The Event

I always used to watch the news footage of natural disasters with a feeling of impotence, nestled safely within Utah's mountains, far away from the actual scene of the tragedy. But today, sitting just 2 hours away from the epicenter of Japan's biggest earthquake, I find myself just as ineffective as ever.

The day has been a long string of surreality. I worked at the board of education--a guaranteed long, dull day of studying Japanese and trying to maintain a productive facade. When lunchtime finally rolled around I drove to a grocery store. In the few minutes it took me to select and pay for some snacks, the sky had filled with fat flakes and the roads were thick with slush. As I made my way back to the board, I came upon a mail delivery truck parked in the road.  Japanese roads often don't have shoulders, so the cars will just pull over as far as possible (which isn't far), and put on their hazards. It happens all the time; I'm used to it. So I pulled into the opposite lane to pass the truck...and my wheels got caught in the slush, forcing me towards the sidewalk. I corrected, only mildly startled; but then my rear wheels hit a patch of ice and swung out around me,  ploughing the nose of my car straight into the delivery truck's gas tank.  I immediately jumped out and made profuse, bilingual apologies as the gas tank started leaking all over the road. I expected to endure rage and abuse from my victim (and frankly felt that I deserved it), but the driver calmly stepped over to the side of the road and began a barrage of phone calls to the police, fire station, my company, and the board of education. Then he wordlessly folded up a spare towel from his truck and laid it gently across my head, to shelter me from the driving snow.

Soon the area was flooded with people and my story was repeated several times, but never with the stern disapproval I expected.  Everyone was sympathetic, no blame was placed, messes were tidied and reports were filed. Several co-workers flocked to the area, navigating the thick snow in high heels and business suits; and when all the work was finished they brought me back to the board and let me sit awhile with a hot cup of water.I had barely finished it when the alarms started.


Everyone's cell phones were suddenly going berserk, even the ones that had been set to silent mode. I flipped mine open and just had time to read the screen--"Earthquake"--before I felt the first rolling pitch. Earthquakes don't feel like I expected, or at least this one didn't. I expected shaking and rattling, the earth cracking at my feet and chunks of ceiling raining down. Instead I felt like the concrete had transformed into a restless ocean, heaving unexpectedly. It immediately made me feel sick to my stomach, like when you step off a treadmill too quickly and your body can't adjust to the sudden lack of movement--only I guess this was the reverse.  Everyone took it pretty lightly at first. We're used to tiny quakes that last 2-3 seconds and do nothing worse than make us reconsider lunch. But this time the rolling lasted 2-3 minutes, and everyone quickly evacuated the building.  We ended up evacuating several times, always lured back to the warmth of the building only to feel the ground reeling under our feet yet again--there were countless aftershocks.  But we went inside long enough to turn on the news and saw that what was just a tremble for us was a devastating collapse for others. We saw the tsunami, the debris, the floating houses (some on fire). The waves of cars, tumbling over each other. The roaring oil refinery, burning like the pits of hell.

Sendai, Iwate, and Chiba. The areas that, for some reason, received the full fury of the earthquake and its resulting tsunami. The areas with reported death tolls mounting hourly, well into the hundreds by now. The areas that are all flame and debris. Areas within driving distance of me.

Despite all my traveling, I have not made all that many friends throughout Japan. My close ones are just that, emotionally AND physically: close enough that the downed phone lines are no obstacle when we check on each other. But through some quirk of fate--one of those twisted moments when reality reminds you how much it loves to mess around--I happen to have two close friends who are not within my reach.

Because they are in Sendai and Chiba.

Winter

There’s so much to say and so little time to say it—I don’t think I’ve been this busy since finals week in college.  I’d imagined that my social calendar would lighten during the winter, leaving me plenty of time for internet surfing and dubious crafting projects. But the people of this area, fortified by sweetened boiled sake and roasted rice balls, have put on a parade of festivals that have been frankly unbeatable!

Kaminoyama’s Kasedori Festival

Once a year, to thank the nature gods for preventing fires and to encourage them to keep it up, the residents of nearby Kaminoyama get together to dance naked in the snow. 

Well, that’s not strictly accurate: they actually get together to wear massive straw cones that cover them from head to knees (with small eye slits and arm holes as half-hearted nods to practicality), then dance in the snow while people throw ice water at them. A fellow ALT, Isaac, took part and grinned enthusiastically the whole way through the one-footed hopping, partner-whirling, and rhythmic shouting of, “KA! KA! KA!” The rest of us watched just as enthusiastically from the sides, noting the taped man-nipples (to protect from the very real danger of straw chafing) and cheering on Miss Kaminoyama, the chief iced water dispenser.  We sampled some of the aforementioned sweet sake and posed with some samurai, and tried to work out how the traditional straw getups might have practical in any sense. They made their wearers look like the animated brooms from “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice” portion of Fantasia, if those brooms had liked to hop in unison and shake water off on the unwary.

"Ka! Ka! Cankles!"

The Snow Monsters

There is a mountain nearby called Zao, famous for its resorts and sheer immenseness. But it’s most famous for a unique phenomenon, termed the “snow monsters.” 

Zao gets a lot of wind and a lot a lot of snow. The combination sheaths the trees in a thick coating of snow, obscuring their original shape completely. The results resemble titanic sea anemones, crouched over a barren sea floor.  I first saw them as my friends and I rode a gondola to the peak.  It was such a cold night that we had to scrape the windows with our nails every few minutes to free them from frost.  The gondola swayed in the constant wind, and again I was struck by how cold and darkness transform a landscape into a world as inhospitable as the black spaces between stars. It was impossible to look anywhere but down, and my only comfort was that if we fell I would probably die by knocking myself out on the ceiling long before the gondola finished the long descent to the ground below. My sense of alienation only increased when I saw the first snow monster, lit up from below by white and blue lights; but the fear gave way to fascination.  

There was nothing all that spectacular about the details of that single snow monster—other than the fact that I’d never seen such a tall, tubular snow formation before. But the cumulative effect of all of them was something else entirely. They were glaring white, casting rainbows across their own shadows in a natural prismatic effect.  And they were EVERYWHERE, rising in colonies all across the mountain. If they had really been monsters or animals I would have been terrified at the sheer number; even knowing that they were only frozen evergreens did nothing to diminish the slightly sinister effect of their hunched shapes.  We weren’t allowed to walk through them, restricted to taking pictures from the fringes. But I imagine a stroll through the snow monsters’ ranks would have felt something like walking on a different planet, surrounded by a strange and glaring beauty.

Nakatsugawa Snow Festival

Nakatsugawa is a small village, tucked away in the mountains at the end of a jade river and a slender road. I teach at their combined elementary/middle school, composed of a grand total of 8 students in all.  The people of this village are full of the most “fighting spirit” I’ve yet encountered. During the summer sports festival I watched grandmas in their 80’s run relays. That would have been amazing enough, but these were country women, the end results of lifetimes of hard labor. This meant they were running with their backs at 90 degree angles ; it was easier for them to watch the dirt passing their feet than it was to crane their necks to see where they were going—and yet I am not ashamed to say I think I would have lost to them, had I participated.

As you may have guessed, winter has not fazed these people in the slightest. For their snow festival they constructed five sculptures entirely from snow, each at least 10 feet tall: a shishi (remember the lion/dragon thing from the summer festivals?), a trio of characters from a popular kids show, a rabbit, a temple, and a bear with a fish in its mouth.  Not satisfied with that, they also built a 15-25 ft. tall snow palace and a stage, where my kids performed a traditional dance and all the teachers did a comedy routine (which somehow involved Bill and Hillary Clinton, a song  and dance, and a copious amount of cross-dressing).  There was also a pyramid stocked with giant black tubes for sledding ,and a sacrificial tree strapped with bundles of straw that  later went up in flames as we danced around it. At every turn there was something that have I have never seen before nor ever expect to see again! 

But my favorite part by far was also the least expected: the paper lanterns. These were not the small, practical kind meant to light our way. These were miniature hot air balloons, meant to rise into the sky and drift across the country—and they were made of nothing but heavy paper and glue. The paper had been decorated by my students and fellow teachers. There were tributes to the rabbit (this year’s zodiac) and several bakemono, including Gegege no Kitaro and the kappa. The sheer skill and beauty of it all was breathtaking—that my students, none of which are above 15 years old, were able to create such beautiful art on such a giant scale and then fashion an airtight, viable balloon from the paper is a thought that still leaves me reeling.

The launching was a spectacle I’ll never forget. Some villagers would hold the paper bag carefully while others attached some sort of burning orb to a wire harness at the bottom. The paper slowly bulged with hot air until it was finally released, rising erratically into the night sky until its impressive glow was reduced to a firefly’s.  Lantern after lantern was sent into the rising wind, forming a long string of blazing lights twisting over the snow-covered rice fields. I couldn’t take my eyes from them; I would have not have missed a second of that spectacle for anything. But even as I basked in one of the most blissful states I’ve ever achieved, I was haunted by a recurring thought.

How can I ever leave this?

Wedding

Two of my friends here, Terumi and Tsuyoshi, just got married recently.

...Well, I say "recently" but I'm honestly not sure. I've only managed to hang out with them 3 or 4 times in the space of the 9 months I've been here: once we had dinner, once Tsuyoshi offered to help me find Iide's tiny gym (composed of 4 exercise bikes and a rock climbing wall), and one of those times Terumi told me that she and Tsuyoshi had gotten married. But maybe the tenses got mixed up and she meant, "We are going to get married."

Either way, it wasn't until tonight that a mutual friend called me and invited me to "a dinner to celebrate the wedding" in a local family-style Italian restaurant. I know the restaurant well since it's one of only two that Iide has to offer: it's a nice, clean place that serves crunchy pizza and spaghetti with prawns on top--not champagne and filet mignon.

So I dressed accordingly: a casual black sweater and black pants, complemented by bright pink fuzzy socks stuffed into oversized (but practical, in this weather) tromping boots. I picked up two friends bundled in coats and we arrived early, only to witness a shocking transformation. Someone had carved niches out of the snow walls along the path to the door and put hundreds of candles in them. Inside, the tables were laid with linens and more candles; the silverware was real silver and propped up on elegant little holders; there were champagne glasses and roses! It was beginning to dawn on me that I had made a very grievous error in judgment, and the impression only doubled in strength when my friends removed their coats to show off their cocktail dresses and casually informed me that admission to the event would cost more than a day at Disneyland.

I had thought I was a casual friend, warranting an invite to small celebratory night out. Yet here I was, at the fancy reception!

In tromping boots.

Luckily we were still early, so I raced home alone and threw clothes all around my room in a film-worthy fit of despair. How, I ask you, did I manage to come to Japan with no less than 4 skirts but no complementing long-sleeve shirts?  And the only full-length dress I had was short-sleeve as well--but this is where my lifelong habit of hoarding gothic accessories FINALLY came in handy. I supplemented the dress with long black stockings, lacy black arm-warmers, and boots (tasteful ones, this time). It was all a bit "Jane Eyre on a night out," but it was the best I could do. I made it back to the party just in time to watch the happy couple in their stately walk to the tune of "Happy Birthday," with the words changed to, "Happy Weh-ding you two, Happy Weh-ding you two...".  Everyone was seated and ready, after the march, to begin the night with a toast. And clearly, the best pick for this honored duty was the local pet--the last to arrive, the non-native speaker. The girl wearing lacy socks on her hands. I heard myself being introduced and then the microphone materialized in my mitts, and all I could do was blush furiously, apologize to everyone for not being able to manage a toast in Japanese, and deliver one in English instead. Luckily both the bride and groom speak it very well, and the guests were no less enthusiastic for having no clue what I was saying.

Dinner was 5 courses and 2 desserts, as well as a special treat the happy couple handed out personally: Ritz crackers with custard and a strawberry on top....yup. One guest performed "Over the Rainbow" with a crown and sparkling wand, and 3 others played clarinets while wearing wrestling masks. There were other, more elegant toasts, and lots of mingling. Everyone was enthusiastic about everything, and it hardly mattered whether I had known the bride and groom a few months or since kindergarten (like everyone else). We were all celebrating the union with all our energy--and not a few glasses of wine--and Terumi and Tsuyoshi's joy was equally ours.

Snow

It's time to talk about an issue which I've been diligently avoiding:

...I'm talking about snow here, people.

 I've been avoiding the issue because I know no one's going to believe me. When I say that I went to bed one night, unconcerned, only to wake to a world of blizzards and snowdrifts as high as my head, I know all of you will think, "Oh, she must be exaggerating."

But I'm not. REALLY. This:

 

And this:

 

AND THIS:

...all happened in the space of a few days.

In case you weren't paying close enough attention to the last photo, that wall of snow is taller than the car. I just know that one sunny day, at least one of the glacial walls that frame every road on the way to every school I visit will start to buckle and suddenly envelop me  completely. But when that day comes, I don't want you to worry about me; I'm pretty sure I'm going to find Narnia under there.

Christmas

A lot of people have been asking what I did for Christmas here. Unfortunately, the answer is, "Not much." But don't pull out your hankies and start shedding tears of pity just yet--it was a great holiday nevertheless.

For those of you who don't already know, Japan's Christian population is very small. Christmas is celebrated here, but mostly as a commercial holiday. Kids get toys, families eat cake together, some of the older kids go to parties, and that's about it.

As for me, I actually celebrated Christmas during the wee hours of Boxing Day, since that would put me in line with Christmas in the States (thanks to a hefty time difference). I prepared for the big day by decorating my living room and buying a miniature potted pine tree from a grocery store--and as any of you who know me well are no doubt wondering, I would like to mention that he IS still alive, thank you very much.  My very own Christmas miracle.

The weather played its part as well, perhaps too enthusiastically. It stormed constantly for days before Christmas, giving me the perfect opportunity to nestle under the kotatsu in my adult footie pajamas without even a tremor of shame or fear of being witnessed (except, as it turned out, by the mail woman, who dutifully delivered my family's care packages even on the great day itself).

Thanks to the wonders of technology I got to open my presents in front of my family, so to speak, through a webcam. I think it transmitted my shrieks of joy with crystal clarity, to the detriment of the general population's health.

My loved ones certainly took care of me this year, taking pains to send gifts across the great divide in spite of outrageous shipping costs. And though it may be uncouth, the pirate in me can't help but brag a little about the booty: an ungodly number of thick socks, baking supplies, and clothes. All of which are in very short supply here (at least for a woman of hippy dimensions and sugar-rich tastes), and very much appreciated.

After all the calls and cams and expressions of love flung far and wide through the webosphere, I settled in for a long sleep, recouping from the kind of  sugar rush that only an overabundance of American sweets can bring.  My Christmas wasn't exactly what you might call an eventful day, but it was full to the brim of everything that makes this holiday worth celebrating: Adult Footie Pajamas.

Oh, and you know...that "love" stuff too.

An Odd Day

If today had a theme song, it would have to be 19-2000 by the Gorillaz. The day made about as much sense as the song, and I--weakened as I was by a taxing week and a sudden cold snap--rode along on the wave of oddities with a permanently lost expression, much like the Gorillaz' dead-eyed animated representatives.

If that reference was lost on any of you, apologies--a quick dip into Youtube should clear it right up.

I mentioned the cold snap. Winter came late this year, but it seems to be making up for it now. The whole world is covered by constantly drifting snow, and when I woke up this morning the roads were all sheeted in ice so thick, it could only mean one of two things: either I boarded the wrong plane and have actually been teaching in Siberia this whole time, or Iide does not have a single snowplow to its name. Or a bag of salt.

As I drove along this morning--late, but nevertheless maintaining a sober speed--I soon came to a yellow light.  "Stopping would be prudent," some corner of my mind mentioned (when I get tired enough, my mind calls forth my little mental custodian, who chimes in periodically with stuffy, unexcited tips and sounds exactly like Alan Rickman).  "Sound advice, little guy," I acknowledged, tapping my brakes.

I am experienced with winter driving.

Just so you know.

But my little custodian and I watched, unified in mutual disapproval,  as my disobedient car slid gracefully into the middle of the intersection. It glided under the now reddish light at a Blue Danube pace and executed a shuddering turn at my insistence, finally righting itself in the correct lane of the correct road. All's well that ends well.

I  made it to school without further incident, taught my lessons, gathered my chopsticks and ate my lunch with the fourth graders. The were remarkably well-behaved for such young kids. Occasionally they would show off their near-native English skills for my appreciative oohs and aahs, but the majority of the lunch was spent in companionable silence and calm. It didn't prepare me at all for what came next.

The meal finished, I tucked my chopsticks into their carrying case and looked up to find myself inexplicably the center of a storm of children. Not just the fourth graders, but students from the younger classes as well, shoving their way around each other, thrusting pens at me with the constant refrain, "Sign, sign!"  Notebooks, plain sheets of paper, glasses cases, plastic folders, the students' own nametags, pencil cases--all of them branded with my hasty and increasingly illegible signature in embarrassingly permanent ink. One boy had me sign at least 5 pages of his notebook in quick succession, and had me sign at least 7 other things as well. And this entire time the children were petting me, shoving little drawings and stickers into my shirt, and generally clinging to all available limbs. I was fighting the urge to think of them as a horde, with motives as nonsensical as they were flattering--I mean, these kids see me once a week. It's not as though they were suffering a Jessica drought that led to this riot. In the end I managed to not trip over the little hands wrapped around my legs or elbow the little heads resting against my hips, and everyone  got enough signatures to set them up on Ebay for life if only my scrawls were worth anything.  Their objective attained, the horde dispersed as quietly and mild-manneredly as they had come.

After a little clothes-straightening/de-stickering and hair-combing I was ready to drive to the next school. The sun had come out by then and melted the roads back to a manageable state, so I was speeding along when I noticed a truck that had pulled off to the side of the road next to a rice field. I know it had pulled off to the side of the road because its hazard lights were on, and because I could see the long, slimy mud tracks showing where it had slid right off the side of the road, down a hill, and into the rice paddy's deep trenches. It sat there, clearly resigned to its fate, tipped on one side and blinking its lights at no one in particular. If I say the truck itself seemed unconcerned, it is only because it was clear that no one else was either. There was no sign of the owner, a tow truck, or indeed any sign of distress whatsoever. "Oh, don't mind me. No one does. Got myself into a bit of a pickle, but what are you going to do?" the truck seemed to say, with a self-deprecating chuckle.

"Hmm," I replied to this imaginary exchange. I gave the truck a respectful nod because I do that to everything these days--as soon as something enters my line of sight my head is already bobbing, ready in case the something turns out to be a person and I need to execute a full bow. Meanwhile my custodian shook his head slowly and mumbled to himself something about "all's well that ends in insurance," and we drove onwards into the noon.

Star-Gazing

Iide-machi is home to a handful of 7-11’s, a bakery, and a solitary grocery store too small to house a meat section.  I recently discovered, however, that Iide is also the proud home of a miniature but fully functional observatory that is barely taller than the buildings surrounding it, and easy to miss. I can vouch for this, having continually missed it dozens of times as I’ve driven past it.  But during a brief few weeks when the skies were clear, a friend took me there to see Jupiter (or the Heaven Star in Japanese).

It was a crisp night and my coat was too thin for it, but it seemed appropriate to feel the cold biting me as I peered through the telescope at the harshest environment mankind has encountered. Space was too dark for comfort; my eyes kept straining to pick out even a hint of depth or distance in all the ink. My eyes were beginning to water from the effort when the astronomers present mercifully adjusted the telescope, and then there was only the harsh beauty of the planets and stars themselves. From the moment I saw them—or at least, a reflection of a reflection of them, viewed awkwardly through a tiny tube—I felt myself drawn in and overwhelmed, like there was a massive gravity acting on my mind instead of my body. 

The astronomers knew me by name (it is, as I’ve mentioned, a rather small town) and were  lenient, so I remained glued to the lens until the unrelenting light made my eyes water anew.  I studied the face of the full moon and the rabbit that Japanese fables have placed there; but of course the real event was gazing at Jupiter. The planet was ringed by four of its moons—Io, Ganymede, Callisto, and Europa—in almost perfect alignment, like a string of diamond chips leading to the giant.  I could just make out the rusty swirls marking Jupiter’s eternal storms.  Seeing it, I recognized the temptation poets and writers must sometimes feel to produce lengthy, sappy odes to the stars over and over again, while the enduring audience rolls their eyes at the inadequate results and groans at the clichés.  My experience, holed up in that tiny concrete cylinder with an expensive lens practically glued to my face, was no less cliché...and absolutely, mind-bogglingly, brilliantly, painfully inspiring.