Kyoto photo call 0.2

On Tuesday we went to Kyoto, one of Japan's most beautiful cities. It is a university town and has that cultured atmosphere of the more intelligent areas of Oxford and Cambridge, although neither of those cities has Kinkakuji, the Gold temple. It was a cold day (the investment in UniQlo thermals paid off, although the dye rubbed off on my skin and I undressed and found I had dark purple legs!), so the temple was blissfully quiet. You cannot understand the word serenity until you have been here. Our pictures do not capture the sense of being there. It was clean, calm and quite humbling. The ground was covered with a soft moss that gave it a fairy tale feeling, though we weren't convinced that it might not be fake. The Japanese are quite happy to set up trinket stalls in the temples and have had to rebuild many due to earthquakes and the general temporary nature of its architecture, so adding some pretty moss as a decoration is not beyond them.

It began to snow shortly after we arrived, which added some romanticism, as did the occasional clumps of unmelted snow from last week's snowfall. It had been too cold for it to melt, so we found lots to stamp in and leave our big gaijin footprints. It may seem wrong to play in a place of such sanctity, but I don't see it as any worse than setting up shop and there are plenty of those.

We got to experience a faux tea ceremony. Normally these are far more elaborate and drawn-out, but it was a touristy experience we couldn't miss out on. We had to go into a room and sit on tatami mats and were brought out a bowl of green tea and a small cake. The green tea served is industrially strong and far more like taking paramaceuticals than drinking tea. It perked us up and gave us the energy to walk through the Imperial Palace Gardens and back to the over-heated, but incredibly luxurious hotel.

Unfortunately for over-sensitive me, the Japanese see unnaturally hot heating as a serious indulgence, so I was unable to sleep. However, we had had a few drinks around Kyotos bars and I drifted off eventually and enjoyed the feather down pillow and duvet while I was insomniacking.

As it was a Tuesday and not in any way important to the locals (most of whom had probably gone back home for the New Year), something which initially escaped us, most of the bars were deserted. We tried out the Dog Bar, but that was unwelcoming and unenjoyable, despite the vocal Dachshund on the counter. We . tried out the Fruit Bar, a smart recommendation from Rachel who had discovered it on her first visit. It was a smart, relaxed and nicely fashionable bar in the best English style - though even better to be free of gaijin. We then finished the night in Rossa as we'd peered in previously and been put off by its emptiness, but beckoned in by its very friendly barman. We felt obliged to give him some custom and went back. It was still empty, but the barman was studying English at university and enjoyed practising on us a little - giving us a couple of free shots as a thank you. I also got an egg liqueur cocktail after expressing interest in a fried egg-shaped bottle. It tasted of creamy milkshake. Nice enough, but not worth repeating.

We headed for Tenryuji, an area just outside Kyoto which had been recommended to me by my biggest fan, Ken, before I headed off. I wanted to be able to say I had taken his advice, but now I can thank him profusely, it was by far my favourite part of Japan so far. It's a small town at the bottom of the mountains (we think, we were Rough Guideless and so not entirely sure if it was a temple or the district or town) and had a different feel to any other part of Japan I've been to so far (the architecture is boringly unadventurous and functional, so parts are generally quite similar and fairly ugly), but this had the air of a seaside town: small, bustling and often invaded by passing visitors.

After popping into a temple and being more excited by the wildlife than the Buddhist paraphenalia, we explored further. We were both running low on holiday money, but found an entrance to a shrine which seemed suitably mysterious and also very cheap, so in we went. It was stunning. We found a massive shrine and milled through the graves and headstones before reaching a bamboo wood. Apparently, the wood is featured in Sayuri, a film about Kyoto's geishas filmed mostly in America and starring a Chinese actress (controversial choices in such a nationalistic country). The entire place was incredibly eerie, particularly with the absence of almost any other visitors - fortunately, there were enough for us to be able to get some pictures of us actually together instead of taking turns with the solo shots. Rachel has become highly skilled in offering to take pictures of Japanese couples, thereby forcing them to return the gesture for us.

One of the shrines climbed the incline of the mountain. It's headdstones were in various states of disarray and disintegrated testament and a stairway led, in three crumbling heaps. I was far too scared to attempt more than three steps, but Rachel made it to the shrine at the top, something I could not even watch. Instead I found another level of the shrine, it's isolation from the inclines made it feel like a secret garden and pools of unmelted snow were far too inviting. We both made snowmen and stamped yet more sacreligious footprints in the snow.


A previously arranged date meant we had to head back, but we managed to go via the river and stopped for a while to take in yet another awesome view (not in the Bill and Ted sense, but the genuine one). My cameraphone inadequately attempted to capture it, as Rachel's camera's battery had run out.

In the evening, I got to meet Rachel's Japanese beau, Mitsohiro, who runs a juku and an English school, and his friend, Keiji. We cooked chilli con carne, though the dips confused poor Mitsuhiro, and got very drunk. Rachel and I ended up having a small falling out over a boy, although - as no one would have guessed - it was because neither of us liked him. Poor Keiji has few definable faults, but felts there are and he caused quite a stir, both with his love of Maroon 5 and Eric Clapton and his general conduct. However it was a very brief stir and once his home-made guitar had left the building we breathed a sigh of relief and laughed together at his attempts to woo a gaijin, any gaijin with his genki cuteness.

Kyoto photo call

This is the Osaka sunset. The road looks fairly ugly (Ian, do you recognise Sakai City? Which area did you live in? Rachel is very curious.), but the sky was stunning. The picture doesn't do it justice. Japan is stunning in December - there are so few clouds, the Japanese themselves are fairly bored of the sunsets that blow my mind. This is only two minutes from Rachel's house. At the moment, there are some rare clouds over Osaka and from Rachel's balcony, I can see a huge shadow over the city, almost stretching to Kobe, which you can see in the distance.

Below is a view near Umeda (I am not sure if this actually counts as Umeda or is still the business district, Rachel is lunching with a colleague and so not here to ask) - central Osaka. Until we reached Kyoto, I thought this was my favourite part of Japan. It has such a range of architectural styles that it feels like a British or American city (not having been, Rachel and I decided upon Washington).

We spent Monday wandering around Osaka spending money we don't really have (when you can pick up scatter cushions at £2.50 a pop who can say no?) and revelling in a small level of anonymity. Being gaijin in Omiya, I stand out and feel very self-conscious, as does Rachel in Sakai. We are far from rareties, but still are likely to be remembered should we do anything stupid or embarrassing. That said, I am bound to run into someone who recognises me from our taking photos of ourselves in over-sized hats.

I got to sample a local delicacy (though as it was Boxing Day, I was the one who was delicate): takuyaki, a small, hot ball of squid encased in under-cooked Yorkshire pudding batter and coated with a sweet, spicy sauce. As I was nursing a Christmas hangover, the burning ball of slimy goo was not all that welcome, in spite of being enormously tasty. Most Japanese expect the octopus to be the issue for over-sensitive foreigners, but it is their continued insistence on under-cooking that causes me more concern. Textures of foods here are often bizarre and unnatural to a meat and two veg kind of a girl.

After walking the length of the business district, we took tea in Hankyu, an enormous department store with allegiance to a local sports` team (either baseball or football, I forget which) which pushes the opposing team's fans into the rival store. I also lazily found myself having purchased an over-priced pair of green over-the-knee socks. The Japanese love of labels and my unwillingness to check the price caught me out badly. Still, they are Max Mara and I am sure Takashi-san will approve when I wear them for our next lesson. I also got some pretty hot and fairly reasonable ankle warmers.

We strolled around the city for a little while and tried to find sausages to accompany Rachel's mash, but I got distracted by a pet store and dragged her in. We spent a good forty minutes trying to get a decent picture of these two and man-handling them and anyone else with an open cage. We noticed that a young man in his 20s and a 'respectable' salaryman had the same idea and loafed around the shop with no direction for at least as long as us. I tried to devise a way of starting a conversation with the salaryman and prompting him into buying me this beautiful cat, but even at my most delusional I knew it would be impossible - cats here cost almost as much as my monthly salary. This one, however, was reasonably cheap - only £150. We were enjoying the surroundings until Rachel discovered the more obscure pets at the back of the store. I was quite taken with the goat - it was certainly better nourished than most of the dogs - but the two caged monkeys were incredibly distressing. Although caged, both were also chained by the neck. One had lulled into a depressive silence, while the other bounced in a seriously crazed way and we had to leave the shop. It should not have a surprised us. Human rights are barely recognised, pets are far, far behind (though perhaps still a little higher up the food chain than the Chinese and Koreans). I have seen one campaigner in Omiya who keeps a cat in a small cat while demanding donations, not quite understanding the RSPCC's stance on such things.

The Big Day

Rachel and I spent a pious day contemplating our religious roots. We got up and opened our presents and had a glass of sparkling Andre to toast the birth of Jesus Christ Our Saviour. We washed and dressed and headed into town for the earliest church service we could find...

OK, the bit about opening presents and drinking cheap sparkling wine is true, we spent a minimal amount of time discussing theology - and this was only prompted by the Born-Agains Rachel spent breakfast with, while I slept off my coach trip. We got up and dressed and headed off to Nick's to fulfil Rachel's cat-sitting duties. I played the role of Cat Whisperer again and coaxed Shinai out and into a Christmas hat. I may have been pushing my position as his new best friend, but he still spent most of the day headbutting my knees in approval.

We acted like shit girls trying to wire up the Playstation to Nick's massive TV, but eventually managed it and watched Jack Black's School of Rock, a pleasantly predictable piece of American cinema, while syphoning off small amounts of Nick's highly prized Goldschlager - a hugely guilty pleasure we restrained ourselves from over-indulging as it is not available in Japan. Once we got a taste for the booze, we said goodbye to Shinai and headed to the local izakaya for Christmas dinner. This year there was no turkey, but the yakatori included some chicken skin kebabs and we had chips, which are fairly close to roasts. In the midst of the meal I had a brief call from Bek, which was lovely and bizarre. Rachel and I were drunk and Bek was sitting down to an 8.30 breakfast!

Our fellow customers were very excited to see some female gaijin and as the Sapporo kicked in they tried to converse with us. The 'young' one (easily in his late 50s), was spokesperson and his elders deferred to his better English, until Rachel revealed her mastery of Japanese (I was ashamed at the comparision - I could barely understand a word). It was fortunate she has grasped so much, his English stretched to 'I love you' and went no further, although on his way outside to the public toilet (often, when dining out, you have to take yourself to the local facilities as not everywhere has their own) he stopped to shake my hand and express his love yet again.

By the evening, we were very bored of the time difference and even more drunk. I milled around in my new and extravagant purchase (red slippers, see below) and modelled my Christmas presents (the fetching pulley is fom Mum, the relaxing slacks are from Tammi and bangles are from Claire - thank you!), while Rachel set up her laptop so we could watch her new Wife Swap DVD. We spoke to our families, then lamented the lack of turkey and celebrated the absence of stress before giving in to tiredness and drink and heading off to bed.

Today we're going into Osaka for a look around (once I get off this bloody computer - poor Rachel has been ready to go for ages, but I still need to do my hair and face. Osaka might get to see the worst of me today as I need to hurry up and get out!) and then back to Nick's to give Shinai some treats and watch Kiki's Delivery Service - a cartoon about a black, Stussy-eqsue cat I have insisted we watch. Tomorrow we go to Kyoto and stay in an extravagantly priced hotel - it was that or stay in a hostel and share our bathroom with some randoms, most probably Australian randoms at that. It looks amazing. I think I am far more excited at the thought of the hotel than the temples and Kyoto itself. I am a Philistine. Right, now off to Mass....

Kurisumasu Ebe

I'm sat in Rachel's living room, watching Japanese daytime TV and lounging around in my pyjamas. A blissful rest after a tiring journey. It was a fairly pleasant one, with the train ride to the coach station eased by the entertaining slogans emblazoned on fellow passengers. One sensibly, yet cool-looking boy turned his head to reveal his trucker cap's full slogan; under a picture of Hitler, were the words 'The Door For Next'. Its intended meaning is infathomable. In spite of being told I would need an hour to find the coach at Tokyo station, I walked straight to it so sat on the floor and waited. It's not such a povvy thing to do here, although I didn't see many ladies joining in, mainly students and drunks. Salarymen often lay themselves down in stations and sleep - they are generally slaughtered after some work drinking party or other, but no one even glances at this, it's so common (except, of course, me who finds it enthralling). I did queue for a couple of minutes in the wrong Osaka coach queue, but it was no problem getting into the right one when this was pointed out to me. As I was handing in my ticket, the helpful man gave an extensive explanation about something in Japanese, though the only English he could offer was 'snow'. I had guessed we might be delayed because of the weather - it is much colder here than it is where I live and traffic delays due to snow had been all over the news. It didn't take us much longer than I had expected - nine and a half hours instead of eight and a half, so not too bad, especially as I had thought it would take nine hours anyway.

The coach was fairly luxurious - three independent seats in a row, which fully reclined and had a pocket for books, etc, and another for your drink. As I had the middle seat, I also got twice as much luggage space, something to remember for next time. Unfortunately, as the weather was expected to be bad, the heating had been set to counter this, as had my wardrobe, and I had to near-strip to contend with the sweltering heat. It was impossibly hot - I was sweating in a t-shirt, denim skirt and tights and considering how my neighbours would react if I whipped off my tights then and there until I eventually passed out from heat stroke. That and the incessant and loud snores from sleeping salarymen meant I didn't spend the most restful night, but I slept far more than I expected to and am now enjoying the luxury of lazing in Rachel's flat, she having gone to the supermarket for wine, cheese and thermals.

I haven't seen anything of Osaka yet, but Rachel and some of her friends are going out to eat tonight. Our Christmas meal is cajun chicken - which I am looking forward to, though I will miss the gravy option. Should Ryu-san stay on the scene, I may raid his kitchen to prepare us an English-style roast. I wonder what he will make of my Yorkshire puddings...

Merry Christmas...School is over

Sadly, I forgot to take a photo of Ayano with the hand-painted Christmas card she made on Wednesday. It was a fabulous design (and mostly my own work - I think her mother was grateful, the child has a strange attraction to dark and clashing colours), with a green tree outline blotted in with poster paint, pink and silver tinsel draped around it and metallic pink stars cluttering the few spaces left. I do hope it has made amends for the brown and orange clown she had to pin up in her house not too long ago. Ayano had a fabulous lesson playing with the tea set and attacking each other with finger puppets (no English was necessary during this game, but we are supposed to encourage `free play`). She is remarkably aggressive for such a small, sweet-looking child. When attempting to teach her introductions, I got out the hand puppets, but she missed the point and used the dragon to slay my bumble bee.

It`s generally been a fun week. Having made a bit of an effort to fun up Takashi-san`s lesson, I used the Beatles gapfill I had prepared for his gerund lesson (if anyone knows what they are, please tell me) on Masayo. After checking her answers, we sang along for a couple of choruses and then did the same with Jingle Bells. My course tutors would be proud of me. Between lessons I tried to learn some katakana, but it`s still not going in. I also couldn`t remember the word for lunchbreak, so wrote this out in katakana repeatedly to no avail. Should someone find my scrap paper, I will seem like a food-obsessed mentalist. Not so far from the truth...

Thursday I was feeling very sorry for myself. Wednesday night I celebrated the return of my appetite with an all-too-hastily prepared feast, including an under-cooked gyoza (Chinese dumpling) which disagreed with me - although quite politely. In my weakened state, and having spoken to Charlie and Mum the night before, I suddenly felt an attack of homesickness. It is weird how my little brother`s constant quest for girls would be the thing to bring it on, though the festivities do not help. I can picture Mum`s over-filled living room and taste the bread sauce as we all peer over each other to try to watch a special Eastenders episode (is that still rubbish? Does anyone watch it now?)! Danny got married on Thursday (congratulations!) and I really wished I could have been there to see everyone. Hearing someone`s voice on the telephone is not always enough. Fortunately, tonight I am off to see Rachel, which makes it all so much easier. It is difficult to adjust to having had so many very good friends to having no one that I am close to here. If she wasn`t in the same country, I would be finding it all much more difficult.
I`ve had a small blow at work too - it may get bigger, but we will see. Martyn, who I teach with on Mondays at the ghost town of Shin-Shiraoka, is leaving Shane. It seems to be under a cloud and is all very sudden and mysterious. I really like him. He used to lecture on graphic design at Central St. Martin`s and is an intelligent, sensible and interesting person. Some teachers can be such utter losers, that it is a worry who will replace him. I like the Sex Offenders successor well enough, but Martyn was an actual friend. I do hope I don`t end up with some wonky Charisma Man or an arrogant monster who sneers at the newbies (some of the mid-term teachers don`t feel they `need` to mix with new teachers, although probably accepted the hospitality of those who went before them well enough - I think it is partly this attitude that has led Martyn to feel Shane is not for him).

I quickly got over my woes when my first class started (it is very difficult to be miserable in this job, although if I am lucky with my schedule and my students). My afternoon class sat down and told me we wouldn`t be doing any work, then opened their bags and pulled out an array of cakes and Christmas cards. I had been feeling a little queasy still, but soldiered on at the sight of chocolate buns. One of the students, Yukiko-san, keeps a diary which I mark and to thank me for my efforts she gave me a handsewn Christmas tree! It is my first and only Christmas decoration and is proudly sat on top of my TV (the only way any presents can fit under it). It`s quite an awful thing really, but very sweet and something I can see myself stumbling across in years to come and prompting all manner of memories. However, my memory of Yukiko-san may be marred slightly by her persistant homophobia. A couple of weeks ago she made a small and random comment regarding Elton John`s (pending?) marriage, which I had to ignore as another student was saying something far more pertinent to the lesson. Again she brought this up as a response to my news that Danny was about to get married, which seemed fairly rude in Japanese terms, and quite a bizarre tangent. We then got into a small, confused tussle over whether he was marrying George Michael or being married by George Michael, before Yukiko-san gathered the English together to tell me that George is actually marrying Kenny, his long-term partner and that this is bad and wrong and awful. Apparently, George was `cool` when he was in Wham and sang `Last Christmas`, but `now` he is gay, he is not. She also brought this up in her diary, so I questioned whether it was wrong if he was happy and pointed out that his being gay is hardly news in England. I also asked whether many celebrities in Japan are gay as there are a few back home, which may unnerve her a little. They are all a little Daily Mailian, but I hope to have upgraded them to Mirror readers by the end of my time here.

The childrens` classes were brilliant (except for Ryoya who is an over-sized, but intellectually stunted private student who snorts and bores his way through his 30 minute lesson). We played games, did colouring in, made Christmas cards, the lot. I took in Christmas tree shaped marshmallows for them, which won me a Brownie badge, I reckon. Japanese children are so strange. In each class, when I filled the bowl, they looked scared and confused and I had to repeatedly tell them it was OK to eat them, which provoked embarrassed and excited giggles. Then, I had to tell them they were allowed another and they were stunned. In one class, I had said they should have one - meaning the first time, then when I offered another, they argued and said they`d all had one. Only one student, the mischievous Kazumasu, attempted to dip into the bowl when I wasn`t looking. I was so impressed with his initiative, I couldn`t bring myself to scold him.

With the older class, I stole the chopstick and kidney bean game idea from my Japanese class and had them shift risotto rice grains from a dish to a cup. As There was an odd number in one team, I stood in (thinking I would be rubbish and they wouldn`t trounce the other team so viciously). How excited were they that teacher was going to play?! I didn`t do too badly and forgot to graciously lose to the child - although as he`s a native chopstick user I felt I was the one with the handicap. I was very proud of my 71 grains and the other team were too busy laughing at the loser who couldn`t beat the English woman to feel devastated at their defeat.

Last night there was a bit of a Shane do in the George (yawn - my New Year`s resolution is to go there less) . It was good to see a lot of the teachers out and I may have picked up a private student. A salaryman I got chatting to offered to be my sponsor and told me not to worry about paying for drinks or having to do anything in return, so I didn`t. George thinks he`s gay and I think I agree. He is quite old and unmarried, which isn`t unheard of, but is quite uncommon. Then a more dashing and slightly younger man came to join him. I introduced myself and was told he was a flower arranger. He was quite bashful and corrected Takayuki-san and said he was a dental technician, but arranges flowers as a hobby. I got to see a photo of an arrangement on his phone, they were spectular. He has completely mastered his `hobby`. Later, when my sponsor`s generosity had got the better of me, I got them dancing (Japanese men can`t dance, so it`s always worth a laugh) and they confirmed mine and George`s suspicions by knowing lyrics to `Last Christmas` I didn`t even know existed. What would Yukiko-san think?

It doesn`t feel massively Christmasy yet, although earlier today, I packed my case to go to Rachel`s and filling it with lots of presents I am only going to have to bring back with me does have a festive pointlessness to it. I also pulled a cracker with Karen and wore a paper hat for all of two seconds - that I was hung over and in my pyjamas while I did it gave it a certain authenticity. Perhaps it`s not being coerced into `Hum Bug` and being subsequently ridiculed by my family for humming that makes it feel so alien...

I have had some questions from Tom, so thought I would share the answers with everyone in case you were thinking the same.

1) What is an 'izakaya'?
It is a fantastic restaurant that Japanese food, but in a tapas style - you just get millions of little dishes of things and order a few bits, then fancy more, so order more, then maybe get even more. People generally go to them at the weekends to drink. In some you can just drink, but generally you have to order some food. You can make food the main part of the trip if you like, that`s more of a week-night! It`s a very popular social outing - you eat some food and order a mass of drink, then head to karaoke. Not that I often do this - I go to the gaijin bar, as I can bully men into buying my drinks.

2) Why do some names finish with an extra '-san'?
You should do this after all Japanese names, but I often forget with my students as I have to speak to them like they are English. It is both Mr and Mrs all at once and also can be used on first names. It`s a sign of respect, but you say it everyone. Chan- is for kids.

3) What does DoS stand for?
Director of Studies. Sorry, teaching acronyms have been a bad habit since I joined the TTA...

4) Does Shane stand for anything in particular or> was the company just set up by an Australian?
A British man named Shane set up the company and loved his name so much he gave it to the company too. The fool.

By the way, if anyone else thinks, like Tom, that I have mastered Japanese very quickly. You are wrong. The Japanese I use in my blog is the same as the Japanese I use in Japan: mispronounced, out of context and in the midst of a jet of English.

Season`s Greetings from the Land of the Rising Sun!

Merry Christmas everyone. Thank you to those of you who have sent me presents, it`s finally making me feel festive, having a little display of cards around my TV.

Otherwise, Japan, in spite of all the sparkle and lights, doesn`t feel at all festive. The country has embraced the gaudiness of the festival in all its glory, but without the promise of a decent gravy dinner and cheese board, it all seems quite alien. And where, may I ask, are the Quality Street?!

All week I have been `giving` Christmas lessons - handing out coloured card and seasonal pictures and making the kids draw - but even with Jingle Bells as incidental music, it is not properly sinking in. It is quite endearing when the children try to join in - up to a certain level, they chime in with the Japanese lyrics, so I have been attempting to teach the older children the `real` words. I stumbled upon a Christmas quiz too, so the adults have been having their own fun. It`s given me something of a break, as well as giving the kids one. One of my teenage students, whenever I ask what she has been doing or if she has any plans, only answers `studying` and this is not because of a limited vocabulary. Poor, poor girl. How she loved that wordsearch...

In the midst of my festive slacking, I have also been teaching prepositions (in, on, under, by) and made children draw monkeys in trees - it made me think of Eddie Izzard`s French lessons. Before, it had seemed such a random sentence, but I see so clearly now how useful it is. That said, monkeys are far more common in Japan than France and the children generally had more of a problem with the word `tree` than anything else.

Having picked up my coach ticket on Friday night, I am now destined for a nine hour over-night trip which is bound to bring out my seasonal hum-buggery. It is a small, but significant saving and should buy my way into a few more Kyoto temples next week, or perhaps just a UniQlo fleece - something I am fighting to resist, but seems eminently more sensible with every drop in temperature. In keeping with other traditions, I have already started to feel ill. I think it is winding down for the end of the year, not that you can really wind down a great deal as a teacher.

Sunday was a strange one. I met Aki in the afternoon, just to break up a day of laundering, and we were strolling around looking for a place to get a coffee and bumped into her mum`s friend (the one who had treated us at the izakaya) so asked him to join us. I eventually tuned into a persistant Japanese announcement and wondered if it was about earthquakes or such, so asked our new friend (whose name I still don`t know!), as Aki was on the phone. It was actually a car topped with a loudhailer and a mentalist in the front seat denouncing prostitution for its illegality and immorality. No one but me found this odd or amusing.

On Monday night, the illness reached its peak. I had a date with Ryu-san, but a growing sense of queasiness and swelling glands meant I was not on top form. His absurd schedule made me feel it was more hassle to cancel than just sit it out - we were only meeting for his one hour lunch-break anyway (21.30-22.30 - after I had finished work). Rather sweetly, he had remembered my hints about wanting steak and took me to a plush Happy Eater. The menu looked fantastic, with enormous hunks of meat served with a couple of roast potatoes, carrots, broccoli, rice and miso soup (you can`t get away from that stuff). I ordered the smallest thing I could, not having the energy to explain I was ill, then had one taste and had to sprint to the bathroom to throw up. What a slick date! I think he spotted something was wrong as he was waiting for the waitress to tell me where the toilets were, then I felt panicked, and he just pointed. I felt much better afterwards and managed to almost enjoy the rest of my meal (save the fried onions, which I wouldn`t enjoy on a good day) and struggle through our English lesson. I was also taught how to place my chopsticks once I had finished my meal, quite a handy lesson for impressing any other Japanese who happen to dine with me. However, I am not sure if I`m going off Ryu-san. Maybe it was my bad mood and illness, but he didn`t seem so handsome on Monday and when your common language can be written on a crisp packet, this matters more than ever. He`s nice enough and does make an effort to do things he thinks I`ll like - he also is incredibly keen on me learning all about Japanese (I have picked up a very pretentious pronunciation of sumo from him: `smo` - that`s how the Japanese say it), but with the language barrier and all his talk of a perm, I`m not sure there`s much of a future.

Another night in the George...

I just can`t keep away. I was planning to stay in, but bumped into Erica, who I trained with, on a train earlier in the week and she suggested we meet at the George. As a vegan, the izakayas are off-limits. Karen and I got ourselves together, only for Karen to not be able to get hold of Erica (I actually think she didn`t try, but I am not saying that to her) and found it was only us and Matt DoS in there. I prefer these intimate get-togethers. George had time to sit with us and chat and I consulted my DoS on Shane`s policy of dating other teacher`s student`s parents. A guy at one of my schools seems overly keen, so I may invent a policy against any such interaction myself.

He is the father of another teacher`s student and has been suspiciously friendly since I arrived. He seems to compose a few sentences to recite to me before every lesson and makes a point of making a few garbled compliments. Last week, he thanked me for my heart-warming holding at the children`s Christmas party and this week he thrust a small Japanese-style Christmas card at me. Well, this was his lie. It was actually a calling card wrapped in shiny kitchen paper with a message to call him and his contact details. He calls himself Mr Dandy. On the back of the card were extensive instructions on how to leave an answerphone message (after the `pee`) and what details I should give him: where I live; when is my spare time; and my contact details. His son, apparently, is `eagers to see [yours] -----`. He didn`t finish the sentence, but I doubt very much his son would be interested in seeing anything of mine - unless I quickly stocked up on Harry Potter videos.

Last night Ken got overly amorous and kept trying to hug me and suggesting we go somewhere else to drink. He`s fairly safe, I`m sure. The romance element is almost a joke between us now, but I was too tired to contemplate the juddering conversation we would have had, so decided to turn him down. As George and I were leaving, we bumped into two American guys who took me to a host bar. They were fat and awful, but I wasn`t ready to go to bed yet. The bigger one had decided I was his and danced a la David Brent to woo me (seriously, he even did the arms and everything), but I had no one to laugh at him with so I soon got bored and decided to run away. As I was getting my coat, I found his friend sat at our table with his top off and tattoos on display. He was wrapped in an inky rope, quite a sight to behold! He claimed to be hot, although I was shivering a bit. Sadly, by leaving, I missed the hosts doing a boy band-style dance show. I must go back, perhaps with more savoury company. I popped to the Suraj bar upstairs and found Ken again. He was more drunk and more amorous so we ended up having a small argument in our respective languages as he wanted to hug me and I wanted him to sit down and leave me alone. He then started shoving ￥1,000 notes at me, but this was because he was leaving and wanted me to get a cab home so I forgave him his tactile attack. I spent another gin and tonic having a more sensible conversation with the incredibly cute barman and an artsy customer who tried to insist on taking me to a restaurant as I tucked into the bar snacks too enthusiastically. As the barman was acting as translator, I again refused the hassle and effort of conversing via a phrasebook.

Friday night, I picked up my coach ticket to Osaka. I have nine hours to contend with, but am told it is a good way to travel as you get to see Japan (I can`t imagine I will see anything as it is an overnight trip). I had my friend Aki help me out, which was fortunate as there were so many options and questions, I couldn`t have handled the conversation alone. We then headed back to Omiya and to an izakaya for something to eat. We were sat next to a group of young men who were very interested in us, but not drunk enough to speak yet, so we left at a sensible time having only drunk non-alcoholic sours. Bizarre for the both of us. I`ve just left her again today, having heard all her stories of hostessing, one of which involved pretending to be gaijin and being taken for Korean food, which disagreed with her and all the beer, so she threw up at the table! She is the least Japanese person I have met here, but is hilarious to hang around with. I never imagined my best Japanese friend would be pseudo-American!

The cat with two lives

The weekend has been quite hideous. Friday night I couldn`t sleep again, so called home, only to be told my beloved Stussy was being put to sleep in a matter of hours. It seemed wrong to bed down on that news. I knew she`d go, but it was all rather sudden and I had terrible images of her being pissed off and scared in the car, only to relax when she`s taken out and put on the last table she`d ever see... It meant getting up at 7am to be genki genki at the kids` Christmas party was harder work than anything out here has been so far. My poor love. I would have liked to have been there to at least soothe and spoil her in her last moments. Fortunately, once I was playing dodgeball with twelve 7-11 year-olds, it was hard to keep my spirits down. I also managed to avoid having to limbo... I got home from work and collapsed onto my futon, only for the phone to ring and Mum to tell me Stussy had had an injection and a reprieve. It may only be temporary, but that she purred in the car means next time, I won`t have the same concerns.

Sunday, I had to relinquish my day off to another kids` Christmas party. Something of a liberty, but the recruiters hadn`t made it clear that, in spite of the long holidays, I owe Shane 13 days, so I couldn`t get out of it. Karen, Neil, myself and Matt DoS were taken by a hoard of Japanese receptionists to a freezing sports hall, forced into an assortment of ill-fitting trainers and slippers and each given 22 children to entertain. Soon the cold was pushed out by the chocolate-clogged breath of spoiled children and gushes tantrums as the hall filled. Seconds before the party started, one of my regular students sprinted past squealing `Zoooooooow-iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii` with her younger brother in hot pursuit. Karen was jealous that her name is far easier to pronounce.

The party climaxed with four groups coming head-to-head in an It`s A Knockout style tournament, with a snowball race (carrying a small football on a coloured sheet) and a Santa`s Pants race. The kids had to clamber inside a pair of huge shorts (Santa`s, of course) and run the length of the hall and back with a child in each leg. My team had an odd number, so I ended up having to get into one of the legs alongside a bespectacled and overgrown boy-child the size of a small man. I am proud to say my team won, but perhaps only because they were spurred on by a crazed, overly-competitive teacher whose only means of keeping warm was jumping, cheering and heckling the other teams. This place re-writes the definition of cold.

The rest of the week has been a strain. A six-day week would be manageable, had I not started the week with a 3am finish in the George giving an impromptu English lesson to a salaryman who only reluctantly stumped up my half a litre of Sapporo salary. Soon Ken arrived and we stuttered through my `Making Out In Japanese` phrase book, with him mock-declaring love and me genuinely rejecting him. How we laughed. Soon he was splashing out on my Frangelicos and Tuesday was a ruin. I woke up, pained by the light, again in the midst of scattered clothes and crisp packets. In spite of the Japanese being half the size of a Westerner, their packets of crisps are three times the size of Walkers. I have died and come to potato heaven.

Ryusuke, my surly nightmare, has been complaining about me to his parents, it would seem. His father paid the school a visit at the weekend to find out if his son was being a problem and how his English was going (I love this - in England, I might have been punched!). Helpfully, Mayuko-san said there was no problem. Shin-Shiraoka is a franchise school and entirely target-driven, so I should have expected as much, but my limited sleep limited my tolerance also. She did have a word with Ryusuke about his behaviour, he claimed he couldn`t understand me (he is good enough at English to be insolent) and would like more games and then rolled his eyes and tried to barge past me into the classroom. I let him eek out a 30 minute lesson on two language points he only needed to review and some dice drills and alpha-chopsticks. If he wants games, I will sit back and let him play.

Wednesday morning was my Japanese class Christmas party, which was no clearer or more educational than ever. We played `games` which involved translating kanji questions and then answering them. None of the shoofoo quite grasped that although I knew that the question was `name five things that you have in your fridge` my vocabulary doesn`t really include food at the moment! I was gutted when a fat four-year-old kid shouted `juice` and stole my only answer. I fared a little better with the chopsticks. We had to transfer dry kidney beans from one dish to another with chopsticks. The Japanese had lacquered chopsticks, so our team, with a Thai and a Korean, did very well and won that one. We also got some old-fashioned gifts - I got some incense, which I`ve newly converted to since my flat smells of shoes and rubbish if I don`t use it, and a small almost nice wash-bag, that actually turned out to be a small bento bag that I doubt I will ever use. It will make a useful gift for one of my old ladies, should they be so generous as to get me anything. We did have a nice bit of Christmas finger food - sushi, crisps and satsumas - very festive and well worth the torture and ￥100.

d us inextremely clear language that she didn`t speak English very well and had the chef rustle us up meat and seafood omelettes, one with noodles and two without. All of them fabulous. I will okonomiyaki more often from now on. We then tried to find somewhere else to drink - sitting at the hot plate was rudying up our complexes too much - but nowhere was open.

I refused to go to the George, so we ended up in the bar above it, where I had started my karaoke adventure the previous week. Unnervingly, all the staff remembered me and the rather dashing barman raised his fist to me in a `homie`-esque salute, suggesting I had made quite a show of myself (I seem to remember shouting some of the choicer phrases from the `Making Out...` book, which may be why). The owner asked me too many over-personal questions about Cherry Boy, who at this point I suspected had blown me out, and I embarrassedly sheltered behind Sean and Adam`s bulky frames and drank my overpriced flat beer. I had a quick game of darts, which I hoped the barman would join in on, but he quickly scuttled back into his sanctuary behind the bar. I eventually dragged myself away - a second 3am finish on a schoolnight was pushing it, but that`s what happened... - and was greeted by a text from Cherry Boy. We have a date on Monday and I`ve had some very amusing messages from the translation website about his long absence being `every day only of a job`.. and ...`a cold was cured, too`. The poor dear has been ill. I`ve missed his bizarre Janglish messages arriving as I drift off to sleep...

Some gaijin have all the luck

This week has been a cold, hard week. I`ve been advised to drop enormous hints to my rich shopho classes about anything I need, particularly in the run up to the New Year (being a female gaijin is said to yield more results, though the handsome male teachers probably do best of all - they are so rare, after all) so have been dropping hints like rocks for hot water bottles and blankets all week! It is so cold here. It is probably the same temperature as England, but the clearer air means the cold gets right at you. The paper-thin walls, which are to repel the summer heat, do nothing to stave off the cold during winter. It snowed in parts of Japan earlier in the week and the weatherman advised to wear flat, rubber-soled shoes and to take small steps. I suspect this was for the baka na gaijin (stupid foreigners) who don`t know how to walk properly.

I had my toughest Japanese lesson yet. After a sleepless night (I kicked off my blankets, although it was freezing, so have since had to tuck them under my arms and try to ignore the lumps and bumps and drift off - I don`t though, I am like the Princess and the pea), I was in a delicate mood, but Hosoya-san was still unforgiving. She has stopped referring to my Japanese as perfect, I am merely daijobe (OK) now. I am having to tell myself my own achievements so I don`t give up altogether. This week we were supposed to be reviewing times and the past three chapters, as well as practising katakana. Katakana is one of the three alphabets they have here - two are basically the same, but just look different, katakana is one of these and I hate it. I know most hiragana and it`s far prettier than katakana. Katakana is just a stupid, ugly addition.
Hosoya-san quickly tired of this and breezed through the third chapter and onto drilling me on family birthdays and ages. She did introduce me to the family vocabulary, but once she found out how old my mother is (sorry Mum, all the ladies are obsessed by your age, although she said you were young!) she started on random questions about my job that I didn`t understand. After much harassment she reluctantly explained and started off again. She told me the Japanese for summer vacation, then asked what I was doing for my winter break. I told her I didn`t understand, so I got a translation of her question, not how to form an answer. During the break I complained to another gaijin, who suggested I learn the chapter ahead of the lesson and just use it as a practise session, not comprehending the randomness of Hosoya-san`s teaching methods.

This is a good learning curve and can only make me a better teacher. I know more now the importance of introducing vocabulary before a lesson - something I have always raced through as it can be difficult and embarrassing!

Last night, Karen and I had wine at Pamela`s, which just gave us a taste so we headed to the George for `one more`. Having taken advantage of a quiet night, George had shut and gone home, which disorientated us, but we found a new, American pub and tried there. It was quite awful, but half-way into the drink, Nao, Cherry Boy`s flatmate arrived, sadly with no Cherry Boy - he was sleeping, the little cherub! It`s a busy time for pachinko salesmen. Somehow I managed to bully a random salaryman (who, I seem to remember what a Tottenham fan...) into buying us more drinks and then I invited myself to karaoke with two others that I don`t think I even knew the names of to forget. As a gaijin woman, I was allowed to sing most of all, though the practise brought no improvement. I drank until last orders and left my companion asleep in the booth.

This morning, I woke up in a mess of clothes and empty crisp packets I had scattered around my room with my phone reminder screaming `relative clauses` at me like a bastard. What a gross start to the day. I quickly recovered when I remembered I`d found ￥10,000 (GBP50) outside the karaoke place and so decided to sooth my head with a new hairstyle from the attractive hairdresser at Mario`s of London. Suzuki-san was a master and I am very pleased with my new look, the blond is now a subtle, but festive red. As a gaijin, I became the star attraction for the staff and everyone practised their English on me (it didn`t stretch far beyond `hello` and `yes`, so it wasn`t a strain). Unfortunately, one of the other stylists came over to compliment me as I discovered the addition of shampoo (who can have a cut and colour without a shampoo?!) meant I was ￥2,000 short! My mortification was obvious, but I am not sure Suzuki-san will ever want to karaoke with me now! I was hoping to wangle a night out on my next visit, so will have to ensure I am stacked with cash to avoid further embarrassment. Karen came to my rescue and I chased home to get it. When I returned, Suzuki-san paraded me in front of his next client, so I think I am forgiven. Knowing `baka na gaijin` certainly helped and I`m sure it was said again in my absence.

Finding Nikko

I had my most Japanese weekend this weekend, although the John Rennon museum, with its complimentary guide to Liverpool, was quite a poor start! Saturday night, my friend Aki, who I originally thought was American because of her accent and her English, took me to an izakaya for a Cafe Lamp English exchange bonenkai (end of year party). Her mother`s friend paid for us both because we were too poor and, having spent her formative years in the States, Aki is low on decent company. Even though he was of a lecherous age and appearance, he barely even requested conversation from us as thank you, which was handy. Unlike Elton, an improbably named Beatles fan, who tried to arrange a swim date with me within two minutes of his opening line and also suggested we go on a `pilgrimage` to the hotel the Beatles stayed in when they visited Japan. Elton is distraught as someone has seen fit to demolish the hotel next year, the 40th anniversary year of their first tour. Elton is a 40-something (I think - the Japanese age remarkably well, so I am even worse at telling ages here than in Europe, where people are leathered with age) and was wearing a Val Doonican-inspired roll-neck/round-neck sweater combo, yet he felt he and I were perfect for each other. He has offered to take me to Roppongi for dinner, but, aside from not knowing how he would expect me to express my gratitude (I think we can guess, but I think I have also deflected this nicely by telling him to be careful or I might think he was asking for a date), he spent a long time telling me I would look better with long hair and asking why I had short hair and if I was jealous of people with longer hair. I had planned on growing my hair, but these comments flare me up and make me want to get the shears out. My little favourite, Takashi-san, was also there, but I had little chance to speak to him in the izakaya and was too drunk to make sense by the time we karaoked.

After the izakaya, Aki and I somehow managed to get treated to karaoke by her mum`s friend (who, rudely, I don`t remember the name of! Lots of sake was consumed, so I don`t feel it is entirely my fault). As with everything else here, it`s bizarre. The singing is almost an incidental event, although the gaijin ignored this Japanese mannerism and put on displays, ruining everyone else`s conversations. Karaoke parlours have floors of small rooms you can book for your group where you pay an entry fee and then sit in your small booth phoning through orders for your all you can drink alcohol. As I got more and more drunk (Aki and I really abused the hospitality and over-ordered sake and lemon sours in the izakaya), I decided to give it a go myself, but Lord, is my voice flat! I ruined one poor boy`s attempt at Jeremy, although managed to sing the final `naa`s well and so it probably sounded like he was flat. Aki and I hijacked another gaijin`s attempt at the Chilli Peppers and Takashi-san and I closed the night with a weak version of Hey Jude. Aki and I were going to duet, but she rebuffed my request of Like A Prayer and I refused to do Like A Virgin. Somehow we still managed to drag ourselves to the George - I was doing most of the dragging, Aki passed out on arrival - and I woke up the next morning, an hour before I was due to meet Takashi-san for a cultural trip to the mountains on the wrong side of town in George`s spare bed. I must stop doing that!

I managed to sprint home wearing yesterday`s work clothes in record time, though sucking in the cold, harsh early morning air hurt my throat and I took too long recovering at home. I managed to pull myself together into a passable state and get to Shin-shiraoka to meet Takashi-san only 20 minutes after we`d originally agreed. He had hired a car especially for our trip and I felt quite hideous, both in terms of guilt and possibly throwing up in the temporary vehicle. I tried to distract us both from my shambolic state by asking about our surroundings - it was my first trip into the Japanese countryside and it was Takashi-san`s home so I wanted to appear interested. I spotted a strange, garish pink building at the side of a T-junction and asked what it was. An unfortunate way to put a 22-year-old boy on the spot: as soon as I asked I saw the times and the prices and realised this was another of Japan`s ubiquitous love hotels. I nearly did the same thing again when we passed another hugely conspicuous building, but managed to regain the sense to rein myself in. Why, in a country where the sex industry is such a huge, unspoken secret, make them so obvious? Such faux pas are bound to happen with a naive gaijin around. I can`t even be called naive and I did it.

Nikko, however, was breathtaking. It`s in the midst of some mountains and as you approach the landscape goes from East Anglian flats to huge scoops of snow-topped mountains. The temples are set in forest and a moutain river runs along the roadside as you approach. The temples themselves are impossible to describe. The intracacy and detail would be awesome if they were produced now, but that monks created this place hundreds of years ago makes it all the more impressive. (I didn`t even attempt to do it justice with my photos, though Takashi-san`s picture is very generous - this is not how I looked close up after three hours sleep!)

The temples are said to be the resting place of the sleeping Shogun, Tokugawa, and we had to climb 200 stone steps to reach this temple, the least impressive of the collection and, for me in particular, not perhaps worth the phobic sweats the guide-less steps provoked. I had to explain my irrational issues with stairs to Takashi-san, should I need to clutch onto him in a desperate panic. I managed to cope without, but may have dampened his pleasure at taking me by appearing to not wholly enjoy the trip. I may not be taken anywhere so fabulous again! The entrance to these steps boasts a famous sleeping cat carving, which would have probably done me just as well, and another of the temples bears the famous `Hear No Evil, See No Evil, Speak No Evil` monkeys. The local monkeys, however, won`t `do no evil` - they are apparently very vicious and I was warned to keep away from them. A warning I would have promptly ignored had the cold and snow not kept them at bay.

Takashi-san has also suggested we go to a hot spring, which I am tempted to do, although being seen by a student in my bathers is quite nerve-wracking, I must say! I may treat myself to a Victorian one-piece before I agree to that one.

A Day in the Rife

Today was our day off, so Karen and I graced the Saitama John Lennon Museum with our presence. Cobbled together by the most hated of all groupie girlfriends, the three other Beatles are scarcely mentioned. On entering the museum, after the shock of seeing `Watford` daubed on a trainline running from London Euston to Liverpool, a wall of black and white portraits of John and Yoko. I counted four other pictures of the Beatles, two of which were John and George, and the other two dated from around 1964, as though Sergeant Peppers` never happened...

After donning our `guest` badges, we were immediately ushered into a small movie theatre and directed to sit at the back, though the show was screen only for our benefit. This was so we could hang the `earphones` from our ears to hear the English narration. I am wholly convinced the earphones - plastic cases that encased our ears - were designed to humiliate the gaijin and not engender good listening.

The rest of the museum was enjoyable enough - especially given that it is free for Shane teachers - although the ubiquitousness of Yoko`s self-congratulation and her blotting out of John`s past, including almost any mention of Paul McCartney or his previous wife and first son, Julian, brewed a slow-boiling rage. The cacophony of music was fed into the rooms in unsettling stereo - one song would bleed into another as you moved from room-to-room, so any emotion tied to a song was stunted and swamped by another in almost overwhelming immediacy.

In Yoko`s favour, she had managed to showcase her political portfolio, while paying homage to John and so a side I had to respect emerged in the midst of the riling and reviling self-aggrandisement. Her installation of `Yoko`s phone` which she is installation of `Yoko`s phone` which she is alleged to occasionally ring, should a visitor to the alleged to occasionally ring, should a visitor to the museum be there to answer it, was quirkily interesting for a second, too.

Prior to visiting the museum, I had been for a short jog near my flat. I have landed in the midst of a thousand intersections. The houses make jutting archipalegos and there is no greenery, save some faded khaki doors, for miles, so I had to road run, which I never enjoy. I gave up very quickly and accepted my late night peanut butter on toast feast may spend a lifetime on my hips, but I, at least, won`t be stared at for being a big bouncing gaijin again.

The homesickness now seems like a small blur that has passed. Things feel normal and more and more like home here. Having a new landline certainly helps and I have taken immense and unnecessary pleasure at work by asserting my authority through ｍａｋｉｎｇ children spit Ｏｕｔ gum upon entering a lesson. At first they thought I was joking, but I must have looked crazed with the power rush as they quickly ascented and spat it out. One poor fat girl was nervously chewing her lip and tried to get her to spit that out too. In the mass of her face, it did look a lot like she was still chewing something she shouldn`t.