This week I use "de".

Booty Call

Time for a new post. Reading about other peoples' "charming students" is like having to listen to someone's dream they had last night, or having to look at pictures of someone's kids. It's only that exciting, so you smile and nod, and make the appropriate sounds at the expected times.
So, to make up for the "oh my kids are so adorable" post, the next one will be about something we all like:


Ass.


The 17th of February brought the Hadaka Matsuri ("naked man festival") to the prefecture of peaches. (Peaches.. naked ass.. uhm..) A bunch of gaijin from prefectures all around met up in Okayama City and got soaked to the bone by the persistent rain (and chilled to the bone by the leftover winter). The running boys left an hour before us, and used their extra time to get nekkid and nappied by some old Japanese men.


(I like this photo, because it reminds me of Church festivals I used to go to as a child. Only difference is: all the old ladies are Japanese. They are selling oden and sake instead of jaffels and pancakes. And there's a freezing foreigner wearing a tiny piece of white cloth instead of his Sunday Best)




So, we met up with the dripping, shivering, semi-naked guys, laughed at them, took photos of their skinny white butts, laughed at them some more, and then made our way to the viewing deck from where we'd have a Class-A view on the men running through the holy pool of spiritual disinfection.

On the bus we were told that umbrellas are unacceptable, and by the time we made it to the viewing deck, it wasn't funny anymore. I was cold, wet, and I would have been miserable, was it not for the energy in the air and the chu-hai in my bag.



After one, two, maybe three dips in the ice cold pool while chanting "Washoi! Washoi!" , the fleshy mass of guys headed to the temple where they waited for the lights to be killed at midnight. Two sticks were dropped, a lot of movement took place, one guy was trampled to death in the madness, many injuries sutained, and in the end the Yakuza (Jap mafia) won the game, as tradition holds it.



We were too far from the temple to really witness the madness - all we saw was a sea of skin-coloured movement, people falling down the stairs like lemmings, and disgruntled participants moving away from the chaos after a while. Some friendly Japanese people gave us their umbrella and made small talk, and we returned when the sticks were (probably) found. We bought chocolate just as an excuse to stand in the shop for a while, and moved on when we realised we are equally wet, indoors or out. Dame'ed by the police, we had to wait for the participants to walk back, giving us a wonderful close-up view as a take-home memory of the festival.
I only returned from Okayama City at 11 or so the next morning, and channel-hopped mindlessly while running a bath.
I was lucky enough to catch the last few minutes of a news bulletin about the Hadaka Matsuri. On it, they showed a fat dude running toward the barrier like mad with the magic stick in his hand. Unfortunately, he made quite a scene of having the stick, and before he made it to the end, he was ruthlessly tackled by a team of 5 guys in black fundoshi (the g-strings). They started beating the crap out of him, got the stick, and that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you win in the Hadaka Matsuri.

Individual Seconds that Make all the Difference

Although I still question the wisdom of spending another year of my life in Japan, there are definitely moments that make it worthwhile.
I wanted to say "for example, sitting outside a combini between the can bin and the PET bottle bin, drinking combini chu-hai at 8 on a Friday morning, looking like crap but not caring, no idea where your hotel is, watching the school kids walking past in their mini skirts and bags weighed down by stuffed animal kyarakutaasu (read: characters) and sniggering at everything like an idiot cause you haven't slept in two days."

But that's not what this post is about.

I'm doing this koukan nikki a.k.a. diary exchange with some students at my one school, and ALL ichi- and ni-nenseis at my other school. This means that there are now roundabout 25 diaries that I have to write original replies to, think of a reply to "I like green", and draw pictures in. I love it but.. well, I made work for myself.

So, quoting from Misa (the soupy girl)'s diary.. we're in a slo-mo convo about candy.

Hi Maliru!
I maked cookie, chocolate cake and namachoco last weekend.
Cookie umakudekita. (note: I think it means "I'm good at making it"... Nihongophiles confirm?)
chocolate cake... appearance... soso. surface burnt.
But teist is good.
Namachoco is simply rcipe.

And.. then she writes me the recipe for Namachoco (unbaked chocolate)! I'm almost clapping my hands in delight. Takes very little to make my day, these days.

Then, Megu writes:

Because I have not been to a foreign country, I am envious of you. (My selling point for English at this stage is "If you can't speak it, you cannot go outside Japan". It seems to work for some kids)
The country which I want to go is Germany now. The reason is because it studies a dog.
In addition, I want to eat a delicious dish in... Europe. Delicious chocolate wants to eat in France in particular.

Man, I adore this class. I could swoop them up and hug em, but.. I don't.

Then, last week I asked Nana, the 13-year old with the biggest dimples this side of the equator:
In Japan, where is the most beautiful place?
Her answer? It is... sky!

Can't wait for next week's installment...

Osaka I daisuki you

I fell in love with Japan all over again.

It is a misguided love, that's true. It's falling in love with the biker boy with tattoos and a facial piercing. But while it lasts, it's a true love. I could have cried as I saw the concrete jungle disappear behind me and I once again made my way to the concrete-covered mountains of the countryside.

The weekend started with a Tool concert. Well, we can retrace a bit and say the weekend started in a tiny little tatami room for 1000yen a night, changing into party clothes (2 shirts and 7 pairs of socks for 5 days in the city.. will I never learn to pack properly) and cracking open one-cup sake. Trainrides to Cosmo Square, giggling in anticipation and walking the road to Zepp Osaka with dreary looking people dressed in black. Three tall South Africans reunited, plus some new friends from Hiroshima and Kyuushu.

The Tool concert was bizarre. Tool: Japan style. For a subculture that is based on anger and rebellion, it was mind-boggling to see the fans line up in perfect ques to go inside. By number. Guys with loudspeakers calling seat numbers for standing places, and the Japanese sheep lining up to take their assigned spot on the floor. Weird. My token line from the evening is "I got shusshed at a Tool concert". And when I didn't stop talking, someone flicked me against the ear. Library, dark rock concert, same thing yo.

Long story. Grand evening.

That feels like it happened 3 months ago. Only having limited time in Osaka, we made sure to fill the hours maximally by only sleeping around 2 to 3 hours per day. For 4 days. After that, we were worn-out enough to sit in bed and watch a movie on my Mac to start off our last night in Osaka.

Maybe I'll do a more structured post later. Day by day, or so. What it comes down to is the following:

1) I love Osaka. I might be in love with Osaka. The highest concentration of freaks in Japan. Take me home, Willy Wonka. Walking in the streets around Namba is like walking into a fantasy toystore where dolls have pulse and they speak Japanese and they ignore your foreign existance. I want to collect them: One hip-hop b-boy. One goateed-hottie with guitar on back. One goth chick with smeared black lipstick. One industrial raver. One manga-like waif. One iro-iro no iro multicoloured explosion of psychedelic colour with big hat. One mountain witch eating bananas. One Little Bo Peep. One pimp with funky hair. One psuedo-schoolgirl. One salaryman. And then I want to keep them on a shelf, look at them, and take them out to have tea with, one by one.

2) The art teacher who wears the same navy blue suit Every Single Day wanted to use the broken pc next to me, so I gave him this one. And forgot what my rant was.

Tabun I wanted to say something about.. I spent as much money cruising 5 days in Osaka as I spent 2 weeks in Thailand. So it is probably a good thing that I do not live there. The inaka is my harnass to the real world. ("real world" hahaha.. haha. yeah. hahaha..). But should I lose myself in Japan, I'd like it to be in Osaka.

Kanpai!

Today was the closing date for the JET re-application papers to be filled in and filed away. Seeing as it's been one of the main topics of discussion in the JET family, I took it to be a big, important, almost national day in the Japanese schooling system. Seems not. I took the papers to my JTE so that he could play translator between me and kocho-sensei. I don't know the Japanese words for "recontracting" and "documents" and "official". Unfortunately, my JTE didn't know the English either. I watched his finger as it moved from word to word and he mouthed out the simple English words. And then retraced his finger to the beginning of the sentence.

After much confusion, the vice-principal phoned the Board of Education to hear what exactly this "recontracting" story is all about. They explained, and.. well, I filled out my half of the form, made two copies of it (one for me, one for the school), and I'm hoping that I'll make it onto the paperwork system that is Japan as "inaka JET selling her soul for another 18 months".

One of the main reasons that I'm taking the plunge for another year in this retirement village, is that I decided from the begining that I was going to do two years. So much for following your heart, hey. Well, that and money. If and when I return to SA, I'll have to work for a bag of peanuts per day again, I won't have a state-subsidised car or trustworthy public transport, and I'll be white and jobless. I need to build a little egg out of yen-notes and spit before I can return to the motherland.

The truth is that I'm bored. But you're in Japan, how can life be boring? This is Japan? Oh, the mountain was blocking my view. Wait, wait. I'm starting to sound like a Japanese person. Next I'll be phoning up the local municipalities, asking them to please cut down all the trees cause it's messing leaves onto my stoep.

Tis a strange place, this homogenous triple-wrapped please stamp here island. And I'm still not sure how I feel about living here. It's a love-hate relationship. But all the most important things in my life has been like that.

18 more months to go.. let's see how many trips I can work into that one.
(Currently thinking Korea or Taiwan end March longweekend. We'll see what happens.)