Tomorrow I say goodbye to Bangkok, to Koh San road which I know I'm misspelling, goodbye to Jen and Dimple, and goodbye to paying things in Baht. I'll be exchanging my currency into Dollars of the Singaporean kind, and take the longest busride of my life through Malaysia to Singapore. Almost two days on the road. Even though I'm dreading the sleeping on the bus bit, I'm really keen on going for a plethora of reasons.
Today's impressions:
Stalls with everything my material heart desires. A man on a motorcycle wearing goggles, with a black dog in front of him, wearing goggles. A woman carrying as cage filled with tiny rabbits. A very old blind, toothless woman singing over a microphone while being led by the hand by a guy. Ping-pong.. and all the rest. Made friends with the guy who sells the bags down that other road, and he took us around Patpong. I've wanted to visit this seedy side of this seedy city every since reading about Patpong repeatedly in Tom Robbins novels. Tuk-tuks and people from all over. Sat for over 3 hours getting my hair dreaded while watching a kaldeidoscope of people walk by. Food. Oh, the food.. Always hungry. Fantasy world. Freshly squeezed juice from tiny oranges. Ran into a South African girl I met on Sado Island way back when. You can't get away from the small world syndrome. Absolute randomness.
I've seen so much that I wished desperately I would remember, but it's impossible. I changed within two days of being here. No, actually when I walked out of the airport, I knew I would not be the same after this holiday. And the Thai alphabet is definitely my favourite thus far.
It's 3.51AM, and tomorrow we want to go see the Grand Palace, on which the temple in Bronkhorstspruit is based. So off to bed.
m.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Friday, December 22, 2006
Thailand, baby.
A short report from the ghettos of Koh San road. Spelling is for the birds. I keep thanking people in Japanese, and I don't understand the English.
Bangkok is a big, bubbling pot of colours, smells and people. With the King's face plastered on roads all over and food from heaven and crazy tukl-tuk drivers popping wheelies to our delight. Night markets and muay thai boxing with beer from plastic cups. My travels have been booked, and with it rooms in Koh Tao and Koh Phagnan. Seeing Hernes in 3 days time in Singapore. Would love to stop i Kuala Lum,pur, because I saw a picture of it, and it looks beautiful.
Through the amazement, Bangkok has a sadness under the surface. The people struggle, the roads are dirty, dogs covered in ticks sleep in forgotten corners. But I love it. It reminds me of Africa. The people are real. Their shoes are worn out and scuffed. In Japan, everyone's shoes look like they just took it from the box. It probably smells like store. I love the realness of Bangkok. I love feeling the sun on my face. I love it that people look me in the eyes and smile. Such a contrast from that other Island I now call my home.
Still on the to-do list; floating markets on the river, seedy sex shows in Patpong, superficial faith at the grand palace, a bus tour through Malaysia, a new city, a scuba course.
Gotta go.
xxx
Bangkok is a big, bubbling pot of colours, smells and people. With the King's face plastered on roads all over and food from heaven and crazy tukl-tuk drivers popping wheelies to our delight. Night markets and muay thai boxing with beer from plastic cups. My travels have been booked, and with it rooms in Koh Tao and Koh Phagnan. Seeing Hernes in 3 days time in Singapore. Would love to stop i Kuala Lum,pur, because I saw a picture of it, and it looks beautiful.
Through the amazement, Bangkok has a sadness under the surface. The people struggle, the roads are dirty, dogs covered in ticks sleep in forgotten corners. But I love it. It reminds me of Africa. The people are real. Their shoes are worn out and scuffed. In Japan, everyone's shoes look like they just took it from the box. It probably smells like store. I love the realness of Bangkok. I love feeling the sun on my face. I love it that people look me in the eyes and smile. Such a contrast from that other Island I now call my home.
Still on the to-do list; floating markets on the river, seedy sex shows in Patpong, superficial faith at the grand palace, a bus tour through Malaysia, a new city, a scuba course.
Gotta go.
xxx
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Praat Afrikaans of hou jou bek.
After the orphanage, we stepped into the shi to do a bit of shopping. I wanted to pick up a backpack for Thailand (now Thailand/Singapore) and a book on Japanese verbs (as verbs are the foundations of conversations. The rest are just bricks and mortar, with the onomatope being paintings from afar.)
In Maruzen, the "English section" bookshop where all the literature junkies go for their next hit, I cruised the aisles in search of my next escape from reality. They had a big sale on DIY language books that looked like someone found it in the back of the storeroom, forgotten after the 1986 sale, before Swahili was fashionable. I was about to turn away from the reminder that there are just too many languages and not enough time on earth, when I saw it. In garish, shiny orange, the koeksisters filled the cover in an almost perverse fashion. And there it was:
I flipped out. In the middle of this strange, foreign country where no one knows what I mean when I say "mos" or "sommer". I bought the book for the price of 2 vending machine green teas, and proceeded to to force-feed some of my friends tit-bits of Afrikaans information. (Tit-bits?)
Who else was going to buy it? I can't imagine some young Jap student going "Hey, let me spend hours on learning a language that is one of 11 in a country that no one knows of, and with this book I'll be able to not even pronounce it correctly!"
So, after this weekend, a series of random people will be all over the world in a few years, carrying with them knowledge of the bastard child of Dutch, the youngest language on earth, thick with history and memories. The language that grew up too fast.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
F.Y.Intertainment
Feedback on the test. Let's get it over with.
It might not have been the best idea to drink the night before. But it was a reunion of sorts, a visit to the dude with whom I missioned around in Tokyo, way back during orientation days. Vincent Vertue. With a name like that, a life of mediocrity is impossible. To my shock, I realised that he stays an hour by car away from me. In inaka terms, he is practically my neighbour. The English is this paragraph feels really bad, but I'm gonna trudge on. Voorwaarts mars!
So, got to his town of 2000 people somewhere in the afternoon, broke open the Jack & lime, went for dinner at this stunning little sushi bar which seemed like it was run from the owners' house. We sat at the bar calling out whatever fish names we could remember. The old man behind the bar lopped a chunk off whatever sea animal we chose an stuck it on a ball of rice, tinged green with wasabi. This was washed down with namabiiru and topped off with sake. Damn, `twas good.
FFWD to the next morning, Fukuyama station, too early.
I realised how futile me taking this test is, when I tried to asked a Japanese girl at the counter what the fastest way to Saijo is. Through my dehydrated mouth, I stupidly fumbled around, saying "uuhh.. kono densha wa.. uhh.. ano densha.. uhm.. ichiban hayai" and straining my nervous system while trying to hear what the price is. Nisenkyuhyakurokujuen sounds like "yoroshiku onegaishimasu" that time of the morning. Crap.
And then I went to write that damned test.
The second realisation of the futility, no, stupidity of the test kicked in when I entered the exam hall, and everyone was speaking Japanese. Sho-sho, `twas a Japanese test, but it was the lowest one, for crying out loud. Where was my question saying "This is a pen"? The instructions were in Japanese. The do's and don'ts were in Japanese. The freaking test questions were in Japanese! I felt like crying. No, actually I felt like having some onigiri and Myprodols. But alas.
The kanji and vocab part I rocked. But then came the listening. I was hoping for sentences like "Mary is a teacher. She is 30 years old. She is an American." You know, beginner level shit.
Instead, it went something like this (translated in English for your convenience):
A: So, Hiroshitakahiro, when are you going on holiday?
B: Oh, I'm going the day after the one that came before last week's yesterday a week from now.
A: So, you mean Thursday the 22nd?
B: No, the 22nd is a public holiday, so I'm adding that to e = mc square and then I do the hokey-pokey and I turn around.
A: Ahh, I understand! You are leaving the week before the day after yesterday's tomorrow which is not a Monday but a public holiday.
B: No, that is correct.
Yah, I almost burst a vein listening to that.
That was followed by intense grammar, where I did not know what to answer cause I couldn't understand the questions! Haha. Was a grand day out in Hiroshima ken. 40 minutes away from the peace park.
Aside from the test, it was rocking. Chatted to a Hiroshima NOVA dude with beautiful eyes and a cool hat, saw some Okayamans (what's up!), caught a train back to Fukuyama with wonderful earthlings, walked around with Kevin for a bit, met up with Vincent again, had korean barbeque, made my way home..
..which is the part where I decide to take a new route back home, in the dark, in the deepest inaka, in the lightly falling snow, just me, very tired, super paranoid, scared of the trees, and end up getting lost for 2 hours. There were no lights. No double-lane roads. No signboards. No houses. Just trees and concrete blocks and mountains and darkness and scary roadworks next to dangerous cliffs.
But that's another post altogether.
It might not have been the best idea to drink the night before. But it was a reunion of sorts, a visit to the dude with whom I missioned around in Tokyo, way back during orientation days. Vincent Vertue. With a name like that, a life of mediocrity is impossible. To my shock, I realised that he stays an hour by car away from me. In inaka terms, he is practically my neighbour. The English is this paragraph feels really bad, but I'm gonna trudge on. Voorwaarts mars!
So, got to his town of 2000 people somewhere in the afternoon, broke open the Jack & lime, went for dinner at this stunning little sushi bar which seemed like it was run from the owners' house. We sat at the bar calling out whatever fish names we could remember. The old man behind the bar lopped a chunk off whatever sea animal we chose an stuck it on a ball of rice, tinged green with wasabi. This was washed down with namabiiru and topped off with sake. Damn, `twas good.
FFWD to the next morning, Fukuyama station, too early.
I realised how futile me taking this test is, when I tried to asked a Japanese girl at the counter what the fastest way to Saijo is. Through my dehydrated mouth, I stupidly fumbled around, saying "uuhh.. kono densha wa.. uhh.. ano densha.. uhm.. ichiban hayai" and straining my nervous system while trying to hear what the price is. Nisenkyuhyakurokujuen sounds like "yoroshiku onegaishimasu" that time of the morning. Crap.
And then I went to write that damned test.
The second realisation of the futility, no, stupidity of the test kicked in when I entered the exam hall, and everyone was speaking Japanese. Sho-sho, `twas a Japanese test, but it was the lowest one, for crying out loud. Where was my question saying "This is a pen"? The instructions were in Japanese. The do's and don'ts were in Japanese. The freaking test questions were in Japanese! I felt like crying. No, actually I felt like having some onigiri and Myprodols. But alas.
The kanji and vocab part I rocked. But then came the listening. I was hoping for sentences like "Mary is a teacher. She is 30 years old. She is an American." You know, beginner level shit.
Instead, it went something like this (translated in English for your convenience):
A: So, Hiroshitakahiro, when are you going on holiday?
B: Oh, I'm going the day after the one that came before last week's yesterday a week from now.
A: So, you mean Thursday the 22nd?
B: No, the 22nd is a public holiday, so I'm adding that to e = mc square and then I do the hokey-pokey and I turn around.
A: Ahh, I understand! You are leaving the week before the day after yesterday's tomorrow which is not a Monday but a public holiday.
B: No, that is correct.
Yah, I almost burst a vein listening to that.
That was followed by intense grammar, where I did not know what to answer cause I couldn't understand the questions! Haha. Was a grand day out in Hiroshima ken. 40 minutes away from the peace park.
Aside from the test, it was rocking. Chatted to a Hiroshima NOVA dude with beautiful eyes and a cool hat, saw some Okayamans (what's up!), caught a train back to Fukuyama with wonderful earthlings, walked around with Kevin for a bit, met up with Vincent again, had korean barbeque, made my way home..
..which is the part where I decide to take a new route back home, in the dark, in the deepest inaka, in the lightly falling snow, just me, very tired, super paranoid, scared of the trees, and end up getting lost for 2 hours. There were no lights. No double-lane roads. No signboards. No houses. Just trees and concrete blocks and mountains and darkness and scary roadworks next to dangerous cliffs.
But that's another post altogether.
Countdown to wonderland
For the first time in this round of my existence, I saw snow.
The way I imagined it would be, this first sighting of something I've only ever seen in pictures, was stupid picture-book material. In my head, I would have been standing by a window, seeing flakes fall from the sky. I would have opened a door to run outside, giddy, and catch flakes on my tongue. Maybe Christmas music would have started playing in the background, or a sled pulled by flying deer would have silhouetted past the full moon.
That was the expectation. This is the realisation:
Sunday morning, Vincent and I had our alarms set for 5:45am. I woke up in disbelief, Jack Daniels and sake still coursing through my blood. It was still dark outside, and bitterly cold. He came downstairs, we brushed our teeth, and ventured outside to take the road to Fukuyama, from where I'd be catching an early-morning Shinkansen to make it to Saijo in time to write a test in a language I don't understand.
While I was putting on my yellow Crocs, he came back inside, saying the car's windows were frosted over. Wow, pretty damn thick frost, I said later, drawing spirals in the white layer on my car's windscreen.
Just as we were about to leave, the car's headlights illuminated that.. things.. were falling from the sky. Like rain, only.. not. I noticed that in all the turns and corners, nooks and crannies, were coloured in in sparkly white. The further we drove, the more convinced we because that it's actually snow. Intelligent comments like "do you think.. yah dude.. I really think this is snow.. weird.. this is.. kinda.. shit man.. snow.." prevailed. I was both amazed and freaked out. It was like a harsh reality kicking in. The reality that I'm gonna be freezing my ass off. The reality that I won't be able to drive my car recklessly. The reality that summer is still a long way from here.
It wasn't quite jingle bells and snow angels, dashing through the snow on a one-horse open sleigh. It was miserable, dark, and I was sick and hung over, not even kipper enough to use the English function in my brain. But I was with another South African who was also cold and sick and hung over, and that made the experience more perfect than I could ever have imagined it.
The way I imagined it would be, this first sighting of something I've only ever seen in pictures, was stupid picture-book material. In my head, I would have been standing by a window, seeing flakes fall from the sky. I would have opened a door to run outside, giddy, and catch flakes on my tongue. Maybe Christmas music would have started playing in the background, or a sled pulled by flying deer would have silhouetted past the full moon.
That was the expectation. This is the realisation:
Sunday morning, Vincent and I had our alarms set for 5:45am. I woke up in disbelief, Jack Daniels and sake still coursing through my blood. It was still dark outside, and bitterly cold. He came downstairs, we brushed our teeth, and ventured outside to take the road to Fukuyama, from where I'd be catching an early-morning Shinkansen to make it to Saijo in time to write a test in a language I don't understand.
While I was putting on my yellow Crocs, he came back inside, saying the car's windows were frosted over. Wow, pretty damn thick frost, I said later, drawing spirals in the white layer on my car's windscreen.
Just as we were about to leave, the car's headlights illuminated that.. things.. were falling from the sky. Like rain, only.. not. I noticed that in all the turns and corners, nooks and crannies, were coloured in in sparkly white. The further we drove, the more convinced we because that it's actually snow. Intelligent comments like "do you think.. yah dude.. I really think this is snow.. weird.. this is.. kinda.. shit man.. snow.." prevailed. I was both amazed and freaked out. It was like a harsh reality kicking in. The reality that I'm gonna be freezing my ass off. The reality that I won't be able to drive my car recklessly. The reality that summer is still a long way from here.
It wasn't quite jingle bells and snow angels, dashing through the snow on a one-horse open sleigh. It was miserable, dark, and I was sick and hung over, not even kipper enough to use the English function in my brain. But I was with another South African who was also cold and sick and hung over, and that made the experience more perfect than I could ever have imagined it.
To all the beautiful people
I came to a wonderful realisation that I've grown to love some of my new friends in Japan.
And, to all the amazing humans that left comments on my page, and noticed that it never showed ("no show!", just like boobs in Japan.. harhar)
That's cause I switched over to another version of Blogger.
And I saw this one section saying
"you have 5 unmoderated comments
you have 19 unmoderated comments
you have..."
And today, while typing up Action Plans for my JTE's, I happened to click on it.
Thanks, you dudes rock.
And, to all the amazing humans that left comments on my page, and noticed that it never showed ("no show!", just like boobs in Japan.. harhar)
That's cause I switched over to another version of Blogger.
And I saw this one section saying
"you have 5 unmoderated comments
you have 19 unmoderated comments
you have..."
And today, while typing up Action Plans for my JTE's, I happened to click on it.
Thanks, you dudes rock.
Friday, December 01, 2006
And I still can't speak it.
Four months ago I wouln't have been able to read my own handwriting. Ahh, how we grow.
I've been saving a bunchload of money staying in and studying until my eyes burn and my back hurts. That being the result of studying on the floor (kotatsufied.) in bad light.
Only one more sleep to go till Hiroshima, and two more till that darned test.
Tis gonna be a good weekend.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
2010 - Love to be there
About 40% of adult deaths that occurred in the age group 15-49 years in 2000 were due to HIV/AIDS. About 20% of all adult deaths are due to AIDS. When combined with the excess deaths in childhood, AIDS accounts for 25% of all deaths in the year 2000 and has become the single biggest cause of death in South Africa. And if nothing is done to treat AIDS, the number of AIDS deaths is expected to grow further to more than double the number of deaths due to all other causes, resulting in 5 to 7 million cumulative AIDS deaths in South Africa by 2010.
There's this media campaign for AIDS awareness in South Africa called Love Life. I always thought their approach to the topic was a bit off-colour, rather promoting promiscuity than steering the youth away from it. The main slogan for the campaign (see title) was to inspire the youth to stay alive till 2010- it being the year of soccer world cup, SA's first attempt at proper public transport, and, well it's just such a smooth number. Even though I found the message slightly morbid the slogan stuck, and wherever my road leads me, in 2010, I'd love to be on home grounds.
With SA recently passing a bill legalising gay marriages (see http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/15714036/ ) and religious fanatics kicking up a storm over this, I've been wondering where the line is between human rights and overseeing immorality. Just to clarify myself - the passing of the bill is shaap-shaap in my books. A liberal decision, but it is almost 2005, y'all. SA is a pioneering, leading country in so many ways, and in just as many, it's stuck in the corrupt political mud.
The line gets thinner with the following:
A mail from my mother, a teacher, told of the following developments in SA's education.
The government wants to implement maternity leave for school children, because so many pupils are out of school with pregnancies. The even want to bring creches to school, so that the children and their children can be close together. The kids keep having kids because the government gives grants to underaged mothers (the more kids your have, the more money you get, without lifting more than your knees). And so continues a destructive cycle.
The path to hell being paved with good intentions and all that.
That was my daily dose of cynicism.
On a happier note - I had whale for school lunch. Itadakimashita!
There's this media campaign for AIDS awareness in South Africa called Love Life. I always thought their approach to the topic was a bit off-colour, rather promoting promiscuity than steering the youth away from it. The main slogan for the campaign (see title) was to inspire the youth to stay alive till 2010- it being the year of soccer world cup, SA's first attempt at proper public transport, and, well it's just such a smooth number. Even though I found the message slightly morbid the slogan stuck, and wherever my road leads me, in 2010, I'd love to be on home grounds.
With SA recently passing a bill legalising gay marriages (see http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/15714036/ ) and religious fanatics kicking up a storm over this, I've been wondering where the line is between human rights and overseeing immorality. Just to clarify myself - the passing of the bill is shaap-shaap in my books. A liberal decision, but it is almost 2005, y'all. SA is a pioneering, leading country in so many ways, and in just as many, it's stuck in the corrupt political mud.
The line gets thinner with the following:
A mail from my mother, a teacher, told of the following developments in SA's education.
The government wants to implement maternity leave for school children, because so many pupils are out of school with pregnancies. The even want to bring creches to school, so that the children and their children can be close together. The kids keep having kids because the government gives grants to underaged mothers (the more kids your have, the more money you get, without lifting more than your knees). And so continues a destructive cycle.
The path to hell being paved with good intentions and all that.
That was my daily dose of cynicism.
On a happier note - I had whale for school lunch. Itadakimashita!
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Hyaku bottles of beer on the wall, hyaku bottles of beer..
The vice-principal just offered me coffee, even though I've been parked on the net for almost an hour now. Maybe they do like me.
See, this is where paranoia comes in. You sit at your desk, secretly typing mail messages about Mexian nights and Second-hand shopping into your keitai under the table. You could be making worksheets or re-developing the teaching structure or thinking up games for class, but really, there'd be no point.
My team-teacher partner (snigger. haha. yeah. whatever) has called in sick for the second day in a row. Yesterday he had a very, very high fever. Today he cannot move his head. Ladies and Gentlemen, English has been cancelled. Ja, these kids' English future has been cancelled. At least they have Japanese, which'll take them another 6 or so years to figure out in any case.
Wait, the paranoia bit:
So, you're sitting at your desknot working, which in essence goes against my work-ethic grain, but I have my own admin to do and verbs to study, and no classes to teach. Shite man, the kyoto-sensei even asked me to please enjoy studying today.
But still.
Underlying paranoia combined with just enough knowledge of the language to know that you don't understand, creates a dangerous combination. In my hiragana-muddled mind, any and every conversation could be about me, and how I'm not working. It's all the product of knowing that I could be doing more than I am at the moment. Eish.
That's the thing with paranoia. It's very self-centered. And that's exactly the reason why I never hang onto it for very long.
And in other news, I don't have school the next two days.
Join the JET program! All we ask of you is nothing!
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Friday, November 10, 2006
We waste, therefore we are
After reading a post on Wessel's blog concerning whaling, I've been having arb conversations with fellow teachers about why Japan keeps killing whales, even though their numbers are going down. Feeding thousands of schoolkids on tomato-soaked whale meat for school lunch, and till having enough left over for dogfood..
To see the entry, direct your cursors to
http://thesausageonmylap.blogspot.com/2006/11/here-today-gone-tomorrow.html#links
The fact is, it all comes down to supply and demand. The demand for tons of cheap meat is high in a country of 128,085,000 hungry people. And, as the saying goes, "There is nothing to throw away from a whale except its voice". Money talks, and it keeps the spears sharp.
To end this unfocussed post about waste (because I've had many rants about it in the past 3 months, plus Vicky just gave me a bowl of chicken curry and rice, so itadakimasho), I'd like to quote something by my new favourite author, Haruki Murakami.
Waste is the highest virtue one can achieve in advanced capitalist society. If you put an end to waste, mass panic would ensue and the global economy would go haywire. Waste is the fuel of contradiction, and contradiction activates the economy, and an active economy creates more waste.
To see the entry, direct your cursors to
http://thesausageonmylap.blogspot.com/2006/11/here-today-gone-tomorrow.html#links
The fact is, it all comes down to supply and demand. The demand for tons of cheap meat is high in a country of 128,085,000 hungry people. And, as the saying goes, "There is nothing to throw away from a whale except its voice". Money talks, and it keeps the spears sharp.
To end this unfocussed post about waste (because I've had many rants about it in the past 3 months, plus Vicky just gave me a bowl of chicken curry and rice, so itadakimasho), I'd like to quote something by my new favourite author, Haruki Murakami.
Waste is the highest virtue one can achieve in advanced capitalist society. If you put an end to waste, mass panic would ensue and the global economy would go haywire. Waste is the fuel of contradiction, and contradiction activates the economy, and an active economy creates more waste.
Trying Hard to Be a Girl (part 2)
Halloooo Kitty!
In an honourable attempt to subscribe to Japanese stereotypes, I pimped up my keitai. Cellphone. Texting device.
Once again, I had a total of one class at school today, and spent a good 4 minutes raiding the sticker collection I found in my desk drawer and turned my phone into a fruit salad. Cherries and strawberries, that's what girls are made of. And here, boys too.
For the kids back at home, here's a little poem:
waarvan is meisies gemaak?
van koekies en soentjies en soet soet lemoentjies
daarvan is meisies gemaak
waarvan is seuntjies gemaak?
van paddas en slakke en rondloper brakke
daarvan is seuntjies gemaak
Trying Hard to Be a Girl (part 1)
Okay, so, how cool are these boots.
No, really. On a scale from 9 to 10, how cool are they?
Sure, they are one number too small, I lose all feeling in my toes after wearing em for more than 5 minutes, and they make my feel feel like it's being ground up for minced beef. But that's hardly the point, ne.
That's what happens when you buy footwear at a Japanese toystore.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Quote Unquote Japan
Thursday Evening - Slurry conversations with young, drunken boys.
Him: "So, are you an uma?"
(uma is Japanese for horse)
Me: Uma? What? Am I a horse?
Him: No no.. an uuuuma. Is your sex an uma?
Me: Do I.. What? Are we talking beastiality here?
Him: Nooo. Not Uma... Uma! Like. Not a man, a uma.
Me: Oh.. Woman.. You want to know if I'm a woman. Nice.
Saturday - Driving to Mt. Daisen.
"Have you ever made out with an ape?"
Saturday - Driving back
"Oh look, there's the salaryclam!"
--The what?
"It's a clam wearing a suit and tie. A salaryclam."
Him: "So, are you an uma?"
(uma is Japanese for horse)
Me: Uma? What? Am I a horse?
Him: No no.. an uuuuma. Is your sex an uma?
Me: Do I.. What? Are we talking beastiality here?
Him: Nooo. Not Uma... Uma! Like. Not a man, a uma.
Me: Oh.. Woman.. You want to know if I'm a woman. Nice.
Saturday - Driving to Mt. Daisen.
"Have you ever made out with an ape?"
Saturday - Driving back
"Oh look, there's the salaryclam!"
--The what?
"It's a clam wearing a suit and tie. A salaryclam."
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Putting the 'exclude' in 'exclusivity'
Drie maande het verbygegaan. Die Honeymoon is verby. Met die dalende temperatuur kom die harde realiteit dat jy heavy ver weg van die huis is. Daar is nerens om jou wonde te gaan lek nie. Niks is bekend nie - nie die kos, die mentaliteit, die taal, die tv programme, die mode, niks herhinner jou aan wat jy ken nie. Winter voel groot en koud, en wag om die draai soos 'n Hatfield mugger.
Snaaks genoeg kan ek twee definitiewe oomblikke onthou in die afgelope 24 uur wat alles grys gekleur het.
1) Ek het met 'n skok besef dat niemand ooit vir my sal kom kuier nie. Nie sonder 'n kar nie. Bitter min mense gaan ooit Niimi toe, want hier's niks nie. En van Niimi af vat dit 30 minute met 'n fiets om by my uit te kom. Hierdie is seclusion soos jy nie kan imagine nie.
2) Ek het wakker geword uit 'n Suid Afrika droom, waar ek omring was met mense wat baie vir my beteken. Ek het met my oe toe gele en na 'n kriek buite geluister, en was convinced dat ek op my bed in Sasolburg was, onder die quilt wat my ma gemaak het. Totdat ek besef het ek le in Japan. Om halfpad om die wereld te travel in 0.4 sekondes is bliksems vinnig. En die landing is nogal seer.
So, vasgevang in bad habits en pointless existence het 'n week van introspeksie stadig in my kop in gesyfer. Bastian Balthazar Bux se kamer met 'n duisend deure en 'n goeie dose Dandy Warhols het dit verder gevat. En so het ek in 'n dromerige niksheid rondgeloop met vraagtekens om my gesig vir te lank. Tot 5de periode.
Shouji. Skoonmaaktyd. Almal gryp besems en lappe, en vee vloere en was tafels. Daar's nie iets soos faktotums in Japanese skole nie. Ek en die secretary doen ons eie dinge in stilte, totdat ek vir haar in Japanees vra waar ek 'n vuilgoedsak kan kry. 'n Stadige conversation ensue, oor my heritage, Hollands en Engels, maar my oe is seer van kanji oefen, en my kop is seer van Japanees luister.
Sy vat my na my tafel toe, en bring 'n klein boekie na my toe. Die titel is iets soos "Some days are blue". Elke bladsy het 'n standaar cute animal foto in swart en wit, met 'n sinnetjie in hiragana/katakana/kanji geskryf, en 'n Engelse translation onder dit. Sy lees die Japanees. Ek lees die Engels. En ek is oortuig dat die sekretaresse 'n engel is.
Hierdie simpel boekie cruise bladsy vir bladsy deur elke ding wat my gepla het. Partykeer voel dit asof jou lewe geen doel het nie. Partykeer voel jy oorweldig. Partykeer voel jy klein en insignificant. Partykeer weet jy nie waarom jy doen wat jy doen nie. Maar moenie moed verloor nie. Onthou wie jy is. Aanvaar elke uitdaging, en aanvaar verantwoordelikheid vir jou besluite. Niks is te groot nie. Niks is onmoontlik nie.
Na die tyd wil ek vir haar se "jy verstaan nie hoeveel hierdie vandag vir my beteken het nie, in alle eenvoudigheid", maar ek het nie die woordeskat om dit te doen nie. So ek arigatou, ek domo arigato, en sy smile, knik haar kop, en se vir my ek kan huistoe gaan. En oppad terug notice ek alles wat ek begin mis het - die sonlig op die water, die rooi shrine hek in die bosse weggesteek, die maan wat in die daglig soveel groter as in SA is..
Maybe is hemel op die platteland. Maybe is daar engele.
Snaaks genoeg kan ek twee definitiewe oomblikke onthou in die afgelope 24 uur wat alles grys gekleur het.
1) Ek het met 'n skok besef dat niemand ooit vir my sal kom kuier nie. Nie sonder 'n kar nie. Bitter min mense gaan ooit Niimi toe, want hier's niks nie. En van Niimi af vat dit 30 minute met 'n fiets om by my uit te kom. Hierdie is seclusion soos jy nie kan imagine nie.
2) Ek het wakker geword uit 'n Suid Afrika droom, waar ek omring was met mense wat baie vir my beteken. Ek het met my oe toe gele en na 'n kriek buite geluister, en was convinced dat ek op my bed in Sasolburg was, onder die quilt wat my ma gemaak het. Totdat ek besef het ek le in Japan. Om halfpad om die wereld te travel in 0.4 sekondes is bliksems vinnig. En die landing is nogal seer.
So, vasgevang in bad habits en pointless existence het 'n week van introspeksie stadig in my kop in gesyfer. Bastian Balthazar Bux se kamer met 'n duisend deure en 'n goeie dose Dandy Warhols het dit verder gevat. En so het ek in 'n dromerige niksheid rondgeloop met vraagtekens om my gesig vir te lank. Tot 5de periode.
Shouji. Skoonmaaktyd. Almal gryp besems en lappe, en vee vloere en was tafels. Daar's nie iets soos faktotums in Japanese skole nie. Ek en die secretary doen ons eie dinge in stilte, totdat ek vir haar in Japanees vra waar ek 'n vuilgoedsak kan kry. 'n Stadige conversation ensue, oor my heritage, Hollands en Engels, maar my oe is seer van kanji oefen, en my kop is seer van Japanees luister.
Sy vat my na my tafel toe, en bring 'n klein boekie na my toe. Die titel is iets soos "Some days are blue". Elke bladsy het 'n standaar cute animal foto in swart en wit, met 'n sinnetjie in hiragana/katakana/kanji geskryf, en 'n Engelse translation onder dit. Sy lees die Japanees. Ek lees die Engels. En ek is oortuig dat die sekretaresse 'n engel is.
Hierdie simpel boekie cruise bladsy vir bladsy deur elke ding wat my gepla het. Partykeer voel dit asof jou lewe geen doel het nie. Partykeer voel jy oorweldig. Partykeer voel jy klein en insignificant. Partykeer weet jy nie waarom jy doen wat jy doen nie. Maar moenie moed verloor nie. Onthou wie jy is. Aanvaar elke uitdaging, en aanvaar verantwoordelikheid vir jou besluite. Niks is te groot nie. Niks is onmoontlik nie.
Na die tyd wil ek vir haar se "jy verstaan nie hoeveel hierdie vandag vir my beteken het nie, in alle eenvoudigheid", maar ek het nie die woordeskat om dit te doen nie. So ek arigatou, ek domo arigato, en sy smile, knik haar kop, en se vir my ek kan huistoe gaan. En oppad terug notice ek alles wat ek begin mis het - die sonlig op die water, die rooi shrine hek in die bosse weggesteek, die maan wat in die daglig soveel groter as in SA is..
Maybe is hemel op die platteland. Maybe is daar engele.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
To Re-Direct your Attention
Hi there.
I suck at blogging laterly. Lately. After analysing the situation, I have come to the following conclusion.
The reason for this atrocious style of blogging is due to bits and bats of the following:
1) I have no internet connection (always a good excuse)
2) Typing extensive paragraphs in the teacher's room leads to paranoia, and it's not like I'm in need of any more.
3) So much happens every day that it's nearly impossible to pick out one single event and write a paragraph about it
4) I couldn't really be bothered. Thank you to the apathy-inducing junior high schooling system.
So, for your convenience, I now boast a range of links to other people around the ken. Prefecture. The area in which I reside.
To kill some time at work, and find out what I've been up to.. just fool around in their links.
One day, one day...
marilu.
I suck at blogging laterly. Lately. After analysing the situation, I have come to the following conclusion.
The reason for this atrocious style of blogging is due to bits and bats of the following:
1) I have no internet connection (always a good excuse)
2) Typing extensive paragraphs in the teacher's room leads to paranoia, and it's not like I'm in need of any more.
3) So much happens every day that it's nearly impossible to pick out one single event and write a paragraph about it
4) I couldn't really be bothered. Thank you to the apathy-inducing junior high schooling system.
So, for your convenience, I now boast a range of links to other people around the ken. Prefecture. The area in which I reside.
To kill some time at work, and find out what I've been up to.. just fool around in their links.
One day, one day...
marilu.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Double-dose Despondency
What was I thinking?Seeing as my job does not actually involve working, I have been spending my hours at school making flashcards for myself, and getting the grip on 2 new alphabets.
The reason for this illustrious behaviour is not self-improvement or over-enthusiasm.. no sirree, I am studying for an exam. A very expensive exam. Just like kids at school.
Today I read up a bit on JLPT level 4 (the lowest you can go), and someone was quoted as saying "Level 4 is a joke is you have 1 year of University Japanese behind you, or 6 months of diligent study once in Japan". Needless to say, I'm not finding it very funny.
I just started, which leaves me with less than six weeks to memorise 800 Japanese words and 80 kanji. And not go mad in the process.
Gambarimasu. Me and my clever ideas.
(on the plus side, I should be able to hold my own in conversation with the 5 year old by sometime next year)
Friday, October 13, 2006
Kwaidan : Stories and studies of strange things
Today has been absolutely grand.
The students were all on some sport trip, so I studied a few Japanese verbs and then proceeded to research Obakemono; ghosts and spirits of the Japanese past and present. Ghost stories are everywhere, and I have taken a fasciantion to both that and Japanese children's stories.
The secretary and the vice-principal were very excited about me getting into the mysterious underground of their nation's tales. She proceeded to tell me a local ghost story called Yuurei taki (Ghost waterfall) in extremely broken English. Her extended pauses just added to the suspense, as I had to wait for her translation to find out what happened next. After she painstakingly related the story, she re-typed it into Yahoo Instranslator, and this is what it mangled out:
There was young mother named "Yasumoto Masaru" in old days in Kurosaka-mura in a prefectural border of Tottori and Okayama.
The friends who worked overtime in the sewing factory which she commits at the night of a certain summer had a chat, but will say that I "contribute money together if I return to here with an offertory box of 瀧山神社 and will give a reward to the person at suggestion of a woman of そのなかの seniority.
When she who was a bride of a poor farming family wants to let my child eat a delicious thing, I come forward and will go to a test of a courage. I ran in a dark road at night hard and was going to return in delight when she who arrived at an offertory box "was successful".
When go by 瀧 on the way; from the back "leave" it! I felt like having heard a mysterious terrible voice of ", but I covered my ears desperately and returned on the run to a factory.
When I finally opened a door of a factory, one of the women who waited screamed.
Her back was bloody.
It was assumed by her, and the neck of the baby who should have slept peacefully disappeared as picked off by someone.
Disclaimer : 'tis a pity that you didn't get to hear the real story, cause it's actually very good. But bad computerised English always makes for easy humour.
The students were all on some sport trip, so I studied a few Japanese verbs and then proceeded to research Obakemono; ghosts and spirits of the Japanese past and present. Ghost stories are everywhere, and I have taken a fasciantion to both that and Japanese children's stories.
The secretary and the vice-principal were very excited about me getting into the mysterious underground of their nation's tales. She proceeded to tell me a local ghost story called Yuurei taki (Ghost waterfall) in extremely broken English. Her extended pauses just added to the suspense, as I had to wait for her translation to find out what happened next. After she painstakingly related the story, she re-typed it into Yahoo Instranslator, and this is what it mangled out:
There was young mother named "Yasumoto Masaru" in old days in Kurosaka-mura in a prefectural border of Tottori and Okayama.
The friends who worked overtime in the sewing factory which she commits at the night of a certain summer had a chat, but will say that I "contribute money together if I return to here with an offertory box of 瀧山神社 and will give a reward to the person at suggestion of a woman of そのなかの seniority.
When she who was a bride of a poor farming family wants to let my child eat a delicious thing, I come forward and will go to a test of a courage. I ran in a dark road at night hard and was going to return in delight when she who arrived at an offertory box "was successful".
When go by 瀧 on the way; from the back "leave" it! I felt like having heard a mysterious terrible voice of ", but I covered my ears desperately and returned on the run to a factory.
When I finally opened a door of a factory, one of the women who waited screamed.
Her back was bloody.
It was assumed by her, and the neck of the baby who should have slept peacefully disappeared as picked off by someone.
Disclaimer : 'tis a pity that you didn't get to hear the real story, cause it's actually very good. But bad computerised English always makes for easy humour.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Long weekend, indeed.
Friday
A car locked in the parking lot of a bank I don't even use.
Cycling in the rain.
A cellphone with a flickering screen that reminds of disco lights or Outer Limits.
(they are watching)
Beer at Tara's and more than a slight annoyance with myself.
Good, good, good food and two Takahashi girls.
Clam factory.
And the last proper night's sleep in three days.
Saturday
7 am arrival in Niimi armed with backpack (contents: toothbrush, Zambian cloth, firepoi, camera, socks, dictionary, tshirt and wallet) and tent.
7:30 Bus to Shin-Osaka.
The Japanese dude that had to sit next to me looked petrified as he checked, re-checked and double checked his seat number. It took him les than 5 minutes to fall asleep (it's a special gift they have), and was soon leaning most of his body on mine as he dreamt about a world without white people.
10:30-something. Arrival in Shin-Osaka.
A slow walk through a fleamarket, and a lesson in Osaka-ben. "oo-kii-ni" means "thank you". A phonecall to Cisco Osaka while in the playpark, attention distracted by a tiny dog and two damn cute Japanese kids. The phonecall led us to the underground subway, the red Midosuji line, to the wonderfully seedy Shinsaibashi.
Arrival in Shinsaibashi
Loud music; rock and trance blaring from shop fronts. Everyone looks as if they fell from the circus bus. Strange kids. Second hand shops like you won't believe. Beer and sushi in the rain surrounded by Japanese misfits and the odd bum. Also a geeky-looking dude with a Lonely Planet, Japan. A kid with weird shoe fashion chases doves around the plain. Unsuccessful sunglass shopping in a shop with trolls. Ice cream in a strange shop where the man behind the counter wore a garage attendant outfit, and the decor was American enough to make me lose my direction.
Change to Daikoku-naninani
Mistake. The suburb features a drab-looking dude with a newspaper, and a gaijin that almost rode into a wall when Tara asks him "how ya doing". Consult Lonely Planet. We go back underground.
Change to Namba
Slightly better. Namba has a beautiful park, beautiful buildings. I'm hit by the realisation that I know of three people in Osaka, but forgot about them. Too late to contact them, as my phone has ceased to be. If it wasn't made from plastic it'd been pushing up the daisies. 100 yen shops and asking a construction worker for directions. The sun has set. We walk back to Shinsaibashi, where we've left part of our souls.
The directions are vague, the language barrier existant, and the map nonexistant. We end up in the part of town with the huge crab on the wall that I have seen in so many travel brochures. We gawk and gape and ask for directions.
I crave takoyaki, because the smell hangs around between raindrops and clouds of cigarette smoke. We're still lost. We find our way to where we were before. Looking for a nomihodai (drink all you can) place that starts with "pa". The word 'nomihodai' catches my attention between strings of Japanese words advertised by voice. We are led to floor 8 of a closeby building for 888 yen nomihodai. Two hours passes quickly. We stuff ourselves with food and cocktails, while thoroughly entertained by the clapping girl on the next door table. I get my takoyaki.
Only after this, the madness really started. Random Jap dudes with purple hair and facial piercings. Pickups on street corners cause foreign girls are easy. I meet a Sotho guy from SA, and greet him with a Sawubona. He appreciates my Nkomazi shirt. We stay much longer than indended. We stay in Osaka much longer than intended, but I fell in love with it's colourful undergroundedness. Where this post is at the moment, the night is still young, but I have lost interest in my writing.
Until later,
M.
A car locked in the parking lot of a bank I don't even use.
Cycling in the rain.
A cellphone with a flickering screen that reminds of disco lights or Outer Limits.
(they are watching)
Beer at Tara's and more than a slight annoyance with myself.
Good, good, good food and two Takahashi girls.
Clam factory.
And the last proper night's sleep in three days.
Saturday
7 am arrival in Niimi armed with backpack (contents: toothbrush, Zambian cloth, firepoi, camera, socks, dictionary, tshirt and wallet) and tent.
7:30 Bus to Shin-Osaka.
The Japanese dude that had to sit next to me looked petrified as he checked, re-checked and double checked his seat number. It took him les than 5 minutes to fall asleep (it's a special gift they have), and was soon leaning most of his body on mine as he dreamt about a world without white people.
10:30-something. Arrival in Shin-Osaka.
A slow walk through a fleamarket, and a lesson in Osaka-ben. "oo-kii-ni" means "thank you". A phonecall to Cisco Osaka while in the playpark, attention distracted by a tiny dog and two damn cute Japanese kids. The phonecall led us to the underground subway, the red Midosuji line, to the wonderfully seedy Shinsaibashi.
Arrival in Shinsaibashi
Loud music; rock and trance blaring from shop fronts. Everyone looks as if they fell from the circus bus. Strange kids. Second hand shops like you won't believe. Beer and sushi in the rain surrounded by Japanese misfits and the odd bum. Also a geeky-looking dude with a Lonely Planet, Japan. A kid with weird shoe fashion chases doves around the plain. Unsuccessful sunglass shopping in a shop with trolls. Ice cream in a strange shop where the man behind the counter wore a garage attendant outfit, and the decor was American enough to make me lose my direction.
Change to Daikoku-naninani
Mistake. The suburb features a drab-looking dude with a newspaper, and a gaijin that almost rode into a wall when Tara asks him "how ya doing". Consult Lonely Planet. We go back underground.
Change to Namba
Slightly better. Namba has a beautiful park, beautiful buildings. I'm hit by the realisation that I know of three people in Osaka, but forgot about them. Too late to contact them, as my phone has ceased to be. If it wasn't made from plastic it'd been pushing up the daisies. 100 yen shops and asking a construction worker for directions. The sun has set. We walk back to Shinsaibashi, where we've left part of our souls.
The directions are vague, the language barrier existant, and the map nonexistant. We end up in the part of town with the huge crab on the wall that I have seen in so many travel brochures. We gawk and gape and ask for directions.
I crave takoyaki, because the smell hangs around between raindrops and clouds of cigarette smoke. We're still lost. We find our way to where we were before. Looking for a nomihodai (drink all you can) place that starts with "pa". The word 'nomihodai' catches my attention between strings of Japanese words advertised by voice. We are led to floor 8 of a closeby building for 888 yen nomihodai. Two hours passes quickly. We stuff ourselves with food and cocktails, while thoroughly entertained by the clapping girl on the next door table. I get my takoyaki.
Only after this, the madness really started. Random Jap dudes with purple hair and facial piercings. Pickups on street corners cause foreign girls are easy. I meet a Sotho guy from SA, and greet him with a Sawubona. He appreciates my Nkomazi shirt. We stay much longer than indended. We stay in Osaka much longer than intended, but I fell in love with it's colourful undergroundedness. Where this post is at the moment, the night is still young, but I have lost interest in my writing.
Until later,
M.
Friday, October 06, 2006
Program 3 Lesson 2
"I have accepted the fact that there is no God in Japan" - South African, Nagasaki.
So, Hello Kitty and black bobby socks with golden shoes are big in Japan. So are stupid hairclips on boys, easily accessible alcohol, stuffed animals dangling from cellphones, keepin' up with what's hot this week, oven mitts as bicycle gloves, not using couches, and pokemon characters that get in the way of the weather report on TV. The list goes on forever.
With so many things being big in Japan, they kinda missed out on the Sunday as a rest day. Maybe it's a Western thing. God knows (..or does He..?), organised religion is NOT big in Japan.
I'm going to have to work my third Sunday, soon. Trouble with the previous two was that I didn't sleep for many, many consecutive hours, and then tried to stay awake during 45 minute long plays in Japanese, soaked in bad acting. It was an exercise in futility.
Today, I was presented with the following deal:
You work at the open day on 22 October. It's a Sunday, of course.
You get the Monday off.
The possibility exists that you can go home at 13h00 on Sunday
BUT
If you go home at 13h00.. you are not allowed to leave your house until 16h15.
Now, I can try to be funny and say (to myself).. "Haha.. what, is Big Brother going to see me?"
but I know the answer to that question. And it's not a comforting one.
So, Hello Kitty and black bobby socks with golden shoes are big in Japan. So are stupid hairclips on boys, easily accessible alcohol, stuffed animals dangling from cellphones, keepin' up with what's hot this week, oven mitts as bicycle gloves, not using couches, and pokemon characters that get in the way of the weather report on TV. The list goes on forever.
With so many things being big in Japan, they kinda missed out on the Sunday as a rest day. Maybe it's a Western thing. God knows (..or does He..?), organised religion is NOT big in Japan.
I'm going to have to work my third Sunday, soon. Trouble with the previous two was that I didn't sleep for many, many consecutive hours, and then tried to stay awake during 45 minute long plays in Japanese, soaked in bad acting. It was an exercise in futility.
Today, I was presented with the following deal:
You work at the open day on 22 October. It's a Sunday, of course.
You get the Monday off.
The possibility exists that you can go home at 13h00 on Sunday
BUT
If you go home at 13h00.. you are not allowed to leave your house until 16h15.
Now, I can try to be funny and say (to myself).. "Haha.. what, is Big Brother going to see me?"
but I know the answer to that question. And it's not a comforting one.
Program 3 Lesson 1
I don't want to make this a blog about school. At all. You want stories about how absolutely ridiculous the teaching time in a JET's life is, surf the net. There's loads of personal sites there that range from the absolutely hysterical to the eye-gougingly drab. So, for the first and hopefully last time, I will share with you two moments from my day so far. It's not even lunchtime yet.
Scenario 1 - First, yes first team-teaching lesson with my elusive Japanese Teacher of English (JTE)
He's rambling on in Japanese, and I'm having a grand time daydreaming about.. whatever. It's harder to pin down daydreams that it is to remember night dreams. I hear my name. It's my que! I jump to service. Shall I pronounce something for you? Perhaps I can pass a pen to you?
Oh no.
He says: "Mariru sensei... please explain to students.. the difference in intonation and pronounce.. for different English speakers.. from these countries."
Immediately I think: "Huh?".
I look at the board, where there's three points scribbled in katakana. Crap. I take a moment to decypher the question.
The writing on the wall says:
1) I-gi-ri-su
2) A-me-ri-ka
3) Oo-su-to-ra-ri-a
He must have noted the blank expression on my face, for he elaborated on the question. He added on the blackboard the words: "How are you?"
Then he asked me to explain the different ways that speakers from the above countries pronounced the phrase "How are you?"
I stared at him in disbelief, the whole class waiting for my answer.
"Well.. " I replied. "It's all about the local way that words are used. For example, Australians would not say 'Good morning', but would say 'Gday mate!'"
I felt enveloped by stupidity.
But they went for it. He translated my stupid little speech (including how South Africans say "Howzit" instead of..) into Japanese for the class, and I was free to go.
Disclaimer
I sincerely apologise to all Australians for stereotyping in order to save my ass. But the kids won't remember anything. I have come to believe that all English knowledge is extraced from their minds during monthly brainwashing sessions.
Scenario 1 - First, yes first team-teaching lesson with my elusive Japanese Teacher of English (JTE)
He's rambling on in Japanese, and I'm having a grand time daydreaming about.. whatever. It's harder to pin down daydreams that it is to remember night dreams. I hear my name. It's my que! I jump to service. Shall I pronounce something for you? Perhaps I can pass a pen to you?
Oh no.
He says: "Mariru sensei... please explain to students.. the difference in intonation and pronounce.. for different English speakers.. from these countries."
Immediately I think: "Huh?".
I look at the board, where there's three points scribbled in katakana. Crap. I take a moment to decypher the question.
The writing on the wall says:
1) I-gi-ri-su
2) A-me-ri-ka
3) Oo-su-to-ra-ri-a
He must have noted the blank expression on my face, for he elaborated on the question. He added on the blackboard the words: "How are you?"
Then he asked me to explain the different ways that speakers from the above countries pronounced the phrase "How are you?"
I stared at him in disbelief, the whole class waiting for my answer.
"Well.. " I replied. "It's all about the local way that words are used. For example, Australians would not say 'Good morning', but would say 'Gday mate!'"
I felt enveloped by stupidity.
But they went for it. He translated my stupid little speech (including how South Africans say "Howzit" instead of..) into Japanese for the class, and I was free to go.
Disclaimer
I sincerely apologise to all Australians for stereotyping in order to save my ass. But the kids won't remember anything. I have come to believe that all English knowledge is extraced from their minds during monthly brainwashing sessions.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Koh Koh Bango
With the amazing assistance of Miss Silverman and her understandable Japanese skills, my ticket to Thailand has been booked. I realise that we're kinda jumping the gun here, as the plane only departs 21st December, but as they say in ZuluLand: Walala Wasala.
I am eagerly anticipating this trip. But first.. there are three more months of Japan madness to get through.
I am eagerly anticipating this trip. But first.. there are three more months of Japan madness to get through.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
We survived.
According to Patricia Schultz's book, 1000 places to see before you die, seeing the sun rise from the top of Mount Fuji is regarded as one of the most moving natural experiences you can have on our ball of clay.
She forgot to mention that you will also be stiff as a plank, your eyes will be bloodshot from volcanic dust that had been sandblasting your retinas for the past few hours, you'll lose basic speech ability, you will be shaking like a reed from the cold, even with 5 jackets layered over each other, and the wind will cut into your lips so much that it'll still be peeling two days later.
Even with the physical discomforts, the garaikou (sunrise) was an awe-inspiring sight. I felt on top of the world, looking down at creation. The sunrise started as a neon pink smear across the horison. It grew and progressed to become orange, yellow, golden. It touched the clouds, forming spaceships and alternate universes across the expansive horison.
I was surprised to see how many people had come to climb through the darkest night for eight or nine hours, just to see the sun rise. Earlier, we looked down during water breaks to see caterpillars of lights ascend the mountain. Strings of Japanese climbers, each equipped with a different coloured light, walked in long, snaking rows with the bells on their walking sticks echoing through the night. People from all over the world sat on top of the symmetrical emblem of Japan, huddled together for some warmth, waiting quietly for the skies to change colour.
PS, I went all the way there and back, and I did not take one photo of Fuji-san. I took photos of the thousands of bells hanging from the shrine at the top. I took photos of bleary-eyed fellow travellers. But not one of Fuji. Well, I suppose I can just google image it if I really want to.
PPS The above photo was taken with my keitai. I had reception on the top of Fuji! Hurrah for Docomo! Alas, there was no one that I wanted to phone.
PPPS Ta to Isabel who sent me the photos I sent her. Let's picture tennis! One day when I own a laptop, I promise to add some photos of bells, found only on top of the mountain.
She forgot to mention that you will also be stiff as a plank, your eyes will be bloodshot from volcanic dust that had been sandblasting your retinas for the past few hours, you'll lose basic speech ability, you will be shaking like a reed from the cold, even with 5 jackets layered over each other, and the wind will cut into your lips so much that it'll still be peeling two days later.
Even with the physical discomforts, the garaikou (sunrise) was an awe-inspiring sight. I felt on top of the world, looking down at creation. The sunrise started as a neon pink smear across the horison. It grew and progressed to become orange, yellow, golden. It touched the clouds, forming spaceships and alternate universes across the expansive horison.
I was surprised to see how many people had come to climb through the darkest night for eight or nine hours, just to see the sun rise. Earlier, we looked down during water breaks to see caterpillars of lights ascend the mountain. Strings of Japanese climbers, each equipped with a different coloured light, walked in long, snaking rows with the bells on their walking sticks echoing through the night. People from all over the world sat on top of the symmetrical emblem of Japan, huddled together for some warmth, waiting quietly for the skies to change colour.
PS, I went all the way there and back, and I did not take one photo of Fuji-san. I took photos of the thousands of bells hanging from the shrine at the top. I took photos of bleary-eyed fellow travellers. But not one of Fuji. Well, I suppose I can just google image it if I really want to.PPS The above photo was taken with my keitai. I had reception on the top of Fuji! Hurrah for Docomo! Alas, there was no one that I wanted to phone.
PPPS Ta to Isabel who sent me the photos I sent her. Let's picture tennis! One day when I own a laptop, I promise to add some photos of bells, found only on top of the mountain.
Fuji Food
I have been inacpacitated for 2 days now. My legs are so sore that I had to take the car to school today, and I have to slide down the 4 steps from my 'loft' to my 'living room' on my bum, cause climbing stairs is too painful. I am a victim of Fuji-san. My chapped lips and sunburnt face is the price I payed to see one of the great wonders of the natural world - a sunrise from Mount Fuji. And it was worth it.
Before I elaborate on the volcanic rocks and the lights in the night, I want to introduce to my mostly South African readers another amazing Japanese snackfood - The Onigiri.
Onigiri is basically a triangular steamed rice ball with a convenient blanket of seaweed wrapped around it. Inside this plain but tasty snack, you can find anything from Ikura (fish eggs) to tuna & mayo, Umeboshi (extremely salty pickled plums) or salmon. The combinis (convenience stores.. but they are, like REALLY convenient) stock a host of flavours, shapes and sizes, and it has become one of my favourite on-the-go things to eat.
Onigiri was also the reason why I made it all the way up Mount Fuji. To be technical, Jen's onigiri (thank you!) and a few Snickers bars (which made me think of you, Wessel) is what got me to the top. I finished all my food before we were even 100m up the mountain, and was forced to snack on the rest of the night climb crew's food: nuts and apricots, dried peas and energy bars, chicken-shits and dried banana. You guys rock. Volcanically.
Before I elaborate on the volcanic rocks and the lights in the night, I want to introduce to my mostly South African readers another amazing Japanese snackfood - The Onigiri.
Onigiri is basically a triangular steamed rice ball with a convenient blanket of seaweed wrapped around it. Inside this plain but tasty snack, you can find anything from Ikura (fish eggs) to tuna & mayo, Umeboshi (extremely salty pickled plums) or salmon. The combinis (convenience stores.. but they are, like REALLY convenient) stock a host of flavours, shapes and sizes, and it has become one of my favourite on-the-go things to eat.
Onigiri was also the reason why I made it all the way up Mount Fuji. To be technical, Jen's onigiri (thank you!) and a few Snickers bars (which made me think of you, Wessel) is what got me to the top. I finished all my food before we were even 100m up the mountain, and was forced to snack on the rest of the night climb crew's food: nuts and apricots, dried peas and energy bars, chicken-shits and dried banana. You guys rock. Volcanically.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Wessel.
お誕生日おめでとう
Geluk met jou verjaarsdag, ne.
(ek try all in touch met die Ooste wees hier)
Seeing as ek hierdie een nie saam met jou kan vier nie, maybe maybe New Years?
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
after all these years..
Tonight is the night.I've been wanting to see this movie ever since Hernes and Riette told me how they saw this in Germany, and held hands crying, and I sniggered and called them wusses. That was aaaages ago, and I've unsuccessfully been half-heartedly looking for this film. I did manage to catch 5 seconds of it while channel-hopping when I was still dating that other dude. Rephrase - ages ago when I still used to date.
Then, last night I found it while raiding Vicky's video collection. It was like an emerald in the hay, a needle on the camels's back, a shiny thing presented to a depraved crow. I can't wait.
Man, screw this blogging thing, I'm going home.
Living for Living on Weekends
Time seems to be sped up in this country (slash Island slash Alternate Universe). Every time I get a second to catch my breath, the week is almost riding away in the sunset, taking with it silly self-introductions and Tuesday Night dinners in Niimi. I seem to live from weekend to weekend, and the options with which I can fill my days off just never ends.
On the weekend of 22-24 September (which also features my bro's birthday), I have my mind stubbornly set on going to this place
Get it while it's hot.
On the weekend of 22-24 September (which also features my bro's birthday), I have my mind stubbornly set on going to this place
for one of these
(just with more green than that pic.)
Well, I think that it is in a place called Ryokusuiko. I can only read four things on the whole flyer, and that is the name of the party, the date, the price (per day or for the weekend..? pfft, I dunno) and the URL.. which leads to a site where I can only understand.. three things.
First things first though. This Friday, 44 of us are off on a little trip to.. more North, Japan, to go climb this mountain (looks so tiny on the picture.. Little Fuji-san)
Get it while it's hot.
What's In A Name?
In South Africa, my name was Marilu Snyders.
I miss that name. I miss the roll of the r, the normality of the spelling, and the pitch in the right places (never figured out how you're actually supposed to pronounce it though.)
In English conversation, my name is Marylou Snaiders.
In Japan, they just raped it into a complete different alphabet. You got an 'l' in your name? Hey, we don't do l's... no more for you!
In Japan, I am Mariru Sunaideesu.
The bizarre bit is that, within my first week here, I started introducing myself as Mariru. Sneaking in the alien 'l' caused too much confusion.
Today, my name unexpectedly levelled up.
One of the teachers walked up to me, and stuck a sticker of a blue mouse on my textbook.
"Do you know?", she asks me. The mouse looks vaguely familiar, uhm, yeah some cartoon or maybe.. "It is pocketmonster"
Oh yeah! Pokemon! It's a blue pokemon!
"This Pokemon is also called... Mariru. Same as you."
And damn, it sure is. Ladies and gentlemen.. Meet Mariru.
I miss that name. I miss the roll of the r, the normality of the spelling, and the pitch in the right places (never figured out how you're actually supposed to pronounce it though.)
In English conversation, my name is Marylou Snaiders.
In Japan, they just raped it into a complete different alphabet. You got an 'l' in your name? Hey, we don't do l's... no more for you!
In Japan, I am Mariru Sunaideesu.
The bizarre bit is that, within my first week here, I started introducing myself as Mariru. Sneaking in the alien 'l' caused too much confusion.
Today, my name unexpectedly levelled up.
One of the teachers walked up to me, and stuck a sticker of a blue mouse on my textbook.
"Do you know?", she asks me. The mouse looks vaguely familiar, uhm, yeah some cartoon or maybe.. "It is pocketmonster"
Oh yeah! Pokemon! It's a blue pokemon!
"This Pokemon is also called... Mariru. Same as you."
And damn, it sure is. Ladies and gentlemen.. Meet Mariru.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Nothin' to Learn from Dwarfs
Today, for the second time in a week, I was politely asked to not whistle while I work.
Strangely enough, the only other time I was asked to suck up my whistle, was also in Japan. It was for more valid reason though, as the person who asked me to do so was a girl with a crazy fear of snakes, and she had heard that whistling at night attracts snakes. I have no idea where that belief is from, but it was valid enough for me to adhere to her request.
But why no whistling on school property? Who knows. What I do know is that I've memorised the words to "Girl, you'll be a woman soon" so that I can sing it in the teacher's room, Uma dance and all.
Strangely enough, the only other time I was asked to suck up my whistle, was also in Japan. It was for more valid reason though, as the person who asked me to do so was a girl with a crazy fear of snakes, and she had heard that whistling at night attracts snakes. I have no idea where that belief is from, but it was valid enough for me to adhere to her request.
But why no whistling on school property? Who knows. What I do know is that I've memorised the words to "Girl, you'll be a woman soon" so that I can sing it in the teacher's room, Uma dance and all.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
A Cow Goes Moo
As I'm gathered around the dinner table with my neighbours all around, the food just keeps comin'. I'm in heaven. I keep making notes. Translating fish names. The next plate arrives, pinkish meat with veggies.
"Douzo.. please, have some," the guy next to me says.
"Ooh, what is it?" I asked, chopsticks poised to grab a bite.
He smiles. He leans forward. All the other people around the table lean in as well.
"No no.. Just have some. Tell us.. if you like."
By this time I was just hoping that it wasn't something that used to be human. I pop it in my mouth. Chew. And chew. And chew chew chew. Salty. Chewy. Tasty. Oishiii desu!
The rest of the table was intently watching my every chew. They lean back, and remember to breathe.
"Ahh. You like? It is pig stomach. Hahaha!"
Oh, really? I ask, and pop another piece into my mouth.
Yup. I'll eat anything. Bring it on.
"Douzo.. please, have some," the guy next to me says.
"Ooh, what is it?" I asked, chopsticks poised to grab a bite.
He smiles. He leans forward. All the other people around the table lean in as well.
"No no.. Just have some. Tell us.. if you like."
By this time I was just hoping that it wasn't something that used to be human. I pop it in my mouth. Chew. And chew. And chew chew chew. Salty. Chewy. Tasty. Oishiii desu!
The rest of the table was intently watching my every chew. They lean back, and remember to breathe.
"Ahh. You like? It is pig stomach. Hahaha!"
Oh, really? I ask, and pop another piece into my mouth.
Yup. I'll eat anything. Bring it on.
O-no-ma-to-pe
As an avider reader of dictionaries, and a speaker of Afrikaans, it was inevitable that I stumble upon the Japanese idea of onomatopoeia within my first month.
Afrikaans is choc-full of onamatopoeia, but in a sense that the words mimic the sounds of the action. Words like "plons" and "klap" and "hop" are fun to say, and are extremely descriptive. You could paint a mental picture with verbs.
Japanese has a wealth of double-glance words. In the end, they don't mean anything to me because they are all just repetitions, but they are still fun to say, although they do not paint any mental pictures in my bilingual (soon to be semi-tri-lingual) mind.
Some of the words are:
tabi-tabi (often, many times, frequently)
waza-waza (especially, on purpose)
zoku-zoku (in succession)
pera-pera (fluently)
pin-pin (lively)
suya-suya (quietly, gently)
don-don (one after another, bang, beat, rapidly, on and on)
Last night at the short-notice dinner party (which turned out to be a party worth writing home about), the first dish was a small bowl of juicy looking snails (called baigai). Imagine my delight when I asked them how to eat it, and my neighbour took a toothpick and said "kuru-kuru".. and I knew that she meant "turn it round and round". Small joys everywhere.
Afrikaans is choc-full of onamatopoeia, but in a sense that the words mimic the sounds of the action. Words like "plons" and "klap" and "hop" are fun to say, and are extremely descriptive. You could paint a mental picture with verbs.
Japanese has a wealth of double-glance words. In the end, they don't mean anything to me because they are all just repetitions, but they are still fun to say, although they do not paint any mental pictures in my bilingual (soon to be semi-tri-lingual) mind.
Some of the words are:
tabi-tabi (often, many times, frequently)
waza-waza (especially, on purpose)
zoku-zoku (in succession)
pera-pera (fluently)
pin-pin (lively)
suya-suya (quietly, gently)
don-don (one after another, bang, beat, rapidly, on and on)
Last night at the short-notice dinner party (which turned out to be a party worth writing home about), the first dish was a small bowl of juicy looking snails (called baigai). Imagine my delight when I asked them how to eat it, and my neighbour took a toothpick and said "kuru-kuru".. and I knew that she meant "turn it round and round". Small joys everywhere.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
oh! bento
This is one of my favourite things about Japan so far.
It gives new meaning to the concept 'lunchbox'. I especially like the ones that has pink lotus root in it.
I just received a call from my one school's secretary, saying they are ordering bentos tomorrow for lunch, would I like one?
Oh, and would I..
The introductory speech I have to give in front of the whole school tomorrow, in Japanese, seems trivial because.. I'll have bento for lunch.
Another Day In The Life Of
I left early today from Ikura Chugakko, as they had nothing for me to do. The kocho sensei interviewed me for the monthly school paper, and I confused the shit out of them by listing "fire poi" as my only hobby. A dictionary consulting session followed, and "poi" was found to be a small Chinese potato. No, no, the other poi. Google images came to my resque (but what will the students think when they read it in the paper? Will they expect fried potato omiyage from me?)
Ikura Chugakko is on top of a hill, so getting there requires a drive up quite a steep incline. I'm sure all the kids in the school have beautiful calves. During my time at the school, three teachers asked me, with pride shining in their eyes: "So, what do you think of our slope? Steep, isn't it?"
After driving my car down the steep driveway, I stopped at a Lawsons for a tuna mayo onigiri, which I've recently become addicted to, and drove back to my tiny apato in Tetta-cho. I'm becoming more and more comfortable with breaking the 40 km/h speed limit, and I really am enjoying taking corners at the crazy speed of 60 km/h. It's almost an adrenaline rush.
As I get to my apartment, I decide to set back my plans of cycling to Niimi in favour of cleaning up the mess. I'm worse than a bachelor. A month down the line I still have papers from Tokyo orientation all over the show. I just started the systematic cleanup, when my doorbell rang. I picked up with a "moshi-moshi!", and a kid's voice replied something unintelligible. I opened the door in any case, and let Mizuki-kun in. He's a six-year old boy that seems to enjoy chilling with me while rambling away in Japanese, while I sit and clip my toenails and ask "nani? nani? nani?" the whole time.
Mizuki brought his Dragonball Z PS2 game. He had it there yesterday as well, and Nihongoed me though all the character profiles. Today he was convinced that my cd player was in actual fact a playstation, and tried repeatedly to get the disk to work. I looked up the word for "music", and kept repeating "ongaku, ongaku" while pointing at the cd player, but he was determined to transform it into something more.
Then the doorbell rang again.
"Moshi-moshi!" (I love saying that...) Reply is.. something in Japanese.. uhm.. so I open the door. There's an old Japanese man whom I've never seen before. He smiles and makes cutting motions in his hair with his hands. Uhh, no, I did not cut my hair.. Who are you? Maybe he was mistaking me for the previous ALT, who had long blonde hair and looked in no way the same as me. I introduce myself. He keeps rambling in Japanese. "Ahh, gomen nasai.. Only.. sukoshi Nihongo.." I utter.
He understands, and proceeds to include at least one english word per sentence.
"We have.. party for you? Yes? When?" Most of my evenings end in a beer drinking session with local gaijin, so it's not like I have a schedule or anything. We swop numbers and agree on next Monday. He says he'll phone me to confirm.
Back inside, Mizuki-kun is still trying the game on my cd player, stopping only to try on all my jewelery. He raids the fridge, and I give him chocolate. He colours in the pictures in my 100 yen katakana practise book. I have no idea what he is saying, but he doesn't stop talking. Eventually he just says "goodbye!" and runs out.
I make use of the opportunity to get on my mama chari (old-skool bicycle with a basket, but no gears), and cycle the 20 minutes or so to Niimi, where I can make use of free internet. While I'm replying to some mails from fellow South Africans, my phone rings. It's.. the dude from earlier. I can't remember Japanese names, as they all seem to be made up of different combinations of "yo", "ya", "ma", "no", "to" and "ri". It's all the same to me.
I moshi-moshi again, but this time with some apprehension. Ahh, they decided to move the party to tonight. I lack the language skills to fight, so I say that it sounds wonderful. Nan-ji? "roku-ji-han", he replies, which translates as 6:30. "So that's eight-sirty", he says. I can't muster up the enthusiasm to correct him, or attempt to figure out which of the times is correct, so I say my goodbyes, and decide to be home by 6.30.. and then wait. Who knows what the evening hold.
Nippon? Ahh.. sugooooi..
Ikura Chugakko is on top of a hill, so getting there requires a drive up quite a steep incline. I'm sure all the kids in the school have beautiful calves. During my time at the school, three teachers asked me, with pride shining in their eyes: "So, what do you think of our slope? Steep, isn't it?"
After driving my car down the steep driveway, I stopped at a Lawsons for a tuna mayo onigiri, which I've recently become addicted to, and drove back to my tiny apato in Tetta-cho. I'm becoming more and more comfortable with breaking the 40 km/h speed limit, and I really am enjoying taking corners at the crazy speed of 60 km/h. It's almost an adrenaline rush.
As I get to my apartment, I decide to set back my plans of cycling to Niimi in favour of cleaning up the mess. I'm worse than a bachelor. A month down the line I still have papers from Tokyo orientation all over the show. I just started the systematic cleanup, when my doorbell rang. I picked up with a "moshi-moshi!", and a kid's voice replied something unintelligible. I opened the door in any case, and let Mizuki-kun in. He's a six-year old boy that seems to enjoy chilling with me while rambling away in Japanese, while I sit and clip my toenails and ask "nani? nani? nani?" the whole time.
Mizuki brought his Dragonball Z PS2 game. He had it there yesterday as well, and Nihongoed me though all the character profiles. Today he was convinced that my cd player was in actual fact a playstation, and tried repeatedly to get the disk to work. I looked up the word for "music", and kept repeating "ongaku, ongaku" while pointing at the cd player, but he was determined to transform it into something more.
Then the doorbell rang again.
"Moshi-moshi!" (I love saying that...) Reply is.. something in Japanese.. uhm.. so I open the door. There's an old Japanese man whom I've never seen before. He smiles and makes cutting motions in his hair with his hands. Uhh, no, I did not cut my hair.. Who are you? Maybe he was mistaking me for the previous ALT, who had long blonde hair and looked in no way the same as me. I introduce myself. He keeps rambling in Japanese. "Ahh, gomen nasai.. Only.. sukoshi Nihongo.." I utter.
He understands, and proceeds to include at least one english word per sentence.
"We have.. party for you? Yes? When?" Most of my evenings end in a beer drinking session with local gaijin, so it's not like I have a schedule or anything. We swop numbers and agree on next Monday. He says he'll phone me to confirm.
Back inside, Mizuki-kun is still trying the game on my cd player, stopping only to try on all my jewelery. He raids the fridge, and I give him chocolate. He colours in the pictures in my 100 yen katakana practise book. I have no idea what he is saying, but he doesn't stop talking. Eventually he just says "goodbye!" and runs out.
I make use of the opportunity to get on my mama chari (old-skool bicycle with a basket, but no gears), and cycle the 20 minutes or so to Niimi, where I can make use of free internet. While I'm replying to some mails from fellow South Africans, my phone rings. It's.. the dude from earlier. I can't remember Japanese names, as they all seem to be made up of different combinations of "yo", "ya", "ma", "no", "to" and "ri". It's all the same to me.
I moshi-moshi again, but this time with some apprehension. Ahh, they decided to move the party to tonight. I lack the language skills to fight, so I say that it sounds wonderful. Nan-ji? "roku-ji-han", he replies, which translates as 6:30. "So that's eight-sirty", he says. I can't muster up the enthusiasm to correct him, or attempt to figure out which of the times is correct, so I say my goodbyes, and decide to be home by 6.30.. and then wait. Who knows what the evening hold.
Nippon? Ahh.. sugooooi..
Friday, August 11, 2006
It's the little things that kill
I am painfully aware of the fact that my blog is being spammed.
So, I visit it every now and again to delete the stupid "here are some interesting links" comments, in a futile attempt to keep my comment space clean and clinical.
So, why not just add the squiggly letter fucntion? I hear myself ask.
See, I'd love to add comment verification protection spam-prevention.. but.. In Japan, die whole damn blogger site is in Japanese. I don't even know where the "English" button is, if there is one. There's no chance that I'll be able to do anything more complicated that post a message, and hopefully, one day, add a picture or two. Yup, I am now more illiterate than I was at age 4. So, this must be what braindamage feels like...
On a less despondent note, I am trying my best to figure out how to travel about 700 kms North into the country to get to a party on the 18th, seeing as I have an insane amount of free time, which I'm getting payed for. The challenging bit is that I have no idea how this public transport system works..
Gotta find out some time though, and there's no better reason for learning to swim than throwing yourself into the deep side of the pool.
PS Until I find out how to englishify die blogger site, does anyone want my password to add the protection for me?
So, I visit it every now and again to delete the stupid "here are some interesting links" comments, in a futile attempt to keep my comment space clean and clinical.
So, why not just add the squiggly letter fucntion? I hear myself ask.
See, I'd love to add comment verification protection spam-prevention.. but.. In Japan, die whole damn blogger site is in Japanese. I don't even know where the "English" button is, if there is one. There's no chance that I'll be able to do anything more complicated that post a message, and hopefully, one day, add a picture or two. Yup, I am now more illiterate than I was at age 4. So, this must be what braindamage feels like...
On a less despondent note, I am trying my best to figure out how to travel about 700 kms North into the country to get to a party on the 18th, seeing as I have an insane amount of free time, which I'm getting payed for. The challenging bit is that I have no idea how this public transport system works..
Gotta find out some time though, and there's no better reason for learning to swim than throwing yourself into the deep side of the pool.
PS Until I find out how to englishify die blogger site, does anyone want my password to add the protection for me?
Monday, August 07, 2006
Say whaaaat?
There's no point in visiting my blog at the moment.
No, really. I'm in the process of adjusting and decompressing in Japan, and for that I need a gaijin card. Wait, let me try structure my thoughts. I have very little internet time on my hands, as those who have not been receiving mails from me will be able to say. Today I had my first day of school, which ended at 12h00 (what a bonus..), so afterwards I changed my clothes, repacked my bags, and got onto my hard-on-those-hills purple bicycle and tried to keep my eyes on the narrow road for the 5 kilometres it took to get me to Niimi central.
In Niimi I got sunblock (why did I not listen to my mother when she offered me a whole bottle, free of charge?) because my exposed parts are turning a rural shade of Japanese already. White legs, brown arms, maybe I should invest in a pair of weird gloves and a bonnet hat.
My point with the gaijin card was the following: Before I can enter into communication mode again, I need this aforementioned card to apply for landline connections, keitai accounts and yes, I'll have a fax machine as well. So I'll keep you posted. This all should happen in the next few weeks. Next two weeks.
Now to figure out which button will let me post this message...
Ja mata ne
No, really. I'm in the process of adjusting and decompressing in Japan, and for that I need a gaijin card. Wait, let me try structure my thoughts. I have very little internet time on my hands, as those who have not been receiving mails from me will be able to say. Today I had my first day of school, which ended at 12h00 (what a bonus..), so afterwards I changed my clothes, repacked my bags, and got onto my hard-on-those-hills purple bicycle and tried to keep my eyes on the narrow road for the 5 kilometres it took to get me to Niimi central.
In Niimi I got sunblock (why did I not listen to my mother when she offered me a whole bottle, free of charge?) because my exposed parts are turning a rural shade of Japanese already. White legs, brown arms, maybe I should invest in a pair of weird gloves and a bonnet hat.
My point with the gaijin card was the following: Before I can enter into communication mode again, I need this aforementioned card to apply for landline connections, keitai accounts and yes, I'll have a fax machine as well. So I'll keep you posted. This all should happen in the next few weeks. Next two weeks.
Now to figure out which button will let me post this message...
Ja mata ne
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Who's prepared?
Instead of ripping the last 15 cds, I'm going to go visit Gert, who wants to make me a skirt with the most beautiful material on earth. This guy is great, and I've known him since childhood days. My first memory of him is seeing him walk with my brother in the garden, while I was chilling on the roof.. Or maybe I'm thinking of someone else. Nevermind.There's often an occasion where we're all broke and hungry, and Gert would say "do you have eggs and some cacao", and 20 minutes later we'd have brownies. No recipe book. Nothing to wear tonight? No worries, he'll just make a jacket to cover his shoulders. Car troubles? Fixed if Gert is in the neighbourhood. He's like a McGyver of sorts. I really wish he came in a travel-sized pack so I could take him with.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
I am a sum total of the phases I go through
The past week was spent in a petrol-consuming daze of red wine and pasta, couch-hopping from one friend's house/flat to the other. I was spoilt enough to make me not want to go home (?), but I had other people in other towns/cities to see, so I filled up my tank with unleaded and moved on.
Also, I was in dire need of some fresh clothes, and was itching to check my mails. My packing skills have always let me down, and I spent a week in Pretoria with 3 pairs of pants, 2 shirts, and 8 pairs of socks.
Friday evening we decided to go against the grain, and payed a visit to the local alternative club in Pretoria central. Zeplins is located right next to the biggest Adult World that the city has to offer, giving it a slightly more dodgy feel than it perfectly well managed to exude on its own. We spotted a dog unit police car in front of the club, but our mild paranoia never realised, and we figured that they were probably busting the porn shop, or perhaps stocking up on handcuffs. (Or selling theirs, you never know.)
A long time ago, in a previous life, I used to frequent clubs that were even more alternative and more dodgy than the aforementioned Zeplins. Clubs where the only lighting was fluorescent, and people danced as if they were just resurrected from a miserable death. My mother always left me to go through my many phases, so when I told her the one day that I wanted a full-lenght body-hugging halter-neck black pvc dress, she said:
On Friday I donned it for the last time, danced for hours, inhaled yellow smoke from smoke machines, smelled my retinas burn in the persistence of the fluorescent tubes, and realised that I'll never wear it again.
It is being passed on to my dearest Tish. Use it well.
Also, I was in dire need of some fresh clothes, and was itching to check my mails. My packing skills have always let me down, and I spent a week in Pretoria with 3 pairs of pants, 2 shirts, and 8 pairs of socks.
Friday evening we decided to go against the grain, and payed a visit to the local alternative club in Pretoria central. Zeplins is located right next to the biggest Adult World that the city has to offer, giving it a slightly more dodgy feel than it perfectly well managed to exude on its own. We spotted a dog unit police car in front of the club, but our mild paranoia never realised, and we figured that they were probably busting the porn shop, or perhaps stocking up on handcuffs. (Or selling theirs, you never know.)
A long time ago, in a previous life, I used to frequent clubs that were even more alternative and more dodgy than the aforementioned Zeplins. Clubs where the only lighting was fluorescent, and people danced as if they were just resurrected from a miserable death. My mother always left me to go through my many phases, so when I told her the one day that I wanted a full-lenght body-hugging halter-neck black pvc dress, she said:"Let's go buy material"
and she made one for me.On Friday I donned it for the last time, danced for hours, inhaled yellow smoke from smoke machines, smelled my retinas burn in the persistence of the fluorescent tubes, and realised that I'll never wear it again.
It is being passed on to my dearest Tish. Use it well.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Gallerie d'Prinsloo 70
(Closed Recently)
Some of the images that have travelled with me for years. The Pinkish siamese twin poster, I fished out of a garbage bin in front of the Uni radio station (blocked on wood and everything), and the brown little girl faces are years older than I am. Projects and presents..Every object has a history
every picture tells a story
Petroleum Powered
Sasolburg was established in the early 1950’s as a town to house a host of Engineers, specialists, mechanics, fitters and turners, the people who were responsible for making SASOL work. SASOL is the main company responsible for petroleum manufacture in SA, and Sasolburg was filled with great minds who worked long hours and built a giant energy corporation. It used to be a town with culture, where the trophy wives kept themselves busy with raising kids with high morals, and drinking tea at quilting clubs. My most frequently repeated quote about Sasolburg is “It’s the perfect place to raise kids. It’s not big enough to be a city, and it’s too big to be a small town. It’s a well-balanced town with well-balanced people.”
I spent the biggest part of my life in this town. Walking through the streets brought back memories from being in primary school and riding my bike, nearly being hit by a lightning bolt once and speeding back home, white as a sheet. Or the eye-to-eye I had with some insect, causing me to crash my bike into a fence and cutting open three of my toes as I never wore shoes in those days.
There’s this wonderful thing called groenstroke (green strips) in Sasolburg. This is basically a network of cement roads for bicyclists and pedestrians that snakes through the neighborhoods like a network of veins, keeping kids out of the streets and getting people to walk down tree-lined backroads. After 5 o’ clock, you found families on bicycles, families walking their dogs, old people walking hand in hand. Maybe I just had a beautifully disillusioned childhood.
Now, walking through town is like walking through a faded snapshot. Everything is still there, but neglect is spray-painted on the walls and overgrowing the pathways. Corrupt municipalities and apathetic government systems has led to the downfall of the town. Faded wrappers and empty cooldrink cans decorate the unkempt bushes. Plants grow through in cracks in walls and slowly creep over the man-made structures. What I like about it though, is that it almost seems like nature is reclaiming the land. With no budget to trim the hedges and cut the grass, plants are given free reign once again to grow over and around the structures put in their way, back when Sasolburg was still in it’s prime.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Expectation vs Realisation
With just over 2 weeks before I hop the ocean, you'd think that I'd be frantically organising those little things that requires organisation.. tying up loose ends, working out budgets, making lists of things to do.. being productive, is what it comes down to. So to recap:
What I was planning to do during my stay in Sasolburg:
- Unpack and repack my room full of boxes (to figure our what the hell is going on there)
- Go shopping for clothes that I can teach in, i.e. that weren't bought at the Salvation Army for 5 bucks and a piece of gum. In 1997.
- Study some Japanese that goes past 'konnichiwa' and 'arigato'.
- Brush up on hiragana and attempt katakana
- Figure out my finances
- Sort out my photos and make beautiful, cheesy photo collages for my blog.
- Mail a thousand friends
- Fill in my tax return forms
What I actually did during my stay in Sasolburg
- Walked around the town of my youth with a friend from my youth (who's still a good friend)
- Did hours and hours of reminiscing in nostalgia mode.
- Went for mid-morning walks in gardens with carel after which he gave me a crapload of movies and anime, and showed me a beautiful, silver flute.
- Watched countless episodes of Robot Chicken and Simpsons, and experienced braincell death because of that.
- Channelhopped (quite a novelty for someone who hasn't had a tv in years)
- Drove around town, in forgotten areas, past forgotten streets
- Sat on the back of a bakkie drinking beer, watching the sun go down and seeing two dudes play around with a bulldozer, breaking up logs for firewood.
- Chatted on MSN
- None of the planned things
For those with a short attention span, here's a picture of a rose.
(to be added later)
What I was planning to do during my stay in Sasolburg:
- Unpack and repack my room full of boxes (to figure our what the hell is going on there)
- Go shopping for clothes that I can teach in, i.e. that weren't bought at the Salvation Army for 5 bucks and a piece of gum. In 1997.
- Study some Japanese that goes past 'konnichiwa' and 'arigato'.
- Brush up on hiragana and attempt katakana
- Figure out my finances
- Sort out my photos and make beautiful, cheesy photo collages for my blog.
- Mail a thousand friends
- Fill in my tax return forms
What I actually did during my stay in Sasolburg
- Walked around the town of my youth with a friend from my youth (who's still a good friend)
- Did hours and hours of reminiscing in nostalgia mode.
- Went for mid-morning walks in gardens with carel after which he gave me a crapload of movies and anime, and showed me a beautiful, silver flute.
- Watched countless episodes of Robot Chicken and Simpsons, and experienced braincell death because of that.
- Channelhopped (quite a novelty for someone who hasn't had a tv in years)
- Drove around town, in forgotten areas, past forgotten streets
- Sat on the back of a bakkie drinking beer, watching the sun go down and seeing two dudes play around with a bulldozer, breaking up logs for firewood.
- Chatted on MSN
- None of the planned things
For those with a short attention span, here's a picture of a rose.
(to be added later)
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Ukulimala koyedwa ukulimala kwethu sonke
The end of the financial year means tons of paperwork for some, day-long stock-takes for others, and for the plebian slave-workers of this factory, it means the legal fight for wage increases.
Led by COSATU, driven by fear and swept away by the crazy sense of community that black people have and white people will never understand (whites being driven by the fight for the individual), the first tendrils of an upcoming strike are already creeping into daily production.
As I started typing this, the veggie department (just around the corner) started singing, chanting: “Gerela yo.. Gerela, a nyamazane”
Loosely translated, this means something to the like of We will hunt until we find our animal.
Interpretively translated, this means We will not back down from our 20% increase demand, we will take your factory down, we will toi-toi in the streets and watch as you lose millions of rands per day because we won’t stand around like human machines for measly pay that is less than the legal minimum wage.
Personally, I’m rooting for the underprivileged, unschooled, underpaid, uneducated staff.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Something from the archives
My history with blogs stretches more than seven years back. I was still in high school, and already addicted to the internet. I was a regular in the imusic chatroom during the evenings, and, during the day I was living a strange double life inside my head where my thoughts revolved around the people behind the nicknames - people I've never met and never will. I haven't got the slightest idea what happened to them. They are somewhere on this planet, either dead or alive. i have no idea.
During this same time, I stumbled across my first blog. I had no idea that there was a name for writing of this kind, I just happened upon a site called tummyache.com (don't bother going there, it's now a medical site dealing with, well, tummyaches and the likes). I cannot remember the name of the girl who was the author of the site, but I soon became addicted to her online diary, reading my way through her life, her dreams, her obsession and disappointments. she worked in a book store somewhere in the
During my possibly pointless research into japan and everything that comes with the island, I started surfing the blogs of some JET kids, people who are in
My second real blog addiction only started a month or so ago, something I came across while searching for JET blogs. Very well written, thoroughly entertaining (I keep thinking - damn this is better than reality tv), and frequently updated (as in 4 to 5 times a day, sometimes even more).. all the ingredients required to produce a blog that hooks. I'm not going to get into detail about this femme's blog, i'll put it up as a link one day one day when i actually have my own blog.
then what is this?
This is me, so enamoured with the idea of blogging (that comment alone should warn that i'm a geek at heart) that I'm writing my first post without a connection to the www, and without an existing blog. I've got this crap but trusty pentium 233 that always has notepad open and some essay in the making. Most of them I send off as emails to a hand-picked selection of cyber friends. The rest sit in my "arb crap" folder. when I die, I'd like all my words to be printed and cremated with me. But for the time being, it's relatively safe on my outdated harddrive, and it keeps me busy during the evenings.
I do have a social life, but i need to drive to get there. Currently, I'm staying in Bronkhorstspruit (try typing that really fast),
this is how I know I have way too much free time on my hands - Applications for the JET programme has not even opened yet, and I'm already posting in my blog that doesn't exist to keep people updated with the life that I do not even lead. I've already decided which books I'll take with to
1) Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance (Robert M. Pirzig *note - confirm later) - because I only read the first forty pages before giving up, and I think it's an essential read. Must get own copy first.
2) The tao of health, sex & longevity by Daniel Reid - because this book will go wherever I go. It's a user manual to the human body, and my bible. It's wonderful for referencing. You say your kidneys hurt? Wait, lemme see, hmm yes you need to drink some cucumber and beet smoothies, off you go. Next!
3) Atlas shrugged, We the living, and Fountainhead by Anne Ryand - The fact that's it is three books is a technicality. If i count them seperately, I won't have space for
4) An Afrikaans book - If i'm gonna be stuck on a little island where I don't even know whether I'm in the male of female toilets, i'd like to have some reading in my mother tongue. It's a beautiful language, a bit rough around the edges, but jam-packed with onomatopoeia, which makes for delicious reading (and even better writing).
5) Application for position still open.
as a disclaimer - I chose to write in English because it is the language of the world, and the Net that binds it together. I prefer Afrikaans, but in case there's some wool-headed girl out there trying to blogspot some JET writings, I'd like to make this understandable, world-wide. The thought that I'm a vernacular traitor is made redundant by the fact that there a few blogs that I desperately wanted to read, but couldn't, because they were in freaking french or ali baba language. So yes, for your reading convenience this blog is dubbed into the language of microsoft and google, the language that is supposed to unite the world, the language i'm planning to use as my excuse to go chill in the East.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
No News Is No News
When my landlady knocked on my window to check if I was still alive, I realised that I really am not home all that often.
When the check-out girl at the supermarket said, “You really like red wine, hey?”, I realised that I might be overdoing the glassss-a-night thing.
When my daily friends kept asking why I haven’t posted anything on my blog recently, I realised that I’ve been neglecting my blogging.
I haven’t been neglecting my writing, as I spend many an evening in front of my pc with my cat on the monitor, a heater at my back, and a glass of wine in my hand. Another evening in Dronkwordspruit. It’s just that I’ve been pouring my arbitrary analysis and petty pet hates into personal emails. But I’m still writing. It’s my biggest addiction.
With two weeks, one day and 5 hours left of life as a food tech green-cap, I have been stuck on a mental analysis of my current situation. Just to kinda get a grip on what exactly it is that I’ll be leaving behind. And I’ve realised that I’m living a pretty damn comfortable life. I’m financially independent. I’ve got amazing friends. I’ve got a promising career ahead of me. I really dig my job. I love
So this is the perfect time to give everything up. It’s the clever way, like walking out of the casino when you’ve won your bucks. Thanks, much appreciated, check you later. Leaving a pseudo-perfect life behind means that my move is out of choice, not out of circumstance. I’m not running away from anything. I’m not leaving in fear of my future. I’m not seeking greener pastures. The grass I’m feeding on is pretty damn green. But I’ve never grazed on Japanese grass, which is more than enough reason to do it.
We’ve only got one planet. Go explore it.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
I Don't Dream
This picture has been floating around in my head the past few days. It was the first Dali I ever saw, in a book about dreams or psychology, something of the subconscious.Can't remember, I was very young..
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Speak Softly
I've been so manically busy at work the past few weeks, that I haven't checked out my friends' blogs in quite a while. I don't see them half as often as I'd like, so The Blog plays a convenient, yet sterile role in me knowing what's going on in their lives. Make do with what you have.
I gave up on cleaning schedules and micro reports, and decided to wander down their mind lanes for a while. It left me feeling the way that I feel after witnessing any great work of art - both inspired and despondent. But for different reasons, this time around.
Be kind to people you meet for the first time - every person is fighting their own personal battle.
I gave up on cleaning schedules and micro reports, and decided to wander down their mind lanes for a while. It left me feeling the way that I feel after witnessing any great work of art - both inspired and despondent. But for different reasons, this time around.
Be kind to people you meet for the first time - every person is fighting their own personal battle.
Monday, May 29, 2006
Experiencing A Slight Change In Pressure
My options are limited:
1) Take an aimless walk around the factory
2) Phone a friend
3) De-scale the kettle
I've already done 1 and 2, and option 3 will have to wait a while, as I'm letting the water cool down for my umpteenth super-sized cup of green tea. No one should have to be at work at 4 o' clock on a Sunday afternoon. I'd rather be sitting outside with the sun on my face, reading the Sunday newspaper. But eh, you can't always do what you want. If you could have, free will would have lost it's novelty years ago.
All the white men who work nightshift here look like pedophiles with hidden collections of kitty and kiddy porn in their basements. And toy trains. I greet them with a friendly smile, but from afar, in fear that they might smell me. There's a younger nightshift guy who looks like a really scary Wolverine. Imagine Wolverine on meth for 6 days straight, lost in an industrial area. Wearing dark blue overalls. Scary people.
Yesterday, I took a manic drive from work to home to
Time to de-scale that kettle, I think.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Afrikaners is Plesierig
What I do when I visit my parents:1) Eat as much candy as I can
2) Catch up on all my internet time (because work days does not allow for tea, lunch or casual surfing)
I've also been catching up on reading alternative Afrikaans online articles. Die boys (and the occasional skurwe girl) from the watkykjy team had me sniggering in front of the pc like an idiot. Moerse funny artikels. Dis my tipe people - born and bred in die Vaal Driehoek, 'n tersiêre geskiedenis in Pretoria, en 'n bitter siniese uitkyk met 'n tikkie galg humor. Love it.
Verontskuldiging
Alle pics in hierdie post is ge-rightclick, gesave en gesteel van watkykjy.co.za af. Dankie, ek waardeer dit. Spaar my die moeite.
Manzini Memories
Should you ever find yourself in Swaziland, be sure to drive past Mbabane, onwards to Manzini and stop at House on Fire. It's worth every lush grassy hill.
This is also my 100th blog entry, so let's open that bottle of champagne...
Saturday, May 20, 2006
Lost Pixellation
Kid's colours. Bright red and turquoise are kid's colours.It whispers to the brain to move into nostalgia mode. It begs for memories to be recalled.
Orange, on the other hand, is the colour of winter and tigers and citrus and institutionalised crazies, and monks, walking through mountains, holding umbrellas. It's a jacket zipped up to hide 'Easily Distracted'. Not many people wear orange. I'm very greatful for that.
On the subject of colour (a recurring theme), I wanted to comment on the spectacular clouds that were featured in the post below.
All four pics were taken while driving from my current home to my childhood home. It's a two hour drive (if traffic has not completely tapered out) on a long, farmstyle road that eventually curves past the airport. Before you actually hit traffic, you drive through this amazing landscape with a full, 360 degree view of the surroundings.
What I love about that road, is that you can look in four different directions, and see four different skies. 1 o' clock presented a grey sky with darkened smudges of rain, connecting the earth and the clouds. 4 -5 o' clock had a rain of a different kind: every shade of yellow, orange and gold pouring down from the sun, discolouring the clouds at such a sneaky tempo that every time I glanced, it was a completely different scene, each more breathtaking than the previous. My rear-view mirror displayed an innocent baby-blue sky with little white cartoon clouds. Looking over my left shoulder, I could see two rainbows drawn next to each other. A horison filled with colours.
The point is:
I was struggling to keep my eyes on the road. So many other things to look at. And I thought that I could not remember such amazing skies. Then I realised - Approximately a year ago, I was driving to my parents' place, on the very same road, struggling just as hard to keep my eyes on the road, when I was pulled over by cops. Speeding and swerving. I did get a fine, but talked it down, telling him the truth: My eyes were not on my speedometer, but on the clouds.
Friday, May 19, 2006
Because I'm Practical
I really do dig my hair. The supposed Winona Ryder style (huh, Ree?). So I shaved it again tonight. To be more specific, my brother shaved it for me, between snips and giggles. I just realised I wore the same freaking shirt the first day I shaved my head (scalp-skeer). Got the shirt from on of my weirdass female flatmates from my Pretoria days. The girl whose boyfriend worked at a butchery, and was addicted to Grandpas. The headache powder; not inverted peadophilia.The point of the post (not all that comfortable splashing my face over my blog - especially not in a "before and after!" mediocre make-over setup.)
The point of the post was the following: I like having a mess of hair. So, to be really practical, I timed my hairgrowth that it would be of a messable lenght by the time I get to Nippon. No cutting, styling, brushing or serious washing in my future! Never thought I'd be blogging about my hair. Wonder if I'm slowly turning into a real girl. Best I stop while I'm a-head...
Autumn in BHS
I remember when I moved into Bronkhorstspruit, I saw the letters 'BHS' everywhere; on rubbish bins, on electricity boxes, on streetlamps and manhole covers."Wow," I thought, "The local High school must be very active in the community service thing," misreading the HS as "high school". It was, in fact, "horstspruit" (what a cool combination of letters).
I love my little house, I love my sample garden and the missing tree and the fact that I can get onto my roof in 9 seconds and I love autumn and the colours of the dorp and I'll miss it but I shall remember it.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Future Rewards
The sheer goodness of my moodness lately is due to a combination of things. Part of it is the country-hopping expedition that is one day closer every day. I knew that I’d be going to
They say that you don’t realise how much something means to you until you lose it. So what happens when you know that you’re going to lose something in the near future? You appreciate it more than ever before, while you still have it. A future that involves leaving is a wonderful filter through which to perceive your world. I breathe in every morning and every night. I feel the stable earth of
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