Mikan2009May

Ehime AJET’s official newsletter: Writing and pictures by Mikans, for Mikans
The Mikan
MAY 2009
May 2009
May 2009
In this issue
A letter from the editor
1
Christopher Reed
And the designer
Staff
1
Ingrid Strasheim
Sakura Season Scenes
2
4
7
10
Tom Schaller
Let’s Running
12
Christoper Reed
Chicken Tikka Masala Recipe
Ingrid Strasheim
Dawna Larson
Photo page
contributors
Gillen Motherway
Extreme Tea Ceremony
Christopher Reed
Wendy Ikemoto
Comic artist
Wendy Ikemoto
This Fighting Life
Editors
Designer
Wendy Ikemoto
How to Hanami
A letter from the editor
14
Samantha Hardy
Brian Hernandez
Wendy Ikemoto
Victoria Murphy
Katrina Phiri
Tom Schaller
Chris Summerfield
Richard Witts
Japanese for ALTs
15
Dawna Larson
Photo page
16
Contact The Mikan at the_mikan@hotmail.com
On the cover this month:
Sam Hardy from Matsuyama keeping it
real with a real live Mikan (pictured with
Mikan child) at a football match
Hi everyone,
Well, we’ve once again managed to
get an issue of The Mikan, out. I’d like
to thank our kind designer for taking the
task on; Wendy and I are most grateful. I
also want to thank as always the people
who contributed, and I appreciate their
efforts tremendously. They got their
articles out in a timely manner, and responded to our questions quickly as well.
To those of you who have even a hint of
writer’s blood, I know there are rich and
story-worthy experiences abounding, and
I encourage you to submit to our next
issue.
Thank you again for reading, and I
hope you enjoy this issue.
Sincerely,
Christopher Reed
And the designer
Hi y’all
And hello everybody to the nonAmericans. (I appeal to them with their
vernacular which I learn from Dr Phil and
Oprah. Do you think it’s working?)
I’m not really sure what this letter
should convey to y’all. I’ve kept myself
off unnecessary participation in random acts of human groupness for some
years. I never got why kids in high school
had to ruin student council meetings by
saying “I’d just like to say…” and then
repeating exactly what the person before
them had said. About what hairclips we
should or shouldn’t be allowed to wear.
So I studied graphic design and illustration instead of drama and always
strove to attend absolutely nothing in my
residence, leaving me and my roommate
exactly dead last for room points. This
was of course great motivation to just
move back home again where compulsory meetings were always kept to a
minimum.
Fortunately the internet has ushered
in an era where everyone is as close and
as far away as their e-mail inbox. So I
can participate in group activities that
are whittled down to only what people
take the time to type into a computer.
Add to that meetings with people in a
language I don’t understand too well yet,
where only the essentials get translated,
and you see: Japan is heaven.
Please enjoy The Mikan.
Ingrid Strasheim
( The Mikan 1 )
May 2009
May 2009
Sakura Season Scenes
Wendy Ikemoto
Third year ALT, Uwajima
When I first came to Japan, I brought with me
a romanticized image of sakura (桜), or cherry
blossom, season. I imagined poised Japanese
people sitting serenely under showers of sakura.
I imagined the quiet consumption of beautiful
Japanese sweets with tea at these hanami (花
見), or flower viewing parties. I imagined pink.
The reality is slightly different. As Uwajima
ALT John Hudgens explains, “I think of masses
of people getting rip-roaring drunk while paying
more attention to the dango than the flowers.”
This is how most people view hanami today.
花より団子 (hana yori dango). “Dumplings
rather than flowers.” Or so the proverb goes.
Yes, the flowers are catalysts for hanami-ing, but
hanami-goers often pay more attention to their
hill of food, tidal wave of alcohol, and boisterous
friendly antics; all laid out on ubiquitous blue
tarps next to rapidly growing piles of garbage. A
wild picnic party under a contrasting canopy of
delicately fluttering pink.
Despite the partying, the real focus of the season is still the sakura. These gorgeous blossoms,
that hanami “celebrates,” are a nearly inescapable icon of Japan. They pop up in literature and
manga alike, in songs and poetry, on clothes, in
food, in diplomatic relations, and even on the
back of the 100 yen coin. Sakura is so entwined
with Japanese cultural pride that it’s amazing to
think that the first hanami focused not on sakura, but on the earlier blooming ume (梅), or plum
( The Mikan 2 )
blossoms.
During the Nara Period (710–794), Japan’s
culture was heavily influenced by China’s Tang
Dynasty. Ume plants were imported as a product
of this relationship and became a fashionable
symbol of foreign culture. Kyoto nobility of the
Heian Period began to hold flower viewing parties, immortalizing the delicate blossoms thorough poetry. Over time, China’s cultural impact
began to wane, and sakura evolved into the
analogous flower of hanami and Japan. One of
the first mentions of the term “hanami” in relation to sakura is found in the Heian-era masterpiece, Tale of Genji. Today, hanami is assumed
to pertain to sakura viewing while kanbai (観梅)
refers to ume viewing.
Sakura also has roots in agricultural religious
rites as a heavenly prophesier of the rice harvest
to come. Full, lush blossoms meant a bountiful
harvest. Offerings were made at the tree’s roots
in hopes of a good year.
Despite being forecasters of harvest, sakura
bear no fruit. Sakura refers to ornamental cherry
trees; sakuranbo (桜ん坊) refers to the fruit-bearing cherry trees. Even so, many products will turn
out cherry-flavored goods in conjunction with
the sakura season. Some of the most famous
products are sakura tea and sakura mochi (桜も
ち); a ball of red bean paste wrapped in chewy,
pink-dyed mochi and a salt-preserved cherry
blossom leaf. It doesn’t stop there; everything
from sakura candy to sakura bento, sakura alcoholic drinks and sakura chopsticks. You name it,
the Japanese make a “sakura” version of it, and
nearly every shop explodes into a pleasant haze
of sakura-themed decorations and products. It is
nearly impossible not to encounter the “pink.”
For such a reveled time, it is surprisingly short,
lasting only about 10 days. After the first blossoms (kaika, 開花) appear, full bloom (mankai,
満開) is reached about one week later, and in
less than a week the blossoms begin to fall from
the trees. If the weather has been especially
windy, rainy, or harsh, the blossoming and descent are even quicker.
The Japanese see the fleeting beauty of sakura
as representing the nature of life. “The trendy
thing to say is 物の哀れ (mono no aware), or the
Japanese aesthetic rooted in the transience of
things,” notes Hakata ALT Deas Richardson IV.
“Impermanence is beauty. A candle that burns
twice as bright burns half as long. That kind of
thing.” This concept was also applied extensively
to the samurai, who exude exceptional skill and
beauty during their short but brilliant lives.
In contrast to this ephemeral view, sakura season also evokes a feeling of “new beginnings,”
or a “revitalized spirit.” In March, as the sakura
begins to bloom, the Japanese administrative
year descends into frenzy as it nears its end.
Business accounts must be wrapped up, karoshi
(death by overworking) is said to increase, final
exams for students occur, graduating students
prepare for change, government employees are
transferred, and the winter cold begins to subside. After all this change, the sakura joyfully
erupt into an encompassing blanket that begins
at the southern tip of the country and flows to
the north. The Japanese celebrate the coming
year and encourage all those who worked hard to
relax and be merry.
“I love cherry blossoms. They really are like nature’s revival,” says Hudgens. “After winter, when
life is dismal and cold, you get this explosion of
pink on the hillsides and along river banks and it
just warms you from the inside and lets you know
that there is a light at the end of that dark, frigid
tunnel.”
Although the sakura season is always in early
spring, planning a hanami trip in Japan can be
a tricky task. The blooming typically begins in
late March and early April, but is dependent on
the weather and location. Cold weather means
later blooms and warmer temperatures provoke
earlier blooms, so the blossom front moves from
south to north. For example, in tropical Okinawa
the blossoms appear as early as January, while
chilly Hokkaido blossoms usually open in May.
Ehime’s sakura season usually begins in late
March.
Once the first official blossom is spotted the
sakura zensen (桜前線) or cherry blossom front,
becomes a superstar, taking over the Japanese
media. Television shows and newspapers report
daily on the sakura zensen sweeping across the
nation whilst each individual waits with bated
breath for it to erupt into their area. Soon, the
entire country is awash in a euphoric sea of pink
petals from around 300 varieties of sakura. In
Japan, the most common variety is the Somei
Yoshino, which is mostly white with a pale pink
glow. Along with this type, the youkou and shidarezakura can be found surrounding Matsuyama
Castle in Shiroyama Park, where the Oshiro Matsuri is held every year during sakura season.
Even if you are out of town at the time, you may
still be able to catch some of the cherry blossom
fever abroad. Ornamental cherry tree varieties are scattered throughout Asia in countries
such as Korea, China, Philippines, Taiwan, and
India, and hanami is also done in some of these
places. The Alishan recreation in Chiayi, Taiwan,
attracts visitors every year, and Yunjunro Street
in Yeouido Park, in Seoul, Korea is so popular for
cherry blossom viewing that it is closed off from
April 10-25 to accommodate hanami goers.
Even in the west, the fluttering pink will still
find you. Canada boasts blossoms in Vancouver
and Toronto’s High Park. Denmark’s Copenhagen
Sakura Festival celebrates 200 trees with various Japanese demonstrations of kendo, aikido,
tea ceremony, bon dancing, etc. Americans
can delight in the Subaru Cherry Blossom Festival of Greater Philadelphia, the International
Cherry Blossom Festival in Macon, Georgia, or
the famous National Cherry Blossom Festival
in Washington, D.C. In 1912, Japan gave 3,000
sakura trees to the United States in celebration
of their blossoming relationship, and in 1956 another 3,800 trees were donated. Today, almost
600,000 visitors flock to Washington D.C. every
year to see them.
Make sure not to miss this time honored tradition. If you do, be sure to let me know so that I
can drink a beer in your stead. M
( The Mikan 3 )
May 2009
May 2009
How to
Hanami Vocabulary
᪉ ߐߊࠄ cherry blossom
᪉೨✢ ߐߊࠄ ߗࠎ ߖࠎ cherry blossom front
㐿⧎ ߆޿ ߆ the first blossoms of the season
ḩ㐿 ߹ࠎ ߆޿ full blooom
⧎็㔐 ߪߥ ߰ ߱߈ a gentle shower of falling cherry blossom petals
ᄛ᪉ ࠃ ߑߊࠄ cherry blossom viewing by moonlight
1. Choose a time and place
⧎⷗ ߪߥ ߺ cherry blossom viewing
Most towns have particular, sometimes
hidden spots that are famous for sakura.
I recommend asking your Japanese
co-workers for local recommendations;
maybe you’ll even garner a hanami invite.
᪉ࠎဌ ߐߊࠄ ࠎ ߷߁ cherry fruit or cherry fruit trees
In Ehime, Matsuyama Shiroyama park (松
山城山公園) and Dogo Park (道後公園)
are famous for plentiful blossoms.
4. Eat and drink merrily!
Drink and talk with friends and
new people alike. This includes
those cute people sitting beside
you. Go talk to them!
If you are lucky, you may catch 花
吹雪 (hanafubuki), or a gentle
shower of petals drifting down.
A good hanami will last long
enough to do 夜桜 (yozakura)—
cherry-blossom viewing at night
time.
3. Get there early to claim your spot
႐ᚲขࠅ ߫ ߒࠂ ߣ ࠅ to save a spot
᪢ ߁߼ plum blossoms
ⷰ᪢ ߆ࠎ ߫޿ plum blossom viewing
᪉߽ߜ ߐߊࠄ ߽ߜ sakura mochi
⧎ࠃࠅ࿅ሶ ߪߥ ࠃࠅ ߛࠎ ߏ exp. “dumplings rather than flowers”
2. Gather your friends and
assign tasks
‛ߩຟࠇ ߽ߩ ߩ ޽ࠊ ࠇ the transient nature of life
• Mats & blankets
• Food & drinks
• Recreation (balls, frisbee, etc.)
• Grill & charcoal (optional)
• Lamps (for unlit areas)
This is a lot for one person to
take care of or to leave to chance.
Don’t risk being the pack horse or
everyone bringing the same things
(e.g. 8 people each bring a grill).
Make sure to share the responsibilities and specify what each
person should bring on their own.
If you have a big group coming, or are going to a popular area, consider sending someone way in advance to set up.
In Japan, it is tradition for the youngest or person of the lowest
rank in a company or group to bassho tori (場所取り), or save a
spot for everyone.
On a weekday, this would mean they’d have to arrive early in the
morning. In the evening, it’d be before everyone gets off work.
( The Mikan 4 )
Page 2 and 4: Hanami at Ueno Park in Tokyo. This page: Hanami-goers at Dogo Park in Matsuyama.
( The Mikan 5 )
May 2009
May 2009
This
Fighting Life
Gillen Motherway
Third year ALT, Matsuyama
Top: Food stands fueling hanami-goers for 夜桜 (Ueno Park, Tokyo).
Bottom: Blossoms at Matsuyama Castle.
( The Mikan 6 )
[all pictures: Wendy]
Foreigners living in Japan have come for many
different reasons. There is usually something we
can identify with that draws us to these foreign
shores. Is it anime? Manga? A friend or partner?
Video games or family relations? Or perhaps it’s
the chance to experience a culture totally different from one’s own. If you’re like me you might
have felt compelled to pay Japan a visit because
of its richly preserved traditional arts. If so,
please read on.
Japanese traditional arts are in the same vein
as others practiced all over South East Asia
with one exception—Japanese traditional arts
developed from and were heavily influenced by
Japanese traditional martial arts. Whether it is
ikebana (flower arrangement), sado (tea ceremony), bunraku (puppetry) or kyudo (archery),
all are modeled on the same standard as the
dojo (training hall). Teaching is passed down
from master to student; this relationship being
pivotal to the passing and absorbing of information. There are levels and ranks, syllabuses and
forms, all developed by dojo disciples of ancient
Japan and employed by the rest of the members
of that society. Japan’s feudal history has developed a fascinating array of traditional arts all
modeled on a unique, military system.
The Japanese martial arts we see today such
as judo, kendo, aikido etc., are the modern
relatives of the techniques employed by Japan’s
highest rank in its old feudal system—the samu-
rai. Modern judo and kendo developed from the
jujutsu and kenjutsu of old. “Jutsu” meaning
technique or skill and “do” meaning way or path,
the lethal practices of the samurai needed to be
changed and made safer after the Meiji restoration and the abolition of the samurai class. Thus
an arm-breaking technique contained in an old
jujutsu syllabus was changed into an arm-lock in
a modern judo syllabus. Likewise with the development of wearing helmets and other protective
Above: A member of a school of kenjutsu adjusts his iaitou
(training sword) into his obi (belt) deep in concentration
before demonstrating some sword techniques. Utsukushima Shrine, Miyajima, Hiroshima, October 2007.
( The Mikan 7 )
May 2009
gear in kendo to protect trainees’ heads. These
‘new’ Meiji-era martial arts themselves began to
change and develop and were adapted into the
sports which are practiced all over Japan today.
My personal interest in traditional martial
arts brought me to Japan from Ireland, where I
studied traditional jujutsu for 4 years after which
time I earned the rank of Rokkyu (6th grade).
Jujutsu is a very slow grading art and you can
only be tested whenever your Sensei decides.
Before I started serious study at the age of 21,
I had several years of experience in Judo, but
that was more of a pastime when I was a child.
After I started serious study I realized that it is
not about being physical and violent, it is actually very calming and meditative. The benefits
for me are much more than physical and mental, but rather spiritual in feeling and I can say
without hesitation my experience of all forms
of martial art have thus far changed my life for
the better. I refer to my experience of martial
arts as “traditional,” as opposed to the modern
sports-orientated martial arts that have become
May 2009
the norm in Japan today. I learnt how to use
weapons and techniques that were used for a
battlefield rather than a judge’s scorecard. When
I arrived in Japan ready to further my studies I
was disappointed to find that the emphasis was
now on modern, sport-orientated martial arts. I
searched for traditional dojo to train in, but they
are few and far between, especially in rural parts
of Japan such as Ehime.
There are many reasons for this. The main reason is that traditional martial arts do not serve a
practical purpose in the day-to-day lives of most
people. What use is there for learning to use a
sword properly when one can never really use
one, unless prepared to go to prison for a very
long time? A practitioner of traditional martial
arts would say there is an array of other benefits
from dedicating oneself to learning these arts;
however, we shall not enter into them here.
It was after my initial disappointment in the
lack of traditional martial arts that I started to
turn my attention towards a field that is growing
in Japan and all over the world—MMA, or mixed
Above: MMA Training in Botchan Stadium, Matsuyama.
Top of previous page: Bajutsu, or horse riding techniques. Every year practitioners demonstrate their abilities on
horseback at shrines all over Japan.
( The Mikan 8 )
martial arts. I began to realize that, although the
preservation and appreciation of the traditional
arts is crucial for a well-rounded education in
martial arts, the underlying basis of these are
their ability to change and adapt to external
pressures imposed by time. The timeline of martial arts in Japan can be seen as starting with
traditional arts, evolving into judo, kendo or you
and other ‘safer’ arts, and then becoming more
sport-orientated as are mixed martial arts. Japan
has always supported its martial arts and now
more then ever we can see that to be true.
K-1 is a Japanese kickboxing promotion, the
biggest in the world, with fighters coming from all
over the globe to fight in Japanese arenas. Until
recently Japan hosted PRIDE, a huge promotion
with the most talented fighters in the world and
until its takeover, it over-shadowed the famous
Ultimate Fighting Championship in America.
There are other numerous events and promotions that support martial combat in Japan and
continue to do so. For example, there is a MMA
tournament called Shooto, itself a professional
tournament, but which holds amateur tournaments all over Japan where one can experience
the intensity of an all-round combat sport firsthand. I’ve seen several amateur fights in Japan.
Professional fights are usually held in the bigger
cities such as Tokyo or Osaka. Many foreign fighters enter professional tournaments in Japan, but
few of these fighters are based here. The number
of foreigners who fight at an amateur level tends
to be low.
There is no limit to variety and choice when
one wishes to experience the joys of training
in one-on-one combat in Japan, all amongst a
friendly atmosphere and a sense of camaraderie. Join your school judo or kendo club, or your
local kickboxing club, or train in a local MMA gym
and try your hand at a Shooto tournament and
you will feel the thrill of a life of fighting. I highly
recommend it. In Ehime, there is an MMA gym in
Matsuyama, and possibly Saijo, too. The Matsuyama gym is essentially rented mat space where
people can come to train with each other in a
very informal setting.
MMA in Japan is referred to as ‘kakukougi’
(combat sport). There is a traditional martial arts
demonstration at Hiroshima’s Miyajima Shrine
every October. K-1 usually hosts a televised tournament every 2 months or so. I will be creating
a website about traditional and modern martial
arts in a few months or so–any suggestions or
input would be greatly appreciated. M
For more information about martial arts in Japan, contact Gillen Motherway on
090-9456-0968 or gmotherway@s.vodafone.ne.jp
( The Mikan 9 )
May 2009
E
May 2009
TREME
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Tom Schaller
Second year ALT, Saijo
I’d never broken a bone in my body before I
came to Japan. I’d broken a bone in somebody
else’s body, but that’s another story. Whether
that was down to strong bones or a general aversion to bone-crunching activities, I’m not sure; I
would, however, tend to lean towards the latter
conclusion.
My unblemished record has now been wiped
out, and in the most pathetically listless and
humiliating circumstances possible. I would
love to say I damaged my skeleton while putting
my body on the line saving a cat from a tree or
dragging an entire family from a burning building. I’d even settle for a run-of-the-mill pratfall or
an innocuous sporting injury. Alas, despite my
propensity for tripping over my own feet and the
vigorous manner in which I approach a game
of table tennis, that was not to be. The culprit,
in this case, was the traditional Japanese art of
sadō, or tea ceremony. A bone in my right foot
was fractured and the whole bottom half of my
leg encased in plaster during the hot, sticky and
itchy Japanese summer as a result of this deceptively vicious and dangerous art form.
As this was my first, and I dare-say my last,
experience of being involved in the process from
start to finish, I was ill-prepared for its rigorous demands. I had been served tea during tea
ceremony before, but had never been involved in
the preparation and serving side of things. Even
in the act of receiving the tea there are various
protocols to be followed, and being an ignorant
( The Mikan 10 )
foreigner, I had almost entirely failed to observe
them. The thought of participating in the other,
more involved side of proceedings was somewhat daunting. When I was invited to join in with
the tea club at elementary school, however, I surmised that I would not find better circumstances
in which to take the plunge. Surely a group of 7
and 8 year-olds would be just as unfamiliar with
the necessary etiquette as I was.
Of course, that was not the case. The children
knew exactly what they were doing. From the
very start it was apparent that I was the amateur
here.
Matters were exacerbated with the arrival
of the tea ceremony teacher, resplendent in a
glorious kimono. Something about a Japanese
person in a delicate kimono, with the prim and
precise air that seems to go with it, puts me on
edge. I become entirely paranoid about doing
or saying something grossly coarse and boorish
and offending them deeply. Flicking cigarette ash
in their direction perhaps, despite not smoking,
or spilling over them the contents of an implausibly close at hand bottle of red wine. As such, I
become a bundle of beatific bows, hugely eager
to please.
Very much in this frame of mind, I removed
my shoes and sat down on the tatami flooring,
adopting the seated seiza position as the children were doing. This was to be the beginning of
my downfall. The seiza position involves kneeling down, with your body weight resting on your
feet and shins, and is notoriously uncomfortable
and painful for those not well practised in it. My
miserable legs screamed out in anguish almost
immediately, but my brain, in its desperate desire not to have me offend everyone present and
subsequently be expelled from Japan, overrode
their despair. Thankfully, after a while, my legs
began to settle down, numbness stole in, and I
was able to devote myself fully to the tea based
task at hand.
Much to my surprise, I actually found myself
enjoying the process. A couple of the older
students came over and showed me what to do
with my tea cloth, devolving into fits of giggles
at my initially pathetic attempts to recreate the
intricate folding pattern they demonstrated. I did
eventually master the cloth though, and so the
spoon for measuring out the tea was introduced
into proceedings. My skill with this instrument
was not quite as assured, but I acquitted myself
well enough. The actual tea making followed,
which involved a lot of vigorous, yet at the same
time nuanced, whisking, in order to produce a
frothy mixture. (There is an extremely vulgar joke
to be made with the elements of that sentence,
but I shall refrain from making it on the grounds
that there were children involved in this anecdote.) Getting the concoction to froth convincingly is a surprisingly difficult thing to do, and my
own output was rather lacklustre.
I served and was served tea, ate my little sugary tea biscuits, and as the business came to an
end, was beckoned to stand up by the authoritatively attired teacher. Suddenly aware once
more of just how little feeling was left in my legs,
I nevertheless hoped that if I could rise quickly
enough and manage to stand upright without
toppling, it would be enough to ensure I didn’t
look too silly.
I planted my left foot and raised myself precariously. It seemed to be going well enough.
Without looking down, I attempted to plant my
right. This foot, however, stubbornly refused to
yield to the electronic pulses my brain had sent
it, and hung down in a limp position. As the full
weight of my body came to rest on the side of my
right foot, I heard a sickening snap. I managed
to quickly shift my weight back onto my other
leg without falling over, and, in a panic induced
mostly by a desire not to commit a terrible cultural faux pas, attempted to plant the right foot
down again. The exact same scenario played
out, followed by the exact same snap. I raised
the leg once more and wobbled about on my still
intact foot, not keen to repeat the process for
a third time. The kimonoed teacher, eventually
noticing my predicament, skirted over and gently
propped me up, no doubt deeply resentful of
this lumbering gaijin she was forced to support.
Eventually, I was able to get both feet down on
the ground properly, and stood on the spot in
the middle of the room while waiting for numbness to leave my legs and be replaced with
the inevitable rush of excruciating pain. Just
about managing to hobble down the two flights
of stairs, I returned to the teacher’s room and
examined the damage. One side of the foot
was swollen and fast turning an angry shade of
purple. I stumbled into the nurse’s office and,
through a mixture of basic Japanese, furious
gesturing and bone-crunching sound effects,
managed to explain what had happened. She
had me put my leg up on the bench and procured the assistance of a nearby small child in
holding a bag of ice against the swelling. Small
children are good for such things. At one point
the kid yelled something to the nurse, who came
over and slapped at my delicate foot. As I looked
down I saw a smudge of bloody mosquito which
had been quite happily feasting on my flesh. The
results of this were to provide the most agonisingly itchy aspect of the whole ordeal over the
next few days.
I was taken to the nearby orthopaedic clinic by
one of the infinitely helpful and lovely teachers
at my school, who proceeded to take photos of
my consultation and cast fitting which she later
presented to me as part of a photo album she
had been compiling of my year at school. It’s a
wonderful reminder of a wretched summer.
My enclosed leg meant I missed out on trips to
the beach and to the river and on a planned ascent of Mt. Fuji. I did think about replacing those
activities with a spot of ikebana, the Japanese
art of flower arranging.
However, having learnt
the hard way about
the hidden perils of
something as seemingly harmless as tea
brewing, I decided
against it. I simply
could not discount the
very real possibility
that I would fall afoul
of a rogue petunia or
savage lily. M
( The Mikan 11 )
May 2009
Christopher Reed
3rd year CIR, Kihoku
Sometimes when I run I have an almost mindaltering experience, a dizzying high of intense
energy that blasts through my whole body. Where
moments ago I might have been gasping and
dragging my feet I suddenly feel like I could go
for miles. It’s incredible, and the only things I can
compare it to are a great day of skiing, or really
good sex. Unfortunately, like the other two, it
doesn’t happen nearly often enough. Runner’s
high. There is a common belief among runners that
you either get running or you don’t. That may be
true for many sports, but there is a special universality in running that is not inherent in most
activities. Anyone who is even remotely able-bodied runs at some point, and thus the vast majority of people can judge whether they enjoy it.
For most people, running is often a boring,
excruciating slog from start to finish, and it can
cause intense nausea and lasting pain. Much
like watching soccer, pro-wrestling, or Japanese
tea ceremony.
Runners do experience these same negative
effects, but what separates us from other people
is that for some bizarre reason we tend to enjoy
these sensations. The excruciating pain, boredom, and nausea, that is, not watching soccer or
wrestling.
My own running career has been lackluster,
and bereft of most forms of accomplishment.
I was on the cross-country team when I was in
high school, and the second-slowest boy on the
team. Like most activities in my life, I didn’t put a
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May 2009
great deal of effort into it, and was crushed when
I actually exerted myself on one of my last training runs, besting my previous time on that run by
several minutes. I’ve wondered every since how
well I could have done if I’d trained in earnest.
It’s a worry that continues to haunt me. On
February 8th I was forced out of the Ehime
Marathon, my first marathon experience. A strict
race, with 5 internal time checkpoints that must
be met in-race, and a total finishing deadline of
4 hours, it’s a fairly intense race for a first-timer.
I made it to the last checkpoint, at the 35 kilometer, or 21.7 mile mark, which I missed by 3
minutes. I do not regret being forced out; I was
sore for days afterward, and had a hard time on
a skiing trip the following weekend. What I regret
is having taken weeks at a time off from running in the months preceding the marathon. The
lack of training, combined with a nasty illness of
some kind, also negatively affected my preparation for the Tokyo marathon in March.
No matter who you are, running isn’t easy,
and if it is, most runners would agree you’re not
going fast, or far, enough. In winter it gets cold,
and although Ehime’s winter is mild at worst, it
gets hard to head into a cold evening with strong
winds, especially if it looks like rain. And I’d be lying if I said it was always enjoyable. When faced
with pulling myself away from a warm room and
a good book or movie to go run in freezing winds,
sometimes sanity, and the warm room, wins out.
This country does make for good motivation,
though.
Japan is a runner’s country. Lots of mountains,
nature, and a national aptitude for enduring,
even encouraging, intense suffering. Remember,
this is a country where you were once upon a
time expected to kill yourself by cutting open
your stomach without crying out or other displays of “weakness.” Where soldiers
were expected to blow themselves up with grenades
or charge tanks with
bamboo spears rather
than surrender. Compared to that a nice,
22-kilometer run in a
winter blizzard seems
positively benign.
Japan even has
famous, “marathon monks,”
of the Tendai sect of Buddhism. Based in the
Mt. Hiei region near Kyoto, for more than a
thousand years these monks have undergone
an extreme, 1,000 day trial. Over the course of
7 years a monk will run over 22,000 miles, and
at the most brutal part of the training will have
to run 52 miles a day for 100 days, which often
leaves them little time to rest or sleep. Monks
used to carry a knife and length of rope with
them as they ran from prayer station to prayer
station, and were expected to kill themselves if
they failed to, “go the distance.” This trial is so
intense since 1885 only 47 monks have completed the full 1,000 days. Upon completion they
are revered as “Living Buddhas,” and checked
into a mental institution.
For more local examples, every JET frequently
sees their students out running around at recess
or in training sessions. Most schools have several running events a year, and whether they like
it or not almost all students participate. Also, no
matter where you are chances are you’ve heard
of someone running an “ekiden,” or relay race.
Ekiden are extremely popular in Japan, and particularly from December to May there are many
throughout the country. I recommend entering
an ekiden; it’s a good opportunity to participate
in a communal event, and it forges camaraderie with local people. There are usually multiple
relay-section lengths ranging from 1.5 kilometers (.95 or so miles) to 10 kilometers (6.25
miles), so if you’re not a strong runner you can
take a shorter section. However, I advise against
entering if your ego can’t take being passed by
the considerably aged or the pubescent, as is
bound to happen unless you’re a very strong
runner. This is even more apparent in full-length
individual races. It’s a sobering feeling to see a
70+, 147 cm grandma pass you by. Especially
when she’s having a nice, relaxed chat with her
husband while you gasp, choke and swear your
way up a hill. This in fact happened to me when
I ran my first half-marathon in Matsuno-cho my
initial year on JET. Sadly that little old lady and
her husband were just two of many elderly Japanese to pass me by that day.
There are two significant detractions to running in Japanese races, though. First is cost.
Even a 5-kilometer race can charge a ¥5,000
fee, and it’s uphill from there. Most marathons
cost around ¥10,000, and for this princely sum
you get an information book and a t-shirt or
towel. If you travel to another prefecture you
might get some discount coupons for local
products or an onsen, but that’s about it. The
other downside is most races have registration
deadlines obscenely early. The application for
the Tokyo marathon is due in late September,
6 months before race date. Most other race
application deadlines are 2 months before the
race. This can be especially frustrating if you’re
not sure of your plans for the time period. Entry
fees are ALWAYS non-refundable, unless there’s
a typhoon or Godzilla attack on race day.
Personally, I think it’s worth the cost. It’s
good motivation to train, when you know you
have those kinds of funds on the line. Japanese
people are enthusiastic running viewers, and
there will usually be people lining the streets
for most of the race, cheering on the runners.
As a foreigner, you’ll probably get cheered even
if they’re not watching for you, and it’s a great
morale booster to have people shouting encouragement in their Japanese English as you pass
by. And training for a race is a great way to lose
weight, and get to know your town and neighborhood better. While training for a triathlon and
subsequent races I’ve gone all over places in
my town I would ordinarily have no reason to go.
I’ve found some great hidden sights, valleys and
river-roads, and seen some magnificent sunsets.
And I lost 13 pounds in 3 months of various
training. All this, and you just need is a good pair
of shoes and some easy-to-move in clothing. It
may not be fun starting out, but if you keep with
it, you’ll see the benefits.
Let’s running! M
Tendai monk information primarily from: http://www.usatoday.com/news/world/2003-09-19-marathon-monk_x.htm
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May 2009
May 2009
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Richard Witts
Fifth year ALT, Uwajima
What springs to mind when you think of the United Kingdom’s national dish? Soggy fish and chips?
Watery stew? Well think again! Many of us Brits consider our national dish to be none other than
Chicken Tikka Masala, a tomato-based chicken curry invented in the UK by an Indian curry house in
the 1960s. Claimed to be the most popular restaurant dish in Britain, it is enjoyed by British politicians, celebrities and even her Majesty the Queen herself! (maybe...) So what more reason do you
need—try out my recipe below and discover the reason for the huge popularity of this world-famous
curry for yourself.
Ingredients
For the marinade:
600g chicken
300g natural yoghurt (no flavour, ブルガリア
そのまま is good)
2–3 tbsp Sharwoods tandoori curry paste
(can be bought in A-one in Matsuyama)
1tbsp lemon juice
For the sauce:
2 tins Kagome chopped tomatoes with garlic
and onion
1 carton cream
2 onions (or other vegetables)
garam masala
chilli powder to taste
paprika
cumin
metal skewers
1. Cut the chicken into bite-sized pieces. Marinade in yogurt, curry paste and lemon juice for a few hours in the refrigerator, overnight if possible.
2. Thread the chicken onto the skewers and grill / bake on a low heat. Check and turn regularly to prevent burning.
3. Blend the tomatoes in a food processor until smooth. Chop the onions or other veg into bite-
sized pieces.
4. Fry the onions / other veg until slightly brown but still crunchy.
5. In a separate pot, heat the tomato sauce. Add spices to taste. Add the cream.
6. Add the chicken and onions. Stir and simmer for a few minutes.
Serve with warm naan bread and enjoy!
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( The Mikan 15 )
May 2009
May 2009
Easter at
Uwajima Orphanage
Mid-Year Seminar
Ehime FC Spirit
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Burn’s Night in Imabari
Halloween Fun
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