Monday, June 28, 2010

Trial by Seafood

It was this kind of day today:



As though the weather knew how sad I was feeling about the imminent departure of my colleague and friend, Steven. Tonight the International Friendship Society, where I am taking over Steven's position as volunteer English teacher, held a Farewell Steven/Welcome Sara party. They chose as the venue a very nice (and probably very pricey) traditional Japanese restaurant, the kind where you take off your shoes at the door and sit on cushions on the tatami floor, and every item on the menu is an obscure Japanese delicacy. This did not bode well for my digestion.

When we arrived, the table was already set with a full plate of food, which I foolishly took to be our main course. Before we ate, the waitress explained what each item on the plate was: "In the upper left-hand corner here we have jellyfish, mochi, cheese and wasabi-flavored edamame. In that corner, shellfish and [some kinda Japanese fish I don't remember the name of] with lemon. In the lower left-hand corner, tuna pasta, octopus and potato, and in the lower right-hand corner tofu and shark gristle." Oh, goody. But I decided I would suck it up and eat it all. The upper left-hand corner went down OK, even the jellyfish. The lower left-hand corner was a cinch. The tofu wasn't terrible, and even the shark gristle didn't taste bad, strange as it was. Egged on by Steven, I even managed to consume the entire shellfish. And that's when they brought out round 2.

A salad, topped with real gold flakes, to celebrate new beginnings, and consisting of lettuce, tomato, shrimp and raw fish. I gambare-ed my way through it, only to be faced with two different kinds of fish (cooked, thank God), one with the tail still on. I plowed through that, and was feeling pretty good about myself when the waitress minced in with a tray of little green dishes, which she announced contained "Hand of Turtle." Steven tells me the look on my face was priceless. I couldn't even look at the curved, knobby greenish shapes in the dishes until someone finally explained that they weren't indeed turtle fins, but actually a kind of shellfish that looked very similar:



No one faulted me for not eating them, so I thought I was doing OK when a ripple of excitement ran up and down the table, and excited whispers of "The main dish!" clued me in to what would ultimately be my downfall: the sushi. I had actually come prepared to suffer through as much sushi as they wanted me to eat, and yet after the jellyfish, the shellfish, the octopus, the shark gristle, the shrimp, the raw fish and the sight of those turtle hands, I just couldn't imagine forcing down any more strange, rubbery seafoods. I politely ate the egg and then tried to surreptitiously set the rest to one side:



But they weren't letting me get away with it. "Is this your first time eating sushi?" someone asked. I shook my head and explained that I'd eaten it several times before. "Did you know that sushi is the best and most expensive Japanese food?" says someone else. I shake my head, trying not to blush. He goes on to explain, "It's because the restaurants must choose the best and freshest fish." I nod, feeling ever more miserable. A few more minutes pass. Then, "Maybe you could just try one." I look at the raw slabs of fish lying before me, and a queasy sensation takes hold of my insides. I shake my head. "I'm feeling quite full now," I mutter. I notice out of the corner of my eye that the waitress has slipped a communal plate of vegetables and pickles onto the table when I wasn't looking.

And yet, that wasn't the end of it somehow, for in just a few more minutes the waitress appears with a dish of ginger-flavored chicken. "This is chicken," everyone assures me, and a few of them add, "It's OK to eat the chicken even though you didn't eat the sushi." I nod and smile, but I really don't want to eat anything else. However, they keep indicating the chicken and smiling widely, so I oblige them by taking a few bites... As I'm moving the chicken around my plate, my neighbor leans over, points to a covered dish I hadn't noticed before, and says, "Have you tried this yet?" He lifts the lid, I look inside and my stomach gives another lurch:



I don't know what it is, and I don't want to know. I just want the lid back on. And then the waitress glides back in with steaming hot bowls of mushroom and onion soup, which I discover contain small, rainbow colored bits of something bobbing up and down among the vegetables. I take a few sips, trying to appear as though I'm really enjoying the meal, and I say a little prayer of thanks that I'd gone for the wine instead of just the grape juice.

At this point, I don't even dare to hope that it was the end of the meal, which is good because in just a few short minutes several waitresses and a waiter dance in with trays full of fruit and ice cream desserts. I notice that they don't set any in front of me or Steven, and in a moment the reason for this is revealed. The two of us are to receive a special "sugoi" dessert. The lights are dimmed. The shoji are slid open, and then in wafts the waitress carrying two huge piles of fruit and ice cream topped with sparklers, and she sets these down before Steven and me. When the sparklers burn down, the lights go back on, and Steven and I discover that our dessert came with a gift:



Ohtawara-themed banners. The dessert looked good, so I decided to go for it, and I discovered that the simple and fresh flavor of the fruit did wonders for my stomach. This was fortunate, for just then the occupants of the table began to demand that I make a speech. I stood, smiled, and thanked everyone for a delicious meal. As I settled back down onto my cushion, I felt very proud of myself. Perhaps someday I may even be able to lie as well as a Japanese person.



The spoils of the evening

Monday, June 21, 2010

To Whom It May Concern:

Dear Ancient Human Ancestors,

Look, it's not like I'm meaning to be disrespectful. I know we all owe you a lot, and I'll admit you had some great ideas: the domestication of plants and animals, the wheel, fermented beverages, pyramid-building. Great ideas, all. But wearing clothes in the summer? Really?

I understand that losing your body fur was not a conscious decision. It was something that nature chose for you. I get that. So I can grasp that once you started migrating out to cooler climes that had real winters it was necessary to find a new way to trap heat close to your bodies. So far, I'm with you. But who was the genius that, come spring, said, "You know, these animal skins trap my body heat so well, I think I'm gonna keep this going"? And why, for the love of God (or gods, or whatever you believed in), did you LISTEN to this idiot rather than taking him (or her) outside the camp and stoning him as a heretic? He might even have made a nice human sacrifice.

But, no. Not only did you decide to run with this brilliant idea, some of you decided you liked it so much that clothes-wearing became the norm and the naked human body became taboo. For some unexplained reason, you decided that summertime is best spent sweaty, sticky, overheated and drenched in your own "natural scent."

I'm sure you had your reasons. But whatever they were, can they really have been worth it? I think, oh great humans of the past, it's time to do some deep soul-searching and think about what you've done. Because, frankly, you let us all down.

I'm working on a time machine right now. Think about what I've said. Maybe someday we can work something out. Until then, I remain

Your bewildered and irritable descendant,

Sara

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

サッカーをしました! And other tales of this weekend...

This weekend was the long-awaited Nagano ALT Soccer Tournament. It was my best weekend since coming to Japan. I give it twenty-two gold stars!

Friday afternoon was insanity. After a time-consuming and disappointing attempt to send a bank transfer to the U.S. ("I'm sorry, we don't work with that bank."), getting slightly rained on, dashing to the grocery store for last-minute purchases and seeing to the day's emergency load of laundry, I frantically cleaned my apartment like it had never been cleaned before in preparation for a visitor. My colleague Steven's girlfriend, Miori, was coming over for our first language exchange session, and from everything Steven's told me she's a high stickler when it comes to cleanliness. Once all was in preparedness, I discovered I still had some time before she came, so I grabbed a quick shower, threw on some clothes and gulped down a quick supper.

Soon Miori showed up, bearing a gift, which she told me was some cheesecake. (Thanks for telling her my favorite dessert, Steven!). This made my stomach smile, so I thanked her profusely and stored it in the refrigerator for later consumption. We had a successful two hours and then said our goodbyes, and the first thing I did once she left was pull out that cheesecake. When I opened the box, I was greeted with the sight of two desserts: a slice of cheesecake and a little mango pudding. Suddenly Miori's voice popped into my head from earlier in the evening, telling me that mango was her favorite fruit. She'd meant for us to eat the desserts together during our meeting. I felt really horrible as I slurped that mango pudding...

And then it was time for a quick Skype date with my Mom. When that was finished, I popped out for an even more last minute purchase before returning home to pack up my gear for the weekend and chat a little bit with my sister as I waited for Yuhki, my ride, to come pick me up.

By the time he rolled into my apartment building's parking lot, it was a good hour and fifteen minutes past my bedtime. By which I mean that it was about 11:15 PM. Yes, I have become that pathetic. Everyone else in the car looked pretty sleepy, too. Not surprisingly, it was a quiet ride. Fortunately, it was a short one, too, and soon we arrived at a friend's house to crash for the night before rising at an ungodly hour the next morning to head to Nagano.

The first thing I heard upon waking in the morning was an air-splitting crack of thunder. This was shortly followed by Yuhki cursing loudly from across the room. Apparently he'd left his car windows rolled down.

We loaded up the cars in a brief but torrential squall and then we were off to Sano. By the time we'd been on the road for two minutes, the rain slowed and the day turned sunny and clear. Another short trip brought us to the city of Sano, where we met up with most of the other members of the Tochigi prefecture ALT soccer teams. Introductions were made (Being the local N00b, I know no one), breakfasts were bought, bad news of a last-minute loss of the ladies' team captain was conveyed, and then we were off to Nagano. Minor hijinks ensued. Suffice it to say, we all arrived safe and sound.

As it turned out, the tournament was not actually being held in Nagano but in the nearby resort town of Sugadaira, an idyllic little village ringed by low mountains whose forests are scored with long, green patches that in winter will become ski slopes. We headed straight to Sania Park, the sports compound where the tournament would be held. Our mens' team was slated to referee one of the first matches, and we arrived in the town literally two minutes before it was to begin. The ladies meanwhile spent their time suiting up, stretching and memorizing one another's names. In an ironic twist of fate, the ladies ALT team ended up containing a total of 2 ALTs, the other four members being friendly English-speaking Japanese nationals.

We played our first game a little less than an hour after arriving and were quite soundly defeated. In two fifteen minute halves, the other team managed to score 6 goals against us. We scored a whopping zero. On the plus side, Rachel, our goalie, turned out to be pretty good, having saved us the embarrassment of being scored on something more like 20 times.

And then, as soon as the match was over Rachel, looking wan, mutters, "Uh oh. I think I'm getting a migraine" And just like that our six-man team was down to five. Rachel was packed off to the hotel in hopes that a good rest would prevent the migraine reaching full-strength while the rest of us set about being spanked by the next team. We lost 6-0 again. The next game we lost 4-0. Then we ate lunch. Then we lost 3-0. We weren't too surprised by the losses, and our utter patheticness drew the sympathy of the other teams, who spent the day encouraging us to keep trying and even occasionally loaned us players so that we could have a six-man team again and at least one sub. Then at last we were done for the day, and it was time to crawl over to where the men were playing and receive the kindly attentions of our resident nurse, and my sometime co-defender, Miyu. Our fill-in goalie, Emi, had had her big toenail turned into a bloody mess, and one of our forwards, Satomi, required the heavy application of icepacks on her leg muscles. Miyu herself was suffering the effects of having both her feet trampled more than once. My toes were killing me, and when I at last sat down to pull off my shoes, I discovered that the toes of my right-foot socks were soaked in blood. All in all, a most satisfying day on the pitch.

When the men were finished being beaten, we all limped off to the hotel for a good, long soak at the onsen, supper and a nap. I cannot express in words how lovely the onsen feels when one has spent the day getting chased across a soccer field by large women who know what they're doing. When the naps were done, we all arose with new vigor to pile into a bus and head to a different hotel for a surprisingly energetic dance party. Finally, shortly before 2 AM, I literally collapsed into my futon (my aching leg muscles prevented a more decorous entry) and fell immediately to sleep.

Up at 6:30 the next morning and wishing I hadn't gotten low QUITE so many times at the dance party as my thigh muscles felt like they had been treated to the tender mercies of a meat grinder. Fortunately, the onsen is open at all hours of day and night, so I headed down for a little pre-breakfast soak. There was a pronounced limp among those shuffling toward the breakfast room, me included, but for the most part everyone looked quite cheerful and ready for another day of having their butts whipped.

It was a single-elimination tournament this time. The ladies' team strategy for the day was simple: Lose. Which we did. And then we could enjoy the rest of the day at our leisure, watching the other games, taking pictures, sympathizing with the men in their final defeat, eating tasty curry... We all took one big group photo, and then we ladies discussed our conviction that we definitely needed to get together to practice before the next tournament in the fall.

There's a big party coming up two weekends from now, and I'm really looking forward to seeing my new friends again. Yay! OK, that last sentence kind of sounded like something from one of my third-year students' text books. Must be time to go. Peace.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Awkward...

So there I was, checking out at Sanki, the discount clothing and housewares store near my house. I'd picked out several inexpensive items for the soccer tournament I'm playing in this weekend, and I was feeling pretty satisfied with myself. The cashier is ringing up and bagging my items when suddenly she pauses, a small line appearing between her brows. She looks at the item she's holding then glances up at me, her eyes squinting up in a considering look. Then she looks back at the item and says,

"Are you sure this size is OK?"

I look at what she's holding in her hand. It's the sports bra I'm buying, which was on sale (yes!), but which I was pretty sure was NOT OK size-wise. However, there was no way I was going to tell this lady, "Actually, no, but that's the largest size you carry, so let's just go with it."

I give her an awkward little nod, and she smiles and nods in a way that politely communicates (in a way only Japanese people can), "Well, it's your funeral," and then she rings up the bra for me.

When I got home, the first thing I did was try on the bra. Yep. Too small. Alas.