Ganbaru-sugi

In Japanese, there’s a word (sugiru) you can put on the end of another word to add the meaning of “too much.” I hear it a lot in kempo, attached to “far” or “close,” meaning, “You’re too close for that kick to work properly.” But you put it in verbs, too, like “eat,” and it means “to eat too much.”

So ganbaru is the verb for “to do one’s best.” In English it always comes out sounding a little weird, because we don’t have this exact idea. Sometimes kids will translate it as “fight!” which is occasionally appropriate, but in many contexts, hilariously not so. “Do your best!” Sounds a little patronizing and stilted, but it’s close to the meaning of the word. It means to strive to accomplish, I think, most especially in the face of difficulty.

Anyway, from time to time, I’d hear people sticking them together. Saying ganbari-sugiteru. That kid is doing his best too hard. Which was difficult for me to wrap my head around, because if you’re really doing your best, how can you over-do the best? It’s a superlative. If you aren’t giving it everything you have, then it’s not really your best, I mean, not to split hairs and stuff…

Of course it would fall beyond my grasp to get the idea of overdoing it. I like to overdo things. Overdo is how I DO, not always, but enough of the time that it seems normal to me. But that’s just in my nature, so for me, overdoing it a little is just how it gets done. It makes me a little nuts sometimes, but I’m pretty used to dealing with it. It does sometimes have negative effects, mostly stress things, but sometimes for me it’s just better to push myself harder than to feel like what if I had pushed it, but I didn’t, and I wasted an opportunity maybe.

Anyway, I’d like to tell the story of my latest ganbari-sugi adventure, because it’s the first one in my memory where I knew immediately that it was a ganbari-sugi thing; no retrospect necessary.

It started with the bus, the bike, and the broken car: I had a sore throat and a bunch of bike time under my belt that I was calling ‘training.’ I had a decision to make. If you’ve ever seen me make a decision, you know that this not only was painful but also took forever. I prevaricated right up to the train ticket vending machine, which is saying something, because to get to the ticket machine I had to drive an hour all the way to Himeji, bags packed and everything. Parked, packed, eye on the train schedule, I still wasn’t sure I was going.

I mean, I wanted to go. I wanted to meet new people, and spend a weekend biking because I never had before, and I was thinking about doing the PEPY Ride, and because I had worked up the training. I knew it meant a sore butt and legs, and probably sunburn, and that the trip there was expensive. The extra factor was that damn sore throat which had not gotten better, though it had not gotten bad enough to ground me entirely. I stood up and crouched back down about eight times. Finally, picturing what I might spend my weekend doing if I did NOT go, I bought tickets. Once I bought tickets I kind of had to go. So I went.

I’m not a cyclist, and I didn’t know much about the Oita Ride’s chosen charity before they mentioned it. I seem to get into a lot of bike charities, but it’s similar to my ski trips: I go because shit is worth doing. (That was the motto of the first Himeji Ride, actually: Shit is Worth Doin.) And if you don’t do it, you may never know HOW worth doin’ it is.

Our host for the night was a really nice volunteer, upon whose floor I fairly promptly passed out. She ended up hosting five people that night, and even gave us breakfast in the morning. On the train to the ride start area there were a lot of bikes in bags (apparently you have to take the wheel off for it to really be luggage. If you don’t, it’s just a bike in a bag) belonging to people with the t-shirts (or cycling jerseys) and stories to prove that they were far more serious cyclists than I.

Yeah!

We occupied the MaxValu parking lot in Sakanoichi, and although I was offered a road bike that would probably have made good time, I picked a mountain bike instead because I just liked it better. We weren’t going to be off-roading, but I prefer the solidity of the fatter tires and shocks to the nimble speed of a road bike.. I didn’t need speed, I was taking the slow scenic route. I never so much as considered anything else.

After orientation and information, route maps and optional detours were explained, and we were finally on our way. I fell in with another who didn’t really know anyone there who planned to take the slow route and we were joyfully off, glad to be on bikes moving down the sidewalk, hearing the sounds of several elementary sports day festivals as we went by.

At a road-station along the sea, where we encountered our first bike casualty.  I didn't have my camera (sand repairs post-Korea), so I took a couple shots with the phone.

It was like a cycling picnic for me. There were support cars that would park here and there along the route to provide directions, refill water bottles, pass out healthy (and not so healthy) snacks, and generally just give the sense that you were not on your own out there even if you were the very last of the riders (which we were not quite). Someone had made the most delicious cookies in the world (or so they did seem at the time) with imported ingredients from Costco, and there was fruit in abundance, along with Clif bars, and a bunch of other stuff I haven’t seen, much less eaten, in years. Spotting a support car was usually cause to hit the brakes. Woo! Snacktime!

This is them loading up in the morning.

We didn’t get lost and we didn’t feel beat that first day. The air smelled like blooming flowers and like the sea, the vistas were great, and the sky was overcast by turns, making it just cool enough to enjoy. I was riding with some cool people from different parts of Kyushu. Joanna and I made a detour to see the Stone Buddhas of Usuki, where it was nice to get off the bike and walk around a little.

With Joanna on the road. This is early in the ride because I'm still actually wearing the backpack.

There was one major hill on the route, which I wouldn’t call steep, because it was certainly bike-able, but it was a hell of a grind. I’m proud of myself in that I did the whole thing. I think I heard it was 12km altogether, 6 up and 6 down, which is grueling and seemingly endless upward, steep enough to put you in 1^st gear and make you hate it. I did stop twice to drink some water, but I biked the whole hill at my own pace.

At the top of the hill was the hill tunnel. Now, we were informed that the second day would not contain the hill because we would take a tunnel instead. A very scary tunnel nicknamed TOD (tunnel of death) because it was a narrow thing 2km long with no sidewalks and peopled by drivers that didn’t give much heed to bikers. So we had a healthy fear of TOD, but since TOD has such a reputation, it was incredibly well-handled by our support cars this year. The hill tunnel was therefore the scariest thing ever.

On the way up the hill, I was loath to stop unless I really had to, because I just couldn’t let go of my momentum. There were cars on the hill but I skipped them. There was a car at the hill tunnel entrance, and I didn’t realize that the tunnel was the top or I might have paused in my relentless pursuit of the summit for a second to receive more information from them than “Wait! Well, just be really careful in the tunnel.”

It was dark. Most tunnels have some lighting, you see, dim orange glowing things set in the ceiling. Not so this almost makeshift looking hill tunnel. It was short, or fairly short, but very narrow. It wasn’t heavily traveled, but there were these trucks that would pass us on the hill going up or down, maybe coming from the cement factory on the other side. I went into the tunnel and I turned on my light. By its illumination I saw that some of the gutter covers on the far left were missing, which means the gaijin trap was set and open. I didn’t want to fall into THAT; it also made me realize that there might be pits anywhere in the road that I wouldn’t see. I moved more toward the middle (insofar as I could tell where the middle was), and then a truck entered the tunnel coming toward me from the far end. I swallowed and for the first time since I’d started the hill, a thought made its way into my mind. That thought was, I might die.

Luckily, the rest of me didn’t care much for this thought and just did what it had been doing for the last 6km, which was keep your head down, find the right path, go fast enough to get the ef out of there asap, but not so fast that you risk shit. And soon it was over, and I was back out in the sunlight, and more than that, the road was curving down. Sat on the side of the road to get my senses back, and until Joanna appeared out of the tunnel too.

The rest was kind of a blur. After the hill I felt more ‘done,’ and I could no longer take a deep breath without inviting a small coughing fit. I knew that didn’t bode well, but I also knew that if I needed it, there was a kei-truck into which my bike could be thrown, so we just kept on. Eventually after what seemed like (and was) a long way, we made it to camp, which was a collection of cabins on a rough beach. Stretched, showered, ate, tried to stay up socializing and avoiding mosquitoes, failed, and passed out on the small pile of blankets I’d folded up in my bunk.

Day one, complete.

Day two, staato!

Sunday though, Sunday. I didn’t feel fresh and hot to trot, but I knew that no one must really feel that way. Everyone had a sore ass already, who wants to mount up then? I did let someone know that my cold had kept up with me (I could take deep breaths again after I got warmed up that morning though) and I might not finish the ride. Then we rolled out! That day’s potential detour was the Marriage Rocks (Futamigaura), for which we missed the turn and I actually voted to backtrack to them because they were the only thing on my menu for that day other than just go back to the starting point.

They were nice.

The rest was just riding back, in a little more pain with a little less juice than the day before. While waiting for TOD, we met an old man with about four teeth who was digging up take-no-ko (“bamboo’s children” .. it’s a food) on the slope below our car pulloff area. He gave us a whole bag of them, and added he would give us the second bag, but he had to give it to his girlfriend or she wouldn’t let him do naughty things. Laughing, he drove away.

After TOD, I began to lag more and more behind our small group which was still one of the last one or two. I couldn’t imagine where they were getting the energy to keep up the pace they were going. At some point, I might have pulled over and given my bike back to the truck, rode along in one of the cars that stuck with us slower riders, cheering us on.. but I never did because I’m stubborn or stupid or tough or all three. By the very end, I was the second to last person to arrive back at MaxValu. I promptly began to cry, which is embarrassing but motivated entirely by exhaustion. I heard it being discussed that maybe they were tears of joy at having finished the ride, but I didn’t know how to explain that it wasn’t really joy, nor was it pain or sadness or any kind of negative thing.

 I didn’t feel negatively, nor positively.. didn’t feel hungry or much of anything else either, just tired. I had completed 140km over two days with a cold and during a bad time of month. It’s something to be proud of, I’m sure, but at the moment I didn’t feel that either. Normally after adventures I arrive home wanting three things: a shower, some dinner, and to go to bed. None of them can be done simultaneously, unfortunately. At that moment, though, I was almost too tired to sleep. It’s a really strange feeling that I’ve only had a few times in my life. I feel like there’s something special about giving it so much of your everything that by the end you really are just emptied.

All in all, I really am glad I went, and I would do it again (preferably in a better state, and maaaybe with more training under this belt), because that shit was definitely worth doing. Even over-doing.

I don't quite remember this..

When I got home to Shiso, I discovered a bunch of mosquito bites on my feet that I must have gotten while sleeping. For the rest of the week I looked like I had the pox!

the bike, the bus, and the broken car

I just love the way that things come together and the way that they fall apart. I want to tell this story for very little other reason than that it's funny to me. It's long as hell, so if you skip this one, I'll understand. ^_^

So first, let me refresh you on our cast of characters. First, The Bike:

China Downtown. Nowadays she is a little more rust-spotted, and the front basket is all bent because this one time we had a typhoon which sent her crashing to the ground.  Her story is here.

I had thought about biking to school before, especially when the weather was nice. I see high schoolers doing it all the time, which speaks to me that it isn't really all that hard, and come on Lem, you are certainly fit enough to do it if they are, aren't you? I mean, aren't you? I even did bike up to Ichi a time or two, for afternoon events where parking would be hard to come by. But there was always a reason not to do it, that reason mostly being time. It takes longer to bike than it does to bus, and I have a hard enough time catching the bus some mornings.. the idea of leaving early enough to make it to work on time by bike was daunting, and always ultimately overthrown.

But on nice mornings, as I watched high schoolers biking by from the bus window, I would sigh and think, if only I could get my shit together. Alas.

As you already know, I have a weakness for charity bike rides, as best evidenced by my twice-yearly leading of the PEPY Ride Himeji since the spring of my first year. So of course I was interested in the Oita Ride, which sounded cooler and cooler the more I read about it (and also more and more insane for someone like me who cannot really call herself a cyclist). There are a lot of issues with this, mostly being the ride is in OITA and though it is on a weekend, the logistics of getting to and from Oita in the time available is a bit daunting (and expensive). But ticket prices be damned, if Japan has anything, we have speedy trains!

So I signed up (shut up brain). And some of the emails were like, you should do some training, bike some more, try to spend some time biking, and I knew that biking to work would be a good way to get that time in... because it would serve so many purposes at once and would even be kind of good for me; still I could not get my crap together and budget that extra 40 minutes.

Unrelatedly, I had to go to the BOE a couple of times to ask about visa things and return plane ticket request forms. At the end of my second visit, my BOE contact added, something to the effect of, oh, one more thing, don't drive to school, only bus. And I was too surprised to say anything but yes.

(Cast member the car: Robin Red:)

My tiny and oh-so-recognizably red vehicle.

But later, that 'reminder' began to stew for all its implications.

First of all, I get that taking the bus is better for me and the environment in a lot of ways. The bus gives me time to chill out, read, look out the window mindlessly, sometimes even nap awkwardly. It gives me a good excuse to leave earlier than other people (I don't make the schedule! I just gotta follow it... ^_____^ heh, bye guys!) at work, and removes the carbon footprint I'd leave k-car-ing up to Ichi and back every day. It's true.

But there are times and places in which it just makes more sense for me to drive. One is when I plan to spend the whole day in Ichi (when I have adult class from 7:30 to 9, as there are no buses after 9, I have to drive myself-- but if I am going to be driving there and back once anyway, why waste the time of busing back home and driving back up there between school and the evening class?). Another is when I go to small elementary: rather than either rush a connection (making bus connections at all  ;_;) or wait half an hour for the connection (which gets me there late anyway..!), it's way less stressful to just handle it and bring myself to school at whatever time I think is necessary or important based on what I am doing and what materials I need time to arrange.

Other less legit reasons include having stuff I need to do, like wanting to hit the bank or post office or grocery store for lunch in the middle of the day. Or having stuff to do on the way home. Or suspecting that we might get out early and wanting to be able to just go when the VP gives the word. Perhaps less legit, but they have been reasons all the same.

But mostly, the 'reminder' was upsetting because it implied more than a lack of sense. It meant, we know you've been driving, and we take enough note of it to say something about it.

See, in Japan, they have this handy way of dealing with stuff. There is the official line, and then there is what actually happens. Back home, this line is a bit blurred most of the time. Everyone knows there is the Way It's Supposed to Be, and then the Way It Is, with the Supposed to Be actually being a sort of ideal that is hardly ever achieved. In Japan, Supposed-to-Be is more like a set of rules that may or may not make sense, and then the Way It Is is just the thing that happens while the higher ups cheerfully look the other way. Which has been the way this whole driving thing has been handled by everyone here for a long time.

I know that other JETs have also been driving daily when "not supposed to," and that no one ever said anything to them. My own teachers and staff have sometimes joked with me about how "it's a secret" that I drove that day. It's not a secret; everyone knows, we just don't talk about it and pretend I take the bus every day-- I drive rarely enough that it's not predictable anyway!

The other irksome thing is this. I'm a grown-ass woman. I do my job and I don't make trouble. Most people around here like me, and those who don't at least don't have it out for me. After three years, trust me to handle this. Because really, I got this. I do need help in some things, but in a lot of others, I think I can be allowed to make the call, because I'm not a little kid anymore.

The other paranoia-inducing part is, this must mean someone sold me out. Because I highly doubt that the BOE people are concerned enough about it to ride by my house and note when my car is missing during a weekday. So this leads a person to stare shiftily around the staff room wondering which of these two-faced jerks is perfectly nice to my face but in the evening sells me out to the higher-ups, and for what?

Basically it made me really, irrationally mad. And was also the little push of rage I needed to start biking to school! Don't drive, you say? Only BUS, you say? What about my bike, jerks?! I'll show you!!

..yeah. I'm not really showing anyone. But I did start biking to school, because I finally got over being embarrassed about being seen doing it (the one time I had brought my bike to school after going to fall festival, the kids completely missed the part where they were supposed to be impressed with my strength and power and were more making fun of my bike for being a 'mamachari' -- which I now know actually includes the word mama, which is just what it sounds like, and it means instead of gaining cool points, I lost them for not having a sporty bike, wtf) the day I put "please donate money to Oita Bike Ride" flyers on all the desks and a colorful donation box on my own. Now, it might all make sense. Emily bikes to school not because she is insane, or stupid, or irrationally mad and trying to stick it to the man, but because she is training for her upcoming event!

On the day I went to small elementary, it was raining, so I took the two buses I am supposed to take. As I dolefully prepared to go home, the principal of that school asked me, "Are you going to drive home now?" to which I replied with a sad sigh, "No. I'm taking the little bus."

"Oh," he said, "I think it's better." 

Aha. Of course. The guy who is always like "Are you driving home now?" and then "Be careful." What are you worried about? That the road is too narrow, this road I've taken six dozen times? That I can't drive well? Why, because I'm a woman? Because I'm a foreigner? Because I learned on the right? Because I left that "beginner" sticker in my window out of laziness and because people are generally kinder to you when you have it, even though I've been driving for almost a decade? Do you think it's others I will hurt with my car, or me? Why don't you believe in me?!

The irrational anger was back with a rage-spiced vengeance for this poor guy who is only trying to look out for me by telling the BOE to tell me not to drive to school, as I now believe happened. Nonetheless, the discovery did help me feel more at ease about my upcoming days -- days on which I wanted to drive because I wanted to skip out early, mostly (all errands or departure for Oita, actually).

One of those days was Thursday. Because of inconveniently timed rain, my poor bike remained in the large-elementary parking lot (more like parking pit, kinda) Wednesday night as well. I drove to large-elem Thursday, but on the way noticed that something about Robin Red didn't feel quite right. Usually, I notice a smell or a sound first, but this time it was a feel. She had been acting a little weird when idling, sometimes running high in RPMs for no reason, but I had never driven her farther than to kempo or Jusco, both approximately six minutes away, and I hadn't called the car people about it yet. I studied the dash for a moment. Shit. The temperature gauge was high, not quite in the red zone, but way higher than normal and way higher than okay.

I was almost to school, so I figured I'd just try to make it there and turn her off so she could cool down. She died right in the road when I stopped, waiting to turn in to the school driveway. I managed to coax her to restart while all of Thursday morning traffic waiting, and nudged her down into the gravel parking pit, where she came to rest right next to China, shuddered, and died parked at a funny angle.

I hopped out and looked around. Shit shit shit. Not supposed to even drive to school, having done so for shady reasons, needing a car that afternoon to "go and come back" running errands-- but this time all the way to Himeji, goodness. I thought about procrastinating the phone call to the car people, because they might not be open yet, it's before 8am, and there might be a Scene, and the school will have to openly acknoweldge that I drove, and...

Sucked it up, called them anyway. The car people are kind of personal friends of ours these days, so I told them as best I could what had happened, and about how I needed to use the car later that day to.. do some stuff... "We'll give you a loaner," she explained, "but the only one we have right now is a bigger car than yours. Like one that six people can ride in. Is that okay?" Blink. A real car. No, more than that, a van. They're giving me a van! Question of how I think I'll get China home when I planned to drive both Thursday and Friday? answered.

After school, I walked down to the parking pit and was pretty much flabbergasted to see the van neatly parked between China Downtown and the edge of the gravel area by the wall where Robin had expired at a funny angle. Someone has maneuvering powers. I was delighted; I rarely get to drive a real car here in Japan these days.

I climbed aboard this beast and was instantly rewarded with songs of flight and power. It achieved so effortlessly the speeds which Robin shrieks and whines to attain. China Downtown fit into the back without so much as touching the front seats. And I felt like I had just gained like 600 more badass points, not to mention I was now driving incognito! No one who has seen Robin Red will expect to find me piloting this beast, this boat, this whale of a car, which for the time I have it, I will be calling Diesel (because that, my friends, is the type of fuel it requires). And if anyone is like, "why wasn't Robin parked at your house the other day?" I can be like, "Because she is in the shop!" I only wish I had some kind of party to take all my friends to, because when I drive Diesel, I feel like I'm driving a bus. And I kind of am.

This car is twice the size of Robin. TWICE.

So IS any one part of this a blessing, or a curse? I can't really tell. It's complicated and silly. The icing on this long and nearly pointless tale is, I have developed a sore throat and I might not be able to go to Oita this afternoon after all. And I'm not saying that the sore throat is a result of any particular thing, but in my experience, I only get sick when I get stressed out/unhappy. So, there's that. I would call it irony, but I think irony is more like layering, and this story is more like interlocking pieces. It may be that I can't actually afford to go to Oita (timewise? money?) and am stubborn enough not to care, so the universe is forcing me to reconsider. Still, the event sounds awesome and I if I miss it, I will be very very sad.

have a form letter

Since my MO lately is kind of an imitation of a chicken with its head cut off, I thought I'd share this form letter created by the good folks heading up this bike ride I'm planning to go on.

Every time I think about this bike ride I am planning to go on, I think, man, you are insane.

Please look over it and if you feel like donating, please do!

Hello family and friends,

As you may or may not know, I will be participating in a charity fundraiser next week-end, May 19th and 20th.  Every year, the Oita prefecture JETs organize a charity bike ride. Cyclists from beginner to expert ride about 100km (60mi) a day for 2 to 3 days.  This year we'll be riding down the gorgeous east coast of Kyushu Island.  Although the ride is supposedly one of the best memories many hold about their time in Japan, it is also a challenge and for the purposes of raising money for a charity.

As teachers in Japan, we were quite shaken by the earthquake and tsunami last March in North Eastern Japan. Last year’s bike ride (which happened immediately after the earthquake and tsunami) was dedicated to the disaster. We were able to raise more than 1.6 million yen (over 20,000USD) which we donated to the Japanese Red Cross to help with re-building efforts in the affected areas. Though one year has passed since the earthquake and tsunami and rebuilding efforts are well underway, we still want to show our support for the affected area. Instead of donating to the Japanese Red Cross, certainly a worthy charity, we were looking for something with a bit more of a focused message.

If possible we also wanted to find a charity which dealt with issues we hold close to our hearts as teachers: education and children. This year we are riding to support “Ashinaga,” a Tokyo based nonprofit which provides education-focused financial and emotional support to children who have lost one or both parents due to a severe disability or death.  They are hard at work building “Rainbow Houses” to help children orphaned by the disaster. Furthermore, they have projects not only in Japan but abroad as well.

Please join us in supporting this very worthy charity by making an online donation to Ashinaga.

To donate, please go to their donation page by clicking on this link.  You will have an option of making a tax-deductible donation or a normal donation straight from your card.  In the portion where you can write a message to the orphans, please feel free to write anything you want, but also add that you are donating it via "The Oita Charity Bike Ride."  After you donate please e-mail me with the amount you donated so we can keep track of how much our efforts raise.

Thank you very much!

foreign travel

In the last month, there have been two instances of foreign travel: one was my parents coming to me, the other was my trip to Korea.

Part of the fun of having people visit you somewhere foreign is remembering what it was like when you hit the ground, reflecting on how far you've come in terms of what it takes to conduct your life. Remembering what stuff looked like when you first saw it, even the things that have become commonplace since then. Remembering what it was like to have never ridden a Japanese train, never have browsed a combini, never have switched shoes three times in ten minutes. Normal things. For you, now.

Going to Korea had much the same effect. Effective illiteracy, total failure to pronounce even "thank you," and inability to remember "excuse me." Complete lack of knowledge on how to buy a subway ticket.

I had shared this link earlier, and so now I can claim a very limited and slow competency in puzzling out some place names written in the Korean writing system, Hangul.

But anyway, it was kind of interesting to be on one end of that hosting experience in the beginning of the month, and at the other in the end.

Mostly, though, the two trips were a little about the place, and mostly about the people. My parents are pretty game for stuff, but their interests don't necessarily lie in Japan or Japanese stuff specifically.

Same goes for Korea; I didn't really have all that much interest in Korea previous to going there. I hate admitting that, but it's just true! I don't really like spicy food, so the reasons for going drop to almost nothing right there (according to the Japanese, who are ALL FOODIES). Other reasons that lots of people go are because there is good shopping for cheap. But lately I'm in the business of getting rid of junk, not collecting MORE, even if it is cheaper there than here. Finally, I know so little (and this is pretty sad actually) about Korean history and culture, I have no compulsion to visit famous landmarks or stuff like that.

Still, have foothold, will travel, as it were. My being in Japan was one thing, but my being here for three years is even more of a thing, and I think that spending that kind of time in a place will naturally cause it to seep into you in a lot of ways. I won't be the same when I get back, that's just the nature of the beast. But in order to understand the new beast, it can be instructive to take a taste of the soil whence it grew. So the new  Emily isn't Japanese, but she did some time there, so... Also, I like sharing the stuff I think is cool or beautiful or special, and there is a lot (LOT, too much for any given visit.. too much for three years) of that here.. and I am gratified to think my parents want to have it shared at them.

I shouldn't be surprised that my parents are troopers and game for almost anything. I don't know.. I think I've spent too much time lately meeting other people's parents or hearing about their plans with them; it's sort of made me believe that parents are a certain way, they can't help it, they're just older, richer, and more experienced at shit than us kids... while traveling with people my own age is more gritty, silly, and catch-as-catch can, by the seat of one's pants as it were.

But there is a saying in Japanese, that the frog's child is a frog. Meaning, the apple doesn't fall too far. Meaning, of course, that other people's parents and my parents are different things, and while other people's parents may be particular about such-and-such, it doesn't mean mine will be. And that, in fact, a fair predictor of what kind of things the will like is actually what I already do like.

Seriously: combini beer in the park is how we DO in Japan.

It doesn't hurt of course that they wanted to have dinner, beer, and karaoke with my friends. I think they won over the Shisoshians forever (or until such time as all the current Shisoshians are replaced). People showered them with gifts (and they, intelligently enough and I don't even know if I suggested they do this, brought gifts to give out as well). What I feared would be an overly traditional ritualistic respect dinner with the kempo people turned out to be the biggest "houseparty" fun fest of all. They tried things, they drank the sake, they watched and learned and it all dazzled me because there are some things I'm kinda proud of being able to do, and watching them reminds me that I come by those things honestly.

These are the light/heavy rocks -  if they feel heavy, your goal will be difficult to accomplish.

Among the lucky, you are the chosen one. It's a fortune cookie that my dad got once. But I feel it goes for me, too. The more people I meet, the more I realize that what I believe as a young child (that everyone has the same kind of life as me) just isn't so. That some people are born into a lucky situation, with parents that teach them to be good, that are proud of their achievements but love them with or without them, and make sure they know. I'm not fearless, but when my parents call me fearless, I really do start to think I can do anything.

Like just go to a different foreign country every time there is a break in the work schedule? Well yeah, like that. Korea, though, was mostly about chilling out and visiting Erin, seeing Korea more through her eyes than as a tourist. I didn't even go to Seoul, but rather spent most of my time in GwangJu, with a little side trip to Busan that I am calling "the extra day," because I got it by changing my boat reservation to Sunday morning rather than Saturday late-morning.

Ever-present water bottle, and the hike begins.

In GwangJu I had a bunch of marvelous experiences that were part Erin and part Korea.. stuff I might have done something like if I had been alone and had done my own research, maybe. On my first day, we climbed up a hiking trail mountain to a temple she liked to visit, stopping also at a small art museum on the hillside. We ate at a vegetarian buffet until we couldn't move, then walked all the way back to her place. Other days, we drank coffee on the roof (which she brewed with cinnamon), or fresh juice (fresh meaning it was a carrot and some oranges a second ago..), baked banana bread and made pasta (SHE did these things, I consumed them). We drank makkoli, watched Wizard People Dear Reader, and Game of Thrones. I visited her school to meet her bosses and her students (all of whom speak way, way better English than mine... oh Japan and your language teaching systems). I met her friends. We talked about all the things. You know; the friend visit.

FRESH JUICE. And coffee too.

We went to a jimjilbang, which is like an onsen but so not like an onsen. For one thing, despite the jokes to the contrary, I have never been touched in an onsen by anyone. In the jimjilbang, after we'd excercised a bit on the top floor and let one of those crazy belts you see old women using in movies rub our waists and butts, we went down to wash and soak in the various pools. It's even more a Roman bath than the onsen because there were pools of hot, cold, and tepid water, including a few different hot ones with different minerals (maybe iron?) in them. The tepid one had exercise equipment, and jets for the back and shoulders. After a few hot and cold dips, it was time for my.. what? Mini massage?

She started by removing what I was wearing. Yes, I was naked: she took off the first layer of skin. Just the dead stuff of course-- it felt really nice to be scrubbed so thoroughly, the only gross part being when I opened my eyes and saw where the dead skin had sort of... well, never mind that, just I saw and it was gross. After dumping water on me, she soaped me down, then oiled me up then womanhandled me as I have never been womanhandled. She wrestled with the knots in my back and shoulders in such a way that it was excruciating but good, like brutal massages can be. When it was all over, I felt as pink and pummeled as ... I wanna say a newborn, but I was newer and cleaner and more relaxed than that.

On the extra day, we hit the beach and spent the night in a minbak, which is mostly a room with blankets for you to use to lie on, and an attached bathroom and semikitchen. The beach was gorgeous under the full moon that night, and four of us even managed to hit a noraebang, or karaoke room, before the end. Before all that, between day beaching and night beaching, we visited a seaside temple that was super awesome for being right on the coast.

Minbak near the beach.

Temple by the sea (Yonggungsa).

Mostly, though, I can see that little changes inspired by my time there, and by my friend there, are going to leak over into my life as they are wont to do. And I think that is the other reason we travel abroad, to get that perspective, to try that new thing, whether it sticks or not, whether it is actually from that foreign place, or just based on what we ourselves found there.

Kiyomizu-Dera... the other one (temple 25)

When I first started this pilgrimage thing, I thought I would be going to each temple in order, and mostly alone. Since the first few I visited, it's become almost entirely the opposite. Each temple visit involves not only that temple and what is there, and my seeing it, but also who went with me, what we did that day. It's about the journey, not the destination. It's less about having all the book pages stamped than it is about having these days where I make a trip to a temple with a friend or family member.

It's kind of more about the weather, the trees, the mountains, and the people than the statues. At least for me. At each temple, I think about different things because those visits fall at different points in my own personal timeline.

Walkin' trail to Kiyomizu-Dera, this way!

So on April 21st with Mandi in tow, I made my way to Aino station, north of Takarazuka, to pick up Laureno so we could all visit Kiyomizu-Dera in the forested hills within the Kato borders. Unfortunately, Laureno was coming from farther out than I knew, and although the trains typically run on time, when they fail to do so, it's pretty catastrophic. The reasons and results can all be pretty upsetting. So for this, Mandi and I hung around the tiny town of Aino, waiting for Laureno's train to make it, hoping it wouldn't be so late that we couldn't climb the pilgrim trail up the mountain.

All three wervs have made it to the trailhead!

She did finally make it, and we took off through the hills for the temple. The countryside was beautiful, and it was good to be reunited with both the other Japan-dwelling wervs again. We made good time and started up the mountain, walking sticks in hand, chattering as wervs are wont to do. We stopped often for photos, and enjoyed the climb. I found it rather less difficult (/spiritual?) than the path at Engyo-ji, back over in Himeji, as this was a switchback path where that one had a few more "straight-up" portions, but all in all it felt pretty rewarding. We found the place where the old gate once stood, before it was destroyed by fire.

The gate was only some foundation stones, but it was at the top of this excellent stairway.

The new gate faces the car park, so we didn't see that til the end. We observed the cherry blossoms, still going strong up on the mountain, took in the view (complete with the golf courses apparently supporting the temple today), and I got my book stamped. This time, I had also brought along my own incense, so I lit some and stuck it into the amazingly smooth surface of the incense holding bowl.

Wervs behind the Jizo-do

We explored the area, listening to frogs croak outside the Jizo-do, and we rang the bell of good fortune. After that, we climbed up to the konponchu-do and sat in total silence. It was pretty surprising to me that with three people in a room and tourists outside, it could be so deeply quiet. I looked at the carved wooden Kannon in front of the thing that holds the secret sacred image (but I didn't take a photo of that one) for a while; we all three of us lit incense here in different amounts.

The bell tower; it really does sound beautiful!

The Konponchu-do, where we meditated.

The holy spring of clear waters!

Then we went out around back to the spring, for which kiyomizu-dera is named. I took a little sip of the water; by then it was getting dark and cloudy, and after a few false starts in which we thought some kind soul was about to give us a ride down the mountain, we hoofed it back, talking and singing, to the car, and back to the station so we could scurry back for various dinner plans. All in all it was a good visit.

Three wervs at the Nio-mon gate.