New Year’s Day is, of course, a huge deal here but unfortunately I have no idea what it’s like, as I’m always off exploring some other country for winter break. The first holiday that hits me when I return to Japan from abroad is Coming of Age Day, which marks the transition from adolescence to adulthood. Everyone who’s turned 20 within the last year gets dressed up for fancy photo shoots in anticipation of all the drinking, voting, and smoking that they are now allowed to partake in. Considering I can probably count on one hand the number of people who qualify for this rite of passage in Noshiro, I rarely witness this spectacle first hand.

Instead of reveling in the glory of being 20 (a distant memory for me), I spent the day honoring the deliciousness of unagi. A friend in Tokyo took us to a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant that specializes in eel, complete with front row seats where you can watch the chef carry out the following process with alarming speed and precision:

Step 1: Place live squirming eel on chopping block
Step 2: Deftly drive metal spike through brain in one stroke
Step 3: Split eel down the middle, removing the internal organs and spine with a few subtle flicks of the wrist

For me, this scene resulted in a complex emotional landscape; my reactions morphed from horror to fascination to scientific detachment as I witnessed the raw ingredients behind the counter go from eel to meal over and over again.

Noting that innards were on the menu, it seemed a shame not to give them a go (they’re certainly not going to get any fresher), so we chucked our hat into the ring and tried a few. I’m certainly no stranger to organs on the table… I’ve gamely eaten my share since moving to Japan, including chicken hearts, raw horse liver, and intestines from anonymous sources. And while I don’t want to be “innardsist” by declaring all offal as, well, awful, I am definitely seeing a clear pattern emerge with repeated culinary experimentation.

A few weeks after this squirmy encounter came Setsubun. This holiday is supposed to be the day before spring, but I don’t really get how this works, as it’s on February 3rd, and still damn cold. Maybe it’s a lunar calendar thing. While you don’t get the day off for Setsubun, you do get the opportunity to toss toasted soybeans from the front door of your house while yelling “Demons out, luck in!” while wearing a kicky paper demon mask. I made sure to throw my beans this year right when Chris was leaving the house… just to cover all my bases.

Inhabitants of western Japan also traditionally celebrate Setsubun by eating a huge uncut sushi roll in one go that’s only slightly smaller than your forearm. I live in eastern Japan, but thanks to the glory of capitalism, conbinis all over the country have taken to selling these seasonal rolls, and now you can find them in Tohoku as well. Chris and I gamely shared one of these humongous rolls between the two of us while facing this year’s lucky direction (N by NE). Only afterward did we learn that you’re supposed to remain silent while you eat it, and eat the whole roll yourself. Double fail on our part. Perhaps two wrongs make a right, and we’ll have a lucky year anyway…

I was still pondering the ramifications of my festive faux pax when Foundation Day rolled around. When I asked my colleagues how they usually celebrate the foundation of their country, I failed to get a satisfying answer. Most people just shrugged and went back to whatever they were doing. This ambivalence was kind of a mystery to someone who’s used to celebrating her own country’s Independence Day with fireworks and BBQs.

A bit of wikipedia research revealed that the low key nature of Foundation Day might have something to do with the history of nationalism in Japan. This holiday (formerly known as Empire Day) used to be all about uniting the country by paying homage to the emperor, and used to be a really big deal. However after WWII, nationalism became a bit of a touchy subject, and this particular celebration was abolished. The current incarnation of this holiday was only reinstated in 1966, and was re-branded to avoid evoking the nationalistic sentiments that are associated with pre-WWII Japan.

In addition to being a bit awkward thematically, Foundation Day is also one of those uncooperative holidays that refuses to stay put on either a Friday or a Monday. In fact, this year, it landed smack dab in the middle of the week. What to do mid-winter with a free Wednesday at your disposal? We tried to make a go of it by hiking through Juniko despite the bleak weather. However after driving for 45 minutes to get to this set of small lakes, we discovered that the park was closed for maintenance. As a fallback plan, we explored the hills nearby, where we discovered a waterfall shrine and a plethora of monkeys. All things considered, I guess monkeys and shrines are as good a way to spend Japan’s Independence Day as any.

Mid-February, of course, is the most exciting wintery time in Tohoku, when snow festivals abound. Unfortunately, for whatever reason, we’ve had very little snow this year, which has detracted from the ambiance a bit. Additionally, winter festivals in Akita are pesky in that they all seem to fall on the same day, making it difficult to see everything unless you live in the prefecture for multiple years. With a few exceptions, we were finally able to see the remaining festivals that had, up until this point, fallen through the cracks. This year’s festival bonanza included:

• Hiburi fire swinging festival in Kakunodate, Feb. 13-14
  Hiburi’s been a surprisingly elusive festival for the last few years. Kakunodate is several hours away from us by car, and the festival is often inconveniently held mid-week. Last year, we even contemplated driving down on a Wednesday for the festivities, but a snow storm and slippery roads made this trek next to impossible. This year, several events aligned nicely which permitted us to attend. The festival fell on a weekend, and, thanks to a mild winter, ice and snow were not an issue this year.

  The festival is pretty straightforward: anyone wanting to work out their pyromania issues can light a bundle of hay (ok, rice fibers) on fire and swing it around until it explodes in a shower of embers. The fire-swinging was mesmerizing, and on occasion, comic, as old men and little boys almost lit each other’s hair on fire. While it all looked like good fun, I held back for some reason. Maybe the lack of snow and the ample drizzle dampened my ambitions a tad. Or perhaps I felt constrained by the work clothes I was still wearing. Even though this was my last opportunity to see such a festival, for some reason I didn’t seize the moment and participate, a small regret which I carried home with me that night.

• Amekko Candy Market in Odate, mid Feb
  The gimmick here is that if you eat some candy from the market (which apparently grows on trees), then you will remain healthy for the rest of the year. As someone who consumed a piece of said candy who is now sitting sick in bed, I can assure you that this was NOT a sufficient prophylactic for the common cold.

  From the promotional materials for this festival, I was expecting some kind of tangential activities, like parades or dancing children. However, the little bit of Amekko that I saw was kind of a let down as a) it was just a bunch of people selling stuff and b) the weather was miserable (although, to be fair, the word for “candy” in Japanese is a homophone for “rain”, so I can hardly complain if I got both). But I didn’t mind too much because I was with a bunch of fantastic people, on our way to an even MORE disappointing festival. Which leads us to…

• The Not-So-Frozen Waterfall Non-Existent Festival, Part II: When Chlorofluorocarbons Attack, third Sunday in Feb. (in theory)
  Last year by some fluke, I had heard about a frozen waterfall just across the border in Aomori. I somehow convinced all my friends that it was a good idea to squeeze into a car and plunge into the snowy depths of the countryside looking for this mythic specimen.

  Not only did we find it, but we happened to arrive on the one day of the year when the shrine members strap on their drums, dust off their flutes, and honor the god of the waterfall. We were treated to a beautiful little procession which snaked its way up an icy path to a shrine cradled against the rock behind the waterfall. The waterfall, which had become a column of ice, was awesome to behold. Despite my burgeoning jaded expat exterior, I had to admit that the day had a kind of magical air about it. I made a mental note to bring more people back to experience it themselves the following year.

  I followed through and returned with new friends in tow but nature, alas, did not hold up her end of the bargain. Due to an abnormally warm winter, the waterfall this year was nowhere close to frozen. And to add insult to injury, there was no processional to speak of this year.

  Our disappointment was palpable, but we made the best of it by taking silly pictures that would immortalize our sadness and act as a warning for generations to come: global warming means no more fun winter festivals, kids.

• Tazawako Alpine Festival 3rd weekend in Feb. (21,22)
  Unlike the “Fire Swinging Festival” or the “Candy Market Festival”, you never quite know what you’re going to get with festivals named after places. As such, the Tazawako Festival has never been high on my list. It’s just too far away and doesn’t spark the imagination. However, with this being Our Last Winter in Japan, with little else to to, we made the long trek through the snowy mountains to Tazawako to see what all the fuss was about.To my delight, this proved to be one of Akita’s smorgasbord festivals, and featured scaled-down versions of events I’d been to in the past, including hot air balloons, snow sculptures, and holy-cow, Hiburi fire swinging.

  If I’d ever been presented with a bona fide second chance, this was it. Conditions were perfect: the air was icy. Snow was delicately floating down. So despite my continued misgivings about lighting my hair on fire (it would grow back, yes?), I stepped up to give fire swinging a go. After watching fire-swingers in Kakunodate and hearing their plaintive cries (「おも〜い！あっちぇ！」), I was a little concerned about trapping myself in a fiery inferno of my own making. But once I donned the fire-resistant happi and stepped out into the snow-covered clearing, all my worries dropped away. Nothing was too heavy or too hot. At the center of my own universe of fire, it was captivating. I was shocked at how quickly it was over, and giddy from the experience for hours. Swinging fire was without a doubt the highlight of this year’s winter festival season. Learn from my mistakes: given the chance, don’t hesitate to play with fire.

• Garou Waterfall Light-up in Fujisato, 3rd week of February
  I’m kind of at a loss for words for this one. Not a festival per se, the waterfall light-up in the tiny town of Fujisato would struggle to qualify as an event. As explained in the local newspaper, the Garou waterfall is bathed in an eerie blue light for a few days, and then, in a shocking turn of events, the light is changed to a festive green for the final two days of the light-up. There was also a rather nice snow dome nearby, which was made, if the adjacent obnoxiously green sign is to be believed, by monkeys. Such is small town life in the winter, I suppose. Lest you think me ridiculous for driving half an hour to view this modern miracle, I’d like to inform you that there was also a photographer with a tripod from Akita City in attendance, which means he drove at least 3 times as far as me to capture this moment on film.

After the festival madness comes a big fat girlie fiesta called Hina Matsuri, on March 3. This is essentially an excuse to set up untouchably expensive displays of dolls to honor your young daughters. People in other parts of Japan float dolls made of straw out to sea to get rid of bad spirits. In Tohoku, however, the tradition seems to involve grabbing the nearest female foreigner, slapping a kimono on her, and making her husband serve you green tea.

And then, of course, the ultimate sign that spring is right around the corner: High School Graduation. For my school, this falls without fail on March 3rd every year, regardless of the day of the week.

The morning of graduation we all huddled resolutely in our chairs, shivering in a cold and unforgiving gym that was still icy despite the industrial strength heaters scattered about. After long and lofty speeches by the Principal, the Mayor, the head of the Board of Education, the PTA President, an underclassman, and a graduating student, there wasn’t much left to say. The ceremony closed with my former students filing of the gym, looking either somber, bored, or bewildered at their new status as high school graduates. You can see for yourself below: for such a happy occasion, there seemed to be a lot of crying going on. Perhaps these are the students who weren’t hi-fived by the basketball coach? You’ll have to watch closely and draw your own conclusions:

Feb 15, 2009

For reference, the previous four earthquakes were:

• Iwate, July 24 2008
• Iwate/Miyagi, June 14 2008
• Niigata, July 16 2007
• Noto Peninsula, March 25 2007 (visiting Kyoto at the time)

This one was a little scary because this time, Stephanie wasn’t here in Akita. She and our friend Andy took a road trip to Aomori, and were located much closer to the epicenter than Noshiro. (They are in the armpit of the large axe-shaped peninsula at the top of the island.) Not to worry though; Steph called and assured me everything is all right.

I should also mention that there was a big one in the same region, but a ways off shore, just last week! That makes three in just over a month, all about the same 7-ish magnitude. Definitely some major correction going on in the earth’s crust around eastern Tohoku.

How did this happen?  As a California girl born and bred, I’m supposed to be surfing to work, not skiing.  Last year, I dreaded the coming of winter, as everyone assured me it would be like the coming of an icy apocalypse.  Even though last year was freakishly mild, it was still unpleasant.

I grumpily braced myself and buckled down for an even harsher winter this year, which we faithfully received.  And to my surprise, I kind of liked it. What’s to like, you ask, with the snowstorms and grey weather and the freezing of pipes?  I assure you, it has nothing to do with winter festival season, or nabe, or the fact that I’ve started snowboarding (it’s true;  I’m horrible).  It’s something more intangible than that.  Something about the industry of digging the car out before work.  Something about the Spartan nature of shivering from room to room in the morning before I turn on the kerosene heater in my non-centrally heated house.  Maybe it’s the icicles, or eating snow or the simple joy of huddling for warmth.  Whatever that mystery element is, apparently I am in love.  Because to my chagrin, as I look up this morning at the beautiful blue sky with the sun streaming over the mountains, I must admit I’m little miffed to see spring approaching.

Oga’s NAMAHAGE

Any festival whose sole purpose is to make small children cry already has a plus next to it in my book. Namahage are the demons which inhabit the Oga peninsula, just to the south. They have red or blue faces and are dressed in bushy straw tunics. Twice a year, they descend from Mt. Shinzan, growling with torches in hand. They proceed to terrorize all the small children they can find, making them cry, and then ask if there are any naughty crying children nearby that they can eat up. Brilliant.

Everyone gathers around a big bonfire at the Shinzan Shrine, while the demons make a few circuits through the crowd (stopping for photo ops of course). Anyone who picks up the straw which falls from their clothes will be free of illness for the rest of the winter. Taiko also plays a prominent role in the festival, with folks dressed as demons wailing on the drums.

Namahage Taiko

The festival has an ominous-bogeyman-in-the-dark-with-fire feel that is a delicious change from the usual sugary sweet snow festival.

Nishiki’s HOT AIR BALLOONS

The hot air balloon launch, or kamifusenage, is a rather poetic and beautiful event. Cars choke narrow icy streets in a mad lineup for parking, and everyone heads out to a big snowy field. Here, huge elegantly decorated paper balloons (with ads on the other side) are filled with hot air via blowtorch. When the balloons are filled, a fire is lit at the mouth, and a warm glow fills the balloon, lighting the pictures from the inside. Balloons are released about 8 at a time, and soar off into the sky. Occasionally they’ll catch on fire or explode, but usually they simply soar away. The balloons aren’t weighted very heavily, so they swing back and forth like pendulums as they ascend. They stay lit for quite a long time, as they float up into a sea of stars. Special booths are set up where you can write your wishes for the year on balloons, which are then set free to deliver your wishes to the heavens.

Hot Air Balloons

Kariwano’s TUG-OF-WAR

The tug of war is held on the same night as the balloon launch. It’s possible to do these two events in succession if you play your cards right… unfortunately, we didn’t, and arrived in Kariwano to witness a mass exodus after the fight. Which is fine, because all I wanted to do was see the massive 20 ton rope anyway. While I was admiring the rope two dudes came by with a scythe and cut off a huge hunk for me to take home.

Rokugo’s BAMBOO FIGHT
Not the most photogenic festival, but it certainly is the most exciting. Ranked as one of the world’s Top 10 Most Dangerous Festivals, folks descend upon the tiny town of Rokugo to bash each other with 20 foot long bamboo poles. Requirements: Helmet? Check. Over 18? Check. Willingness to throw caution to the wind coupled with a fondness for alcohol? Check.

Hundreds of people flock to this testosterone fest to watch two teams beat the crap out of each other in 3 rounds. Helmets are ripped off. Bamboo poles bend and snap under the pressure. It’s an all out brawl. To make matters even more stupidly dangerous, the third round is fought around a bonfire, after everyone lights the flags on the end of their poles on fire.

Fire

My toes were frozen, and I didn’t care. The air was crackling first with anticipation, and then later with embers. A video taken in less than favorable lighting conditions is included below for your enjoyment:

Fight

After the fight, we were adopted by a local from Rokugo, otherwise known as my Drunken New Best Friend, who took us under her wing and straight to the only bar still open in town, where we downed a few beers and talked about how great we all were.

Towadako’s SNOW AND LIGHT FANTAVISTA

I had high hopes for this festival; it seemed to have everything: a grill your own food tent, snow sculptures, an ice bar, and fireworks. It was a fun way to spend an evening with friends, especially after a High Priority Mission in the area. But I think once was enough, and I wouldn’t make a big effort to see this one again. Maybe it was because we went on a Sunday night, but this festival seemed pretty dead… like a toned-down version of the Sapporo Snow Festival.

Of course, December karaoke equals Christmas Songs galore. I usually kind of abhor carols, but something about being in Japan far away from home made them kind of nostalgic and appealing somehow.

To my surprise, the karaoke machine had a decent selection of Christmas music to choose from, including some Japanese holiday classics I’d never heard before. Over the course of the evening, I learned the following things:

• When asked to explain the whole Christmas story thing, I was informed that “manger” in the local dialect means “kitchen”… oddly enough, this misunderstanding didn’t detract from my description the whole nativity scene too much.
• You can make a grown Japanese woman cry actual tears by serenading her with “O Holy Night”
• We held a kind of informal gift exchange. I gave away some kitschy candles I brought from America which were baseball themed, shaped like bats and balls and gloves. Which is when I discovered that my students had never seen a candle shaped like anything other than a candle. It took me 4 tries to explain that they weren’t edible and that you’re supposed to light them on fire. (And this was with pictures of the things actually burning on the front of the package.)
• The karaoke machine does in fact have Handel’s Messiah, which makes for a rousing finale. Karaoke Handel has never been belted out with heartfelt operatic panache. Although I think we’ve now been banned from the karaoke bar.

When I told everyone two weeks ago to come to class in costume (class was ON All Hallow’s Eve, after all), I totally thought everyone was going to blow me off. But my class of adults totally rallied, and arrived chalk full of Halloween spirit, complete with hokey rubber masks, treats, and pumpkin paraphernalia. Not being a big costumer myself, I took the easy way out and donned a sketchy santa outfit that was left in my house by some previous ALT. I got to class early, set up my freshly carved Jack O’ Lanterns, turned off the lights, and waited. One by one, my students trickled in… first they cautiously opened the door to find a dark classroom. Then they were bombarded with spooky noises from other students in the dark (egged on, of course, by me). We did the whole flashlight in the face bit. One by one, students joined the ranks and hid, waiting to surprise the next unsuspecting arrival. I was kind of shocked to discover how uniform the costumes were… every woman in my eikaiwa came dressed as a witch, with one creative exception. And the men? They uniformly dressed as…. nothing. Maybe they were charming gentleman callers. Whatever. They were equally game when the women cannibalized their costumes in order to include them in the fun. The first half hour of class was spent dispensing food and generally making a fuss… taking pictures, trading wigs, sitting on laps. You can see why we all love English so very very much.

• my smallest school, with only 10 kids in the entire student body
• my voice, hoarse and almost inaudible, from a long and insistent cold

I racked my brain: with an hour’s notice, how could I finagle a day of successful lessons? And then it hit me: Of course! I would bring the pumpkins.

Living in Japan, it defies all expectation to have a hallway full of large orange gourds. As I learned last Halloween, pumpkins are remarkably scarce in Japan, at least the kind I grew up with in America. Last year, faced only with green, thin-skinned squash to carve, my English club instead opted to make Halloween origami. Creative, but slightly sacrilegious.

A month or two later, as the winter weather advanced and snow began to fall, I was not a little surprised to find an unusual care-package in my mailbox: pumpkin seeds from my father. Asking no questions about how these horticultural gems passed through customs, and knowing I would kill every last plant with my black thumb, I ferried these seeds off for a better life with a friend in the next town over. The seeds were then passed on again to some bemused and trusting farmers who promised to look after the little guys. And 5 months later, here we are, with pumpkins in my hallway, hiding from the rainy season, waiting for their moment to shine.

Enter stage left: Hikage Elementary. Pumpkins were the perfect answer for my little school: small classes would ensure that everyone could get their hands dirty, and a carving lesson would be gentle on my already failing voice. With this plan firmly in place, I arrived at Hikage (on time, thank you very much) to find a Song and Dance routine waiting for me:

Elementary Dance

After 45 minutes of entertaining the first graders (no knife oriented activities for you, kiddos!), we began pumpkin carving in earnest.

All my kids thought that fresh pumpkin was just about the nastiest thing they’d ever smelled. Some of my kids looked like they were going to pass out from the fumes. One of the joys of this lesson was watching the kids decide whose drawing to use for the jack o’ lantern face. Check out the whiteboard below:

Here we’ve got 3 different pumpkin drawings by the 5th and 6th graders. Instead of choosing their favorite drawing, they decided to make their final face by combining elements of everyone’s drawings: the unibrow from the drawing on the left, the eyes from the one in the middle, and the mouth from the one on the right. The end result is circled in red. A brilliant demonstration of group dynamics in Japan. And it made for not a bad Jack o’ lantern either.

The day went really smoothly and we all had a great time. Sadly, I discovered that this particular school is closing in March due to low student attendance. Sad, because Hikage Elementary (which poetically translates to, as far as I can tell, “school of the sun’s shade”) is a forgotten and overlooked gem on the very outskirts of Noshiro.

Take for example the principal, who makes drawings every month, incredibly detailed drawings which illustrate everything that happened at school in those 30 days. The drawings include the staff and children, and the faces are left blank, so that everyone can draw-in their own expression. Scenes vary from harvesting sweet potatoes to the school festival to field trips to see robots. At the end of the year, these pictures are bound into a book and given to the graduating students. This intimacy and level of personal attention will certainly be lacking wherever they end up next year. I’m sure my students will quickly adjust to their new, larger schools this spring. Schools where class sizes of 30 or 40 students make it impossible to do hands-on lessons like pumpkin carving. I’m glad I got this one last opportunity to hang out with these kids as a group, and and take advantage of the school’s small size to do something special for our last lesson, before the students are scattered to the winds. Carving pumpkins together was the perfect way to achieve closure. Best of luck next year, everyone!

You can get an idea of the scale of this thing from this map from KPBS.

The amazing thing is that this map covers as much area as the entire prefecture that we live in in Japan.

It’s deja vu all over again. We lived in San Diego for four years before moving to Japan, and the fire pictures are taking us back to 2003 when some of the same areas burned at almost exactly the same dates, starting on October 26 and continuing for several days after.

Our thoughts are with our friends in San Diego, particularly John and Kathie who live directly between the north and south fires.

I was a bit confused when my co-teacher told me that the school was being closed because of wind. The weather outside didn’t seem so severe, and I’d been in much stronger winds in Noshiro before. My confusion escalated to alarm when I heard that the teachers were required to stay at school even though the students were sent home. Our school building is, let’s say, on the crumbly side and is currently undergoing extensive renovation. When I heard that something was dangerous enough to cancel class, but that the teachers had to stick it out, images of being buried alive in a pile of rubble flashed before my eyes.

Which is when I heard about the evacuees in the gym. And the pieces started to fall together… we weren’t bracing ourselves for wind after all. The Yoneshiro river which runs through town was full to the point of bursting, and things were starting to get wet. Things like entire rice fields and houses. I sat back and took it all in for a moment. Flood? Where was I when all this happened?

As school was technically closed for the day, I had to go out and forage for my lunch. My usually peaceful town was abustle with traffic. Restaurants were closed. Police had blockaded now-underwater river-adjacent streets. I’m told that snakes and frogs lined the retaining wall, fleeing from the swollen river as the water inched upwards. Isn’t that some kind of sign of the apocalypse?

Luckily, Noshiro and the Akita river area in general is built for this sort of thing, with wide flood plains. Nevertheless, over 25,000 people in Akita have had to evacuate their homes. Entire bridges are missing a little farther to the southeast. Let’s hope that typhoon season ends soon so we can all dry out a little.