WE ALL START SCHOOL

September had finally arrived and Brian, Nancy and I started school with the students when they returned after their August break.  The calendar year in Japan starts April 1, and school ends sometime in March. In Japan, students attend local elementary schools and local junior high schools.  But they study very hard in the 9^th grade to be tested and accepted into competitive academic high schools if they want to go to college.  Some students go to private junior and senior high schools. Some of these require a considerable commute by the student or parents send them to schools which have boarding facilities if the commute is too far away.

Students are not driven to school as a rule.  They walk, or use public buses, trains or ferries.  Some ride their bicycles and after age 16 may ride a snazzy scooter.  Some have commutes using ferries and take their bikes or scooters to travel the rest of the way, or use public transportation.  They are in school from 8:00 a.m. through 3:30 and, some stay for extra study until 5:00 if they are studying to test into colleges in their senior year.

Teachers in the high schools start with one class in the tenth grade and stay with that class through the twelfth grade.  This is great for the students who like their teachers but it can be a long three years if they do not. Teachers all stay until at least 5:00 p.m.  Homeroom teachers fill the capacity of guidance counselors as well, and often share responsibility with parents when problems arise.  Teaching in Japan is not an easy job by any means.  We ALTs, however, left at 3:30 with the students and we had time for a social life after work.  I personally felt that was a huge perk, especially after having worked full time with college classes a couple of nights a week. 

We were each assigned a schedule to visit several schools 4 days a week with one day in the office.  Nancy was employed by the city school district and could walk to most of her schools right in Kaseda. She went primarily to junior high schools, a couple of elementary schools and some adult classes offered in the evening through the city government.

Brian’s main school would be in Kawanabe, a beautiful town a 20 minute bus ride away and also Satsunan, more of a trade or technical school in Chiran, just beyond Kawanabe.   Chiran was historically famous for its community of samurai residences with walled streets and also as a base for kamikazi bombers that targeted American ships in WWII.  He had a junior high school with the furthest location, a good one hour bus ride each way to Bonontsu.  It was  a seaside village with a beautiful protected harbor filled with fishing boats, and previously mentioned as the filming location in the James Bond movie, “You Only Live Twice.”

My main high school would be the highest-rated academically, Kaseda High School, where most of the students aspired to go to college.  I would also take buses to junior high schools in Oura Cho (town) and Kawanabe.  I had two other high schools in Kasasa, which was beyond Oura Cho, and Makurazaki City.  I would go to Kaseda High School at least 2 times a week, and the other schools very generally twice a month. 

Kaseda High School

The office staff at Kaseda High School

Closeup of Chrysanthemum Bonsai tree in the photo above

Makurazaki was my furthest school, about 45 minutes due south of Kaseda. A large, very old city, it stretched out along the seashore on one main road.  It was famous for processing smoked tuna and smoked mackerel.  The smoked tuna was used to flavor soups, especially miso soup and the mackerel was used similarly but has a more oily taste. When the bus entered Makurazaki, the smell of smoked fish could be over-powering. The scenic ride from Kaseda was mostly downhill through low mountains covered with green cedar trees and went through a small village.  Because of the bus schedules, a teacher was always assigned to drive me to back to my apartment at the end of the day.

A group picture of the teachers at Makurazaki High School

Makurazaki High School was a magnet school for students planning to work on tuna boats or planning careers in communication for the shipping trade and also fish or seaweed farming and harvesting.  The students there were almost always in dormitories, and they looked like they worked hard and were tired from living away from home.  

They were not as motivated to speak English but we worked on communications in English via email with a high school in Germany.  It was the only place that I saw email in use in Kagoshima schools, but I am sure more schools were using it.  I only went there twice a month.  It was an old school and not as comfortable as Kaseda High School.   Directly on the ocean, it was cold and damp in winter.  The bathrooms were old and not as clean as I would have liked, and I would be there all day and only go to a couple of classes.

But the up side was that they had several teachers and office staff that were friendly and always up for a bit of laughter.  I could go outside in good weather and enjoy beautiful flowers and views of the open sea from the back of the school.  In the spring they prepared a big surprise for me.  They let me go out in a very large lifeboat with the students and a teacher while they practiced rowing.  I didn’t see any life jackets but we didn’t go out very far. 

The boat was heavy, and the students did a good job of getting it turned around to go back to the dock.  I was glad it was a short ride because getting seasick would have been a sure thing. We were sitting three across and I was next to the teacher, who was always wearing a smile but didn’t speak English.  He suddenly started speaking excitedly and then smacked me a good one on the hip.  The gaijin was sitting on the rope we needed to tie us up as we came to the pier.  It was not really as embarrassing as it was funny, and the students could not hide their laughter.  I felt a little sorry for the teacher, but we were both laughing pretty hard, too.  I wonder if he is re-telling the story or keeping it to himself.  Oh, yeah, I am sure he enjoys repeating it.

About once a month, a principal would come from an elementary school and personally chauffeur me from the office to spend just an hour or two in the gym with three or four classes of students and their teachers. The adults spoke little English but we sang songs such as “The Farmer in the Dell” and played games like “duck, duck goose”.  The students were shy at first, then laughing and running and having a good time.  After fun and games I would go to the office with the principal, and the office lady would bring in some green tea and a piece of Japanese cake (Okashi) or rice crackers (senbei) for both of us. Then he would drive me back to my apartment. 

This seemed quite formal, because no one could speak English. Bows, greetings, smiles, but that first visit seemed long and tedious.  I had already learned a smile could go a long way in terms of communicating.  No matter how I felt, I smiled. I learned that it was up to me to make it fun for the kids and the adults. If I made it easy, everybody had a good time. 

Soon I wore my biggest smiles for the kids, and made a big show of using the words loudly and repeatedly as we played games and sang songs. Each successive ride with the principal seemed more relaxed for both of us, and the principal seemed to wear a bigger smile each time, too.  They always paid me extra, which I tried to return because I got a monthly salary and travel money, too.  They must have thought I was nuts to try and return it, so I finally accepted it , and used it to see more of their country or for a couple of nights out at the "Southern Cross".

Getting up and going off on a bus was like an adventure in and of itself.  I had stayed close to home but now I sat on the bus, and paid attention, making sure I got off at the right stop.  I usually had a block or two to walk from the stop. On each of the rides, I found new sights that became favorite views, and I would intently anticipate and relish each of them as I passed. 

My favorite ride was to the junior high school in Oura cho.  It was a short ride but it was along the sea coast with mountains in the distance.  Besides a beautiful bay, it passed an area where fish were laid out on nets to dry and be packaged for markets.  They were small and looked like sardines.  I seldom saw more than a few boats out to sea and they were all small fishing boats.  I did not see sailboats or pleasure craft.  I was beginning to realize I had made a good choice on my application.  We could pick rural or city preferences.  Since I grew up in a small town, the choice had been easy.  But I did not expect such raw beauty.  It soon became a treat to visit the other schools, and I enjoyed each journey along the way.

An appreciation of the countryside, the mountains and the sea paved the way for me to develop feelings for this new place.  The language, food, religion, and culture were so different from my own, and yet this beauty was now becoming more familiar and carving a place in my heart.

The dynamics of the teachers and the students were different in each school, and I would soon learn that some wanted me to work with them more than others and often for good reasons. These will be given more detail in later posts. In the meantime, just showing up and smiling was working well for all of us.  Teaching tips and adjustment problems were scheduled to be addressed at a mandatory three day conference scheduled for mid-September in Kagoshima, and over 100 ALTs from the entire province, including those based on islands would attend.

 We would have meetings to address our adjustments and any problems, panels to provide teaching tips and a lot of networking and sharing of the best places to eat and where we might find necessities  or brands of items we needed.  It also seemed a bit like a paid vacation because we would have travel money to make our own hotel reservations and to pay for the food we would eat at places of our choosing.  

The meetings would be led by senior ALTs because the JET Program encouraged that one year contracts be renewed for a second and a third year.  This conference would be a chance for all of us to meet all the new and returning ALTs in Kagoshima.  I was really looking forward to finding out more about the city and meeting everyone.   I had met Maria and a couple of others in Tokyo, and Nancy, Brian and Mark would all be there, but  the other 100 or so attendees would be new to me.  My admiration for the JET Program would grow with each of these conferences.  They were providing support we all needed, respite from routine, and they were also allowing us to see new places around the country.  I never grew tired of seeing more.

TAKEDA JINJA

Mentally and emotionally, walking became my therapy.  I could meet people along the way, and sometimes get sidetracked and have some tea with them. Or I would find my favorite sights, and I visited them daily if I could.  I followed my street past the fruit shop, clothes shops, bookstore, and office and school supply shop, and past a tea shop.   

Someone told me if I went far enough I would find Takeda Jinja (shrine).  I saw a very old styled torii (entrance) and entered a walled courtyard.  Well, it looked pretty old, there was lots of moss and stone steps were placed throughout and it was quite lovely, except for a line of clothes hanging out.  Shrine or private residence?  Yes, my mistake and I was out of there!  That had been embarrassing, but I never found out if anyone had seen me or not.  In fact, it was old but it was a former samurai residence that was still being used as a home.

 

The entrance to the old samurai house that I mistook for the shrine.  Oops!   

Then I turned the corner and walked about 3 blocks further.  There was no mistaking the shrine.  There was a huge torii, centuries old trees, and three or four old wooden buildings, including an open-floored one that was the actual shrine.  Beautiful woodland with large stone markers lined worn paths where the ancestors of many families had walked before them.  

                            Wow, Takeda Jinja.  Jinja means shrine.  I found it.

Two of several of the other buildings near the main building of the shrine itself.

 

At the shrine, through hundreds of visits that were to come, I would stand back, unobtrusively taking pictures of the Shinto priest, blessing babies, and blessing cars to safely carry their passengers.  The blessing was accomplished with some chanting and waving a banner of pieces of pure white paper that flapped and chased away evil.  In time this priest would give his blessing when my older son and his fiancée held a Japanese wedding ceremony there.  Little did I know my future or theirs as I walked so many miles through that place, and I began to answer some questions about myself.

Along the path, the Inishie no michi (Road of the Samurai), the stone markers commemorated the Shimadzu clan that controlled the area more than 500 years ago. The path led up a hill parallel to the road below and then went back away from the road to other types of stone markers and two large stone koma inu (guardian lion dogs).  If you have seen Chinese or Japanese filmed movies you will have seen these.  They are formidable, but they are supposed to protect the place, so I would regard them with respect and walk beyond to an ancient garden with a stone terrace that showed centuries of wear. It was crumbling, damp, and dark as it was covered overhead with tall trees.  Moss grew everywhere.  Old camellias and azaleas bloomed there in season. There was also a pond with lilies and frogs.  Sometimes I saw mothers with children walking through, but often I walked alone.  It took months of walking, and then I wrote this poem to contribute to the ALTs “Monthly Eruption”.

Free Woman

The houses lay neatly in a row,

The street warmed from the lights within.

My heart filled with love for him.

I ached to be inside one of the homes,

With my lover, together as man and wife.

Or did I?

My dream was out of focus,

The picture would not come.

I could not see us contentedly

Entwined in front of the glowing fire.

The relationship ended, swiftly, harshly,

Bottomed out, burned out.

As I walked amidst the moss-covered stone lanterns,

The truth whispered from the shadows.

It was not he that was not focused on the hearth.

I chose to walk alone.

 

 

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THE SOUTHERN CROSS

Life had been moving slowly, and the emptiness without family and friends weighed heavily on me.  I was losing weight, not a bad thing, but too quickly; and I was also losing energy.  I was putting up a good fight, and wearing a smile, but apparently others, like the Japanese staff at the office could see that I was not holding up well.  At home my sons heard what I thought I was covering up and so did my friends from the office, Margaret, Pam and Jean.  I would alternate calls, thinking they would not realize how often I was calling.  I wrote long letters.  I had always called my mother weekly but she urged me to make the calls shorter.  My first phone bill was $300.00 which was more than a little over the top.  I didn’t know they all saw through the act and knew I was having a rough time of it. In the years to come I would look back on this period and call it the Lowest of Lows, but by then I could also look back and say that my trip included not only those, but also my Highest of Highs.

Ishizono San offered to drive Brian and me around the peninsula where we would be visiting both junior and senior high schools.   We left Kaseda, headed south to Makurazaki, then followed the coast through Bonotsu, winding back to Kaseda through Kasasa and Oura Cho.  We must have put on 50-100 miles, sometimes seemingly hanging over the mountain side. Most of the scenery below was rocky outcrops overlooking the East China Sea.  The other side of the road was mountains.  It was breathtaking. And if you watch “You Only Live Twice,” a James Bond film where Sean Connery does not look Japanese, you can see this and Sakurajima, the live volcano in Kagoshima City. (full info on the volcano in a coming post.)

Due to my seniority, I got the seat of honor in the back.  Except I still get car sick.  I could hardly walk when I got out of the car and collapsed in my apartment.  We had both been hungry, but I cued Brian to please beg off of any dinner offer, despite the fact he must have been starving as it was well past dinner.  I needed to go lie down before I lost it, ALL.  I would find out in a couple of months from Ishizono San that he had feared I would leave the program early.  Again, he must have seen clearly how I had faded in the back seat.  I never realized how much he worried about me, and that also it would have reflected badly on him because I was his responsibility in the Japanese sense.  Centuries of culture dictates that they must take their responsibilities seriously.

But I had never let myself think about quitting before the contract year ended.  I don’t really think I let that enter my mind, but I always thought about how many more days it would take for the year to come to an end. I tried to boost myself physically and searched for more things in the store that I could identify and easily cook in the heat. Even the milk in Japan tastes different.  I have always drunk milk with my meals, but their pasteurization process is a little different, and I never did get used to the milk.  I started making French toast that I could eat later, even cold for lunch. I made egg salad sandwiches and ate them with avocado. I made simple creamed soups. I liked the fruit. I tried to make simple stews, but it was too hot for that.  Did I mention I have never really cared for rice?  I think it was Brian who asked why I would even think of coming to Japan when I said that.  Good question, but it came a little too late.

Again I turned to Tazuko san.  A really great friendship began with her and her husband Nariaki san.  They saved me more than once, coaxing me to go here or there, try this place to eat, go for coffee, go to their shop and have a cup of tea.  And I did.  I often walked over to their shop after the office and later after school.  They always kept the electronic dictionary and the largest book I had ever seen, all in English, on the counter in the shop, about all living things as well as history and maps so we could look up and learn all kinds of things.  I always had to admire that Nariaki was always studying and learning.  He loved nature and all in it.

 

                                        The wonderful Master sat for a moment.

Survival was assured when Tazuko took me across the street from her shop to eat at the Southern Cross.  I never learned the owner’s name, but we called him Master.  He was a small man with a young boy’s smile, but probably my age or older.  He had been a cook on a merchant ship and sailed the world.  He came back to his hometown and opened the “Southern Cross.”  To him it must have meant memories of his sailing days, to me it meant Crosby, Stills and Nash singing one of my favorite songs.

         “When you see the Southern Cross for the first time,

          You realize now why you came this way.

‘Cause the truth you might be running’ from is so small,

But it’s as big as the promise,  - the promise of the coming day.

…….I have my ship and all her flags are a flyin’, she is all that I have left,  - and music is her name…”

The key to my physical survival turned out to be food my system tolerated, western style.  And Master served it on his limited menu.  He only served a few items, but they were all perfect.  His restaurant looked French, all new, with black and grey contemporary furnishings, and it was spotless, with seating at a bar or at tables. Beautiful large wood carvings of women and dancers from Bali graced the bar. It was classy and comfy all at the same time.  Jazz music was always playing softly, and behind the bar were 3 huge tanks of large, flat silver dollar fish gliding through tall seaweed.  A few really large plecostomus, fish that clean the glass from the inside always stuck to the sides, wriggling slowly.  I could watch quietly, wait for my food, and exchange a few words with the Master.  

Sometimes I ate with Tazuko or Nancy or Brian.  We three ALTs were all starting to branch out a little.  Brian paired off with Mark who after a time of researching the laws and documents needed, would purchase a car and freedom out of town.  Although Mark was nearby, his town was even smaller and didn’t have the restaurants and shops that Kaseda did. Nancy was getting out and about with a young woman from her office.

The Master’s food was divine.  He knew my order because I started going in 2 or 3 times a week and always took the apple tea by Fauchon, imported from France, the shrimp and broccoli gratin with fettuccine in a perfect sauce, with salad, one slice of garlic bread and usually dessert. Dessert was always a tough choice between perfectly prepared flan or ice cream sundae, choice of ice cream and be-decked with fruit in season, banana, kiwi, orange, apple, pear or strawberry topped with a squirt of chocolate and a squirt of a fruit sauce topped with a larger dollop of whipped cream.  Sometimes if I chose the flan he added a small scoop of chocolate ice cream to go with it.  He spoiled me and I appreciated it.

One thing so perfect about this place was the portion sizes.  The gratin had 3 shrimp, 3 pieces of broccoli and maybe a cup of noodles.  The sundae was small but prepared right in front of you, and very precisely.  Everything was served on real china and the specialty teas and coffees were served in various European style fancy porcelain cups and saucers with tiny teaspoons.  The second thing that was so great was that it was affordable, only about $12.00 for the whole meal.

Truly, this master chef with his immaculate restaurant had gathered all the ingredients that allowed me to find a sanctuary that soothed me and soothed my digestive system.  The road to recovery was a small, quiet eating place called the "Southern Cross."   I took every friend that came to visit me there to give him as much business as I could; it was like my home away from home and even in winter still only a short walk away.

I would like to invite readers to leave comments! 

MOONLIGHT ON SHOJI

The Kagoshima ALTs (Assistant Language Teachers) had a newsletter called the "Monthly Eruption".  It gave tips on survival and was an outlet for anyone who wanted to contribute.  The writing included tales of travel and adaptation to a very different culture.  Tones were serious or satirical, descriptive, and often hilariously funny.  This was also the best source besides word of mouth for notifications of coming events, and always we were urged to participate.  I have not yet mentioned we were in Japan before the Internet and email were widely available.  It was 1994. Moonlight on Shoji would be my first contribution.

 

Moonlight on Shoji

The isolation caused by the language barrier, the culture shock of the Westerner immersed into the East, and the homesickness for family, friends and a familiar environment certainly led one gaijin (foreigner) to question deeply why she had left the comforts of home.  Was a quest for adventure and an opportunity to explore the mysteries of Japan worth this emptiness?  The first three weeks seemed endless; the calendar days ticked off slowly, mercilessly.  She avoided streaming tears with thoughts of home pushed into a locked corner of her subconscious, intentionally repressed to keep herself from the abyss of outright depression while silently screaming – get  out there and do something!

Oh, the casual meetings with the Japanese people could not have been more pleasant, but any form of in-depth communication was cut off.  She was illiterate – couldn’t speak Japanese or read or write or understand, not even the street signs or the telephone book.

Long, long, lonely days in the office were actually a respite from the heat and loneliness of her apartment, lessened only by too frequent and too lengthy calls to the States, an expense she knew she could not continue. 

The foreign tastes, the smells of the food left her no comfort, her digestive system breaking down from the trauma, further weakening her resolve to enjoy herself.  But at the end of the fourth week a major treat was planned.  At long last she would meet some of her students, the reason she had been invited to live in Japan and leave HOME.  The planned retreat at a Japanese ryokan (inn) in the Kirishima Mountains of Kagoshima ken was for a few Japanese teachers who taught English, a Vice Principal from my main high school and about 30 students from two schools.  It would last three days.

The students and the bus trip were encouraging, the chatter mixed with hesitant English, asking questions young students would ask in any language.  Enjoying their smiles and laughter and finally hearing herself laughing was making the gaijin feel much better.

There was much laughter during her introduction and those of the students.  Breakfast, lunch and dinner were all served in tatami rooms with wooded views of lush mountains.  This means we all sat on the floor on the woven mats at long, low tables. Smoking Sakurajima was visible in the distance. (Sakurajima is a live volcano across the bay from downtown Kagoshima City.)

For the first evening, the girl students invited her to join them in the inn’s outdoor onsen (bath).  Technically the outside onsens are called rotemburo. She returned to her room to get ready, and found a delightful surprise. The table had been removed from the center of the room, and a beautiful futon with bright red down covers was fluffed and waiting for her.  “Wow, I could probably learn to like this.”

She barely had time to tie the belt on the yukata (robe) before three students came cheerfully to the door, anxious for the onsen.  They slipped into the dark night, down a fairly steep mountain path, as a full moon began its rise over the mountains, promising light and perhaps pleasure as well.

Through a clearing, down treacherous stone steps, the students led the way.  The rotemburo was natural, beautiful, steamy hot and lined with stone.  She followed the students’ example, trying to dismiss lurking inhibitions from her Western culture.  The baths were too inviting, the other girls already bathed and submerged.  (Onsen and rotemburo, inside or out are done au naturel.) She washed restfully, using a little bamboo bucket to rinse off all the soap outside the soaking pool, not hurrying, then eased into the steamy water.  Moonlight was shining through the branches above, and she gave way to pure pleasure, deep breaths of fresh air, and contentment.  

Upon returning to her room, students again leading the way, she recognized this evening would go into her bank of lifetime memorable events.  Repeating “arrigato” several times for having invited her, she said goodnight and entered her room.

She admired the inviting futon and undressed quickly after shutting the shoji (papered doors with wooden panes) to the outside world.  She turned off the light, snuggled into the downy covers, with muscles fully relaxed, almost limp.  She rolled to face the shoji.  The moonlight on the shoji was softly illuminating the precise outline of the squares on the paper; the geometric pattern was soothing.  She opened her heart, and the moonlight entered, warming her, warming her to the coming joys she could experience during her life in Japan.

 

This photo was in the Kagoshima Travel Guide, so I am sorry it is not so clear.  But this would be one of my first stops if I returned to Japan.
 

Since we were au naturel, I didn't take any photos of the rotemburo.  I am sharing a link to my favorite onsen/rotemburo that I was able to visit several times that was near to my apartment.  Whenever I went there, it was not busy, so only our small group of two to four women used it at one time.  Men had a separate one they could use, and one was available for families or couples. If you follow the link and see a video enclosed within the article, you will see why it's so peaceful and relaxing. 

https://kagoshimalove.com/midoriso-spa?lang=en#Home_Page

 

I would like to invite readers to leave comments!