Some detached thoughts…
6/20/09
Today Okaasan took me to hear a famous picture-book reader read some of his and other authors’ work. She went for new book titles for her part time job as a teaching assistant at a kindergarten. I was brought along because children’s books are simple, clear, and good listening practice.
The teacher’s appearance surprised me for its almost un-Japanese eccentricity. His hair was white and long, pulled back into a pony tail. He wore a tan jacket and a dark green sweater. He had the deep, even tan of someone whose life was spent near the sea. He looked more typically Hawaiian than Japanese, and I suppose his eminence among the picture book audience (of which we are all a part at least once) allowed him to act with some latitude. There was a sense of wisdom that sees past social trends. Then again, perhaps that is the impression generally given off by the aged hippie.
6/24/09
A few days ago I found myself wondering about the phrase “If you don’t ask, the answer is always no.” I needed to find someone to interview for my independent study project on the Ainu. I had already narrowed my question to a particular event, but I didn’t know how to go about finding someone to talk to on top of my book-research. I had heard from a classmate that Mr. Yamazaki, the retired local biology professor-turned director emeritus of HIF, could be a great help in tracking down leads. Frustrated, I brought up the courage needed to walk into his office on the third floor and ask for his help. As strange as this may sound, chances are that I would never have gone at all had it not been for, of all things, H1N1. On top of our semi-quarantine at the hotel, for the first week the snack seller, who sold baked goods in the school office during the twenty minute “tea time” break in the middle of the school day, decided against coming to HIF. Yamazaki took her place as the “o-pan-ya-san” (‘pan’ from the Portuguese for bread, ‘ya’ for shop, ‘o’ to honor the establishment, and ‘san’ to honor the man himself; literally meaning “the honored representative of the equally honored brasserie”; or, more simply, “the baker”).
Yamazaki went to his temporary work with relish, patiently explaining to a line of students with, at best, a hesitant grasp of the language the contents of the ¥100 basket: rice balls with salmon and others with kelp, sugar crackers, jelly-filled bread, choco-bread, raisin bread, melon-bread (yes, it exists), and all sorts of other delicacies. He smiled and was in every way a cheerful, grandfatherly figure. In fact, his smile reminded me of my own granddad’s. He came off as approachable, an impression I might never have gotten had life been as usual this year.
However, Yamazaki-Sensei still posed a problem for me. Japanese is an extremely rank-oriented language, and its speakers are attuned to the nuances of politeness and respect in a way that cannot be easily conveyed back into English. Suffice it to say, I knew exactly how one should speak to a man of Yamazaki-Sensei; I also knew that I would inevitably fail. Such is the trap of my current language level: I know exactly how I’m going wrong while at the same time I haven’t the versatility to correct my mistakes.
Anywho, long story short, I walked (more bowed, actually) into the man’s office, introduced myself, and after a several minute conversation about my project, he called up the museum I had mentioned, and secured me an interview with one of its curators. I go this Friday. Evidently he forgave me my linguistic indiscretions.
山崎先生、どうもありがとうございました
Yamazaki-Sensei, Domo Arigato Gozaimashita.
Actually, my thank you was much longer, and involved several bows to the waist.
平成二十一年六月二十四日午後十時半終
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Tagawa House
6/17/09, 9:37 PM, Tagawa House
I have never spoken so much Japanese for so long in my entire life. I am simultaneously exultant and exhausted. Today was my first day at the Tagawa house. After class, I did my homework as quick as I could and waited for the pending meeting with my new hosts. The final moment came at 5:30 pm. We were all corralled into a narrow hallway on the third floor of the building where, behind closed double doors, was an auditorium full of expectant Japanese families. I was assigned the very first spot. When the doors opened, all those inside turned their heads, and the first person they saw was very likely me. I felt like I was in a line of cattle being led to the slaughter, and I was hit with a momentary feeling of deep embarrassment and self-consciousness. The moment passed quickly though, as I was corralled into the room by one of the instructors and hurriedly met my host mother and her younger daughter (Youko, age 12). We briskly got my luggage from the holding room, and went outside to the waiting car, inside which was my host father. The drive home was about fifteen minutes, and upon reaching the house (which I will describe in more detail in a later post), I met their older daughter Machiko, age 15, and younger son Masahiro, going on eighteen (Yasahiro, the first born, is at university in Kyoto).
The following three hours tested my every Japanese skill. As I write this, I have a slight headache from the experience, but I feel that it will only get easier. Last year, I spoke almost entirely in Japanese with my host parents, both of whom knew English. A year later, I finally have the skills necessary to actually discuss moderately complicated topics, tell stories, and give my opinion. However, I’ve never actually had to do it “in the wild” before, as it were. I feel immensely satisfied.
However, that doesn’t mean there isn’t a language barrier. Right before leaving for bed, Youko told me that she had forgotten her text book in my room. It took me three tries to understand her, because I didn’t recognize the word “desk” and did not register the word “textbook.” It seems that while I can tell the whole history of my family in Japanese, the simplest things will continue to throw me. I only hope Youko doesn’t think me any worse for it.
I have never spoken so much Japanese for so long in my entire life. I am simultaneously exultant and exhausted. Today was my first day at the Tagawa house. After class, I did my homework as quick as I could and waited for the pending meeting with my new hosts. The final moment came at 5:30 pm. We were all corralled into a narrow hallway on the third floor of the building where, behind closed double doors, was an auditorium full of expectant Japanese families. I was assigned the very first spot. When the doors opened, all those inside turned their heads, and the first person they saw was very likely me. I felt like I was in a line of cattle being led to the slaughter, and I was hit with a momentary feeling of deep embarrassment and self-consciousness. The moment passed quickly though, as I was corralled into the room by one of the instructors and hurriedly met my host mother and her younger daughter (Youko, age 12). We briskly got my luggage from the holding room, and went outside to the waiting car, inside which was my host father. The drive home was about fifteen minutes, and upon reaching the house (which I will describe in more detail in a later post), I met their older daughter Machiko, age 15, and younger son Masahiro, going on eighteen (Yasahiro, the first born, is at university in Kyoto).
The following three hours tested my every Japanese skill. As I write this, I have a slight headache from the experience, but I feel that it will only get easier. Last year, I spoke almost entirely in Japanese with my host parents, both of whom knew English. A year later, I finally have the skills necessary to actually discuss moderately complicated topics, tell stories, and give my opinion. However, I’ve never actually had to do it “in the wild” before, as it were. I feel immensely satisfied.
However, that doesn’t mean there isn’t a language barrier. Right before leaving for bed, Youko told me that she had forgotten her text book in my room. It took me three tries to understand her, because I didn’t recognize the word “desk” and did not register the word “textbook.” It seems that while I can tell the whole history of my family in Japanese, the simplest things will continue to throw me. I only hope Youko doesn’t think me any worse for it.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Host Family Eve
6/16/09, 8:45PM, Hakodate
Tonight is the last night of our so called quarantine; a week has passed, and no one in the program has had more than a cough (all of whom immediately were placed on a strict regimen of face-masks a la Japonais). School started, as planned, on Monday, though, and I was placed in the advanced (Jōkyū, 上級) class. There are apparently four levels: two classes of Intermediate I, two classes of Intermediate II, one class of Advanced, and one of High Advanced. Judging from the amount of work we’ve been assigned from the start, as well as the distressing level of competence in those around me, I’m happy with, and just a little frightened by, my placement. Unlike last summer, all the material is new for me. It will be difficult, but I think worthwhile.
Not only are we responsible for our standard in-class work, but HIF also requires every student to pursue an independent study project. I did some brainstorming and, after visiting the Hakodate museum of northern peoples with Jacob this weekend, decided that I want to do a project on the native Ainu people of Hokkaido. They are the island’s indigenous people, and arguably, the oldest resident ethnic group in Japan. They haven’t been treated very well historically, and theirs is a legacy in some ways like that of the native tribes in America. There are relatively few Ainu left, and their language is being extinguished with time. I want to know what opinions people around here have on the Ainu; partly out of curiosity, and partly because bringing help to the Ainu means knowing what their potential helpers think of them.
As I walked through the museum, it seemed like I was in a mausoleum of sorts; most of the tribes whose objects were being showcased had long faded into history, and all that remained of their presence, from Hokkaido through northern China up to the highest reaches of Siberia, were the spears and canoes and tunics held behind glass enclosures. A tenuous existence still remains for the Ainu, and I hope I can do some small thing so that they don’t disappear too.
Tonight is the last night of our so called quarantine; a week has passed, and no one in the program has had more than a cough (all of whom immediately were placed on a strict regimen of face-masks a la Japonais). School started, as planned, on Monday, though, and I was placed in the advanced (Jōkyū, 上級) class. There are apparently four levels: two classes of Intermediate I, two classes of Intermediate II, one class of Advanced, and one of High Advanced. Judging from the amount of work we’ve been assigned from the start, as well as the distressing level of competence in those around me, I’m happy with, and just a little frightened by, my placement. Unlike last summer, all the material is new for me. It will be difficult, but I think worthwhile.
Not only are we responsible for our standard in-class work, but HIF also requires every student to pursue an independent study project. I did some brainstorming and, after visiting the Hakodate museum of northern peoples with Jacob this weekend, decided that I want to do a project on the native Ainu people of Hokkaido. They are the island’s indigenous people, and arguably, the oldest resident ethnic group in Japan. They haven’t been treated very well historically, and theirs is a legacy in some ways like that of the native tribes in America. There are relatively few Ainu left, and their language is being extinguished with time. I want to know what opinions people around here have on the Ainu; partly out of curiosity, and partly because bringing help to the Ainu means knowing what their potential helpers think of them.
As I walked through the museum, it seemed like I was in a mausoleum of sorts; most of the tribes whose objects were being showcased had long faded into history, and all that remained of their presence, from Hokkaido through northern China up to the highest reaches of Siberia, were the spears and canoes and tunics held behind glass enclosures. A tenuous existence still remains for the Ainu, and I hope I can do some small thing so that they don’t disappear too.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Juice
6/12/09 8:25 AM, Hakodate
Yesterday, Jacob and I walked around the neighborhood near school. The area was the city’s western enclave, and the combination of European architecture and steep hilly streets gives this place a feel of San Francisco as well as of Japan. The area is famous for its churches, throwbacks to a time of concerted Christian missionary activity a century and a half ago.
The Russian Orthodox chapel seemed oddly familiar, and I realized on my way out why: I had visited its sister in Tokyo one year before. When I saw Nikolai Cathedral in the Ocha-no-Mizu area, last summer, I read the story of its founder, St. Nikolai. The missionary came along when the Russian Empire sent its first emissaries to Japan after it was opened to westerners. He built a mission in Hokkaido, then moved to the capitol, where he built the grand complex that would later become the cathedral. I connected the dots, and suddenly I was in front of St. Nikolai’s first Japanese home. Perhaps this is what pilgrims feel when they reach a monument after a long journey. I may not feel the reverence, but I do taste the sweet juice of recognition. Yum.
Completely unrelated: I had local Hakodate milk at breakfast this morning. Delicious!
Yesterday, Jacob and I walked around the neighborhood near school. The area was the city’s western enclave, and the combination of European architecture and steep hilly streets gives this place a feel of San Francisco as well as of Japan. The area is famous for its churches, throwbacks to a time of concerted Christian missionary activity a century and a half ago.
The Russian Orthodox chapel seemed oddly familiar, and I realized on my way out why: I had visited its sister in Tokyo one year before. When I saw Nikolai Cathedral in the Ocha-no-Mizu area, last summer, I read the story of its founder, St. Nikolai. The missionary came along when the Russian Empire sent its first emissaries to Japan after it was opened to westerners. He built a mission in Hokkaido, then moved to the capitol, where he built the grand complex that would later become the cathedral. I connected the dots, and suddenly I was in front of St. Nikolai’s first Japanese home. Perhaps this is what pilgrims feel when they reach a monument after a long journey. I may not feel the reverence, but I do taste the sweet juice of recognition. Yum.
Completely unrelated: I had local Hakodate milk at breakfast this morning. Delicious!
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Morning at Port
June 11, 6:40 AM, Hakodate Kokusai Hotel
I woke up at 4:45 yesterday morning in Tokyo and piled with other students onto a plane at Haneda airport. We flew from Tokyo to Hakodate, and once landed, piled once more onto a bus which drove us to the HIF (Hokkaido International Institute). We then sat for the three hour total placement exam. Like other placement tests I’ve taken, each section starts out easy, and gradually gets more difficult until it exceeds the test-taker’s ability. The exam is designed such that it is able to place students in any one of five levels, from absolute novice to high-advanced. Thus, one tends to leave the exam feeling throttled. The results come out on the first day of classes, on Monday; I am keeping my hopes up.
The quasi-quarantine is turning out less onerous than I had expected. I am roomed with a Cal Berkeley senior named Jacob Rogers, and after the exam we found a cheap, delicious ramen shop down the street from our hotel. HIF gave us a six thousand yen (around $60 USD) allowance for dinners, in lieu of host-family-made food, for the first week, and my large bowl of ramen only cost me around six dollars, so I feel very economical. This morning we have another battery of tests, and afterwards Jacob and I are planning to explore the city, and perhaps go to Mt. Hakodate this evening for the famous night view of the city. Cheers.
I woke up at 4:45 yesterday morning in Tokyo and piled with other students onto a plane at Haneda airport. We flew from Tokyo to Hakodate, and once landed, piled once more onto a bus which drove us to the HIF (Hokkaido International Institute). We then sat for the three hour total placement exam. Like other placement tests I’ve taken, each section starts out easy, and gradually gets more difficult until it exceeds the test-taker’s ability. The exam is designed such that it is able to place students in any one of five levels, from absolute novice to high-advanced. Thus, one tends to leave the exam feeling throttled. The results come out on the first day of classes, on Monday; I am keeping my hopes up.
The quasi-quarantine is turning out less onerous than I had expected. I am roomed with a Cal Berkeley senior named Jacob Rogers, and after the exam we found a cheap, delicious ramen shop down the street from our hotel. HIF gave us a six thousand yen (around $60 USD) allowance for dinners, in lieu of host-family-made food, for the first week, and my large bowl of ramen only cost me around six dollars, so I feel very economical. This morning we have another battery of tests, and afterwards Jacob and I are planning to explore the city, and perhaps go to Mt. Hakodate this evening for the famous night view of the city. Cheers.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Travels!!!
June 10, 2009, 12:53AM EST, 1:53PM Tokyo, 38000 ft over Sea of Okhotsk
I’m in the air now, in a little aluminum peapod with wings, following the never-ending sunlight. We keep the windows closed in a last-ditch attempt at diurnality, but through the cracks the light waits like a patient visitor from a collections agency; one cannot hoard the nighttime forever.
With the small side lamp that looks like a cross between a church cupola and a bowler hat, I am filling out the many forms that will eventually allow me to enter Japan. I am tickled to find that that my knowledge of bureaucratic Japanese has improved; I can recognize many more of the gruff, no nonsense, ideographic nouns. Phrases like “For use by foreigner” (外国人用) have never — and perhaps never will again, once the novelty wears off — looked more appealing.
There’s a new form that I did not see last year; a quarantine questionnaire mandated after the appearance of the swine flu. From the looks of it, it was hastily put together. The English is choppy, and it isn’t on any sort of government card; rather, it looks like it was faxed by the Ministry of Health to airlines and copied wholesale thereafter. The text is crooked on the page.
My first instinct is to have a good self-righteous balk at the seemingly shoddy form, but then I imagine what it must have been like the day after news broke that a new, quite terrifyingly virulent disease had popped up. Some office full of poor schlubs at the MoH would have had to set up a whole new procedure for dealing with those of us who were either stupid enough or desperate enough to travel to Japan with a fever. Some even poorer schlub among them had to translate this form, as I doubt the government would have invested the extra coin or time in pretty wording when a muscular grunt would do. They probably didn’t sleep for a couple of nights. It seems to have staved off the worst. If I had come to Japan a month ago, I would have had to call a health office every day for a week with my temperature. Now I just have to fill out a form on crooked paper. Kudos, Japan.
I’m in the air now, in a little aluminum peapod with wings, following the never-ending sunlight. We keep the windows closed in a last-ditch attempt at diurnality, but through the cracks the light waits like a patient visitor from a collections agency; one cannot hoard the nighttime forever.
With the small side lamp that looks like a cross between a church cupola and a bowler hat, I am filling out the many forms that will eventually allow me to enter Japan. I am tickled to find that that my knowledge of bureaucratic Japanese has improved; I can recognize many more of the gruff, no nonsense, ideographic nouns. Phrases like “For use by foreigner” (外国人用) have never — and perhaps never will again, once the novelty wears off — looked more appealing.
There’s a new form that I did not see last year; a quarantine questionnaire mandated after the appearance of the swine flu. From the looks of it, it was hastily put together. The English is choppy, and it isn’t on any sort of government card; rather, it looks like it was faxed by the Ministry of Health to airlines and copied wholesale thereafter. The text is crooked on the page.
My first instinct is to have a good self-righteous balk at the seemingly shoddy form, but then I imagine what it must have been like the day after news broke that a new, quite terrifyingly virulent disease had popped up. Some office full of poor schlubs at the MoH would have had to set up a whole new procedure for dealing with those of us who were either stupid enough or desperate enough to travel to Japan with a fever. Some even poorer schlub among them had to translate this form, as I doubt the government would have invested the extra coin or time in pretty wording when a muscular grunt would do. They probably didn’t sleep for a couple of nights. It seems to have staved off the worst. If I had come to Japan a month ago, I would have had to call a health office every day for a week with my temperature. Now I just have to fill out a form on crooked paper. Kudos, Japan.
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