Survived the Disasters / Finally Legal

I was shaken out of my sleep as the pick-up drove over the old road, dotted with pot holes and mud puddles. The driver didn't bother slowing down, and I was thrown around on the back of the truck. A hitchhiker's rugged dream... When I opened my eyes, I realized I was lying on my futon, in my Japanese apartment. So it WAS just a dream, except for the shaking, that kept going on and on. An earthquake! 'Apparently they are quite common in this part of the world,' I felt the thought creeping through my head as I slid back into my dreams, and onto the back of the pickup. It was Monday morning, my day off, and the last thing I was gonna do was miss out on my precious sleep.

The weekend had been already wrecked by the remnants of a taifun that had spent its fury in Okinawa and southern Japan. By the time it reached the protective folds of the Shinano valley, all it had in store for us were two days of constant pouring. If anyone had planned on going on a hike, like I was, they were screwed. We went to another onsen instead. It was nice to sit in the hot water, and look out at the trees, until the old men started complaining that we spent too much time hogging the water... Like there wasn't enough space for them as well in the tub. Whatever!

So as nice as the onsen was, I wanted to go on this hike to test the map. With my colleague Yanik I am planing to undertake a hike across the Japanese Alps all the way to the sea. So to make sure the hiking times on the map correspond with the time we need to complete a hike, we wanted to go on a day-trip around the village of Asahi. But the rain threw a monkey-wrench in our plans. So I wasn't gonna let a petty trembler steal my sleep.

Later I found out that this petty trembler was a 6.8 earthquake, causing death and destruction just about 100 km North from us. But it wasn't the frenzy of the local citizens or the local news that gave me this idea, but the worried e-mails I got from several parts of the world. The further these messages came from, the worse the picture seemed to be portrayed. I had to assure everyone that I was fine, and that the lawnmower outside was more an annoyance factor than these natural disasters.

Other than that I have to mention that I am finally somewhat close to being a legally acknowledged person in Japan. I have what it takes to be recognized: a visa, for which I didn't even have to go to Korea. Instead I had to take two trips to Nagano (with two weeks between them) after finally getting my “letter of eligibility”, the paper that announces another loooong waiting period, once it had been granted after 8 weeks. With my visa I could apply for a Gaijin-card, which is nothing more than a legal identification for foreigners. After three weeks I even got that, and I could finally get a cell-phone (one week waiting period), which is needed for pretty much everything else: applying for health insurance, opening a bank account, even buying a bicycle. Fortunately I found my way around the latter obstacle, so I got a bike way before I was supposed to.

But today I finally got a bank account too. I opened it up with an initial deposit of five yen (Japanese symbol of good luck and prosperity). My inquiry about a credit card was refused, as I am not staying for a full year. To be realistic, after the diverse waiting periods, the remainder of my stay has been reduced to half a year, especially since I would have to wait another month for the card, if I can convince them that I WAS gonna stay for a full year.

So I might not even be able to buy a book, or an airline ticket online. But what does this bank account offer? A cash-card I can use at local ATM's for a charge of 200 yen per transaction(!!!), and even that at restricted times. Withdrawals at night or on Sundays are out of question. So what's it all good for? To make it easier (for my school) to pay me? To help the bank get over its financial crisis? Well, I know I will withdraw everything at once, convert it into cash or USD traveler's checks.  Screw the financial institution if they are such a rip-off!

But the coolest thing about the whole issue is my bank-book. It's so Japanese it's not even funny.... or is it? Judge for yourself!

Outdoor Water Trips

Has it been almost a month already?
This is what happens once you get into the routine: time picks up pace, nothing seems to happen, at least nothing extraordinary, and before you know it the blog goes stale.

But that shouldn't be, after all there were many cool little things going on. My free-time is precious, so I make the most out of it. Even despite of the rain, that seems to break down on us during the least ideal moments, and even despite of the extra workload I was given, as an opportunity to earn some extra money in a six-day week, since two teachers had left and the new ones still have to learn the ropes.

Regardless, last Sunday we went out to an onsen. There are many hot-springs in this area, and the Japanese are just as crazy about them as anyone would be. Unfortunately, this also means that they tend to be quite developed, with a spa built around them. The one we went to is way up in the mountains, East of Matsumoto, about an hour by car from Shiojiri. According to Yanik it was one of the nicer ones, where we could sit outside, with a view over the valley. Of course it was raining again, but what better thing could you do in a weather like that, than sit outside, in a pool of hot mineral water, where you are wet already? It was five of us, Ross, Dana, Yanik, Vanessa, and me.

Driving up the winding mountain road into the clouds was quite spectacular, but just enough to set the scene for the onsen experience. The spa itself was a wooden cabin, with a small foyer to pay the 300 yen entry fee, then behind it a place to undress and put our stuff into baskets on the shelf. No lockers, or anything of that sort. It would have been untypical for Japan anyway. Armed with a soap and small hand towel, which the locals strategically hold with two hands to cover their genitalia, we marched into the shower room, to give ourselves and intensive scrub-down. Not that either of us really needed it, but it is an expected thing in Japan to demonstratively undergo a thorough cleaning session before getting into the water with others.

Finally, when we were all clean and shinny, we left the cabin and climbed into the water. It was nice and warm. The pool was surprisingly small, with just enough space for about twenty Japanese people, or four rowdy foreigners. Vanessa was not with us, as the Japanese onsen tend to be traditionally segregated, so she had to sit in the pool for women, on the other side of the fence. She didn't mind though, as she told us later. She speaks pretty good Japanese, and could interact with the locals whenever she wants to.

For our 300 yen we got to enjoy the soaking for an hour. That was just enough time to get a good view of the beautiful valley, for my hands to become wrinkled, and my silver necklace to take on an ugly shade of gray. Plus we had gotten quite hungry, and a beer sounded like a pretty good idea too. So we got out and went to Matsumoto, where we stumbled into an Indian restaurant, that turned out to be fantastic. They serve the biggest naan I have ever eaten.

This weekend we were also trying to go to an onsen, this time by bike, with Yanik and Vanessa. According to the map there is one here in our area, so we tried to find it. The weather was a little-bit better. It wasn't raining, but the air was amazingly humid. The mountains were hidden behind a thick white haze, and although the sun was technically shining, the sky was anything but blue.

The direction took us into the neighboring village of Asahi, famous for its ski slopes, its mountain trails, and its fishing grounds. When we asked people about an onsen, however, people seemed a little confused. Still, they directed us further up the hills. Eventually we found the place, but had to realize that a soaking was out of question... if not by a sudden downpour from the clouds that were hanging dangerously low. The spa had been closed for renovation. In fact, they were building a whole new one, which had not been completed yet. Too bad. So we turned around, to enjoy the downhill ride back into the valley. No success, but an awesome bike-ride. The scenery is so gorgeous in that area, that we decided to come back for a hike, and maybe camping in two weekends. I can't wait.

To complete the outdoor water experiences, Yanik and I went up to the Kiso valley today. We took the train to the famous swimming place, where the crazies jump off the rocks into the water. I had mentioned it before, but today I could see it with my own eyes, and maybe take a swim myself. It is a little bit further that I'd thought, about twice as far as the lovely village where they held the lacquer ware festival. The scenery was way more than I'd expected.

Cliffs of all shapes and sizes. A diving-board paradise, without diving boards of course. There are real low ones of one or two meters, those of medium hight, maybe five to ten meters, and then there are the amazingly tall ones of twenty, maybe thirty meters, where it is not really recommended to jump. At least not by me. But of course you won't see a disclaimer anywhere, and it is quite obvious to jump at your own risk.

I jumped... from one of lower ones. Then I immediately climbed out of the water. It was cooooold! Uncomfortably cold. Normally, once the initial shock is over, you get used to the temperature. But here, after the first few strokes my mind started conjuring up images of penguins and icicles. No fun! So I instead of swimming, I climbed around on the rocks, took some pictures and lay around in the sun, chilling. I can't wait to come again in August, or whenever it is supposed to get REALLY hot.

Life's Little Pleasures

Summer is in full swing, with only a few occasional rainy days interrupting the warm sunshine, that is supposedly so precious in these parts. The rain was something to be expected. It is June, after all, which they call the rainy month here. So be it, it's not as bad as the Mexican monsoon. When it doesn't rain, however, everybody is complaining about how hot it is, which makes me think with a slight worry about the coming winter. Because the heat is really not that bad. Somewhere around 30°C, which is very bearable. In fact, if you ask me, it is the perfect weather! And if this is "hot", how cold does it have to get for people to complain? Cause complain they will, it's in their nature. But being used to milder climates, I might reach that point way sooner than they... We'll see. But right now that seems like a distant dream to me anyway. Seeing the covered snow-blowers in people's garages, while cruising past on my bike, wiping the sweat off my forehead gives me a feeling of absurdity. Nevertheless, they are an obvious foreshadow of things to come.

Starting out my entry with a discourse about the weather makes one wonder what I'd been up to all this time. Not much, I have to admit as I sift through my memories of the set routines I have become comfortable with. teaching is getting easier and more fun, as I am getting to know my students better and better. Also, the official side of it, that is lesson plans and progress sheets, which used to be a pain, almost fill out themselves. All I need to do is hold the pen. The kids are still fun to teach, you can also see that they have become comfortable with their teacher... sometimes a bit too comfortable. Being a bit rowdy is permissible of course, as long as it doesn't keep them from learning. When it does, though, I have to act tough and restore order, maybe even threaten them that they won't get a sticker at the end of the lesson.

That usually works, as it is my signature and a funny sticker of their choice that keeps track of their attendance. When they have collected thirty, ten, or even five, they can trade them in for a little gift: maybe a cool eraser, funny looking stationary, or maybe a pencil case. They love it. So much so, that some of them have resulted to a dishonest way of obtaining them. I'd heard of cases like this before, but the other day it happened to me: I noticed how the present sheet of a little student of mine was almost full.... even though I knew I hadn't been teaching her for so long. A closer look at her sheet revealed that she had placed stickers from previous present sheets with scotch-tape into the empty spaces, along with a fake date and MY FORGED SIGNATURE. I couldn't believe it! It was well forged too. And she is just six years old!!! In fifteen years she might be working for government intelligence, or maybe against it if she's really good.

As far as my free time goes, I am still trying to make the most of it, even though the famous tourist attractions of the area seem to have been covered. So on weekends I like to just go on bike rides, and get an immediate impression of our beautiful valley. It is really not that big. Going up to Hotaka, where the wasabi farm is, takes maybe two hours, Matsumoto only one. Along the way there are nice looking orchards and vineyards, fields and rice paddies, where you can see farmers spraying vast amounts of pesticides and chemical fertilizers. Ugh, how disillusioning! On one hand Japanese people are scared of the low quality, "poison" food that the US is trying to export to them, on the other they are all about chemistry themselves. I have yet to find an organic farm here. So what can you do, but become self subsistent?

I have decided that the first step of growing my own food should be something easy, yet delicious. So I set up a flower-box outside my window with a few plants of basil, and two tomato ones. Surpassing my expectations, they started growing like there is no tomorrow. For the past few weeks I've been harvesting a bunch of basil every week, to satisfy my craving for pesto. The recipe is part improvised, part inspired by ideas from the internet. In a small hand-mortar I grind garlic, walnuts, a bit of salt, olive oil (extra virgin), Parmesan cheese, and of course my own lovely basil. However, by now the amount of basil is so great, that I will start making pesto for others, possibly with a food-processor. Also, I have heard that there is a store that sells real pine-nuts, which got me excited. Fellow teachers have expressed their interests, and even my boss, Nagahara-san, asked me if I could make some for her... So next week we'll have a pasta-pesto session. (Yeah!)

The tomatoes are growing well too, though they are still green. As it seems, there'll be way more of them too than I'd expected. To top off this list of home-made culinary delights, I have started making my own yogurt. It is easier than you'd think. All you need is milk... and yogurt. That's the live cultures of bacteria that had been passed on through generations and generations... of bacteria -- or who knows, maybe even people. I got my first yogurt from my colleague Yanik, who has received it from Kaori, the teacher who took us to the tea ceremony. The sample he gave me was not bigger than an ice-cube. I put it in a carton of fresh milk, covered it with a towel, and let it sit at room temperature for 36 hours. Voila, a liter of milk became a liter of yogurt. I poured it into my ice-cube tray for further projects, and ate the rest with fruit and granola. Right now I am making my fourth batch. Not only does it reduce the cost of my groceries, but it tastes a whole lot better. Not to mention that it is "pure"... well, as pure as the milk at least. Never mind. I still like it.

Kiso, and the Quest for an Inro

After hearing that I was in Japan, a friend of mine in Hungary asked me if I could send him a special item. It's a so called inro, and it seems to be virtually impossible to find anywhere else. He practices two martial art forms, iaido and jodo, the former of which is the art of wielding the katana, the ancient long sword of the samurai. The inro, he asked me for, is simply a small wooden case on a string, with three or four compartments. In the old days people used to tie it to their belts to carry medicine, tobacco, or other small items in it, as the traditional Japanese clothing had no pockets. My friend wants to keep the cleaning kit for his katana in it: a dry cloth, an oily one, and a piece of leather. He sent me a very good description of what kind of inro he wanted, approximately what size, color, design, and cost. So I was very confident to find the best one at the famous lacquer ware festival in Kiso, that just happened to be on the first weekend on June.

Kiso itself is worth a visit, even when there is no lacquer ware festival. There are several villages that take pride in being in the "Kiso" valley, situated between two awesomely steep mountain ranges, with a wild flowing river in between. The mountains are covered with different types of trees, which reflect the sunlight in various shades of green, even if the sky is slightly overcast like it was during our visit. From the train we could get a few short glimpses of breathtaking scenery, water cascading down steep rocks, flowing on into deep rapids, before taking another thirty meter plunge into the next pool. I knew next time I had to come back by bike. Supposedly there is also a place where people go swimming and diving off the cliffs. Sounds exciting, although the person who told me about it, is the same one who snowboarded down mount Fuji the other weekend. EXXX-treme!!!

This time, however, I was driven by other aims. I knew my friend Dana was up for a cultural experience, so I asked him to join me. As soon as we got off the train we were rewarded with a lovely view of picturesque streets, old style hoses, and a multitude of shoppers and vendors in between. We didn't mind them, as it was the festival we had come to see. Following the crowd we observed the stalls with their bowls, tables, chopsticks, and other lacquer ware handicrafts.

At one store, which had an especially wide selection of items, I asked about an inro. The answer was an apologetic smile, and that they didn't have any. I was offered a really nice looking katana instead, and a story about Takeda Shingen. With my meager Japanese, however, I only understood the name of the famous warlord who had conquered the valley in the 16th century. My guess is that the katana he was trying to sell me was an authentic replica of Lord Takeda's sword, and had I been interested in buying it, he might have included a lacquered arm-rest as well. The latter item is really nothing more than a fancy looking piece of furniture, made for the chairless culture of sitting on the tatami. Even here, people want to lean on something, especially having taken a few deep looks into the sake-cup. Who knows, that arm-rest might also have been Takeda's, who was a big fan of sake.

We walked on to look for an inro elsewhere, but unfortunately everywhere I asked, the answer was no. We found some fantastic looking chopsticks though, for a surprisingly cheap price! As we continued down the small street, the town slowly came to an end, but the next one, Naraijuku, was just a stone's throw further, so we followed the road.

If the first town was interesting looking, the next one was amazing. There, we almost felt like thrown back into the times when the Kiso valley had been an important connection between the Imperial capital Kyoto, and the shogun's capital Edo (which later became Tokyo). In those days Naraijuku was a post-town, with a temple on each side, and many inns for common travelers, honjin for lords and dignitaries, and waki-honjin for those somewhere in between. We could almost feel the hustle and bustle of the busy post-town in the hustle and bustle of the lacquer ware festival. Of course I kept asking for an inro, but once again I was told to look for it elsewhere. Fortunately, however, the friendly shopkeeper gave me a map and explained me where I could find one. I was happy.

Once I got to the house he'd pointed out, I became skeptical. Something was not right. Although the kanji characters of the name seemed to be the same as the ones he'd circled on the map, the place was obviously a café. Nevertheless I walked in, and asked the friendly lady behind the counter about inro. After a long explanation, she made me understand that I'd come to the right business, but the wrong branch. Apparently they also had another store, about five minutes from there, where they sold inro. (YEAH!!!) She showed me on the map exactly where it was, and gave me a business card just in case. I was superbly excited. So much so, that I didn't think much about her pointing to the telephone number on the card, and expressing her deepest, most sincere apologies.

As soon as we left we café, we found ourselves in the middle of a procession. Latter we learned that this was the royal tea procession. Because the shogun wanted to enjoy the same quality tea as the emperor, every year the royal tea containers were carried down to Kyoto and then back to Edo. We looked at the procession with awe unable to say much. The costumes were so striking, that I didn't mind letting the gaijin-tourist hang out, and take as many pictures as I could.






Once the procession had passed, we continued looking for the inro place. No more than a few blocks furthere, however, we stopped at a stand where they were selling wine. Of course we had to try. It was not bad. The red one was a little sweet, but the white wine was delicious. Only after finishing our glasses, and enjoying the babblings of the local old man (friendly, nevertheless, but drunk as a brush binder), did we notice the sign that advertised our little town: Shiojiri. Go figure, if there is a place famous for its wine, then it's ours! The attendant was also quite happy to meet some people from his town, even if they were foreign English teachers. His English was quite good, and when we told them where we worked (above Nagahara's Liquor Store) he even gave us a glass of white wine on the house, and we toasted to Shiojiri.

 Quite happy from the nice encounter, and the wine, we set out to finally find the place where they had inro. Of course I immediately understood why the lady in the café was apologizing so much, when I saw that the store was obviously closed. Bummer. Never mind. We went back to walk through the town again, and hopefully find something to eat. In the meantime I stopped by some other stores, and eventually I was told that they didn't make any inro  in the Kiso valley any more. It's a thing from the old days, and demand has gone down so much that there was no point in selling them any more. I obviously couldn't hide my disappointment, because the lady in the store brought out some tea for us, chatted a bit about things I couldn't grasp, and finally gave us what looked like tombola tickets. She even told us where to go to pick up our winnings.

The tombola was very straight forward. We handed in our tickets, picked a number, and were rewarded with two sets of beautiful lacquered chopsticks. Nice. Now, we really became hungry. Ordering food in a nearby noodle shop was not easy, as the menu was all in Japanese, but eventually we each got a bowl of hot soup with soba noodles. It was pretty good. After leaving the restaurant, I spotted what looked like an antique store. I walked up to the guy, and tried for the last time to buy an inro. And guess what, he even had one! It was small, with four compartments, which might not have been big enough to store a piece of cloth or leather in it. However, the inro had a beautiful design, carved out of ivory, and its origin went back to the Meiji era. Not surprisingly, the price was a tad bit high for my taste.

I felt beaten... after looking for an inro all day, this is what I found? Too bad. But there's gotta be one somewhere! Maybe if I call the number on the business card I got, I could custom order one. Or maybe get one somewhere else. Or maybe check what e-bay has to offer? The latter one might actually be a good idea. So I didn't feel that bad after all. Despite of my futile search, the day was interesting, and I will definitely come back to Kiso soon.

Biketrip Across the Mountains

Last Friday was pay-day. It was the first decent pay I got, as the first "month" was essentially not more than two weeks, and I had to cover other initial expenses. But this time I actually had some money to spend, and spend it I would. One thing I've been wanting to get for a while is a good bicycle. Most teachers at Active got one along with their apartments, not me though. This time, however, this unbalanced fairness would turn out in my favor, since most of their bicycles are city bikes in a medium-to-rickety condition. And if I was going to have to pay for mine, it would be decent. I saw a few mountain bikes at the local superstore, which strangely enough seemed to be the exception to the city bikes you can see all over the place. It's a weird thing that although we are surrounded by mountains in our immediate vicinity, mountain bikes are a rare sight. This becomes even more bizarre when compared to the Hungarian Plain for example, where virtually everyone rides a mountain bike, although there are no hills whatsoever anywhere nearby.

Never mind, I knew I wanted to have something to ride to work on, or to the store, but much more than this, I wanted to explore the surrounding area by bike. It's so much faster, and more fun than walking. In these parts good gears and brakes are essential. I remember borrowing the bike of one of my colleagues to find the way to the shrine we had discovered on our way back from Takabochi (see April 22 entry). It wasn't a steep climb just to the foot of the mountain, but I know I was quite worried coming down the hill. The poor bike was rattling like crazy that I thought it might shatter at any moment... only to be followed by my poor body. Fortunately nothing of this sort happened, but I swore I would not attempt to ride a hill again until I had some quality brakes, gears, and maybe shocks.

Saturday was the day. I walked into the big store that sells everything from pencil sharpeners to construction lumber, from ironing boards to second-hand dogs, and from space heaters to cardboard furniture. I asked the guy for a bike, showed him the one I wanted, and he assembled it for me, right then and there. It took only a few minutes. In the meantime I picked out the accessories, such as a light and a lock. I was expecting to spend 20,000 yen on the bicycle alone, but in the end I paid about 15,000 for everything, including a cool modular back-pack, they happened to have on sale that day. I was happy. The week before I had looked into a bike-shop in Matsumoto, where they had "real" mountain bikes starting at 40,000 yen. Wow! My bike is obviously a cheap import from some Southeast Asian place, though it looks as slick and cool as it gets. More importantly, it has 18 gears (by Shimano), front and rear shocks, and the world's strongest brakes, as I would find out the next day. The guy made sure to tell me that though it may look like one, it certainly isn't a real mountain bike, but he appreciates me shopping there anyway. Okay... whatever.

So feeling all cool about my fancy new bike, I rode to school, taught my classes, rode to get some discount sushi at the grocery store, and rode home. It was a dream to ride. To give it the honor it deserves I wanted to take it on a little spin and look for the other of the two geocaches in the 30km radius. The first one is on the Wasabi Farm (see April 15 entry). This other cache was located in a place called Minowa, about 25km South, in the neighboring valley. The only two things I could rely on to navigate me there were my GPS and a sketch of a map I drew based on some Google Earth images. It didn't seem like a rough ride, except for the first hill I had to cross to reach the neighboring valley. Still I wanted to set out early, just in case.

It was ten thirty when I hit the road. I had packed a 2 liter bottle of water along with some extra clothes and my geocaching items in my new backpack, and a yogurt-granola breakfast with two bananas in my stomach. I felt ready. Outside I checked the distance on the GPS: 25.5km by air. As I was taking the land route over mountains it might be a tad bit more. The warm sunshine and the clear air filled me with zest for action, so without waiting much longer I set out spinning.

The first half hour of the ride went by smoothly. I crossed downtown Shiojiri, and left the lettuce fields and rice paddies behind me. Time to conquer the first mountain. On the way up I realized that the excuses the others had used, whom I'd tried to persuade to join me on my trip, such as the bad conditions of their bikes or themselves, were not to be discredited. In fact, at certain points even I was not entirely convinced that my plan was that heroic after all, or much rather completely foolish: riding to this place I had no idea about, with a bike that was supposedly not made for mountains, without anything close to a decent map, and my condition that was...*phew!* ...I had to take a break just to catch my breath... no, I could not return beat like a loser! So I went on on the road that wound itself further up around the mountain.

Once I reached the top (who cares about the actual top, at least the slope turned downwards) the ride became more enjoyable. I was rewarded with a spectacular view over the neighboring valley, which I should have taken a picture of, but I was already rolling. And no way I was gonna climb back up just for that photo. On the way back, I thought.

The road led straight into the "Tirolean Forest" as it was called. I suppose that must be a national park of some sort, because there was a great parking lot, and some trails leading into the mountains. Past the lot the scenery became truly amazing. I don't know if it resembled Tirol, but it was very lovely indeed. Pine covered hills, little valleys with lakes, and even the road reduced itself to the size of a paved path. Ideal for bicyclists like me. Not that there was anybody else around. I continued on my way further and further downhill.

Leaving the beautiful Tirolean Forest, I passed by rice paddies, villages nested between the slopes, more rice paddies, and the humming highway in the distance. I was glad to be riding on the small path, still downhill along the chattering stream, and hoped this would continue for a while. My wishes were to be granted. Apparently, the way they run things in Japan at the moment, a lot of money is being spent for unnecessary projects. The reasons go back to the economical crisis back in '97 and the subsequent transition to Yankee-style capitalism, as a very smart friend had explained it. In any case, communities have to spend their entire budget in order to receive further funding, which often results in roads being built leading nowhere. I have seen a few examples of those in Shiojiri myself.

Also in Tatsuno, the town in this neighbor valley, it seemed like they found the perfect dumping ground for excess funds: the little road I was on. At places it was brand new, whereas in other parts it was so riddled with holes that it put a swiss cheese to shame. No wonder it was virtually unused. Not far from it was the parallel "main" road, where all the traffic was on, for obvious reasons. Still further ran the expressway. This gave me the peace and serenity to ride along at my own pace, stop right in the middle if I wanted to take a picture, or just admire the landscape.

As I kept going still further downhill, my worries became greater. I had to find a better way back... though the straight road led upstream, and left and right were towering mountains of indescribable hight. Going South, however, I probably could continue rolling downstream all the way to Hamamatsu by the Pacific ocean. Not exactly my plan for today. But let's find that cache first. I was only about ten kilometers away.


Slowly, the valley widened, and I went to explore the settlement of farms and village homes on the rolling slopes of the hills. Amazingly, I saw an abundance of green technology. Solar panels on the roofs, for example, or orchards with little wind generators between the trees, not bigger than a large fan. I'm sure they wouldn't generate enough power to sell it back to the government, but at least they would cut down on their own expenses, while embracing the efficiency of renewable energy sources. Very nice development to see.



Finally I arrived at the cache... that is at the foot of the mountain where it was hidden. I made sure to go around it, checking that I was not mistaken, but no. Of course it was hidden on top. The description even said, where Fukuyo castle once stood. And who would build a castle at the base of a hill? So up I went... this time I was more exhausted, and by the time I arrived on top I was virtually dead. I locked my bike and took the last steps up the hill on foot. It was exactly two. The cache itself was very easy to find, once again, superbly organized, like everything in Japan. I left a Travel Bug I had picked up while in Tokyo, and took the TB that was in the cache with me. I signed the log and hid the box where I had found it. After taking a few pictures, and the last swig from the water bottle, I started to head back home.

For a moment I thought about taking the train back home, but abandoned the idea immediately. What about the honor? What about the bike? How would I feel riding a shiny mountain bike that I rode downhill for a few hours, only to be taking the train back home? So I tackled the slope, which turned out to be not that bad after all. On the way I passed by a fountain with pure, fresh, cool, spring water. I filled up my bottle and washed my hands and face. The water tasted excellent, though not much different from the one that comes out of the bathroom tap, or the plastic bottles on the supermarket shelves. Another good thing about living in the mountains.

Going back, I didn't really bother with looking for the less traveled roads. I was going straight, trying not to lose my way, heading back North to Shiojiri, or so I thought. Until I realized that the area looked strangely unfamiliar, and after the next bend even the hills looked different. I knew I had missed my turn, but I didn't feel like going back. At the same time I was getting hungry, and since I didn't remember passing any eateries, I decided to continue on. The direction was right. I was still following the stream, which, as I remembered from the map, came from Okaya by lake Suwa, which was right next to Shiojiri, so I was all right. I kept going. Not even ten minutes later I passed by a noodle shop, where I entered and ordered the house special... whatever it was I didn't care. I was ready to eat anything. It turned out to be the best ramen miso soup yet, though the hunger and exhaustion might have helped in establishing this spectacular statistic.

After lunch I continued towards Okaya. It was past four when I got there. My GPS said 10km to home, though the sign disagreed, saying 18km on Route 20, which was the direct road. At that point I couldn't care less, either about the distance or the fact that it was the main highway. I stepped into the pedals, revived by the feeling of being almost there. Little did I know about the pass I had to cross between Okaya and Shiojiri. It kept going further and further upwards, and when I thought I had almost made it, it went on further up around the bend. The road itself was not too bad. Sure, it was crowded with semi trucks and whatnot, but I had a nice, wide section fenced off just for myself. Occasionally I would get a glimpse of beautiful lake Suwa.

As bad as it might seem, even the biggest hills and the longest slopes have a top, and I was overjoyed when I got there. From now on I would be going downhill all the way home. My legs, but especially my knees knew how to appreciate this. I switched back to high gears, and started using the brakes. How awesome, how rewarding, how majestic. Looking down at my home valley illuminated divinely by the setting sun, I rode into Shiojiri like a hero. And once again, it kept going and going. At times I felt I had gone past, but the signs kept reminding me that there were still a few kilometers to go. I kept rolling.

I arrived at six thirty, just before dusk, exactly eight hours after leaving. What a trip! The bike deservs recognition, it IS good! As for myself, I got a sunburn on both my arms, 
sore hands from the handlebars, and what certain experts refer to as "bike-ass", but I can't wait to go riding again.

Matsumoto and the Choices of Going Out

Having covered all the interesting parts of Shiojiri, the teachers of Active English School set out to look at the nearby town of Matsumoto. This actually happened on our second weekend here, but as there were other things to write about, I decided to leave it for later. This week, however, turned out to be relatively eventless. Just before pay-day, and after an exhausting week packed with classes, I spent this weekend relaxing and cleaning my apartment. So what better occasion could there be to include this part?

Matsumoto, a town of about 200,000 inhabitants, is only twenty minutes by train, and although its provincial, yet wannabe-metropolitan culture is merely a slight bit different from our rural Shiojiri, it provides a welcome change of atmosphere. Still, one thing became immediately obvious the minute we stepped off the train: there are actually young people here! Whereas Shiojiri seems to have nothing but families with children, as well as elderly, in Matsumoto we could see people in their twenties. With their balloon-skirts, knee socks, long-toed shoes, rock-n-roll jackets and crazy hair-styles they were a modest imitation of various Tokyo subcultures.

Downtown Matsumoto offers a pleasant stroll through its shopping streets, where relaxing soft-jazz plays from hidden speakers, lulling the Sunday shoppers into a friendly delirium. The fact that it is Sunday doesn't deter the stores from being open. In fact, the young crowd who spends their Mondays through Saturdays at work, has finally time to walk along the downtown streets in their fanciest outfits, and maybe buy the one or the other new item. First we explored the department stores, which seemed horrendously expensive, although their style came quite close to being gaudy. Then we strolled on towards the castle.

Matsumoto castle was built, destroyed, rebuilt, taken over, expanded, and fortified by several lords, called daimyo, during the civil war period in the 16th century. Since then it withstood fires, earthquakes, and American bombings, and it can be observed today in it's original state. We took the tour and observed how well polished the wooden floors of the castle were, probably from all the tourists walking over it in their socks. After touring the castle and the castle museum next door, we walked down frog street between the traditional looking inns and taverns, hoping that we would find a nice place to eat. We weren't that lucky. Apparently all the inns and taverns had been converted into different kinds of souvenir shops, so we headed back towards the station to look for a Japanese restaurant. Shouldn't be that hard to find, we figured.

Eventually we found a place that looked decent, but we were turned away with the excuse that all the tables had been reserved. (So they wouldn't have to say: No foreigners here!) At the next place they told us, while apologizing profusely, that unfortunately they wouldn't serve dinner until 5:30, and we'd have to wait at an empty table. Anyone who can read between the lines could tell that this again had to do something with "No White Devils", so we decided against waiting. Finally we entered an establishment that was open, and eager to serve us too. We were starving by this time.

We were ushered into a comfy little cubicle, where the lighting and the colors of the walls presented a warm and cozy setting. Perfect for eating, drinking and chatting. We couldn't wait for the food. The menu was of course in Japanese, but we asked for beers and decided to give different things a try and share them among the four of us. To our surprise everything we ordered was the size of appetizers. So we decided to try some other things as well, only to be disappointed again. Eventually we had ordered every single item on the menu(!), including the Matsumoto specialty, raw horse meat, and two beers each, but our hunger was still noticeably present. We decided to pay and hit the next fast-food joint we could find. The waiter brought us the check, and were surprised that although we were still hungry, we had consumed more than 2500 yen each. Is this the way foreigners get ripped off? Not at all, as we found out later. The establishment we happened to walk into was an old Japanese tradition called isakaya, where people go after work to drink, chat, and eat appetizers. The place was not so much a restaurant as it was a bar!

As for actual bars, we have found merely two decent places. One is called Kurage (=Jellyfish), since it is owned by the same guy who runs the noodle shop by the same name. At the noodle shop you can get a tasty noodle soup with jellyfish, and at the bar you can sit around a table and drink beer. That's what I like, what more do you need? Such a simple pleasure, you'd think, but apparently not in Shiojiri. The only other place of this kind we found is the so called Good Smiles Market (no, it's not a brothel!) where you can even play pool and shoot darts. The only disadvantage is that it is almost in Matsumoto, meaning we always need a designated driver. As far as the crowd goes, Good Smiles is the best. Here you can see bare chested Brazilians arm-wrestling, or some chicks talking and laughing quite loudly to each other. Anywhere else this would be a scandal, but this is exactly what Good Smiles is about. I can't wait for Summer, to organize topless beer-bike-rides to Good Smiles! The Brazilians are actually Japanese, whose grandparents had emigrated to Brazil in the 30's, and whose parents had returned to their native Nagano. But the culture... oh man, it's such a contrast! Whenever someone honks their horn, plays loud music, whistles, or talks a bit loudly, they are bound to be Brazilians. And like us Westerners, they come to Good Smiles Market, to have a good smile!

Other than these two places, when it comes to going out, Japan has not offered too many excitements so far. Shiojiri itself has nothing more than a handful of isakayas, pachinkos, and snack-bars. The former of the three would be perfect to eat, if the food was more plentiful. But being closed off into our cubicle is not what I look for in a bar. Pachinkos are gambling places, mainly with slot-machines, which has never been a turn on for me. And snack-bars have not much in common with what a westerner would associate with that name. True, they might serve sandwiches and other "appetizers", however, similarly to the isakaya, they are not the highlight of the place. As one experienced foreigner form Canada had described, there are many levels of prostitution in Japan. The first ones, such as paying a woman to talk to you, are completely legal. (What a sad state does one have to be in to PAY someone to talk to you? But maybe this sad state is rural Japan.) The later ones nobody cares about. But the ladies at the snack bar tend to come out into the streets and try to persuade you to enter, especially if you are in a group of foreigners who can't seem to find the way to the Karaoke place. Unlike the "ladies in the window" in Amsterdam, or the street hookers anywhere else, these snack-bars seem to present a completely decent and harmless appearance. I can even imagine the shyness of both the Japanese businessman and the snack-bar employee when they start talking about the business of snacking... 

As I already mentioned, the fourth alternative of going out in Japan is the Karaoke, which we visited last Friday. We ended up having such a blast, that it made up for the lack of a decent bar. Of course we were among ourselves once again, that is us Active teachers and a few English teachers from the JET program who came along. We were given a little room with couches to lounge on, two microphones, and a gigantic screen where we could read the words to the songs of our choice. Of course they served alcohol too. It ended up being extremely fun. Seeing the Japanese people at Karaoke I had the impression that their singing was surprisingly good. Of course, they practice all the time. But once we got going, singing anything from Guns 'n Roses to Oasis, and from My Girl to Video Killed the Radio Star, I noticed that we rocked as well. Man, did we ROCK. Rock out! Stayed until 3am, and I would have stayed longer too, if I didn't have to teach on Saturday. Oh well, it was worth it.

The Art of Tea

It happened a long time ago, towards the end of the Japanese civil war, just before Toyotomi Hideyoshi unified the country under one Shogun, that a certain Sen-no Rikyu raised the Japanese pastime of drinking tea to the level of an art-from. He simplified every step to its purest essence, until it reached perfection. Hideyoshi, who was a big fan of tea, and just as meticulous about subjugating other warlords as Rikyu was about making tea, found great liking in the tea master. So much so, that on his last campaign against the wayward clan of the Hojo he ordered Rikyu to accompany him. Waiting for him at the temple Seikenji, Hideyoshi became more and more impatient. The tea master took his time to get there. When he finally arrived, Hideyoshi asked him why he had been so late, and as if it hadn't been obvious, Rikyu told him: "I was drinking tea."

This little anecdote shows just how highly tea, and the time for it, is valued in Japan. There are many famous schools that teach tea, and it takes at least two years to learn it properly. However, there are people who spend their entire life studying tea, and instead of scornful remarks they earn people's respect. What a wonderful culture this is! So after hearing and reading about tea-ceremonies, I was extremely happy when I was given the opportunity to attend one myself. It was my colleague Yanik who told me about it. He had been invited by Kaori, a Japanese English teacher who works at the public school with him.

I met both of them at Matsumoto Station on Sunday at ten o'clock. It was going to be a gorgeous Spring day, with a slight breeze and the sun shining brightly over the mountains. We were all dressed up in our best attire. I was sporting my new tie I had bought in Tokyo's trendy district, Shimokita, and Kaori was wearing a beautiful Kimono. A special tea-ceremony-bus was waiting for us, as well as the other guests, all of whom were dressed in traditional Japanese clothing. It was a twenty-minute ride to the house of the famous poet Kubota Utsubo, where the ceremony was going to take place. I could hardly wait.

From what I had heard, I was expecting a long session of silence, rigid body posture, sitting on your feet, and disciplined reverence, that would go on forever. Basically something compared to which a boring Sunday service at church would seem like a walk in the park. Nevertheless, the experience itself was worth it, so I was well prepared to take on anything. May it come as it will. As it turned out, it was much less tiring as I had thought, and way more interesting.

First of all, the poet's house itself was worth the trip. Since Utsubo had lived in the Meiji era (like about a hundred years ago) his house was very traditional, with tatami mats, sliding screens, and a beautiful garden behind it. After arriving, we were ushered into the waiting area, where we took a seat on some cushions on an elevated platform. This was our group of about twenty guests for one tea-session. Eventually we were admitted into the main area, where we were served delicious, pink, Japanese candy. We would need the sweet, they told us, because the tea was going to be bitter. However, they had more of a pasty taste rather than the sweets that are eaten in the West. Of course there was an elaborate procedure how to pick up the candy with chopsticks, how to appreciate them, how to wipe the chopsticks with your napkin, and how to pass the bowl on the the next person. The more experienced tea-guests (meaning everyone except for Yanik and me) even had a special candy-cutting device in their kimono. We just used our hands... how barbaric, I know!

Eventually it was time for the tea. We got up and walked into another room, where the tea master had all his utensils laid out. The foreigners were given a minute to take pictures, and then we were seated along the walls to observe the making of the tea. Basically it is very simple: They take the ground powder from the baggie with a tiny scooper, and put it in the bowl. Then they pour hot water on it, and finally they use a bamboo whisk to make it all frothy, like a cappuccino. That's it. Every three people shared a bowl, and they used their napkins to wipe the side of the bowl where they drank form. We were also given a thorough explanation on the meanings of the ceremony and the writings on the wall, all in Japanese of course, which gave the entire experience an even deeper feeling of mystery. I realized that the simplest things can have so many more meanings and details about them that I will never even know...


The tea itself was quite interesting. Just like the candy, it was not as bitter as I had expected. But it was unusually thick. I had never had anything like that before. The taste reminded me very much of the wheatgrass shots they sell at organic health-food places, though the consistency brought some strange images of a popular Peter Jackson movie to my mind. For those to whom this rings a bell, it's when the aliens pass around a bowl they all take a sip from... and the only incognito human, who is forced to do likewise, ends up liking it. For those who have no idea what I'm talking about, here's a suggestion on the side: go and watch the film Bad Taste. It's worth it!

The whole ceremony didn't take more than maybe half an hour. Then we went to put our shoes back on and took a walk in the garden. Under the tall pine trees, there was another tea ceremony being prepared, which we were going to attend. This time it was even more relaxed. We even got to sit on benches, and watch the ladies prepare the tea in a little tent. The sweets were once again delicious, made of black beans, and the tea looked more like what I had known as green tea. It was a liquidy substance, with a lot of froth on top. This time we were reminded to turn our bowls twice, as it is not customary to drink from the "middle". Wherever the middle of a round bowl is, is still a mystery to me, but I obediently turned it twice, and enjoyed an even more delicious green drink. It was lovely.

Wrapping up the experience, I took a few more pictures of the utensils, we walked around a bit in the garden, looked at the Utsubo Museum across the street, and took the bus back to Matsumoto. It was truly a beautiful Sunday activity, and a memorable experience. I got to taste what was probably the purest tea around, and gained insight into the ancient art-form passed on since the times of Rikyu and Hideyoshi.