Yep, it's time for the oh-so-enthralling end of year review...

As I'm sure everyone is aware, 2013 is coming to a close.  Honestly, I can't say it was my favorite year by any stretch of the imagination, but I've had much worse.  I won't be sad to close the book on it and start an entirely new novel (hopefully more of light-hearted beach read) in 2014.  But, it's always good closure to review the year, reflect on what went well and not so well, and ponder what should come next.

So, I present 2013 in pictures. (dum dum DUM!)

It started out wonderfully, with a visit to our local temple and goody bags full of mikan, fortunes, and cuttings.  We plan to go again this year, grab a nap and hike up a local mountain to see the first sunrise of the New Year.  If we're still feeling genki, we might head to the village A works in and pay a visit to Hotaka shrine for luck in the New Year.


In February, we trekked up to the northern part of our prefecture to visit the snow festival in Iiyama.  There is a much more famous and bigger festival wayyyy up north in Hokkaido, but we were pleasantly surprised with the quality of this one--despite the fact it was so warm the sculptures were melting!  We also paid an obligatory visit to the local hot spring monkey park, furry cuteness in a bathtub.

Rainy hiking in "paradise"

"Gomi" beach

March brought a horribly expensive trip full of rain and garbage to the small Okinawan island of Iriomote.  We were very disappointed with the unkept beaches, closed attractions and inability to tour the island without a guide.  In retrospect, we should have spent more time at the neighboring island, Ishigaki, which had a lively downtown, convenient public transportation refreshingly friendly  locals.

Springtime is unquestionably the best time of year in Japan.  Everything blooms, and it's like a physical reward for the senses after surviving the long, cold winter.  People also begin to bloom, and everyone comes out of their crusty winter shells and starts smiling!

What is more beautiful than blossoms and snow-capped mountains?

                                                                                                         

Me and Kathryn Budig :)

May brought us to Karuizawa, which is one of my favorite towns in Nagano. We've been there twice this year!  Though horribly expensive and targeted to affluent Tokyo-ites, has the most delicious little Turkish restaurant with the best falafel pita, and an amazing (and expensive!) German beer joint.  Top that off with 12 hours of yoga with the teacher responsible for me continuing to practice yoga, and you have a recipe for a much-needed recharge weekend.

The summer brought mountains... lots of mountains.  Mountain climbing is my new favorite hobby, especially after doing the Dakesawa-Maehotaka-Okuhotaka-Karasawa route this August.  We have several more 3000 meter plus mountains we want to summit next season, as there's something exhilarating about seeing landscapes you've only seen in National Geographic.  And just think of all the mountains there are to climb in the world... giggle.  We'll always have a new goal.

Top of Mt. Fuji, 3776 meters

Okuhotaka, 3190 meters

The summer also brought my mum for a visit, her first time in a foreign country (she had to get a passport!)  Unfortunately it was hot as hades, so we spent a lot of time in her air-conditioned hotel room, but she got to see a lot of local sites and sweat off a few toxins in the process.

Waiting for the taxi to the airport at the train station.

The fall brought weekends of long runs in preparation for my final marathon in Ibigawa Village, Gifu.  I managed to raise some money for the Japan Cat Network in the process, and despite my slow time, I'm finally at peace with my running history, and ready to move on to bigger and better things (like mountains:).

My first 42 kilometers--and my last 26.2 miles.

December brought us to our first iaido testing, and just as soon as we finished, we've started training even harder for the next test.  Iaido has been a challenge to me in ways I was not expecting.  In America, my life was loud and hectic, and I craved moments alone to enjoy the silence and reflect on life.  So to balance the chaos, I ran marathons and studied martial arts.  

Since coming to Japan, my life is full of restraint and quiet, and I have few opportunities to show emotions or release my energy.  Studying martial arts, which used to be calming and focusing, is now another arena where I must practice constant vigilance and restraint.  Here, I feel like my entire personality is bottled up inside my chest, and sometimes it physically hurts to keep it there.  In the new year, I want to work to find a better balance of who I am and the expectations of the culture we are currently living in.

The new year also brings change... but what that change will look like for us is yet to be decided.  Japan has challenged me in ways I wasn't expecting, and has brought up old issues I thought I had packed away for good long ago.  The influence of my environment is so strong on my personality, I'm not sure I'm capable of finding a balance.  I function better under a certain amount of chaos, and I miss the camaraderie with my students and coworkers in America--the good-natured sarcasm, silliness and friendship.  I miss actual responsibility, being needed, and feeling like I made a difference.  Personalities like mine need to be kept busy, multi-tasking practically makes me giddy.  But to balance that, I need the right kind of people to remind me to take time to enjoy life, laugh, and not take things too seriously.

I thought I'd dealt with my type A perfectionist personality, tendency to over think things, worry about what others think about me, etc in my mid-twenties.... but really what I'd done was find an environment that supported the best aspects of myself.  But is that such a bad thing?  Or is it the easy way out? This is what I will be pondering in the next few weeks, as we make our decision for the next year.

For my American running friends

As I have 876.4 things I need to be doing, I thought I'd take some time and write a comparison of marathons in the U.S. and Japan.:)

It will be six years this winter since I ran my first 5k after caving into peer pressure from my Ironman racing friends.  I'd run track in high school so I could prance around in skimpy clothes and get a tan while flirting with boys... but other than that, I'd not done any serious running.

Chicago Marathon, 10/09

July, 2009

I remember how hard it was to start running... 20 minutes seemed like an eternity.  But after that first race, it seemed illogical to stop there.  The 5k is like a gateway drug to longer and more grandiose sounding races.  I ran my first half marathon four months later, and was well on my way to training for my first marathon when I broke my foot on a timing chip running up a hill in a half marathon that summer.  But, I was able to run that first marathon in Chicago just a week after getting out of my walking cast (shhhh, don't tell my doctor) and decided to train for Boston
qualifying races.

St. Louis Marathon, 2010

I've run 5 marathons in America--two in St. Louis, Chicago, Phoenix and Memphis.  My all-time favorite was Chicago, followed in a close second by the Go St. Louis marathon.  The fun part of traveling for races is the camaraderie.  American marathons tend to have a very large field limit--prior to running in Japan, I'd never run a marathon under 30,000 people.  Because of this, hotels near the start line are overrun with other competitors, and everyone you run into has an awesome story to tell about their goals, injuries, training plans, etc.

The Ibigawa marathon in Japan was a ghost town compared to what I'm used to.  Japanese marathons tend to have smaller field limits (possibly due to the narrower streets) and this particular race was limited to only 6000 marathoners and 4000 half marathoners--despite the fact the race sold out in less than an hour.  I think bigger cities like Tokyo have a larger field size.  The hotel we stayed at was 5 minutes from the start line... we only saw one other family participating in the race.  At the start line, I'm used to bantering about with other runners... but I think this group of runners might not be used to foreigners.  One woman standing next to me asked me to take her picture... but when she looked at my face and saw I was a foreigner, she apologized,  turned away and asked the man next to me instead.

In America,  you're required to go to the Expo the day before to pick up your race number, timing chip etc., and in Japan they mail it to you.  You still have to report in to sign a waiver before the race, but you aren't required to come a day early basically for the purpose of having to walk through aisles and aisles of crappy sales pitches.

In America, we have small private bands performing, as well as local school groups.  Despite the pouring rain, we had all of those things in Japan as well.  Instead of warming up to the latest popstar ear torment as we do in America, we grooved to a warbly Japanese man playing a banjo.  But better than a starting gun, in true Japanese fashion, we ran over the start line to the sound of fireworks (which unfortunately were inconveniently located *behind* us so a bit difficult to see:).

After a race in America

At every race there's always some one who brings a cowbell... and for a moment, I thought Japan had them too... but then I looked again and realized someone was banging on an ancient looking iron skillet with a spoon.  Classic.  And I really hate the people who snarkily yell out around mile 2... only 24.2 more miles!  Yep, those same people are here... this time, yelling only 39 more kilometers!  Bite me arsehole.  Not surprisingly, Japanese people are super conscientious about making sure their Gu, cups, and other trash actually end up in a trash bag, unlike in America where people carelessly throw their stuff everywhere (including in the way of other runners) and you have to run on a carpet of paper cups and half-eaten Gu.

The best thing Ibigawa had going for it was the children and old ladies.  I couldn't believe they still drug all the kindergarten and elementary students out in the cold and the rain... but I'm so glad they did. Honestly, life doesn't get much cuter than little kids in polka dot rain coats holding out hands covered with their too-long rain coat sleeves for a high five and yelling in a high pitched voice "Ganbatte kudasai!"  Cuteness overload.

In a close second were the little old ladies sitting on their porches all hunched over and wrinkly, clapping their hands like kids at Disneyland, chanting "Gan-ba-re, Gan-ba-re" and smiling like they won the lottery when you wave at them.  Old ladies are awesome.

When you finish a race in America, you get a medal... here, you get a towel, which I think is a little strange... but maybe it's the whole modesty thing?  If I had a towel for every race I'd run, my house would be covered in towels, so I guess the point is not to brag about your accomplishments like we do by hanging up our

Me and my towel in Ibigawa

medals on racks specially designed for that purpose.

Lastly, at the finish line in America you are pelted with food of all kinds... bagels, snack bars, fruit, etc.  In Japan, we got exactly one half of a banana and no water... only a bottle of Japanese style Gatorade, which I passed on.  If you want any other food, you gotta cough up some cash.  I wonder if it's because people aren't so big on donations here... for example, most of the sponsors of marathons in the U.S. use it as a tax deductible donation of products and free advertising for their items.

At any rate, I've been waiting three years to finally run my "last race"... and I have.  6 marathons is more than enough for anyone I think, and I can finally close this chapter of my life and move on to all the other things I've been wanting to try.  When I was single and uninjured, I thought I might someday do an Ironman... and maybe I will... someday.  For now, I want to focus on building strength, increasing speed, and varying my workouts.  Long distance running takes a lot of time, and I'm happy to have my weekends back.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Yesterday's lunchtime conversation in the teacher's room:

Kyoto-sensei: Oh, Sarah, it's too bad you have debates this weekend.  Are you staying overnight?
Me: Yes.
Kyoto-sensei: At the university?
Me: No, at a hotel across from the station.
Kyoto-sensei: Eh?  That's not that far from your house.
Home Ec Teacher (to Kyoto sensei): Why is she going to debate? To watch?
Kyoto-sensei (to me): Why are you going to debate? For support?
Me: To be a judge.
Home Ec Teacher (to Kyoto sensei): What?
Kyoto sensei: To be a what?
Me: To be a judge.  At the high school prefectural tournament.
All the teachers: (expressions of complete shock and awe, various incarnations of Wow uttered)
What I wanted to say: Yes, contrary to what you all believe, I do actually have a brain, and a moderate level of intelligence and a few useful skills besides parroting bad English textbook sentences in a ridiculously upbeat and ponderously slow voice.
What I actually said: (nothing)

So that's about the tone of this piece right there.  You wanna stop reading, douzo. I don't blame you.  I might stop reading myself.  That will explain everything that follows from here on out.

It's been a rough month or so at the good ole junior high of late.  I usually try and focus on the positive in this blog, and there is a positive side, I promise.  But you gotta see the cloud before you catch a glimpse of the silver lining... or something.

Wikipedia says this man is
 named Archibald.

Recently, I've been having some trouble with my Japanese English teaching partner, who we will call Archibald.  Actually, recently is incorrect.  Since I came to Japan, I have been having trouble with my Japanese English teaching partner... but because I try to adopt the Luke Skywalker mentality of seeing the good in bad people, I have been trying to convince myself for over a year that things really aren't that bad.  After today's events, I realize I am actually delusional and it's about time I snapped out of it... or I might be forced to self medicate with copious amounts of alcohol and desserts.

Many ALTs have different situations.  Some actually get to teach lessons (High school ALTs, I'm glaring murderously at you:).  Some get to plan lessons.  Some get to explain or introduce different concepts or games in class.  Some get to give greetings and do speaking practice.  Some get to help make tests.  Me--I do none of these things.  I never know what we are going to do in class until I walk into it.  If you are looking for me, you will find me in the back talking to the students who aren't paying attention anyway.  Sometimes, I"m even talking to them about English-related things.  Yay.

I knew this type of work situation was a possibility.  But what I didn't understand was the side effects of this type of position.  That is, everyone *knows* I have no actual purpose.  If I never came back to school, absolutely no one would be affected (except of course the students... but that's a different story). And now, I finally realize I'm being treated like someone who has no purpose.

If you note in the beginning conversation, not only were the teachers shocked that I could actually be of real use in a situation where what I do or do not do could have an impact, they also didn't talk directly to me.  They talked to Kyoto-sensei who then talked to me.  Mind you, this is all in Japanese--it's not like Kyoto sensei was translating.  There is a strong sense of "them" at my school... and no matter how hard I try, I am never a part of "them".  (editor's note: It's important for my inbox which will be full of rude comments that I make clear I don't think this situation is typical. I think it is unique to my school, as most people I know like their coworkers a great deal.  Thank you for your time.)

This is a Halloween cat for Archibald.

Compound this with the fact that my good buddy Archibald (my JTE, if you recall) never informs me of anything.  I walked in this morning to find written on the board that he had taken nenkyuu after notifying Kyoto sensei earlier that morning (i.e. he didn't feel like coming to work).  I received no notification of this, and still have yet to receive it.  It is one of our busiest days, with all classes, and it's Halloween and I'd planned something special (which of course he didn't know about, because we don't plan, remember?) This has happened at least 10 times previously, and every time I patiently sat down and explained to him that in America, when you are supposed to be teaching as a team (as we are) it is supremely rude and disrespectful to not inform your partner.  You can see how much of an impact this cultural exchange has made.

So, that brings me to second period hiding in the music room instrument closet trying to figure out how I am going to make it through winter when everyday things go further downhill. Then it hit me.  This is ridiculous.  Who am I?  The old me would never be hiding in an instrument closet.  The old me would say F you people who don't talk to me, F you people who are rude and disrespectful, F you trying to be Japanese.  I'm all for respecting cultural traditions, but you are still yourself... and that deserves respect too.

I marched back into the teacher's room and asked Kyoto sensei for a meeting with him next week to discuss the conditions of English class.  Will it do any good?  No.  But I know that I am being true to myself by sharing my point of view.  Then, I walked into the second and first grade hallway and yelled, "Does anyone know what day it is?"  Some of the students replied in Japanese, "October 31st".  I said "Yes, which means..." Finally, a student said, "Halloween!"  "Yes again!" I said.  "If you want candy, you can come trick or treating in the hallway outside the teacher's room during free time."  I turned on my heel and went upstairs to deliver the same message to the third grade students.

At the end of the day, I consider things a win.  Despite causing a ruckus (definitely frowned upon) I succeeded in teaching *every student* how to trick or treat--and they all went home with candy and a sticker to prove it.  I have a meeting with Kyoto sensei for next week, and I looked at international schools in America in case I decide I can't take it another year.  I haven't gained a thing by trying to act too Japanese... but I may have narrowly missed losing a part of myself.  I worked hard to be the person I was before I came to Japan, and while I expected that person to change... there are parts that are not up for negotiation.

Don't forget to give yourself a little love (and get your mind out of the gutter:).

Running in the inaka

So as pretty much anyone anywhere north of the equator can attest to, it's been way too hot to run during the day for the past several months.  Recently, it cooled down enough for me to run in the afternoon on Wednesday, my half day from work.

Me and my cast, circa summer 2009.

I should preface this by saying that as many of you know, I've been sidelined from running for quite some time.  After breaking my foot 4 months before my first marathon in 2009, I came back too quickly and caused some problems with my left knee and IT band.  Without physical therapy, long runs cause my left knee to swell up, resulting in excruciating pain.  Without the ability to run competitively, what's the point of spending up to 10 hours every week running?  I switched to yoga, spinning and kickboxing and considered that chapter of my life closed.

Then I moved to Nagano, where it seems like everyone is a runner (and a snowboarder, but that's a different blog post).  I loved being a part of the running community, and I found myself slowly being sucked back in.  Before I knew it, I had signed up for an October half marathon, and then... the November marathon.  I rationalized my insanity by saying I really wanted to say I'd run a marathon overseas... how many people can say that? (Actually, you'd be surprised.)

Running the Chicago marathon
with a broken foot in 2009.

Thankfully for my November marathon, I've discovered that running during the day in my small inaka village is a lot like running the Chicago marathon.  Just when  you think you're ready to die and go stuff your face with the bagels you've been smelling for the last 5 miles, someone comes along to give you a reason to keep
going.

I could have used some support
during the 2010 Phoenix/Mesa
marathon through the ghetto of both cities.
This race put me in physical therapy.

Due to rain and a crazy busy schedule, I'd been unable to get a long run in for several weeks.  Though a little toasty for my liking, I decided Wednesday afternoon was my best bet to get in any sort of distance.  I set off with some tunes and crossed fingers to run along route 19 and up the mountain road that avoids the scary long tunnel.  I had a goal of 10 miles in mind, but as I had to get to iaido later that night, I wasn't married to that idea.

Running in my town makes you a celebrity.  Seriously, it does.  I passed the caretaker at the elementary school, half the old people in my village, and a fair score of strangers out working in the fields.  Every one of them waved, laughed, and shouted "Ganbare!"

I hate the scary tunnel at the edge of my village, so recently I've been running up the mountain road and taking my chances with bears instead.  This time, I wanted to see how far I could get before the road turned sketchy. All was well, until I turned a corner along the edge of a mountain stream and heard a "MOOOOOOOOO!" Now I had some loud, pounding running tunes turned up alarmingly loud, and still I heard, "MOOOOOOOO!".  God only knows how loud that moo was if you had been listening with actual ears, instead of ears muffled by and filled with obnoxious music.  I think you could probably here it in Matsumoto.

So I realized that "MOOO!"  is not a part of Lady Gaga's music, despite the fact she wears meat dresses, and jumped so high, I literally almost jumped off the mountain and into the creek.  I turn my head frantically, thinking this unseen cow must surely be immediately in front of me and possibly trying to gore me with it's horns.

The first thing I see is a stooped old Japanese man made even more stooped by the fact that he is doubled over laughing.  What the?  He is still in the same position when I finally spot the bloody cow in what I thought was an abandoned barn off to the left.  The old man stops laughing long enough to breathe a mocking "Konnichiwa" and I say the same and sprint away.

You shall not pass, you cow hater.

Traumatized by my cow experience, it takes me a few minutes to realize that the road I was running on has now ended.  I am running in a dark, wooded mountain pass that has become eerily quiet.  Realizing it is coming on twilight, and bears are actually a real danger in this uninhabited area, I turn around and run back down the mountain.

Approaching the cow man's house, I almost step on a black and white cat lying in the middle of the road.  Most cats have the sense to move when a strange gaijin comes pounding down the pavement towards them, but this cat looked at me like *I* was the crazy one.  I think the old man sent it out there to trip and kill me, because I was scared of his cow.

Finally, I make it back to the relative safety of route 19, and continue up the giant hill (well, not really giant, but after 7-8 miles, it seems that way) past the Ikusaka damn dam.  Again, I am in my zone, trying to convince myself it's really fun to run up this neverending hill at the end of my run, when through the haze of my pounding music, I hear "Oy!  Sarah sensei!"  I look around like an idiot trying to figure out where this is coming from, and there are two men sticking their heads out of the trash sorter next to the dam.  They yell "Ganbare sensei!" then say "Oh, eigo de... ah.. hawhito! Fight!"  I smile, trip again, and continue up the hill.

I ran in this outfit the other day,
and my students gave me a play by play
of every piece I was wearing.  

After I arrive home, I realize all these distractions have actually been very helpful to keeping my mind off the task at hand... running for a long time.  I think I will run more often during the day, as it's like having my own personal cheering section... albeit not in the most dignified way at times (i.e. being scared by a freaking cow and almost stepping on a cat).

Of course, when I come back to school the next day I get a report from at least half the students and staff about my run.  No joke.  Where were you going, I saw you, why were so you so far away, etc. etc.  One student even had an entire conversation *in English*.

Besides the fact I've committed myself to these races, whether or not I'm appropriately trained, I love getting the interaction with my community that's so hard to find.  Half the time I feel like I live in a ghost town, never seeing or talking to anyone.  For some reason, when I'm panting and sweating away, people seem to think I'm more approachable... so if it takes running a marathon to become a part of my community, so be it.

Movie theatres in Japan

In keeping with my second year resolution to share everything that to me is new, exciting, different, and/or strange, we went to our first Japanese movie theatre yesterday (well, actually that was a couple weeks ago now, as I waited to post this) to watch the premiere of Star Trek: Into Darkness.  (Which, while googling pictures to put here, I noticed was voted the worse movie of all time by Trekkies.  Interesting, as I didn't particularly like it myself, but it had some moments.  I think Star Trek 5 was much worse. Also, J.J. Abrams is not a Star Trek fan.  Sacrilege.:)

In Japan, you have assigned seats, and can choose them when you buy your tickets.  I think this is brilliant, and alleviates having to stand in line for a good seat for forever.  Everyone gets let into the theatre when the attendant announces your movie, so you can come early to claim your seat, then relax in the lobby eating snacks, drinks, what have you.  So typical Japan--organized and orderly.

A was sad because he couldn't figure out how to get a refill on his soda.  But really, if you order a large soda (which is at least 2/3 of a 2 L bottle), do you really need a refill?  Snacks are comparable to American prices, but tickets are a whopping $18 a piece--which is why we haven't been to a movie before now. 

Ouch.

We chose the Japanese subtitled 2D version, as we would have been out of luck with the Japanese dubbed version, which was also in 3D--leading me to believe the dubbed movies are more popular.  I am curious to hear the voices they chose, and I plan to google the Japanese trailer and see if it has the dubbed voices.  Just like America, they have cheesy advertisements and warnings, but unlike America, the volume is deafening.  I literally had to cover my ears multiple times during the movie because it hurt my head.  It may just have been this particular movie.  We will go again when the new Hunger Games is released after Christmas (Japan has the very last release date, just like with Star Trek) and I can compare the two.

Perhaps the strangest thing about our first movie in Japan was that *everyone* stayed until the end---through every last credit and company picture.  Maybe 6 people left before the credits finished rolling.  We had people on both sides of our row, so we had to stay as well.  At first, we thought maybe they knew something we didn't--there was secret extra footage or more previews at the end or something.  Nope.  Just an endless parade of credits and company logos, and thank goodness they didn't do the whole thing in Japanese as well. 

In other firsts, we had our first American style pizza from Pizza Hut in over a year.  In America, I can't remember the last time I actually ate Pizza Hut pizza... but compared to the crap pizza they have on hand here, it was one of the most glorious things I've eaten to date in Japan.

Hawaiian for Alan only, Cheese for both of us.  Yumilicious.

Japanese seem to have a fascination with mayonnaise, not the least of which is demonstrated through the many kinds of pizza on the menu containing mayonnaise.  They even have a mayonnaise special (I'm really not kidding). One of my students recently wrote in his homework about how he hates natto, claiming it is "not a food".  I make the same claim about mayonnaise.

The Hellman's website lists the following ingredients in its original mayonnaise: SOYBEAN OIL, WATER, WHOLE EGGS AND EGG YOLKS, VINEGAR, SALT, SUGAR, LEMON JUICE, CALCIUM DISODIUM EDTA (USED TO PROTECT QUALITY), NATURAL FLAVORS. So, based on this analysis, mayonnaise is basically soybean oil and water.  This is a beverage, not a food.  Case closed.:)

Truly though, the main thing I miss about America is the wide variety of food.  I miss eating Ethiopian food one night, Mexican the next, and topping it all off with a Mediterranean feast.  And it's so *easy* to make healthy, multi-cultural food at home in America, as opposed to here, which requires advance ordering of rare ingredients on the internet and hours slaving over making things from scratch.  I took the convenience of American healthy eating for granted.  In Japan, if you are craving any of the *unhealthy* tastes like cardboard fast food you should never eat--it's all yours.  Good luck finding spinach. 

My new all time favorite quote is from 30 Rock, the first episode of Season 4.  Jack takes the actors and Liz out to a hot new Asian restaurant, and Jenna and Tracey are shocked by what they are served. This is so true, I rolled out of my chair laughing... you can find cheesy blaster type things in any grocery or conbini.  Ew.  Check out the clip here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p1W8R5TSNNk

At any rate, I love Japan, but I just can't get on board with the food. Sorry guys.  But for now, I think the awesome mountains, crystal clear rivers and peace and quiet make up for it.:)

One year later

This week marks one year in Japan for me... and a lot of others who came with me. Some are choosing to return back to America, some, like me, are staying on for at least one more year.

I can't decide whether this year seems incredibly long or incredibly short. It's an increment of time... but beyond that, I don't have one unifying thought about it.


Our moving van.

It's always good to reflect on the past--not to determine regrets, but to realize how far you've come, and the things you've accomplished. If I have a goal for my second year in Japan, it's to stop squashing my excitement at things that are new to me. Here, we are always the "newbies", with more seasoned foreigners treating things that to us are exciting and fresh as common place events. One thing working with small children for many years has taught me is that it's ok to look at the world as a child does... taking delight in simple things... because really, what else is there? It's a mentality I've allowed myself to forget with this transition to Japan, and one I desperately want to recapture.

Over one year ago, A and I ordered a bottle of our favorite beer from my all-time favorite brewery, Perennial Artisan Ales in St. Louis. Along with our favorite local Mexican restaurant, we ate our "last supper" on the floor of our apartment before heading off with our moving truck to my mother's house in Minnesota.


Banquet attire.

After some harrowing transportation ordeals, before I knew it I was in the sky squashed in the middle seat of a 5 seat row for a 14 hour flight to Tokyo. It is not one of my better memories. So, jet lagged and a little stressed, I dragged myself through Tokyo orientation.

Still slightly jet-lagged, I boarded a bus for Nagano and was met by what seemed like an entire committee, but was really only three people. Then commenced a dizzying series of errands to various stores, all done in a suit in 90+ degree heat. Eventually I arrived "home" for the first time.


Actually, I didn't have curtains for a week, which resulted in an awkward meeting with the PE teacher whose front door faces that patio window.

I got used to things like driving on the left side of the road, having no dryer or air conditioning, and surviving without internet for over two weeks. Alan arrived in mid-August, and we embarked on adventure after adventure... in retrospect, a very very bad idea. In orientation, everyone tells you to stay busy, accept every invitation, and not waste any time sitting around your house. Well, sometimes you need to sit around your house to process the fact you just moved to a foreign country where something as simple as going the post office requires immense planning. We overestimated our ability to adapt quickly to so much change at once, and our constant traveling made it worse. 

One of our first big adventures was a 5 hour drive to Canyons in Gunma.  A five hour drive in the U.S. is relatively easy, on nice, flat interstates.  In Japan, a 5 hour drive for foreigners too cheap to pay expressway tolls is a windy, narrow mountain road from hell.  After arriving ill and out of sorts, we proceeded to relieve our stress by throwing ourselves down some waterfalls.

In America, I liked to challenge myself by doing things that scared me just to prove I could.  But here in Japan, everything is scary and difficult.  Just speaking is a risk, because there's a 50-50 chance you and the people you are trying to communicate with won't understand each other. Living with this constant underlying stress makes taking the risks I could take easily in America monumental challenges here in Japan.

We did manage to make it to Fukushima last October, and had a humbling experience in the evacuated area.  It's one of the most meaningful experiences I've had so far, and of course, we got our lovely cat, Akari out of the deal as well.  She was a real trooper, making it the 8 hours across Fukushima and Niigata, down the Japan Sea and south through Nagano, hiding under the seat and cuddling in our laps the whole while.  If you ever have the chance to support the Japan Cat Network, either through volunteering, a monetary donation, or supplies, please check out their website here: http://www.japancatnet.org

First time snowshoeing.

First time snowboarding.

Winter arrived and at first we enjoyed the outrageous amounts of snow, the likes of which I'd  never even seen growing up in North Dakota.  Snowboarding, snowshoeing, snowmen...

But never ending winter without central heating starts to wear on you, and ten pounds heavier I emerged in Karuizawa, ready to burn it off with a weekend workshop with my favorite yoga teacher, Kathryn Budig.  It's ironic really that she had to come all the way here for me to be able to practice with her, as I could never have afforded the cost in the U.S.  But here, it was an easy 2.5 hour drive to one of our favorite (and most expensive) towns in Japan.  Despite breaking off an old dental cap (it was easily fixed upon return by the wonders of Japanese dentistry), it was one of my favorite trips to date!

Me and Kathryn Budig. I'm such a dork, I wore my bliss ninja shirt on purpose, knowing she had the same one.:) Check her out on yogaglo.com!

Spring is amazing here in Japan, and you really earn every beautiful blossom after suffering through the winter.  I've never been so happy to see a new season in my entire life.  Everyone is happier too--the new school year begins, people are excited and positive... it's contagious.

The top of Mt. Fuji, 3776 meters/12,388.5 feet high. 4:30 a.m!

Now that summer is in swing, we have switched to climbing mountains.  While our first major attempt was an epic fail, Fuji-san was a success--two weeks before they started charging admission!  Woohoo!  It's humbling to stand on a country's highest mountain top, and the world looks a lot different.

With a whole year looming ahead of us, we have more adventures planned.  A hike to the top of Mt. Okuhotakadake in late August, Japan's third highest mountain.  A two day kayaking trip.  A marathon for me in November (click here to support it: http://www.gofundme.com/3qu9ow). Working on our iaido practice.  Joining the local taiko group. Finish my second Masters and TESOL certification.  It's going to be a busy year.

But despite all of the adventures and goals, we want to remember to stay grounded.  It's so easy to get caught up in things that don't matter here... as foreigners, we will always stand out, and no matter how hard we try, we will never blend in, and we will never follow all the "rules".  I have to remember that I am also here as a cultural ambassador of sorts, and I not only have to adapt to Japanese culture, but people must adapt to me.  Maybe this coming year, we can meet a little more in the middle...

And then there were some mountains.

So, like bazillions of foreigners and Japanese before us, we decided to tackle Fuji-san.  It was recently named a World Heritage site, and rumors are circulating about how much they may charge to allow people to... climb, I"m assuming?  At any rate, we had a long holiday weekend, the climbing season is only two months, so we decided to go for it.

The week before we had had a rude awakening by climbing what was supposed to have been a beginner's level mountain.  What it was was covered in snow, fog, and freezing rain.

On the descent from Mt. Komagatake.  Yeah.

After our first taste of what being unprepared on a giant mountain feels like, we outfitted ourselves for every eventuality, including opting for taking the longer, less popular trail--the Goten(m)ba Trail.  We wanted to climb overnight, and the hazards of doing so--besides the obvious fact that you are climbing over night with no sleep in the dark--is the crowds of people also doing the same thing.  In bad weather conditions, this can be extremely hazardous, as you stand in long queues slowly losing body heat.  After our experience on Komagatake, we knew that would be disastrous.

However, everyone and their mother was apparently also heading for Shizuoka at the same time, as we ran into horrendous traffic and arrived at least an hour late to the trail head in Gotemba-shi, Shizuoka.  As such, I was dubious about what the night would bring.  

Hour zero at the Gotemba Trailhead, 1440 meters, approximately 4:30 p.m. on Saturday.

Though the first few hours were at a slight incline, we had to hike up a trail of volcanic rock--which is basically like climbing up a beach.  Our boots sunk in at least 6 inches with every step, and our boots were constantly filling with small irritating rocks.  As such, we found ourselves getting tired quite quickly, and I slowed my pace considerably.

Hour 1-- feels like we haven't gotten anywhere.

Another problem with starting at such a low altitude is the trail seemed endless at first, because the incline wasn't as steep, and you could see forever--things that seemed not so far away, were actually quite far, and it seemed like we were making no progress at all.  But, we didn't run into very many people, which was part of our objective.

Looking down the trail after about 1-2 hours.

Hour 2--rain and wind, woohoo!

After hour two, the rain--which had been making a sad attempt since the beginning of the hike--finally kicked it in gear, and decided to make friends with some wind.  The weather forecast said a 0% chance of rain...

Looking down toward Gotemba-shi at dusk.

We settled down to appreciate dusk and add on some layers just before the 3 hour mark.  The Gotemba Trail has the least amount of mountain huts of any trail--and they are not open past 7 p.m.--which I did not know.

Hour 3.5--finally!  Our first station.  Guess what?  It's closed and has no services!

After this point, A started getting sick and tiring easily.  Our pace slowed down to a crawl with frequent breaks.  He had been going really fast--a good 5 feet ahead of me at times--and was starting to fill nauseous and tired.  Our plan had been to hike to the 7th station and rest there for several hours.  What I didn't know was that on this side of the trail, the mountain huts close at 7 p.m., and you cannot buy resting space, beverages or food.  

There are three stations very close together, and by the 7.5 station A could go no further.  We asked around to confirm that the mountain huts were closed, and we happened to find a nice man who even spoke English, and told us he had some cancellations and we could stay there for 5500Y each.  

I didn't realize what bad condition A was in, until he told me he couldn't make it back down or make it anywhere.  So, we went into the hut, and A stayed there through the night.  We were very very very lucky to have found someone to let us in a hut, as I don't know what I would have done. The wind was very strong on this part of the mountain, and I was planning on staying outside.  As bad as A was feeling, that wasn't an option for him.  I am so thankful to the kind people at the 7.5 station, who were beyond gracious and helpful!!!  I highly recommend their mountain hut anytime.  It wasn't nearly as bad as other blogs have portrayed, and you can use the toilets for free and return back to the hut after your climb and hang out and recover at no extra cost.  I'm also glad A found the man to let us in, because it was definitely the best option for him, and I'm not sad to have gotten out of the wind either!:)

8th station around 2 a.m. Sunday morning.

We went into the mountain hut a little after 10:30, and my body started going into chills and shakes from exhaustion and bad conditions.  I stayed in the hut, resting, until the tour group staying in our hut all got up at midnight and made as much noise as humanly possible.  After checking on A, and confirming our plan to meet up, I left the hut around 1:30, and joined a long queue of people headed for the top. 

I was thankful for the others on the trail at this point, because every single one was as weary, cold, and determined to persevere as I was.  We all shuffled along in a makeshift line, passing those who had slept on the side of the trail for the night, and others who could go no further, or were taking breakfast breaks.  We all asked each other, "Osaki ni?" and we all replied with, "Nope, I'm slow too.":)  Somewhere in this long, 2.5 hour trudge to the top, my backpack cover blew off from the wind, but that's the only injury I sustained on the way up.  You could see the long line of headlamps snaking their way to the top, and with the help of a granola bar and a Red Bull, I made it to the end of the line.

Shrine gate at the Gotemba Trail head.

When you arrive at the top, it's almost anticlimactic.  You've been trudging along for so long (8.5 hours it took us, but at least an hour of that was due to our slow pace and frequent stopping just before we stayed at the mountain hut) that I almost didn't know what to do with myself when I could stop.  I looked around dazedly, trying to get my bearings.  I walked through the shrine gate, and to my right was a shuttered post office and a sign proclaiming 30 minutes to the shrine.  I figured I didn't need to visit a shrine that badly, and took the shorter route to the very top of Mt. Fuji, Mt. Kengamine.

The route to Mt. Kengamine is very short, and basically a vertical, rocky slope.  It took the last vestiges of motivation I possessed to make it to the top.  I fell down it about 5 feet on the way down, as a tour group was hogging the hand rails, and have a bruised left bottom and scraped hands to show for it.  

Sunrise on the descent.

However, at the top, everyone was relaxing, chatting and waiting for the sunrise. A nice group of Japanese men offered to take my picture, and I can now say I've been to the highest point in Japan--3, 776 meters.  We were all weary looking, with headlamps (now dormant) still strapped to our foreheads, rain gear, crazy hair, and dirty faces... but we were all victorious.  

Sunday, July 14  4:15 a.m.  Mt. Kengamine, 3776 meters

My advice to others who try this trek:

1.  The mountain hut we stayed at on the 7.5 station is nothing as horrible as other blogs have made mountain huts to be.  If you take the Gotemba Trail, it is my opinion the mountain huts are less crowded.  I highly recommend staying at one.

2. It is a LONG time until you reach a station, so use the bathroom, etc. before you go

3. It is severely sketchy about buying food or drink on this trail, so bring all you think you will need.  However, on the descent, you share the ascending trail until the 7th station, so there is food and beverages available.  It is much more comfortable to relax at one of the stations than the windy, crowded mess that is the top.

4. Pace yourself!  It is a long hike, and the greatest change in altitude of all the trails, and if you feel your heart rate pick up, slow down immediately!  You don't need to keep up with the myriad other climbers who *will* be relentlessly passing you the entire time.

5.  Potties are 300Y--not 100 or 200, but 300Y.  However, the 7.5 station has one porta-potty that is free.  Also, we did not see any bathrooms at all until the 7.5 station.  Plan accordingly!

6. Invest in good rain gear and pack covers.  Our hike said a 0% percent chance of rain, and it was more like it was a 0 % chance it was *not* raining.