Hey
everyone! I have a student who is interested in writing poetry in English.
Mari’s a John Lennon fan and has read some of Shel Silverstein and Yoko Ono’s
poems. She asked me for some poetry, but I didn’t bring any to Japan. So here is my request: please send me a
poem or two that you like (and if you want to, the reason why you like it). I’ll
give the poems to Mari when I have collected a few.
Sorry,
time is slipping by under the hot summer sun, and it’s been three weeks since I
last wrote. So here’s a little synopsis of the passing time. When last I wrote,
it was still the rainy season, the skies were gray, and karaoke was our
refuge.
But just
like that, the rainy season was over. Like snapping your fingers. We woke up one
Monday morning (July 23) and the sky had cleared to a bright, unadulterated
blue, the air was warm with a gentle breeze, and the sun was shining. Seiji
announced the end of tsuyu with a ring of certainty in his voice. I got a
call from Martin (the chirpily cheerful Icelander – very ‘pip-pip, cheerio’ and
strangely English-sounding) soon after; he had missed the early train to Kyoto
and, determined to make the best of things, was desperate to hit the beach.
After brief hemming and hawing, Seiji and I cancelled our shigin class
(shigin, you say? More on that later…), grabbed towels and bathing suits
and met Martin at the convenience store to pick up supplies like water and
onigiri (rice balls – healthy snacks with different fillings in them. I
like the ones with salmon, tuna or salted plums, but not the fish roe so much,
so I’m resolutely trying to learn the kanji on the package so I will stop
getting nasty surprises). Martin delayed us a little trying to find a sunscreen
that was less than SPF 50, as he wanted to tan at the beach. We finally hit the
road and drove northeast through gorgeous green farmland, a little piece of
paradise. Farmers had employed various means to keep the birds from plundering
their gardens, from long streamers of metallic tape that glittered in the sun,
to bottles on poles, to draperies of fine netting like spiders’ webs. To the
south we could see Lake Nakaumi and beyond that the awe-inspiring asymmetrical
slopes of Mount Daisen. (I want to climb Daisen this year, before the snows
come; apparently the long trek is about four hours. Seiji doesn’t want to do the
long trek though.)
We got
to the beach at Kitaura in the early afternoon. It was very different from my
first visit there, back in March. That first day was gray and colourless, and
the weathered houses and ryokans (Japanese-style inns) were empty and
quiet. This time, the houses were inhabited (futons and sheets hung out of
windows to air in the sun), people had already gathered on the beach in small
numbers, and a little beachhouse (basically, an open-air structure with a roof
over a sitting area) was pumping out dance music. Seiji wasn’t too pleased about
that, or the other changes to the beach, like the extended road and the low
concrete wall we clambered over to reach the beach. Kitaura is actually two
beaches – one sheltered cove facing a concrete fishermen’s wharf, and further
along a longer beach bookended by two spits of volcanic rock. It’s well-equipped
with bathrooms and showers. We
settled in at the far end of the beach, near a high, tree-covered cliff. I
looked up to watch hawks soaring over the beach, and listened to the relentless
whine of the cicadas shivering in the trees. The sand was grayish-white and very
fine. The water was clear and blue-green, shimmering with colour. A perfect
beach day.
The
water was still cool when we finally climbed in, but warmed up as we swam. Those
who know me well are aware that I am not generally a keen swimmer. But I loved
it. Wow. Martin dove in and promptly lost a contact lens despite his goggles. He
was rueful for a moment, then shrugged and made the best of it, swimming out to
the buoys then making his way to the distant raft where he befriended some men
from the Japanese Civil Defence Force (Japan’s constitution, as rewritten for
them by the Americans after World War Two, doesn’t allow Japan to have an army,
but Japan nevertheless has a military force intended for self-defence.) He came
back with the news that apparently the Air Force doesn’t really have any pilots,
but they’re all ready when they get some.
I have a
slight phobia of water, especially deep water (possibly born from a viewing of
‘Jaws’ when I was young and impressionable), but the clarity of the water
mitigated that somewhat, and I was proud of myself for swimming almost to the
buoys by myself. While Seiji rested on the beach, I stood very still in the
water and watched a school of fish swim nearby. I hoped they would come close,
but they didn’t come closer then ten feet before getting skittish and bolting
for deeper water. They were sand-coloured, with gaping mouths, and about six
inches long or so. Seiji recognized them; not good eating. They scattered when
Martin returned, but he (with his one good eye) caught sight of a snail moving
rapidly in shallow water. Seiji picked it up, and it took a swipe at him! It
turned out to be a hermit crab, a rarity here, and after a short inspection, we
returned it to the water. (The name for a hermit crab in Japanese is
yado-kari; literally, “borrowed house”)
We
relaxed on the beach, and ate some food. We ate our onegiri, and Martin
laid out a loaf of French bread, some sausage and ham, cheese, a cluster of huge
grapes and a juicy peach (these last two were a gift from the grateful mother of
one of his young students, for whom he went beyond the call of duty; one peach
like that costs about 700 yen ($6.00), and the grapes were probably about 900
yen ($8.00). Fruit is outrageously expensive here). This unexpected feast was
greatly appreciated; Martin gets invited to ALL the picnics from here on
in.
We
finally left the beach as the sun began to drop behind the hills. We dropped
Martin off and went to SATY. July and August in Japan are marked by huge sales
at most stores. I went straight for the household section and bought new summer
sheets, a mattress pad and a ‘towelket’ (a cross between a towel and a blanket,
made for these hot, hot summer days). The mattress pad was long overdue, and
Seiji donated an extra futon from his mother’s house, so now instead of sleeping
on an inch-thick futon, I sleep on three and a half inches of bedding. Pure
luxury.
On
Tuesday July 24 and Wednesday July 25, there was a festival, called the Tenjin
Festival at Tenmangu shrine. I had to work, so I missed the procession of
portable shrines that provided the main focus for the festival. Taeko, my fellow
teacher, was free, and took part in carrying the portable shrines from the
castle across Matsue Ohashi (the oldest bridge in Matsue) to the Tenmangu
shrine, amid much dancing and revelry (She got twin bruises on her shoulders
that she was very proud of). On
Tuesday morning, before the festival, the weather was so nice I took a long bike
ride and explored. Port Below, the café and madly expensive clothing boutique
that Seiji’s best friend Reiko works at, is on the street running from Matsue
Ohashi to Tenmangu shrine, so I stopped in for an (excellent) coffee and spoke
in Japanese with the staff there – yay me! The street below the café was lined
with bright stalls selling all kinds of food, beer, toys, jewellery… you name
it, they sold it. I was particularly intrigued by the huge horned beetles one
stall was selling as pets. I kid you not, they were two to three inches long,
nestled in wood shavings and not moving much in the heat. I wanted to linger and
explore more, but I had to go to work. I came back after work, at about 10pm.
The parking garage underneath Port Below had been transformed into a grotto
filled with café chairs and tables, lit by a flickering display of dozens of
massive pillar candles in soft tie-dye shades. Reiko was selling beer, and many
people I knew had gathered there. Seiji and I walked down to the shrine. It was
busy, and many families were on the street. Women, men and small children walked
and ran about in fluttering, brightly-colored yukata (summer kimonos)
emblazoned with flowers, birds, rabbits, and other patterns, and more sombre
jimbei (matching tunic and loose trousers, usually for men, although some
young women wear them too) in a circus atmosphere. In the shrine, seated on the
verandah above the crowds, a cluster of priests in blue and white sang, played
pipes and banged drums. The grounds around the shrine were also filled with
stalls and people. It was noisy and confusing and exuberant and beautiful. We
returned to Port Below and chatted with Yukiko and Kei, Martin, Keith, Yumi,
Heather and Daisuke. I met Megan for the first time; she came to work for AEON a
few years ago, but quit after having some serious differences with
Mayumi-sensei, the head teacher. I’ve been hearing about her for ages, but this
was first time we’ve met and talked. Then 11pm came, the festival ended for the
night, and bam, the stall owners shut down almost instantly, in an orderly
manner. Very Japanese. Very funny.
Work has
been good the last two months. Nothing really new has happened. I’m enjoying my
classes, I work hard, Ryoko and Mayumi-sensei are happy with my work, I’m doing
okay with interviews and chitchatting in the lobby now. I still don’t like
counselling, because I don’t feel I know enough yet to adequately guide a
student and provide good advice. But I’m going to have to do a lot of it after
the holidays. Our chief rival in the English conversation school business
(eikaiwa), NOVA, is having tremendous problems. They’ve lost some
high-profile court cases, and have to pay many of their students a lot of money.
The rumour is, they didn’t pay their Japanese staff last month. This is not
however, cause for celebration on our part, because confidence in all of the
eikaiwas is very low and we’re not getting new students. Which means I
sit in the office and cringe as I listen to the fax machine whirr and spit out
directives and news releases from head office. So, basically, we have to step up
our customer service to the students we already have and keep them very, very
satisfied. And counselling is part of the plan.
I feel a
lot of affection for my students now. I’m getting to know some of them well, and
cheer them on as they do exciting things. Miki Irie, a lovely woman in my
Encounter class, is going to Australia for two months in the fall to study
English. I’ll miss her, but I know she’ll learn a lot. Takako, my student, and
her friend Mineko, who Mayumi-sensei teaches, are in Seattle right now on a
university exchange program for three weeks, probably squealing with joy, as
Japanese girls are wont to do, over Starbucks iced coffees. I have a new student
named Yasuko, an elementary school teacher in her early forties, who is really
fun to teach and eager to learn. I worry about Yuka, a quiet but bright
university student with mysterious health problems, who has returned home to
Okayama for a month for treatment. I had private lessons with Takashi, a
biologist/researcher at the university who studies hair, to go over his
abstracts and figure legends. So I’ve learned a lot about hair follicles,
papilla, cenokeratinides and such. Last month it was Yutaka and his mealybugs;
this month it’s hair.
We went
swimming for the second time on Friday the 27th, in the morning
before work. This time Yumi came with us. She’s a translator and occasional
interpreter with Audrey Hepburn poise. This time the water was warmer, and I
basked blissfully for a while before retreating to my towel. No hermit crabs
today, but the fish were jumping. Yumi and Martin went out to the raft; Seiji
asked the same thing that was in my mind: “Are Yumi and Martin dating?” I looked
at them chatting on the raft. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. But they might.”
Seiji thought for a minute, then said, “I feel sorry for Keith.” Keith Gott, the
English gardener, used to date Yumi, but she dumped him a short time before my
arrival in Japan. He still loves her. It’s too bad.
I bought
a new bathing suit after that beach trip, because my old bathing suit was
causing me some embarrassment. The elastic in the neckline has weakened, so I
was very conscious of the danger of accidentally flashing the whole beach when
coming out of the water. So I picked up a new one-piece black Speedo with red
and white flowers on it, nothing fancy but suitable for the pool as well as the
beach. I’m thinking about getting a membership at the pool near my house, behind
the fire station.
That
weekend was quiet, but Seiji and I went to Harry Potter 5 on Sunday and
stopped by ARGO afterwards to see Cleve. The week before, Seiji had bought me a
yukata for an early birthday present; we picked it out. It’s a beautiful,
dark red colour with an unusual pattern of circles and ume (plum)
blossoms on it. So we went back to SATY to get an obi (broad belt or
sash) for it. I had my heart set on gold or yellow (that’s one of the nice
things about yukata; colours that wouldn’t normally go together blend
beautifully), but Seiji and the saleswoman talked me into buying a light blue
one instead. It’s kind of a cheat, the obi equivalent of a clip-on tie,
but I can put it on by myself, so I don’t mind.
On
Mondays for the past two months, Seiji and I have been going to shigin
class. Shigin is a traditional form of singing using translated Chinese
poetry. It’s considered a hobby for old people, but many of the people I saw at
the first shigin demonstration and workshop were my age or younger. It is
sometimes accompanied by a sword dance or a fan dance, but we’re just learning
the songs. There is a competition in October, and the shigin association wanted
some non-Japanese to take part. Shigin uses a five-note scale instead of the
more familiar eight-note scale, but the biggest difficulties I have are with
breathing and following the roller-coaster rise and fall of the notes. For the
competition, I have to wear a kimono, so I will ask my student Keiko Sakamoto if
her offer still stands to let me borrow one. I was told to wear that or a
traditional Canadian costume, but I can’t think exactly what a traditional
Canadian costume is. I’m as flummoxed as when people ask me about traditional
Canadian food.
Out
shigin teachers are very cute. Kanda-sensei is a very gentle man with
huge eyeglasses and a mild, round face like that of a turtle. Arisawa-sensei is
a woman with tightly curled graying hair and a face reassuringly like that of
Peggy Redmond, my singing teacher in Canada. The class is very laid-back, even
plodding, and we seem to take long breaks of contemplation, and Kanda-sensei
asks a lot of questions. Seiji has his work cut out for him translating during
class.
After
some perfect summer days, the temperature began to soar in early August. Wow.
Wow, it’s hot here. 34 degrees at 9am is a little much. Lying still is very
appealing. Running and biking during the day has become a thing of the past
until the temperature drops somewhat. A jogger apparently dropped dead of the
heat in Kyoto yesterday. The hot, humid days are the worst, when stepping
outside is like walking into a sauna. During a freak rainstorm at work last
week, I stepped to the door to look out and felt the hot, moist air slap me in
the face like a wet towel. I’ve moved my computer into my bedroom, where the air
conditioning is, until I can bear to sit at my desk in the other room again.
About
beating the heat, Japanese-style… There are a number of different ways people in
Japan deal with heat and sun. The first time I saw a businessman pull out his
fan and begin to fan himself, I was tickled. But fans are an extremely popular
and useful tool. I now own two sensu (the traditional folding fan) and
recently I got a cheap uchiwa (a palm-shaped, rigid fan). The
uchiwa is more effective, but harder to carry. And the sensu is
more graceful. Many people carry terry-cloth handkerchiefs, so they can mop
their faces. Women avoid sunlight by using parasols, shoulder-length gloves and
hats. There’s something very Victorian about the women zipping about on their
bicycles with their ruffled white or black parasols and long gloves, an effect
strengthened by the long skirts and eyelet lace tops so popular right now. They
also use whitening cream to whiten their skin; Martin pointed it out to me when
we were buying sunscreen. Men walk about with towels draped around their necks,
or tied over their heads, but they still drip with sweat in the noonday heat.
Beer and cold tea of various kinds (but especially oolong tea or barley tea) are
quaffed (beer gardens along the lines of German beer halls abound in Japan in
the summer), and edamame (boiled, salted soybeans) is a popular
snack.
Wow,
this is a long one, and I still haven’t gotten to the Suigosai Festival, Cleve’s
birthday or the yukata party! But I’m on a week-long vacation until Thursday, so
hopefully I’ll get another letter out soon. Talk to you later! Thinking of you
all.
Love,
Sarah