A Visit to the hairdresser

Having your hair cut is one of those things in life that combines pleasurable anticipation (of a nice head massage, hair play, having a professional image-maker fussing over you for an hour) with some intrepidation (will I get the look I want? i.e. any look which improves my current bedraggled appearance. Or will I walk out with a mistake?) The stakes are even higher if you can't verbally communicate what you want, not even a 'Stop cutting now!!'
Still, hair must be cut and I wasn't going to let my 3-year-old do it, even though she understands English.
So I paid a visit to 'Produce Beauty of Modern Art (why not go for broke?) at the end of my street. Close enough to the centre of commercial life in my part of town to go out of business if the cuts were that bad (so I figured) and within slingshot of a popular city unversity (with discerning, fashion-hip students as customers, it couldn't be too dire, could it??)
The only one cutting today was Matsui-san, and he looked like hair stylists everywhere (i.e. tousled, in black, funky glasses). Before he could sit me down in one of his revolving chairs, I scooted onto the sofa with a handful of hair magazines and proceeded to leaf through the first one, searching for short styles I like. I'd already decided the safest course of action would be to provide a visual guide before we got going.
Fortunately, I quickly found two or three that passed muster. The only tricky thing was, should I reintroduce the bang/fringe to my life?
It has been more than ten years since I said goodbye to my bang, but recently I seem to have seen it everywhere and my mind was made up when I saw YK's fashion model cousin over New Year with a very definite bang. And she looked very good.
I wanted to ask Matsui-san which of the three styles I had picked out, in his opinion, would suit me best. But this was well beyond my limited Japanese so I let him point to one he liked and nodded. Yes, that would do, I guess. Looked a little bit bowl-shaped, but I would remain open-minded. Experience has taught me that even with English-speaking hairdressers, a proposed style in a magazine can get irretrievably lost in translation.
So I settled down to my favourite part - the shampoo and wash. But this was the first time I had my eyes covered for me by a little piece of thin acrylic. Was this so I wouldn't feel obliged to study my hair stylist's nostrils or armpits (rarely on display in Japan, thank goodness)? Or so that Matsui-san didn't have to watch me watching him?
The normal course of conversation ('Is the water too hot?' 'Conditioner?) was bypassed. Matsui-san asked me something and I grunted in the affirmative (but I had no idea what he'd asked). I was surprised by a hot flannel under my neck and I heard Matsui-san walk away. Suddenly I was panicking. Had I agreed to a colour rinse or deep heat treatment by grunting? I cursed my laziness or cowardice for not seeking more clarity. I promised myself I would never let in happen again. And then he was back, doing a conditioning rinse and towel wrap and I was relieved.
Once in the chair, Matsui-san gallantly tried to establish the tried-and-true 'put the client at ease by talking to them' routine. And I did my best to follow. It's been a year since we came to Japan so I have progressed somewhat. I understood when he asked me how I spent New Year and I could give a short answer (Beppu. Onsen. Husband's family). And I understood he went back to Mie-ken, about two and a half hours by train (3-4 by car) on the 31st of December to see his parents. Then he switched topics and I was lost. He must have asked me what I did all day, because I shook my head and then he resorted to mime - sweeping. I caught 'uchi', and 'kirei'. Cleaning the house. I nodded. Yes, I did that. Sometimes. Desperate to demonstrate that I actually could do more than that, my Japanese clutched at random nouns. 'University. English teacher. From April.' I thought he'd got it. But then he asked if I would be teaching English to little children. I decided to close my eyes and enjoy the sensation of his scissors whisking through my hair.
I opened them again when I heard the sound of the drier. I wanted to glance on the floor and see how much hair lay strewn around. It didn't seem like I'd been sitting there fifteen minutes. Could he really have achieved the look I wanted in such a short space of time?
The shape was good but it looked too sculptural, too flat. 'Flat,' he repeated. I mimed my hair standing on end. 'Yes, I want more volume.' I hoped 'volume' was part of international hairdressing lingo, but his expression neither confirmed nor denied.
Then he nodded and started snipping with razor scissors. I wanted to scream, 'Are you sure?' but I didn't. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I'd wake up when it was all over. Around me I could hear tufts of hair swishing to the ground. Or was it my imagination?
The hair drier brought me to my senses again. He was combing through my hair with the drier and it looked like I was being swept by a Force 10 gale. There was volume there all right.
But I'm not a spring chicken. I know enough to know that what looks great in the hair salon can look sad ten minutes later when I happen to catch sight of myself in a department store mirror. I let him have his fun and when the drier flicks off I shake my head slightly and watch my locks fall into their characteristic position.
'There's the bang here. I'm not sure that looks good. Maybe you could ... ?' He nods and snips a bit. I pray that I'm not going to be left with an annoying bang which pokes at corner of my eye. He keeps snipping. Round the back, the sides. This is starting to look better, I think. But I've lost a lot of hair.
It looks okay. I'm satisfied enough to pay him without feeling I've been stiffed.
And it's only the equivalent of 28 dollars (the cheapest cut and blow dry I've had in a long time and in Japan you don't tip). We say our goodbyes after he stamps my newly-minted loyalty card. He even comes outside the door to see me off and I feel like I have to turn back at least once, to be polite. But it's cold, so I hope he goes back inside. When I turn back again, he's gone.
I go and collect chibbi-chan from kindergarten with my hat on. After all, it's a cold day and I've lost a lot of hair. But later, after we've spent the afternoon together and been in the pool and had dinner, she still hasn't commented on my new cut.
I can relax. It can't be that awful or she'd have said something, surely.

First year in Japan retrospective

'Congratulations! You just made the last school bento of the second term!' my husband announced. That means I also won't be making him any bento, while chibbi-chan is off school for Christmas break. I don't think he minds too much. He's been getting a lot of sandwiches recently.

As the year draws to a close, I feel like offering myself another pat on the back. 'Yippee! We survived our first year in Japan!' It's been harder work than when we were in California last year and not just because I don't speak the language well. For one thing, I miss the roasted Cosco chicken I used to pick up - and the bagged salad with cherries and blue cheese, and the rosemary bread. I could put together a meal in minutes.

I had a robot which cleaned the floors. Now, it's me, every other day. We never hung washing before - it went into a huge gas dryer and was bone dry in no time. The dryer here, for an average load of washing, takes three to four hours, so it's more energy efficient but time-eating to hang up the washing outside on the balcony.

I've done my share of shataku cleaning too - on the first Tuesday of the month, I joined the other stay-at-home wives cleaning the yard outside, weeding, picking up litter and moving recyclable papers ready to be picked up by the garbage collectors. I'm on nodding terms with most of them, talking terms with a handful.

Chibbi-chan has settled in at yochien. We've done Sports Day, Field Trips, the Christmas Nativity Service, the fund-raising bazaar, We've had friends over for playdates and been back to their houses (a few). We've had people over for dinner - colleagues of YK's and friends of mine in the shataku. I've run an English course for kids and have another one lined up.

But I still feel isolated and redundant. I'm thinking of joining a networking group - the Association of Foreign Wives in Japan, which has about 40 members locally in Nagoya. I met up with some members for dinner recently at a French restaurant. Many are older, most have kids. Quite a few are teaching at universities. A surprising number have been here twenty-five years or more. I admitted quite readily, I was not going to be joing their ranks. Two or three years is the most I can see myself doing here. I wasn't very flattering about the place they've chosen to call home. One woman told me it will get better, that the first year is always hard.
I'm sure she's right.

Back in the classroom

Well, I've achieved one of the goals I set out to do this autumn.
It was with some intrepidation that I took on a 'Very Young Learners' English class, advertising to the mums I know at yochien (I didn't know how blatant I should be, recruiting via another educational establishment, so I quietly e-mailed the mums in chibbi-chan's class and gave hand-outs about the class to other mums I know). Didn't know if I'd have any takers - I made it clear that I had zero experience of teaching this age group before - but I've ended up with 7 kids - mostly 3-4 yr olds with a 5 yr old and 9-yr old thrown in to make things interesting. Chibbi-chan comes with me.
I found a suitable room at a local community centre (there's no way our apartment could host that many kids without someone ending up crying) and we're now in Week 7 of an 8-week course. No-one's dropped out and I'm still sane. Not that preparing for and teaching a one-hour class per week is so very difficult, but teaching young kids has certainly had its moments.
Like the time I asked kids to work in pairs. Or the time I asked them to draw what they'd seen on the tray (now covered up).
But I was pleasantly surprised by the undivided attention they are able to give a story, despite the fact that it's all in English. Doubtless, because of the transcending power of great illustrations.
Games, of course, they love, and I've been revisiting all the oldies but goodies I enjoyed as a child - musical bumps, musical statues, pin the tail on the donkey, skittles.
I hadn't expected they'd move so fast through the activities, but I'm coming round to the idea that they need plenty of repetition, so it doesn't all have to be new for the whole lesson period. Rather than recycling the following week, I've learnt that we can recycle in the lesson itself.
And it's nice to have fun in the English class - something which I've realized has been missing from my teaching for quite a while. Teaching for exams and teaching students who don't want to be in class can sap the energy of even the most enthusiastic teacher over time.
Of course, I'd love to observe a professional pre-school English teacher in the classroom. That way I could avoid some of the pitfalls of what doesn't work. Then again, with 3-yr-olds, you find out soon enough.
At the end of each class, I always ask chibbi-chan the same question.
'Do you think the kids enjoyed English class today?'
Her reply is always the same.
'No,' she says, witheringly.
Nevertheless, within a day or two she's asking me 'When is it English class?'

Mon Amour Sweet Potato Pie

I have fallen in love with a little, boat-shaped, sweet potato pie. It bore me away on a yellow tide of silky smooth sweetness tinged with vanilla and cinnamon, as comforting as childhood food, but not one which I ever had the luxury of enjoying.
I don't usually fall for Asian desserts - can easily resist Chinese sweet black sesame dumplings, Hong Kong egg tarts, Thai confections with coconut milk and sweetcorn and Taiwanese fruit and sago jelly drinks. But I'm hooked.
I had my first bite of bliss unexpectedly (as most love affairs start) at a ramen bar next to our local zoo. Tuesday was Ladies' Day and it so happened that we were to be given a free dessert, which arrived on a small white plate - a pale honey-colored glob, the size and shape of nigiri sushi, tinged with brown at the edges and golden brown on top. Not easily identifiable by appearance, it seemed neither cake, cookie nor pie. But it didn't matter. It was good.
Since then I've hunted high and low for sweet potato pie. There are a few places in the city that sell them, but each is slightly different. I'm not a fan of the ones that have been fiddled with - piped into rosettes or tossed with sesame seeds and honey. I bought one in a subway mall that had been returned to the potato skin from whence it came and that was delicious, if expensive.
Usually if I eat enough of something I like, I go off it. But there was no stopping this addiction. My thirst for sweet potato pies still unquenched I sought the advice of the cooking guru upstairs, who kindly gave me a recipe to try out. I've done two batches so far, perfecting my recipe just the way I like it. Now the rest of the family are addicted.
Try it yourself and you'll know what I mean. Steam two medium-sized sweet potatoes until very soft. Peel off the skins and add to the potato 70 g of butter, most of one egg yolk, a good shake of cinnamon, a few drops of vanilla essence, two tablespoons of sugar and one tablespoon of something sweet like honey (I use Blue Agave) and puree. It won't be as smooth as mashed potato, but beat if for a few minutes. Then take a tablespoon size amount and shape it into a rowing boat shape with your hands. This amount makes about 10-12 boats. Brush the tops with the remaining egg yolk and bake in the oven for 20 mins at 200 degrees centigrade. Leave to cool. Scoff.

PS A word of warning: Being overindulgent can lead to regret. This is potato you're eating after all, so unless you want to feel extremely full, limit yourself to two. Per hour.

Being away has got me thinking

We're back from a long vacation visiting family in the UK, back into searing heat of 36 degrees and soaring humidity which has got me thinking about whether I want to stay here and all the reasons we are living here in Japan right now. At the same time I feel more energized about doing more with my time here - rekindling my enjoyment of French at the local Alliance Francaise and running an English class for 3-5 yr-olds are on the agenda for the coming month.
I'm no longer going to be a slave to my cleaning, cooking and bento prep. I'm going to make some money (hopefully) and feel good about being able to speak a foreign language (finally).
Friends say, what about your Japanese? Why aren't you learning that in Japan?
It's not that I don't want to learn Japanese, it's just that living here it's easy enough to find situations in which to practise - asking for things at the supermarket, asking for directions etc. which is all good, practical stuff and which is all I need. Maybe lurking beneath is the comforting assumption that I'm not going to be here that long, so why bother?

So what's changed in the last six weeks? Well, obviously seeing chibbi-chan delighting in playing with her cousins (a little boy her own age and twin babies of 8 months) and grandparents, as well as bonding again with my own siblings and an awareness of my parents' seventieth looming in the not-too-distant future. They want me to come back, never really accepted the idea I'd gone for good, won't believe that a poky apartment, fastidious society, dutiful wife and housekeeper are me.
As if to reinforce the anomaly of living away from both families as we do, this weekend at yochien is Grandparents' Day. Children are invited to bring along grandparents and celebrate their near and dear ones in a public forum. Only none of chibbi-chan's grandparents live here -YK's are working over in Beijing; mine are semi-retired in Gloucestershire. I'm wondering if attendance is mandatory or if we can gracefully bow out. No other mum in my class is in this quandary, so far as I know.
I always envied women I met in LA after I had chibbi-chan, who volunteered that their mom watches Dillon twice a week, or even grandmoms who dropped off, picked up and otherwise watched the entire brood of grandkids every day while their daughters were out teaching (and who lived only two doors down). These were Japanese Americans, the grandmoms, most of whom I met at Mommy and Me classes.

Am I looking at things through rose-tinted glasses? I'm not naive enough to think that if I was living back in the UK my mum would look after chibbi-chan for me whenever I felt like a break (in fact, I know she wouldn't - she is firmly of the school of thought which says if you have kids you should be prepared to look after them yourself). And I know other friends in the UK, plenty of them, whose parents and parents-in-law who have offered money towards childcare, rather than ponying up the time and responsibility themselves.
My sister says I should count myself lucky I don't have to work while I'm caring for chibbi-chan. It's not the norm, these days in the UK. But it is here, at least where we're living in Nagoya. At a mums' lunch I attended in April, just after the kids began yochien, 21 out of 22 mums were able to make it (meaning most of them weren't holding full-time jobs). So maybe I should be glad we are living here and able to rent a heavily-subsidized apartment in a good area of town for very little, thanks to the company.

If we were back in the UK now, would we be able to afford for me not to work full-time? Would I want that and to sacrifice the time I currently have to spend with chibbi-chan (and the guilt I'd feel)? If only life was that simple ...

Yochien: The first two months

Now that we're into our routine of yochien (pre-school) every day (Mon-Fri, 9-2 except Weds, 9-11.30) I can honestly say that it's going okay. That is to say, chibbi-chan is no longer complaining every morning that she doesn't want to go. Nor is she saying 'Yippee! Yochien!'
The first week was a very gentle introduction of a few hours a day. And each morning when I collected her, chibbi-chan would present me with a little folded paper gift - a man with a pointed hat, a flower, a house. She didn't cry when I left, but she was clingy and so we had our little ritual. I would hang around for ten minutes, putting her indoor shoes on, fixing her name tag on the front of her shirt, hanging up her water bottle, giving lots of cuddles, and then she would take her Thomas Tank Engine bag and hang it up in her cubby. That was my cue to leave. And Mari sensei, the young teacher in daunting, black-rimmed glasses, jeans and a smock who is in charge of 'kotori' (little bird) class would nod goodbye and give me a reassuring wave.

On the Friday of the second week, chibbi-chan turned to face me at the classroom door and announced she didn't want to go today. What she said in fact was 'I'm not going to yochien today. It's boring. Come on, let's go home. I want to stay home with you.' Music to a mother's ears of course, but not really what I wanted to hear. Then she started to cry and I figured she'd been so good up to this point that I could compromise/cave in and so we went home.
Which was undoubtedly the wrong thing to do, because come Monday she thought she would pull the same stunt, in spite of the fact that I'd warned her several times over the weekend that I expected her to go to yochien on Monday at the start of the week and that she had to give herself time to get used to it.
When she saw I was adamant, she gave it full throttle and when Mari-sensei took her off me, she kicked and hit with a fury. It was a horrible moment, walking away from her but I tried to remind myself that she would enjoy it when she got used to it, that she would have an environment in which to pick up the language faster and she would love the company of children her own age which would suit her sociable and outgoing nature.
Still, as soon as I got home I called the only English speaker in the school office and asked Ayako-san to go and take a sneak peak at kotori class. She reported back that chibbi-chan was fine and engrossed in reading a book. And when I collected her a few hours later it was like nothing had happened. She greeted me with smiles and exciting news (Kaito-kun had done a poo in his diaper and it had shot down his leg).

After that things were better. She told me sometimes she had a little cry after I left but then she was okay. And I didn't hang around, worried that a long parting would stimulate the wrong emotions. But I made sure to bring a nice snack for her when I came back. I had no worries that she would be well looked after and cared for - the staff (class teachers, helpers, sports teachers) seem unfailing polite, friendly, affectionate and patient with the children.
A month later and we were into 'bento', which added interest to her day. She still commented that it was boring or she was scared of the teacher and that she didn't want to go, but she went without much fuss. And then she started to make 'tomodachi' (friends) and was learning the names of the naughtiest boys in class and now (six weeks from the start) she no longer says she doesn't want to go.
I ask her about her day - what songs they sang, did she eat all her bento, what insects she collected in the yard (woodlice, lady bugs and butterflies are favourites and Mari sensei sensibly keeps a stack of old plastic jars and small milk cartons for the children to use as bug catchers). She tells me gleefully who kicked the teacher, who hit who, that she started eating before Mari-sensei said 'Itadakimasu.'

Each morning from the car park 50 metres away, to the school entrance gate, we are greeted by cheerful 'Ohayo gozaimasu!' roughly fifteen times, from mums and kids. In the yard, children are milling around making 'dango' from sand with helpers, playing at the outdoor sink, examining the tomatoes growing, or swinging on the climbing frame.
And we see little Aki-kun from next-door 'usagi' (rabbit) class still crying each morning because he doesn't want mummy to go and chibbi-chan asks 'why?'

Road trip to Beppu

We decided to put Tristy's Will Cypha to the test with an almost 2,000 km island-hopping road trip over Golden Week. We started out from Nagoya, then headed south to Shikoku, stopping to let chibbi-chan run off her car cabin-fever at the Naruto whirlpools. The Onaruto Bridge which spans the whirlpools was celebrating its 25th anniversary and as we walked out to view the eddies through the glass-bottomed floor, the staff pressed a commemorative postcard and balloon flower into our hands. Although we'd come at the wrong time of day to see the eddies at their peak (up to 20 metres across), the white whirls were clearly visible and boats with sightseers were riding precariously along the fringes.
Overnighting at Tokushima, we drove west down the freeway then along the glorious coast to the port of Yawatahama, where we boarded the three-hour early evening ferry to Beppu. Beppu is a holiday destination famed for its profusion of restorative onsen and many jigoku ('hells') - bubbling lakes, some colourful, of mineral water in picturesque settings where you can test your endurance in the steaming public footbaths. We were here to visit family, but we also found plenty to keep our toddler amused for a week. She spent happy hours on the rocky beach at low-tide, checking out what the clam-diggers had turned up - an amazing variety of worms, fish, jellyfish, mini-star fish, whelks and of course, the ubiquitous hermit crab. Another favourite was the Aquarium and, directly opposite, what we dubbed 'Monkey Mountain', home to hundreds of Japanese macaques that come down from the mountains to be fed at intervals on wheat and sweet potato. It was all we could do to stop her prizing a baby macaque off his mother's lap (but that raw-looking, red-faced stare put us on our guard).
At the 'Sea Egg Aquarium', chibbi-chan got to toss beach balls to the resident dolphins, feed the fish and coddle the sea cucumbers to her heart's content (poor things). The building is reasonably new and well-designed, giving visitors the chance to browse the sea creatures from different angles and really feel immersed. The Wonder Zone cleverly illuminates the jellies, sardines and cuttlefish to make the most of their shimmering and transparent bodies. And I think it's the only Aquarium I've ever been to where I've seen a diver, after a demonstration, actually cleaning the window of the tank (a woman, naturally, with a wire pot-scrubber).
We were also treated to a day to ourselves - while oji-chan and obaa-san took granddaughter out, we headed over the mountain to Koishiwara, a famous pottery-making enclave about two hours' drive from Beppu. In a beautiful, lush, winding mountain valley, 62 potters make their hand-crafted wares. Many have been around for a few hundred years and have supplied the Emperor's dining room. Prices range from the sublime (a few dollars), to the ridiculous, but I came back with some pretty coffee cups, rice bowls and serving dishes for the same price I'd pay in IKEA and a lot more interesting.
We'd just made our last stop, admiring yellow and black dinner plates, when we were dragged into a workshop behind the store by a jovial, beret-wearing, bearded man in his fifties who insisted we joined the celebratory party (sake playing a large part, given the drunken state of most of those round the table). That's how we got to try 'devil's fingers' from Kumamoto, a quaint name for a barnacle-type creature which looks like a glossy pink fingernail when pulled from its shell and tastes sweet and salty. Our new acquaintance was not the potter, but the proprietor of an izakaya, who had a fondness for slapping women's behinds (my own included). The potter was already drunk.
It was a memorable end to our Beppu stay, but we had to head back and were already looking forward to our pit-stop - the Peace Park at Hiroshima.
Nothing quite prepares you for something like this, especially if you know next to nothing about the place, like I did. YK knew the lodestar in the Peace Park was the Dome, so we headed there first. It's the hollowed-out shell of a building which survived the bomb by being right underneath the explosion - an eerie, stage-set of bricks and twisted metal, its Dome looking more like a crown of thorns than anything. Nearby are peace-themed sculptures and garlands of paper cranes, fashioned from colourful paper by school children. One monument is inscribed with the names of hundreds of schools who had students present in Hiroshima when the atomic bomb exploded on the 8th of August at 8.15 a.m.
It was only May, but it was already hot and steamy, so we sat down at a riviera-style cafe on the banks of the river which flows through the park and ordered coffee and ice-cream. Locals and foreigners were sipping their lattes with cake. Nearby, YK told me, a plaque mentioned that this very spot had been a post office where over two hundred people had died that day. By now, I was eager for more information, so we headed over to the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Musuem, where for 50c, you can learn in detail what happened.
Predictably, perhaps, chibbi-chan was uninterested in the black and white plans and photographs of the city. She was drawn to the charred lunch box, the torn uniform displayed on a skeleton, the diorama of wax figures with dripping skin and the video of the bomb blast. The tone inside the museum was reverently hushed, and I was praying no-one could quite grasp what she was repeating over and over in a loud voice: 'I want to see the burned arms.' When you have a three-year old in a place like that, it's an exercise in judicious encouragement of interest and knowledge, tempered with a wariness towards anything which might provoke fear and nightmares (we have enough trouble with 'monsters' as it is). I grabbed her by the hand and we set off in search of something suitable. We found the Video Corner, and sat down to watch a ten-minute animation which showed what happened. As we watched the faces melt into brown rubber and peel away, I think she grasped that the people had been burned, but she wanted reassurance that the 'little boy' who sends his paper plane out over the street, survived (hope for the future and resurgence was my interpretation of the ending, so I was happy to give it).
We came away feeling that it was a stop we were glad we'd made, as we headed on to Kurashiki for the night and our first family-style o-furo.
The next day we met up with friends for lunch at the Uji Botanical Gardens, near Kyoto and then it was home, sweet home.