
I also ran into Mashi once coming home from work. He stopped me and within a few seconds, Robin, my neighbor, also pulled up on her bike. So the three of us talked about the upcoming events a bit (Robin speaks Japanese) and more of the details were ironed out.
It all sounded like fun, but to be honest I didn't exactly know what I was getting myself into. I do enjoy the neighborhood people, but the language barrier to me is sometimes like the Great Wall of China must be to a rabbit, if there are, in fact, rabbits living by the Great Wall. You just look at it and realize that you may never cross it. Somedays this barrier seems like a mere particle of dust on your shoe that you can flick off, other days it seems like the aforementioned Great Wall. But I guess it's really got more to do with your mood on that day and the actual thing you want to get accomplished more than anything else. Anyway, there's no telling how you are going to be feeling on the day of a planned event with the Japanese. So I was looking forward to it in one way and not much in another. But I am in Japan to take as much of it in as I can, so sometimes you just have to dive in and try things out. And I am glad I did (as I usually am).
So the night of February 28th, Robin, Gary, Amy and I (and a girl named Katy who is an ex-JET and was visiting Japan at the time) all met Mashi down by his house. From there we walked down to the local public hall, removed our shoes, and entered the large tatami matted room. Inside there were about 25 or 30 Japanese people, both men and women, and all above the age of fifty. I'd even say most were around 60.
So Mashi ushered us in while the old people watched and Gary and I were told to sit at the male table while the three girls were shown to a female table. Gary and I sat there awaiting further instruction and wondered if this little get together was going to involve anything we might get in a glass or can or bottle. At this point, it seemed not. Eventually Mashi came back and through a series of gestures, and words, both Japanese and English, explained to us what we were going to be doing.
As it turns out, our table, the male table, was essentially an assembly line and we were making these things that I can't quite explain. Imagine a bamboo stick about three feet long and about the diameter of your pinkie finger. Then take the end of that stick and split it lengthwise about 12 inches down. Now in that slit put a piece of paper that has been printed with Kanji characters. Add in a stalk of rice, some tape to hold it all together, and a small bell that you might find on the collar of a neighborhood cat and you have made what we were making. Got the picture? Ok. Now, the first guy was pouring black ink into a tray. The second guy was dipping his large stamp into that tray and then rolling the stamp onto a piece of paper set up for him by the next guy. Then that guy was passing the paper to the next guy who was also stamping Kanji onto the paper, only this time in red. After he was finished he passed it on to another guy, the guy to my left, who was taking this piece of paper and sliding it into another piece of paper that had it's end folded over to hold the first piece in place. He was passing it to me where I was responsible for matching this printed paper set with a perfect stalk of rice (think like a stalk of wheat) from the pile I had before me. Then I passed it to Gary or the next guy, Gary got promoted shortly to flower-on-stick duty, thus, most of the evening I was at a table with a bunch of old Japanese guys who didn't speak a word of English (not a word!), and this guy took a piece of gold tape and attached the rice stalk to the paper. Then he passed it on to the next guy who slid the paper/rice into a bamboo stick. The bamboo stick was then wrapped with tape just below and above the paper by the next guy and then a bell on purple string was attached. And there, ladies and gentlemen, is how you make a.......just what the hell was the name of those things?
Mashi explained some of this to us before we actually did it, pointed to his watch and then the clock on the wall and then said, "Maybe...one hour!"
"Ok," Gary and I said, "We can do that."
But then Mashi spoke again, "Then....break time!"
At this Gary and I looked at each other. "Just how long would we be doing this?" we wondered as in America "break time" implies that the work will continue.
But Mashi spoke again, "After.....shochu time!" A round of cheers went up from the two of us. "And then.....go home!"
So ok, one hour of work and then a few drinks. Didn't sound too bad to us.
So the work began as outlined above with me doing nothing but picking out a stalk of rice, receiving a Kanji-printed paper from the old guy to my left and then passing them both to my right. It was mind numbing work and I thought about people on actual assembly lines in auto factories or candy factories or just factories in general, wondering how they did/do it day after day after day. "At least I only have an hour and will be generously rewarded for it" I thought.
Gary ended up most of the time at a different corner of the room attaching paper flowers to sticks. And the three girls, along with most of the old ladies in the room, were making those paper flowers. It was a bee-hive of activity.
Finally and mercifully the top of the next hour came. We had made a hundred sticks with paper and rice stalks and the flowers were more numerous than I cared to count. But it all looked nice and Gary and I sat with Mashi and were served sweet sake.
Now, sweet sake (I know there is a Japanese name for it but I have no idea what it is) is not what you might think. It is sweet but it is not sake; at least not in my mind. The stuff we were having apparently has no alcohol in it, so I don't know why it is called sake as sake is the Japanese word for alcohol, but perhaps this is just some stupid foreigner's idea of fun. Anyway, to my knowledge this white liquid that I was now drinking had no alcohol in it. But instead of saying "Now look, Mashi, I worked for a solid, coma-inducing hour and I demand to paid in shochu or beer or real sake!" I kindly asked, "Mashi, does this have alcohol in it?" In all honesty it was a innocent question. I really wasn't sure. But Mashi, in his generous and faulty-translating way, ran off to the small kitchen to get me some alcohol to pour into my sweet sake. What a guy! A few minutes later he came back with a paper cup full of something, I think real sake, and poured some into Gary's, mine, and his own drinks. Truthfully, I think Mashi wanted it just as bad as we did, and my asking was an excuse for him to go get some.
So we had snacks, and sake, and beer for about a half hour before, and all at once, nearly the entire room rose in unison to leave. But before we did the ladies shoved as much of the left over snacks and beer as we could carry at us and sent us off. "Arigato....arigato......sayonara!" they screamed at us along with various other presumably nice phrases I don't know.
So that was that.
A couple days later I looked in my mailbox and found a page that was obviously from Mashi. It was all in Kanji and was obviously a schedule of some sort and Mashi had laboriously translated some of it for me and the other English speakers in the building. He even drew a small map on the side. Turns out that this paper was a schedule for the upcoming weekend's festival. "God of the Harvest Festival" it said at the top. I looked it over and translated more of the Kanji in my free time at the Kencho.
So Saturday rolled around and Mashi called me at about the time I had expected him to and I went down the road to find him and a few other JETs that were already there. They were off the main road and up a path that ran up the side of hill. It is quite hard to explain but the path went between a couple houses and was quite rocky and uneven. After about a three minute climb I arrived at the top, with Mashi and Russ (a British JET), and received one of the stick/paper/stalk of rice thingies I had helped make the previous weekend. There was also a small (basically a table with stuff on it) Shinto shrine up there and Mashi said to make the bow and clapping gesture one does at a real Shinto shrine--not that this one wasn't real, it just wasn't a building like I was used to.
After this we all walked down the hill and over to an open-sided building where we sat at a long table and ate sashimi and other snacks and drank beer and sake. I sat next to Mashi and across from Russ and his wife Carolyn and eventually Gary, Robin and Dilek showed up (all live in my building). So we sat around talking and doing what you normally do at party-like events. Later I had to walk down to the local train station to get Amy and a friend named Michele.
So the afternoon turned into evening in this manner and at 6pm the lanterns along the street were lit (one by one with flame). Unfortunately I had forgotten my camera cause it looked really nice but there's always next year I guess. So we all watched (or helped) the lanterns being lit and soon some of the old men of the neighborhood lit a fire in a big metal trash can.
All of this was on the street that had the path leading up the hill coming off it and somehow--I think because we were called to by the drum like Odysseus's crew by the Sirins--Gary, Mashi and I ended up going up the hill again. Up at the top and right next the table shrine was a large drum and one of the neighborhood men was up there beating it in a rapid one-two cadence. One-two, one-two, one-two.....it went. Those people of the neighborhood who chose to could come up, make a small prayer, and receive one of the sticks we had made. I wasn't sure about the significance of all this, I just wanted to try the drum.
So we got up there and the man, probably seeing the hungry look on my face, handed me the big fat drumsticks and I gave it a go. One-two, one-two, one-two...I went. It was an easy beat to keep and Gary and Mashi watched in what must have been complete fascination. Then Mashi grabbed the sticks from me and did the beat. Then he gave them to Gary and Gary did the beat.
And then, with that beat successfully conquered, Mashi grabbed the sticks again, said, "New challenge!" belted out a different beat and then handed the sticks to me. So I did it and then Gary did. This went on several times with Mashi yelling, "New challenge!" at every new round. It was great fun and to our slightly intoxicated ears we sounded damn good.
This must have gone on for about an hour. At one point the girls and Russ came up for a few minutes to watch and listen but soon tired of the natives beating the drum and left us to return to the warm confines of an apartment. Gary, Mashi and I, however, were having too much fun to let the cold night air bite us and just kept going. Boom boom boom well into the night.
Eventually we exhaused ourselves (and ran out of beer) and headed back down the path to the small bon-fire that was now burning and smoking all but the most devout Harvest God believers back into their homes. There were about ten Japanese men and me and Gary. None of them spoke English, except for Mashi's few words, and Gary and I don't speak Japanese, but it is amazing how well we could communicate with gestures and hand-signals. Apparently alcohol helps with sign-language.
So the night soon ended and we walked back to our apartments ready to continue the next day.
The next day was the real part of the festival. Summoned by Mashi's voice over the phone Amy and I walked down to where we had eaten sashimi the night before to find all the characters of the previous night's drama with a few additions. Mashi was there, the old men were there, Robin, Gary and Dilek were there, but now there was also a large group of children. They all wore happi (pronounced hoppy as in "This beer is quite hoppy") coats and were running around playing and chasing each other as children the world over must.
Many of the old men were also wearing the happi-coats and some guy came over to me, took his off, and indicated for me to put it on. So I did and was now one of them. All the while we were taking pictures and looking around and talking and admiring the "portable shrine," as Mashi called it. The shrine was mostly red and black with a few other colors here and there, seemed to made of wood, and had paper flowers and bells and other decorations on it. And all of this was somehow secured on two long red poles.
So we were all standing around when I noticed that the drum from the night before had somehow moved down the hill and had taken refuge in the bed of a small white pickup. I didn't think too much about it as I figured my drumming days for this festival were over, but one of the old guys got up there and started beating the thing and then motioned for me to come up there and take a turn. So I did and before I knew it Gary and I were chosen as the two guys to beat the drum while our procession moved slowly around the neighborhood.
This procession consisted of the truck with drum, then about 25 kids of varying ages carrying the portable shrine, some adults sprinkled here and there to make sure all was ok, then a cart on which was a money box so the people we passed could make donations (it was all decorated too), then more adults which included Amy, Robin and Dilek, and then another truck which Mashi drove and collected any gifts that the neighborhood people wanted to donate.
Gary was up first and I sat in the back of the truck. They had told us what to do and we moved off. BOOM-BOOM-"WA-SHOI!" we went down the street, BOOM-BOOM-"WA-SHOI!" And it went on like that. Gary would hit the drum twice in two beats about half a second apart and then the kids would all yell "WA..SHOI!" That word, I know because it was asked, doesn't mean anything. It is no more than sound used for heavy lifting. Kinda like an "Argg" might be to a pirate or a "Ummph" might be to an defensive linesman. I imagine it might carry a little more significance than that but not too much so.
So around the neighborhood we went. Up this street, turn that way, down that street, and on and on. Some, very few, of the neighborhood people came out to their front step to watch and wave. Funny part was that the old people tended to have that look on their faces that said, "Why are couple of white guys beating the drum this year?"
Finally, after about 10 or 15 minutes we came to a house and stopped. At this point I didn't know what was happening but it turned out to be a temporary stop for the kids to get snacks and drinks. So they did, Gary and Robin buggered off, and I was in sole possession of the drum duties.
After about five minutes of drumming and "washoi-ing" we came to another pit stop. This time there was sake and beer to be had, so I had. This place was a nice place and Dilek translated for me that the owners of this house also owned some business building that I pass on my bike nearly everyday. "Ok," I thought, "rich people. That explains the drink selection and the large gate."
And then, a few minutes later, we were off again.
BOOM-BOOM-"WA-SHOI!"
We ended up making about 5 or 6 stops in all and I noticed that besides the first stop all the rest seemed to be at the nicer houses of the neighborhood. They would have snacks and drinks for the kids and two or three of them had sake for the adults. At each I had a little sake, talked with Amy and Dilek, and would then be summoned to return to the drum.
We ended back where we started, the kids got bags of something and Amy, Dilek and I got the satisfaction of having taken part in a yearly Japanese neighborhood tradition. It was quite cool and Mashi and the rest of the old men told me what I fine job I did with that intricate beat I had to negotiate while maintaining my balance in a moving truck.
BOOM-BOOM-"WA-SHOI!"

Another Kencho day. Yesterday was one too, but I had a few things to do, thus, no writing. Most of my schools are finished with me for the time being but next week and tomorrow I am attending a few of them for different reasons.

Tomorrow I will go to Yamanashi Gakuen for a final day of fun with the kids. All the classes will have me directing nothing but games and the day should go by fairly quickly. I think the students are all done with final exams but still have to attend school, so I have been told to just make it a fun day. So I will. Then next Friday, I will attend the junior high graduation. Not really excited about it but it gets me out of coming to the Kencho and should be a short day.

Monday I have to go to Minobusan. Strange thing about that school. School is essentially done but I keep being asked to come out. Two Mondays ago I attended the graduation rehearsal, then this last Monday I went out there but the kids had to take a test, so I eneded up merely observing them taking this test. I did absolutely nothing up there but watch. And Kobayashi-sensei was there, so I wasn't really needed. All this has gotten me to thinking that perhaps my comments, when asked here at the Kencho (I mentioned this a while back), somehow got back to the school and they are having me come out for show. I don't know, perhaps I am over thinking it but it seems strange to have me come to school and then have me do basically nothing. When my other schools have nothing for me to do, they tell me not to come. But anyway, for this next Monday I have been asked to prepare a lesson, so that's one thing I did yesterday.

Tuesday I will be here again.

Wednesday I have been asked to come to Yuda. But not for classes. Apparently my first class, my favorite, the one that sometimes sings and plays music, wants me to come out and are going to sing for me again. This might be some kind of a farewell thing. I don't know. But I love those girls (and the one guy) and am looking forward to it. I already told them all "goodbye" last time I was there, but then this invitation quickly came along. So it should be fun. I will really miss this class.

Thursday I have been asked to come out to the academy only to help the international club, a group of about 20 students, prepare for a play they will be performing. I have no idea what play or when or where they will perform it. I told Ito-sensei that I am no director but that I'd be happy to help out where I can. So that should be fun. Just have to avoid letting Amy see it as she is the professional in the world of theatre and I am no Stanley Kubrick.

And I already told you about Friday, so I won't repeat it.

So next week should be a good one. The week after that I go to Minobusan on Monday but then spend the next four days here. That will be a bit of a drag but I am getting used to filling my time here when need be. I've started Steinbeck's "East of Eden".

Today Amy went to Narita to pick up her parents and take them into Tokyo. They will stay tonight and then tomorrow afternoon I will head out to join them. We will all stay there throughout the weekend. Amy told me she'd like me to come for two reasons: one is so I can get us from place to place as Amy thinks I am good at working the transit system, and two is so I can help carry the luggage back. Nice to feel loved.

Her parents will be here for about 11 or 12 days and then three days later my parents arrive. Gonna be a busy month of tour-guiding, I guess.

In sports news......Formula One has run its first race of the 2004 season, baseball in both America and Japan is about to start, and the Sumo basho in Osaka starts this Sunday. The Yankees are kicking off their season with two or three games here in Japan. I probably won't go (I imagine they are already sold out) but I might check them out on the tv. I'm sure the people here will love the chance to see Matsui, aka. Godzilla, playing for the Yankees right before their eyes. As for Sumo, I am anxious to see if Asashoryu can repeat his 15-0 performance that he turned in during the January basho. I think I heard that a 15-0 record hadn't been done in 8 years or so, and there are 6 bashos a year, so that is quite a feat. Anyway, a new season of sports is underway.

So I do have a story to tell you about a fesival this last weekend but I wouldn't be able to get it in before lunch so perhaps if the mood strikes I will write about it this afternoon. If not, do not worry, cause my Kencho days are not over just yet, as I have told you.

Sitting up on top of the small mountain I looked down the slope, watching the others move gracefully under the influence of gravity. It didn't look so hard. It looked as though all I had to do was get on my feet, point myself in the right direction and let go. "No problem," I thought to myself.

But then I looked down directly at my feet which were strapped to a board about three feet long and perhaps 12 inches wide. It wasn't the board that gave me second thoughts. Nor was it the fact that my feet were basically nailed to this board. What got me was that my feet were actually hanging over an edge. Up till this point I had had no edges to go over. There were just these gentle slopes upon which I would sit down, or recover from crashing as the case may be, get my bearings, stand up and gradually move along all the while trying to keep my feet under me. It was all rather challenging but was nothing that couldn't be conquered with some time and patients, and it was all by no means scary.

But this was scary. Here I was at the top of the hill, three ski-lifts up, with my feet nailed to a plank of wood and dangling over an edge. "How the hell did I get here?" I thought, "And why did I agree to this?"

Earlier in the day, Tomoko, Yuki, Amy and I had driven the two plus hours to the next prefecture over, Nagano. Nagano is quite famous for its skiing facilities. In fact, the Winter Olympics were held somewhere in Nagano a few years ago. Tomoko had picked out a place called Echo Valley which she and Yuki had been to before. It was a nice area with two lifts in one direction and three in the other. When we arrived, there were already people coming down the run that we could see from the parking lot and although it looked steep, it looked fun. I had no intention of actually being good at snowboarding, this thought based on my past experiences of skiing and skateboarding, but I was game to give it a try. I also had no intention of going to the top of what I was now looking at. It looked damn steep and if you followed it to the bottom you could see buildings and people. "How do you stop?" I thought to myself, noticing that they hadn't bothered to install, in front of the buildings, one of those nets that catches crippled planes trying to land on a aircraft carrier. "Could be a long day," I thought.

So we made our way to one of those buildings in attempt to rent everything needed for snowboarding except courage. It was quite easy to rent what we needed thanks to Tomoko and Yuki's Japanese abilities and soon we exited the building looking like a couple of snowboarders but feeling more like a couple of crash test dummies.

"So where do we get the lift tickets?" I asked Tomoko.

"Uh, don't you want to practice first?" she said to me in a kind of Yoda-esque, all-knowing way.

"Right. That would probably be a good idea."

So we walked up the hill a short way with our boards under our arms watching the other snowboarders make it all look so easy. Some were better than others, sure, but for the most part they were graceful, and fast, and most importantly, able to maintain that vertical posture needed for nearly all human endeavors (nearly all).

About a hundred or so yards up the hill, we sat down and Yuki and Tomoko showed us how to strap the boards to our feet. It was at this point that it truly hit me how hard this might be. Normally people are able to move their feet independently of each other as need be in order to catch their balance. Try standing still and having someone push you over and you might notice that you'll usually move either just one foot to regain balance or, if you move two, you will move them separately. Now try standing on one foot with your other foot tied up around your rear and have someone push you over. You will instantly notice that it is much harder to maintain balance. This is akin to what it's like on a snowboard, and I think having two legs shows the genius that is evolution. Animals with four legs are even better at this balance thing.

So with our feet now strapped in and the hill beckoning to be conquered, Amy and I looked at each other. "Well?" I said to her.

"You go first," she predictably said to me.

So I did. Or rather, I tried. I tried standing and was able to maintain balance for less than a second as I moved three inches down the hill and resumed the seated position. "Well," I thought, "that wasn't so hard." So I got up again and was able to increase my personal best by two inches. Then again, another inch. At this point I noticed that Amy was laughing but more disturbing was the fact that I could still see her snowboard without looking behind me. "Gonna take all day," I said, "just to get back to the rental shack."

At this point, I changed my plan of attack to one that involved me simply squatting as I tried to keep the board under me. This tactic worked better and from my three foot high vantage point, I could see the bottom of the hill, along with all the people and buildings, getting closer at a faster and faster rate. And then when I felt satisfied and decided that I didn't want to endanger the lives of those below I simply executed a controlled crash. "Alright! I can stop." Amy and her board were now behind me a ways and as I looked back she, Tomoko and Yuki gave me the thumbs up signal.

As I unstrapped and made my way back up from whence I came, Amy was giving it a go. Tomoko was helping her and although there was much laughing it was obvious that Amy was having a difficult time. "Keeping her feet under her?" you ask? No. Standing.

So as they worked on posture, I went a little higher than before and strapped in. Yuki was going up and down and helping me out where need be. She was really my little snow angel on this day as, despite the absence of actual spoken language, she taught me to do many things: how to strap in, how to unstrap, how to get on the lifts, how to get off, etc. And she was always smiling. And, get this, her name, Yuki, means "snow" in Japanese. Perfect.

After about a half hour, I had made the short trek up and down this small section a few times, Amy had done it perhaps twice, and then Tomoko asked us if we were ready to get lift tickets and go halfway up. At this Amy and I looked up the beast of a mountain. I was game, Amy less so, but we agreed that we'd have to try it at some point. So we practiced a bit more and our guides went to get the passes.

Now, in skiing and snowboarding there is probably one aspect that scares people more than any other. Crashing into a tree? No. Crashing into another person? No. Going off a cliff and falling to your death? Nope. Well, then?......The lifts; namely getting off the lifts. I'm not sure exactly why this is but I can speculate that it must have something to do with embarrassment. Seems that humans in general would rather suffer major injury or even death than be confronted with embarrassment. On ski slopes there are many places to get hurt, many people to run into, many different ways to crash. But for the most part, if you crash coming down the mountain it's perfectly acceptable, for, at least you are trying something that involves speed and takes skill and concentration. But if you crash getting off the lifts, it is an entirely different thing. People are always watching the lift exits, you aren't being asked to get off at the speed of sound, and it really takes no great skill to be able to do so. So falling when trying to exit a lift seems to be the most feared aspect of the sport among rookies.

These were the thoughts going through my head as I sat with Yuki on the two seater lift. We had all agreed that Amy would need some English instruction, thus, she was with Tomoko. About halfway up Yuki made it clear to me that I should angle my board straight ahead, step in the middle of the board with my rear foot, then use the chair itself to stabilize myself, and then, when I had good balance and my weight was on the board and not the chair, lightly push off. All of this was explained to me using gestures and perhaps two or three English words, but I got the idea fairly easily. How many ways can there be to get off a ski-lift? So we moved slowly up the hillside and approached our landing zone. Tomoko and Amy had been in front of us and, surprisingly enough, it looked as though Amy had made it off in good form; now it was my turn. Somehow, though, the speed of the lift seemed to speed up. Not that this was true; it was probably just the point of reference factor with the ground getting closer and closer that made it appear as if we were speeding up, but as I touched down and transferred my weight from ass to feet, I somehow lost my balance slightly and with my rear foot not strapped in, I reached it out in attempt to right myself only to find that my lead foot was gliding along the snow quite nicely. In the end it was a near disaster but somehow I managed to crouch down and glide to safety on the one foot with my other lightly dragging behind. Not a graceful moment, but at least I didn't cause a lift stoppage.

Now the four of us were halfway up the two lift slope. It was probably about 300 meters long and was a nice gentle slope down to the buildings. Although it was, indeed, a nice gentle slope, from this vantage point it looked rather formidable considering Amy's and my lack of extensive snowboard testing. To me it looked like it would be a difficult time, fraught with a few crashes, a few close calls, and possibly even a concussion. But to Amy I think it looked damn near impossible. "This doesn't look safe," she said more than once in her wise, old-before-her-time way. But "safety" is a relative term and after a few moments of deliberating and making sure the coast was clear from the slope behind us, I got to my feet and was on my way.

I must have made it at least six feet before crashing; for, I could still hear the sound of Amy's voice saying, "That was good, honey!" as I wiped the snow from my forehead. "Yeah, thanks," I said giving her a big smile and getting back to my feet. And this time I went.

I went far, relatively speaking, of course. I went all the way across the slope holding my speed steady and staying in that now much sought after vertical position. It was hard to stay up and I had to control the angle of the board carefully, but I managed to stay up and move along at an angle to the hill until I got to the other side of the run. Turning was something I hadn't practiced much and figured I'd learn eventually, the first challenge being to stay up, of course, so here I was approaching the other side of the run thinking to myself, "Hmmmm, now what do I do when I get to that point?" So I did what any snowboard rookie would have done in my position, I executed my, by now, much practiced, controlled crash.

I looked back up the hill towards the girls. They were still sitting where I had left them. I was out of ear shot but I saw Amy clapping her hands above her head and waving. Yes, I was her hero.

But although she had watched me, she obviously hadn't taken notes, because she was still having trouble standing. Tomoko and Yuki were being very patient with her and I sat and watched for a while. Up, down, up, down, up, down she went. I wasn't sure what the problem was and I am still not exactly sure, but it seems to me that it was more of a mental thing for her. I have deduced, from logical thinking on the subject, from my own observations that day, and from my many interviews with her afterwards, that she was under the false impression that it is possible, at least as a rookie, to standup without moving. And what I mean by that is that she wanted to stand without sliding down the mountain even so much as an inch. She wanted to stand, get her bearings and balance, and then begin her slow descent of the mountain. But as I had quickly found out in our initial trials, that was just not possible. You had to be willing to stand while sliding. That was just the way it was. But, alas, my poor Amy just couldn't get it.

This is not to say that she didn't ever get up. She was able to get up a few times on her own and a few times with my help. And once up, she was able to control her speed and maintain balance pretty well. On this first run from the end of a lift, I had gone all the way down after crashing a few times while practicing my turning, and then decided to walk back up to where Amy was (she was still halfway up). When I got up there she was giving me the old, "Honey, I just can't stand! I can't do it!" So I listened for a while and then helped her up. And wouldn't you know, I stood there and watched her go all the way down to the end and somehow control her speed well enough so that she didn't hit any people or buildings. She looked like and angel floating down the hillside, albeit a drunk angel but an angel nonetheless. "Well done," I thought and then crashed as I attempted to get down to her.

After lunch Tomoko and I went to get me a halfday lift pass. She and Yuki had already bought theirs and we all decided that Amy would probably be ok with the single passes we had gotten earlier in the day. So we rode two lifts up the three lift run and separated. Tomoko and Yuki went to the top upon Amy's and my insistence that they not babysit us all day long, and Amy and I began our slow descent.

Amy was still having a hard time getting up, but once up, she did pretty well. She just maintained that slow, steady, board-at-a-perpendicular-angle-to-the-hill method that I am sure all newbies to snowboarding employ and did ok. We both fell a few times but it was all in good fun and none of it really hurt. At one point I even helped my girl get to her feet, then got to my feet, and then promptly, after about a hundred yards to steady going, crashed into her. "Why did you do that?!" she asked me, half yelling, half laughing, "You know how hard it is for me to get up!"

"I got you up, I can take you down," was my response. Hell, I had crashed too. It wasn't like I meant to use her as brakes.

At one point on our descent something potentially disturbing happened. Amy were stopped on the side of the run when we heard a siren-like sound coming from up the mountain. I wondered what it was all about but didn't think too much about it and we continued talking, all the while the siren getting closer and closer. Eventually it was coming down our run and we both looked up to see two snowmobiles, one following the other. "Guess someone got hurt," I said to Amy, but then we noticed, as they passed us, that the first snowmobile was not only dragging a bodyboard sled, but that the apparent person on this sled was completely wrapped in the tarp, as in bodybag style.

"Did someone die?!" Amy asked me, probably ready, yet again, to remind me how unsafe this whole sport was.

"No, no," I told her, "They probably just have the person wrapped up so that snow doesn't get kicked up on 'em." This I said as I thought to myself, "Shit, man, that's a dead body!"

Now, we will never know the true contents, or the state of those contents, in that bag but it sure as hell looked to me like it was dead body. "I hope that's not Tomoko or Yuki," I thought to myself, "That would really put a damper on the day."

But soon we recovered our thoughts to the matter at hand and continued down the mountain. Amy did well and I was doing well and the sun was shining while six year old kids went roaring by. I was getting better at turning, but not too much so, and Amy was getting better at maintaining an upright position.

So the rest of the day went well for me, Amy never did quite warm up to the whole thing, though she has agreed to do it all again at some point in the future, and I went up a few times by myself and descended the mountain practicing balance and direction and speed control. It was all very challenging and physically tough, but it was fun.

So now, after being talked into it by Tomoko, here I was at the top of the three lift run. It was getting close to the end of the day, the lifts would be closing soon, and here I was, faced with my biggest challenge of the day. At this point getting off the lifts was pretty easy, maintaining a consistent speed was pretty easy, and keeping my balance on those lower runs was pretty easy. Turning was still a challenge but I was slowly getting there; perhaps this would be the descent upon which I learned.

But I still had to get over this edge. Tomoko was sitting next to me and looked over. "Don't push yourself," she said, perhaps not realizing that just being here was already a push for me. Yuki had already shoved off and Tomoko was waiting for me. "Well, gotta do it sooner or later," I thought and tried to get to my feet. I did manage to get to my feet but then managed to lose it under the unfamiliar angle of the mountainside and fell back. I slid for a few seconds with my arms outstretched and then stopped. "This is steep!" I said to myself and then tried again. But again I was on my back within a second or two. "How in the hell...?" and I was up again, this time, for a few seconds more. Then I was down again. I was definitely erring on the side of caution when it came to crashing as I kept falling backwards. Falling forwards would have resulted in more pain and more sliding. But I just kept getting back up, sometimes not even allowing myself to stop before popping back up to have another go at standing. It was challenging, it was hard, it was even a bit frustrating, but it was damn fun. Tomoko was also descending and was passing me, stopping and then allowing me to pass her, and every time I passed her, her face seemed to say "Well, he's still alive and trying." And I was.

So I managed to get down the steep part through a combination of crashing, sliding, and at times actually snowboarding. After that it was all easy. Not to say that I kept my feet the entire time but I did pretty well, avoided killing any children, never needed snowmobile assistance, and made it all the way back down to Amy who took a picture of me as I fell right in front of her and for the last time of the day.

Amy and I have both agreed that we'd do this again. I think that with some reflection Amy has realized that she can, indeed, stand up and that she just has to accept that she's going to move while doing so. She's a very cautious girl, which might be a good thing, but I think she'll be much better next time.

As for me, I just need more practice. I don't plan to ever be the stuntman on the hillside, but I do enjoy speed and would love to get fairly good at this. Anyway, thanks to Tomoko and Yuki, I got to snowboard for the first time, and in Japan. Bit strange that my first attempt at skiing was also in Japan about 20 years ago. But that was an entirely different experience where I broke a ski and decided that winter sports were not for me. Maybe snowboarding will bring me back around.

Well, well, a day at the Kencho. Haven't been here in a while. Today I don't mind it. In fact, tomorrow I probably won't mind it. But by the end of this month I will probably feel otherwise.
I don't know how many of you are aware but March is the last month of school over here, except that really, February is. In April I will have new students and, in at least one case, a new teacher (I might have a few for all I know). I say that February is the last month of school and what I mean by that is that it is the last month of normal school. March holds very little actual teaching time for me. They tend to have graduation ceremonies, test days, sports days, and I don't know what else. It is all very confusing but after the many days of teaching, and game playing, and preparations for speech contests that made up January and February, March will be a nice change. At least for me. Amy doesn't seem to happy about having to sit at her desk day after day, but I don't mind it. This week I have two days here at the Kencho, next week, two more, the week after that only one, then four out of five, and then five out of five as far as I know now.
But with all that said, my parents will be here on the 26th and I am thinking that I will take at least half of those last two weeks' Kencho days off. In the time I've been here I've only taken two days of my allotted 20 days off. So I think I can afford it. And I know it is probably more acceptable if I take Kencho days off rather than school days.
Ok, sorry to bore you with all that.

Monday I attended a practice graduation ceremony at Minobusan (Buddhist school) and yesterday I attended the real thing at Yuda (girls school). Both were interesting but when you can't understand what is being said it tends to get a boring just sitting there surrounded by people and trying to act awake. But I am glad I went to both; if nothing else, it decreased my Kencho days by two for the month.
Minobusan is a small school, as I might have mentioned before, and they have 19 graduates this year. All of these kids were in my second class there and of the two classes I do/did there, they were the better one. Whereas the first class still doesn't much talk or even smile at me, except for one or two of 'em, the second class and I would joke around as best we could and have a good time. So I will miss them.
The practice itself was in a large room with a stage at one end and many rows of seats. It didn't look like anything out of the ordinary for a standard graduation ceremony. The graduates had their seats up front and behind them were two sections of seats, one for those not yet graduating and the other for the parents that would be there the following day. I got there at my normal time but the practice was already going on so I just sat down and watched. Each graduate had his or her name called and then climbed the stairs to the stage. At this point they had to wait for the person in front of them to finish up and then they bowed, walked to the middle of the stage and, with their back to the audience, bowed to the principle, accepted the paper, bowed again, and then walked off to the other side of the stage. The whole way along there were little things they had to do: bow at the right angle, grab and hold the paper a certain way, step back in the same manner, and all that. It was informal at this point, but I could tell that the real thing the next day would be very formal.
Although it was not exactly the most exciting thing to attend, it wasn't without its lighter moments. One kid kept screwing up the paper acceptance/back stepping/bowing part, and after the third try the principle started laughing, along with everyone else, and went around the podium to show him how to do it. Another time there was some spirited discussion about how they should approach the stage from their seats. Without these little comic moments it would have been extremely boring but there was just enough to keep me watching (that and the fact that it would have been extremely rude for me not just get up and leave).
At the end the non-graduates all had to stand up and sing two songs accompanied by some lady on a piano. I know one of the songs was the school song but I have no idea what the other was, perhaps some Buddhist song. They had both printed on poster boards, for lack of a better way to describe it, and much to my surprise I was able to follow along. Of course, this was only because about half of each song was printed (painted actually) in hiragana. So reading wise it went something like this: kanji kanji no kanji to wa kanji kanji kanji mi no bu kanji kanji sai o na ra kanji kanji o. So I was able to follow the sounds pretty well because each kanji symbol is really just like any old hiragana symbol in that they only have one sound (this was usually true from what I could tell anyway). But, of course, translating it is altogether something different, so I have no idea what was said. Probably the same old school song type stuff: from Mt. Fuji to Fujikawa (that's a river), hills of green or white with snow, we love our home of Yamanashi, as long as that volcano doesn't blow.
So anyway, the singing was good and I was soon out of there.
Yuda's graduation ceremony was the real thing on the day I attended (yesterday as I write this). And there really isn't too much to tell because it was just a formal graduation: five or six speeches of about 10 minutes each, the audience sitting, standing, and sitting again, the names of the graduates (about 110 of them) read out loud with each one answering "Hai!" and then standing, one girl from each group (don't know what constituted a group though) going up and officially accepting the diploma for her classmates, the singing of the school song and the Japanese national anthem, lots and lots of bowing, the occasional coughing attack from across the gym, and, eventually, as one girl read her speech facing the principle and with her back to us, lots and lots of crying.
The crying was strange because here was a formal affair with absolutely no emotion showed at all throughout the entire event, no hoopin' it up, no cheering, no raising fists or slapping high-fives, but then this girl started to read her speech and was going along just fine until somewhere in the middle of it her voiced had that obvious I'm-fighting-back-the-tears quality about it that we've all heard and probably all have done ourselves at some point in our lives. So I don't know if it was chain-crying or if it was the actual words that got her fellow classmates, but at this point many of the other girls let go and I could hear them sniffling and see them wiping their faces. Like I say, this really wasn't all that surprising considering it is a big moment for these girls, but before this display of emotion there was nothing. So it came as a bit of a shock.
Anyway, the only other thing to mention here is the fact that these people bow a lot! The girls were already seated when I got there, but as the people in charge came in they bowed to each other and to the rest of the faculty. Then the girls all bowed to the entire group that went on stage. Then each girl that went on stage bowed to those seated on the right, they bowed back, then to the people on the left, they also bowed back, then to the person behind the podium at which point the entire student body also bowed, he or she bowed back. Then as the girl left the stage she again bowed in all three directions and received return bows, then she descended the stairs and bowed to some group off to the right of the stage, they bowed back, then she turned 180 degrees and bowed to the group of teachers sitting off to the left, they bowed back, and finally, after all the lower back stretching that constituted her trip into becoming a high school graduate, she returned to her seat. And this wasn't all of it. The entire audience, me included although I only nodded my head, was expected to bow to each person who made a speech, and each person who made a speech bowed to not only everyone in the entire joint but also to the flag. By the time it was all over, I'd witnessed more bows in an hour and a half than I've seen since last July when I got here. There might be a lot of stupid and false stereotypes about the Japanese but the bowing thing seems to be one accurate one. Maybe they feel that way about our handshaking, I don't know.

Ok, I think that's enough for today. I need to do some research into getting myself to St. Kit's in order to perform my bestman duties. I still can't believe Rigel waited till I was on the other side of planet to say, "Oh, by the way, I'm getting married and I'd like you to come."
To which I thought, "Damn!" but instead answered in my naivete, "Sure, where's the wedding?" thinking that he'd tell me someplace in California.
Now, I realize it's not all about me, but c'mon, St. Kitts really is on the other side of the planet, I counted the timezones! So far, with the little research I've done, I'm looking at about a 32 hour trip. That's 64 hours round trip. And that's not including my getting from Kofu to Narita. So all in all, I'm looking at just about 3 days solid travel time.
I always thought those songs about climbing the highest mountain, swimming across the sea, and taking the longest flight were about what you'd do for the love of a young woman, not for your brother.
All I can say is that the island of St. Kitts better have beer, and good beer!

Sunday, Jan. 25th, was Gaylyn's last full day in Japan and it was (she has since written me an email telling me this) her favorite day here.
Yamashita wanted to take us out for a day of sightseeing and exploring, so of course, I wasn't gonna stop him. I truly thought that hanging out with him would be good for Gaylyn. It's not everyday that one gets to hang out with someone from a different country in that person's country. The two or three times I have hung out with Yamashita have been some of my best days here and I come away from them feeling as though I actually am doing something many will never get to. So the plan was for him to pick us up at 10:30am and then drive south towards Minobu.
So at 10:30am Gaylyn, Amy and I met him up the road and piled into his car. It was only the four us because, and this is quite funny to me, his wife was at home working on our Gaylyn-safe-dinner. Earlier in the week, at school, he had asked me if Gaylyn was liking Japanese food. I was honest with him, telling him that no, we were having difficulty finding stuff for her to eat. So he drilled me a little about it in attempt to find something that his wife could make for her. I told him not to go to all the effort, but telling Yamashita not to go the extra mile is like telling an eight year old boy not to splash in rain puddles, they just can't help themselves. So I told him all I knew and now, as we were out exploring, his wife was slaving away in the kitchen.
So we drove down to Minobu, same place I go every Monday, and looked for a place to eat. Yamashita was very concerned about filling Gaylyn's stomach even though she and I told him repeatedly to just pick any place and she would find something to eat. Unfortunately, Bakersfield, California is not the place to "discover" Japanese food. And what I mean by this is that all the Japanese restaurants there are of the (not sure about the spelling here) Benny-Hona type, meaning that some very skilled chef comes out and extravagantly cooks the food right in front of you on a hot table type thing. Gaylyn is very fond of that food and told me that she normally goes once a week. But as some of us know, that is not really all there is to Japanese food. In fact, those places are quite rare. So Gaylyn's impression of what the food would be like over here was a bit off the mark. Anyway, Yamashita found a little Italian restaurant and we went in. The lunch went well after he read the menu to us and we left there satisfied and ready to explore.
So we drove up the hill to the same place, almost, that I go every Monday. Up by my school is a very large, and quite famous, Buddhist temple called Kuonji. I'm not much into all the temple and shrine stuff but it really is quite impressive. It is big and the grounds are beautiful. Kuonji has a pretty famous set of stairs that leads up to it; famous due to the fact that it is a long set of stairs. I've only been to the actual temple one other time, my first day at Minobusan, and the school is right up there next to the temple, thus, I have never climbed the steps. So I was game to climb them on this day but unfortunately we took an in-car vote and I was beat three to one. So up the hill we drove and pulled into the parking lot. Then it was just a short walk up the rest of the hill and we were there.
So we walked around a bit and eventually left. Now I realize that I might be leaving out the description of what we did there, but just know that getting to temples and shrines is actually more fun than being at temples and shrines. Once there you walk around, look at the sights, and think to yourself, "Right....where to next?"
So after the temple we drove back north a bit to a gold museum. Apparently they used to, or still do (?), dig gold out of the hills around here. I had heard before I came here that Yamanashi was famous for grapes, wine, and gems.
So we drove on up to the place with Yamashita telling us that we?’d soon be panning for gold. I had no idea what he meant by this panning idea. Were we going to be in a mountain stream? Were we going to be able to keep it if we found it? Or was this one of those tourist slavery places I'd never heard about? I wasn't worried about it but I was quite curious.
So we went in the place and instantly I heard that mood/ambiance music that you might have heard if you've been to the Monterey Bay Aquarium's Outer Bay exhibit. It's the kind of music that's supposed to relax you, I think. The kind that you could probably play with no formal training at all. Just go buy a nice keyboard, turn the echo feature on, and start hitting notes slowly and methodically. It's utter crap.
But anyway, besides the music the place was interesting in that sort of I-can't-read-a-thing-so-I'll-just-look-at-the-exhibits-and-pictures way. Yamashita did explain a few things to us and it was all a bit interesting but I just wanted to get to the panning part. Truly the exhibits that showed how the gold miners lived reminded me of some of the way the Old West settlers must have lived. I've seen pictures and movies so I'm and expert, you know.
Eventually we got back downstairs and to the panning room. That's right, a panning room. No outdoors, no mountain stream, no freezing our hands in the water (it was heated), and no splashing Amy. There were long troughs of water, with lots of sand at the bottom, and a few flakes of gold. Very few.
So we each grabbed a plastic dinner plate, and started panning in the way the lady working the room taught us. She was quite nice, spoke good English, and was extremely gorgeous, so I played close attention. Scoop up the sand, swirl it around to get some of the water out, swirl more to get some of the sand out, get more water without spilling the sand, repeat, repeat, repeat until nearly all of the sand is gone and.......nothing. Get more sand, repeat steps two through infinity above, and.......nothing.
We were told we had a half hour to gather as much gold as we could. So I kept trying and finally got some. One flake here, one flake there, and after half an hour I had six whole flakes. Not too shabby, right? Well, not until the hottie came over to tell us time was up and then took our vials to count our flakes. Me, 6. Amy, 12. Gaylyn, 18.
I think it's safe to say that the only rushing I would have done in California in 1849 would have been to rush off and get drinks and food for my fellow panners.
So the lady gave me some consolatory rocks and we got out of there with the two girls I was with making fun of me.
After the experience which did not make me rich, we drove to a small shopping place so that Gaylyn could buy a few things for her people. The store sold mainly Japanese arts and crafts made from paper. It was impressive but like most guys, I did a once-through, and was ready to go within about five minutes. But, of course, this did not happen and I talked to Yamashita as we waited for the girls. So, soon Gaylyn got a few things to take back with her and we were off to Yamashita's house.
We arrived at his place around early evening time, maybe 5 or so, and as we got out of the car I told Yamashita that in America, when the man comes home from a long day out, he walks in the house and yells out to his lady, "Honey, I'm home!" So Yamashita in his great and fun way walked in and did just that to which Amy and Gaylyn told me to stop being a freak, and in Japanese Yamashita explained to his wife what he had just said. It was quite funny, if I do say so myself.
As always, Yamashita and the Mrs. welcomed us into their home with open arms and we were soon seated under the kotatsu with a large spread of food before us. His wife was quite nervous about our liking the food, but in reality she did great job and it didn't go unappreciated. Gaylayn actually liked much of it and Amy and I liked nearly all of it. I say "nearly all of it" because there was one thing that didn't suit me.
Upon arrival in Japan I and the many other newcomers were told that our students would ask us repeatedly about how we liked something called natto. Natto is a light brown, sticky substance made from fermented soy beans. Sounds ok, right? Well, trust me, it's not. Up until this day I would tell my students that "no, I've never tried natto." Yes, I was curious and was willing to try it, but I'd just never had the chance or taken the initiative to do so. So this evening Yamashita-sensei made a big deal out of me trying the stuff. He said, "Today is your natto anniversary."
So when we were seated at the table he pointed to a mass of rice and seaweed and pointed to the stuff near the top telling me, "Marcus-sensei, this is natto. Will you try?" "Ok," I said, "let's do it." At this point I should tell you that for the most part, the Japanese love the stuff and the foreigners don't. There are a few exceptions, of course, but I can unequivocally say that I am not one of them. The stuff was nasty and I had to take multiple gulps of beer to get the stuff down. And even then, it was hard. Luckily no one was really watching me too closely and didn't figure out that I was truly having a hard time. I just smiled and smiled, with beer and natto in my mouth, and tried not to make a mess on the table; the rest of the food looked good. So after that experience, I was in need of another beer and was soon packing that crap down into my stomach with food of the more tasty variety. But with all this said, I do think that everyone should try natto. It's fun.
So the rest of the evening was fun with much talking, much eating, and much drinking. Yamashita brought out a large bottle of expensive sake that apparently you can't get in our prefecture and we eventually polished the thing off. By this point we were all a little loaded and it was Sunday night, with a work day on Monday. But we kept going when he brought another bottle of sake, explaining that this one was good, but not up to the standards of the other one.
After a while he loaded that day's pictures on to his computer and printed them out for Gaylyn to take, he and his wife tore a map off the wall for Gaylyn to take home after we had both innocently commented on it, and the three of us helped him with a presentation he was going to be giving to his students' parents. You know, the normal stuff that happens when you've drank a few. I just hope our English for his presentation was ok.
Around 10pm it was time to go and he called a taxi for us. But first I asked him if he could somehow, while on the phone, arrange for a 5am taxi near my place for Gaylyn in the morning. This had been somewhat of a worry for me and Yamashita handled it all. I didn't exactly want to walk Gaylyn and her bags to the train station at 5am and then have to walk back, waste and hour or two, and then leave for work in Minobu. But the man handled it all beautifully and the taxi was right where it was supposed to be at that early hour.
So all is all it was a great day. Yamashita and I are already working on plans for both Amy's parents and my parents. He really is the nicest man on the planet, I think.