I am sitting at home, by myself, drinking Chu Hi. Chu Hi is what beer would taste like if they took out all the hops and added grapefruit juice instead. This is not how Fridays are supposed to go!
My students are taking part in a speech contest on Sunday so I was helping them practice today. In Japan the school curriculum has a focus on reading and writing so the only time the kids get a good bash at speaking English is either when I’m there or when they decide to join a speech contest. I’ve got three candidates for this school, and they’re pretty damn good. At this stage they’ve memorised the texts and it’s just a question of getting their pronunciation right. I normally enjoy pronunciation practice. I am incredibly English and I love it when my students speak in an almost perfect copy of an American accent with a couple of my crazy vowel sounds thrown in. However, today presented some challenges. One of my students wrote “see things through”. Japanese students don’t generally know how to pronounce the sounds “C”, “TH” or “GH”. So we did an awful lot of drilling and stamping and clicking our fingers and I was pretty sure she’d got it down. She stood up again and told us to “shee fings zrough”. Cue more finger clicking…
Anyway, I finally managed to get home, after a blisteringly cold bike ride and a bench so chilly my extremities went numb. According to the weather updates on my phone, my part of Japan was 9 degrees Celsius. I think that’s reckoning without the Siberian winds that gather in the hidden recesses of this country and buffet us all to death. I got home and prepared to wait for my new Japanese bank card to come.
Here comes the best part, hence the Chu Hi. I’m sitting in my hermit corner, chatting to my friends in Britain and checking WordPress for amusing ‘Jehovah’s-Witness-at-the-door-how-to-scare-them-away’ stories when there’s a knock on my door. I expect it to be the bank card man. It’s half past 8. All the sensible people are at home by now, I reason. I open the door. Two girls are standing on my porch, beaming and clutching a wicker basket full of sweeties. My Japanese being as abysmal as it is, I mutter “err, hiya? No Japanese, any English at all?”
One of the girls smiles widely and pulls out a leaflet from her coat pocket. She flips to the right section and hands me a 7 language leaflet of, you’ve guessed it, the beliefs of the Jehovah’s Witnesses. I can’t help it. A huge, old witch cackle escapes me. The two girls take a step back. I laugh until the tears run down my face. I left Britain to escape the madness. Apparently that was not to be. Still chuckling, I manage a quick “thanks, but no thanks” and shut the door firmly in their faces. Outside, I hear a muted rustling as they figure out what to do with the sweets they were going to give me, then breathe a sigh of relief as they move on to the next apartment. I’m safe, for now. I rush to the fridge and crack open a Chu Hi. I think it was necessary.
So I LOVE Bonfire Night. I love all of Britain’s wintery holidays, not that we get all that many of them (ta very much government). Bonfire Night, however, holds a special place in my heart as a night when the community all gets together to amble round a big park, eat our own weight in toffee apples and hamburgers with extra onions, and “Oooh” and “Ahhhh” over the endless fireworks. It’s a huge, merry party. I know the subject matter of said holiday is a little distasteful (you think you can get rid of our new Stuart king, oh Catholics? Joke’s on you for the daftest plot ever hatched!) with its Guy Fawkes burning effigy a symbol that England’s new Protestant religion was here to stay, but over the years it’s become a happy holiday where all the family can get together and write their names with sparklers.
So I was really sad to miss Bonfire Night this year, much to the amusement of my new American friends. Yes, I know it’s a mad holiday, but it’s OUR holiday, and I was feeling a little bit sorry for myself. Cue excited American friend:
Me: mope mope mope.
Friend: Hi Sally! GUESS WHAT!! We’re going to have the most amazing weekend imaginable!
Me: I dunno, I mean, what could be better than standing around a bonfire with a beer and some fireworks?
Friend: Well, we’re gonna hog a table in Starbucks for most of the day and play cards and drink so much coffee our hearts explode!
Me: Urh, what? So far, that sounds like a pleasant but slightly samey day, you know?
Friend: THAT’S NOT THE BEST PART!! We’re just hanging out until the evening, then we’re off to a local restaurant to eat our own weight in Japanese food, then we’re going to a late night onsen!
Me: Onsen you say?
An onsen is a Japanese bath. It resembles a Scandinavian bath except nowhere near so scary, you go to Japanese onsens to socialise and have fun (oh, and the cleaning I suppose). I’ve wanted to visit one since I got here but it’s a little difficult to find one when you don’t know the language, can’t drive and have a Western fear of communal nudity. However, there were a few of us going, so I decided to bite the bullet and go!
I’ll skip the day part, suffice to say it was good fun and we managed to monopolize that table for 6 hours until the long suffering Starbucks patrons decided we really had enjoyed the best table in the house for long enough and staged a subtle coup to roust us out. For the most part, we were gracious in defeat.
Anyhoo, after a day’s mooching we took the subway to Higashiyama Koen and were met by our guide for the evening, a lovely guy who has lived in Japan for the better part of 15 years and knows Nagoya like the back of his hand. We ambled off to this amazing local restaurant, which is about the size of a living room yet managed to accommodate the 6 of us and 12 locals! The mama who ran the place was an absolute delight and loaded us up with carbs aplenty until we begged her to stop, and charged us 1000 Yen each for the mountains of food and beer we put away (1000 Yen is about £8 or $10, I LOVE JAPAN). She also invited another crazy mama, who used to run one of Nagoya’s most amazing cafés until the 11/3 earthquake knocked her business to the ground. Crazy mama-san gave me a back massage mid meal and left me purring. She did also tell me I have huge knots which are cutting off the blood supply to my heart and could be disastrous for my love life, but that’s another matter entirely. Sated, we wandered out to our friend’s car, where we unceremoniously piled in and swept off to the onsen.
A word to the wise, if you ever come to visit Japan and someone offers to take you to an onsen, don’t hesitate, don’t fret about your body hang ups or your hatred of public baths, just go. It was amazing. We got to the onsen at about 9 o’clock in the evening, and paid our fee, a thoroughly reasonable 750 Yen for as long as we wanted to stay. Then it was off to the girl’s changing room (don’t worry, onsens aren’t communal, you need some dignity left after all that soaking!) and a scrub down with the thoughtfully provided hair and body products. The Japanese are sticklers for cleanliness and it’s really important to wash thoroughly before bathing or swimming.
The onsen is mainly outdoors and has several bathing areas. My particular favourite was an area with four chairs in a line, with a well of warm water for your feet and a little trickle down your back. You are also given a bowl to pour water over yourself. My three friends and I (See? The Japanese must have known we were coming!) sat in these little chairs for about 40 minutes, enjoying the sensation of the rain lashing down on us and having toasty feet and bums. It’s a bit weird to be so naked in front of your friends but the icky sensation goes away pretty fast, once you realise we’re all pretty much the same! I also loved the 3 separate tubs which pour hot water over semi precious stones; agate for blood disorders and alcoholism, amethyst for stress and sleep disorders, and jade to guard against illness and promote self confidence. You also got a cute little Chinese rice hat to wear when you were in these tubs. i have no idea why, but I felt like I was in a teacup and, as a Brit, it was an oddly soothing feeling!
In short, the onsen are wonderful places to meet and chat with your friends, relax, play with your children or simply come to bathe in a beautiful atmosphere. The rain was driving down but in an outdoor pool at 40 degrees Celsius, that didn’t matter. The rocks were slick with water, the trees cast their leaves into the pools and, looking out into the starry skies, I could have sworn I smelled a bonfire nearby.
For more info on Bonfire Night, please see the links below, including a truly hilarious clip from my favourite children’s T.V. show about the ludicrous plot:
http://www.novareinna.com/festive/guy.html
For more info on onsens in Nagoya and some of the better ones in Japan, please see the link below:
Oh hi! My name is Sally and I can totally make Nagoya style chicken wings now! Hell to the yes! Of course, they were not without their mishaps, I may have accidentally set the heat to ‘mega burn flay flesh from bone’ setting in my naivete. So of course when I dropped a chicken wing into that saucepan of boiling vegetable oil it was probably not going to end too well. The kitchen was instantly full of thick smoke. I got oil all over the worktops, utensils, floor, and of course myself, burning cute little blisters all the way up my arm. The chicken wing wasn’t too happy either. However, I eventually succeeded and they were pretty yummy if I do say so myself! I just hope I don’t die of crippling food poisoning.
Here’s the recipe if anyone fancies it:
Ingredients:
Chicken wings
Soy Sauce
Fish Powder
Sugar
Sweet and Regular Saké
Black Pepper
Vegetable Oil
Directions:
First, the sauce. Add half a bottle of soy sauce, half a bottle of sweet saké and some regular saké in a saucepan and begin to heat. Add a pinch of fish powder and sugar to taste and bring to the boil. This is your sauce for the chicken wings. Take off the heat.
Fill a small saucepan about halfway up with vegetable oil (a really small saucepan, preferably a milk pan. I hate wasting oil!) Heat it and drop your chicken wings in. Fry them for 5 minutes or so, then add them to the bowl of sauce. Let the chicken wings absorb enough of the sauce to make their skins slightly brown. Whilst you are soaking the chicken wings, heat up a frying pan. An oven is better but I live in a cave so I had to make do. When the frying pan is hot, add the chicken wings to the pan along with a smidge of sauce. Just a little bit, you want it to soak in and become all gloopy. Fry the chicken wings over a low heat for about ten minutes or until done, then sprinkle them with black pepper (I used so much I sneezed uncontrollably for about 5 minutes) and serve. They should taste spicy and rich and amazing.
So there we go, Nagoya style chicken wings. Not exactly the healthiest food ever but they taste incredible! I can’t wait to tell my teachers, I’ll probably get celebration sweets!
One of the caretakers at school number 2 gave me a keyring shaped like an onigiri (a Japanese -style sandwich made of rice and seaweed). I am so frigging happy. Now even my keys look like lunch!
On another note, today is the day I finally finished all of Sue Grafton’s ‘Kinsey Millhone Mysteries’ books to date. I set myself a little personal challenge to see whether I could read them all in one go and as fast as possible. I’m pleased to say it only took me a month with 3 other books during that time. I think I’ll move on to something with a bit more depth now. ‘The Name of the Rose’ by Umberto Eco takes my fancy. Wish me luck!
I decided to start blogging because let’s face it; everyone’s at it these days, I was feeling a bit left out really. It used to be you could sign up for most websites with just a flimsy email address and a winning smile. Then yesterday, on the advice of a friend, I tried to sign up to Tumblr. Who doesn’t want to spend all day looking at pictures of furry animals right? Right? But alas, no dice. I had no URL, and therefore my Tumblr aspirations were not to be. Peeved, I decided to bite the bullet and start a blog. At the very least Tumblr might have me now.
Anyway, this blog will probably be mostly be about musings on living and teaching in Japan and wherever else I may potter in the future. Or perhaps saxophones. Everyone loves a saxophone.
Sooo you’re probably wondering about my riveting day as an English language assistant. I know I’m agog. I teach in 4 schools around Aichi Prefecture in Central Japan, which is great because I love teaching (raging narcissist that I am, being the centre of attention for 5 hours a day really appeals to me) but a bit rubbish because I have ended up teaching around 5000 students. I have no idea of any of their names so I call them all “Sir”, “Madam” or “Bob” if I’m feeling facetious. I also have no idea how much they’re taking away from my lessons. It’s all well and good me creating magnificent lesson plans which I sweat blood and tears over, but if my students go home and promptly forget everything I taught them, I have no way of rectifying this as I only see them every couple of months. However. Ours is not to question why, particularly not in Japan. Questions equal worry and/or fear in Japan. So I toddle along on my merry way and if my students manage to pick up a few nuggets of vocab along the way then good for them.
Anyway, today’s topic was “TV Programs”. The school I was at today is in a lovely area but their level is not particularly high, so the textbook isn’t too taxing. Well, it wasn’t too taxing until it was all written in Japanese… I ask the students a question in English? They reply in Japanese. ”But Miss, it’s there in the textbook” is what I imagine they are protesting. I read Japanese on a par with a 3 year old child so a Japanese textbook, as you can no doubt imagine, is all Greek to me. Anyway, undeterred, I zoomed into the classroom and doled out a cheery “Good Morning!”
Silence. The kind where you see a tumbleweed ever so gently waft across your line of vision and small crickets chirp in blissful ignorance of your plight. I tried again.
“Good Morning!”
More silence. One lad attempted a “Good” but lost heart halfway through and petered out in a feeble “Goouuurrrr…”. As you can imagine, the rest of the lesson was spectacular.
Of course I happen to be spectacularly stubborn when it comes to classroom participation. Over the next 4 lessons I jumped up and down, exhibited an impressive coloratura when doling out the worksheets, and eventually a class put me out of my misery and joined in as loudly as possible. It was probably sarcastic and full of irony but I am never one to argue with results. I retired to the staff room parched and heavy footed.
It just so happens that about half an hour away from this particular school (20 minutes’ bike ride and a quick mosey down the monorail if you must know) there is an international food supermarket tucked away in one of the plazas. ’Effe’ is a place of wonder and delight for the homesick expat, providing as it does both a link with home and a cracking cheese aisle. I, however, cannot afford almost anything in there, this being the tail end of the month and me being hideous at budgeting. But today, this fateful day, a packet of crisps caught my eye. Nothing too fancy, I can’t be going mad and blowing hella dolla on some Pringles. But there on the second shelf down lay the answer to my prayers. Cheap, cheerful, and best of all, in a FAMILY PACK. Joy and rapture unforeseen!
Furtively, I chose a packet and slunk over to the cashier. I say furtively because I don’t exercise more than is absolutely necessary to prevent imminent heart failure and I am considerably larger than your average Japanese lady. I bet they judge me. Crisps paid for, I bounded out of the supermarket and headed for the subway. It’s frowned upon to eat in public (unless you’re, like, reeeeeeally hungry) so I was forced to wait till I got home where I promptly changed into my pyjamas and proceeded to scoff. I am so glad I waited till I got home. I appear to be allergic to dill, or whatever form of herby, leafy goodness was plastered on those crisps. My lips have swelled up to Jolie–like proportions and the whole surrounding area is red and itchy. This is definitely not the most attractive I’ve ever felt.
Of course, the decision remains; leave the rest of the bag and donate my hard earned crisps to a friend? Or eat the rest and risk anaphylactic shock? Oh the decisions…
