Stick figure Pilgrims and how I got fat

I stepped back from the chalkboard and was a little surprised at what I saw. A group of sloppy stick figures wearing either huge hats or gaudy feathers on their heads were standing near an amoeba-like map of the U.S. with the date "1620" scrawled close by and the word "Thanksgiving" stretching endlessly above. It was seventh period and I was teaching about Thanksgiving. Back at my desk in the staffroom, all of my bags were packed and ready and waiting for me to bolt out of school as soon as class was over. It was Thanksgiving Day back home in America and I was ready to go and celebrate with some other gaijin.

My destination that day was the inaka town of Bizen up on Honshu in Okayama-ken--the place my dear friend Betsy Herzog calls home. As soon as 4:30 struck, I dashed from school to the train station and took the shinkansen (bullet train) up to see her.

While I was unsure how the Thanksgiving celebration would go since I'm living in Japan, I knew spending time with Betsy and her JET friends would be cool. A group of us foreigners had rented out an "International Villa" (a fabulous house with a large kitchen complete with ovens) for the holiday and all met in the coastal town of Ushimado (which by the way means "cow-window"). Below are views from the villa's surrounding area--a very nice place up on a hill near the sea (in the first picture you can see the villa...curved building on the left).






With the combined efforts of twelve JETs originating from four western courtiers, we managed to put together a Thanksgiving feast worthy of any family gathering back home. Behold!





I didn't even include the dessert table because I don't think Blogger could handle it. After this meal I could happily proclaim the simple phrase that I utter so rarely here in Japan, "I'm full!" Over the last few months, I've been slowly losing weight and appearing more and more wraith-like since my diet here in Japan doesn't consist of all the processed fats found in American cuisine. While looking more like a super model is great for summer months, the cold winter of Japan is better survived by having some organic insulation (fat) to keep one's body heat close to vital organs. So on this celebratory day, I ate and ate and ate and then ate some more. Perfect.

As I sit here now writing this post, I still feel full. In part because I had chocolate cake and pumpkin pie for breakfast and then ate cookies and doughnuts on the train ride home. But hey, this weekend was my holiday. I can eat healthy tomorrow at school when I order a bento full of fish and rice.

Autumn Images of Oita

The big city and Japanese friends

Rain fell in stubborn spurts that couldn’t quite develop into a steady shower, but refused to entirely stop either. The puddles outside “Iwanaga”, the Italian restaurant in downtown Fukuoka where we were dining, were filled with the neon lights from the surrounding stores and eateries. I sat across from my Japanese friend, eating one of the most glorious meals I’d had since arriving in Japan. The two of us had driven across the northern lands of Kyushu from lovely Oita-ken to the big city of Fukuoka—the supreme metropolis of Kyushu.

I first met my Japanese friend during those initial chaotic weeks in Ajimu when Japan was overwhelming and I didn’t know what on earth I was doing here. He wears the most stylish clothes of any Japanese person I’ve encountered and he takes annual trips to Italy to vacation and shop (for clothes and food). Every Tuesday we go to lunch together at a different restaurant in the area and he always encourages me to try out all the different foods in Japan.

My Japanese friend is one of the key people here in Japan who redeems all the moments of frustration, confusion, and loneliness that swirl around me at times. He always makes an effort to talk to me and assist me in any way he can and our relationship has developed to a nice friendship. He shares stories with me about his past when his parents had him declared dead after he disappeared from home for seven years to go to Tokyo for university. He sometimes tells me, “I’m Japanese, but I’m not Japanese” to convey that while he was born in Japan and lives in Japanese society, his perspective on how to live life often deviates from the norm (making him a suitable Japanese liaison for a foreigner like me).

My Japanese friend is a unique individual in a land were individuality is often times lost in a mantra of conformity. Our trip to Fukuoka is a perfect example of how cool he is because he was willing to drive me all the way there on expensive toll roads and then drive all over the city showing me around (perfect host and guide) He also treated me to a nice Italian dinner as a way to give me something familiar from home (and indulge his own tastes for western food).

Since our Fukuoka trip, I’ve hung with him some more and actually seen him naked.

Okay mom and Jessica Barbour, don’t freak out. Today the two of us went with a group of Japanese people to climb some mountains called “Twin Peaks” in northern Oita. The hike was more strenuous than I thought it would be, but fortunately the guide handed out bags of candy to sustain us during the trek.






After the morning/afternoon of climbing (with a beef stew lunch served at the top courtesy of Ishida) we all headed to a nearby onsen to relax our tired muscles.

An onsen (“hot spring” in English) is a common Japanese luxury where people go to enjoy the rejuvenating powers of hot water. Basically you go, pay around 300 yen, strip naked, shower off, and soak in really hot water. Of course this made me a bit nervous at first because I’m not accustomed to being naked in large groups (except for IV retreats…Order of the Dark Triangle forever!). But with cold mountain air and sore legs driving my forward, I gladly followed the customs of the onsen.

There was a brilliant moment when four of us were sitting together in a pool and I was doing my best to be interested in my hands or the ceiling so as not to focus too much on one person when my friend politely said, “I think foreigners can sometimes be uncomfortable bathing together in public. Is this true?” And before I could answer I noticed two old Japanese men from across the pool gawking at me (just like at the grocery store) and I turned to my friend and simply said “It’s a little different in American…but I love onsen.”

Rock on Japan!

Betsy and Chris come to visit

I almost died twice the other day. Once was in Hell with Chris Clearfield as we squatted beside two Oni who were guarding a cold pool of water and the other time was on the Oita Expressway along a stretch of road that looked like Hell because of dense fog and strangely colored lights lining the road. But I’m getting ahead of myself…let me start at the beginning.

Betsy Herzog, my dear friend who graduated from UNC and now lives as a first year JET in Okayama-ken, came down from concrete Honshu to rustic Kyushu with her friend Chris Clearfield who is traveling the world between degrees. Chris plans to go from Melbourne, Australia to Berlin, Germany in 300 days with Japan, Korea, China, and all those other countries between Asia and Europe as stops along the way. Japan is his second country and hosting him gave me a new perspective on my life here in Japan. Most of the time, I think of myself as an epic figure on a journey with all the people I meet and experiences I have as parts of my unfolding story. Having Chris intersect my story with his own journey changed this perspective, however, to be one where Chris is the epic traveler and I am the experience. From his point of view, I am a “stop” along his long excursion and thus I am part of Japan, part of his experience here. To relate this to classics, I felt that while I interacted with Chris, I changed from being Odysseus to being one of the characters Odysseus meets along his way home (but not Calypso or Polyphemus cause they have issues).

Anyway, as any good side character in an epic would do, I did my best to make Chris’ and Betsy’s time here memorable. Highlights included Ajimu’s famous “Hell and Heaven” site where visitors can journey through caves filled with ancient statues (Hell) and eventually make it up a lofty hill to a serene Buddha (Heaven). This is where Death first waved at us. While photographing a part of Hell, Chris and I were almost killed by the dreaded mukade—poisonous demon-wyrms that thirst for human blood! (truthfully, a mukade is a large poisonous centipede found in the inaka and being scared of them is okay). At first there was only one mukade slithering by on the low ceiling, but then I turned my head and saw four others clustered together about 2 inches from my face. I screamed, Chris screamed, and we both ran out of Hell (the best way to exit the underworld I think).





After recovering from the mukade attack, I took Betsy and Chris to the Ajimu waterfall where any weary or traumatized soul can find relief and rejuvenation. The waterfall lies off the main road a bit and up some hills and through a forest. Along the way, Betsy commented on how the mountainous scenery resembled parts of western North Carolina and together we both sighed a sigh of longing remembrance for our home. Once we reached the actual taki (waterfall) our hearts were lifted by the site of the cascading water and the splendor that is rural Japan.



Later that day, we all traveled down to fabled Usuki, a town on the other side of Oita-ken that was hosting a bamboo festival. The festival took place at night and involved hundreds—or maybe thousands!—of bamboo holders bearing the warm light of candles (like Japanese jack-o-lanterns!). The streets were lined with the bamboo candles and like all good Japanese festivals there was plenty of takoyaki and crepes to eat. The time escaped us amongst the pleasant atmosphere and eventually we head back to Ajimu via the expressway.




But the adventure had not yet come to an end.

On the way home, Betsy, Chris and I ran into Death again and this time he reached out and tried to snag my little car by its little cute bumper. Somewhere along the expressway, as the concrete and asphalt runs through the mountains and forests, we were met by thick, dense, life-taking fog. It was the thickest fog I have ever driven through but thankfully Japanese engineers had installed brightly colored lights along the side of the road to help illuminate the treacherous path. Unfortunately these lights made the nighttime fog look like a scene from “Hell’s Fun House” and threatened to drive us all back in fear. I pressed onward, however, and made it home safely (so calm down, mom) and upon entering the front door I promptly poured us all a glass of whiskey (just for our nerves).

All in all, Chris and Betsy’s visit made for a splendid time and I hope that when Chris writes his novel about his global travels that he will include a mentioning of me and the wonders of Oita-ken, Japan.

Jehovah’s Witnesses

I first met them one Saturday morning as I was stepping out of the shower. The doorbell rang and I dashed to answer it wearing only a pair of shorts and having a damp towel draped over my shoulder. I thought the visitor might be the mailman or a friend since I rarely have callers at my door so I wasn’t really concerned about putting on a shirt at the time. But, when I opened my front door, there were two Japanese ladies standing there with Japanese editions of “The Watchtower” in their hands and looks of shock on their faces.

“Ohayo gozimasu” I managed to say while feeling rather silly without a shirt. They answered in turn and then proceeded to try and figure out who I was, what language I spoke, and what I thought about God. In my beginning level Japanese I managed to give them my basic biography and they told me their names were Miki and Aya and they were Jehovah’s Witnesses (Gasp! How had they found me all the way in the Japanese inaka?!). Then they told me to read my Bible everyday. Miki and Aya left shortly thereafter because they weren’t yet prepared to deal with a gaijin, but, that was not the last time I would see the Jehovah Witnesses.

The next week I saw Miki again at the Ajimu Joyfull Family Restaurant. She was my server and almost had a heart attack when she walked up to my table to take my order. I think this was when Miki felt that God had put me in her life to convert. I could tell as I paid my bill they she had crusade burning behind her eyes.

Twice since this meeting, Miki has come by when I’m not at home to drop off friendly postcards written in broken English and decorated with precise drawings of Biblical scenes. Her messages are nice with bits of scripture and encouraging remarks like, “You feel lonely? Maybe we here for you!” and “Remember me? I am Jehovah’s Witness. Your friends alone in America, have friends now in Ajimu.” At any rate, it’s nice to get some mail.

The other day, the JWs stepped up their tactics when they stopped by with a guy who lives close by in Ajimu (they were hopping to get me to commit to having Bible study with him). They had prepared a pretty good English presentation of the Jehovah’s Witness theology complete with all the thought provoking questions about the end of the world. I didn’t know how to handle them exactly, so I just listened and told them I love God and I’m busy on Sundays so I can’t come to their church. My rejection of their offer didn’t seem to weaken their resolve at all, however.

Since that day, they have come by again and this time I didn’t answer the door. They seem committed to reaching out to me and while this is sort of nice, I wish their invitation for community didn’t involve me needed to convert. I’ve heard stories from other JETs who get “adopted” by Japanese locals, but their tales involve free meals and drinking buddies, not salvation from the fiery end of the world and endless spiritual literature. Geeze.

Halloween in Japan

For all my Chapel Hill peeps, you know that Halloween is one of the most important events for me. Over the past several years, I have spent a great deal of time and energy on my costume creations for the Franklin Street Halloween Adventure and the entire month of October is usually a time of Hallow’s Eve bliss with my anticipation building and building for the magical 31st. Being here in Japan is a bit different from home, and so I was a little concerned about what I would do, and who I would be, for Halloween.



Sometimes it’s best to go with a classic and this year I became my old superhero persona, Green Havoc, the Bulwark of Justice. Since I brought none of my original regalia with me to Japan, I had to create a new costume and thus in the tradition of all great comic book heroes, I took on a familiar, but new, appearance. Fans of GH will recognize the classic crown of knives—a real crowd pleaser—and tall green socks that I wore in days of old (but this time, the knives are real).

My celebration of Halloween took place on Saturday night in the city of Nakatsu after a day of intense deliberation of where to spend the holiday. I joined friends from around the area and despite Halloween having a very minor presence here in Japan, I ended up having a great evening. First stop, purikuri or “print club” at the mall (this is a very Japanese activity to do that involves getting together with your friends and having tiny, fun pictures made that make you look glamorous). A group of us foreigners all donned our costumes and set out to utterly freak out the local Japanese. As if we don’t get enough stares normally, having the added elements of masks, capes, and cat ears made sure every Japanese eye around was staring right at us and asking, “What in Amaterasu’s name?”.

After our mini glamour shots to remind of us of who are real friends are, we headed to dinner. At this point, I was thinking, “Holy cow! Even back home I never went out to dinner in costume!” (except that one time at UNC’s dining hall when I was protesting the Pirate Club). Of course as we entered the establishment we were greeted with whispers and stares and popping around the room was the word “Halloween!” So the Japanese did know about the holiday…and here we were to help internationalize them a little more.

Dinner being done, we set out to our party at Tropi Coco’s, the gaijin bar owned by a Mexican guy named Raoule who speaks Spanish, English, and Japanese and has children by two different Japanese women (his kids help serve food and drinks when the crowd is heavy). Here in this foreigner gathering place, I found a Halloween Mecca of costume enthusiasts all celebrating the holiday. Gaijin and Japanese alike were dressed as all manner of characters and creatures and rocking out to a band with a singer dressed as a Starfleet Captain. I was in heaven.

As if this wasn’t enough, Raoule organized a Halloween parade through the red light district of Nakatsu. All of the costumed people marched through the streets absolutely freaking out/terrorizing the locals and making sure the Japanese still fear us because we’re different. It was awesome (but may have set back the whole integrating into Japanese society thing a little bit). The night ended somewhere around 3:30 AM and I felt that my Halloween had been a fulfilling success.

Now as October gives way to November, and the weather continues its fall into chills and cold, I feel that my Halloween hungry has been sated. My night out in Nakatsu combined with the 2 weeks of Halloween lessons I gave at school (I never want to draw another pumpkin again!) has brought me much comfort. Green Havoc lives on here in Japan and I vow to continue in the traditions set down by the Ehaus Knights and the League of Crusading Champions that inspired me so long ago.

By the way mom, I made sure to check all my candy for shuriken before I ate any.