My New Life in Japan

I watch the rice paddies and steep mountains drift past me. The peaceful scenery calms my wild mind. What does the year have in store for me? I wonder as I near my new home.

I’m en route to Fukui City, Japan, in a bus filled with English teachers from all overnthe world. Behind me, Stephanie from Chicago excitedly points at every picturesque river and house she sees. Beside me, Leon from Jamaica sleeps – as we are all jetlagged from our journey.

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Last week, I arrived in Tokyo with about 200 teachers from Southern California and Arizona. We – along with 1800 others – are brand-new ALTs (Assistant Language Teachers) here to teach English in Japan. We are working for the Japanese Exchange and Teaching Program, also known as JET.

As soon as we stepped off of the 10-hour flight, we were greeted by dozens of enthusiastic Japanese volunteers in bright green shirts. Following them, we lugged our overstuffed suitcases down escalators towards buses that would take us into the city.

Every single person selected to participate on the JET Program is fascinating. Last year there were 8000 applicants worldwide, and 2000 were selected. All ALTs have a college degree, and many of us have traveled extensively or have lived abroad. Some of us have teaching experience or already speak Japanese. Another necessity of a ALT is to be outgoing and friendly, so there are many a conversation to be had with my hundreds of new friends.

After an 80 minute bus ride, we arrived at our fancy hotel in Tokyo and met our roommates. I was paired with two girls from Arizona, who were sent to different prefectures but whom I plan to keep in touch with.

The next few days were jam-packed with lectures and workshops from Japanese Government Officials, experienced ALTs, and Japanese teachers. 

We learned some valuable lessons from Horonobu Suzuki, the Vice Principal at Saitama Prefectural Uruwa High School. He started teaching English in 1986, and the JET program started the following year. In his 30 years of teaching, he has worked with dozens of ALTs.

Suzuki’s most memorable story was about Japanese girl in his class who excelled at English but was too shy to speak very often. He remembers the exact moment when an American ALT told her that she spoke very well, and sounded just like a native speaker. He saw a spark in her eye and smile on her face, and pinpointed this compliment as a life-changing moment for her. She went on to study English in university, and eventually moved to Australia and became a teacher.

He told us that in a recent survey, 93% of Japanese schoolteachers reported that their students’ motivation to learn English increased when there was an ALT in the classroom.

Teachers have the power to change lives. I know this for a fact, because I can still recall some of the positive things my 3rd grade teacher said to me. Genuine, thoughtful praise is not easily forgotten. It can even change the course of someone’s life. I hope that my words of praise will inspire my students.

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We made it! I’m currently writing this from my air-conditioned apartment. It’s 10:30 at night and 81 degrees outside!

Down and Up the Grand Canyon in a Day

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I woke up before dawn to load my pack. The night before I had prepared 12-hours worth of food and water: a few apricots and apples, trail mix, 2 avocados, rice cakes, chocolate and 3 liters of water in a camelback.

When I braved the outside, I was greeted by a treacherously windy darkness. What if I ran out of water? Was I really going to do this by myself?

I cinched up the hood of my rain jacket to protect my face from the wind. I caught the very first shuttle of the day, and was alone on it with a tired bus driver who looked like he just rolled out of bed.

“Where you going, miss?” he asked.

“Down to South Kaibab, please.” I responded.

“Which hike are you doing?”

“Down and back,” I replied, trying to be nonchalant and hide my nervousness.

He immediately turned around and looked me over head to foot. He sighed. “Every day I worry about people like you. Tonight I’m going to bed wondering, did that girl make it up again? Tell me, how much water do you have?”

I was neither a novice hiker nor an idiot; I had an excessive amount of water and food in my pack.

Only one other person joined me on the shuttle that morning, a solo Dutch hiker who was hiking to the bottom to spend the night there.

Oh great. I’m the only person crazy enough to do this.

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When I started down the trail it began to lighten up. The early morning sun danced on the cliffs as I descended down, down, down into the deepest canyon in North America.

As I continued downward, I sped up, feeling good. That feeling came over me, the one where you know you are in the right place in the right time; that everything will work out. I passed signs with hikers collapsing, warning people not to do what I was doing, but those just made me laugh and I trekked on.

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A few hours down, I saw two people hunched over, pointing and looking at something next to the trail.

“Hey guys, what are you looking at?” I asked.

Giggling, they pointed to a weird chimpmunk scuttling across the landscape. We started chatting, and I learned that Courtney and Paul were planning to do the same hike as me that day. Yay! I wasn’t the only insane person.

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Both from Los Angeles, Courtney and Paul were travel and adventure addicts, like me. We had a lot to talk about, and I hiked with them for the rest of the day.  (Courtney later came to visit me in both Santa Barbara and Japan.)

When we reached the bottom, we stopped on a sandy beach to share our snacks and watch the river rafts drift by. We joked with a group of sun-drenched pirates who were on the water for a month, and this was just two weeks into their trip.

After our break, our jaws dropped at the vertical cliff jutting up in front of us.

“We have seven hours to climb this before dark, guys,” I reminded them.

Talking and laughing with my new friends made the rest of the hike go by without any problems. The most beautiful part was the Indian Gardens, where the Native Americans used to live. The shady oak trees and meandering stream felt like a safe haven from the harsh canyon heat.

The last mile was the toughest. With 17 miles down and one to go, and the sun descending, we didn’t talk much as we trudged up the final mile.

When we finally reached the top, I didn’t feel any huge accomplishment. In fact, I knew that I could do it all along, despite what the bus driver said.

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While adventures like this may seem intimidating at first, when I complete them I feel stronger, like I am capable of anything. I felt these bursts of confidence often while I was traveling for 2 and a half years in New Zealand, Australia, and Southeast Asia.  I would set goals – I want to volunteer on an organic farm! I want to live and work in a foreign city! I want to attend a traditional Thai massage school! – and when I completed them, I felt like I was ticking off points on my bucket list.

It’s not just about checking points off a list, though. It’s about the feelings and emotions that I associate with those things. It’s about what I learn and how I grow that makes these fulfilling experiences.

Next year I will go and teach English in Japan through the JET program, which is a dream I’ve had for several years. After being rejected the first year, I applied again and was accepted.

I know it won’t always be easy, but these are the times when I learn the most: when I am out of my comfort zone, and challenging myself.

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Hippiehouse on Wheels

Flashback to travel writing!

May 19, 2012

As the sun sets on a frosty evening on New Zealand’s west coast, I find myself in the mist, watching a miner pan for gold in the river flowing through our campsite. All around me, the bush is starting to sleep. The chirping birds are becoming quiet, their melodies softly winding around the trees, greeting the evening.

This tranquil moment is shattered by the cries of another creature stirring from her slumber, my 1-year-old travel companion, Willow. “MUUUUM! MUUUUM! MUUUUUUUUM!”

Day three on the hippiebus, and it’s chaos as usual: pre-dinner screaming and coddling by mom Kristy, frantic searching for adequate pajamas, and dinner preparation in the tiny kitchen of the motorhome. 5-year-old Sage is dancing around with his underwear on his head.

I offer to take Willow and her brother Sage for a bike ride to give Kristi and the other campers some reprieve.

Willow wails only magnify as we try to coax her into the bike seat.

“Come on Willow, lets go! Be quiet,” I plead. “You’ll have fun once you forget about your mom!”

Sure enough, the screeching only lasts for about 2 minutes. Her brother Sage is behind me on his bike, his uneven training wheels clanking on the gravel road.

I turn around to check on the silent bomb behind me: Willow looks surly but at least isn’t screaming. Sage pushes his bike more than he rides it, pretending he’s about to die of exhaustion. Finally we turn around, and its an easy downhill coast. No one comes down this country road in the middle of New Zealand nowhere.

When I turn the corner to the campground, Willow spots the moon. It’s full tonight.

“MOOOOOON!” Willow says excitedly, pointing at the huge yellow orb rising though the beech trees and ferns. It’s her favorite word. She says it all the time, almost to the point of being obnoxious.

Back at the caravan, after an ecstatic reunion between mother and daughter, Kristy asks her baby: “Did you have a good time?”

And, with an indifferent glance in my direction, she gives a tiny nod! I smile to myself.

Read more about my experience on the hippiebus here.

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