| Kori Czuy Blog |
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Kori Czuy was hired by the Town of Higashikawa to travel there and teach English to students for one year. The Town of Higashikawa wanted to hire someone from Canmore to teach English and to participate in a cultural exchange with our sister city. During her year in Higashikawa, Kori journalled about her experiences. The following are her Journal entries. Journal #8 The Higashikawa Snow Festival beckoned me like a ship to a lighthouse, with its harmonious linear candles encased in houses of ice lining the streets. The contradiction of fire and ice distracted me from my path, and lead me towards the festivities. I felt like a future victim of a deep sea angler fish; the candles acting as the overwhelmingly gorgeous bioluminescent bait, luring in unsuspecting fish, or in this case, a culture hungry foreigner. I was immediately mesmerized before being engulfed by hoards of Japanese Tradition. My senses were confused and twisted with rhythms of West and East battling through icy crystal encrusted sound waves. Alanis Morissette had her dukes up against the meditative, overlapping tones of century old Asian chords. A ski-doo zipped by towing children on the Banana boat stolen straight out of Jaws; unmistakably labeled “to be used only on water” branded on its side. Children were bundled so tightly it reminded me of Ralphie’s brother in A Christmas Story; with layer upon wintery layer being held together by Velcro, zippers and a double knotted scarf. Animated children with their arms at permanent right angles scurried along, attempting to devour fluorescent snow cones, and rice balls. An army of plows, backhoes and miniature diggers collaborated to sculpt a children’s sliding hill, finished with pristinely shaved sides to match that of a slab of authentic Italian marble. But, what’s better than sliding down snow? Sliding down ICE, of course! A pocket-sized fluorescent bobsled-like track snaked down the elegant structure. Bursting with intrigue, I ran up the snow stairs like a chubby child to a decorative gingerbread house, and hurled myself down. My momentum combined with my adult weight propelled me to G-force speeds through the twists and bends. Then, like a penguin springing from its watery playground to the iceberg above, the slide spit me out into a crowd of my co-workers. Ok, exaggeration never hurt anyone, although I did get a few feet of air at the bottom! I stood for a moment to snap a mental picture. Around me were trees strategically lit to match every colour of the lucky charms rainbow, giant life-size cartoon characters carved cleanly in snow, sparkly intricate ice sculptures glistening in the moonlight, and lively tunes floating in the air. Like those cartoons with a human frolicking in a cartoon world; I felt like the misplaced hominoid in a dream-like fantasy festival of ice. Maybe Dick Van Dyke will jump out from behind a snowy corner with a group of animated penguins, and start wattle dancing with his pants snug around his knees! **With my camera hibernating from the cold, I credit the following pictures to Mr. Hasegawa Naoki, the ever loyal newspaper reporter in Higashikawa.**
Journal #7 For many weeks this virus was confined to the quiet of the mountains, taunting the onlookers daily while burying its mass beneath the clouds. It sent out messengers to forewarn its coming in the form of furry flying miniature beasts. But, no one could escape… The time has arrived, the plague has spread. Many people hibernate in their homes, huddled by their heaters, and sip their ciders and hot cocoa while trying to forget about that white elephant that is in the room. The brave venture out with planks equipped with sharp blades to carve and jump on this phenomena. The wounds are only temporary and is quickly cured as the virus grows larger, and stronger. This illness affects both adults and children, and quickly affects them mentally; they tend to develop instinctual urges to venture into the epidemic, gather its 8-legged army of amoebas and build humanoid structures, weapons and creatures from beyond the dead. The snow is here!
Journal #6 Here is my take on the quirky wonderfulness of Japan. Yuki Mushi (snow bugs) Hokkaido has found a way to predict the coveted first snowfall; the snow bug. These adorable bugs are small enough to be mistaken for a drunken piece of lint spinning out of control towards your face. When examined closely they are conveniently wrapped in fluffy while fur, so adorable! As the legend goes, the snow will fall ten days to two weeks from the first day you spot them. And this is precisely when those first flakes fell this year! Synchronized stretching In reminiscent of a communist era/military ops, the precision and seriousness of the pre-exercise stretch is routine and set by clockwork; to be done at any age or projected minor increase in heartbeat. Mini-Volleyball (for all genders and ages…volleyball with a giant beach ball) No skill required; concussions only available from the floor or an opponents’ foot, and attempting to spike this giant beach ball to induce a bleeding nose from the opponent is all so attempting, but also impossible. One gust from an open door or interior ventilation spins these ultra light balls into wobble mania! Warning, this is a serious game, no laughing or giggling is permitted. Sample Cigarettes Are you itching to venture into the lost world of nicotine, and just don’t know which of the many deadly brands to choose? Well, just go to the local Mom and Pop convenience store, and sample a few! There’s an open pack labeled “sample” right by the register inviting you to join the non exclusive tobacco club of the world! No ID required. Men sweeping in suits Before work starts, you will see many men in their pristinely pressed suits meticulously cleaning the sidewalks in front of their office or store. No sweeping stuff onto the street or under the carpet so to say, but its necessary to bring a bag to collect the rubbish. I would like to clarify here that by rubbish I mean rocks, leaves and dirt, not garbage. No littering, spitting or throwing your ciggy here; put it in your pocket or swallow. See next statement No garbage bins I haven’t quite figured this out yet, but the complete lack of garbage bins on the streets is astoundingly confusing for me. Where does all the garbage go? Pockets, jacket liners, the black holes often found in purses, shoes….? I even have a little garbage bag in my closet for when I inevitably empty out my trash filled pockets at night. Without this basic service (that we rely upon in N.America), there isn’t a spot of garbage lost on the streets. Amazing. No connecting roads Let us all picture this everyday scenario together. You are halted at a light, either you didn’t have adequate courage to run that yellow, or your mother is in the passenger’s seat. Usually, there are few things to think about as you rev your engine, in a testosterone induced moment of furry to race that ‘the frame should revolt from rust and escape’ hatchback from the mid 80’s next to you; are there any sneaky cops around, or when is that light going to change? Here in Japan, there is an additional worry in this situation, does the traffic line match up? And the answer is usually no. Yuppers, going through a lot of intersections here involve eminent swerving in the line-free chaos of the intersection, while searching in a 4-cylandered combustible motor vehicle for a damn yellow line on the other side; the modern version of the chicken crossing the road. Death trap cars If you are in the market for a below the market, horizontal tin can on Lego wheels, would not be legal in any other country, vehicle?? Do we have the deal for you? Here is the cheapest form of transportation unit that can barely reach 80km/hr (which is all you need here). This death trap has the additional luxury of a fluorescent yellow license plate stating to everyone around you that your car will virtually disintegrate upon contact. 70km/h highways See statement above. Yellow Children’s “helmets” CSA approved WHAT? Reminiscent in both colour and material to a Sunny D bottle, these completely unsafe plastic hats are mandatory for school kids. Maybe it’s like the reflectors on bikes; to prevent an accident instead of saving you when it happens. Guess it’s just very optimistic! The whiter the better. In N. America, everyone strives for that nice healthy bronzing glow. In Asia, it’s the opposite; with geishas as the style icon with their snow white skin. Every cream and lotion seems to involve a whitening ingredient, and make-up is always bought a shade or two lighter than their original skin colour. (It’s probably a lot healthier than a tanning bed!) Although somewhat strange at first, I started comparing this to our teeth whitening obsession. The plethora of products promising to enhance those pearly whites, greatly outnumbers those that don’t, its clear we have a similar obsession in North America .Barley pillows Barley should be eaten, not slept on. Put aside the copious doctorial statements and testimonies, and those miraculous healed neck problems…good for you, but I can’t do it! Luckily, I found a western cotton rectangular pillow…but only small square pillow cases. It’s like the Eastern version of the hot dog and bun dilemma!! Plastic Bead Pillows You know those beads you stuck on your braids in the early 90s, or to prevent the fro in hot climates?? Now raid your bead drawer, and stuff them all into a pillow. It wouldn’t be so bad, if they weren’t so noisy, small or filled with more than 20 of them. Needless to say, I couldn’t turn left the next day. Sweat Drinks Nope, spell check didn’t just screw me over here, this is real. After a long run amongst the dragonflies, snakes and hawks, I’m always in the mood for a great sweat drink! Guess it’s a great “to the point” marketing tool, not so appetizing for the English speaking population. It’s not salty as you may think. The $2 apple The size of my head, sweet as candy; priceless. The $2 stalk of celery I can’t justify this one. Plethora of cake The number of cake shops in Japan can rival Starbucks and McDonalds in North America. With flavors as diverse as green tea, white chocolate tea, butterscotch salt, strawberry cream, vanilla and hazelnut butter, you can’t go wrong with a random choice when you can’t read the kanji!! Japanese toilets When first encountered, these feats of modern technology are both intimidating and outright terrifying. With the number of buttons rivaling that of an aircraft carrier in another language, it’s no wonder these can cause minor panic attacks. Where is the flush button? Is something spraying down south? Is that a fake flushing sound? OK, learn the flush kanji, the spray can be cooling after some nice spicy cuisine, but I still don’t quite comprehend the obviously fake flushing sound. Guess it would come in useful in order to side-step the post-spicy food embarrassment…. By FAR the best part about these toilets is the warming seat. Much better than the puke green shag carpets grandmothers decorate their toilet with back home. Meters of POW POW No explanation necessary. Great global positioning for the regular annual phenomenon of 13m in a season! Jealous yet? Kneeling Many years of training are needed for this endurance of strength and discipline without the dreaded aftermath of pins, needles and the uncontrollable mini-volleyball wobble knee. Multifunction microwaves Welcome to the state of the art Japanese microwave! “Mr.ShamWow-San dude, this look like an everyday microwave!” “Oh my child, how wrong you would be. This is the new and improved transformers microwave!! It re-heats food, it broils, it bakes, it toasts, it even irons your clothes when you are distracted by the snow. Hell, it even disciplines your children for you.” Only $599.95, guarantee not included. Batteries, power cord, specialized dishware required for use, door or power button are sold separately for an incredibly unreasonable price. We are not responsible for death or any injuries sustained during the use of this product. Loft The most amazing Japanese IKEA with crazy yet logical inventions. Mop slippers, rice ball holders, shower seats, multi functioning knives, rows upon rows of designer chop sticks, comb-over wigs, fake cigarettes, gorgeous pillows; it’s the prefect melding of quirky and elegant! My veggie shelf Like the hunt for the gold at the end of a rainbow, these veggie shelves may not be as rare, but are oh so rewarding. Bags of freshly picked veggies live harmoniously with a lock box, and the hopes of finding a loving home. Cheap, fresh veg, based on the honour system, what more can you ask for? 100Y store There are no words… brings a tear to my eye…. We’ve only been away from each other for a few hours, and I already miss you… Unlike the dollar stores in N. America, the 100Y store is actually 100Y! Savory Ice cream Curry, black bean, celery oh my! Orchids in Supermarkets Next to the rice crackers, chocolate marshmallows and green tea candy is the fake plant section of the store….or as what I thought for many months until to my astonishment, these plants were real; stunning multi stemmed orchids, and various other impeccable plants. Unattended running cars Yes, the environmental repercussions are staggering, but the level of security and safely are ever so re-assuring! Sticky children I’m almost certain my kindergarten children smuggle jam packets into their pockets before my class. This is probably just a personal experience…. Journal #5 The cacophonic sounds of my alarm clock were bliss compared to the taiko drummer pounding a never-ending crescendo in my head and shoulders. Upon opening my eyes I expected to see a half-naked sumo wrestler balancing awkwardly on my splintering headboard; rhythmically drumming with a Flavor-Flav alarm clock around this head. But no, it was my already elusive imagination playing tricks on me while drowning in a river of sake (Japanese Rice Wine) which seemed to have flooded my reality only a few hours ago.Needless to say, my agony resonated like a bellowing bass from the adventures of the Mikoshi festivities in Higashikawa Japan last night.
Warning: Educational information below...
Japanese History 101: A Mikoshi is a portable Shinto Shrine.
This miniature mansion-like shrine is elaborately decorated with gold and solid bronze. The geometric shapes of shiny wealth and oversized chunky bronze bells harmoniously mingle with the delicate almost life-like phoenix guarding the structure. Several solid wooden chunky planks separate the real world from the divine house, as well as act as a minor torture device for the Mikoshi carriers.
There are about 30 carriers, hoisting and bouncing this solid structure on their shoulders, on a mission back to the sacred Shrine. But, there is no mission without some obstacles. In this case, the demon-acting townsman, whose job is to make the Mikoshi carriers journey as difficult as possible, push the shrine backwards, sideways and rock it back and forth; all to signify the struggle towards peace.
Let’s start this journey from the beginning. Upon arriving at the community centre, I found myself hidden behind some traditional Japanese thin paper walls, stripped nearly naked and fitted with a ‘Happi’; the traditional kimono short coat. I immediately got into a disagreement with the dangerously tapered pants, Mr. Hammer would be proud. Strings, ropes, a twist here, a turn there, a couple folds, and a tie or two…and I was in. It was a good thing the jacket was long, as I perpetually felt a light breeze down south. If nature called within the next few hours, a puzzle of pants would erupt! The get-up was heavy, but comfortable, although the shoes took some getting used to. I felt like a turtle who lost his traction in the great turtle war of 1979, then got donated some prosthetic traction by the turtle-amps. Yes, mini booties with two toes and just enough grip to keep me upright. After being professionally tied, hoisted, bound, bandana-ed, and adorned with my Omamori (protective wooden necklace), and badass hachimaki (headband), it was time to roll! We walked to the end of Main Street, opposite the Shrine, to find a miniature festival in progress on the side of the street. Demons and devils danced alongside a sinister dragon, eventually bringing it to its demise. The graceful miko dancers in virgin white robes danced soothingly yet rhythmically, all in tune with their shiny silver fans. Meanwhile, traditional Japanese music set the scene, with its exotic pentatonic scale confusing my tonal brain with excitement and intrigue.
Distracted by shiny objects like a thief at an upscale alcohol-induced dinner party, I saw the beast. At first glance, this eye catching sparkly beauty is elegant, enticing and obviously unfamiliar. The Mikoshi, The phoenix watched from its perch, anticipating the cycle of this festival, like the cycle of its life. The initial beauty of both bird and shrine hypnotize all who happen to get entangled within their power. This hypnotic power quickly turns into agony; as the magical bird transforms into a fiery chaos, and the shrine challenges its loyal carriers. Through this suffering comes bliss and accomplishment, as the lifecycle and rebirth of a mystical bird, and an over-accessorized shrine arrive at its sacred home.
In seconds I found myself positioned under the gigantic mass of Mikoshi tradition. I felt like a lanky pre-teenager at his first school dance; stumbling on every inch of my neighbor’s two-toed feet. “Wasshoi wasshoi”. As I tried to get my bearings, wishing I had some military background, or at least some coordination, I distracted myself by asking my neighbor the background of the chant. Apparently “wasshoi wasshoi” originated from some ancient Middle Eastern language in relationship with the Arc of the Covenant, and its journey to its final resting place.
With the outside appearance of a segregated uni-cultural country, Japan has some religious surprises. My mind wondered to an earlier conversation about religion in Japan. It was described as a harmonious melding of Christianity, Buddhism and Shinto. You celebrate a new birth in a Shinto Shrine, get married in a Church, and have a funeral in a Buddhist Temple; the best of all the worlds!
“Wasshoi wasshoi”. Thinking I finally got ‘in tune’ with the steps, I glanced at my over-smiling nonchalant wasshoi buddies. I think they ended up just far enough away from me to escape my marching-inept reptilian feet.
“Wasshoi wasshoi.”
The shrine started bouncing up and down more violently now, the oversized bells shouted in disagreement. Debating weather to ‘go with the flow’ here, or find a turtle shell bunker; I put on a smile for the camera, and took in the moment.
This odyssey luckily had 3 drinking sessions disguised as rest periods. Upon these oh so welcoming rest periods, the ravaged Shinto carriers would gather around the boxes of beer and sports drinks, and shoot the shit with the other bruised shoulders, speaking of the hardships of the day. Meanwhile, the Kannushi (Shinto Priests) said prayers and made offerings to the gods, alongside the taiko drums and elegant dancers. This juxtaposition was obviously apparent and wholly accepted.
Upon the last leg of the journey, the Mother Shrine was in sight, and I knew this wasn’t going to be a sprint to the finish. With a better vantage point, I noticed the ‘demons’ pushing and rocking the shrine. At first, I cringed at the sporadic movement, ten-fold to that of before. But with better positioning, this time I was in the centre of all the action. A tug-of-war of strength, traditions and endurance erupted.
I looked up; the stars were twinkling over the shaking shrine, chanting echoed in the background, our opponents were obstructing our path. Mental picture; check.
I don’t know if it was my competitive spirit or the spirit of the Mikoshi, but something zen took over; the pain was gone, and my sole purpose at this point in this Oriental space-time continuum was to get this thing to its home.
Three giant “WASSHOI WASSHOI’s” in sync with some shrine aerobics and step choreography, and it was home. The little Mikoshi was tucked into bed and wrapped with a pristine white cloth.
The whole experience took about three hours. Three hours of pain, bliss, tradition and endurance. Three hours I will never forget.
As for never forgetting the hours after the Mikoshi, that is another story.
Purple shoulders, growling bellies, and full bladders (my terrifying pants made me scared of toilets), we were herded like a family of hypnotized cattle to a feast of onigiri (rice balls), sashimi, edamame and other delicacies. Included of course, to my demise, was sake. A rule of thumb in Japan, never say you like a specific alcohol, as everyone would like the honour of endlessly topping up your glass.
Apparently I took on the appearance of a parched Mikoshi servant, starved of the sultry essence of Japanese Rice Wine for so long, that I needed to be re-kindled with the old friend. We got along very well, Sake and I, intense stumbly conversations intermingled with a tipsy Kannushi declaring it illegal for my glass to be less than half full.
The spinning blanket of inebriation was inevitable.
Why is there a cubby Japanese man in a loin cloth in my room??
As I came back to reality, the man turned into a headache as the unforgettable memories of this amazing festival danced in my head, amidst the thunderstorm of the after party.
Journal #4
It was partly cloudy with a light southwesterly wind. I watched the birds chirping and playing tag in the cherry trees while I ignored the strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. Let’s just wave off that feeling like that overweight blind grasshopper that tried to hop through my leg earlier, and HIKE UP A MOUNTAIN!
Two precisely wrapped 7-11 rice balls with clearly labeled dismantling instructions …check. Two obese, embarrassingly overpriced mozzarella cheese strings …check. My fellow Canadian friend Lindsey …check. Vitamin water, runners, and some ambition in the form of a soy sauce inspired omelette, and we were off.
We were politely trampled at the bottom of the Mt. Asahidake ropeway by several groups of “hardcore” Japanese hikers; complete with duel hiking poles, bear bells, gaiters, and enough brand name gear to stock a family run outdoors shop. Feeling as amateur as we looked, we ventured into the gondola with only enough cash to get us a one way ticket.
Immediately upon disembarking from the gondola, the mysterious mountain engulfed my lungs with its mix of crispy clean air entangled with puffs of warm sulfur. Sporadically, the clouds would allow us to sneak a peak of our surroundings. Unnaturally green rolling hills and mountains were scattered with small glass-like lakes, and precisely placed mountain shoots with just enough snow to taunt my inner snowboarding demon.
The 2 hour, 2290m ascent consisted of a rainbow of volcanic milestones; layers of cerulean blue, egg yoke yellow and coral pink igneous rocks gave way to stones as black as the coal found in a naughty boy’s Christmas stocking. To my right, another peak through the clouds allowed a short glimpse into the green vastness of the Hokkaido wilderness. To my left, the mountain angrily spewed its sulphuric flurry into the mountainous air. I watched in awe, until the moment ended with the realization that this powerful mountain is warming the hundreds of relaxing natural hot springs that surround the area. My legs all of a sudden felt heavier.
Hundreds of polite Japanese greetings later, we arrived at the top. Unfortunately the mighty mountain had other plans for us. The clouds debilitated our views, and the brisk breeze snuck through the mass of tourists and quickly cut our vacation at the summit short.
And the real adventure begins…
Our descent allowed me to quickly accumulate enough volcanic ash in my shoes to make a small castle, complete with a sweaty moat. Not helping the situation was my attempt to imitate the insane athletes that were actually running down the mountain. This was only second in line for the most idiotic decision of the day. My knees ache with sympathy pains just thinking about those runners.
The winner for idiot decision #1…descending the mountain from the gondola. With the energy from the rice balls quickly wearing off, we ventured down the happy, welcoming trail, en route to the bottom. Lined with miniature mountain flowers, and joyfully singing birds, the path was wide enough to play a nice game of Frisbee on.
The smiles on our faces and optimistic feelings that jumped from our pores were soon combated with the mountain snickering at us through the trees, unable to hold in the imminent horrors it had in store for us.
I apparently never got the memo regarding the necessary machete needed to hack our way through the overgrown angry forest. Nature snuck up on us and consumed us like a gruesome African hunt. The disgruntled and hidden path threw at us endless piles of mossy, ragged rocks; the perfect size to contort our ankles in directions only Cirque du Soleil performers should be able to do comfortably.
The questions must be tired, as they ran around in my head hunting for answers in regards to the authenticity of the path, while herds of vampire inspired mosquitoes, battled for a taste of our foreign blood. I guess we were the first to invade their territory, when the “path” mutated into a stagnant stream inspired narrow rock bed.
Endless mysterious sounds hacked their way through the dense dark forest to our path; they boggled my brain until I finally embraced the phrase “ignorance is bliss”.
We felt like zombies, taking one agonizing step after another, to Hades regime of the underworld… the rocky steep stairway of hell.
A false glimmer of hope rose out of the depths of the forest abyss, a rotten narrow wooden path barely concealing the swamp below. This Hokkaido swamp-like quick sand probably could have engulfed me in a second, a secret passageway to a coffee with Hades. After losing my ankles back at the pack of mosquitoes, the flat narrow path felt awkward to my legs, and I was barely able to hold myself upright. We probably looked like we had chugged a cheap bottle of Whiskey as we trekked onward; although this could have been a dream-inspired hallucination.
The sun seemed as though it took notice of us, as it likewise became wary of our surroundings, and started to get ready to take a peaceful nap on the other side of the globe. Taking a hint from the sun, I glanced at my watch and thought we had been engulfed by a worm hole when I realized that only an hour and a half had passed since the gondola.
Many more ankle biting rocks, mud pits, and stinging insects later, something loomed in the distance. Like an oasis in a desert, the hopeful parking lot poked through the trees. I could feel the power of the mountain holding onto me, clasping onto our last few minutes together. I too felt a connection with this wilderness, the juxtaposition of adventure and bliss with the imminent danger and fear. I guess some watermelon seed I consumed in 1992 tried to warn me about the insanity of the day. Humm, pit of my stomach, guess next time I should listen to the seed!
Author’s note: This amazing experience has allowed me to remember the power of nature. Whether its just the combination of a poorly maintained/marked trail, or mother nature at her worse, this power should be respected at all times.
Unfortunately, 10 hikers on an adventure in the Taisetsuzan Mountain Range (Mt.Asahikawa is located in this mountain range), weren’t so lucky. This journal article is dedicated to the 10 strong souls who sadly passed away on these mysterious and powerful mountains on July, 16 2009.
Click here for the news article.
Journal #3. Fauna Encounters in Running! “Fauna encounters in running” is a series of very real events that happen to me on an almost daily basis while jogging through the rice fields and by the river. Yes, these completely non-fictitious stories are funny and entertaining to most, and were quite traumatizing for me, although they help me get out of bed early in the morning to get some daily exercise. Fauna encounters in running: #1 Ok, lets start with the facts; both Hokkaido and The Canadian Rockies have a relatively similar climate, and therefore similar animals…..right? In Canmore, its not uncommon to carry bear spray on my morning runs, as the threat of an 800 pound grizzly bear surprising me in the woods is not an unusual or unheard of event. Without the threat of dangerous carnivorous bears, or even cougars, in Higashikawa, I headed out on my daily morning runs without a worry in my head. Oh how I was mistaken! One morning by the river, I saw something moving in the distance, just a few leaves on the path I thought. As I got closer, I noticed it was A SNAKE!!! What??! I stopped in my tracks, it stopped mid slither; we made eye contact. And you know that awkward moment when you are face to face with someone coming towards you on the street, and you do the “stranger dance”, as I like to call it. “I will go left, oh, you too, oh, right, no left again…oh”. You both sway back and forth, avoiding uncomfortable eye contact, and praying the inaudible music stops soon. Yes, I think I did the “stranger dance” with a snake. Not knowing which direction to take, the snake; confused and disoriented (I probably was too), quickly dashed into the bushes, hoping I wouldn’t follow. With my increased adrenalin, I sprinted home, mildly traumatized from my meeting with the 4-5ft brownish orange reptile. So there’s my ecological blunder #1. Note to self: don’t leave the bear spray in Canmore, you might need it for the snakes in Higashikawa!! Fauna encounters in running: #2 Wow, look at that soaring above me. An eagle? A hawk? Superman? Oh, probably just a huge crow; which I would like to say, the crows here sound like an old man trying to sound like a crow with laryngitis, and a weak spot for a pack of Marlboro red!! Yes, again I was running, with my eyes to the ground searching for anything that slithers, I saw something out of the corner of my eye. Thinking nothing of it, I kept going, still watching the bushes for long, slimy reptiles. Suddenly, a hawk, almost the size of a bald eagle, dove in front of me to catch an earthworm on the path. Although it took me off guard, I brushed it off and went on my merry way. Until about 2 minutes later, something started circling over head, warning others of the dangerous green jacketed blob running on the path. I was being hunted. Ok, probably only how I felt, but a little drama never hurt anyone! Within seconds, a hawk started diving, like superman chasing an armed criminal with a beautiful blond hostage, the gravitational forces driving it to mach speed; to hunt the unsuspecting foreigner. Oh how thankful I was of my sunglass obsession at that surreal moment! Those tacky baby blue shades, regurgitated from the 80’s video and borrowed from the brilliant flowers of Higashikawa, actually saved my eyes from those daring talons. Although the hawk never actually made contact with me, and was probably a few feet overhead, it made me ponder my extreme animal experiences, and what I am doing wrong! Shades, check. My eyes and ears on guards for slithering, check. How should I prepare for my next adventure?? Dragon spray? Preying Mantis repellant? Until next time….
Journal #2 The Fake Flora… The cherry blossoms disappeared overnight, but in a blink of an eye the summer flowers exponentially multiplied. Like a beautiful violet weed throughout town, the far from insignificant purple flowers roll throughout Higashikawa; bordering the roads and rice fields these blooms create beauty from less than memorable barns and industrial parks. Some orange sized and coloured flower bushes are so bright, I think an 80’s music video got lost here and sucked into the vortex of scenery by the name of Higashikawa! On my scenic walk to work, I have created a game called ‘find the abnormal leaf’ on the perfect trees. Step 1, find a tree or bush. Step 2, ready, set, find a dead leaf/blossom! Yes, I plan to patent it, rename it “ab-leaf”, and probably get into an inevitably copyright bidding war with a light-weight ab machine! Back to reality, there’s no exaggeration here, the trees and plants look fake. Hold on, maybe they are fake! With all the overacted, graphic ridden, “someone could NEVER be this happy” commercials and infomercials in this country, there probably is a “fake tree for your yard” company. “It looks amazing all year round, no up-keep, no bugs, just beauty in your yard!”
The Beginning:
Upon my arrival in Tokyo, 3 ‘doctors’ in paper gowns fastened with packing tape and sporting red inferred cameras boarded my already landed plane. After an extensive examination of the plane and the body temperature of all its passengers for the swine flu, I proceeded to hunt for and haul my 3 oversized bags onto the miniature cart. A few hours of rest, a can of coffee and many subtitled ‘FOX’ tv shows later, I boarded another plane to Hokkaido. At this small and near empty airport, I managed to get into a brief confrontation with a Japanese toilet, fell down the escalator, accidently knocked over an older man with my snowboard, and got some interesting looks; I’m assuming regarding my intense goggle tan! Immediately, I was greeted by a welcoming committee, transported to Higashikawa, and, still looking like I had been travelling for two days, I had a meeting with the Town Major and about 13 other Town Committee members and the local newspaper. I felt like I was in a job interview, asking my impressions about Japanese people, what I like about Japan; which at this point all I know was its airports, and if I liked Japanese food. I was immediately confronted by mass amounts of paintings, posters and pictures of Canmore! It is clear that this town is proud of its sister city. It wasn’t until the next day that I actually got to see the town and its surroundings. Its main industry is obviously rice and farming, there are farms and rice fields scattered throughout the town, making the number of inhabitants quite small, but the area of the town quite large. The famous Canmore ski hill is forever looming in the background, the size comparable to half that of Mt.Norquay. But it’s the mountains in the background that intrigue me daily. These snow covered peaks jet up from the calm rice fields, adding to the mystery of this area. Its this volcanic landscape that has the reputation for harvesting some of the most reveared yet secret powder filled backcountry skiing and snowboarding in the world. I received an invitation to a Cherry Blossom Festival on the weekend. Men knelt around miniature grills, pouring mounds of marinated lamb and vegetables onto the smoking hot surface. ‘Eat whichever pieces look cooked’, I was told. A little nervous with the ever incoming piles of raw meat, I dug in. The peaceful pink petals floated into my sake (Japanese liquor) while the juxtaposition of traditional Japanese instruments mended with modern Karaoke tunes. I was overwhelmed this first week with picturesque landscapes intertwined with futuristic technology and traditional ideals, but most of all, generous welcoming smiles.
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