Wedding Announcement

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:

Dr. and Mrs. Stephen and Michelle Grybowski, of Clayton, are pleased to announce the wedding of their son, Julian, to Tomoko Nakata, daughter of Mr. Minoru Nakata and the late Hiroko Nakata, of Osaka, Japan. The ceremony was held at the Antique Boat Museum in Clayton, at 1 o’clock in the afternoon on Saturday, August 7. A reception followed at the same location.

The bride is a 2003 graduate of Yamatogawa High School in Osaka. She received an Associate’s degree in Communications from Osaka Seikei Women’s College in 2005.

The groom is 2003 graduate of Thousand Islands High School. In 2007, he received a Bachelor of Arts degree in Cultural Anthropology from Hamilton College in Clinton. He is employed by the government of Osaka Prefecture as an assistant teacher of high-school English.

Ms. Norma Zimmer, mayor of Clayton, presided over the ceremony. The best man was James Chapman, of Norwich, and the maid of honor was the groom’s sister, Hannah Grybowski, of West Harrison.

The couple had previously been married in a civil ceremony in Japan, but were delighted to share their union with family and friends. Following their travel in the United States, the couple will reside in Osaka, Japan.

We apologize for the inconvenience

Regular readers of the column may have noticed that my updates have become somewhat irregular as of late, especially considering that I’m still on the first day of my trip to Shikoku just after New Year’s. Rest assured that I am still alive and well, and that I have been hard at work editing the tale, which continues to grow in the telling. I’ve simply been rather preoccupied with a variety of major events—including one extremely major one—these last few months, and that, along with an Internet connection that always knows when I least want it to flake out, has taken up the majority of my time.

That said, I would be remiss if I were to keep you in the dark any longer waiting for my return, so I’ll let the attached picture help do some of the explaining. With any luck, I’ll be back here sometime soon, and back on track for weekly updates. Wish me luck!

Traversing Heaven’s Bridge… upside-down

If you happened to be in my neck of the woods this past Monday, you might have noticed throngs of young people gallivanting about on the streets. With the men in dark suits, and the women dressed in elaborate long-sleeved (furisode) kimono and faux-fur wraps, it might seem like they were on their way to a high-school dance (though they don’t have those here) or something similar.

That’s certainly what I thought when I first encountered these groups back when I studied abroad here. But actually, the 15^th of January marks Adults’ Day in Japan, and, thanks to the government’s “Happy Monday System” for national holidays, it was observed just this week. The age of majority here is 20, and all 20-year-old men and women dress to the nines, then converge on a predetermined location to listen to boring speeches by politicians about the meaning of responsibility and adulthood. That rite solemnly passed, they are then set loose upon the town, most choosing to exercise their newfound alcohol-purchasing power. The news the next morning is usually full of reports about disorderly youths. So much for that “responsibility”.

As for me, I’m getting back into the swing of classes this week, but while my travels are still fresh in my memory (mostly from every single teacher asking me if I went back to the US), I should try and relate them to you, as well. So that brings me to my first destination on my five-day odyssey: Amanohashidate.

Located on the Tango Peninsula in northern Kyoto Prefecture (in layman’s terms, about four hours north of Osaka, with good connections), Amanohashidate (roughly, “Bridge of Heaven”) is a famed… sand bar. It spans Miyazu Bay with a distance of 3.2 km (about 2 miles), and is covered by about 7000 pine trees. In spite of this rather humble description, it is known throughout Japan as one of the country’s “Three Great Views”, as set forth in the 17^th century by a Confucian scholar connected to the Tokugawa Shogun. Its image was then made famous in a woodblock print by Hiroshige, a master of the art, around 1860. So, sandbar though it may be, its reputation precedes it. And besides, I’d already got to see one of the other two Great Views—Itsukushima Shrine in Hiroshima—back in 2006, so I figured it’d at least get me one step closer to completing the hat trick.

I’d only just decided the day before that I would be better off doing the journey as a day trip: scrutinizing my map and the train timetables, I realized that I’d be hopelessly late for supper at my first port of call if I followed my itinerary to the letter. (This, you must understand, was after I had pared it down from reaching Nagano in three days, which I might have been able to do in real life if I never actually got off the trains.) So, splitting my first day into two and plotting out a more leisurely first outing, I had my revised plan all set… only to wake up at 6:45, or just about the same time my train was supposed to leave. Throwing on my clothes and grabbing my camera, I took off for the train station, but the damage was already done: when you only have one train per hour where you’re going, the slightest delay means a fairly long time spent, well, killing time.

And it was cold. I’d forgotten that the center of Japan, in between the coasts, is also quite mountainous; the elevation at my first transfer station, combined with a genuine cold snap that day, left me shivering even with multiple layers on. So I bided my time, first at Sasayama, and later at Fukuchiyama, taking pictures of trains I couldn’t board and generally trying to stave off frostbite and hypothermia. Nevertheless, the snow up north was a sight for sore eyes, and even though I was no longer entirely sure whether I had earlobes, it was enough to put me into a state of blissful serenity for the rest of the day. Or at least until my toes started to complain as well.

Arriving in Miyazu just past noon, I surveyed my options for taking in the scenery. The aforementioned woodblock print depicts Amanohashidate from the southeast, in what’s known (perhaps a bit over-ambitiously) as the “Flying Dragon View”. I thought about doing likewise, but on closer inspection, the observation point was now part of “Amanohashidate View Land”: essentially a tacky, glorified children’s playground overlooking one of Japan’s most majestic sights. Thanks, but no thanks. Instead, I chose to take a ferry across the bay to Kasamatsu Park, which houses something equally famous: the renowned Mata-nozoki-dai (“between-the-legs viewing platform”). That’s right: the accepted method of viewing Amanohashidate, as passed down through the generations, is to bend over and gaze at it upside-down. Apparently, it’s supposed to make it look like it’s floating in the heavens. Or maybe the locals were just having a laugh at the expense of travelers who’d come from all across the country to see their sandbar. Either way, I set my mind on coming here.

Taking the ferry across, I stood against the railing under the falling sleet, watching the fog roll across the mountains while sea gulls darted, dove, and glided around the boat (the ferry operators were actually selling snacks for the wannabe-pigeons on-board, which I declined). The rest of the passengers were Chinese-speakers who didn’t seem to like the cold much, so I had the outer deck to myself. Immersed in the open air, I reveled in the feeling of being out on the water with the wind on my face, which I hadn’t experienced since I’d left the U.S.

One short hike and cable-car trip later, I finally found myself looking out across the bay, onto Amanohashidate itself. I was a bit surprised to learn that the mass of trees we’d passed on our way to the opposite shore was what I’d come to see, but from above, it was breathtaking. Almost on cue, the sleet eased up, the clouds rolled back, and I could see across the bay, out onto the sea in one direction and up into the mountains in the other. It really was worth the trip, after all. Feeling particularly pleased with myself, I decided to give the upside-down viewing a shot. Maybe it was just the dizziness from all the blood rushing to my head, but from that angle, it really did look as though it were a bridge floating in a particularly choppy sky. I dutifully took several more photos from both orientations, and then headed back the way I’d come. After all, it would take just as long to get home as it did to get there.

Of course, being me, it’s not like I could sit back and enjoy my evening once I got back to Osaka. Planning out last minute travel arrangements, stuffing an assortment of items into an already hopelessly overloaded backpack, and looking around frantically for one more pair of wool socks, I finally sank into a fitful sleep around one in the morning. With an intended departure time of six o’clock, this wasn’t going to turn out quite as I had planned….

ONLINE EXCLUSIVE: My entire album of photos from the day is available for your perusal online. Check it out. At the moment, I can’t get the slideshow feature to not go backwards starting from the last image taken, but I’ll work that out later. For the time being, just navigate through by clicking the left-arrow button that appears when you mouse over the image. Or click “View All” and see them at your leisure.

Once more into the breach

It’s now the January of a new year, and for me, that means a return to the classroom for the final term of the academic year. Or almost, anyway. As it so happens, the students get to come back from their winter vacation, hastily completed homework in hand, only to find a series of aptitude tests awaiting them. Such is their constant plight. I have to admit, I’m surprised at the sheer amount of government-mandated tests they’re required to take, and wondering if they have any particular significance for the students or the schools. Surely they can’t all determine the students’ academic futures, can they?

That said, I can’t say that I have any particular opposition to these tests, because for me, it means I get to spend one more day in something approximating vacation-mode. While I may be sitting at a desk trying to look industrious, I also have the luxury of changing tack on a whim, and (of course) regaling people who stayed in Osaka with tales of my travels at the end of 2008. People around here always seem surprised that I didn’t return home for the holidays, but for me, at least, it was obvious: I am firmly of the opinion that when you have the opportunity to go someplace you have never been before, you should take it before it passes by. This attitude has occasionally led to my becoming temporarily lost in unfamiliar areas, but I have always come out of such situations with a healthy appreciation for the places I’ve been, and an even greater determination to explore further next time.

So when it came time to plot my latest adventure, I was nearly burning up with anticipation. I would finally head to the other side of Honshu, and explore the Sea of Japan coast as well as the rugged central mountains. For me, this was especially important, because it really doesn’t snow in any significant quantity in Osaka. Having spent my childhood in the North Country, where people scoff at Lake Effect whiteouts, and pretty much everyone has a pair of snow pants, I’ve been disappointed about this for a long while. Japan’s other coast, in contrast, gets plenty of snow in the winter months: in fact, some of the most picturesque views of the places I was going were taken in winter, reassuring me that a lush blanket of new-fallen powder would grace every hillside and treetop for the perfect touch of home. Its reputation is such that it’s actually known as “Snow Country”. Perfect.

With this criterion in mind, I decided to trace my way in a clockwise loop from Osaka: first heading northwards to see Amanohashidate, one of Japan’s “Three Views”; then east, to the port city of Maizuru; stopping in the coincidentally named Obama, and then on to Kanazawa, with its famous gardens and well-preserved samurai- and merchand quarters. After that, it would be on to the rustic mountain village of Shirakawa (a UNESCO-selected World Heritage site), and the well-preserved history—not to mention hot spring baths—of Hida-Takayama, otherwise known as “Little Kyoto”. In short, it was to be a whirlwind tour over five days, with me carting most everything in an oversized backpack, much to the protestation of my overworked feet.

On second thought, maybe “whirlwind” isn’t really the right word. To accommodate a substantial amount of long-distance travel, mostly by rail, I took advantage of the “Youth 18 Ticket”, sold through the Japan Railways Group. For a mere ¥11500 (roughly $120 or so), you get five days of unlimited travel on any local train on any line run by the successor corporations to the National Rail. To put it another way, this meant that I could travel far and do so cheaply, but at a snail’s pace. Express trains aren’t covered by the ticket, and the bullet train lines—not that there were any, where I was going—don’t even let you through the gate with it. But on the bright side, I did get to enjoy the scenery along the way.

One thing I hadn’t anticipated with regards to the trains, though, is the sheer emptiness of the timetable in the less-populous regions of the country. Scanning the chart to try and plan my route for the first and second days, I was dismayed to discover that local trains past the northern reaches of the Osaka metropolitan area run at one per hour, if that. If I was going to get anywhere with something resembling decent speed, it would mean making all of my connections at various transfer stations… so you can just about guess how that turned out. Nevertheless, I can say with satisfaction that the ability to leave the station and come back, either to buy snacks or just to wander, is a major perk that helps kill the boredom of having to wait 75 minutes for the next train like the one you just missed.

In spite of the inconvenience of the trains, however, I still managed to make my entire trip using public transportation, which is something I could scarcely imagine being able to do back home. Even in the sparsely populated areas where I was, there were more trains on a given day (actually, quite a few more, factoring in the expresses that I couldn’t take) than many of Amtrak’s long-haul services through New York State. For me, it’s great. But it’s also kind of sad when a rural Japanese line linking modest-sized towns gets more regular service than most any train line in the US outside of the Northeast Corridor. It really makes a world of difference when it comes to getting around.

But now that the “travel” part is mostly out of the way, I really ought to tell you about what I actually saw on my journey. So, over the next few weeks, I’ll be giving you highlights from my trip, as well as a few of my more interesting observations. The full account would probably take up the space of this column for the better part of a year, but I hope you find the Cliffs Notes version at least somewhat entertaining. Now, onward to next week, and Day 1!

BONUS: As an exclusive to those reading this online, I now present to you my first two drafts of my travel itinerary. Much too ambitious. Click for readable size:

Akemashite Omedeto

Welcome back! I hope everyone had a delightful holiday this past week. I certainly did, and am now making the most of a weeklong break from school activities to get in a little travel. The kids themselves aren’t so lucky: the closing ceremony for the second semester, much like the first, is an opportunity for faculty members to remind the students at length about their various responsibilities, and to exhort them to resist the temptation to have any kind of fun. Of course, they have club activities except for on New Year’s and one or two days before and after (no Christmas holiday here), so it’s not like they have much time to get up to things, anyhow. But nevertheless, I will have to shoulder the burden of interesting doings in their stead, and take lots of pictures to show them when I get back. Oh, the many hardships one has to endure as an educator.

But, as you can guess by the actual days off for the students (stingy though the Ministry of Education may be), New Year’s far outweighs its nearest neighbor in both importance and special events. Christmas has made a big splash here, to be sure, but New Year’s is something that everyone does, and these traditions are so deeply ingrained that they blend seamlessly with the traditional rhythms of the Japanese calendar. Granted, when the country formally adopted the Gregorian Calendar in 1873, it pushed forward everything on the traditional calendar by about six weeks or so. When you think about it, celebrating the New Year closer to the middle of February (like the Chinese Lunar New Year) makes more sense to welcome the spring, but people here throw themselves into the Western version with precisely the same spirit.

Before the New Year even comes, people in Japan perform a massive cleaning of both their homes and workplaces. Japanese tradition places a major focus on ritual purity, and it’s believed that crossing into the New Year with a clean household will help to welcome good fortune and to ensure continued purity throughout the year. Never mind that one has to clear out the same amount of dust and other junk every December; it’s a spiritual act of cleansing as much as anything else. Besides, it’ll only get worse if you wait longer. Luckily, the kids throw themselves into the work too, for one reason in particular: money. For the New Year, parents and other relatives give children a special allowance, known as o-toshidama, which is sometimes quite substantial. And as long as they’re keen on not getting on the family’s bad side, you can bet that the parents will just as eagerly exploit their offspring’s newfound work ethic. It’s a winning situation for all parties, really.

Once that’s done, you’ll see plenty of decorations about: elegantly decorated pine branches and sacred straw rope adorn previously bare (or previously Christmas-y) doorways, and if you are able to look inside, you can see two disc-shaped slabs of mochi (a sticky, glutinous substance made of pulverized rice) stacked on top of each other, with a bitter orange sitting on top. Once the New Year comes, the mochi is broken up and eaten, but don’t eat the bitter orange—it’s got that name for a reason.

While you’re getting into the festive spirit, it’s best to also send your friends, family, and associates New Year’s cards. Known as nengajo, you can buy them pre-made or make them yourself; they usually include images of the animal for the year’s Chinese Zodiac sign, and a set phrase wishing the recipient a happy new year (such as the title of this week’s article). The post office dutifully makes sure they arrive by January first. Don’t throw them out after that, though: if you’re lucky enough, one of the cards you receive might even have its number come up in the nationwide lottery held in late January. All the better reason to try and send—and thus receive—as many cards as possible. Charity is not solely for the sake of others….

Then there’s the specially prepared food. I spent New Year’s at a Japanese household in Tokyo during my last winter vacation, and I was completely flabbergasted at the sight of so many and varied foods that the family dutifully cooks—or perhaps orders ready-made—for the New Year. What’s really astounding is that it’s all done ahead of time, so that the family can be together and not have to bother with cumbersome culinary tasks during the holiday. So instead, everyone feasts on special o-sechi ryori (New Year dishes), featuring zoni (a soup with mochi and various boiled items, which, at the risk of confusing my audience with more foreign words, reminds me great deal of matzo ball soup; good stuff), toshi-koshi soba (noodles with which to pass into the new year), kurikinton (a chestnut/potato mixture), specially-prepared egg, and many others. They are presented in as decorative a style possible, and the sheer volume can be overwhelming. I personally find that not all of it is to my liking (many of the names are actually puns related to health and good fortune in the New Year, so perhaps the elements are not necessarily chosen for how they stimulate the palate), but the sheer effort that goes into making it all is much appreciated.

But of course, no New Year’s would be complete without the customary trip to the local Shinto shrine or Buddhist temple on New Year’s Day. Called hatsumodé, this visit allows the individual to dispose of old, used-up talismans and amulet, buy new ones to help ensure health and good fortune, and to pray for a year free of worldly troubles. The larger of these locations can have lines going on for a mile or more, so maybe bring a book for the interim.

That’s the basic New Year’s playbook for life in Japan, but I’ve only really touched on the bare bones of it here: in more modern terms, the Kohaku Utagassen (Red & White Singing Competition) is a yearly televised tradition on par with New Year’s Rockin’ Eve in the States, featuring Japanese pop artists and well-known entertainers. And no self-respecting bargain hunter would be able to resist the New Year’s fukubukuro, or lucky bag, on sale at many establishments. For a (relatively) modest fee, you’re guaranteed a randomly chosen bag filled with merchandise worth at least what you paid, and often significantly more. Not too shabby, if I say so myself.

So, while Christmas in Japan may be a comparatively modest affair, I’d say that New Year’s in the Land of the Rising Sun actually outdoes its counterpart in the US by a healthy margin. In many ways, it incorporates the same themes as Christmas does in the West, but with a decidedly unique flavor. And that’s why I’m looking forward to this week. Right now, however, I should be going—I need to finish packing for my trip. Check back next week, where I’ll hopefully be back in one piece and able to tell you about it.

Merii Kurisumasu

Well, it’s that time of year again; some would even call it the most wonderful time of the year, though I always felt that the end of the school year gave it a run for its money in terms of general elation. Regardless, Christmas is nearly upon us, and that means that it is once again time for me to wonder in a mixture of amusement and general confusion at the version of the holiday that exists before my eyes. While the old story of a beaming, crucified Santa Claus proudly displayed in a department-store window is probably just an urban legend, I’ve seen enough unusual Christmas traditions here to more than make up for that.

The first thing that one has to get used to are the different Christmas tunes that play constantly on the radio and as background music in stores. While there are a few well-known carols that make it over (“Silent Night” comes to mind), far more numerous are the pop tunes that have cropped up over the years. These range from Japanese versions of well-beloved classics (“Makka no o-hana no tonakai-san”/“Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer”, “Jinguru Beru”/“Jingle Bells”), to those by former members of the Beatles, to ones that I still don’t know the names of. There’s one Japanese ditty that keeps repeating “Silent Night” in a way that I’m pretty sure has little to do with the carol, but I still haven’t figured what it’s called. Such are the perils of catching snippets repeatedly when browsing in a convenience store.

But perhaps the most excruciating variety of Christmas song here is the novelty song, popular for all of a fortnight in its home country, but finding lasting appreciation here. The worst offender of this lot is, without a doubt, “Last Christmas” by WHAM! It is played to a nauseating degree every single Christmas here in Japan, and I really wish it would just go away. The song first came out for Christmas of 1984; it made #2 in the U.K. and an entirely undeserved appearance on the Top 40 in the U.S., but enthusiasm had justifiably cooled by the time I was born the following March. I hadn’t actually heard it until I came here, and that was probably for the best: just several listenings are enough to never want to hear it again. Even if you never had anything personal against George Michael, spending the entire Christmas season in Japan will have you contemplating, if not plotting, violence against the man—possibly involving the use of a time machine to go back to 1984, so that he will never have written it. The other perennial favorite here would seem to be “All I Want For Christmas (Is You)” by Mariah Carey. In this case, my annoyance doesn’t have to do with the song itself, so much as it does with my own personal dislike of the artist’s work. I sometimes wonder if maybe they like to play the song just to annoy me. Could be.

Venturing outside the world of the Christmas carol, you’ll find that Christmas in Japan is a time for… couples. The image of Christmas as the ideal romantic holiday to spend with your significant other far eclipses the idealized portrayal of families spending time together in tacky matched sweaters, if the latter image ever held sway here at all. You might think that Japanese business would have actively promoted Christmas as a time for buying gifts to give to everyone, but instead, all the ads for potential presents are tinged with romance. In Japan, gift-giving is practically second nature, so if the businesses don’t want to exploit it, it’s their loss. At any rate, rather than Christmas Day as a time to spend with loved ones and enjoy family-themed activities, Christmas Eve is the romantic night out for two. A few of my students were incredulous that the 25^th is actually more important than the 24^th in the English-speaking world. Crazy, I know.

For those who do decide to spend the big day—or evening, as it would seem—together with the family, there is at least a traditional holiday meal to share. This would, of course, be a bucket of KFC and a Christmas Cake. The latter, I can sort of understand: as an angel-food variety with white frosting and fresh strawberries, it bears little resemblance to the traditional cakes made around Christmastime in other countries, but at least the practice has some sort of precedent. The KFC, on the other hand, is just weird. I can get not cooking an actual bird at home when the oven can barely fit two drumsticks side-by-side in the oven, but if you’re going to do that, why not go that extra mile and actually get a whole cooked chicken? KFC, it would seem, has responded to that very question by promoting whole roast chickens for Christmas (which have to be reserved by the beginning of this week), but still: KFC? Why?!

The answer to all of this weirdness would have to be the simple fact that Christmas is a relatively late arrival in Japan. While Jesuit missionaries had visited Japan as early as the 16^th century, the Shogunate managed to effectively repress Christianity’s influence. Even now, less than one percent of Japanese identify themselves as Christian, which means that Christmas has mostly been absorbed through exposure to Western—and predominantly American—mass media. As a result, here they have fancy illuminations, trimmed trees, Santa-san, and flying reindeer; what they lack (or at least they did, initially) was a sense of the cultural and religious traditions that went along with it, so they created their own. I wouldn’t call it pure mimicry, exactly, so much as pragmatic adaptation. Besides, I rather like the ability to enjoy a secular Christmas on my own terms, without the perennial assertion from certain quarters that I really ought to subscribe to the religious beliefs that gave us such pretty Nativity scenes, even if the Winter Solstice celebration itself has been around for quite a while longer.

Of course, part of the reason for Christmas’s popularity in Japan has to do with its entirely coincidental placement right before New Year’s, which in Japan is a Big Deal—but more on that next week. For now, enjoy the spirit of Holiday Cheer with your family and friends—just go easy on the old George Michael singles, for everyone’s sake.

The Kids I Teach

As I’ve mentioned before, the end of the second term in Japanese schools is an extremely active time, and as I find myself rushing to finish lesson plans and get loads of peripheral things done in time to actually enjoy the upcoming holidays. But as the upcoming break approaches, I’ve also found myself amused by the foibles of my students. As an assistant, I work with all three grade levels (the equivalent of U.S. grades 7 to 9), so I have a lot of them, and nearly all of them have challenged my expectations about school life in Japan.

I suppose that maybe I had had a distorted perception of the kind of students I’d find here in Japan, based on decades of being told about extreme focus on studying, as well as legendary levels of discipline that, to me, seemed practically inhuman. These both served to make students in the Japanese school system seem like a kind of mythical object, nigh impossible in real life. And as it turns out, these views, if they were ever true, are certainly quite a bit different from the experience I’ve had.

Yes, the students are expected to learn a lot, and are frequently pressured to excel so that they can get into good schools. And yes, the rules themselves can seem unnecessarily strict, especially when it comes to keeping up a particular appearance. (Students are, to name just one example, forbidden from dyeing their hair, on the grounds that it draws unnecessary attention and serves as a distraction in the learning environment.) But at the same time, the kids are in many ways just the same as their American counterparts.

For one thing, they chafe at the rules constantly. While they have uniforms, some students seem to make it their mission to wear them as sloppily, or as inventively, as possible, following the letter of the regulations while subverting their spirit as far as they can get away with. The boys in particular seem to enjoy flashy belts, coloring the buttons on their jackets, and wearing colorful t-shirts underneath; the girls hike up their skirts to a worrying degree, then wear their PE shorts to preserve modesty. The teachers frown on all of these illicit modifications, of course, but can do little besides chide the students as long as they’re actually wearing the things. The main uniform infraction that teachers can actually punish—not wearing it—is of course not an issue the teachers ever have to deal with.

Also, the classroom and hallway chatter is pretty much the same as it is back home. Students pass notes, gossip about who likes whom, complain about school and schoolwork, talk excitedly about their favorite TV shows and bands, and engage me with all sorts of conversation. This last is probably the biggest difference from home, since my school didn’t have a native-language assistant for French or Spanish, but it certainly reveals more similarities to home.

The students who regularly talk to me divide fairly cleanly into three main groups. The first are the students who are serious about learning English. A few of them are quite skilled as a result of serious self-study and after-school prep classes for high school entrance exams, while others have little going for them besides enthusiasm and sheer dogged determination. I try to reward their effort as much as possible, while guiding them towards grammatical sentences without getting them too frustrated, but it seems like the opportunity to speak to a real live Anglophone helps keep them trying again.

The second group is the ones who want me to teach them all the interesting vocabulary English has on offer. Many of them are second-year boys (equivalent to eighth grade in American schools), who are at that critical age where curiosity about the anatomy and human… relations has hit its peak. Some of them are unsure of how to respond to the question “How are you?”, but they can certainly say some items that would make a sailor blush. I most certainly did not teach them those things; I blame the Internet. Nevertheless, I try and steer them towards more appropriate subjects, while feigning ignorance of the words they really want to know. After all, I don’t want them to blame me if they get beaten up by irate locals on their first trip abroad.

The last main group of students seems to relate to me chiefly out of curiosity about, well, me. They are intensely interested in where I’m from, what life is like back in the U.S., what my family is like, and more. While I appreciate the desire to learn more about life overseas, some of their questions can get uncomfortably personal; I’ve invented some answers out of whole cloth to keep from too much awkwardness (“I have lots of girlfriends!” with a big goofy grin and a thumbs up is silly nonsense, but is an effective rejoinder to “do you have a girlfriend?”). I sometimes wonder if they know I’m not really serious about those answers, though.

More than anything else, my daily interaction with these students, both in and out of the classroom, has helped put a human face on what I once regarded as remote and perhaps even a little forbidding. No matter where you go, kids will be kids, and the ones that I teach here in Matsubara are no exception. But of course, I’ve only scratched the surface here, so expect far more on the subject in the new year. But it seems we’ve got some special occasions coming up, so why I don’t I take a couple of articles to explain those, first?