Is it autumn already? I know I'm probably beginning to sound like a broken record with this, but I still can't figure out where all that time went. By all rights, it feels like it hasn't been long enough for it to be the end of September, but nevertheless, here I am, over a year into my time in Japan and a semi-seasoned expatriate. Even so, there are moments that give me pause: watching from afar the gigantic US Financial Meltdown of 2008 has been for me an oddly detached experience, reading and hearing about it near-endlessly in both languages as though it were happening to someone else even though I know it's bad news for lots of people acoss a huge swath of society back in my home country. But I am no economist, and anyway, I'm at least grateful that I have a roof over my head... which is what I'd like to talk about this week.
First of all, I live in an apartment. Or actually, it might be called a "heights". Or maybe a "mansion". I'm not really sure exactly, because Japanese realtors seem to classify the old standby of "apartment" with arcane terms that certainly do not mean the same thing as they do in English. A "mansion" is indeed an apartment, and not (as far as I can tell) anything particularly luxurious. This might be what we'd call an apartment you own instead of one you rent in the US, but I can never get a straight answer out of people, because they don't know either. （And they're too busy being blown away that the idea that a real mansion is a gigantic house on a large estate, something which simply could not exist with Japan's space issues. But that's a story for another time.)
Now, where was I? Ah, yes... somewhat less mystifying than the above is their size classification for apartments. It's a simple compound term that indicates the number of rooms and the particular amenities associated with the flat. For example, the term "3LDK" indicates a three-room apartment with living room, dining room, and kitchen in addition to the (taken as a given) toilet, bath, and sleeping area. The absolute smallest classification that I am aware of is a "1R", or one-room apartment: these put everything except the toilet and the bathtub in the same room as your bed. I'm slightly luckier than this: I have a 1K, which means that my kitchen and washing machine are outside of the bedroom. A larger space would be nice and all, but I'd have a hard time trying to justify it with the amount of possessions I have here, not to mention the increased rent costs. Living in Japan is not particularly cheap, after all. Apart from that, rooms themselves are classified as to whether they are Japanese (with woven-grass tatami mats) or "Western"-style, and (in both cases, oddly enough) measured according to the number of tatami mats that would fit into them. My place is all "Western"-style (the unfortunate norm, really) and entirely too small for my tastes, but somehow I get by.
Upon entering my apartment, the first thing one sees is the entryway, for taking off shoes. Traditional Japanese houses would have a substantial height difference between this and the floor proper , but this, like many modern Japanese houses, is just a tiled area prior to the (fake) wooden flooring that runs through the rest of the place. There's a handy cabinet for footwear directly to the side of this, and my shoes somehow manage to just barely fit.
My kitchen consists of some cabinets, a sink, a bit of shelf space, and a plug for a gas burner. The burner, (compact) fridge and microwave were not part of the included furnishings. I still manage to make decent use of the space, though, even if two burners would be ideal for cooking some things. Across from the kitchen, there's the bathroom, which (unlike larger Japanese dwellings) has a "unit bath", with toilet, sink and tub all in the same room. Next-door to this is the washing machine, which is tiny and underpowered to its American counterparts, but does its job well enough. As I've mentioned before, there is no such thing as a clothes dryer in Japan unless you've got the space and the money, of which I have neither.
The bedroom is separated from my kitchen space by a set of wooden sliding doors, which I worry about falling off unprovoked. They havent (yet), but I'm keeping my eye on them just in case. On one side of the room, I've got my desk / table (I use it for both purposes), a wooden bookshelf, and a plastic set of dresser drawers. Classy, I know. On the other side, I've got a relatively tiny closet (hence the aforementioned drawers), and an old brown imitation-leather sofa, that I still have no idea how I managed to get in to the apartment, and even foggier a notion of how on Earth I'll ever manage to get it out when it's time to go. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it, I guess.
On the far wall, I've got two things of note: First, is the balcony. One thing I can say for Japanese apartments is that they certainly have their priorities straight when it comes to having something of an outdoor space. Even if it's used mostly for laundry and nothing else. i just wish they could change the view to something a little more stimulating than the roof of the building next door that needs replacement. The other thing on this wall is also quite important, and that's the air conditioner. Actually a combination heating / cooling unit, this is something that you turn on when you need it and turn off when you're comfortable. Its use seems closer to a gas-powered space heater or window-mounted air conditioner than the central air new houses in the US have been touting for quite a while now, but it makes sense from an energy-saving perspective... until you realize that the walls are really, really thin. For all the things that they manage to innovate on, you'd think someone in Japan, would have discovered thermal insulation...
Regardless of the relative quality of my living space here in Japan, I'm quite happy that I have a spot to call (or at least privately consider to be) my own. One day, after I return to the US, I'd like to be a homeowner, but I guess I have to work my way up one step at a time. Until then, I'll just have to use my one-room (plus kitchen) apartment to the fullest extent that my landlord allows.
24 September 2008
17 September 2008
Boiling myself, one bath at a time
Is it really almost officially Fall already? Having just glanced at my calendar, I was practically dumbfounded to discover that next week is the autumnal equinox. I really shouldn’t be surprised – after all, I’ve been aware of the date through test application deadlines, siblings’ birthdays and the like, but somehow it still seems surreal. The weather might have something to do with that: when it’s not pouring buckets thanks to the latest typhoon remnant to make a glancing blow on Japan, it’s still unseasonably hot. It still feel like it’s mid-summer, even if it’s after Labor Day back home… and even if it’s cooler here than it was the same time last year.
But with mid-September comes two holidays that I get to celebrate – or at least, get the day off. These are Respect-for-the-Aged Day (the third Monday of September), and the Equinox itself (September 23). And really, who can argue with a paid day off from work? Actually, these vacation days are a reminder that before long it will be winter, and with it, I should really use my New Year’s vacation time this December to go somewhere interesting. I already have my eye on a few places, and they all have one thing in common.
As I’ve mentioned previously, Japan is a volcanic island chain on the Pacific Ring of Fire. This means, among other things, that it experiences fairly major earthquakes relatively often. It also has its share of volcanoes, both extinct and not-so-much. But the third implication of all this seismic and volcanic activity, I heartily approve of: the hot springs, or onsen. From the earliest Japanese records over 1500 years ago, people here were already using them to bathe with regularity, and there were numerous locations with reputations for their therapeutic qualities, doing brisk business no matter what the state of politics in the land might be. (Amusingly, European traders during the Renaissance seemed to look down on the fact that Japanese people bathed daily. I can only imagine that Europe during this time was not a very pleasant-smelling place.)
Now, I’ve always been one for a hot bath, but I admit that I was slow to catch on to the benefits of this lifestyle, for one particular reason: being naked in public. Japanese hot springs are communal baths, which means you’re sharing it with people you may or may not know. This was a problem, because I am an American, and Americans in general tend to be quite squeamish about nudity (witness, for example, the various controversies over “wardrobe malfunctions”, and the covering-up of statues’ breasts in the US Capitol at various times). I’m over that now, and I’m glad, because a hot-spring bath is one of the most sublimely relaxing experiences you can have, and the perfect remedy to a hectic lifestyle.
The quintessential hot spring bath in Japan is one taken at a ryokan (traditional inn). These traditional inns are usually located out in the country, in a scenic spot, and conveniently right on top of a source of geothermal energy. Typically, you arrive at the inn at mid-afternoon, where you are shown to your room. The room is decorated in traditional style, with woven-grass tatami mats and futons to sleep on (which are laid out for you by the staff at bedtime). You change into a special bathrobe (yukata), which you can (and are expected to) walk around the building and surrounding area in. And then you go take a bath. Really, the activities at a ryokan, when they don’t involve gorging yourself on a multi-course kaiseki banquet of regional specialties (included in the room fee), is to spend your time in the bath. Like I said: pure relaxation.
The kind of hot-spring baths I really like are rotenburo, or outdoor baths. While simply having a tub out-of-doors certainly qualifies, the best places actually use thermal pools (or basins sculpted to look like such), perfectly blending in with the surrounding landscape. Here, you can sit in the bath and listen to the wind rustle through the trees, admire the view, and really commune with nature. It’s especially fun to luxuriate in one of these baths in winter, when you can have a cool breeze (or maybe even some snowfall) as the perfect counterpoint to the 100+ Fahrenheit waters. Indoor baths are fine too, of course: the kind made from fragrant wood, though difficult to maintain, are traditional and great for soaking in. I just like the outdoor ones better.
Of course, for those who don’t have the time (or the money) to spend at one of these fantastic locations, there’s always the local sento (public bath). Back before individual Japanese residences had their own baths, people in a given community would bathe together at the public baths, catching up with each other and exchanging gossip over a hot soak. The name implies that you can go to one of these places for a single sen (1/100 of a yen… which became only slightly worthless at the end of the War), and even today, they’re usually only a couple hundred yen, which is still a fair bargain. I don’t mind going to these places, but as you might guess from the somewhat outmoded lifestyle they represent, most of truly local places are half a century old (or more) and showing their age, while their clientele seems to almost exclusively consist of men in their 70s and older (the same age bracket that seems to always try and strike up conversations with me whenever I’m trying to bathe in peace). The places that are usurping their role in the domain of “ordinary” public baths are the “Super sento”, destinations that are equal parts themed baths and water park. The main one I’ve been to in these parts is Spa World in Osaka, which combines two different themed baths (“Europe” and “Asia”, which switch between men and women each month), along with a standard pool area on the roof, with slides, hot tubs, and the like. The “theme park” aesthetic kind of takes away from the authentic charm of the older public baths, but it isn’t quite as uncomfortable as being the odd one out in a room full of regulars. Plus, all the different bathing areas (modeled after various countries in Europe and Asia) are something I can appreciate, so it’s not all bad.
So, if you should ever find yourself in Japan, I heartily recommend that you, too, try going for a dip in an onsen. Think of it not as an indulgence so much as a cultural experience with over a thousand years of history. Just be sure to wash yourself off before you get in the tub, because they don’t take kindly to dirtying up the bathwater with soap. The bath is solely for soaking; showers are located nearby to wash with. It’s something I always make sure to remind my friends about if they come with me, because if they made for the tub without washing, I’d have to stop them bodily, and that would get really awkward.
But with mid-September comes two holidays that I get to celebrate – or at least, get the day off. These are Respect-for-the-Aged Day (the third Monday of September), and the Equinox itself (September 23). And really, who can argue with a paid day off from work? Actually, these vacation days are a reminder that before long it will be winter, and with it, I should really use my New Year’s vacation time this December to go somewhere interesting. I already have my eye on a few places, and they all have one thing in common.
As I’ve mentioned previously, Japan is a volcanic island chain on the Pacific Ring of Fire. This means, among other things, that it experiences fairly major earthquakes relatively often. It also has its share of volcanoes, both extinct and not-so-much. But the third implication of all this seismic and volcanic activity, I heartily approve of: the hot springs, or onsen. From the earliest Japanese records over 1500 years ago, people here were already using them to bathe with regularity, and there were numerous locations with reputations for their therapeutic qualities, doing brisk business no matter what the state of politics in the land might be. (Amusingly, European traders during the Renaissance seemed to look down on the fact that Japanese people bathed daily. I can only imagine that Europe during this time was not a very pleasant-smelling place.)
Now, I’ve always been one for a hot bath, but I admit that I was slow to catch on to the benefits of this lifestyle, for one particular reason: being naked in public. Japanese hot springs are communal baths, which means you’re sharing it with people you may or may not know. This was a problem, because I am an American, and Americans in general tend to be quite squeamish about nudity (witness, for example, the various controversies over “wardrobe malfunctions”, and the covering-up of statues’ breasts in the US Capitol at various times). I’m over that now, and I’m glad, because a hot-spring bath is one of the most sublimely relaxing experiences you can have, and the perfect remedy to a hectic lifestyle.
The quintessential hot spring bath in Japan is one taken at a ryokan (traditional inn). These traditional inns are usually located out in the country, in a scenic spot, and conveniently right on top of a source of geothermal energy. Typically, you arrive at the inn at mid-afternoon, where you are shown to your room. The room is decorated in traditional style, with woven-grass tatami mats and futons to sleep on (which are laid out for you by the staff at bedtime). You change into a special bathrobe (yukata), which you can (and are expected to) walk around the building and surrounding area in. And then you go take a bath. Really, the activities at a ryokan, when they don’t involve gorging yourself on a multi-course kaiseki banquet of regional specialties (included in the room fee), is to spend your time in the bath. Like I said: pure relaxation.
The kind of hot-spring baths I really like are rotenburo, or outdoor baths. While simply having a tub out-of-doors certainly qualifies, the best places actually use thermal pools (or basins sculpted to look like such), perfectly blending in with the surrounding landscape. Here, you can sit in the bath and listen to the wind rustle through the trees, admire the view, and really commune with nature. It’s especially fun to luxuriate in one of these baths in winter, when you can have a cool breeze (or maybe even some snowfall) as the perfect counterpoint to the 100+ Fahrenheit waters. Indoor baths are fine too, of course: the kind made from fragrant wood, though difficult to maintain, are traditional and great for soaking in. I just like the outdoor ones better.
Of course, for those who don’t have the time (or the money) to spend at one of these fantastic locations, there’s always the local sento (public bath). Back before individual Japanese residences had their own baths, people in a given community would bathe together at the public baths, catching up with each other and exchanging gossip over a hot soak. The name implies that you can go to one of these places for a single sen (1/100 of a yen… which became only slightly worthless at the end of the War), and even today, they’re usually only a couple hundred yen, which is still a fair bargain. I don’t mind going to these places, but as you might guess from the somewhat outmoded lifestyle they represent, most of truly local places are half a century old (or more) and showing their age, while their clientele seems to almost exclusively consist of men in their 70s and older (the same age bracket that seems to always try and strike up conversations with me whenever I’m trying to bathe in peace). The places that are usurping their role in the domain of “ordinary” public baths are the “Super sento”, destinations that are equal parts themed baths and water park. The main one I’ve been to in these parts is Spa World in Osaka, which combines two different themed baths (“Europe” and “Asia”, which switch between men and women each month), along with a standard pool area on the roof, with slides, hot tubs, and the like. The “theme park” aesthetic kind of takes away from the authentic charm of the older public baths, but it isn’t quite as uncomfortable as being the odd one out in a room full of regulars. Plus, all the different bathing areas (modeled after various countries in Europe and Asia) are something I can appreciate, so it’s not all bad.
So, if you should ever find yourself in Japan, I heartily recommend that you, too, try going for a dip in an onsen. Think of it not as an indulgence so much as a cultural experience with over a thousand years of history. Just be sure to wash yourself off before you get in the tub, because they don’t take kindly to dirtying up the bathwater with soap. The bath is solely for soaking; showers are located nearby to wash with. It’s something I always make sure to remind my friends about if they come with me, because if they made for the tub without washing, I’d have to stop them bodily, and that would get really awkward.
10 September 2008
The narrow road I walk
It’s now the second week of September, but it appears someone’s forgotten to tell the weather here in Osaka: days are still sweltering and incredibly humid, while at night the heavens open and a regular downpour thwarts my attempts at getting my laundry to dry by the following morning. When I was a kid, there were times when I wanted the summer never to end… but this is not exactly how I envisioned it. Far from being an extension of summer fun, the heat only really manages to make autumn somewhat more unpleasant as I go about my job and daily life. Who knew?
Now, then… I believe I’ve previously brought up the subject of earthquakes quite a bit, and my coping with their rather alarmingly frequent rate of occurrence here in Japan. But for all the worry I have over whether The Big One might come tomorrow, there is a far more real threat to my daily existence than any measly earthquake. That would be the roads.
Roadways in Japan tend to be a very fickle thing. There are places you can go in this country which are crisscrossed by modern elevated expressways, with multiple lanes, and even major routes that, while not particularly pedestrian friendly, still provide ample space for the vehicles on them. Then, there are the streets. The old, designed-when-the-city-was-still-a-village spaces that seem to revel in seeing precisely how small they can get while drivers attempt to negotiate them.
As it happens, most of the streets in older residential areas, such as the one where I now live, were not designed with road vehicles in mind. In fact, even horses were rarely a concern, as most people of the farming and merchant classes got around on foot. Consequently, you have what were once medieval pedestrian paths, now accommodating not only two lanes of traffic, but pedestrians, cyclists going both directions, scooters darting in and out of the car lanes, and cars parked on the edge of the street for lack of a better place to put them. The one saving grace of the road I travel to work each day is that there is a pair of traffic lights regulating the flow of cars in the (truly harrowing) most narrow section, but that’s not saying much.
All that wouldn’t be too bad, of course, if not for the fact that there are also very few sidewalks. Again, as many of these old streets came into being as places to walk, not much consideration was given to where the pedestrians would go once the main area was taken up by horseless carriages. On the newer roads, and on the major thoroughfares of big cities like Osaka, you get spacious sidewalks with ample room to walk (if not maneuver around all the people), but on streets like this one, you’re lucky if you get a line in the pavement… not that it means much when you’re dodging oncoming traffic edging over into your space as it is. I’m just lucky that they at least cover the storm drains in this town; in some places I’ve been, they’re just a foot-wide concrete trench on either side of the road, which another American I know actually labeled “foreigner traps”. Bike-rider beware.
With all these things working against me, I’m frankly surprised that I haven’t actually been hit by a car. In places like this, you can only imagine that it’s a matter of time, and I’ve been extra careful just to avoid tempting fate. I’ve already had cars brush up entirely too close to me for me to be comfortable with, and the drivers not even slowing down to notice just how many millimeters they came from knocking me to the pavement.
I suppose I’m lucky in at least one respect: many of the more popular models here are of a special sub-subcompact class called “Kei-cars”, which get special tax breaks for their space-saving and fuel efficiency (they also helped keep foreign competition at bay while the Japanese economy was still regaining its footing after the war). These cars are perfectly suited to the tight spaces of Japanese city streets, and to me they offer something of a relief because I get the sense that if they did hit me, they’d be the one sustaining damage. Not that I’d like to test that hypothesis, of course. And anyway, what concerns me more are the lumbering behemoths (at least in comparison) that automakers here have been churning out to satisfy Japan’s increasingly Westernized tastes, high gas prices and narrow roads notwithstanding. There are (thankfully) no SUVs here as far as I’ve seen, but I certainly wouldn’t want to bump into any of the minivans or large-type station wagons that emulate them, which always seem to come barreling down the street at speeds far greater than what I’d consider “reasonable” or “safe”. Just keep me as far away from those monstrosities as possible.
Perhaps surprisingly, the one thing that hasn’t bothered me too much about the roads here is the direction of the traffic. Japan, like Great Britain and former British colonies apart from North America, drives on the left. (It was never a British colony; supposedly the direction of traffic here had something to do with existing Samurai etiquette that just happened to parallel British practice, but I don’t know if that’s actually true.) I adapted quickly to looking right first when crossing the street, in spite of some of my compatriots’ blunders, and have no trouble anticipating the direction an oncoming vehicle will be moving in. The British ALTs in my city tell me that my speedy adjustment is because driving on the left is “nature’s way”, but maybe I’m just easily adaptable. At any rate, I’m sure I’d feel different if I were behind the steering wheel of a car instead of on foot or riding my bike. One thing’s for sure, though: I will never complain about narrow roads back home, ever again.
Now, then… I believe I’ve previously brought up the subject of earthquakes quite a bit, and my coping with their rather alarmingly frequent rate of occurrence here in Japan. But for all the worry I have over whether The Big One might come tomorrow, there is a far more real threat to my daily existence than any measly earthquake. That would be the roads.
Roadways in Japan tend to be a very fickle thing. There are places you can go in this country which are crisscrossed by modern elevated expressways, with multiple lanes, and even major routes that, while not particularly pedestrian friendly, still provide ample space for the vehicles on them. Then, there are the streets. The old, designed-when-the-city-was-still-a-village spaces that seem to revel in seeing precisely how small they can get while drivers attempt to negotiate them.
As it happens, most of the streets in older residential areas, such as the one where I now live, were not designed with road vehicles in mind. In fact, even horses were rarely a concern, as most people of the farming and merchant classes got around on foot. Consequently, you have what were once medieval pedestrian paths, now accommodating not only two lanes of traffic, but pedestrians, cyclists going both directions, scooters darting in and out of the car lanes, and cars parked on the edge of the street for lack of a better place to put them. The one saving grace of the road I travel to work each day is that there is a pair of traffic lights regulating the flow of cars in the (truly harrowing) most narrow section, but that’s not saying much.
All that wouldn’t be too bad, of course, if not for the fact that there are also very few sidewalks. Again, as many of these old streets came into being as places to walk, not much consideration was given to where the pedestrians would go once the main area was taken up by horseless carriages. On the newer roads, and on the major thoroughfares of big cities like Osaka, you get spacious sidewalks with ample room to walk (if not maneuver around all the people), but on streets like this one, you’re lucky if you get a line in the pavement… not that it means much when you’re dodging oncoming traffic edging over into your space as it is. I’m just lucky that they at least cover the storm drains in this town; in some places I’ve been, they’re just a foot-wide concrete trench on either side of the road, which another American I know actually labeled “foreigner traps”. Bike-rider beware.
With all these things working against me, I’m frankly surprised that I haven’t actually been hit by a car. In places like this, you can only imagine that it’s a matter of time, and I’ve been extra careful just to avoid tempting fate. I’ve already had cars brush up entirely too close to me for me to be comfortable with, and the drivers not even slowing down to notice just how many millimeters they came from knocking me to the pavement.
I suppose I’m lucky in at least one respect: many of the more popular models here are of a special sub-subcompact class called “Kei-cars”, which get special tax breaks for their space-saving and fuel efficiency (they also helped keep foreign competition at bay while the Japanese economy was still regaining its footing after the war). These cars are perfectly suited to the tight spaces of Japanese city streets, and to me they offer something of a relief because I get the sense that if they did hit me, they’d be the one sustaining damage. Not that I’d like to test that hypothesis, of course. And anyway, what concerns me more are the lumbering behemoths (at least in comparison) that automakers here have been churning out to satisfy Japan’s increasingly Westernized tastes, high gas prices and narrow roads notwithstanding. There are (thankfully) no SUVs here as far as I’ve seen, but I certainly wouldn’t want to bump into any of the minivans or large-type station wagons that emulate them, which always seem to come barreling down the street at speeds far greater than what I’d consider “reasonable” or “safe”. Just keep me as far away from those monstrosities as possible.
Perhaps surprisingly, the one thing that hasn’t bothered me too much about the roads here is the direction of the traffic. Japan, like Great Britain and former British colonies apart from North America, drives on the left. (It was never a British colony; supposedly the direction of traffic here had something to do with existing Samurai etiquette that just happened to parallel British practice, but I don’t know if that’s actually true.) I adapted quickly to looking right first when crossing the street, in spite of some of my compatriots’ blunders, and have no trouble anticipating the direction an oncoming vehicle will be moving in. The British ALTs in my city tell me that my speedy adjustment is because driving on the left is “nature’s way”, but maybe I’m just easily adaptable. At any rate, I’m sure I’d feel different if I were behind the steering wheel of a car instead of on foot or riding my bike. One thing’s for sure, though: I will never complain about narrow roads back home, ever again.
03 September 2008
Life updates
By the time you are reading this article, it will officially be September. And with it, for me, will be the start of classes at my school – although as I’ve said before, the kids never really went away. The construction on the part of the school building being brought up to modern earthquake-resistance standards is nearly done (and with it the constant jackhammering I’d grown so used to), but they still have to rebuild the entryways that they previously demolished. (Apparently a big concrete overhang is a bit of a risk In an earthquake. Who knew?)
It’s also very wet here. Again. This time, it’s not so much the season, as it is a dogged low-pressure system that’s been sitting over central Japan, and dumping enough rain there to actually shut down the trains running through Shizuoka Prefecture for a while last week. Osaka’s only seeing a little bit of it, but it means that my laundry is once again drying indoors, contributing to the overall humidity of my room. Ah, the joys of domestic life.
In addition, being September means that it’s also time for me to get my visa renewed. My original work visa when I came to Japan was only for a single year, and I arrived in the country on September 5, 2007. So last week, I paid a visit to the local immigration office (actually out in the port district of Osaka proper) to get my paperwork straightened out. They stamped my passport and told me to come back in several weeks when I receive a postcard from them. Seeing as how I have a job with a city government and plenty of Japanese skills, there shouldn’t be any reason for them to deny me a three-year extension to my current visa. Nevertheless, when you go into the office and witness the near-chaos of people lined up, waiting for their number to be called, and dealing with desk clerks in a language that they only partially understand… well, you get the distinct sensation that you could make the wrong impression on an underpaid government worker who’s already having a Very Bad Day and end up deported. I’ve got my fingers crossed on that one.
And, following up on last week’s article, my application for the Japanese test in December is in the mail and I have begun preparing. This is a somewhat more… humbling experience than I had originally hoped. While my overall reading ability for passages of text is quite good, I’ve discovered that my knowledge of Chinese characters is a bit more contextual than I’d like. You see, the thing about Chinese characters is that, due to their distinctive shape, you can learn to recognize them fairly easily, especially when they appear in combination with certain other characters to form specific words. Unfortunately, can lead to a very frustrating situation where you know what a character looks like, but either you can’t identify it when it’s by itself, or you can picture it in your head but you can’t reproduce it on paper because you’ve never actually learned to write it. This latter situation is a major affliction in Japan these days, since the advent of word processors means that people write less, and sometimes find themselves staring at a piece of paper trying to conjure up a form they know, but can’t remember how to write. In short, I basically need to nail down my slightly floating character knowledge, and actually commit them to my active literacy skills rather than just passive reading. I’ve got three months and counting…
At the same time, I’m having to deal with a bit of a change of venue for my work. While I’ll be at my current school until the end of this month, after that I’ll be headed to a separate junior high school within the same city. It’s part of the way this city’s system works, in that instead of having assistant English teachers go between two schools all year, they have them attend one school for the first half and the other school for the second half. As a result, I will soon be having to re-acclimate myself to an all-new workplace, with 600 or so new student names to remember. On the bright side, it may provide me even more opportunities to confuse students as to my true Japanese ability. (I have students at my current school convinced I speak only just enough to make myself understood. There are a great many things I have heard which they no doubt thought I would not comprehend. It’s a lot of fun, really.)
At any rate, as long as I continue to survive the rain, the flood of Chinese characters to memorize, and the onslaught of a new school term (and school!), I should be here yet again next week, with a slightly more interesting topic. Wish me luck.
It’s also very wet here. Again. This time, it’s not so much the season, as it is a dogged low-pressure system that’s been sitting over central Japan, and dumping enough rain there to actually shut down the trains running through Shizuoka Prefecture for a while last week. Osaka’s only seeing a little bit of it, but it means that my laundry is once again drying indoors, contributing to the overall humidity of my room. Ah, the joys of domestic life.
In addition, being September means that it’s also time for me to get my visa renewed. My original work visa when I came to Japan was only for a single year, and I arrived in the country on September 5, 2007. So last week, I paid a visit to the local immigration office (actually out in the port district of Osaka proper) to get my paperwork straightened out. They stamped my passport and told me to come back in several weeks when I receive a postcard from them. Seeing as how I have a job with a city government and plenty of Japanese skills, there shouldn’t be any reason for them to deny me a three-year extension to my current visa. Nevertheless, when you go into the office and witness the near-chaos of people lined up, waiting for their number to be called, and dealing with desk clerks in a language that they only partially understand… well, you get the distinct sensation that you could make the wrong impression on an underpaid government worker who’s already having a Very Bad Day and end up deported. I’ve got my fingers crossed on that one.
And, following up on last week’s article, my application for the Japanese test in December is in the mail and I have begun preparing. This is a somewhat more… humbling experience than I had originally hoped. While my overall reading ability for passages of text is quite good, I’ve discovered that my knowledge of Chinese characters is a bit more contextual than I’d like. You see, the thing about Chinese characters is that, due to their distinctive shape, you can learn to recognize them fairly easily, especially when they appear in combination with certain other characters to form specific words. Unfortunately, can lead to a very frustrating situation where you know what a character looks like, but either you can’t identify it when it’s by itself, or you can picture it in your head but you can’t reproduce it on paper because you’ve never actually learned to write it. This latter situation is a major affliction in Japan these days, since the advent of word processors means that people write less, and sometimes find themselves staring at a piece of paper trying to conjure up a form they know, but can’t remember how to write. In short, I basically need to nail down my slightly floating character knowledge, and actually commit them to my active literacy skills rather than just passive reading. I’ve got three months and counting…
At the same time, I’m having to deal with a bit of a change of venue for my work. While I’ll be at my current school until the end of this month, after that I’ll be headed to a separate junior high school within the same city. It’s part of the way this city’s system works, in that instead of having assistant English teachers go between two schools all year, they have them attend one school for the first half and the other school for the second half. As a result, I will soon be having to re-acclimate myself to an all-new workplace, with 600 or so new student names to remember. On the bright side, it may provide me even more opportunities to confuse students as to my true Japanese ability. (I have students at my current school convinced I speak only just enough to make myself understood. There are a great many things I have heard which they no doubt thought I would not comprehend. It’s a lot of fun, really.)
At any rate, as long as I continue to survive the rain, the flood of Chinese characters to memorize, and the onslaught of a new school term (and school!), I should be here yet again next week, with a slightly more interesting topic. Wish me luck.
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