I woke up before six o’clock this morning, despite my strong intention of sleeping as late as possible today. I blame the Brazilian food I ate last night, or the single Brazilian cocktail I had, made with ‘pingu’ (Spelling? Pronunciation?). It was only the second drink I’ve had this month, as I decided not to drink in October. August and September were TOO MUCH. It’s a beautiful morning, though the night was cool.

 

The reason for the Brazilian fiesta? Yesterday was the birthday of Akiko, a woman who works at Port Below with Reiko, and Fernand, a transplanted Brazilian with a family here, made a LOT of food at Kaya. Fernand is a friendly, weathered stick of a man with a big smile. He wore a red apron as he produced tomato salad, spiced meat patties and fried cheese pastries. Mabo, whom I’ve met once before, was performing some impressive sleight-of-hand magic tricks. It was nice, but I was SO TIRED, I couldn’t stay long.

 

So last week I sent a miserable email letter out to many of you, where I talked about my horrible head cold and my relationship woes. Thanks for your concerned responses; I appreciated them, though the advice I got was very conflicting. I’m feeling much better now. Seiji and I are getting along and talking about things now; he seems to have taken our break-up as a sign that he should get more exercise. Jennifer thinks that that’s very ‘kawai’ (cute) of him, but I don’t think a slimmer, healthier version of Seiji will make me love him. I’ve got a ‘best friend’ attitude toward him. Still, it’s great that he’s walking, swimming and bicycling more. (Now, if only he would quit smoking!) I’m relieved that things are not impossible between us.

 

Let’s go back in time now, to September, where we left our heroine experiencing life in modern Japan, and dabbling in Japanese traditions. September was kind of quiet at work, although I had a number of interviews with prospective students. My attitude toward interviews is very different now. I actually enjoy them. And I’m quite successful at them; many of the students enjoy our ‘mini-lesson’ and some sign up for classes. September was the end of the six-month teaching cycle, and we began new classes in October, so some of our students started new, higher-level classes. I had some enjoyable speech units. One of them was about superstitions, and I learned some interesting superstitions, and shared some Western ones. For example, the tooth fairy doesn’t exist in Japan, but when children lose their baby teeth, they go outside and throw their bottom teeth over the house and their upper teeth under the house, chanting something like “Mouse-teeth, mouse-teeth, grow in my mouth”, because it is understood that mice have very hard teeth. Also, a popular superstition among children is that you have to cover your navel in a thunderstorm, or lightning will blast off your belly button. Also if you clip your nails at night, you won’t see your parents when they pass away. I told them about the tooth fairy, and throwing salt over your shoulder, and walking under ladders, and rainbows and leprechauns, all of which they found very strange.

 

One Friday morning, I met Yumi and Martin at a café before work. It was actually a very funky (and expensive!) furniture store, with a corner reserved for sitting and drinking café on old couches. It looked out past where the carpenters were working on their next project (oh, sawdust! A familiar childhood smell!) to one of the broad canals crisscrossing Matsue. Here the water was still and covered with an algae-like growth, stirred from underneath by fish and the occasional passing turtle. Across the water, protected by a high fence was the sports field of the girls’ high school. This was Shinsaikamachi, I think, a quiet neighbourhood. It is next to Saikamachi, Yumi’s neighbourhood of old, tightly packed houses, and literally means “New Saikamachi” (I’ve been misquoting it as Psycho-machi for ages). Matsue is divided into ‘towns’, or neighbourhoods, like this one, each with it’s own history and identity. Our conversation was briefly interrupted by a sudden downpour on an otherwise pleasant, sunny morning; we could hear the shrieks from the sports field as the girls ran for cover.

 

We talked until just before work about all kinds of things, and Yumi told Martin and I about the ‘land-pulling’ legend. I have mentioned the building I used to email you from, the Kunibiki Messe. There is also Kunibiki Bridge and Kunibiki street. Kunibiki literally means ‘land-pulling”, or ‘country-pulling’. The story goes that a god was given this land in the Izumo area long ago, but the area was much smaller then. Unsatisfied with his meagre dominion, he threw out his rope, caught a chunk of Korea, and dragged it over to add to his territory. He dragged a second piece of Korea and a piece of Japan further north ‘that nobody else was using’, and created the area that is now Izumo, Matsue and Sakaiminato. Finally satisfied, he threw down his hoe and said, “Finished!” (The tree that grew from the spot was still there in the 1900’s, in the south of Matsue; I’ve seen a picture of it). The ropes became the beaches along the coast. Fascinating.

 

Martin and I then debated the “To be or not to be” speech from Hamlet as we cycled back to work. He had a lot of questions about it, some of which I could answer. He has a very inquisitive mind and a penchant for debate that I really enjoy. I don’t get a lot of that, so it’s nice to exercise ill-used intellectual muscles. Jennifer doesn’t like it though, since he often tries to debate with her about veganism, a topic she is very stiff-necked about. She generally doesn’t care much for Martin, partly because Yumi still likes Martin and Jennifer thinks he’s ‘jerking her around’. I don’t really think so, but I’m not going to try to change Jennifer’s mind when it’s set. I’d rather try to pull land from Korea.

 

On Monday, September 17, we had vague plans to climb Mount Daisen, but the day dawned gray and drizzly, so we cancelled. Seiji and I went to the museum in southern Matsue instead. This was a museum dedicated to the ancient civilization of this area. The land-pulling legend I had just learned was illustrated on the wall. The museum was small but full of artefacts, and we watched a video and illustrated, spot-lit map showing all the remaining archeological sites of the ancient Izumo civilization. In present day, there is a city called Izumo nearby, home to the oldest shrine in Japan. (in October, the gods have a gathering there. Yumi told us that, using the old names for months, October is ‘no-gods month’ in every prefecture except Shimane, where October is ‘all-gods month’. So right now, there are a MILLION gods at Izumo Taisha.) But in the old, old days, all of this area was called Izumo, which means ‘clouds rising from the earth’, and it was the home of one of the first central governments of Japan. The archeological remains of the government buildings, including the tax hall (death and taxes, everybody, death and taxes) and rice storehouses, are on display in a nearby field. There are also a number of ruined shrines and ‘keyhole’ grave-mounds, shaped like keyholes (C<) in the vicinity, including a mound within sight of the museum. The museum is also shaped like a keyhole. The objects inside the museum are puzzling. Some of them were apparently used in magical and religious rituals; unusual jugs with many round spouts all over them, clay horses and deer, strange swords with pronged blades, scowling, toothy effigies and many bronze bells. I can’t even begin to guess the purpose. After exploring the museum, we grabbed our umbrellas from the car and went to explore the burial mound and the traditional house on the museum grounds. The house was set down into the earth, so if we had been allowed, we could step down into it. The walls were made of thick mud and the roof was made of bushy thatch and broad wooden beams. The effect from a distance was of a huge, unkempt hedgehog. The grave was silent and empty; it was clearly hollow, but the entrance was barred. I had no strong desire to enter, anyway. It was raining harder, so we abandoned the grounds. Seiji had been there on school trips as a child, so he said he felt natsukashii (nostalgic). He remembered playing on the broad lawn.

 

On Saturday, September 22, I went to aikido. Martin and Yumi came to watch, but it wasn’t the best day for it; a kendo tournament was taking place during the day and so all the mats had been removed. We couldn’t practice any rolling, so we stuck to standing techniques. After the practice, Kowata-san told Martin he could join if he was interested. He’s still thinking about it, but the time isn’t very good for him. I think he usually goes rock-climbing at a gym on Saturdays. I wouldn’t dream of trying to do both, but Martin is pretty fit, so he could probably do it.

We were walking downtown when we heard drums. A neighbourhood – maybe Kataharacho? – was practicing for the drum festival. We detoured to listen, but they were just wrapping up for the evening as we arrived. Two curious young girls came over to us and Yumi chatted with them. She asked one to play her flute for us; the bashful girl blew one note and giggled. We kept mving through the neighbourhood, and I saw an odd sight. A man was walking through the neighbourhood with what looked like two narrow blocks of wood on a rope, pausing and banging it at intervals with a staccato clacking noise. Yumi said he was part of a neighbourhood fire watch that would go around nightly, banging the sticks to remind people to check and turn off their gas. I imagined this nightly street ritual going back hundreds of years in Japanese towns and cities, as people banked their fires for the evening. Japanese homes are highly flammable and close together, so a community effort to prevent fires is not surprising.

We walked to the station and met John and Taeko, who was celebrating her birthday. She picked up a cake from a nearby café and we went to a yakitori place near the AEON office. We had a great time; Taeko was in fine spirits, after having gotten over her depression at turning another year older. She was noisy and earthy, teaching us Italian and Czech swearwords (people always ask, after meeting Taeko: “Is she Japanese?”; she is NOTHING like a typical Japanese, especially in Shimane, where people have the reputation of being reserved and modest). We ate a lot, and Yumi and I split a small bottle of passable red wine. The server brought us our cake, and we sang Happy Birthday to Taeko. Some of the other tables joined in, but an older businessman murmured, “Hazukashii, ne?” (Embarrassing, isn’t it?”). Taeko didn’t hear. We couldn’t eat all the cake, so she served it to the servers and cooks, who in return gave us free strawberry ice cream with chocolate sauce. Sweet. In both senses.

The next day, ‘Team Daisen’ as we called ourselves (me, Seiji, Martin, Yumi, Jennifer and Taeko) had planned to climb Daisen, but when we woke the weather was spotty and a kind of malaise (or plain old laziness) seemed to settle over us. We met for coffee instead, at Port Below. Jennifer couldn’t make it; she had been up late singing karaoke with a couple of her students. So we sat for hours, eating Port Below’s excellent panini and drinking equally great coffee. We talked a lot, but Seiji was very quiet. I asked him about it later, and he said that we all talked so fast, he couldn’t follow very well. I felt bad about it; I try to speak naturally but slowly, but Martin talks very fast, as does Taeko, and I think I got caught up in their conversational rhythm. It’s a real pleasure to talk naturally sometimes, and not have to choose my phrases or expressions carefully. But I want everyone to follow the conversation and have a good time, too. It’s difficult.

 

It’s time to get ready for work. I can hear the very punctual garbage truck outside, playing a tinny, carnivalesque tune as it carries away my carefully sorted trash (I think I have described the garbage and recycling system here as ‘arcane’). Time to start moving. I’ll write again soon. Till then, take care.

 

Sarah