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.

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.

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?

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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..

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?

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

whatamess

...at least everything is in heap-like heaps. It's a start.

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.

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:

"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.

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.

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)