Momiji in Arashiyama

A few weeks ago I went to Arashiyama (western Kyoto) with some friends to view the autumn leaves. While we certainly appreciate the foilage in America, leaf-viewing isn't something we normally do, but in Japan they make a big deal about the changing colors. They call it momiji, and come October, an obnoxious amount of people (this year, myself included) go to places like Arashiyama to take a billion pictures. All those snapping cameras and urgent crowds may take away from the natural beauty of autumn in the mountains of Japan, but it was still a gorgeous sight to see.

The day was beautiful, if a little brisk. We had dry roasted sweet potatoes wrapped in brown paper and yudofu (hot tofu simmered in broth and topped with deliciousness) to warm our insides, and got plenty of exercise, as we hiked through the bamboo forest.

For pictures, please click here!

Our new president

I can't pretend I'm not ecstatic, but since I wouldn't want to see McCain supporters gloating had the tables been turned, I'll keep it short and say that I'm really grateful that Obama won and I feel very proud of my country right now. People were celebrating in the streets last night, myself included, and for the first time since coming here, when I told people I was American, they smiled. Here's a link with a photo of my friend Olivia once she saw the early polls in Chicago (thanks for passing this on, Melanie!). It's really a beautiful moment, and I think her expression speaks for all of us Obama supporters. So really, I don't need to say anything more.

http://jezebel.com/5077052/wow-justwow

The Guch and too much Hooch

I have Tuesdays off, as do my roommates Masako and Tetsu, so we decided to have dinner at the Guch (our house) last Tuesday. Wanting to introduce me to a new Japanese dish, they cooked suki-yaki, which is beef slices simmered in soy sauce, sake, and sugar, along with other vegetables and tofu. Whisked raw egg is used as a dipping sauce for the meat and vegetables. Masako and Tetsu provided the delicious meal, while I provided the alcohol. We started off slow, just a few beers, but once our roommate Judy got home from work, we opened a couple of bottles of wine. And then our roommate Cat came home, and we broke out the rum. At one point in the night Cat, Judy, and I all put on Halloween costumes, and then somehow Judy convinced us it would be a good idea to put a mustache on Cat and a full beard on me (using eyeshadow). I looked like Yitzhak from "Hedwig and the Angry Inch." Judy just pretty much had eyeshadow all over her entire face. I'm certain pictures were taken and I have no doubt they'll resurface in some form of blackmail later in life. Regardless, it was a fun night and a rare moment for us residents of the Guch, as we rarely get a chance to hang out together due to our conflicting work schedules.

Japanese Snacks I

Despite the obvious exceptions, Japan feels a lot like America. However, one way in which it's vastly different is the food. The snacks are often seafood- or curry-flavored. Two examples of popular snacks are dried squid (pictured to the left) and some sort of baked noodles that have a kind of cheesy curry taste. The dried squid looks like dry, shredded chicken, but it's actually really flavorful (very seafood-y with a slightly sweet, teriyaki-type flavor). It's a popular snack to have while drinking beer, and because it involves a lot of chewing (think beef jerky), it's not something you can just inhale like a plate of nachos.

Kiwis, Touch Football, Cross Dressers, and Transformers

This Monday is a holiday in Japan (Sports Day; I don't get it, but hey, holiday means no work!), and because my days off are Sundays and Tuesdays, this means I get a 3-day weekend. Woohoo!! Filled with the sort of elation one gets after finishing a long day of work before an extended weekend, I called my friend Simon and asked if he'd be up for grabbing a few beers and a bite to eat. He was game (as Simon always is when beer is involved), so we met up in Umeda and wandered for about an hour in search of non-Japanese grub. Because you see, while I love Japanese food (it's simple, healthy, and yummy), I'm quite sick of it at this point. And you'd never guess this, but Japan is full of Japanese restaurants. I know, right?! Who'd of thought? And so we walked through the arcade, bright lights flashing everywhere, people standing outside their restaurants calling for us to come in for sushi! Tempura! Okonomiyaki! Takoyaki! No, no, no, no. We just weren't in the mood for anything involving soy sauce. Finally, we reached the end of the arcade. There were no bright lights, no cheerful beckoning, and very few people. And there it was, in a dark corner of an otherwise flashy street, like a beacon of hope: a Kiwi pub. And its name? Kiwi Pub. The menu? Meat pies, fish and chips, fried chicken, and grilled sausages. Nary a grain of rice in sight. We were sold.

The pub was in a tiny, non-descript basement, with flashing disco lights. It was so small, it was like one of the house parties I went to in college. The crowd was welcoming; a mix of Kiwis, Aussies, and Japanese (and one American--yours truly). Simon and I sat down, famished, and split a pizza, meat pie with mashed potatoes, and fish and chips, washing it all down with a couple of beers. Hey, I said we were hungry! (And thirsty.) The owner, Mike, gave us some kuava to drink, which tasted like floral-scented water and made my tongue feel funny. It's a Samoan fruit, used for medicine (at least I think that's what Mike told us).

As we were gathering our stuff to leave, Mike invited us to play touch football with all of them the following day at a nearby park. We were given a small map and felt like members of an exclusive club.

Sunday...

On Sunday we showed up to a beautiful park in Umeda. It was a sunny day and the weather was nice and cool. There was some sort of festival going on, and after a quick inspection, we determined that it was something similar to the gay pride festivals in America. There was live music, free condoms, AIDS awareness pamphlets, and loads of 8-foot-tall cross dressers with painted faces, giant feathered wigs, full-body leotards, and 10-inch heels, which we may as well call stilts because these heels take some endurance to walk in. It was a friendly, happy crowd, but we continued on our way to the dirt field on the other side of the festival to meet up for some touch football, which I think is just Australian rugby without the tackling (but don't quote me on that). Simon, bless his heart, is always trying to explain these things to me, but not being fluent in Australian (not to mention Athleticism) makes it difficult for my thick skull to absorb sometimes.

The touch football group was a mix of people from the pub the previous night and some others: a nice guy from Canada, named Mark, and a guy from Georgia, whose name I can't remember, so let's call him Georgia. Georgia had his son with him, named Takoma (Tako for short), and so Tako and I played dinosaurs and Transformers while the guys played a couple games of touch football. Later, Simon showed me how to throw the ball while spinning it, and I don't mean to brag, but I'm kind of a natural. I refused to play, however, because it involves a lot of running, and as you know, running is not my forte.

Eventually Mike got the barbeque going and we dined on roasted sausages, chicken, and beef, the beer flowing as usual. As it got darker and chillier, we said our good byes, circled the gay pride exhibit a few more times, and finished our night with a couple more beers. It's the kind of weekend that fills you with renewed spirit.

Yodogawa Fireworks

In Japanese they call fireworks "fire flowers," which I think sounds pretty and suits them better. The colorful robes the women are wearing in these pictures aren't kimonos but yukatas, which are a traditional garment worn during summer festivals and fireworks displays (or so Wikipedia tells me). They are a casual form of kimonos, and very lovely, but much less expensive, and made from cotton rather than silk. It rained mercilessly, and it was hilarious seeing women, who had obviously put in half a day's work on their appearance, run squeeling while their boyfriends desperately tried to hold tarps over their melting facades and giant hair.

I attended this event back on August 9th (I'm so behind, sorry). Please click here for pictures.

Arashiyama (western Kyoto)

This is western Kyoto and quite different from the Gion area. As much as I love bustling city life, I think I prefer this area, which was so beautiful with lushly green mountains, a river clean enough to swim in, and a bamboo forest that felt 10 degrees cooler (the sun is merciless). It's apparently best in the spring when the cherry blossoms are in full bloom, or in autumn when the leaves begin to change. It's only about an hour's train ride from my home, which makes it an easy (and cheap) day trip.

I went here on August 3rd, and it was quite possibly the hottest day of my life.

Click here for pictures.

Koyasan's Candle Light Festival (Obon week)

On August 13th, which is Obon, a Buddhist holiday here in Japan, my friends and I attended the candle light festival in Koyasan. This was during the hottest part of the summer, at a time when the temperature was easily climbing its way into the 100s and the humidity was, like, 200 percent. Koyasan, however, was high up in the mountains and felt at least 15 degrees cooler.

The reason for the candle light festival is to light a path through the Buddhist cemetery (at night! eerie!), and lead the ghosts of ancestors to the main temple. And Japan claims to not celebrate Halloween! You will see food left on the altars, as it is believed that the ghosts are quite hungry and need to nosh on something before heading back to the grave (this makes me think of zombies).

When asked what they do with the leftover food after Obon, one of my students said, "A long time ago we put the food on wood rafts and set them on fire before sending them out to sea. Now we just throw it down the garbage disposal."

Please click here to see my pictures of Koysan's candle light festival.

Fushimi Inari-taisha

This shrine, 40 minutes by train from my home, lies at the base of Inari mountain, and is prayed to for wealth. The foxes you see in my pictures, which the Japanese call kitsune, are thought to be messengers for the gods. There are statues of kitsune all over Fushimi Inari (I thought they were dogs until Em corrected me). The 10,000 torii, bright orange and weaving their way up the mountain, are the coolest part about this shrine. When we reached the top we were rewarded with an amazing view of the city. Afterwards we bought some roasted chestnuts (which are disgusting--who knew?) and headed to Nagai Park to get our drink on and play a little frisbee.

You can see my photos of Fushimi Inari here.

Bicycles (the new car)

Bikes are the way to get around here in Japan, which is fine and wonderful except that it's illegal for them to ride on the SUPER WIDE, NOT AT ALL CROWDED street, so instead they ride on the narrow sidewalks where it's shoulder to shoulder people. They will think nothing of running you over, and you'll be lucky to get a precursory "ding ding" from their stupid little bell before your foot is broken. Old ladies are the worst, as they have little direction and often aim for the thickest part of the crowd, shoulders hunched, eyes determined. Afterwards they glare at you for having the audacity to be walking on the sidewalk.

Hiroshima

The first week I started working for ECC, I got a call from personnel asking me if I'd like to substitute teach in Hiroshima for a few days. All expenses paid. Huzzah! I got to take the shinkansen (aka "the bullet train") down there, and in between shifts I did a quick tour of the city. My hotel was right next to the Peace Memorial Park, a park commemorating the victims of the atomic bomb dropped on August 6th, 1945. The bomb was dropped directly over what is now the park, a green, floral area with a sparkling river and picnickers.

But the city isn't all about its sad history. It's extremely internationally-minded, and quite bustling, with a population of nearly 1,200,000. I ate at an Argentinian restaurant two nights in a row, where the owner knew me by name and prepared me dishes without charging me. An old man who works for the city of Hiroshima and spoke almost no English insisted on buying me Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki (Osaka and Hiroshima have a long-standing feud about who has the better okonomiyaki--similar to New York and Chicago's pizza debate). I loved the relaxed atmosphere of the city and the generosity and openness of the people. I was a little sad to return to the rat race that is Osaka.

See my pictures of Hiroshima here: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=22892&l=795bf&id=800884170

The Guch (my house)

The house I'm living in is affectionately known as The 'Guch because of its location in Moriguchi and because it's a funny name. It's legendary in that many ECC teachers have lived here at some point, or at least attended one of the many parties thrown here over the years.

It's actually two three-story houses connected, and is truly massive. It took me nearly a month to find the second kitchen as it's a bit of a maze, with doors that lead to nothing and staircases that lead to yet more staircases. I feel like I'm living in the Winchester House. There are nine bedrooms, but only five are occupied: me, Judy from Baltimore, Cat from England, Michael from New Zealand, and Masako and Tetsuru from Japan. We're all ECC teachers (except for Masako and Tetsuru) and get along quite well.

The house is not without its disadvantages, however. Japan has a cockroach problem but our house seems to be a resort for the loathsome things. No matter how clean we keep the place, these prolific little buggers keep appearing in drains or scurrying passed as a light gets flicked on.

Welcome to Japan. Leave your shoes at the door.

I've been in Japan for six days now, and the only real panic I've experienced is grocery shopping and stupidly realizing everything is written in Japanese. I wanted to buy a tube of toothpaste but couldn't be sure if what I was purchasing wasn't shaving gel or soap (it was toothpaste, thankfully, since I don't know the number for poison control). I bought what I thought were mini hamburger buns (typical American mistake) but turned out to be an pan, a delicious doughy bread, traditionally filled with azuki (sweet red beans), but in this case custard. One day in our kitchen, when I was reaching for what I thought were pink sugar packets, I peered more closely at the box and realized there was a cartoon depiction of a cockroach happily stuck in goo and that it was cockroach bait I nearly put into my tea (and anyway, the Japanese don't put sweetner in their tea). I still can't find soy milk and have spent the last four days at the supermarket standing in front of a huge display of milk cartons, pitifully trying to discern which ones might be soy. They all have pictures of cows on them, so I'm guessing none.