Sensei and Sensibility
Tuesday, April 30, 2002
Let`s meeting the Gaijin!
It all started on a fine Saturday morning at the end of April. The weather was perfect for getting my bike up and running, so I ignored the housework and head out to do just that. Little did I know that I would end up meeting half the neighbourhood.
First, I had to confirm that the maroon granny bike under the stairs (which hadn`t been used in years) was mine to use. Enter neighbour number one, who helped me move boxes and spiders away from the bike so that I could get it out. Next I grab the WD-40 I had bought for the occasion and start washing and greasing up the bike. Enter three or four little old men from the surrounding houses - here to see the gaijin covered in grease and offer some advice. After attempting to inflate one of the tires, I realized that there was a leak in one of the nozzles: I needed a new inner tube. Um, what is "inner tube" in Japanese?
Off to the hardware store I went (as soon as I could shake the little old men) to find an inner tube. I left with pots, soil and strawberry and tomato plants, but no inner tube. As soon as I got back, I set about planting my little balcony garden - visions of fresh toasted tomato sandwiches dancing through my head. Enter three or four of the neighbourhood ladies - helping me plant my 5 seedlings, rushing off to get me fertilizer and more cuttings from their own gardens. They all seemed very excited to see my interest in gardening. Little did they know that tomato sandwiches were my motivation.
Finally, I cleaned all the spider webs away from my door and mopped up the assorted bug carcasses which have adorned my balcony and entranceway for months. Ahhh. Time to settle in with a beer!
Ding Dong - the door bell screams at me: ding dong! Oh no - I am covered in bug carcass remnants, soil and grease - I am in no shape for guests! Tentatively, I open the door. There is my neighbour - one who had helped me plant my tomatoes: She wants to know if I will join her and her husband for udon and an onsen. Even though I had just met this woman and was in no mood to get naked and take a bath with her (not to mention her lack of English ability and my inability to carry a dictionary into a bath), I consented and grabbed my things.
We arrived at Kurogawa Onsen after a 20 minute drive into Ikuno`s hinterland, only to be greeted by the crazy man who runs the joint. Immediately he started professing his love for a previous foreign visitor (Isabel) and started singing songs to her beauty. My hosts and I, after a hurried bowl of udon, made our way to the baths. I was scrubbed and polished by this woman whom I had met for the first time today. She grabbed her washcloth and made sure that every inch of me was buffed to a shine (this is not unusual - the women often wash each other here). Surprisingly, I found that I knew enough Japanese to survive the ordeal, and indeed, the whole night!
We made our way back to the dining room, to the crazy man`s lair, only to find him standing there in his old military uniform, fly gaping wide and brandishing his old sword, still singing songs to Isabel. We ordered a beer, and soon he joined us (me thinks he had a few prior to our arrival...) , and was feeding us deer meat (he shot it himself) and pickles (which he made himself) and the next thing I knew I was arm wrestling and leg wrestling with the man and learning old military songs.
Finally, we pulled away from our small party to go home. The first thing you notice about Kurogawa is that it is small - only a few houses nestled in the mountains a twenty minute drive from Ikuno. But on this night, the night of a full moon, the sky was glowing a soft blue grey and the mountains were dark impositions against the canvas. Other than the moon, the only other light we saw was the soft glow of the onsen`s paper lanterns and the moon`s reflection off the lake. There was no colour, only shapes and outlines in varying degrees of black. It was beautiful.
I finally made my way home, only to be invited for breakfast the next day. It was too bad that I had plans - I had a lot of fun with my new-found friends, and was both excited and relieved to finally ( 9 -months- after- I`ve -arrived kind of finally) be welcomed into the folds of my neighbourhood.
And to top it all off - two days later, another of my neighbours came by to bring me the leftovers from their dinner - to save me the hassle of cooking that night!
 Sabine . 8:07 PM . Comments
Wednesday, April 24, 2002
Hanako
Well, today we had our first class with our 1st year Junior High students. At this level, they get to choose which elective they want: English conversation, Math, Science, or Kanji. We got 18 students (out of 57 - phew - I thought I`d be teaching three kids...). So, Mrs Yamashita and I got very excited to teach this class, because these are students who like English and who want to learn more (every teacher`s dream, I think!) So, to make it more fun, we decided that the students would each pick a "Canadian name".
When it came time to list some names for my students, my mind blanked. So I started writing down the names of famous people and family and friends - you are now almost all immortalized - these students will always remember their "Canadian name" (and not one picked Elvis!!!) - We have Britney`s and Jennifer`s and Tanya`s and Shawna`s and Sara`s and a Steve etc. Sorry, Maeva - no one picked your name (maeva is the Japanese word for "front teeth"). No one picked the name Gary either (it means "vomit") or my brother`s name, Gero (which means "diarrhoea" in Japanese). Small wonder...
I then asked them to pick a Japanese name for me to use in class. So, here it is. My new Japanese name is Hanako, which means "flowerchild" :)
Sabine . 11:40 PM . Comments
Tuesday, April 23, 2002
Survivor: Japan
Imagine my shock last night when I turned on the TV at 7pm only to hear the "Survivor" theme song! I dropped the dish I was washing and ran to the living room, only to find out that it was the Japanese version of "Survivor"! Immediately, I was mesmerized: I thought that surely, this would give me insight into Japanese culture. It was interesting even though I had a lot of trouble understanding the Japanese. I am now hooked. They are stranded somewhere tropical, and the whole thing is set up just like the "survivor" we know. With the addition, of course, of Japanese pop music at crucial moments (along with a plug for the artist).
What really struck me, however, were the challenges: The reward challenge was a Sumo wrestling competition, and the immunity challenge was an underwater Kanji (chinese characters) competition! Imagine my delight at seeing the Japanese asking each other for help in remembering how to write the kanji!!! AHA! So THEY have trouble with it too!!! I will have to watch further, as it will be interesting to see just how different the group dynamics are (the Japanese pride themselves on being a very `groupist` society). In the end, someone was voted off, and the last 5 minutes were dedicated to showing a wee counselling session with the departee - no doubt so that he could save face....
Sabine . 10:32 PM . Comments
Monday, April 15, 2002
Gaijin on Display, or "Why I Never Leave My House"
Ah! Poor Tom Cruise! Poor Brad Pitt!! Poor Julia Roberts and poor Mel Gibson! Poor Robert DeNiro, Sylvester Stalone and poor, poor Woody Allen!
No, I`m not being facetious here. My heart really does extend out the these and all other famous people. Why this change of heart, you ask? Let me start at the beginning.
A glorious weekend was approaching, and four of us (Maeva, Sara O, Sara N, and I) had heard about a festival just north of here in Takeda (a part of Wadayama). You might recollect me talking about this town- the famous castle ruins are located there and I went to their fall festival in October. So, after a few attempts at making plans, we found ourselves heading off on Sunday morning to investigate this festival: it promised to dispell any myths about Takeda`s Shogun and Samurai past - replete with old costumes and a parade.
I should have known what our fate was when I saw Sara N standing at the train staton talking to some strange man, In earnest, how was I to know? I`ve lived here for 8 months already; I thought the thrill would have worn off ! In any case, when I saw Sara N talking to this man, my first thought was "Uh oh. English Leech!!!" An English Leech is a random person who wants to be your best friend about 2 seconds after he sees you - because you are a foreigner and `all foregners speak English`.
In Japan, internationalization has become somewhat of a buzz word lately. Anyone who has been `internationalized` (read: speaks English) is perceived to have better job prospects and a certain cool-factor which others can only strive for. Interniationalization comes at a price though: English classes can cost thousands of dollars a term, and private lessons go for about 50 bucks an hour. So, foreigners throughout Japan have problems with English Leeches, people who want free English lessons. The more brash ones will walk right up to us and say "We are going to talk in English now so that I can practise", as happened to me in Okinawa. From here, there is a gradience of subtlety: "I am inviting you to my house for dinner so that you can speak English to my children." Or, as in this man`s case: "You are foreign and cannot know where anything is in this town I will show you and we will speak English. First, tell me where you live." To which we respond, "Right here in this town," or "in the next town over."
But I digress (as I always do...). In any case, the Tea Ceremony was about to begin and we were presented with our excuse: we were "guests of honour" to this event.
We sat down, anxious for a nice cup of matcha. Women in kimonos were making the tea in the traditional way (hand whisked and frothy) and serving it to us. From the far corner of the tented area came the dreaded whisper, "gaijin!". To the uninitiated, `gaijin` means `foreigner` in Japanese. We tried to look casual as the cameras came out, the children stopped screaming, and everyone craned his neck for a better view of the "gaijin" drinking tea. The whispers abounded: "CAN Gaijin drink Japanese tea?" "Look! They even turned the bowl - they are drinking it properly!" "How will the tea digest? Gaijin have shorter intestines!!!". Sigh. It was time for us to get out of here and find an excuse to get away from the kimono-clad tea ladies who had rushed to our sides to give us directions and claim us as their friends and guests.
We took to the side streets to get to the doll display. We snuck under the railroad tracks and crept around corners, hoping to shake our "fans". No luck. Who did we happen to run into just around the bend? The English leech, two friends, and a case of beer. The stakes were higher for the leech - he had to prove just how much English he could speak to his buddies. After another 30 minutes or so we were able to escape. We turned the corner and were confronted by an excited man in a uniform with a disposable camera: he wanted to have his picture taken with us!
We walked the short distance to the doll display - only to have our pictures taken while looking at the dolls. Onward we trudged, slowly losing our energy. Little old ladies peered at us from darkened doorways and giggled nervously when we said, "konnichiwa!" (good day). A group of preteens followed us down the street, giggling and trying to get our attention. A little girl was so awestruck when she saw me that she tripped over her little brother. I bought a toy microphone to use in class - it cost 50 cents - and the entire group at the yard sale applauded the purchase, as if to say, "A gaijin actually bought something from US!" We walked past food vendors to shouts of "Gajin-san, come eat here!" For us to be seen at their establishment would have ensured greater respect among their peers.
All the while we heard the incessant "click, clck" of cameras. Finally, we had made it to the Elementary School, where the bulk of the festivities were to take place. More food vendors grabbed at us, and wouldn`t give us peace until we told them we weren`t hungry (a total, complete lie - if my shoes would have been leather I would have eaten them). We skulked to the shade to find some respite from the heat and the nagging crowds, and I found my way to the Japanese-style squat toilets. When I emerged from the ladies room, I was greeted with a small gathering of children and one middle-aged man who quickly shuffled away once eye contact was established. He had been caught trying to discover the secret to the age-old question here: "Do gaijin pee differently?" I smiled at the kids and hung my head low (as if that would disguise my curly, blonde-streaked hair!) as I made my way back to the others. Strength in numbers, after all, strength in numbers.
Almost immediately an older gentleman came up to us to give us fried sticky rice (mochi) treats. We were so grateful (except Sara N, who hates them) to have these morsels of food to put into our embarrassed tummies, that we didn`t think of the repercussions. After the man excitedly ran back to his group to tell them that we were actually eating the Japanese goodies, he came back to us and told us that the TV crew was ready and we would now have to bounce soccer balls on our knees for as long as we possibly could. I guess this was meant to be a tribute to the forthcoming World Cup soccer games in Japan and Korea. The cameraman came over and started filming our protests - luckily they accepted our lies, um, excuses that we were really much better suited to basketball and volleyball.
We decided to go back to the house of a Buddhist monk we had met earlier - surely they would be able to offer us some peace and quiet (and perhaps a little refreshment). And they did. It was a gloriously peaceful 30 minutes, despite comments like, "your eyes are so blue, and your skin so white!" Soon, it was time for the piece de resistance - the parade.
Everyone involved in the parade had taken such efforts! Everyone was dressed up as princesses and samurais and shoguns, and they were throwing little fire-crackers and shooting (fake) cannons. Out of the corner of our eyes, we slowly realized that many people were not taking pictures of only the parade - they were photographing us watching the parade, they were waiting for gloriously gaijin-esque reactions to it! And there he was - that annoying TV cameraman again. We did the obligatory smile and peace sign. Sigh. Out of the blue, the little man in uniform from before came running up to the monk`s wife who had joined us to tell her that he actually got his picture taken with us earlier that day! He wanted to know where we were from, presumably to put that information in his scrapbook with our photo.
Finally, we were able to escape the crowds and drag ourselves back to the car to go home - we were absolutely exhausted! We all just wanted to shut out this crazy world and sleep off the afternoon.
Although this one day was a particularly trying day, I have come to realize that I have a certain "celebrity" here, and have made some adjustments to my daily routine as a result. I avoid the local camera shop, driving 20 minutes away, because of the old man who likes to touch my hair an hit me on the arm to tell me that I am good because I am German and we were in the war together (my goodness, I wasn`t even sperm then!). At school parties, I try to sit far away from my principal who has a habit of removing my glasses when he is drunk so that he can see my blue eyes better. I no longer walk the streets of my town - instead I hide, hiking in the hills and forests. I do my shopping in towns 20 or 30 minutes away just so the food I eat and the feminine products I buy do not end up in the gossip colum of my town newspaper. The curtains in the front windows of my apartment remain closed all the time, and I don`t answer the doorbell unless I am expecting someone.
I avoid, at all costs, the town doctor and the pharmacy. I twisted my knee while hiking a while back and suddenly there was an outpouring of people inquiring about it and asking me if the medicated patches were working. Somehow, everyone knowing everything about my every move has lost its appeal, and I think I would make a horrible movie star. I can understand why paparazzi get pummelled, and I honestly believe that they are the ones who deserve incarceration!
So, next time you read the gossip columns and turn up your nose at a star who has a personal assistant or personal shopper, please remember this story. I, on the other hand, will be sitting here sipping tea, thankful that I am not a movie star: Sometimes even 20 million dollars is not worth giving up one`s privacy for.
Sabine . 11:33 PM . Comments
Tuesday, April 09, 2002
The Mukade
There is one famous mythological creature in Japan: the Mukade. It is a creature about one foot long and one inch wide, with a black body and one hundred bright red legs. There are many stories about the Mukade, told in hushed tones late at night, stories which are punctuated by the shrieks of night animals and the mysterious sounds of animals plunging throught the river. Mukade are known for being highly venemous creatures, and the stories abound: An unnamed ALT was bitten by one last year and her bum swelled up to twice its size, and she had to lie there through the night convulsing even though the pain had paralyzed her.
Another unnamed ALT wrapped her towel around herself only to feel hundreds of tiny footsteps in the area under her arm. She looked down, and there, legs glowing red in the early morning light, was the scariest thing she had ever seen: a Mukade. At which point she immediately threw off her towel and ran, naked and shrieking, through her apartment, much to the shock of her neighbours (who had just happened to be peeping through her window at the time). It has been said that if you are bitten by one of these creatures, you are to just hit the redial button on your phone and moan and say your name to whomever picks up on the other end: apparently, everyone passes out from the pain.
I was certain that these were fully mythological creatures, as I have been here for eight months, and have not seen one yet. Every time I was told of the Mukade`s pervasiveness, I just sniffed loudly and stuck my nose up in the air: "Sniff. Well I havent seen one! How can a little centipede (OK, maybe not so little) be so dangerous??? After last night, I won`t be so disdainful.
It all started yesterday afternoon when the sun poked its head through the clouds, bathing my favourite hiking mountain with a golden glow. It was time for me to leave work, and I quickly calculated that I had enough time to go home and change (and go to the post office to pick up my Amazon.com order!), then hike up the mountain and grab a bit of peace and quiet before the sun set. This is not an uncommon evening activity fo me. Not only is there nothing much else to do around here, but I am also officially in training for my trip to Nepal next year! It is a trek I have done a hundred (ok, only a half a dozen) times. Never has anything gone wrong before...
I knew when I began that something was different about this trip. Perhaps it was that I was distracted by the appealing Amazon.com box sitting in my car. Perhaps it was because the box contained a book which is a compilation of travel horror stories. Perhaps it was only the fact that at the foot of the trail, I was greeted by four of my grade 4 students, who were excited and determined to follow me up the mountain shouting "Sabine-Sensei, Ganbarre!" ("Persevere, teacher!"). It may well have been their insistance of finding me not one, but 4 walking sticks, seeing as I am an old lady and all (and to 9 year olds, anything over 13 is ancient). In any case, it was about half-way up the trail that I first saw it.
There, in front of me, splayed across the trail like a rope, was a Mukade. I screamed and jumped back a few paces. For anyone who has ever climbed a mountain via a pebble strewn path, you will appreciate that at this time, it is not very easy to stop one`s downward momentum! To stop myself from going over the cliff, I slammed my upper body down on the ground in front of me. It was then that I came face-to-face with IT. Once more I screamed and slid back a few feet. Then I noticed something. The Mukade was not moving.
It was dead.
I, on the other hand, was only in a trance. Now certain that I was safe, I couldn`t move any farther away from the thing. It was amazing how terrifying it actually looked up close! It was about a foot long, and much wider than I had expected - imagine about 15 or 20 black beetles lined up nose to tail, all in a row. Then imagine stubby bright red legs sticking out from the sides - it was gross!
Next, imagine four nine-year olds watching their beloved and respected teacher freak out and almost fall off a cliff. I could not find the Japanese to express what I had experienced, and only managed to squak out one word: Mukade. They looked at me as if to say "What? You`ve never seen one before? They`re everywhere!" It was when I heard that last part that I shivered - just enough to send my splayed body skittering a bit farther down the hill. My students, who formerly thought me to be on the same pedestal as a goddess, started laughing at me. Not the polite giggles I would have expected from Japanese children, but big, booming, echoing guffaws! So much were they laughing, that they too went skittering a bit down the hill almost falling off a cliff themselves.
The young are very forgiving, though, and soon they were trying to lift up their beloved old sensei and they were dusting off the dirt that I was now covered in. They gave me a chocolate to renew my strength and soon we were on our way again. They, shouting "Ganbatte obasan" ("persevere, old lady"), and me trying to act cheerful while I covered my disappointment at looking like a fool in front of my students. All I could think about was the fact that this will no doubt be published in next month`s town newspaper. Sigh.
This little hike was never destined to be the relaxing venture I had planned for at the end of my workday. In fact, it would be a long time before I would see relaxation again: at night, I kept waking, almost certain that I had felt one hundred little legs scurrying somewhere over my body.
Sabine . 11:28 PM . Comments
Are Japanese Schools More Strict?
Ok, this is coming straight from the horse`s mouth. This is an event that happened at Sara N`s School in Wadayama (curly-haired Sara, for those of you in the know) - posted from an e-mail she sent to me:
"Monday morning - First day back from vacation for many students. We have a school rule saying that the students hair must not be colored, it must be long enough to put up or short enough so it's out of the students face. No hair clips, crazy do's etc..... So one of our "bad boys" came to school with his hair colored brown after vacation. I always wondered what would happened if a student broke the rule and on this day I found out. They took him into the back copy room - three teachers held him down while they spray painted his hair black. Yes painted his hair black - Unbelievable I know! "
Sabine . 9:24 PM . Comments
Wednesday, April 03, 2002
Okinawa dreaming
Sara and I had grown restless sitting at home over spring break, so we decided to book a last minute trip to the far south of Japan, to Okinawa. From the moment we landed, we felt like we were in a completely different country here. Rice paddies were replaced with sugar cane fields, there were no mountains to speak of, the houses were vast and more Spanish in design than Japanese. Everywhere we went, there were Americans. And there were glorious yellow sand beaches tickled by the South China Sea.
Okinawa is part of the southern Ryuku Island chain. The southernmost Island is about a stone`s throuw from Taiwan. The Ryuku peoples seem to be a cultural mixture: a bit Malaysian, a bit South East Asian, a bit Chinese and a bit Japanese. The temples are slightly different, the language is slightly different, the music is slightly different, and even the rooves are slightly different.
Now, Okinawa seems to think that it is part Hawaiian. Which isn`t surprising considering that for most of their history, the Okinawans have "belonged" to either China or to the Tokugawa Shogunate and mainland Japan, or later, to the US Army. You may be stting there right now thinking that the name "Okinawa" sounds familiar. Dust off your WW2 textbooks and check it out. Okinawa was caught in between the invading American Forces and the retaliating Japanese ones in 1944. In fact, much of the main island of Okinawa was destroyed at this time. The American attacks were so severe, that most of the Japanese command were pushed to the edge of the island where they jumped off the cliffs and committed mass suicide. The remaining ones were hidden in tunnels. They were discovered later, their bodies rotting: they too committed mass suicide. The Okinawans were caught in the middle - they were only technically "owned" by the Japanese, and many islanders were murdered by their country`s army for food or shelter. By the time the Battle of Okinawa ended, 250,000 people had died: 150,000 of them were Okinawans. The island became an American posession until 1972 when it was returned to Japan. Even today, the American Forces own 20% of the Okinawan land - most of it in the prime area around Okinawa city and Naha city in the south.
There are so many American forces, that we felt like we were taking a trip back "home". Most people there are functionally bilingual: English is everywhere. It is English, however, that comes from necessity and oppression. When we checked into our hotel, the staff almost collapsed with surprise at our attempt to do it in Japanese. Most people, in fact, had never met a Western person who could even muster a few phrases of Japanese. Indeed we were shocked to find that there was an "all English top 40 hits" radio station and a TV channel run by the American Forces Network. I must guiltily admit: we were very excited at the prospect of watching our favourite TV shows and of listening to the new music coming out of the US.
The first order on our agenda was to go check out the beach. We were located on Cape Zanpa - know for its beautiful beach, its lighthouse, and its rocky shores. We had a gorgeous westerly view out over the ocean from our hotel room, and the temperature was a balmy 25 degrees. After climbing to the top of the lighthouse, dining on Australian beef, and going in search of the elusive Okinawa city, we stumbled back to our hotel to watch some TV. We were shocked at how much English we found - there was so much, in fact, that we had headaches from all the stimulation.
The next day, we thought that we would explore a "traditional" Ryuku village: we wanted to find out what life was like here a couple of hundred years ago. There were old houses, traditional music, a snake vs mongoose show, and countless gift shops. Basically, the whole thing was just a fancy mall.
So, we decided to check out the nature of Okinawa, and took a drive up the coast. The views were beautiful, if a bit obscured by numerous resorts. Finally, we gave in, and decided to just revel in the Americana of the place. We decided to head off to America Mura (American town) to get our hair cut by people who had actually seen naturally curly hair before! My hairdresser insisted on cutting at least three other people`s hair while doing mine, so Sara`s hairdresser decided to utilize this time by straightening her usually super curly hair.
We felt divine and knew that this was our time to go out on the town!
After dolling up back at the hotel, we made our way to Tony Roma`s for ribs and hot wings. MMMMMMM! Then off to a Japanese Hip Hop dance club. For the low sum of 1500 Yen, we got our own little table and a big bottle of the local firewater (awamori) to drink. Looking around, we soon noticed that we were the only foreigners in the club, so we used the Awamori to fortify our resolve. Soon enough, the potent beverage was coursing through our veins and causing us to do crazy things like hop up on stage and dance around and sing along to the Japanese songs. The other clubgoers then realized that we were different. They were shocked to see that we knew some of their music and one by one, they approached us. After many more Awamori`s (the tradition is to drink a glass to each new friend), and a lot of broken, drunken Japanese, we knew it was time to head home.
The next morning was Easter Sunday, so Sara and I parted ways - she headed off to find a church, and I went to the beach. And then the onsen. Then to our room for a nap. Then back to the beach. Then Sara came home and we checked out the Botanical Gardens, which were beautiful, but much like tropical botanical gardens anywhere. It was around this time that I got an urgent call from Mrs Murasaki back in my home area on the mainland. She had just heard that there was an earthquake in Taiwan and a tsunami (tidal wave) could be heading for Okinawa as we speak. She was warning me to get off the beach and go inland. Luckily, we were at my favourite, Mos Burger, for lunch - far away from the threat of tsunami. Still, it was a bit unsettling!
That night, our dinner was included in our hotel price, so we went to the ritzy all-you-can-eat yakiniku restaurant. For those of you not in the know, yakiniku generally consists of thinly sliced meats and vegetables that you barbecue at your table. MMMMMM. Being carnivorous beings, we fully enjoyed this dinner!! So much so, that we could not bring ourselves to do much more than lie in our room and watch TV until we fell asleep.
The next morning, we woke up grumpy. Not from a meat hangover as you might think, but from a sense of sorrow and dread - this was our last day in Okinawa. Soon, we would have to go back to the cold of our respective mountain villages. Sigh. We decided to drive to Miyagi Island to search for the filming locations of "Karate Kid". All we found were fields and mountains. Not many people live there - there is no supermarket, or even a gas station! We did, however, find a beautiful deserted beach where we lay for about an hour. Once again, we hit the road, in search of gas, tacos (the local specialty here) and a bullfight ring. After many wrong turns (they love to put out one road sign, many miles away frm the attraction and never post another until you actually get there), we found the deserted bull ring. Here, bullfighting is not as cruel as in Spain or Central/South America: basically, it is bull sumo - the bulls lock horns and attempt to shove each other out of the ring. Alas, we did not get to watch this spectacle!
And off again we went to America Mura (notice a theme here?) for iced coffee androast beef panini sandwiches, and to watch the sunset and the movie "A Beautiful Mind". It was our last evening. Sigh. I didn`t want it to end, so after Sara and I took our last onsen at the hotel, I haded up to the top floor bar for a martini and to ponder our vacation. I`ve decided that I am addicted to travel - do they even have a 12 step programme for that????
The next morning was all about packing and shopping for little gifts for everyone (and here, gifts are given to absolutely everyone!), and about getting to the airport and such. When we finally landed in Osaka and got our luggage, we knew we wanted to delay the pain and coldness of going home - so we went to Kobe for Subway sandwiches and to Starbucks for more iced coffees. As we sat there, a young foreigner approached us for directions, and it was then that we knew. This actually is it. This is our home - Hyogo-ken. We have moved from the excited, I-still-feel-like-I`m-travelling stage, into that stage where this unusual country becomes home. And so we hoisted our packpacks and made off in exactly that direction: the direction of home.
Sabine . 9:12 AM . Comments
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