A Visit to the Sea 

Why have we posted so many sea photos this week? It's because we took a trip to Miyako, on the Pacific coast of Iwate. Matthew had a model railroad event there, so we took the opportunity to explore part of Iwate we hadn't visited and enjoy some fresh seafood.

Miyako is most famous for its spectacular rock formations, especially those at Jodogahama.





There's a protected rocky beach at Jodogahama, where old women spread out konbu seaweed to dry.



We were there pretty early in the morning, which turned out to be a good thing. We got to see the nearly empty beach, but less than an hour later it was overrun with tourists.



Of course, no visit to the sea is complete without fresh seafood. We stayed at a minshuku (a kind of traditional "bed and dinner and breakfast" lodge) owned by a fisherman. Naturally, the morning's catch was the evening's dinner.



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Six Steps to Self-Actualization 

As difficult as some aspects of expatriating have been, they've had one primary redeeming value: we've only had to do them once. Repetition is annoying to me, especially repeating things that seem arbitrary or pointless. But, we learn to accept things by working through them, so it's only fitting that I've achieved inner peace through taking the Japanese driving test.

I knew I was likely to fail the driving test the first time. Reportedly, most people do. What I did not expect was to fail it a second time, and then a third time. The examiners gave the same reason every time: "Deibisu-san, you need to slow down on the turns." No other comments, only that I turned too fast. I slowed down each time, until I felt like I was crawling around the corners, but to no avail. "Deibisu-san, next time, go more slowly in the turns." Man, was that frustrating. All this effort I put into fixing what they said was wrong, and they kept failing me for the same reason. Was there nothing I could do to pass?

Somewhere between Attempt #3 and Attempt #4, I entered a state of acceptance about the whole thing. I could only drive the course to the best of my ability. Passing was out of my hands. It was a good development because then I wasn't fazed by Attempt #4. I failed, even though the examiner praised the way I drove a tricky part of the course by drawing a big flower around that point on her map with a red pen, the way Japanese schoolteachers do. Passing is out of my hands.

One week later came Attempt #5. Attempt #5 had the added bonus of the examiner being the one guy at the driving center who I simply could not understand. I went, I drove, I failed for reasons I couldn't make out. And yet, I still felt content ― I'd done the best I could, but with no success. I realized that by this point, I'd run through all of the driving center personnel who do the foreign test. It was guaranteed that the next examiner would be someone who had already failed me. Not that it mattered ― with my track record, they could replace the whole staff and the results would be the same. Passing is out of my hands.

So the guy I couldn't understand was my examiner again for Attempt #6. I went, I drove, I returned to the starting point, I listened to his incomprehensible comments. But this time, he was asking questions rather than scribbling on his map. That was different, but was it significant? I finally asked him whether I had passed, and he confirmed that I had by sending me inside to wait for the license to be issued. Success! I could drive in Japan again!

Or I could have if I'd had the car. My international driver's permit expired in June, so returning home meant one more thing that was out of my hands — a long ride by bus and train.


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Mourning in Japan 

The air smells like incense. It has almost every day for the last week. One of our neighbors died on Tuesday, so the family's house has been draped in mourning since then. It's a very haunting scene.

A black-and-white banner hangs above the front door to the home. A small stand holding two basins, one of water and one of salt (considered purifying agents), stands between the front door and a sheltered wooden sign announcing the name of the deceased, birth and death dates, and information about the proceedings. The name and dates also appear on signs on the nearest major road. The funerary accoutrements will remain in place for approximately seven days, the duration of the initial period of mourning. After that, they will come down, leaving the family to mourn in a less public manner — save for the smell of incense in the air.
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Moldy Housing Blues 

My face has been feeling pretty gross over the last few days ― rather itchy and tight, like the skin is too dry. The fall flowers are blooming, so I'd been chalking the grossness up to allergies. Upon further consideration and a look at the tatami after I picked our futons up this morning, I think I've identified the culprit: mold.

You'd think that living in humid Maryland for eight years would have taught us everything we needed to know about controlling mold in our house, but no. That was only a basic education. Japan is so humid so much of the time that things take on moisture very easily and never really dry out. I've heard stories of people leaving their apartments in Tokyo for August vacations and returning to walls covered with mold. There are lines of desiccant products for all areas of your house, including the shoebox that sits in the genkan. We've got some charcoal, but we've never investigated any of the other products. Perhaps we should ― ever seen moldy shoes? I hadn't, until last week.

Mold is most disheartening to find in the tatami. It gets into the weave of the mats and can only be gotten out by lots of careful scrubbing (with the weave, please) with a rag or small brush and vinegar. Nothing makes me feel like Cinderlawyer quite as much as cleaning mold out of the tatami. There I sit, methodically wiping the mats, peering closely at each newly cleaned patch and watching the rag turn black as I go. Sadly, no cartoon mice entertain me during my labors.

Tomorrow, we deploy the charcoal.
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Rainy Season, Part Two 

Summer gives us one more reason to be skeptical of the weathermen. They are the ones who declare the opening and close of rainy season. The rainy season, tsuyu, is supposed to last from early-to-mid-June until mid-July throughout Japan (except Hokkaido). This year, the Japan Meteorological Agency declared tsuyu over in Tohoku on July 19.

Over, huh? Then why are we sitting inside, huddled in our warm dotera, on the third day of constant rain that we've had in the last two weeks? If the last two years are any measure, we get more rain after the rainy season than we do during. Both years, there have been smatterings of rain throughout tsuyu, usually in the form of brisk afternoon showers reminiscent of New Mexico's desert storms. It's only after the end of the rainy season is declared, however, that we get strong daylong downpours, sometimes two or three times a week. Sometimes, they last for twenty-four hours or longer.

Tomorrow's forecast is for rain; the day after is for rain "at times." We don't trust the weathermen to tell the truth about such things, but relying on our own experience, it seems that we're in for a damp couple of days.
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The New Yardstick 

Here's an interesting test of your language skills: how quickly, and through what means, can you deflect the solicitors?

Last year at this time, I had a very limited arsenal. Someone would come to the door wanting to talk me into something. All I could do was look uncomprehending and say, "I'm sorry, I don't understand." Again. And again. Sometimes, the solicitors would ask a few basic questions about where I was from and how long I'd been in Japan (testing?) before trying again to push their agenda, but we always ended up back at the Blank Look of Incomprehension and Gomennasai, wakarimasen. Inartful and more than a little embarrassing, but so it goes. I was new.

Now, I can tell them something that will get them to go away. Sometimes it's true, sometimes it's only almost true because I can't quite pull the proper word to mind. I'm also confident enough to be a little more forceful about it, which is not to say that I'm rude. Or that I can't have a laugh with a solicitor about it. A couple of weeks ago, a newspaper salesman came by with the the following spiel:

Newspaper Guy: Hi, I'm from Newspaper. You can't read the newspaper, can you?
SKD: That's true. I can't read the newspaper. I'm sorry.
NG: Where are you from?
SKD: America.
NG: How long have you been in Japan?
SKD: Oh, about a year.
NG: Your Japanese is very good.
SKD: Oh, it's really not so good. And I still can't read the newspaper.

I had a harder time convincing him that a subscription would be lost on us than I would have at the same time last year. It's a nice measure of how far I've come, though, to know that the Blank Look of Incomprehension is there as a fallback, rather than a default when communicating.
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Bon Odori 

Last Friday night, our ward held its Bon Odori. Bon Odori, or the Bon Dance, is a community event associated with Obon. According to Buddhist custom, Obon is the time when the spirits of the deceased return to visit their families' household altars. Bon Odori is a joyful dance that commemorates the ancestors' sacrifices, and traditionally involves people dressing in yukata and dancing around a stand built especially for the festival musicians. This was our first time to participate in the event, so we dressed up in yukata and went out to join the dancing.

As it turned out, only a few adults wore traditional clothing ― mostly, children wore them (so cute!). The children seemed pretty excited by us, cheering us on as we circled the drummers with the rest of the dancers. We'd strategically positioned ourselves behind a woman who'd clearly been dancing these dances for decades, so we were able to catch on reasonably quickly. Some of the dances were easier than others, with the Kitakami dance being one of the easy ones. As we understand it, the music and movements of each community's dance tend to represent the activities and traditions for which it is known. We can only deduce that whatever goes on in Morioka is really hard, because the dance that originated there was the most difficult.

Early in the evening, one of the ward leaders came over to chat with us, ending with a request that we stay until the end. We had already intended to, but his request made us feel a little suspicious, possibly because he was one of the guys who sprang the yakudoshi speech on me. We learned the reason when, at the end of the evening, we won the prize for "Naisu Fuufu" ("Nice Couple"). Even more than the dancing, the announcement caused the children to cheer wildly. As they waved and shouted congratulations at us, we were touched by their infectious joy. The celebration reminded us how grateful we are to be part of this community.

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The Name Game 

We received new checks from our bank in America today. Much to my dismay, after numerous communications in writing with the bank, my name is misspelled on them. I'm used to this sort of thing, after thirty-three years of it. I'm certainly not used to having my name be the easy one to spell, but in Japan, it is.

Like Spanish, Japanese has only five vowel sounds and no 'th' sound (setting aside Castilian pronunciations of the /s/ sound). Unlike Spanish, Japanese also has no /v/ sound. They've tried to create one in the katakana syllabary, but it's quite inelegant: vocalize the 'u' sound as 'vu,' and stick whatever vowel you need onto it to make the correct sound. As a result, our last name of Davis, so easy and common in English, has no 'standard' construction in Japanese. Depending on which document you look at, our surname could be pronounced Dehvuisu, Devuisu, or Deibisu. The latter is most in keeping with Japanese pronunciation.

Likewise, Matthew's given name has been up for debate. He prefers Masshu, but almost no one does it that way. He usually ends up being Mashuu.

As for me, there's really only one construction to use: Sutefuanii. Lucky for me, like Spanish, Japanese doesn't have that pesky 'ph' combination to muck things up. Sure, there are more u's involved than in English, and an extra syllable or two, but I'll take the extra stuff in my name over the 'ph' any day.
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The Road Not Traveled 

Last week, we finally had some time for an overnight stay at a hot spring. We'd originally planned to go to the northern Iwate coast, but a recent earthquake had damaged the area, and we felt it was best not to go get in the way of the cleanup efforts. Instead, we headed inland, to an onsen in the mountains of Akita Prefecture.

Checking the maps, there were basically three routes we could take to cross the central mountain range to our destination. The expressway is by far the quickest way, but it's pretty straight and has lots of tunnels. The scenery is nice, but not great. The other routes offered narrow twisty roads that climb high into the mountains for spectacular views. We weren't in a hurry, so we chose the tiniest, windiest road on the map and set out.

Making that plan, we didn't think about the fact that seven weeks earlier there had been a major earthquake — and we were looking at going right through the heart of the damaged area. As we neared our first-choice road, we saw the signs: "Route 342 Closed".

There were other ways across the mountains, so we weren't worried. We consulted with the toll collector, who indicated he thought our second choice road would be open. So we backtracked a bit and took some side roads up into the mountains.

As predicted, the scenery was spectacular. As not predicted, it also became more sinister.



Well, we were still better off than this guy.



But, we did have to drive around some severe road damage.



Despite the damage, we were making good time and had almost reached the road we wanted to take, when we came to a crossroads. There was no need to check the map, though — every route except the one we came in on was closed. We consulted with some construction workers to find out how to get to Route 398. "You know 398 is closed, don't you?" they asked. "You should take the expressway."

Sigh. So we headed back to the expressway, back to Kitakami, and across the mountains. After we left the expressway on the other side of the mountains, we had plenty more amazing scenery.



And we had clear sailing on our chosen route into the mountains, all the way up until we were a few short kilometers from our destination and came across yet another "Road Closed" sign. More backtracking, more consultation with locals, and another half hour of driving, and we eventually made it to our destination.

The return trip was somewhat less eventful — by then, we knew what areas to avoid — but we did find a place where the narrow mountain road, walled in by the mountain on one side and a steep drop on the other, took a hairpin turn at the bottom of a hill. They need guardrails for safety, but I guess they don't want drivers getting overconfident.



Happily, our brakes were in fine condition and we made it home safe, sound, and ready for our next adventure — whatever it may be!

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The Cosmos Knows 

Every time I go over to my koto teacher's house, she has a new ikebana arrangement in the entryway. They are always composed from flowers in her beautiful, rather traditional garden. This week's arrangement featured a white lily. I didn't know the Japanese word for lily, so I asked her. She told me, then explained that the purple flowers in the arrangement were cosmos, a fall flower.

Wait, what? A fall flower? But it's only the end of July! Yes, she said, it's a fall flower, one that is around for a long time, from late summer through autumn.

Tohoku is known for having short summers and long, harsh winters, so it makes sense that the transitional flowers show up earlier than in other parts of Japan. Even so, July seems a bit early for the harbingers of autumn. Looking on the bright side, though, after seven summers in Washington and one here, the prospect of not having August weather is quite welcome.
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