Shirakawago, part I

I think I was more cut out to be a tourist than an exchange student. My favorite day while in Japan was when I went on a field trip to the mountains.

A bunch of exchange students piled into a bus and a tour guide kept us entertained during the long and sometimes carsickness-inducing ride into the mountains. First we went to a town called Guyo-Hachiman. It was kind of a touristy town clustered around a river and surrounded by mountains. Many of the streets, like in the picture below, were like any other town I had seen: narrow, shaded by masses of powerlines, with disorganized buildings squished together at all different angles. I wish I had taken more pictures, as the ones I took don't accurately represent all of my memories.

But there were also lovely little alleys were wooden shops lined cobblestone streets. The shops sold handmade souvenirs, mochi delicacies, teacups and dishes, and indigo-dyed linens. The whole town was quiet and (I know this is cliche) sleepy. The water in the river was extremely clear, and a castle overlooked the town from one of the mountains. (You can see it in the picture below.)

We were given an hour to eat lunch and explore. Two of my gaijin friends and found a restaurant by the river, advertised by the sign that said "Coffee and Rest."

The restaurant smelled like thick cigarette smoke. Inside were only four people; two elderly customers were chatting with another elderly couple who appeared to be the owners. As we gaijin walked in the door, all four of them stopped talking and turned to stare at us, as if to say, "You're not from around here, are you?"
We grinned uncomfortably.
Silence.
Finally the owner got up, brought out some menus and showed us to a table by the window overlooking the river. The three of us ordered curry rice, and the owner cooked it up while resuming his chat with the two customers. I think our presence made them nervous, like we had interrupted something. I guess it wasn't every day they got customers like us.

Condomania!

Props to Colleen, who got a snapshot of something I saw in Harajuku but didn't have the time to take a picture of!

Yes ladies and gentlemen, it's Condomania! All condoms, all the time!
I love Japan, and I miss seeing crazy stuff like this. Crazy stuff in the U.S. just isn't as funny.

Losing contact

Last night I was lying in bed and remembering my classmates at Nanzan. Some of them are still in Japan, finishing their second semester; others have returned to their homes in various places around the world. I am barely in contact with any of them. I miss Jeremy's hilarious stories of terribly bad luck. I miss capturing pictures of Engrish and shopping with Nicole. I miss walking up the steep hills to school with Manuel while talking about how Japan doesn't make any sense. I miss Roberto's witty comments during class and his funky outfits. It's kind of sad to think that I will probably never see them again. I wonder how the ones who are still in Japan are doing.

I don't miss the one classmate I secretly nicknamed "Dwight." He drove me crazy.

I remember eating lunch in the room for the exchange students. We had our own system of code-switching between languages.
Megan: Would you like some milk?
Forrest: No thanks. Gyuu-nyuu is warui for my onaka.
Megan: That's taihen!
I decided that if all of us Nanzan exchange students started a colony on a deserted island, our children would speak some crazy language that linguists would one day discover to be a hybrid of Japanese and English.

You know what else? I haven't heard from my host family since I left. I wrote them a letter and sent them some pictures, but otherwise I guess I haven't made much effort to contact them either. I really would like to hear from them though.

Mottainai

I'm sorry my blogs don't make any sense anymore. I wish I could have written them in a more logical order. It's just that things that didn't seem noteworthy at the time are coming back to me in sporadic memories. I write about them mostly for my own satisfaction, because maybe it will make them more permanent. Nevertheless, comments are always appreciated.

On the last day of class, my university held a farewell party for all the students who were returning to their countries. Many of them were returning home that same weekend, but I was going to Tokyo for two weeks first. The professors and other school dignitaries were there to congratulate us on a successful semester, and many students' host families came as well. That included my host mom with Whiney and Origami Boy in tow, the two boys wide-eyed at seeing so many foreigners in one room.

Spazzy Sensei, Blazer Sensei, and the other sensei proved their lack of affection for us by disappearing pretty quickly. I'm sure they were just as tired of us as we were of them. Maybe they celebrated our departure by going out and getting wasted.
But my favorite teacher, the writing professor, stuck around to chat. She was my favorite because, unlike the others, she wasn't ridiculously strict. One day I completely forgot to go to her class. Just completely forgot. When I ran to her office later, spouting apologies, she winked, told me all the homework assignments and said I could make up the late ones next week. It was a very, very welcome drop of mercy.
"So you're going home for the winter break, Kelley?" She asked me.
"Oh no, I'm going home for good." I replied.
"What? You're not coming back next semester?" She said, astonished.
"No."
"Just one semester? Mottainai desu ne."
I heard my heart bounce along the floor somewhere near my feet. I was so stunned no words came from my mouth.
"...You know what mottainai means, right?" My teacher asked. I nodded mutely. She seemed uncomfortable, and sort of found an excuse to walk away. And that was the last time I saw my favorite teacher.

I sank into a nearby seat. I had always understood mottainai to mean "what a waste." Surely she couldn't have meant that, could she? What a terrible thing to say to someone who just completed the most challenging 5 months of their entire life! How could she sum up my experience with mottainai?

I spent the rest of the evening with all the energy and cheer of a deflated balloon. I decided to ask my friend's host mom for a little clarification.
"What does mottainai mean?" I said.
"Oh, well, it's something you say when something is wasteful. Like when my son tries to throw away leftover food, I say, 'Don't do that! That's mottainai!' You see? Japanese people don't like waste, so we say that a lot."
I nodded, then attempted to explain:
"When I was talking to my professor...I said I was going back to America, and she said 'mottainai.' I was...um...I had...bad feelings."
"Ohhhhh," my friend's host mom said contemplatively. "Well, in that case...hm...I think she probably meant 'that's too bad.' She was sorry that you're not coming back."
"I see."

I don't know if that's what my professor really meant or if my friend's host mom was just trying to make me feel better. In any case, I departed the campus of Nanzan University for the last time feeling sad and confused. I walked with my host family down the narrow streets in the evening dark, my winter coat and scarf wrapped around me. In the train, Whiney and Origami Boy scampered noisily around the car as my host mom talked with my friend's host mom. I sat quietly on the seat, knowing that this was the last time I was going to ride through the stations whose order I had come to memorize.
"Kawana. Kawana. Odeguchi ga hidari gawa desu. This is Kawana. Please exit on the left side."

Origami

As you guys know, my host brothers usually didn't get along with each other too well. However, one evening they were quietly doing origami together on the family room floor. Origami Boy, true to his name, was quickly whipping out complex designs of peacocks, elephants and other animals. Whiney struggled to keep up with his big brother by folding simple designs like turtles and cups. I remembered that I had some origami paper left over from when I made paper Thanksgiving turkeys. I brought out the origami paper and offered it to them.
"Shall we give this?" I said. Yes, that's what I said. I don't know if it sounded any better in Japanese than it does in English. Anyway they knew what I meant. Origami Boy's eyes lit up.
"Thank you!" He said. I was happy to have finally scored points with the two boys.
But quickly I realized that I had made a fatal mistake. There were three packs of origami paper, and two boys.

(Three packs of paper) divided by (two boys) = chaos. This equation is universally true.

I braced myself for the violent argument that would surely ensue. To my surprise, Origami Boy actually chose one pack for himself and gave the other two to Whiney, satisfying them both. I breathed a sigh of relief. Disaster narrowly averted.

But the two tykes had another surprise in store for me. I went into the kitchen to get a drink when suddenly Origami Boy appeared at my side.
"Here's an English origami book," he said. "Please use it. If you don't understand it I can help you."
Awww. Since the two boys almost never spoke to me, I was quite touched. We sat down at the dining room table and folded origami together, Origami Boy with his "Advanced Origami" book, me with my English book, and Whiney with "Origami for Children." Host Mom walked in the room with a basket of laundry and exclaimed,
"Oh! Origami! How nice." I think she was surprised not only to see the boys tranquilly playing together, but also interacting with me.
"I think Kelley is better than me, Mom." Origami Boy said, displaying a rare moment of humility. I guess my origami t-rex impressed him. Looking back I kind of wish I had kept it, but unfortunately I threw it away in the purge that was necessary to get my suitcase to shut.

The eyelid crease of the beholder

I've always been fascinated by cultural differences in ideals of female beauty. Did you ever stop to notice the eyelid crease above your eye? Some Asians are born with that and some aren't. While in Japan I learned that this crease is considered beautiful. The models in all the advertisements have them. In the cosmetic aisles at drugstores I saw tools for painting on this crease with a pencil. In magazines I also saw advertisements for eyelid crease surgery. It's funny that something so important to many Japanese girls, many American girls have never even thought about.

I am firmly convinced that no matter what a girl may look like, some culture somewhere in some time period would consider her drop-dead gorgeous. I have proof: for one day, I became Japan's Next Top Model.

While walking on campus at Nanzan one day, I got a call from a Japanese friend. She told me that a friend of a friend was majoring in fashion and needed a gaijin model for a school project, and if I would do her a favor by volunteering.
She wants me?? I thought to myself.

Me?

As in me?


Well, okay. Caucasian volunteers aren't exactly common here, so she must be desperate, I thought. My friend's friend took me to meet the girl studying fashion, Rei. During the train ride there she was on the phone with Rei, saying, "Oh yes, I'm bringing model-san right now." It was really weird hearing myself referred to that way, and I started to get really nervous, hoping my looks wouldn't disappoint. I was just in my jeans, t-shirt, converse, and heavy backpack.

Rei met us at the station with two of her fashion classmates. One was dressed like a bag lady, the other had unnaturally tan skin and long blonde curls. Rei wore jeans, a white blouse, and a vest. The three of them exchanged glances.
"SHE'S SO CUTE!!" They exclaimed.
"Isn't she?" My friend's friend said proudly. "Just like a real model!" They seriously went on like that for five minutes.

Meanwhile I stood there thinking "I love this country."

I got to see the inside of the Mode Gakuen design school, which by later this year will move into a shiny, brand-new, spiral-shaped skyscraper. Rei brought me into a classroom which was strewn with clothing, fashion magazines, and makeup kits. Other students there were applying the finishing touches to their own models. I saw one other caucasian model there, a tall French girl with bright red hair, who I thought looked much more like a model than I did.


Rei's project was to design a magazine cover. Her theme was "fall fashion: play with color." She dressed me up in this absolutely ridiculous outfit: black heels, purple tights, a red minidress, a purple turtleneck, a blue belt, a blue scarf, a green beret, and blue nail polish. I looked like an oompa-loompa princess. I had to stifle laughter when I saw myself in the mirror.

"Okay, let's go to the photoshoot location!" She announced.
"Great! Where is it?" I asked.
"In a park about 15 minutes away from here."

Outside????

I turned heads the moment, and I mean the moment I stepped out of the building. I was a living, walking blob of color-saturated gaijin, an oompa-loompa princess walking through the middle of downtown Nagoya. Moreover, Rei got us slightly lost on the way there, so probably a couple hundred people saw me and tried to pretend they weren't staring.

When we got to the park, a professional photographer was waiting with his assistant who had a large suitcase of equipment. Rei posed me by a tree, arranged my clothing, and told me to give a "cute little smile." As the photographer started snapping pictures, it wasn't hard at all to smile because we were starting to attract a crowd. People strolling around the park stopped to watch the "photoshoot" and many of them whipped out their cameras or cell phones and started to take pictures of the scene. I tried not to laugh as I imagined strangers with photos of a very silly-looking me on their cameras.

It was the most awkward, bizarre, and totally fun day I have ever had in my life- totally worth skipping two classes for. Now that I'm back in America, I'm sure I'll never have a day like that again.

About once a day someone asks me why I decided to major in Japanese. I'll rattle off my memorized response about how I love foreign languages, and Japanese people, and I've always had an interest in Asian cultures, blah blah blah. But that's not the real reason.

The real reason is because the Japanese think I'm a model.

Mwahaha.

For a faithful reader

A terrible scan of the result of having nothing to do on a Saturday evening: