Climatic (not climactic) Undertakings

What do the Atacama Desert (in Chile) and Naeba, Niigata, the place where Ashlee and I went skiing this past weekend, have in common? The same reason why the Atacama Desert is so dry also causes truckloads of snow to fall on the mountains of Niigata. As storm fronts move across the Sea of Japan, the cell picks up steam (figuratively) and moisture (literally) and becomes obesely saturated with water. When it comes to the western coastal mountains of Japan, the storm front needs to lose some weight and gain some altitude, so it dumps enormous masses of snow. This creates a superb ski location conveniently located about 3 hours away from me. Many of you may remember from geography class that the Atacama Desert in Chile is influenced in a similar way except that the Andes prevent any clouds with moisture from entering the desert region. Thus, the Atacama is drier than most old peoples' skin. In fact, if I were to fly over the Atacama Desert and spit out of the window, the annual rainfall for that year would quadruple and meteorologists and environmental activists from all over the world would probably conclude that El Nino has returned or that global warming and the Apocalypse are joining forces (Note: I take no responsibility for the credibility of the theory discussed above, unless of course it is completely correct and deserving of an award and/or cash prize).


Anyway, yeah, so I went to Niigata. Some of you non-Japanese residents may recognize the name Niigata because Niigata is the prefecture which has been getting pounded by record snowfalls this winter and making world news. There has been so much snow this winter that even the famous "bullet-trains" could not penetrate the fluffy, white powder at times. And although the "bullet-trains" may not have been able to penetrate that snow, I just needed two skis, two poles, and some warm winter clothing to master that bunny hill and graduate up to the green runs. Black Diamond, here I come!

No, seriously, the skiing was great. It was totally different compared to Andes Tower Hills Ski Area that I used to ride the 4-wheeler to everyday after school as a pre-driver's license teenager in rural Minnesota. The longest run there took about 30 seconds. I guess the biggest difference was being on a mountain, and not a hill. This place made hills look like North Dakota (i.e. anti-hills). Anyway, if you look to the right, there is a picture of me and my beloved 4-wheeler. Gosh, I wish I had a 4-wheeler here in Ueno!

Skiing was good. I wasn't quite in peak shape, but alas, I did ok. Some highlights included finding two bottles of white wine packed into a snowbank at the top of the mountain (yes, I kept them of course), skiing down the mountain with two bottles of wine in my pockets, falling down with two bottles of white wine in my pockets, and collecting my skis and poles that littered the mountainside after falling down and realizing the two bottles of white wine were okay. And the best highlight of all about skiing: taking off the ski boots; it makes it seem as if you lost 20 kilos but gained some permanent wrinkles from your pants and socks being stuffed down in there.

Spreading the Word

Above is a picture of the neighborhood (Nippa) where I live. I am about a 30 second walk from the Ueno Elementary school (the red-roofed building) shown above. Every Thursday afternoon I teach English to two different classes at the elementary school. Last week I taught 1st grade, then 5th grade. For first grade, I taught animals (with emphasis on the barn-yard variety), the noises they make, and Old MacDonald. We then played Duck, Duck, Gray Duck (or Goose depending on how you were raised). With the assistance of flashcards, I stated the name and the noise they make. They repeated and clucked, oinked, moo-ed, and all the others. However, there was one problem: the duck. I have a flashcard of a duck, but everytime I showed it they kept saying "chicken." So, like any good teacher I had to get the idea of "chicken" out of their little heads and insert "duck." And like every good teacher I used an example: AFLAC! Yes, Aflac has a Japanese branch, which is also littering the airwaves with their Gilbert Gottfried talking duck equivalent (Note: despite the difficulties for Japanese people to pronounce the 'L' sound, the word doesn't sound like Afrac). Anyway, to help them remember the word duck I would often say Aflac! afterwards. Later I found out that it did indeed work in helping them realize that this wasn't a chicken....instead, it was an Aflac. Yes, first graders of Ueno Elementary School think ducks are called aflacs. Just imagine my bewilderment as I discovered this new name to the tune of Old MacDonald. I failed as an English teacher. I wonder if the people at Aflac need help in promoting their insurance policies to the 6 to 7 year old age group.

Cognitive Cuisine

Itadakimasu!

This may be the word/phrase other than ohayo gozaimasu (good morning) and wakarimasen (I don't understand) that I say the most in Japan. The Japanese (and yours truly) say it before eating. I don't think it has a direct translation into English, but it basically means "I eat" and/or "Thanks for the food." Itadakimasu! This simple word brings memories of home to my frontal lobe. You see, I am a preacher's kid and we, of course, prayed before every meal. What started with "Come, Lord Jesus" soon evolved to multi-verse "Johnny Appleseed" and movie-themed prayers involving Superman and The Addam's Family. I digress, much like an eleven year old version of me mentally-straying from the sermon as I sat in the front pew of my father's church. Clarification: My dad is the best pastor I have ever been in the presence of....it's just that when you are 11 years old the last thing you want to be doing is getting preached to....I was getting enough of that at home, especially after shooting my sister with a BB gun.






This post is to give you a taste of what life in Japan is like. Because I live in a teacher's dormitory, I have breakfasts and dinners cooked for me Monday through Friday. Yep, there is a little old Japanese lady who cooks for all us teachers. Talk about getting a taste of Japan. I get what the Japanese get. I eat what the Japanese eat. And I learn what food to thoroughly avoid while the Japanese swallow it whole. So without further adieu, Bon Appetit!

Ask any Japanese person what ethnicity of food is their favorite and they will say Japanese food. They are more proud of their food than a slaving mother cooking on Thanksgiving Day for her extended family. Many of my students say their favorite food is rice (actually because of the difficulty in distinguishing between the 'r' and 'l' sounds, sometimes it sounds like they are saying lice). Yeah, plain rice. Talk about delectable. Anyway, rice is a staple here, much like bread or whatever we have back stateside. Another staple is miso. Miso is basically salted soybean paste. It is used to make the infamous miso soup (which is sadly not present in any of the pictures shown here). Miso soup is coffee to me. It rejuvenates me and warms my soul to the core, especially on frigid winter days. Another staple in the Japanese diet is sea food. I have never eaten so much fish, octopus, squid, clam, oyster, sea weed, eel, and shrimp. Red Lobster wouldn't survive the competition over here, although I wish they would try.


Some other typical dishes include such things as giant white radishes, tofu, noodles, and salt. Daikon, the giant white radish, is like the potato for us. If there had been a daikon famine here back in the mid 19th century instead of the Irish potato famine, I don't think St. Patrick's Day would be as widely celebrated in America, and I think Pearl Harbor could have been avoided altogether. Anyway, I am not a fan of the daikon unless it is in a nice hot, steaming bowl of miso. Often the teachers snack on pickled daikon that has the crunchability of a jaw-breaker and tortilla chips all rolled up into one. It has been reported that you can hear a person chewing on daikon two kilometers away. Next, tofu. Tofu is the dark-horse for me. My previous exposure to tofu left me questioning the dietary motives of this food. I thought it tasted like mush combined with a taste of nothing. So, basically mush. But here, tofu evolved and made friends with some of my taste buds. Noodles. Japan ranks behind only Italy in noodle consumption (note: I have no idea...it just sounded good). There are many kinds of noodles here. Soba. Udon. Spaghetti. Ramen. And a handful of others. The thing about eating noodles is this: in Japan it is polite to slurp them. Yep. My mom would go nuts! For about 3 months, I was very insecure with my noodle slurping. I just couldn't do it. I felt like I was breaking this forbidden rule and that someone would come up to me and ask if I was born in a barn. However, I grew accustomed to it. My comfort to slurping noodles is evident by taking a look at my stain-spotted shirts from that dangling noodle dancing its way into my mouth. Salt. Simple...Japanese people love salt more than the Dead Sea does. In fact, to "help the medicine go down" the Japanese have been known to take a spoonful of salt.

Punxsutawney's Prediction

The last couple days were absolutely gorgeous--exemplified by being able to read the daily English newspaper on my balcony as I listened to the wildlife changing around me. The river running through this quiet, mountain town was not a tiny winter stream in search of moisture but more like your little brother at bedtime, never keeping quiet or laying still. Just when I thought the joys of warmer temperatures, spring blooms, and t-shirts were making their triumphant return, a cold-prickly front moved in and dumped its contents. It looks like the river will have to take a nap until its visitor and cold temperatures melt away.

I know that February has only just begun, but it seems as though winter needs to sign a do not resuscitate order. Out of all the seasons, winter is the most immature. Winter always has to have the last say in things--just when you thought it grew up from all the harsh times it went through it decides to throw a tantrum, dropping 8 inches of powder. Winter is the season that everyone talks about, much like those childish junior high school students who you think will never grow up. Winter is a late bloomer. So late, in fact, that winter has to wait an additional season until physical changes start to occur.

With that said, I will be going skiing two out of the next three weekends. C'mon guys...you have to adapt! Let me know what Punxsutawney Phil sees. HAPPY GROUNDHOG'S DAY!