Time Travel

I went back in time yesterday. My flight left at 3:30 p.m. on Sunday, and I arrived in San Francisco at 8:30 a.m. on Sunday. It is a little surreal arriving in the morning when you left in the afternoon. When we went the other way, it just felt like a really long day.

My bed has never felt so comfortable. It was nice to unpack and know that I'll be in one place for awhile.

Lesson learned: Time travel is exhausting.

Shopping at church

Amanda left this morning, so I mapped out a plan of things I wanted to see before she took her Lonely Planet book. Just as I was set to go, however, the sweet old lady at the front desk told me, "Today, you go Toji free market." Not to argue, I headed there instead. It wasn't a far trip from our hotel.

I'm glad I took her advice. The booths were packed in tightly and spilled through the gates of the temple and out along the streets on every side of the temple. People milled among a maze of pathways. I let myself get lost in it all, browsing through each booth, stopping to watch the women in kimonos or the monks who stood chanting at the gates. It was muggy today, maybe 75 degrees. I could feel the tips of my shoulders turning pink and my shopping bags were soon rubbing my arms raw. On Saturday morning, I had enough Japanese Yen for food and a train ticket to Osaka. Soon I was trimming off my food reserve, then I broke down and spent my train ticket money. That's what ATMs are for, right?



Despite the commotion of the market, the temple still drew worshipers. Men and women threw their coins in the signature boxes in front, bowing to the alters, or kneeled on the tatami mats within the open doorways.



After two hours and traveling back and forth, I was exhausted. I lingered a little too long in my hotel room for a rest, so I just missed the closing of a temple on the other side of town. Instead, I wandered around in another shopping area, this one more modern. The women to watch in this area were clad in high heels, knee high socks and mini skirts, their designer bags slung over their arms. The tunnels through the stores could have been a run way.

I had dinner at a small restaurant near by my hotel, striking up a conversation with the waitress when she had moments in between her tables. She told me that market is only once a month, so I was lucky to catch it.

Lesson learned: The Toji free market is all the elements of Japanese culture wrapped into one venue.

Pedaling through town

The problem with the bus is that every thing on the street just goes by in a blur. Riding a bike slows everything down — just now so slow as walking. Amanda and I rented bikes today, despite our fear that we would get hopelessly lost.

It turned out to be one of the best things we've done while here. It was fun to weave among the people on the sidewalks, peeking into the stores we passed.



After swinging through a temple where there were hundreds of statues with about a dozen arms, we headed to a shrine. It is perched on a hillside, among narrow streets filled with shops. It took us awhile to get there considering all the distractions.





Lesson learned: Do the shopping on the way back.

Taking pause

We were walking down Shijo street, looking for bikes to rent, when a sign stopped both Amanda and I in our tracks.

"Relaxation massage."

The man in the store saw us gazing at it wistfully, and came out to show us a "happy price" schedule. Thirty minutes for two thousand yen, which is about $18. We were sold.

They put us on tables together, with our clothes still in place, then laid towels over us. I was wondering how good a job they could do through those layers. It was fantastic. I was lying there hoping it was as good for Amanda as it was for me.

When we sat up I had my answer. She had this sort of have dazed, half asleep look on her face.

Lesson learned: Either this guy just had really strong hands, or he just knew what he was doing.

Through Gion

Last night we wandered among Kyoto's night entertainment district, Gion. There, it's not uncommon to catch a glimpse of a Geisha. Geisha are women entertainers — usually for men — specializing in dance, singing or music. They dress in heavy kimono laden with ornate decoration, their faces painted in white make up, red lips blazing in contrast. Their hair, or wig, is pulled back into high loops, and and they wear traditional shoes that resemble flip flops.

Their mystery is a common tourist draw. At one point, one of the paper and wooden doors next to me slid open, and two Geisha stepped into my path. Like celebrities, these two were chased down the street, cameras flashing like Christmas lights.



Later we were walking the other direction when one came running down the street. As she ran, she dropped her shawl. It was like something out of a movie. A tourist nearby grabbed it and called for her. In trade, she agreed to pose for a picture with him. He raised his fists in celebration after the flash went off. Another woman was bold enough to ask her to pose, and she complied. I was able to get in a few shots before she ducked behind a door.

Lesson learned: You just have to be in the right place at the right time.

Through the gates

The Fushimi Inari Shrine lies south west of the center of Kyoto. It's most remarkable characteristic is lines of torii gates that run up and down the mountain where the shrine sits. You can walk through them, like a tunnel. Every once and awhile, they open up to lofty views of the city below, or tea houses or graveyards or alters.

Amanda and I walked almost the whole five kilometers. It was a beautiful days — one of the few warm ones I've experienced since I got here.

The best way to tell about this one is through photos.







Lesson learned: There's a little heaven in some shrines.

Following the leader

One of Amanda's key goals in coming to Japan was to go in a hot spring. There was one the Lonely Planet recommended, but the directions were about as clear as the Japanese street signs we were looking at blankly when we got off at the bus stop.

We stopped a guy headed out of an apartment complex to ask where the street was we were looking for was. I knew it the moment he took the Lonely Planet from us and pulled out his cell phone to look up another map, he had no idea where it was. Still, that didn't stop him from juggling the book, cell phone and umbrella, and then beckoning us to come with him.

By now it was pitch dark and pouring rain. He lead us south, which was not the direction I was thinking we should go. Then we headed down a side street. Then north again. Then west. I felt so bad that he was stuck trying to lead a couple Americans to some place he had no interest in going. And I know he had some place to be. Twice I tried to call him off the hunt. But he plodded on, his shoes scuffing along the pavement, the rain soaking the pages of the book.

Finally, we rounded a curve and he pointed to it. I was able slip him a gift and apologize.

The long walk in the cold rain was worth it. There were a spread of pools at the public bath we visited, a sauna and a plunge pool. It was just after we needed after our busy day.

Lesson learned: Only ask those who are stuck behind a counter directions.

Temple hopping

Any of the last night's misery was made up in for in our first day in Kyoto. Our first stop was at the Golden Pavilion, a temple that shines layered in real gold from its perch on the edge of a lake. On our way out, some little boys asked to have their picture taken with me. When I answered in Japanese, they looked at each other in shock and said, "She speaks Japanese!"

Ok, the truth? I don't speak Japanese. But I'm really good at faking it. They're just surprised when anything remotely Japanese comes out of an American mouth.



Our next stop was a shrine, where we saw the weeping cherry tree I posted a picture of earlier.

We managed to get the outdoor sightseeing in before it started to rain, then headed to the Nishiki Market. No matter how many markets I visit, they never fail to impress me.



Lesson learned: Navigating around Kyoto was surprisingly easy, despite the fact that many maps were missing many streets and the majority of street signs were in Japanese characters.

Free sake and beg bugs

Yesterday we left for Kyoto, setting out on our own for the first time. We didn't even make it out of the train station without sitting town for a piece of extravagant cake, adorned with sculpted fruit.

Our failure to make reservations landed us at a dilapidated hostel, where we slept on two of six futons laid side by side on a creaky, second-story floor.

There was no shower and only one bathroom. We brushed our teeth side by side with the other visitors. My suspicion that the sheets hadn't been washed after the last tenant's stay spurred a restless night full of bed bug dreams. I swear at one point I hear a mouse scuffling around in the walls.



The hostel's saving grace was a common room containing a table with blankets draped over the heater underneath. Not only was it warm, it allowed for other travelers who had neglected to plan to compare notes on their adventures. The hostel provided free beer, sake and breakfast, and we wondered at how it could possibly stay in business. I suppose since they don't wash the sheets or make any renovations, they wouldn't have much overhead.

Lesson learned: Just call. It takes two minutes and saves hours of nightmares.

Market to market

Amanda and I's first adventure together in Japan was to the Tokyo fish market. Her Japanese friend, Taro, took the day off to show us around. It was chilly and a light drizzle was just starting to fall as we entered the tightly packed booths of the market. As usual, it was full of an array of all things squishy, slimy and tentacled. There were also the booths brimming with the Japanese crafts and trinkets, for the shoppers who weren't hungry.

The light rain turned into a downpour, so we ducked under an awning of one booth to buy umbrellas. Vendors scrambled to cover their treasures with plastic and divert the rivers of water flowing down the eves. Along with the shoppers, we ducked between covered tunnels, opening and closing our umbrellas in the openings between.

From there, we left rich tradition for a taste of modern lifestyle. The shops were scattered sparsely among the cathedral-high, yet stark walls and ceilings.


Taro tolerated our shopping for awhile, then we headed to a sushi restaurant. It was the best sushi I've ever head. If raw fish could melt in your mouth, this is what it would taste like. The $50 price tag on the meal was worth every penny.

Afterwards, we headed out for Amanda's first Japanese karaoke experience. Unlike America's version, where performers sing for bars full of partiers, we entered a small room for just the three of us. Having only three people vying for the mic definitely allows for some opportunity to find your true karaoke song.



Lesson learned: I still haven't found my song.

Hunting for blossoms

Cherry blossoms are to Japan as apple pie is to America. Except in the United States, there is no certain apple pie season. So we Americans don't get to experience the anticipation and suspense leading up to this cultural and natural phenomenon.

The cherry trees usually bloom sometime in April, depending on the region. As soon as the first buds open, the Japanese stock up on alcohol, warm clothes and camp out under a cherry tree for the evening, which has the deceivingly serene name of "cherry blossom viewings."

But our group wasn't destined to see the blossoms or the parties. Every place we went, they were just about to peak out of their buds. Then we would hear about how splendid the bloom was right after we left. Meanwhile, the news buzzed about the bloom already occurring in Tokyo. Since it only lasts about a week, it looked like I was going to miss it completely.

While many of the trees have shed their pedals already, I saw my first cheery tree in bloom today.




Here's another more impressive one my sister and I saw later.


Lesson learned: All the hype is warranted.

Tokyo sights

Since Amanda's flight was cancelled, and then delayed (all due to birds, who would have thought?) Taro and I had the day to bond. He took me sightseeing along his girlfriend, who is a stewardess for Japan Airlines.

The three of us started the day wandering among the shops that cloak the entryway to a giant temple. The street was a human traffic jam, everyone moving in slow motion toward the temple as they peered over the goods in the shops.

Afterwards, we wandered among the grounds of garden and took a "water bus" around the harbor and by the famous Rainbow Bridge.


There was no sight I was more happy to see, however, than Amanda finally entering the airport. We wasted no time in introducing her to sashimi (raw fish) and octopus.

Lesson learned: A water bus has no wheels.

Travel curse strikes again

My little sister has somehow inherited my dad's bad travel luck. It never fails. Whether her car blows up and she ends up hitchhiking on the Interstate or her Rugby team gets pulled over on suspicion of drug trafficking, something always happens.

So part of me wasn't surprised to see the subject in an email from my mom: "Amanda missed her flight." We were to arrive about the same time in Tokyo and meet up at the hotel Saturday.

The reason that Amanda missed the plane was because she had forgotten her passport. And by that, I don't mean left it on the kitchen table. It hadn't even made the list of things to bring when she was packing. It just so happens that she is in the process of moving to a new place, so all her things are packed up in storage. She had to call a cab (she had taken a taxi to the airport) then rifle through her boxes. She made it back to the airport just in time, but security wouldn't let her through.

After some scrambling, pleading and begging, she made it on a flight the next day. But that one was cancelled because the plane had hit a bird upon landing. The flight she arrived on was delayed because of birds on the runway. They actually landed and took off again.

As if to add insult to injury, the beautiful warm weather turned cold and rainy today.

I'm just glad she made it at all. I thought for sure her plane would get hit by a mile-high tsunami or would spontaneously combust.


Lesson learned: If Amanda wasn't such a good travel partner, I should find a new one. It could save my life.

Crowd surfing

Many movies have tried to capture the wildness of Tokyo's nightlife. Cameras pan across its flashing neon lights, shifting through clips of scantily scan women or catching shots of crowds spilling onto the streets. Now having seen it, I don't think I've any movie I've seen has quite done it. It's because a camera is limited to one sense. It can't catch the feeling of hundreds of bodies pressed around you on every side, or the smell of grilled meat one second and perfume the next.

My sister's friend Taro, who she met while on exchange in Ghana, Africa and now lives in Tokyo, met me at my hotel and swept me off to dinner minutes after I arrived Saturday night.

He took me to Shibuya, a district that holds the famous Times Square of Tokyo and is a popular shopping and entertainment spot. We passed by Hachiko, the statue of the dog that has become a famous meeting place. While waiting at a stop light in the middle of the square, I counted nine theater-size screens flashing advertisements on the sides of sky scrapers. The intersection we stopped at is called a scramble. It's where the walk light turns green for all pedestrians waiting there. Hundreds of people had collected, pressing toward the curb like runners at a starting gate. When the green walk light began its chirp, all those people surged into the intersection, squirming through the on comers in their fight to get to the other side. While steering me through, Taro pointed to a bus stuck in the sea of pedestrians, vainly trying to finish a left turn.

Taro took me to a yaki niko restaurant, which has become one of my favorite meals here. You grill pieces of meat and vegetables on a barbecue installed in the table.

Before dinner though, we had a few minutes to wander among the mayhem occurring in the narrow, meandering streets around the area. We even wandered into a video arcade, which is like a cross between a Vegas casino and Rainbow Bright.

Lesson learned: Just follow Taro.

Heading south

I'm off to Tokyo. I will update as I have a chance or access to Internet.

A musical farewell

Our final day in Morioka was the first full free day we've had since we've been here. I spent it writing my weekly column that runs in the newspaper I work for while I'm traveling in Japan, and packing.

The Rotarians had a goodbye party for us, which also served as a send-off party for the Japanese team who is now leaving for California. Many of the people we've met along the way were there — including my favorite photographer, who was in full form. (See earlier post).


At a private party awhile back, the four of us had sung karaoke, giving our rendition of Madonna's "Like a Virgin." Without us realizing it, at last night's party, Takashi had a karaoke machine ready for an encore. So there we were, in front of all the Rotary higher ups, squeaking out the song and trying to appear comfortable doing so. Despite the content of the lyrics, the Rotary governor, who must be 70 or older, was clapping and dancing with vigor of someone half his age.

When the last chords of the song finally subsided, Aimee leaned over and voiced what we were all thinking: "Well, that was the most surreal experience we've had."

After the party, Takashi took Beth, Erin and I to a tiny piano bar tucked off a narrow alley. They served us a few specialty drinks, as usual, with great relish and delicate presentation.


Takashi had heard of a couple piano performances I made on previous stops. Not to be left out, he waved his hand, and before I knew it, I had unseated the performer and was sitting at the baby grand piano. I think the ultimate experience I could have in a foreign country is to play a piano like that in such a setting. When the real pianist returned, he serenaded us with everything from Debussy to blues to songs from the Little Mermaid soundtrack.


Lesson learned: Music needs no translation.

News in Nihon (Japan)

For the first time in our whole trip, I toured a newspaper office here in Japan, as well as tour a TV station. I was impressed at the technology held within the hulking broadcasting building called Iwate Broadcasting Company. Lights, screens and dials all lit up with the employees hovering over them.

One of IBC's claims to fame is a Japanese style garden, which in the next couple of weeks, promises to come alive with an umbrella of cherry blossoms overhanging a stream.


At the newspaper, a woman about my age was there to answer questions about being a reporter in Japan. She actually had just started the job this month, but she spoke good English, so I think that's why they paired her with me. Her boss patiently answered all the questions I bombarded him with about their newspaper's journalism ethics and policies.

In Japan, many reporters are stationed at rooms at the government, education or police offices. They collect news releases and attend press conferences along side of their competitors. Newspapers that want such access must be members of a news organization to which they pay dues. It allows close access to sources, but excludes nonmembers and the public from the same information.


I was as struck by the similarities as I was the differences. They deal with many of the same obstacles and questions that we face. As they toured me around the Japanese reporter and me snuck in our questions to each other. They work her hard. She writes two or three stories a day, working 12 hours a day and has only one day off.

Lesson learned: I'm a slacker.

Family time

This week I stayed with the Nagano family. Their home and lifestyle was one of the most modern of the families I have stayed with. They had a son and daughter my age. The father and mother spoke really good English, especially the father. He had more of a British accent than Japanese. Both nights they entertained me with wine and desserts. Because of their language skills, it allowed us to have some pretty intimate conversations.


We were watching a BBC story about Chinese and Japanese leaders are trying to overcome tensions between the two countries. I asked about the source of the conflict. Apparently, it stems from WWII. Unlike Japan and America, they have never overcome the hard feelings that followed. He told me that perhaps it was because China is a communist country and Japan constitutional monarch. Approaching understanding from such different perspectives is difficult.

The conversation offered me the opportunity to ask about Japanese sentiment toward Americans after we dropped the bombs. He replied that he doesn't see much hostility left. It's a new generation now, who admires America. We also talked about the American sentiment toward Japan, which I think is largely positive, save for a few veterans and elderly who lived through Pearl Harbor and fighting the Japanese.

Lesson learned: Intercountry relations is never simple.

So much for blending in

So earlier I mentioned that I was starting to know what celebrities feel like (with all the photos they have been taking of us). Well that feeling rose to new heights today. We had a news story about us that ran in local paper with a circulation of 230,000 today. But since I'm a slacker and can't read Japanese characters, I have no idea what is says. But there is a fantastic photo of us all dressed up in white shower caps and trench coats during a noodle factory tour.

Then news cameras followed us around on a few tours today. I think the camera was the weirdest thing. They get really close to your face, and you have to pretend that there isn't a big bright light shining in our eyes, or like you're not wondering if they can see into your pours with that huge lens. They chose me to interview, since I am a journalist and we were touring a broadcasting company. I really just wanted to melt into the floor, but instead, I managed a few complete sentences for the reporter interviewing me.

It was equally embarrassing watching the whole thing with my host family tonight. They thought it was the greatest ever.

Lesson learned: I just need to come to terms with my Americanness.

Holding hands with Godzilla

So I've finally met a man here in Japan. He might be a little heavy to take back though...

Eat up

Usually, our Japanese style meals are leisurely, spread out over six or seven courses. People sit and talk in between the rounds of food, taking their time to enjoy the flavors. We experienced the other extreme today.

There is a tradition called "wanko soba" here. At these restaurants, participants sit down on the floor in front of short tables, then waitresses bring out dozens of small bowls with bite size samples of noodles in each. They pour them in your bowl one by one, as you are eating, chirping "Hai dozo" or "Hai mata mata" or Hai don, don." (This all means something like "yes, here you go," "yes, again, again" "yes, more and more." The goal is to rack on the tallest stack of bowls in your party. I made a pathetic attempt, only racking up 24 bowls. Takashi of course was the winner, with 90. Beth won among our group with 60. I just didn't have the drive to make myself sick over a food eating contest.

But it was really fun. The waitresses were so cute. For about two hours afterwards, we just all kept saying "Hai dozo," "hai, don don" copying their high pitched tone. One of the things they say is, "Hai yoshoi," which Erin pointed out laughing that it sounds like "Are you sure?"

Lesson learned: And they say American serving sizes are big.

Thriving

There is a cherry tree in Morioka that is actually splitting apart a huge boulder. I just wish we could have seen it in bloom...

International affair

Returning to Morioka, where we have passed through on our trip in Japan twice before, was a homecoming of sorts. We have always stayed at the same hotel each time, and it is right in the center of the city. There is something comforting about familiarity.

We met up with Takashi again, who took us to a Tex Mex/Irish pub for dinner. I don't think I could ever quite wrap my head around eating Mexican food in front of Guinness banners in Japan. I was pleasantly surprised at the food. I was expecting guacamole from a paste and seaweed in my tacos. We got a platter of these little mini flour tortillas to fill with beef, chicken and even cheese. I haven't had cheese, which the exception of the creamy stuff you put on crackers during the holidays, for three and a half weeks.

The biggest surprise came later, when Erin and I, caught in a second wind decided to go out. We were a little nervous about going into any random bar (since many of the bars here are some level of gentleman's club, so we headed back to the place we had eaten dinner. We sat and talked over a drink. I'm not sure if I was just wrapped up in conversation, or if it was that I was in an Irish pub, but it took me a second to register when two white guys walked in. My though process was this: "Oh, just some people entering the pub." "Wait, I'm in Japan and those guys are white." Watching their faces, they had the same thought process. We all kind of stared at each other as we walked in. This is only strange because I have seen very few white people since I've been here. Both are English teachers here in Morioka — one an American and the other Australian. We ended up comparing notes about our travels and the culture over a game of darts.

Lesson learned: We're not the only ones who are baffled by the whole slipper ritual.

To a different drum

Like many of my experiences in Japan thus far, the coolest thing that has happened yet came as a surprise. The last night of the district conference was one big feeding frenzy, where platters of food that were set out were snatched up within about ten minutes. Our team, thinking that more rounds of food would surely come, sat back and relaxed. It always does. Wait for the fruit, right? That's our motto.

That never happened. But what did was even better. A drumline of girls in wildly bright outfits danced into the room. They were followed by dancers in pink. Then a flautist, then a singer. They were all so beautiful. Erin and I were tempted to join in.





The women here in general are beautiful. I was walking out of the hall when I saw the waitresses line up to bow as the Rotarians filed out of the hall. They were thrilled when I asked if they would take a picture with me. One of them whispered, "You're so tall." Yes, I am going to hold onto that one. It's the first, and likely the last, I will ever hear those words.


Lesson learned: Not only are Japanese women graceful, they know just what to say, even if they don't speak English.

Camera bashing

I've been hauling around a 500-ton suitcase for three weeks. I've eaten things that I swear I've found growing in my bathroom or at the bottom of a fish tank before. I've hung out with more middle-aged men in the past week than I have in my life. And I've enjoyed it all.

Therefore: I am allowed one tantrum on this trip, and I'm going to throw it right here. If someone takes my picture as I'm standing in a hotel lobby, eating food or just plain doing nothing one more time, I think I might have to lay down on the ground and scream.

After this trip, I have gained at least two insights: 1. The stereotype about the camera happy Japanese is totally true. 2. I have a little more sympathy for celebrities.

I have never had a flash go off in my face so many times in my life. I think I will never cease to see the black spots that are floating in my eyeballs as I type this very second.

They have given us a few rounds of the photos taken so far. I will just treasure them forever. I can see the scrap book titles right now: "The GSE team sits down. The GSE team stands up. Alisha yawns. Erin uses a tooth pick. Beth stars off into space." As we flipped through the heap, Erin and I took to the game of "Who looks the worst."


There is one Rotarian in particular, who literally follows us around and captures every move we make. If you set the kajillion pictures he has taken in a stack and flipped them under your thump, it would make a movie of our trip. And let me tell you, it would probably win an Oscar. Because many of them are taken as we're doing really fascinating cultural learning experiences, such as opening our mouth to speak. Or looking at our plate. Or taking our suitcase out of a car.


I've started nonchalantly raising a piece of paper in front on my face every time I see this guy lift his camera, which by the way, he could probably use to kill a large rat. If I see him coming, it's all I can do to run the other way.

Okay I'm being rude, but that is part of throwing a tantrum. And if I get one, I'm going to make the most of it.

I can't help but wonder, what is he going to do with 50 million photos of five people he will probably never see in his life? (Ok, I'm exaggerating a bit. The actual number of photos he's taken is 5,893,092).

Lesson learned: I wouldn't make a very good celebrity.

Fumbling

The district conference has been a terrific breeding crowd for miscommunication and for us to make a string of cultural missteps. The conference, in all its formality, is where cultural rules of conduct were at their height. And where there was a trip line, we didn't fail to fall over it. In our defense, it wasn't always necessarily any one person or culture's fault.

First Takashi asked Andy to make a speech and do the presentation we've been giving to Rotary club meetings in the towns we've visited. We had a limited time to do this, but we didn't understand the stringency of this. As Andy spoke to the the crowd at Friday night's dinner, everyone just started eating and talking. We wished we had somehow been able to just skip our presentation and done simple introductions. (Yes, I know we look super hot in the picture, but what we're really thinking is "Umm, why are we up here? What are we doing? Is that tempura they are serving?")

Saturday morning, our team was announced during more than 100 introductions made. Our expected protocol for bowing was somewhat different than the others introduced.

The confusion about what we were supposed to do combined with the mispronunciation of our names led to us standing in the bright lights, eyes wide open, bowing to the wrong names. The audience, which filled a vast auditorium seating 1,000, just laughed at us.

At lunch, Erin, who is allergic to seafood, took a bite out of what she thought was meat. It turned out to be oyster, which is the worst thing she can eat. It scared her, so she headed back tot he hotel to take some medicine, throw up and rest. That could have been the end of it, but the scare launched a parade of Rotarians checking on her, pulling doctors out of Rotary meetings to look at her, and her confinement to her room for five hours.

We had a free afternoon yesterday, and I was happy to hide out in my room and watch an episode of Grey's Anatomy. Another run was also refreshing.

I would be dishonest if I only wrote that everything on this trip was happy, pretty and great fun. But I do believe that the frustrations are learning experiences just as the fun parts are.

Lesson learned: My name is not Anadawer Toslmaa. It's Alleesawah Waamiiwin.

Breaking down the barriers

We spent most of our time in Kesennuma exploring the Rikuchu Coast National Park. It's pretty impressive. I'll let the photos speak for themselves. The great thing about being outdoors is that it takes no translation, no special culturual understanding. There are no faux pas.







I'm learning that when we have homestays, the first night is the hardest. It's sometimes hard to judge where they want to you be and how happy they are that you're there. I find that I sort of freeze up in any of the language that I have learned. Then, the second night we all seem to open up. Dinner became a mix of words and phrases from both languages, as we tried to get to know each other with limited means.

My first impression of our host mother was that she was hosting us out of obligation, but by the morning of our departure, she told us that we was sad we were leaving and wished we were staying four days instead of two.


Lesson learned: Just got to break down that first wall.