SUMO SHUTTERS

TWO GIRLS AND AN OLD MAN

My ankle's on the mend so I'm finally back to being active. With only two months left here I'm keener than for new experiences. So last night I accepted an invitation to play ping pong with a neighbouring towns Junior High School. I accompanied my fifty-six year old snowboard friend Sazaki-san to the sports centre. We entered what appeared to be the scene of a movie. A bunch of Japanese kids holding their rackets upsidedown and rallying the balls back and forth so fast they were nothing more than a blur.
Of course I wanted to tuck tail and run, but fearing 'loss of face', I just consoled myself with the knowledge that I was the tallest present and maybe (maybe) the strongest. I hadn't played in about a year, but way back in the day in Tasmania I played regularly in a hostel and got myself a reputation as being 'pretty good', so I had a little confidence.
Sazaki-san and myself teamed up with two thirteen year old girls. 'Sweet', I thought, 'no worries, just two girls and and old man'. We changed partners after each game. And out of six games, my team lost six times, thus proving me to be the biggest loser in all of the gym :o(
Talk about a slice of humble pie.

SUMO

I attended the Sumo wrestling semi-final last saturday in Tokyo.
As absolutely amazing experience.
This ancient sport originated as part of Shinto religion centuries ago and is still surrounded in ceremony and ritual.
The unique uniforms of all in involved, exclusive battleground and electric atmosphere stamped a impression that will never leave me.

EARLY MORNING TOKYO

At five-thirty in the morning even Tokyo's buildings are drowsy.
Giant shadows lean on their friends as the low sun begins it's ascent.

FEELING SPECIAL

In a dramatic cry for attention I got all my long girly hair cut off on saturday. After hiding my generously large ears for two years I was a little worried about the reactions of my co-workers and students. But I needn't have feared.
Arriving at elementary school yesterday a few kids timidly approched me asking 'Mark sensei desu ka?' - are you Mark teacher. Reassuring them brought chukles and compliments of 'kako-ii', which means cool ( I think). Walking into the staffroom I almost had a heart attack. The teachers, most of whom are always super shy and reserved with me, all burst into a loud round of applause. I don't know whether they were cheering my new hairstyle or the departure of my old one, but I took their applause with a smile and a red face.

SUNSET YESTERDAY

Japan has four seasons.
And Spring is one of the most beautiful.

MA SENSEI AND DA SENSEI

My parents visited my Junior High School with me. The kids went absolutely nuts even running out of class to shake their hands.Together we taught the third year class. We had an open forum where-by students could ask my parents whatever they wanted. They certainly weren't shy with questions like 'do you still love each other' and 'where did you meet' and 'please tell us something bad Mark did when he was young, etc, etc. I'm still regretting it.

Third grade students (14 year olds).
My movie star father.
The class laughs at my fathers terrible singing.

THE END OF THE ROAD

At the end of this road lies Uguisuzawa.
My home for the last two years.
A tiny town beneath the mountains surrounded by rice fields.
Soon I will leave.
I will be sad to go.

KOYA-SAN

Along with my parents I recently visited Koya-san (Koya mountain) in the southwest of Japan. Although we stayed here only one night it has thus far been one of my best, if not the best, ‘Japanese’ experience.
An ancient and sacred mountain, Koya-san lies just fifty kilometers south of Osaka. An isolated and unique community set high in the mountains amidst a cedar forest, it has a unique and tranquil atmosphere. Encircled by two concentric mountain chains of eight peaks each, this geographical lotus blossom made an ideal place to try getting ‘spiritual’ and escape from the madness of Tokyo. Because of the altitude (over 800m) it was cooler and there were late cherry blossoms making it an ideal escape from the rest of Japan. Following a dramatic train ride followed by a cable car to the mountaintop, we left our bags at the temple and went exploring. The ancient temples and gates of Kongobu-ji and Dai-mon were quite amazing. History, culture and beautiful views abundant, but it is the magnificent cemetery of Okunoin that stands out in my.Set in a mysterious and cool moss-lined forest, it boasts half a million graves, the most famous of which is the mausoleum of Kobo Daishi (the founder of the mountain). A hypnotic twenty-minute walk in the cool mountain air took us past a vast range of graves, from the ancient faded stones to the all-singing, all-dancing modern graves provided by some of Japans bigger companies for there employees. Going deeper into the forest we saw that Koya-san is a popular place for pilgrims. I even got chatting to an old man as we stopped to look at the same ancient tombstone. ‘Where are you from’, he asked in Japanese. ‘Ireland’, I told him. ‘Oh, that’s far’, he replied. ‘Yes’, I agreed, ‘and you?’ ‘Tochigi prefecture’ was his answer. ‘That’s also far ‘ I said. ‘Yes’ he agreed, ‘very far.At the little Tama-gawa river there is a line of bronze statues. Here, as a service to the dead, it is traditional to douse the statues with water. Apparently forgetting about Heaven and thinking about Nirvana my parents indulged in this water fight with statues that can’t fight back. Then on up the path to the Hall of Lanterns, in which ten thousand lamps are kept alight, two of which have been burning since the eleventh century. Next was the mausoleum, considered the spiritual centre of the mountain. A little understated perhaps, but nearby we got to test the weight of our mortal sins. Within a latticed wooden structure lies a special rock. The weight of this stone reflects the weight of one’s sins. If you can lift the stone with one arm onto the shelf, you are pretty much guaranteed a place in Nirvana. I tried and failed. But then through grit and determination (or maybe a strength that can only be built after years of throwing bricks) my Da managed to do it. The onlooking old ladies burst into a round of applause shocked that it had been done. Mother stepping up to the challenge failed miserably, as I imagine a lot of women do due to the weight of it. But the way I see it is, Da can have his little victory, because what fun us Heaven without women anyway.Over one hundred temples are scattered around the cedar-filled valley that makes up the town. Many founded over 800 years ago and offering shukubos or temple lodgings. Run by monks, facilities and rooms were quite basic. In fact, I startled the girl next to us whilst innocenty looking for blankets. Opening what I thought to be the closet I found myself iin the next room looking at an equally shocked young lady. The other three ‘walls’ were also nothing more than paper barriers between us and our neighbours. And the forth ‘wall’ opened out onto the hall. So there was certainly a communal atmosphere with our fellow ‘inner-peace-hunters’, but I pitied them for the night ahead and their introduction to the world’s loudest snorer, my Da.
We skipped the evening meditation service in favour of lounging around in our Yukattas – Japanese robes, and drinking green tea. However, dinner was an occasion not to be missed. An individual vegetarian feast for each person. Served by high school student monks in training we each had an array of dishes scrupuluously presented in beautiful dishes and trays, including our own little single serving stew cooking over our own little single serving flame. Shifting and squirming to get comfortable sitting on the floor, we soon forgot any aches and pains as the lady of the temple came in to speak. Old and frail and needing a microphone just to project her voice to our small group, she somehow held a strength and presence that only years of experience can bring. As widow of the head monk of this temple, she had amazing stories of the war, the founding of the mountain and of the hardships experienced in this majestic place. Everyone sat spellbound for an hour or more as her clear, but measured English transformed us back to another era.After dinner the whole of Koya-san seems to go to sleep making it perfect for a stroll around town or just around the temple grounds checking out the public bath, ponds and dry gardens.
The next morning we all rose at five. There was chanting from six. The hypnotic mantra of the monks within an intimate incense and candle filled room made for an inchanting start to the day. And after breakfast it was time for the dramatic cable car and train journey back to the madness.



Photos (from top): statues at the cemetary, front garden of our temple, bronze statue at the river, mother paying respect, ancient graves, one of the gardens with pond at our temple, moss-covered tombstones, da and me at the river, da lifting the 'stone of sin'.

MOUNTAINS AND ROOFS

Carpenters building a house in my town

RICE SWIMMING POOLS

The snow melts and it's gray.
The cherry blossoms come and it's pink.
The leaves come and it's green.
The rice paddies are flooded and it's blue.

Uguisuzawa after sunset

IN THE WAITING ROOM

Yesterday at my local hospital it was obviously old people happy hour. The small waiting room was filled to the brim with 'ojiisans' and 'obaasans' - grandfathers and grandmothers, jabbering away to each other in the uncomprehensible local dialect. Squeezing into the crammed bench I was quickly the centre of attention. Obaasan 1 on my left was wearing a flu mask and had one squinty eye, on my right was Kyoko-san, the frail great-grandmother of three of my students. 'Were are you from?' asked Obaasan 1, 'Ireland' I replied politely. 'Have you ever been?' Great-grandmother asked Obaasan 1.
'Yes', she replied, 'three years ago'. Surprised and a little dubious I asked her 'Really? Where did you go?' 'Oh, I don't know the names of the towns', she said, 'I can't speak any English. But it was very nice and everyone had blues eyes like you. Japanese all have black eyes. Blue eyes are much nicer.'
She continued rambling for a while and then summed up with "English is very difficult for Japanese people you know'.
'Ahh, yes', I replied, 'but Japanese is difficult for foreigners'. Looking genuinely surprised she conceded my point and my made my way to the doctors room.

YOU KNOW BOB

I never noticed until this evening. But one of the pool attendants at my nearby sports centre looks/acts/walks just like Bob from the Last Samurai. Bob was the guy left to keep an eye on Tom Cruise in case you've forgotten. Anyway, it's an uncanny resemblance, although my Bob has never hit me with a stick or anything like that. Not yet anyway.

Frozen ground softens
In the cherry blossom sun
Life can start again

TOKYO

RIVER

The sun sets, but the river still flows strong.

KYOTO

M R AYE AND FANCY CASTS

Seven hospital visits, five different hospitals, three sets of x-rays, ten weeks of hobbling, an MRI scan and now, finally, they can tell me I have a damaged ligament. The snow is gone, the boarding season is over and my faith in the Japanese health care system has long ago melted. But I’m not complaining, I’m just happy to finally have a cast on and a (fairly) clear idea of which ligament is damaged. Arriving yesterday at the very new and expensive looking city hospital I was escorted around three reception desks before finally receiving some papers and a card. Then I was sent to the strange and demonic place known as the MRI Room.
I knew MRI’s were noisy, but felt very unsettled when strapped in and left alone in the pleasantly disguised torture chamber. With the ‘push in case of emergency’ button in hand I was transported into the machine for forty strange minutes. Metallic clunking and banging surrounded me. Highly hung-over from the previous evening’s cherry blossom drinking, I continuously dozed of. And I was continuously awakened by either strange, strange noises filling my eardrums or by my legs twitching as I drifted off in this unusual position. Knowing you must keep perfectly still to get clear results, I panicked after each twitch that I’d have to go through it all again.But after only one session I was the proud owner of a brilliant set of photos. About fifteen large sheets showing my ankle from all angles in all kinds of detail. It really was amazing to see the product of my torture. I then went to another town and another hospital for the results to be deciphered. Deciding that my ankle was, after all injured, it was agreed to make me a removable cast. This was done simply by putting some special gauze around my foot, then wrapping it in a bandage. The doctor then left, telling me only to stay in the same position. So I was more than a little surprised when the whole cast started heating up. I must have looked pretty confused because one of the nurses came over to reassure me that it’s supposed to heat up. Still not understanding, I just sat there and tried to think happy thoughts. When they removed the bandage, the special gauze had molded and hardened into the shape of my ankle. Brilliant. Not electricity or anything. Now I can finally begin the recovery period.

SMOKEY TREE

Sitting at my desk I just caught site of this tree shrouded in smoke.

CHERRY BLOSSOMS

The cherry blossoms in my area are due to be in full bloom next week. However, I'll be down south with the parents on a well needed holiday. Determined to do some cherry blossom viewing (ie. getting plastered under a tree) a few of us went drinking last night. The blossoms were far from ready and it was pretty cold. But the festival lanterns hanging from the trees gave off a warm glow and the hot whiskeys kept the chill at bay. I had forgotten how much fun weekday drinking could be. And I'm about to be reminded of how much fun weekday hangovers are not.