Weekend in Tokyo

Go for the sumo, stay for the Belgians!

Last weekend, I went to one of six yearly grand sumo tournaments, held in Tokyo. Although I don't know much about the complicated world of sumo, I managed to learn quite a bit and really enjoyed it. But I am not going to summarize it all here...sleeping is more important right now!

Outside the sumo arena.

This is me eating ちゃんこなべ (chankonabe) -- it's the soup that the sumo wrestlers eat, and you can get a bowl for only 200 yen! Apparently it is made with a bit of every animal under the sun. おいしです！ Wrestlers in the opening ceremony

The initial clash

Stamping the ground represents scaring away the evil spirits before a bout.

Raising the hands to show you have no weapons.

Some of the more popular wrestlers are sponsored. See the guy with the banner walking around the ring? He is showing an advertisement for the company that sponsored one of these guys.

The top top wrestlers have LOTS of sponsors....

The Japanese princess attended the tournament - this is shot of the crowd waving to her as she left.

And, here she is!

Banners outside the arena display the names of wrestlers and their stables.

There is so much to do in Tokyo....

In the park near the National Museum, a group of teenagers dressed up and dancing to 50's music. Anywhere else in the world it would be really out of place, but in Tokyo it fits right in.

Kids watching a mime-show outside the museum.

On Sunday afternoon we headed to Harajuku, which is famous for being a gathering place of Tokyo youth exercising their right to self-expression. Or, in other words, where all the weirdos hang out. The area has gotten really well-known, and there is one bridge where the kids just line up so visitors can take photos of them. We got there a bit late in the day, plus it was raining, so most of the kids had gone home already, but there were a few still out.

I am almost 100% sure I have seen this exact same guy in Berkeley. It is hard to see in the photo, but he is wearing fish bowl earrings with live goldfish in them. Nice!

This guy reminds me of David Bowie in Labyrinth twirling the crystal ball, only with a much bigger smile and a much smaller package. (If you've seen the movie, you know what I mean:-)

Cute, isn't he?

I took this guy up on the offer, and he gave great hugs!

Free hugs are way better than free hags!

This gaijin decided to join them and reap some of the joys of free hugs.

But they always looked really awkward whenever anyone actually took them up on the offer!

This is the outside of the UT store, which is an offshoot of UniQlo (think Old Navy, but much cooler).

UT has this thing that they call the T-Shirt Project, or something along those lines ... based on the idea that a t-shirt can be such a strong form of self-expression, they have artists and companies from around the world design shirts in limited quantities. The design of the store is really smart - there is one of every shirt hanging on the racks - probably about 100 or 150 different shirts. Once you find the one you like, you check the number, and go to the corresponding shelves that run along the sides of the store, where you find the shirts in various sizes all packed up in plastic tubes. You grab the size you need and take it to the register. Not exactly environmentally friendly....but clever.

The outside of the Audi building, which we ended up spending almost an hour in so that Glen could sit in every car and drool.

And here he is!

If you really dig around, there are untold treasures to be found in Tokyo, like this bar with a cooler full of every Belgian beer you could possibly ever ask for.

Differences

It's funny how after being abroad for awhile, the little differences between countries don't really stand out much any more. I remember coming home from Korea, and every once awhile I would tell someone about how something is done there, and be really thrown off by their reaction of surprise. When you live abroad, the first few months are spent being really aware of the things that are different, but after time it all begins to feel normal for you. And when coming home and doing the reverse adjustment, a few things stand out, but not nearly as much because you had previously accepted them as normal. But it was always entertaining to share the differences with people at home - especially the things that I had gotten so accustomed to that I didn't notice them anymore.

Now, think about it the other way around - what are the things about American culture that a foreigner would find strange? That part is not always as obvious. The English textbook that is used in one of my classes has a Culture Note in each chapter, where they explain some things about America that are unfamiliar to Japanese. And it is fun, because once you really think about it, sometimes one seemingly small thing can really shape American life a great deal. When we come across the Cultural Notes, my Japanese co-teacher will have me explain a bit about each one from the perspective of a native, and I have to resist the urge to tell them every little detail about how it makes like different than in Japan.

The Culture Note today that prompted this blog was about tipping at a restaurant. Tipping is not done at all in Japan. (And in most of the rest of the world actually.) So the book explained that when eating at a restaurant in the US it is customary to leave a tip of about 15%. So I explained the whole To Insure Promptness acroynm (which I once heard is actually not true, but whatever), and I added up a sample restaurant bill on the board to demonstrate that when eating in America, you have to take other things into consideration when you order - not just how much the food will cost, but also the tax and tip. In Japan, the price you see on the menu is exactly the price you will pay when you leave. It is really nice actually and makes it much easier.

Then I started thinking about all the other little implications that this has for American culture and are simply a part of life for us. Think about it -- the most obvious is all of the rules and considerations that go into determining how much you will tip - it is really not just a simple 15% most of the time, but a number determined by the level of service, the person's personality, your financial situation at the time, whether you are trying to impress your dinner date by tipping well, and how much cash you happen to have in your wallet.

And then there is the thing about tipping with cash when you pay by credit card, so that the person does not have to get tax taken out. This would be especially unfamiliar to a Japanese, because they almost never use credit cards here.

And how about the confusion that often ensues when a larger group tries to pay separetely and everyone has to estimate how much they actually owe. The person that is best at math often gets stuck with the task of sorting it all out, while everyone tosses a pile of money at them and says `I think I should get some change...` And how when we were all broke-ass teenagers, the bill always came up short, but once we grew up we usually ended up with too much money.

There is the tradition of offering to pay the tip if the other person pays for the meal. Sort of common etiquitte actually.

And for a waiter or waitress - the culture of tipping is even more significant ... The fact that the tips are necessary to make a livable wage is sort of silly when you think about it. And everyone has had a friend who was a waiter or waitress and therefore always had mostly one dollar bills in their wallet.

So these are all things that started popping into my mind during class, but of course there wasn't time to explain them all. But it is fun to think about all of ways in which one little difference can come to affect so much...part of why I love living abroad so much. . . .

Cleo

I was browsing through my Documents folder last night, and came across this piece of writing I did about 5 years ago that I have never shared with anyone. I thought it would be fun to post it ... it captures a lot of what being a teacher means for me. And it is a true story! I didn't do any editing, just left it as it was written originally.

Cleo
May 1, 2002
Today I got a small piece of revenge on a world that humiliated me as a little girl and damaged my confidence in my athletic ability in a way that still affects me to this day.
I was subbing in a sixth grade core class and the last period of the day was PE. The game for the day was baseball. When the teacher told me that this was their first time playing it as a class, an alarm went off in my head and I asked her if everyone in the class knew how to play. She said she was pretty sure they did....I mean, everyone in America knows how to play baseball right?
Well, when I was young, I didn't know how to play, and when my third grade teacher announced that we would be playing baseball, I froze up inside. I had never played nor watched a second of baseball in my life--I knew there was a bat and a ball, but that's about it. As we walked out to the field I had my friend explain the game to me, but let's face it--baseball is complicated! I had a vague idea of what to do, but I was still terrified. I figured out my strategy really quick - I hid in the outfield, slowly taking steps backwards and praying the ball would not come to me. I'm sure it did at some point, and I probably fumbled with it and tossed it to the closest person while my classmates screamed different things about what to do with it, but I think I blocked that part out. What I do remember, clear as if it was yesterday, was what happened when I went to bat. I think I was holding the bat somewhere around my waist and standing on top of home plate, and several of the boys in the class rushed to my aid to show me the right way to stand. I literally felt about 2 inches tall. I wish I could end the story by saying that I miraculously hit the ball and made it to base, but I didn't. I struck out badly, and again the next time I was up. Ever since then, I have dreaded playing baseball, and avoid it whenever possible. I even faked an injury once to get out of playing at a picnic. True story.
So as I started class today, I told a short version of that story to the kids and asked if there was anyone who had never played before. Everyone said they had, and we headed out to the field. As we were walking, a girl came up to me and told me she had never played. She was just like I had been--literally didn't know the first thing about it. Suddenly, I became my friend in the third grade, trying to explain a complicated game in 2 minutes, telling her it was simple while knowing otherwise!
Her name was Cleo, and I could tell she was the outcast of the class. She was stumpy with glasses and fluffy short hair, and I only saw her talk to one other student the whole time. In spite of this, I could tell she had a great amount of confidence somewhere inside her that had been beat back by the shallow cruelties of middle school. She is the type of student who breaks my heart. She seemed eager to play the game and was trying hard not to let her nervousness show.
When her team was in the outfield, Cleo boldly took her place in right field. When the ball came to her for the first time, she knew exactly where to throw it, even though she wasn’t able to get in there in time. That’s ok, I though, she tried. When her team was up to bat, I heard her make a comment to no one in particular that she wanted to know when her turn was. Then I saw that she had taken her place in the line-up, determined to get her chance at hitting the ball. But they got three outs right before it was her turn.
When the other team was up, I realized that all the boys were crowding in the front of the dugout arguing over who got to hit, while every single girl on the team sat on the bench looking nervous. So I said that I would love to see some female representation at the plate and asked if any of the girls would like to hit. They all kind of shook their heads with terror in their eyes, and my heart sunk. But just as I was about to give up, one girl spoke up and said she would hit. I asked her, just in case, if she had hit before, and she replied, “Yes, I played softball.” I was floored by this. To me, it speaks volumes about how gender functions in middle school (and society)—here was a girl who played softball on a team, and she still allowed the boys in her class to dominate the game.
After her turn at bat (a good hitter by the way), every girl in the class stepped up to the plate without my encouragement. Some were terrible at it, but they did it. And most of them hit pretty well!
So when Cleo’s turn came up, I saw her stride confidently towards the plate and pick up the bat. You can imagine how thrilled I was—maybe her confidence could be saved after all! When I saw her stand right on top of the plate at the wrong angle, I cringed and kicked myself for not taking a moment to show her this part (I have managed to figure it out since third grade). Of course, one of the boys ran over to help her.
So this was the big moment. There she was, still standing wrong, all eyes of the class right on her. Her swing was slow and clumsy, and I knew exactly what was going through her head. Watching her, I was right back on the field of my old school, praying to a God that I did not really believe in to just let me hit the ball. . .just this once. . .
And on her third try, she did! The ball popped right up over the shortstop and I swear it was coming down in slow motion, right into the open hands of another student. . . who dropped it. Cleo made it to first base. I had gotten my victory. I had single-handedly saved the self confidence of this one girl and protected her from a life lived in fear of baseball!
Until, of course, the next batter was up. It was a foul ball, which I hadn’t had the chance to explain to Cleo, and as soon as she saw it hit, she took off at full speed and made it halfway to third base before she finally heard her classmates yelling for her to stop. Crap, this was something I hadn’t thought about, because I had never made it that far in my first game! I had gotten her as far as I could, and now she was on her own out there.
To make a long story short, the next two hits were a mess of confusion for her, as she ran back and forth between the bases, trying to watch the ball, remember what I had told her and listen to the frantic directions of 15 screaming sixth graders. Eventually she was tagged out at second, which would not have even been a big deal if it was not for all the confusion she had suffered through right before. She stormed back to the dugout with her head down, and said to me “That’s the last time I do that.” I reassured her that confusion was totally normal your first time playing because the rules take a few games to figure out.
When Cleo's team was in the outfield, I discreetly spoke to two girls in the class who seemed like leaders, told them it had been her first time playing and asked them if they would tell her later that she had done a great job. They smiled and nodded, and I noticed that two of the more sensitive boys in the class had overheard, and were also nodding along with completely sincere looks on their faces. I only hope they remember to do it.
As the class walked off the field, I talked to Cleo again, asking her what she thought of her first game. She replied that she never wanted to play baseball again. She was clearly still humiliated and wouldn’t even look me in the eye. I told her she had done great and that I was totally proud of her for it. She didn’t seem to comforted though, and I was devastated. I had my chance, and I failed.
But then again, maybe I didn’t. By telling her my story and assuring her that it was ok to do bad in your first game, maybe I had given her some sort of validation. Maybe my message had gotten through, and she understands that it’s perfectly all right not to know how to play baseball. Maybe her classmates will remember what I asked them and tell her she did fine for her first time, and even help her out next time. Maybe her teacher will even talk to her about it (I left a note explaining it to her). I honestly believe now that if my teacher had taken the time to help me learn baseball and assure me that my mistakes were perfectly OK, I may not have been so convinced of my inability to play the game to this day.
One of the things I mentioned in my note to the teacher was to be careful about assuming that everyone in a group knows how to do something. We all know what happens when we assume, right? You make an ass out of U and Me. Or in this case, you risk humiliating that one student who does not know how to do what everyone else does. Because in every group of students, there is a Cleo.

wow

Any stereotypes that anyone has about Japanese students being perfectly behaved little angels -- just throw them out the window right now! They are absolutely not true!

I taught my first classes yesterday, and let me tell you, it was not at all what I expected. Well, actually, a lot of it was, but there were some, ummmm, surprises in the behavior department. It really threw me off a little actually, and I left work yesterday feeling super discouraged. But today I just had a really great class, so my spirits are up again.....more on that later!

Typoon coming tonight, I may be rained out of work tomorrow....

It's the First Day of School

Well, first day for me at least! It is actually the first day back from summer vacation - Japan's school year starts in April, not September, so today was just return from break, but not the start of a whole new year.

But it was my first day with all the students, finally! Real classes don't actually start until tomorrow though. Today they held the Opening Ceremony. The Japanese almost always have official ceremonies to mark the beginning and end of everything, and I have already been through a handful since arriving. This one was fairly short - student awards were given, the principal made a speech, teachers checked to make sure no one had short skirts or dyed hair or painted fingernails (seriously), the band played, the psuedo - cheerleaders performed, and the new staff, including myself, was introduced.

It's funny, seems no matter how many times I have been up in front of a class full of students, any sort of different context still throws me off. I was so damn nervous!! I was up on the stage with the principal, in front of a sea of Japanese high school students sitting on the floor with their identical uniforms, and I had to make a less than one minute introduction speech. I would have been fine, but the principal went through her bit about me first, which seemed to take an enternity, and of course during that wait I got all panicky and had visions of myself passing out in front of the whole school on my first day. But there was no passing out. I was fine in the end, and was told by the VP afterwards that my speech was `very appropriate.` Alright!

The principal's introduction was a bit of a surprise though. I wasn't able to understand most of it, but I did glance at her note page, which was written half in English, half in Japanese. Essentially it was a summary of my resume - with a list of all my colleges and every job I have had going back over 10 years! I couldn't tell how much of it she told the students, but I wonder how impressed they would be to know that I was once a supermarket bagger, or a phone bank supervisor, at some point in my life? I also heard her listing off the other places I had visited when I came to Japan before. So I guess they just pulled details from my JET application to share with the students. I didn't expect that...

Once the Opening Ceremony was over, I pretty much had nothing to do the rest of the day, given that I have planned as much as is logical at this point. But I have to stay until 4:00 ... all the students have gone home by now ... just teachers doing work or pretending to work. One of the big differences between Japanese schools and American schools is that teachers here are contracted until 5 p.m., meaning that they have to stay on campus, even if they have nothing to do. They are also required to be here during the summer, from about 10-3. Most of them master the art of looking busy, and I have heard some pretty hilarious stories. There is a fair amount of paper shuffling, book browsing, wandering around with paper in your hand, and of course, computer time. It is so silly by Western standards - why not just let people go home once their work is done? But in the Japanese way of thinking, simply being present is very significant - that is one of the major ways that commitment is demonstrated. Of course you have to do your job well also, but putting in the standard number of hours is super important, regardless of whether or not you are actually being productive.

So I am contracted from 8:20 to 4:00 every weekday, even though I only actually have about 15 teaching hours a week. There will be a fair amount of down time -- what a contrast with teaching back home, where I could barely find time to go to the bathroom on some days! But I can use that time to do internet or study Japanese, once all my planning and grading is done. I'm sure that I too will master the art of looking busy!


Tomorrow = first real day of classes! But I have yet to have my annual `start of the school year dream,` which I have had every year that I can possibly remember, right before the start of school. When I was a student, the dream involved me being super late, or not being able to find my classes. Once I became a teacher, it was the same, except it also involved my not being at all prepared for the first day and having to totally wing it. But I have not had it yet this year...I think. I did have one dream a few weeks ago right before I had to start coming to school, and it was about being super late and making a bad impression, but I am not sure if that counts. Hopefully tonight I will have the REAL start of school dream, because it would somehow seem incomplete without it!