Hike in Osaka

Wanting to hike in Kyoto, not fluent in reading Japanese maps, trail markers, or cell phone GPS, I found a group called Kansai Ramblers. I call a phone number. The next hike? Tomorrow.

Well organized, a group of about 30 uses a portable bearing sign. In English, a paper with a hand pointing directions is held by small rocks at forks in the trail.

“People were dropping like flies at the last hike along here.” I wonder about first aid. The July weather is not as bad as it could have been. A few people besides me are native English speakers. Every one talks a lot during hiking. I am not used to hiking with so many people who move so close to one another. Distance pointer shows some 10 directions the viewpoint where we eat lunch.

Lunch rest. We brought lunches. Peanut butter and jelly for me, many box lunches among the others. A guy napped. This place name translates to "Tail of the Sword."

“Here is the summit,” a fellow American announces. The geological symbol is a concrete block about a cubic foot with a cross etched onto its top. Surprised, I thought the lunch spot was the top.

“It is good to hear the birds here,” the American tells me as we descend alongside a fence. “This is the Dioxin Dump site.” We are in a town called Nose, Japan, in northern Osaka.

“When was that?” I ask. “About 1997? I remember that Japanese friends went to a community meeting about dioxin near their home in Tokyo.”

“Right. There were compulsory citizen meetings.”

He asks three Japanese in Japanese, but nobody recalls the date.

There is a hot spring. About 4 pm, the ten of us who stayed for the onsen entered the building, paid the seven dollar fee, and went into the bath. The inside bath for women is crowded. I stand five minute wait. A cool bath and hot brown mineral bath inside, outside a clear hot pool. Nympaides.

Someone asks my name. “A man called from over there,” she says, indicating the other side of the bathing area hidden from sight.

Is someone signaling time to leave after less than 30 minutes?

I cannot identify any of the women with whom I hiked, and rather than staying for another round of baths, I exit the area and solicit help when I do not see any of my fellow hikers. A message is sent into the male and females bathers, who reply, yes, we are still here, see you in half an hour.

A train ride, a Chinese dinner, and one of the die-hard group buys a bag of ice cream sticks for the train back into town.

Piano, Unlocked

Piano, Unlocked

I didn’t know that a piano could be locked. A key was handed me with permission to play piano at university where I teach English. The acoustic sound is rich sweet and full. The empty room is large. Temperature control is good, a relief in four-season’d Japan. Tall trees reflect from the wood’s dark finish.

Tell Tale Thriller: Michael Jackson and Japanese cadets

For Performance Day 2005 at the National Defense Academy of Japan, each English class had to be on stage for seven minutes. English classes are mandatory each year of undergraduate education for cadets who need international communication skills.

One of my classes chose to perform Michael Jackson’s hit, “Thriller.” I declined to initiate a discussion about his child abuse trial that had just begun in the United States. The 20-year olds appointed a dance master, watched the video, cleared away desks and practiced for months. I tried to keep up.

Another class opted for "The Tell-Tale Heart." The students wrote a script and refused my offer of a metronome for the victim’s heart beat. Instead, the sound effects man called out in a loud, flat voice, “Do-ki, do ki."

He nodded acknowledgement of my praise. It sounded good, but I wondered what it meant. But linguistic discussion in a low level language class can be taboo. The question was not asked. Acceptable classroom level of inquiry restrains. Jackson was acquitted of all charges in June, during summer vacation.

In November in the big new auditorium commemorating the 50 year establishment of Japan’s security forces, I sat with my colleagues. The performance began with Poe. Ms. Horie whispered, “Do you know what ‘do-ki’ means?”

“An arbitrary sound?” I guessed.

“’Do-ki’ means ‘rapid heart beat,’” she told me. The two Japanese English teachers cited other Japanese onomatopoeia. A "sh" sound means tears, but "only a woman's tears."

I’d drilled pronunciation with a cadet about the mouse crawling across floor. “’It was only the wind in the chimney or a cricket chirp.’"

"She's a very good English speaker,” Mr. Horie said.

“I offered to shorten the sentences, but she protested," I recalled. Her performance was magnificent.

Five hours of skits proceeded. Shakespeare had been banned the previous year. Dance ensembles of Lion King and Sound of Music were popular this year.

A professional actor spoke at the end of the performance ceremony. "Don’t give up NDA to be a dancer," he said. "Except for the class that did 'Thriller.'”

I was elated. But he did not mention “The Tell-Tale Heart.” Perhaps he had arrived late.