Welcome to Cambodia!

I was sadly misinformed about there being a Pizza Hut in the Seoul-Incheon airport. However, there was a Quizno`s and Caribou Coffee to treat ourselves during the 4-hour Sunday layover. Late that night we arrived in Siem Riep, and took a breezy tuk-tuk (motorized rickshaw) ride to the Green Palace Village, our brightly-painted hotel set far back from the dusty street. The gathering area out front featured a tiki bar, pool, and palm-frond huts shading lounge chairs or hammocks, all lushly bordered by tropical plants (glowing with twinkle lights after dark) and potted orchids strung up in rows. Geckos everywhere. A haven after what would be two full days of hiking through ruins upon ruins in the sun and sweltering mid-90`s temps.Borrowing two cruiser bikes proved the best way to explore the Angkor area. Most tourists rent tuk-tuks, but it was great fun to be pedaling the flat roads alongside the locals (they riding double), catching a cool breeze. On the first day, we visited Angkor Wat, UNESCO World Heritage Site and the largest religious structure in the world. And this is where people officially began asking us to buy things, which I unfondly recalled from visiting Thailand last year. Stand still, and be swarmed: Tuk-tuk? Bracelets, three for one dollar! You want cold drink? Very cheap! You want food? You want books? Scarf? Postcards? Tour guide? The constant inquiries—from both adults and children, who latch onto tourists and follow them, asking over and over, gradually lowering their prices, despite however many “No, thank you”s people may give—can be a difficult aspect of travel in this region. I know that most of the people who ask need the money. I think I understand why they ask. I imagine the vast majority are good people. But constantly warding sellers off, being ever wary of a scam, and being vigilant about carrying valuables was the most tiring part of the trip for me. Perhaps I’ve become less assertive and less cautious over the past year in the safety and complicity of Japanese society? This is not meant whatsoever to overshadow the fact that...Angkor was absolutely amazing. Nearly every stone surface of the massive complex was carved with intricate patterns, images of deities, script. Wooden beams bolstered crumbling walkways, and large chunks of rubble, numbered, lay in corners, waiting to be reassembled.
After lunch at a stand (fried noodles with vegetables...no chicken), we cycled on to Angkor Thom, and the million massive faces of Bayon Square jutting out above the jungle.We took a quick walk around Baphuon, and watched some Cambodian cows ramble past the Terrace of the Elephants......then pedaled back into Siem Riep for coconut-sweet potato curry and ginger soup in the Old Market, a lively cluster of cafes and shops, a more relaxed, mini version of Bangkok’s Khao San.

One more thing...

...before I begin weeding through the thousand (yes, thousand) photos from my two weeks in Cambodia and Vietnam: School's out. The last week included a chorus concert (I took some video that I'll refrain from posting here because it was my first time using the camera's video function and of course I really should have tried it out beforehand as the video is more than a bit pixelated and crackly-sounding, which along with my motion-sickness-inducing camerawork makes for a real treat), as well as lots of rehearsal for the ninth-grade graduation ceremony...when to bow, which direction to bow, how long to bow, etc. The last day of school there was an assembly to give out awards for honor students, and there I had to get up on stage and give my final formal farewell to the students and teachers. When the head English teacher first told me I needed to give a speech, she asked if I could use about ten minutes. I couldn't tell if she was joking. "How about five minutes?" I asked. I alternated between English and Japanese, with a couple minutes dedicated to addressing each grade separately. I didn't cry. And an eighth-grade girl presented me with a pink bouquet when I finished.

Back in the staff room, I was given a bag of homemade strawberry caramels, a container of homemade pickles, and the World's Largest Cabbage. Seriously, it was bigger than my head. I went to dinner with one of the English teachers and her family, then I rode the train home with my huge bag of school supplies, my bouquet in one hand, and my giant cabbage in the other. I was sad to think I may never see any of these people again. But I also couldn't stop giggling at my huge. freaking. cabbage.

Then I got to the Shizuoka-Mt. Fuji Airport on Sunday, to fly off on vacation, and was greeted in disbelief by a whole herd of Okabe teachers. They were on the same flight, headed to Seoul for a long weekend. Too funny.

I'm off to the Kyoto area to substitute teach for a couple weeks. Fingers crossed that there's internet at my hotel and I can get a round of Cambodia photos posted...

Sayonara Season

Tis the season for Shizuokans to bid Mt. Fuji farewell, as the air warms and hazes over the snowy peak, which fades away until fall. The school year has ended, and with spring break's arrival one of my Shizuoka besties, Jackson, moved to Tokyo to begin a new teaching job there. The last weekend before break, we took a trip back up the Nihondaira, this time to actually visit the colorful shrine at the end of the ropeway.

A really nice old man took this photo, then almost fell down the stone stairs behind him:Kunozan Toshogu is a Shinto shrine complex built in 1617 to honor the spirit of Tokugawa Ieyasu, a shogun from Shizuoka City who helped unify feudal Japan during the late 16th century. The complex contains all the original structures, meticulously upkept with bright paint and gold detail.

On the opposite side of the hill as the ropeway is a stone staircase overlooking the ocean and the strawberry greenhouses lining the coast. My guidebook states, "As you climb up the 1159 stone steps leading to the sacred grounds, you are purified by the magical power." But we went down the stairs instead of up.Once on the coast, we enjoyed a pitcher of staggeringly sweet strawberry sangria, then took the bus back to central Shizuoka. School ended the following Wednesday, and the next weekend, Jackson moved, and Davin and I were off to Cambodia and Vietnam.

Purikura!

Of course I love photo booths. Even before I saw Amelie, they seemed somehow endearing—maybe because photo booths in the U.S. are mainly used for souvenirs, for recreation. They have a bit of nostalgic appeal, like Polaroids.

Here in Japan, in train stations and next to vending machines on street corners, there are those sterile, single-stool booths that bark robotic instructions then cough out strips of harshly-lit headshots in the appropriate dimensions to serve as passport and ID photos. But there’s also…purikura!Typically located in a section of a video arcade or in a corridor of a shopping center, purikura kiosks—big enough for a group of even 6 or 7 to comfortably pose—allow patrons to first select their photo backgrounds and lighting, then creatively align themselves for the shots, then use a touch-screen to adorn the photos with writing/thought bubbles/sparkles/hearts/clothing accessories and countless other modifications, before the postcard-sized collage of images is finally printed, for you to cut up and share with friends.
At the start of the school year, I’d ask students about their hobbies, and along with the typical answers of playing sports, drawing, watching movies, listening to music, and so on, some girls had told me their favorite pastime was purikura. I could never figure out what they were talking about, but now, do I ever get it. And no wonder these machines are so popular: when the print drops into the tray, you and your besties have been automatically airbrushed to your finest, with ivory cheeks, strangely redder lips, and accentuated eyes. For now, I can part with nostalgia for this eye-straining, color-saturated ridiculousness. My only complaint is that users have only a limited amount of time to add “extras” to the photos before they print, so you’ve got to work fast to jazz up all the images in time (for example, just above: top-right image = success; lower images = failure). Surely we just need more practice.

Fantastic 三年生 Farewells

After 15 months in Japan, it’s official: I’ve become a manga character.I’ve already finished teaching at Osu and Okabe, and here at Aojima, the school year comes to a close with graduation on March 19. Since the 9th graders are taking their final high school entrance exams and rehearsing frantically for the year-end chorus concert, as well as fitting in a class trip to Tokyo Disneyland, I am teaching only 7th and 8th graders from here on out. Much to my delight, after my final classes with the 9th graders, I was showered with many amazing/hilarious/cryptic farewell messages. Basically, I plan to keep these forever and pull them out anytime I need a self-esteem boost.

Here are some of the best—it was difficult making cuts. And please don’t get the wrong impression from these samples: there were many flawlessly written messages. I really have helped these kids with their English, a little! It’s just that the messed-up messages are far more entertaining and endearing, of course. (You can click on some of the images for a larger version.)
How will I ever find another job that compares to this one?!

Kind of a big deal.

Last Sunday, Davin ran the Tokyo Marathon in 3 hours, 45 minutes.

A few of us traveled along to cheer him on in his 26.2-mile/42.1-km feat. Jaime and I went out in Shibuya on Saturday night, so we got back to the hotel (City Hotel NUTS, by the way) not much before Davin had to wake up and get himself ready and over to the starting point.The day was cool and rainy, but the spectators were out in full force to see the 35,000 runners compete. I was not really looking forward to watching hordes of people in agony run past me all morning long—and yes, there were those people, naturally—but the costume selections of many runners really lightened the mood. In Ginza, we stood by some sweet ladies who were cheering for this guy:I also saw a couple dressed as Mickey and Minnie, countless clown wigs, a man with a giant hat in the shape of Mt. Fuji, a man with a giant cross tied to his back, and a guy who was running with an acoustic guitar (happily singing and strumming his way to the finish). Sorry I don't have more photos...I was holding an umbrella in one hand and a coffee in the other.

Here comes Davin!
And there he goes:
I swear, he really is in those photos. Need some help? He looked like this, courtesy of Joyce:
We hopped from stop to stop on the metro, trying (sometimes unsuccessfully) to see Davin pass by. When he crossed the finish line at Tokyo Big Sight, the sun was actually shining…and soon thereafter, glinting off Davin’s shiny new gold medal. Which I believe he is still wearing.We had a fantastic post-race feast at the Roppongi area restaurant, Gonpachi, which was Tarantino’s inspiration for the set of Kill Bill! Aside from monstrous blisters, I think Davin’s ready to run another marathon any day now. Perhaps I will work toward being a better spectator.