And So It Ends

This is, failing something unforeseen, is the last post that I will write for this blog. While I do have gigabytes stacked upon gigabytes of photos taken in places like Kyoto and Hiroshima, I feel like they don't convey anything special that more generally available information about those sites cannot already.

So, if I am not going to relate my final travels, what does one write to end a a blog like this one? I decided after casting about that I will simply resort to a quotation here- Karl Marx's purported last words:

"Last words are for fools who haven't said enough."

I've seen any number of people flounder, both in writing or in conversation, while trying to get at the essential profundity of having had an experience like JET. Often times, they resort to hyperbole, or spin wearisome lists of impressions. I don't think either one is terribly helpful- I think that the full gravity of an intercultural experience is best and probably only appreciated as a narrative, which takes on its value with the sequential progression of events; and the evolution over time of both the setting and of the narrator.

And so, I'm going to take Marx's advice, and not bother to try to express what it all means, so to speak. I think the best way to feel this is to read the older posts (or even talk to me in real life!), and to try to compile a sort of cluster of ideas and images; a kind of cloudy truth that speaks to the complexity of experiences that are grounded in human relationships.

Thank you all for reading, it has been an amazing experience, and I hope that you managed to take something away from reading about Japan through my eyes. That being said:

Sayonara.

The Time Has Come...

...with all due respect to Lewis Carrol, to Speak of Many Things (even if I have to get by without a walrus).

I took two hours out of my increasingly insane life to pay a dinner visit to the home of Togashi-sensei, a teacher from my (now former) middle school who can cook very, very well. She is also a gifted creator quilts, which lose some of their luster in photographs, so you'll just have to take my word for it. In addition to these things, she is afflicted with what John McCutcheon would call "terminal niceness," and I spent an agreeable two hours chatting with her and her daughter (one of my middle school students) over a delicious meal that included corn, salad, stewed meat and potatoes, and a miso soup with whale meat in it. The whale meat was sort of spongy, and ethics aside I don't think I would particularly seek it out to cook with on the basis of flavor alone.

At the same time, I've been trying to tally the value of my experience here in terms of what it's done for me personally- learning to be more independent, learning Japanese, new found teaching abilities, etc. This kind of accomplishment list-making only operates on a primitive level- helping me to feel satisfied as I cope with the pain of leaving. It's the kind of feeling that wouldn't feel out of place in an effort to coax a woman into my cave to start a bearskin-clad brood, or perhaps to go charging off into the brush with machete in hand. It is the other end of the adventure experience.

The visit, however, was a reminder of the kind of pleasure that's derived from non-adventurously rooting oneself in a place and building relationships there. My whole stay here in Japan has seemed fairly ephemeral, and I never felt like I really put down roots (perhaps one cannot in only a year). Getting together with some of my teachers for what may well be the last time has made me wish for the stabilizing comfort of a real social network.


Ruminations aside, a lot has happened since my last post (as it seems wont to do), so here's what else is new:


This last weekend some friends and I took a day trip to a small, pretty town called Yahiko. Like most places in Japan, Yahiko has a rich history dating back to who-knows-when, but unlike most places in Japan some very wise people decided to check the frenzy of modernizing development anywhere that it would destroy the town's charm. While there were some ugly Stalin's-cube-looking structures, most of the town was built traditionally of wood with ceramic tile roofs.

We spent the walking around, buying food, seeing the local shrine (which was quite impressive, and judging from the crests on the eves, connected to the Emperial family somehow), and riding the cable-car to the top of a nearby mountain. In the interest of brevity, I won't post any photos of all that. It was nice, but not spectacular. The interesting bit came later on, when we went to the local onsen, or hot-spring fed baths. The reason this onsen was so interesting wasn't that it was particularly nice (although it was just fine as far as that goes), but that it was completely empty except for me. This gave me an opportunity to actually take some pics inside the baths without capturing the hordes of naked Japanese men that are usually in there as well.

These are the wicker baskets that you deposit your effects in before you bathe. There are lockers available as well, although the odds of anyone actually stealing something from a public bath are pretty minimal. The floor is covered in traditional tatami straw mats, which apparently can hold up to all the moisture somehow. The one in my apartment got moldy after being wet for a very short time, but all the onsen have them and they appear to be just fine.



This is a view of the main bath area. The stools arrayed against the back wall are individual bathing areas, where you sit down and basically take a Western shower to make yourself clean enough to enter thee communal hot spring. The tub itself is heated to about 50 degrees Celsius, or about 125 degrees Fahrenheit, and has mineral treatments in the water. Being able to sit for a long time in one of these takes some practice and discipline, but the pay-off in terms of skin health is tremendous.



Also not pictured (mostly because I was afraid of getting caught) is an outdoor natural water pool, that is fed directly from the volcanic hot spring. This particular pool happened to have a basic pH, but acidic sulfur springs are actually more common. Usually the tiles around the natural spring are encrusted with mineral deposits, and the tiles on the bottom are stained different colors depending on their proximity to the spring-water nozzle.

I hope you found the very brief tour of Japanese baths to be interesting...interesting or not, they are one of the things I will miss the most about this country. You leave an onsen feeling completely clean (as well you might- the sulfur kills everything living on your skin), as well as revived.


The last bit of news which I've also seen spots about in the Western media is that the biggest eclipse of the century occurred today in Asia, and I was able to catch the tail end of it:



For those interested, it also made Japanese Google's icon for today.
The Sun was never totally eclipsed here- that only happened farther south. I almost didn't notice the eclipse because it was cloudy today, as it is more or less every day in Niigata, so I didn't attribute the darkening to anything other than the cloud-cover. On a related note- Niigata was actually slated as a potential target for the nuclear bomb, but was spared by the fact that the clouds were so consistent and opaque that the bombers wouldn't be able to confirm the target. Happy though this is, I find it galling that people drive around here sporting "sunny Niigata" bumper stickers without any apparent sense of irony.

That's it for tonight. Tomorrow, I say farewell to my last batch of students (which I'm sure will be a rather trying experience), which will mark the end of my linkage to the schools in Arakawa. From there on out, it's just a matter of crunching all the necessary bureaucracy to make a clean getaway. This may be the last post before I post again mid-vacation about Kyoto and Hiroshima (if I'm able to find internet, that is). Thanks for reading, and stay genki!

Post #84 (a long post in three parts)

~Part 1~

Not that I've been sequentially numbering my posts up until this point, but just to provide a little reference, here is post #84! I was hoping that over the course of the stay here I would make it to the more auspicious number of 100 posts, but that looks unlikely now. I suppose we can't have everything...

This post will need to cover quite a bit of ground, as I have been doing a lot of things, and don't have much time to write them down anymore. First and foremost- Murakami had its annual taisai (another way of saying matsuri), which I attended with a friend.

The first thing anyone notices at any matsuri is the lines of colorful vendor's stalls swarming with festively-clad Japanese people, like so:(Please excuse the crummy photos taken at ISO 800...it was the only way I could take anything like snapshots at night)



Matsuri food is basically like carnival food in any culture, as far as I can tell (fatty and sugary), but with all the usual Japanese twists. This is a yakitori (roast chicken, usually on a spit) stand, complete with towel-wearing bird-roaster and a red chouchin (bamboo lantern) advertising itself:



The day after the stalls set up, the festival gets going in earnest. Before we could make it to the actual matsuri, however, I was obliged to take a picture of this car that we saw:



The Murakami Taisai is an ancient and relatively famous matsuri, as far as these things go. For one thing, it gets its own Wikipedia page like so(Japanese only), also has the unique defining characteristic of oshagiri (お囃子), which are basically massive two-wheeled carts about two stories high. It also has the privilege of getting its own special Asahi-brand beer cans around this time of year. The oshigiri are also very difficult to find information about, because (as I ultimately discovered), they are only used at the matsuri in Murakami. They are lined up before the festivities officially start like so:



Each pulling team wears their own distinct happi (each cart belongs to a certain district of Murakami), and having consumed copious amounts of booze, grabs onto a huge rope attached to the front of the oshagiri and starts to pull it forward a bit. The teams take frequent breaks, however, in order to drink more beer and sing traditional songs.

The oshagiri themselves have quite a history, dating back to the Edo Period, so anywhere from 250 to 400 years old. We could hear the old wood groaning as we pulled them around. I have also decided to post a detail from one of them; all of the oshagiri were lavishly decorated with beautiful carvings, but I thought that this bird was as interesting as any:



Here is a young girl in a yukata peering at the foreigners. Women from very young girls to Grandmothers all like to get done up in a nice yukata for festivals.



This is a close-up of one of the oshagiri in motion. The children (more girls than boys, for whatever reason) ride inside and play instruments as they lumber along.



Finally, here is a photo of me and two friends in our Kamachi (that's the name of the district whose oshagiri we helped pull) orange happi. The man is the owner and chef at a french-style restaurant called Fuji (for some reason...), and is overall just a wonderful person. The woman is Flo, whom you have met before.



Also, it's amazing who/what all you'll encounter in Murakami if you know the right people. Specifically, we briefly had a meal and a few cups of sake with none other than the supreme commander of all of Japan's military forces. He didn't stay long after we got there, but on the way out everyone got back into seiza (the proper way of sitting), and bowed almost to the floor for him. To provide some reference- you only seiza and deep bow if a) you are meeting someone very important or b) apologizing for something fairly intense...on the order of running over and then grilling your neighbor's cat, for instance. As it was, we didn't say much to each other (although he has been to Rhode Island, apparently), but I did get to sit in his "presence," which was an interesting experience. I'm not sure how to rank it on my scale of experiences (being a pacifist makes this kind of thing a little awkward), but the rarity of the opportunity made it interesting all by itself.

~end post 84, Part 1~




Part 2:

Pachinko. Pachinko is the gambling game of choice in Japan, and is especially prominent in more economically depressed rural areas (like Niigata!). Basically, you feed 1,000 yen (about $10) into a slot, and receive hundreds of little ball bearings. You then feed these balls into a machine, and attempt to drop them in a target hole. Should you succeed, this then begins the slot machine, which may or may not actually pay out. I decided that I had to try it at least one time before I left Japan, so I went to the "Balian Resort" in Shibata to give it a go. Here is the outside of the parlor:



As a rule, Pachinko parlors deck themselves out in the most blaring, vision-assaulting ornamentation that they can, and tend to make cities like New Orleans looks downright Romanesque. To cap off the effect, this one had glowing red palm trees outside that even put the ones at the Oasis on the Planes to shame (for you I-70 driving readers):



Here is the interior- row upon row of pachinko machines. What you cannot get from the photograph is the sheer noise- each machine emits a cacophony of jingling bells and anime sound bytes, with loud background music played over the top of it all. I apologize for the photo quality, but I think that photography wasn't technically allowed...so I had to be sneaky about it:



Here is a pachinko machine interface. Each machine is typically themed for a certain anime series- Neon Genesis Evangelion is far and away the most popular, but I also got to try something with some definite 70's beats and muttonchops going on, as well as the one pictured below:



That's one other thing about Japan: the total homogeneity in all aspects of life of commercial franchises. Whereas in America it would be sacrilegious to take a beloved cartoon and prostitute it out to sell gambling, food, alcohol, school supplies, clothes, and even condoms (although Disney's doing their darndest), here there the brand is splashed all over everything and it doesn't seem to bother anyone. I still find it alarming, cross-cultural-ness aside, because I think that over-commercializing everything is a destructive trend in any culture, but Japan is hardly anything if not whole-heartedly commercial...so there you go.


~end Post 84, Part 2~



Part 3:


Flo and I decided that it would be nice to go visit the Volcanic crater at Zaou for a short day trip. I always found the lack of fiery, destructive potential in the mountains that I've previously lived near to be rather disappointing, that for all their grandeur, the Rockies are just fire-less wrinkles. The Appalachians were even more disappointing, in that they were wrinkles which had passed their prime. In Japan, on the other hand, I am not even sure that it is possible to be more than 50 kilometers from a Volcano or Volcanic formation, and Zaou is one of the more spectacular ones near Arakawa.

On the way up into the mountains, the Arakawa was covered in a creeping layer of mist, which I thought was interesting enough to stop and photograph (after stumbling through a thick patch of spider-infested weeds by the river's edge):



Here is a picture of the okama, or caldera:



The landscape was still blasted and rocky, and not just due to the altitude (higher surrounding slopes had trees growing on them). I suspect that it had as much to do with the toxicity of the soil as with the rockiness- all the bands of colors in the rock (as well as the violent turquoise color of the crater lake) testified to the presence of of a number of nasty oxides of various metals.

The final photo from Zaou is of a cloud-enshrouded shrine atop a nearby ridge, which is covered with snow for about half of the year:



Finally, to end on a nice Japan-y note, here are a pair of torii lit by the sunset on top of the Castle Mountain in Murakami.



~end Post #84, Part 3~


Coda:

The madness of departure has reached a sort of fever pitch here, and my life has become something of a nightmare haze of packing, filling out forms, and talking to rather panicked-looking clerks about canceling various services. I'll try to keep posting as I can, but I'm not sure when I'll have that time. Thanks for reading, and keep checking back in case I get something up in the as-yet uncertain future!

Morning Market, and some other things in Murakami

One hot June morning, Flo and I decided that we should go to the asaichi, or morning market, together. At some point between the last post and now, Summer got under way in earnest, and the air coming off of the sea of Japan feels like it was exhaled by some primeval, gargantuan dog, and we were already sweating profusely after just a few steps out her apartment door.

While she was on a hunt for good presents to send home, I was mostly taking in the sights and smells of the market, which both tended to be fishy. The market is a sort of standard farmer's market setup, with temporary booths holding a variety of things lining both sides of a narrow street:



The smell of the place, as I mentioned, is pretty fishy. The street even retains a sort of corpulent eau de poisson up to days after the market has disbanded. I'm sure that the juices dripping off the largely unrefrigerated fish onto the asphalt in 90 degree heat goes a long way towards contributing to the smell, as do things like this (please click to enlarge):



...or this. I thought that this fish looked resigned to his fate in an exhausted kind of way:



Here are various Japanese food offerings, whether to be used for cooking or simply to stuff onigiri:



These too were sitting out without any form of refrigeration that I could see. The Japanese are, as I'm sure I've mentioned before, more comfortable with letting things sit out longer than Americans are. I've never gotten over my fear that I'll be horribly food-poisoned by some flaccid, lukewarm morsel or another, but so far my luck seems to have held out. So has the luck of everyone around me, which probably speaks more to food being safer than I think than it does to anyone's luck. Food poisoning is also doubtless kept at bay by the Japanese tendency to take anything that isn't kickin' fresh and deluge it in salt and/or vinegar, thereby preserving it for future generations to enjoy.

On the way back from the market, also decided to take some pictures of the elegant kamon that decorate many of the houses in Murakami. I liked the design, and even though it's not on topic, I wanted to share it here while I still remembered:




Finally, I leave you with something Flo and I found at the local Jusco. Where someone may someday write an elegant thesis about the strange fusion of technology, mythology, and psychology that goes on in Japan (indeed there is a whole genre devoted to cataloging and explaining the idiosyncrasies of the Japanese), I have decided to present a picture that may be able to sum it up better. Behold: Dinotank (click to enlarge).



That is all for now- as I am ever more engrossed in extracting myself from my life here and packing my possessions, posts will probably be more erratic in both timing and subject matter. Thanks for bearing with me, and look for another post on something Japan in this same space sometime this week.

Nihongolalia- the direct translation

I noticed something the other day, and I wanted to get it out on my blog before my hectic life and short attention span sweep it completely from my memory. The thing I noticed (or continued to notice) is this: Japan, in both language and culture, is really its own entity. We're used to thinking of multiculturalism in terms of arts, music, and food in America. If there's a cultural event event, you can bet that someone will be there in traditional dress, someone will play a traditional instrument, and everyone eats their tacos/egg-drop soup/sushi/borscht and goes home happy. While this is an oversimplification for any culture, it is moreso in Japan. I may have mentioned previously that the Japanese not only speak a different language, but actually say different things from Americans. The wires up there, for someone raised Japanese, are relaying different signals to different places than they are in people elsewhere (again, I imagine that this is true for all cultures, but the Japanese are so idiosyncratic it becomes apparent much more easily).

As an example, I will first post a conversation- two people being introduced by a third party, as you might read it in an American phrase book. Then I will translate the meanings directly from the Japanese. Some differences should be apparent.

Phrase-book translation:

Mr. Nakamura: Good Morning. Mr. Jugoarashi, this is Ms. Uchiyama.

Mr. Jugoarashi: Nice to meet you, I look forward to working with you.

Ms. Uchiyama: Nice to meet you, and likewise.


...then here's the literal translation (and just for fun, I've translated the names, too):

Mr. Middle Village: It is early. Mr. Fifty Storms, this over here is Ms. Inside-the-mountain.

Mr. Fifty Storms: It is the first time. Treat me well, please.

Ms. Inside-the-Mountain: It is the first time. Treat me well, please.


Just thought I would post that, as I find some of the differences to be amusing. I also love first names in this country- people with names like "Ryu" (Dragon) or "Emi" (Beautiful Image) are pretty much the norm- making it sound, to American ears, like every child in Japan was named either by a hippy or by a some serious LARPers. It also gives me something of a name inferiority complex: some days I just don't feel as cool as I might if I was named Dragon. Anyhow... That's all for now- I hope that some of the cross cultural strangeness is as interesting to you all as it is to me.

Sasagawanagare

Sasagawanagare (笹川流- bamboo-grass flowing river, although no river is in evidence), is an absurdly picturesque destination along the coast of the Sea of Japan, which also happens to be pretty close to where I live. I have been here several times; it is near to Sanpokku which I wrote about in a by-now ancient post, and was also the home of the dramatic rock formations and salamander shrine seen in this post.

This time around the weather was gorgeous, with a blazing sun and cool sea breeze (instead of the strident Siberian blast that characterizes Winter weather hereabouts), and I also took some time to photograph the rock formations that I've so often admired from the highway, but never actually gotten out and photographed. Here are the pictures that I deemed fit to print, as well as some explanations (as ever- click the photo for an enlarged view):

Our first stop was the rocky salamander shrine, this time covered in flowers and seagulls (and therefore, seagull droppings). The gulls were incensed about having their nesting area invaded, and we snap a handful of pictures before beating a path to lower ground:



This picture is looking out from a deep divide in a cliff wall across a bay. There are several stone arches in the area, which is eroding rapidly due to the intensity of the wind, water, and harsh winters. I tried climbing a rocky prominence just outside of the frame of this photo, and turned back when child-sized chunks rotten rock dislodged at my touch.



The cliffs from a higher vantage, which was also fairly terrifying to climb to.



Depending upon one's perspective, the water at Sasagawanagare holds a brilliant pallet of marine colors. The combination of shockingly blue sea water, rocks, seaweed, and who knows what else gives every foot of the bay its own chromatic personality:



This is looking out towards Awashima (the island faintly visible to the center right), past some of the rocky crags in the bay. The sun was dazzlingly bright, so I snapped my shutter down pretty tight to take this one:



This is just another shot of the side of one of the inlets. Not much to comment, I'm just trying to give a good idea of what the place is like.



The most dramatic arch in the area, as far as I could tell. The tree framed through the center is typical of the pines that cling to the rocks in the area- scraggly and elegant. I may have once mentioned; the prints and drawings of Japan with it's cloud-draped mountains and gnarly, graceful pines always struck me as being highly stylized, that is, until I moved here. Granted, they are highly stylized, but once you've had a chance to watch nature at work for a bit here, you realize that the artists were really drawing what they saw more than one would have thought possible.



Sometimes your pictures contain more than you realize. I just wanted a shot from low down of the rocky coast, but I also accidentally managed to show how much of a trash-heap the coast of Japan has become. Enjoying the beauty of Japan increasingly requires strong selective attention skills, and despite the accords being signed in places like Kyoto, Japan still has a lot of work to do on environmental issues.



On a more light-hearted note, I love the signs warning of big waves along the coastal highway. The really scary thing is that during a good storm, this isn't exaggerating that much...



...nor is this one, which I'm seriously considering having made into a T-shirt.



This is exactly what you probably think it is. It's still fairly common for Japanese towns to have penis matsuri, and to parade the thing around while the local women ride it in hopes of boosting fertility. I've never been to one myself, but I think it's pretty amazing that a fertility rite like this is still practiced in ultra-modern, ultra-industrial Japan. In any event, they are still plentiful, and this one lives just off the highway near Sasagawanagare:



Finally, a shot from a high point on the mountain road we took towards the end of the day. The road proved, hilariously and after several kilometers, to be an abrupt rock-wall dead end, but some of the vistas along the way were worth it. I'll leave you with this- cloud shadows over the Sea of Japan.

No Strong Unifying Theme

I wanted to put up some general photographs of Niigata; places or things that I've seen that don't attach to any one particular occasion, but that were good enough to warrant pulling out the camera.

This first one is taken from the slopes of Tosakayama (鳥坂山), or "bird slope mountain." The mountain was well named, as the hike up was more vertical than anything. These are the rice fields in the Kurokawa river valley, leading back towards the Tainai ski area:



On the same hike, I ran into a tamamushi (玉虫: lit. "round bug") at the summit. I don't know why it's called "round," as it's obviously not, but the term tamamushiiro, meaning "tamamushi-colored" can mean either iridescent or ambiguous (click image to enlarge):



This is a rice field just at planting time. I stopped and took the picture on my way to visit a friend in Murakami. The fields didn't have any rice growing in them just yet, so the whole coastal plain from the Sea of Japan to the mountains was a massive, watery quilt:



This picture was taken from the deck of my apartment: a storm gathering over the mountains. Most of the storms that actually amount to anything seem to form over the sea; this one petered out shortly after taking the picture.



Patches of cloud and sunshine over the rice fields just north of my house. The green speckles on the fields are the newly planted rice seedlings.



A close-up of the newly planted rice, with evening clouds reflected in the water.



This is an unremarkable photograph with a bit of interesting history- according to a sign, this feux-oil well stands on the sight of the oldest oil well in Japan, operational about 600 years ago. The next-door town takes its eponym from the actual kurokawa (黒川: "black river") next door, which in turn got its name from oil naturally leaking into the river in ancient times. Before wells were constructed, people would harvest the oil by dipping brushy branches into the river, after which the adhering oil was scraped off into a bucket.



One of numerous Christian signs that hang around the prefecture, and I think perhaps all of Japan. The signs usually carry some simple slogan, and then simply cite "Jesus," or "The Bible," leaving specific notation out of it. This one says something to the effect of "The blood of Jesus cleanses of sin. -The Bible" Christianity's long, strange relationship with Japan hasn't shown itself to me much since I've been here, although I do see the occasional church or cross. Any outward expressions of faith seem to be limited to austere, black and yellow signs such as this one:



I took some friends on a trip to Hagurosan, partly because I wanted to see it again, and partly because such things are better shared with company. On the way up, we stopped at a small salt-making shop in Sasagawanagare, the ludicrously scenic coastal strip north of Murakami. This man seemed pretty unexcited or disappointed about having customers either way, and just went about his business making salt. I did managed to get out of him that the salt takes about 10 hours over heat to crystallize out of the water. The facility was full of rusty surfaces, steam, and little bit of salt crystal clinging to the various fixtures:



Here is the main torii at the pilgrim's gate to the mountaintop shrine at Hagurosan I just included this photo because I liked it, and feel like it captures some of the mystique of the mountain. I won't go into detail because I've already been here once, and you can read that post here.



That's all for the random pictures post, I hope it was enjoyable. What's next will likely come after this weekend, when I will be attending a fighting kite festival. Until that time, yoroshiku, onegaishimasu

June 1st: International Youth Introspection Day

This post is being written on a stomach full of ika (squid) from today's school lunch. They pound the surface into a texture resembling that on a meat-tenderizing hammer, and then cook it for a good long time (presumably to aid with polymerization or something). Just an anecdote, but some days are better than others, with regard to school lunches.

~

I'm starting to feel the pressures of leaving, and wavering between excitement, uncertainty, and regret (all the usual emotions for any transition, in other words). I also stumbled upon a blog entry by a friend whom I'm guessing some of you may know, which deals with all the same emotions, except coming from someone who's been in Germany for about a year. I'd also recommend the rest of her blog, if you have some time to burn- she's a good writer and has had some interesting experiences.

Anyways;

The specter of my departure is looming large, and I'm starting to take mental stock of what this past year has meant for me in general, where I succeeded, where I failed, and how I feel about moving on.

One thing that will ease my departure is something I've noticed more and more since coming here. Hillary Clinton spoke of a "glass ceiling" during her presidential bid, metaphorically blocking women from achieving positions of prominence and power equal to those of men. In Japan, there is a glass ceiling for foreigners, which prevents them from ever reaching positions on par with those of the Japanese with whom they work. Unlike with Hillary, however, there's also what I can only describe as a glass wall; a frigid gap between a foreigner and native Japanese that is very difficult to bridge- I'm honestly not sure whether I have or not, although I think I may getting there with some of my younger elementary school teachers. It is an unfortunate reality, however, that the majority of ALTs I know do not spend much, if any, time with close Japanese friends. The Japanese network of relationships runs lambent over every surface around me, but I can never actually seem to grasp it.

The official JET materials forecast this kind of Mime's-box difficulty, and have a number of recommendations for what one can do to improve one's situation. However, it seems to me like the implicit assumption in those materials is that if you aren't getting along with people, you've screwed up somehow. While it's true that making a concerted effort can massively improve one's social experience here, I don't feel like individual initiative is the whole story here: Japanese culture, as fascinating and beautiful as it is, has a long-running xenophobic streak. When I started working on this post, I thought I would put down some of the history to back up this statement in this post, but then realized that it would make for a rather ponderous read (more so than it is already becoming). Rather- here are some links to pertinent articles:


Sakoku
Kanagawa Treaty
Racial Issues in Japan
Koreans in Japan
Ainu History
Burakumin
Little Black Sambo
Gaijin

Reading things like this, as well as my a couple of my own experiences:

Being excoriated by a racist man for the better part of 30 minutes during the matsuri in Iwafune,

and

Having a 5th grader point at the picture I'd put up of a Papua New Guinean child on the slide projector and say "monkey," while the teacher did nothing about it (I didn't quite catch his face, or else I would have disciplined him pretty harshly).

Finally, being stared at all the time, and always treated either as a special novelty, or a special problem, but never a normal manifestation of either, becomes more burdensome with the passage of time. Not less. This kind of ethnic "specialness" has gotten exhausting enough that I'm ready to escape into the dark, comforting arms of anonymity back in America, where I don't stick out like a Giraffe in a rabbit warren.

That's the bad part.

________________________

I'm also very sad to leave, however, particularly my elementary schools. These schools that I so dreaded upon my arrival have proved to be the sites of some of the most fun and rewarding work I've ever done. Contrary to the dreary picture I just painted above, the staff are almost entirely wonderful people. Among the teachers at my shogakko, I now feel very comfortable and at-home, chatting about a number of things in between and after classes, and pulling them into the English lessons with their students.

It's the students, however, that I'll be more sad to leave than anything. Nothing I've seen here, however ancient or exotic, can compare to how rewarding it has been to get to know the kids that I work with, and to establish actual relationships of trust and love such as one only can with young children. It's difficult to put into words, in any meaningful way, the difference that these relationships have made for me (and I hope for the children, too). English doesn't want for negative descriptors, but trying to describe the positive gravitas that a good relationship with a child (or many children) can exert on oneself would require either great poetry or great narrative, neither of which I am capable of conjuring in the middle of this post. Suffice to say- the effects of getting to know the children with whom I work have been only as overwhelming as they have been positive.

Prior to coming here, I never quite understood people that "love children." My understanding now is that you don't really love children- children just love you with such ebullient energy that it is impossible not to reciprocate.

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And so, once all the dross has run off, what remains is relationships. Some of my most stressful times in Japan, and most rewarding, have been the result of how I've interacted (or not interacted) with people here. I think that severing the old set, and moving back to a combination of an older set and a new set, is what is generating the most distress for me right now. I'll be very pleased if I managed to navigate the transition with something resembling grace. Finding a job other than something like poop shoveler or rock scrubber also wouldn't hurt.

So endeth my June 1st introspective post. Thanks for indulging me a little bit in a break from the regular program of photos and information about Japan. Such as I have the time, I will be posting some general photos of Niigata in Spring that defy event-specific categorization. I'm also doing some research for a post about Buddhism in Japan, such as I've encountered it, and hopefully that too will ripen enough to be put on the vine for you all (sometimes you have to yank a metaphor inside out to fit it onto the internet).

Thanks for reading!
otsukarasamadeshita.

More hiking, but they were Bigger mountains this time.

Seeing as I've already posted twice about hiking, I'm going to guess that people don't need a blow-by-blow of either of my ascent to nor decent from the peaks of the two mountains I most recently climbed. Most mountains are a fairly up and down proposition, after all, and the plot doesn't waver much from that.

Because of this, I'm just going to post a mish-mash of captioned photographs from my trips up (and down!) two fairly large and fairly famous mountains in Japan: Mount Bandai (磐梯山), and Ninouji Peak (二王子岳; page in Japanese only). If you want the "stats," on the former, you can simply read the Wiki for it. Ninouji is about 1,400something meters tall, and that's with the trail head effectively starting at sea level.

One more thing before I roll out the photos- Mt. Bandai is high enough in elevation, as well as far enough inland, that even though it had long been green and warm in Niigata, Mt. Bandai was still in the throws of late winter. Ninouji Peak, on the other hand, is generally more Spring-like much of the way up, although it did have plenty of snow higher up. Now, here are the pictures-

This is the old cryptomerea (or Japanese cedar) forest at the base of Ninoujidake- it was dominated by the massive trees, with a dusting of ferns for an understory. It was beautiful, and smelled sharply of Spring:



A waterfall on the way up to Mount Bandai. The sign at the turn-off for the waterfall cautioned "beware of bears," Sadly no bears were around, but the waterfall was pretty:



This is another view, still within the cedar woods on Ninoujidake. A pretty little creek ran down through a series of gullies to the beginning of the trail, where a cup was provided if you wanted to drink the water (I didn't take my chances):



Not far into the journey up Mount Bandai is a set of sulfur springs, melting the snow around them and releasing a number of colorful pigments into the water, along with hydrogen sulfide and sulfur dioxide. If Hell started a restaurant, this is what the dumpster out back would smell like:



Here are the ranges of mountains marching away, looking towards Murakami. The weather for much of the hike was Niigata's trademark leaden homogeneous cloud-cover, which the sun broke only periodically:



On Bandaisan the whole journey was obscured by clouds which ran down to a few feet above the ground, muffling any sounds and giving the forest a ghostly appearance:



Dwarf flowers like these were in bloom all over the place above about 2,000 feet:



Most mountains of any noteworthy size in Japan are volcanic, as is Mount Bandai. At the trail head was a signing warning to be mindful of volcanic events (as though there's anything one could do during a full-scale eruption other than run like hell and pray in between breaths, but I guess it's nice to be warned), and there was evidence of volcanism scattered about the mountain, if you knew where to look. Aside from the sulfur springs, there was the barren spur of rock pictured below. I'm guessing that plants couldn't take hold here because the rock is relatively new, and has a high concentration of poisonous elements in it (sulfur, for one). The lake in the background is only a little over 100 years old, and was formed by the massive 1888 Bandai eruption.



Through a rare break in the clouds and mist: the excellently named Nekoma-san, or "cat magic mountain", although neither cats nor magic were in evidence (it's a ski resort, as a matter of fact).



The last photograph is of the tiny jinja at the top of Mt. Bandai; no larger than a fire hydrant (infinite cosmic power, itty bitty living space). The kami inside looked old and weathered, but the shrine itself was relatively new, for obvious reasons. I usually pitch in a couple coins at shrines when I visit them: I reason that it's worth a couple yen to help with the upkeep of cultural sights, especially if I'm benefiting taking lots of pictures. It needn't be much- my round-trip fare for Bandai was 60 yen (a yen is about 1 cent), and for Ninouji it was about 100 yen (because I didn't have any smaller change).



I've taken to hiking as a sort of hobby; it gets me outside, and boosts my vitamin D levels to boot. Because of the rain, the mountains here are always full of a variety of interesting plants and animals, which are worth the trip themselves. What I enjoy most, however, is that most of the places you go are the haunts of some demon or supernatural tale (as with Nekoma), which lends an air of antiquity and mystery to the average Japanese day hike. The mountains in America might have retained some of this if more of the Native Americans' names and legends had been better preserved in the public psyche, but as it is we wind up with a lot of places with names like "Bob's Peak." This may be interesting from a Westward expansion historical perspective, but doesn't bear the same gravitas that only a good myth can. I love the misty mountains here in Japan, and intend to keep exploring them for the remaining two months of my time here.