Shrine Maiden, Part 2

(Alternate title: I'm Too Tired to Come Up With a New Witty Title Tonight)

When I went to Kyoto the first time, everything I did was secondary to Gion and its geiko.  Back then, I was a relatively simplistic traveler; I went to interesting sites and took pictures.   These days I try to be more diverse in my interests (in spite of what I said yesterday about having a theme).  If you'd held a gun to my head before this trip and asked me what I was most looking forward to, I'm not sure I could have told you*.   While I was planning it out, I sat down and wrote up a list of the things I saw, eleven years ago: Gion Corner, Yasaka Jinja, Kiyomizu Dera, Fushimi-Inari-Taisha, Ryoan-Ji, Nijo Castle.  Only one of those places - the Inari shrine in Fushimi - was potentially on my list this time.  It wasn't that I didn't love the things I did before...it's just that there is so much more to see.  I remember thinking, in the wayback, that three days was not enough.  Now I have a week, and I find it's still not enough.

"Self-Portrait with Bamboo"

One thing I didn't realize I was missing out on before was all the good stuff around Arashiyama.  I had since learned, thanks to the very visual nature of the internet.  Monkeys, bamboo, a kimono forest, and moss-covered statues were promised by my research...and then I found out that there's a...ritual?  Historical reenactment?  Little bit of both???  Whatever you call it - there's a thing that happens there every year, memorializing the days when noble families would send their daughters to become shrine maidens.  So I was down for the 16th.

And then I found this really cool waterfall shrine that is supposedly in the hills northwest of Arashiyama, and I decided that I had to go, even IF IT KILLS ME.  So I got up at the buttcrack of dawn, hightailed it out of my airBnB, and caught the very conveniently located bus to Arashiyama.  The 93 bus let me off very close to the Nonomiya shrine, which was awesome, because it was the starting point of the Saigu Procession as well as the starting point I gave Google Maps for my route to Kuya no-Taki.  Google told me it would take me one hour and ten minutes on foot, which meant that I would have plenty of time to get back before the procession started at noon.  I hopped off the bus and was ready to start hoofing it when the bus driver honked at me...I'd forgotten to put my wallet back in my backpack, and the couple getting off the bus behind me had turned it in.

Oops.  Well, at least I found out firsthand that this experiment really is indicative of Japanese honesty, and had a chance to practice my "Arigato!"

Anyways, I walked uphill.  And walked some more.  I "found" Otagi Nenbutsu-Ji, which was one of the places I wanted to visit, halfway along my route, and decided I'd better see it after the waterfall, just in case I ran out of time.  And then I started walking DOWNhill, and through a tunnel.  This was not the most welcome change of pace, because I was really looking forward to having the return trip be easy.  I don't do well with uphills at the end, and my cousin wasn't here to rescue me again.  Fortunately, at the end of the tunnel I found the Kiyotaki bus stop, so I planned that I would take that back.  Which was good, because I'd already been hiking for an hour, and Google said there was still a long ways to go.

Two things Google may not have fully taken into account.  First, I'm fat.  When I hiked the Tiger's Nest in Bhutan, I trained for it.  And by trained for it, I mean that I hiked like twice in the months before I went.  This time, I hadn't hiked since the family reunion, and although I have been walking every morning, it's not exactly strenuous.  Secondly, the route is all uphill from Kiyotaki.  Now, in theory, Google knew this, because there are topo lines on the map, but I don't think he really took it into account.  At least, that's what I want to believe, because the alternative is that I'm even lazier than I think.

Either way, when I should have been at the waterfall 30 minutes ago, I began to wonder if maybe, maybeee I should head back.  But what if it was just around the corner?  That would haunt me forever.  So I asked one of the many, many hikers who was passing me if we were close to the waterfall.  "Waterfall?" he asked, puzzled.  I showed him the spot I had marked on Google maps - which was in Japanese, so the language barrier can suck it - and he consulted with his son.  And his phone.  As his consternation got worse, undoubtedly because he really, really wanted to help this stupid gaijin but had no idea what to say, I realized I must have made a horrible mistake.  Finally he said, very apologetically, that there wasn't a waterfall this way.  Maybe it was another trail.

"Umm.  Yeah.  I should be getting back to town anyway, I don't want to miss the procession.  Arigato!" says one of the bigger idiots in the world.  And sure enough, at the base of the trail, I realized where I'd made my mistake.  If I had followed Google's directions exactly, I probably wouldn't have missed my actual turn off, but someone just had to walk across the pretty bridge and see the river flowing underneath.  To be entirely fair to myself, it was a pretty spectacular view, even if I haven't done it justice (it has been an awkward week.  I have come to the realization that I am not contributing equally to my relationship...with my camera.  It does all the work and I never push its buttons).

I made it back to Kiyotaki bus stop just in time for the 10 am bus to Arashiyama.  I looked at the route and thought it might stop by Otagi Nenbutsu-Ji, but I wasn't entirely sure - the names didn't quite match.  What the hell, I thought, I'd see if it was the same, and if not, I'd chill out in Arashiyama until the procession started.  The bus pulled up to a very narrow tunnel through the mountain, which it turns out would have cut at least a half hour off my walk, but luckily I didn't know that so I got to save up my stupid decision making for last night's burst of idiocy.  On the other side...voila!  Nenbutsu-Ji and it's thousand (not exaggerating - it's actually 1,200), moss-covered Rakan statues.  This is a temple that was built and rebuilt and rebuilt again, most recently between 1981 and 1991.  Rakan are Buddha's disciples, and all of these were carved by worshippers who supported the restoration (if that little string of factoids sounds uncharacteristically factual, it's because I'm paraphrasing the pamphlet that they gave me when I paid my admission fee).  The thing that I really loved was how each Rakan had a very different, unique personality.  The amount of expression carved into each statue was brilliant - take these three, for example.  You can totally tell they are sleepy, happy, and dopey.

After leaving there, I tried to make it back to the Nonomiya Shrine relatively quickly.  It was hard, because there were a lot of little shops along the way selling stuff that was really cute and it's hard to say no to cute in Japan...they do it really well.  However, I didn't want to be that poor, unfortunate soul who can't see anything or even move because they got to the party too late.  The procession thing was supposed to start at 12, and it was around 11:30  by then.  I started down the path between the bamboo groves, and figured out pretty quickly that I was almost at the shrine by all the participants in their very cool costumes.

With all the anime I have watched in the last two years, I have seen a lot of the different kinds of clothing, but it was very cool to see it in real life.  There was a ritual portion of the program happening inside the shrine, but thanks to the moron in front of me (who has yet to realize that your camera is steadier when you tuck in your elbows...I can at least do that for my Big Gun) I couldn't really see, so I moved a little forward so that I'd at least be able to see people as they walked past.  The two ladies in front of me were both quite short, so that worked out well, and I enjoyed watching everybody making last-minute fixes as they prepared for the procession.

Finally, all the chanting and bowing and everything else inside the shrine finished up, and the princess came out in her fancy pants kimono to get inside the palanquin.  The carriers hoisted her up and pointed her in different directions, I'm guessing so that everyone could get a good look.  And then everyone set off, parade style.  They walked through the bamboo groves and along the street I arrived on, til they got to the river, where she was scheduled to perform a cleansing ritual.  I, however, was dead tired, and the bus was coming up the street.  I figured the monkeys and kimono forest and the onsen and anything else appealing about Arashiyama could wait for another day...or another trip.

*Lies!  All lies!  I was most looking forward to a shopping trip in Osaka with my favorite former student.  It is NOT a good thing that we are getting paid tomorrow.

Shrine Maiden

It occurs to me that if my life were a novel...let's say a light novel, being in Japan and all...the theme would be "experiencing things that can't be seen."  This strikes me as ironic, considering how much I love taking pictures, but still I've written before about the fact that most of what I do - in travel as well as other aspects of my life - has a spiritual theme to it.  My favorite anime almost all include aspects of higher powers.  If you extend this to include fantasy, then basically everything of any nature I willingly choose to read or watch is included.  I even take my history with a healthy dose of mythology - who needs hard facts and evidence when you can spin tales of the gods?  What can I say?  Mundane reality is kind of boring.

Today I decided I would go to one of Kyoto's bajillion shrines - literally.  Sunday afternoon a couple of foreigners stopped to ask me where the shrine was and I had to stop myself from laughing in their faces.  Shrine?  Which one???? -  that I missed eleven years ago.  Daigo-Ji is more than a little off the beaten track, its mountain being tucked behind already-off-the-track Fushimi-Inari-Taisha.  But then I saw a shot of this scene, and decided I had to go.  That is way too gorgeous to pass up.  Sadly, the fall colors haven't hit their high note yet.  Engrish got me all fired up talking about some thing she'd seen on the interwebs about Kyoto's fall foliage, and I was hoping to see some of it, but by and large the party hasn't started.  Still, totally worth it.

There is a final ticket booth before you enter the area leading up to that scene.  (I assume the pamphlet they gave me explains what that building is, but I got better things to do than read brochures on vacation, so I guess I'm going to keep calling it that).  After you buy your ticket, or have it torn, if you bought it already, you enter this densely wooded grove.  When I stepped inside, I was hot and sweaty - the sun had been beating down and October in Kyoto feels a lot like July in Ulaanbaatar.  As I walked up the path, suddenly a chill breeze blew toward me, and when I stepped out of the grove at the other end, the skies were cloudy.

It felt as it I had stepped into a different world, one where scenes like this are actually possible.  I wanted to lie down in the sun on that patch of moss and pull it over me like a blanket, build a house there and start raising baby Totoros.  The amount of beautiful places like this that exist in or around Kyoto is mind-blowing.

Finding things to do in the evening is always a challenge for me, and when I found myself pondering what to do tonight, I came up with a genius plan...I was going to go to yet ANOTHER off-the-beaten-track shrine place.  I didn't think I was going to get to go to Kibune, but having nothing better to do, I decided dinner, a shrine visit, and a soak in the onsen was in order.  Thus, I hopped the train bound for Kurama, getting off at the Kibune stop, and walked over to the bus stop that would take me up the hill.  It was 5:24.  The last bus came at 5:24.  I counted myself lucky and headed on up to the village, admiring all the waterfalls along the narrow, poorly lit road along the way.

I walked up to the shrine, figuring I'd have dinner at a restaurant so it could get good and dark before I started shooting.  Except, all the restaurants seemed to be closed.  Kibune is famous for their kawadoko restaurants, set up on platforms over the river that keep you nice and cool during the summer.  Unfortunately, summer is behind us, the amount I have sweated in the last few days notwithstanding, so they were all closed.  Nevermind, I told myself, I've survived all day on a single cookie - I'll manage a while longer.  I went ahead and took my photos, and started walking back down the hill, til I got to Kibune onsen, which the bus had passed on it's way up.  It was nice, but small, with only 5 pools.  Since I was the only one there, I wasn't too bothered, but it probably gets crowded when it's not 6pm on a Tuesday night in October.

Alright now, here's where it gets interesting.

Actually, it gets boring from here.  Mom, if you've been reading this, you should stop now.  I left the onsen all fresh and clean, walked outside, and - poof! - I was back in central Kyoto.





Is she gone???  Cause actually, it got a little scary then.  See, the bus wasn't running anymore.  I was way the heck up on the side of a mountain, in the deep, dark woods, with a decently long, poorly-lit road running alongside a rushing creek between me and the train station.  AND I have been reading this sort of creepy urban fantasy book for the last week or so, with nasty things lurking in the dark trying to kill each other.  This was either a terrible time to have an overactive imagination...or a good one, I guess, if you want to look at it that way.  I can't remember all of the 23rd Psalm, but I remember that good line about, "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me."  And it seemed entirely apropos all of a sudden.  When that started to feel repetitive, I started singing hymns.  It probably says something about my spiritual state that I have forgotten a fair number of words, but then, how many songs can you sing perfectly with all the words?  That's what I thought.  And then - hallelujah! - a very nice Japanese lady pulled her car over and asked if I would like a ride?  But what did I do?  I told her it was okay.

Yes, you read that right.  I literally fucking - excuse my language, this was supposed to be some sort of spiritual post and it has degraded into profanity, but I can't express my sheer idiocy without it - I literally fucking told her, "It's okay."  Now up to that point, it had been okay.  The road wasn't perfectly well lit but there were street lights pretty regularly and no monsters had jumped out of the woods to devour my soul.  But just around that corner, there were no lights.  The road continued to wind.  The station was not right there like I suppose I must have thought it was - I felt like I'd been walking for a while.  So she drove off and when I realized what I'd just done...as educators we say, "You made a bad choice."  And then the praying really got intense, alternating with me freaking out on myself a little.

I believe there is a lesson there for me about making bad fucking choices and how it leads to walking in the dark, but I try not to get too religious on my blog, so we'll leave it where I'm most comfortable - with profanity.  Which probably demonstrates said lesson in some way, but again, I'll leave it at that.

Hit the Ground Drumming

I have dumb luck.  There is no other way to explain the fact that things sometimes just go incredibly right for me.  My visit to Hiraoka Jinja, fresh off the plane from Mongolia via Korea, is an excellent example of this.  I almost didn't go.  My flight out of Ulaanbaatar was at 11:55 pm, after a full day of teaching and tying up various loose ends at home.  I arrived in Osaka at about 11:20 the next day, and I had a suitcase and a heavy backpack to lug around with me.  By the time I changed trains in Namba, I was pretty convinced it was a waste of my time.  Most likely the drumming part of it would be long over with before I got there.  Most likely, I would have to lug my suitcase up a hill, and I kind of hate hills.  Probably I should've headed to Kyoto and taken a nap, but I told my airBnB host that I would get to his house around 6, and I was afraid if I came earlier that he wouldn't be there.  So I went anyway.

There's always money in the banana stand...

I got off the train and followed the crowd to the festival area.  It was creeping up on 2 by then, and sensing no excitement - other than the pulse of a crowd eating street food and playing games - I figured I actually HAD missed it.  It was way too relaxed for giant floats with drums up top to come beating down the street.  But that was honestly okay - I felt like I was in my own anime, or would be if I only had a yukata. I had been too eager to get there to stop for lunch at the airport, so I snacked on all sorts of treats: kara-age, the best damn gyoza I think I've ever had, and cotton candy, because apparently I am still a child.  I was pretty satisfied with that, but I figured I should at least see the shrine.  I rolled myself and my suitcase up the hill, but stopped short of actually climbing up to the shrine - it may have  been a short flight of stairs, but my suitcase was heavy.  Instead, I performed my ablutions at a fountain shaped like a deer, with the water flowing from his horns.

As I was checking out the shrine area, I realized that there were an abnormal amount of people sitting around.  As if waiting for something.  I barely had time to wonder if maybe, maybe that meant the drums were still to come when I heard a deep thump.  I found myself a place to sit comfortably - after all, I still had several hours before I was due at my airBnB, and eventually got to see the drums of Hiraoka Matsuri.  I called them giant floats before, but that really don't begin to describe these monsters.  You know how in the old days special people used to get carted around in palanquins?  Well, this was kind of like that - the drummers were riding these enormous palanquins, being heaved up the hill by a ton of people.  The same hill that I was previously grumbling a little about because I had my suitcase.  Am I a baby or what?

There were a total of five floats I think - two came up the hill first and the carriers set them down.  At that point it was creeping up on four, and I figured I needed to get my butt to Kyoto so that I could meet my host and make it to my dinner reservation (which turned out to be...meh.  TripAdvisor's #1 restaurant in Kyoto left a lot to be desired...I didn't even bother to stay to watch the belly dancer, which if you know me is practically unheard of.  The curry chain restaurant the Kawaii Kid took me to the next day was infinitely better).  So I left my awesome seat to try and make my way down to the station, only to see three more floats coming up the hill.  You can tell how crowded it is - I'm not sure how they made it through the throng, other than by sheer Japanese politeness.  I took an alternative route downhill past more food stalls, none of which seemed to have water, which was too bad because I would have sold my soul for a bottle of it about then.  At the station, I was waiting for the train only to see - more floats?  The same floats???  I'm honestly not sure if they went on a parade loop, or if the march up to the shrine was the end of the parade and these three were just making it to the party - travel over the tracks.

Unless you are just tuning in, you probably know that I've had to find a new purpose in traveling - having exhausted the possibilities of my previous purpose - and that new purpose is doing some really cool shit.  So even if I hadn't gone to Hiraoka Matsuri, I might have still decided it would be awesome to do a drumming class.  I thought the drummers at the Robot Restaurant were pretty cool - they got my heart beating, and not because they were wearing skimpy outfits, since I don't swing that way.  There's just something about the way the beat from a drum resounds in your blood, makes you want to get up and dance.  And so I dropped 5,000 yen on a lesson from the Taiko Drumming Center tonight.

Here's a news flash for you guys - I'm not a drummer!  Between my misspent youth as a band geek and my misspent youth as a belly dancer, I can handle a rhythm, but OH MY FREAKING HECK it is hard work beating one of those things.  Our teacher, Isamu, had the kind of guns they don't sell at Wal-Mart, and after approximately three minutes I understood why.  I had a blast, but I was dripping sweat when the whole thing was over and I had to break out my newly-purchased handkerchief to mop off my face.  However if you are the kind of person who would like to have the kind of guns they don't sell at Wal-Mart...or would just like to have a little more room in the arms of some of your clothes...I've got to say this is the most fun "exercise" I've had since I left the sadistic, torturous tutelage of Azhaar.  There is no way I could fit a drum in my suitcase, but I wished I could, since it would have drowned out the sound of sad sax wailing in the practice room at 5:30 when I'm trying to do a little after school facebook stalking of my nearest and dearest.  Instead, I bought a pair of sticks, which I will instead use to beat out the frustration of having to listen to said sad sax and...oh, so many other things that I'm not thinking about because I am having a kickass vacation.  Stay tuned for more.

Let Her Go - a flashback

I have been ridiculously ready for vacation.  It's less about needing to get away from the daily grind (which is, honestly, not that grinding) and more about being super stoked about where I'm going - Kyoto.  There is a veritable ton of festivals going on that week, there are about a hundred different workshops I want to do (although I'm only doing about five), and, oh yeah, I might actually get to see the Kawaii Kid, if the stars align.  He's promised to take me to Osaka's Denden Town, at any rate, which is the Kansai version of Akihabara.  If you don't know what that is, don't worry.  It just means you're not enough of a nerd, and that's okay - we can't all be.  I wasn't, two and a half years ago when I last visited Japan.  A month later I would watch my first episode of Fairy Tail, and eventually kick myself, because if I had seen it sooner, I might have visited anime's Mecca between festivals and Fuji.  Instead I was high on cherry blossoms and Japanese Kit Kats.

That time I shared a layover with Champ and Li'l Miss Catwalk. They'd heard me speak glowingly more than once about Korea, the home of my heart, and how much I loved to take layovers there on the way to wherever.  They were particularly interested in my waxings poetic about Butterfinger Pancakes, and I promised them, on this most auspicious of layovers, that I would take them there.

We spent a couple of hours in the Incheon arrivals hall snoozing while waiting for the first train into the city.  We may have talked a little then about what else to do in Seoul, or maybe it was prior to arriving; I'm not sure anymore.  I do remember them saying they weren't really interested in "touristy" things.  At the time, I couldn't - or wouldn't - formulate the thought that Seoul wasn't the kind of place that you could get to know in a few hours, and that "touristy things" were really the only thing we could experience in half a day.  But they were my friends, and I was determined to do what I could.

After breakfast, we started walking through Apgujeong toward Coex.  We saw a giant finger about to dong-chim King Kong, and a Barket - beer market - and eventually stumbled onto the Seongjeongneung royal tombs.  I never spent much time in Apgujeong, being neither a drinker nor friends with the drinkers who liked to go there, and it looked like something interesting to explore, so I convinced them to go with me.

It was only 500 or a thousand won to get in, and it was a nice, quiet place to explore.  Lil Miss Catwalk took on the role of tour guide, making up interesting facts about the tombs and their features.  We made friends with a Korean ghost, whom I dubbed Fred - if you taught at GDA with me my last year in Korea, you might recall an adorably chubby student with that English name, which was my inspiration.  We talked about hiding in fairly obvious places to scare people, doing the Asian ghost thing - hair in front of your face, hands clawing outward...like this:

We didn't actually do it.  We probably would have gotten ourselves kicked out of a UNESCO world heritage site if we had, and that in and of itself kind of seems like a reason you should (I mean, how many people have gotten kicked out of world heritage sites for anything less than defacing them???), but in the end, it was early Saturday morning and not really enough people around to mess with.  Instead, we wandered around for a while, made some jokes, and eventually made our way to Coex.  It was not a particularly eventful layover, but it was pleasant enough.


There's this totally bullshit saying about how friends are there for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.  Well, I think it's a bullshit saying, anyways.  Maybe this is because if I like someone enough to want them in my life at all, it pains me to lose them.  Take my life in Korea, for example.  Over the years, I've seen lots of my former coworkers from GDA, including Dougie-Poo, who has actually brought his family to Mongolia to work at my school.  Pretty much any of my friends from the last twelve years would be welcome in a heartbeat if they showed up at my door (Socrates being the exception, good riddance).  So it was a slap in the face when Champ stopped talking to me this spring.  I could try and break it down for you - without actually talking to her about it, I can't be 100% sure exactly what was up, although I have a pretty good idea - but I won't.  I'll merely say that I had a lot of respect and affection for both her and Lil Miss Catwalk during the three years we worked together, always tried to support them, and even if they believe I stabbed them in the back and hate me, I still wish them the best.

The layover coming back - visiting Jogyesa Temple in Jongno.

Here's the thing:  in spite of my efforts to preserve them, expat relationships do sort of come with an expiration date.  It's the nature of the beast.  For better or for worse, when you live outside your own culture, you become friends with people you wouldn't have chosen back home.  Champ was super-sporty, and Lil' Miss Catwalk, so introverted that she made me look like the life of the party.  I, on the other hand, am a consummate culture vulture.  Back home, I probably wouldn't have been close to them.  Maybe on good terms if we worked in the same school - I might have even said I liked them (which seems like that's not much, but as a fairly a-social person with a low tolerance for bullcrap in the workplace, this is a decent concession from me).  But I doubt we would have spent much time outside of work together.  We were too different.  Here, though, we went to dinner on a weekly basis.  I had them over for Korean; they invited me for crepes.  We were friends, and it makes me sad to lose that.  On the other hand, it also makes me appreciate the friendships that do last - those people I chat with and in some cases even call long after one or both of us have moved on, like my best chingu, Sara.  The friends whose cities I don't feel awkward showing up in, and who make time for me if I do - Dark Lord and Master, I'm looking at you.  Or, hell, even come back to time and time again - no matter how much I love tzatziki, it's not the primary reason I've traveled to Greece as much as I have.  That would be Bronte.

Here's to more friends like GDA friends.

Grey Skies Over Mongolia

"Choose your last words,
This is the last time.
'Cause you and I -
We were born to die."

The mournful strains of Lana del Rey floated across the valley from the other tourist camp as Five and I descended from our hike up to the source of the hot springs.  We - along with Engrish - had made the long trek out to Tsenkher because a.) I'd bailed on the school ger camp the previous weekend (because 24 hours is too long for me to be with my coworkers) but still wanted fresh air, and b.) I've been working on my exit plan, and wanted to be sure I got to go again.  A year goes by faster than you'd think.

I hadn't even gotten through my first year in Mongolia before I started to consider that maybe, perhaps, I would stay until my brats - those kids who were in my homeroom class my first year - graduated.  At that time, I'd never stayed longer than two years in one place at a time...and two years really felt like stretching it.  But I liked my school, and I loved my kids, and before I knew it, I'd been here for four. When you've been in one place that long, it seems like you could stay forever.  Or that's how I feel, anyways.  Going on five years, what's another?  Hell, another five, even?  My seventh graders get on famously with me...maybe I should stay and see them graduate.  Shouldn't I hold onto a good thing?  How do you know when it's time to leave?

Well, I know.  I can tell because my blogs have slowed to a trickle.  I don't get excited about going out and coming up with new stuff to do. I can tell by the way I feel the cold.  On the way to Tsenkher, we stayed the night with Enkhaa's friends again, as we did the last time.  When Engrish and I went with Geek 3 years ago, we had a measly dung fire that never got started properly, but I was warm enough.  Maybe I brought my sleeping bag that time; I can't remember, but since it's a pain to roll up, I probably did the same thing then as now - left it at home and shivered in the cold.  This time it was the longest night I can remember spending in a very long time, and it was only winter's opening maneuvers.  It snowed for the first time the day I started writing this. I can tell because I tear up anytime I hear a stupid song like "Born to Die," talking about endings.  But what is life except a series of endings?  You might as well embrace it and live a badass life with as few "ragrets" as you can manage.

The skies on the ride out to Tsenkher were cloudy, but Enkhaa the Fearless kept slogging through a week's worth of mud til we made it there.  Five kept insisting, "There's a bit of blue sky - let's chase it!" but although I appreciate a good Austen novel, I never really identified with Marianne.  Grey skies suited my mood as I contemplated the coming year - the hassle of finding a new job, the challenge of finding new challenges for myself.  It's ironic that I've chosen this life, because I hate moving, hate upending my life, and as much as I love diving into a new place and experiencing everything it has to offer, it scares the shit out of me, thinking I might flop.  Ever since my year in Bahrain, I wonder if I'll be able to find new friends, if my school will be a good one.  And that's assuming I can even find a job.  For the first time in my expat life, I'm not okay with going wherever the wind blows me, and I can't just go back to GDA failing all else, which was my old contingency plan.  This year, the wind damn well better blow me to Japan...but if I can't manage that before my decision date, what do I do?  Sign on for another year?  Or have a little faith?

Well, we did eventually get a little sun - even before we were on our way back, which is when I took this photo.  As amazing a driver as Enkhaa is, I admit I was a little worried that if it rained too much while we were in Tsenkher that we'd get stuck there, and so I prayed.  I prayed we'd be safe, I prayed we'd have a little sun, I prayed that I wouldn't be as cold the second night as I was the first (Five and Engrish claimed they weren't cold that night, but I think they're crazy.  I would have been cold even with a sleeping bag).  And everything was fine.  I'm Mormon, and I do believe in a higher power, that our prayers are heard by a being that cares for us, so I guess I shouldn't be as nervous about leaving Mongolia as I am...but I am. 

Reunion Time

I badmouth the States in general and Iowa in particular quite a bit.  One has only to look at the huge debacle that is our presidential race to see why, and yet, it has its moments.  I was reminded of this over the summer, when I looked around and had to ask myself if I was in a motherlovin' Miyazaki film.  In the evenings, I'd go outside as the clock crept up on 9 to stroll through fields strewn with fireflies.  In the mornings, I'd go for walks.  These weren't always spectacular, but the morning that I left for AnimeIowa, there was a super-kawaii pink rainbow shining in the sky.  Another morning was layered in fog as I walked around the lake park in Glenwood, where every spiderweb was hung with dewdrops.  It seemed like any minute you might step through into another world.

There's a reason why the word for America in both Korean and Mandarin is literally translated as "beautiful country."  It damn well is.  Case in point: the M_____ family - or those descended from Leland and Elaine, at any rate - decided that this was the year and Grand Lake, Colorado was the place that we should all get together.  If you've never been to Colorado, I'd sum it up as proof that God is an artist and he likes to show off.  When they decided on the end of the first week of August, I didn't think I would be joining, because I had to get back to Mongolia and get my shit together...but then I kept seeing my cousins, aunts, and other assorted familial type people talk about the reunion on Facebook and in group emails, and I thought, "Well, damn.  I don't want to miss that."  So I emailed my aunts who were arranging everything and got myself in on the action.

This involved taking a very long car ride across two states and up over 12,000 feet of elevation with my parents.  I could've made a lot of jokes about taking long road trips with your parents at the tender age of 37, but it's been a month and a half so they've grown stale, besides the fact that it actually wasn't that bad (thanks to several books and my new cat-ear headphones to occupy myself - when my dad's behind the wheel it's nonstop audiobooks and old country music).

Family Portrait, by Uncle John

We stayed at Shadowcliff, a mountain lodge whose roots crossed those of my family tree at some point in the past.  From the room I shared with my aunt and uncle, I could watch a cataract of water tumble over boulders on its way down to the lake.  The internet worked fantastically, which was awesome, because as much as I love my family I would have hated to miss snarky late-night facebook messages from the other side of the world.  And it was perfectly situated...just a short walk down the hill to the main drag of the town, where a certain ice cream shop was selling basil lemongrass ice cream on the waterfront.  The walk back, on the other hand...

For those of you who have never had the pleasure of going to a family reunion, it involves a lot of sitting around and catching up.  Although we are all friends on Facebook, I hadn't seen most of my Dad's family in several years.  Being outdoorsy people who are into all that nature shit (unlike me), several people went out on the lake, and others seized the day with some hardcore hiking.  I spent most of my time battling for the title of "King or Queen of Bad Ideas," with one of my little cousins (he won) and entertaining Bunny, who - after all - only gets to spend a little time each year with her aunt Becky.

There was also the monumental task of feeding a legion.  My aunts assigned meals to different family groups, and for once being single meant that I got the awesome assignment to cook with my cousin Micah and his girlfriend, Nina.  Next-gen single dude, my Uncle David, was also assigned to our group, but he wandered into the kitchen as we were almost finished.  We informed him that since he was late, he could wash dishes.  "I could do that," he said, and apparently meant exactly that - he had that capability, but since we never actually told him to, he didn't.

While we were cooking we made plans to hike up to Adams Falls, which was signposted as being a mile and a half from Shadowcliff.  Since I sacrificed my morning walk in order to cook brekke, I thought this was an excellent opportunity to get my walk in and make the most of the lovely surroundings.  And it was - the waterfall was pretty and I enjoyed talking to Micah and Nina.  They then went on with the loop trail, while I listened to my feet and started back down the trail.  And then started walking back along the highway toward the lodge.  At some point, I realized I was going to have to walk back UP to the aptly named Shadowcliff, and was contemplating how much that was going to suck when my cousin Amanda and her family pulled up and asked if I wanted a ride back?

Family.  It means having someone come along and offer to haul your ass up a cliff.  I love these guys.

The Struggle Is Real

I love my family.  When I'm in Mongolia, I miss them like I miss tacos - sure, I can survive without them, and maybe I don't spend every day thinking about how much I want them, but when the craving hits, it's bad.  That said, it is a very real challenge for me to spend three weeks in Iowa.  So this year, I decided to plan stuff.  I started in Kansas City, visiting family when I wasn't in an AP workshop, then headed down to visit Shaggy and the fam before returning to Iowa.  I also convinced my mom that she should travel to Coralville, Iowa with me at the end of that week (aka, my birthday weekend) so that I could attend an anime convention.

I have been curious about what an anime convention would actually be like since my brief adventure with C2E2 in March.  While I was looking into them I discovered there was one happening in Iowa while I was home, so I figured, what the hell.  My mother probably would have been willing to go with me to the actual con if I'd wanted, but instead I got us a hotel with a hot tub and wifi that was just across the interstate from a mall to keep her content (because as much as she enjoyed seeing the cosplayers, I can't imagine spending vast amounts of time there would have appealed to her).

Since we made good time across the state, I was there in time to go to the opening ceremony.  This was kind of campy, but had the benefit of teaching me the con rule: 6-2-1...
6: The number of hours of sleep you should get each night.  Apparently room parties are a thing and go on into the wee small hours of the morning, although why you would want to invite a bunch of strangers into your room to party is beyond me.  I can hardly stand sharing my space with people I know and love.
2: The number of real meals you should eat every day.  So there's this thing called consweet, where they have free pocky and ramen and sodas.  Except pocky and ramen and soda doesn't really fit into any of the major food groups, hence, the need for real food.
1: The number of times you should bathe each day.  I'm not really sure why this needs to be said, especially considering that Iowa in the summer is pretty much as humid as balls, but apparently it does.

I actually talked to Gameboy about this experience when he got back from his yearly GenCon expedition.  I was curious to know if it was standard for the organizers to lay down the law of the con and tell people to take showers.  He laughed and said he wished someone would tell people at his con to take showers.  And here I was hoping that it was just because anime tends to draw a younger, less worldly crowd.

Hygeine (or the lack thereof) ruined the effect of some of the cosplayers for me.  I am down with all sorts of cosplayers - fat, skinny, black, white, etc, etc - but for the love of all that is good, let them be CLEAN.  I have also come to the conclusion that I am pretty much just fine with never being more than a casual cosplayer.  Countless times I saw someone totally fangirl out and run up to give a cosplayer a hug.  I have some very definite ideas about my personal space, and they preclude having strangers in said space.

And then there were all the non-anime cosplayers.  Not Deadpool, mind you - Deadpool cosplay works with everything - but the people who were dressed as Disney princesses and DC superheroes (or antiheroes, thank you, Suicide Squad >sarcasm<) boggled my mind.  I mean, I guess any opportunity to dress up is a good opportunity to dress up, but if you like anime enough to go to a convention, wouldn't you dress up like an anime character?  I'm sure this wasn't the only thing going on in Coralville the end of July.

I was possibly looking forward to the marketplace most of all.  You can't get good swag in Ulaanbaatar, so this was one of the first places I went the first night.  I spent a fair amount of time looking around, but finally came to the conclusion that there really wasn't that much that I wanted to spend money on.  I bought a few things - the ninja shoes were imperative, given I was wearing a dress I'd decorated with red Akatsuki clouds the second day - but I actually spent more at C2E2, which wasn't even an anime thing.

The most exciting part of the convention for me was the Doll, Figure, and Model contest.  The immense bunches of crap for sale at C2E2 included several booths selling plushies of different varieties.  At first I was sad that there weren't any anime ones, but I decided this just meant I should make my own.  The little megane guy on the left is mine (Kishitani Shinra from Durarara!!), and trust me when I say he looked a lot more impressive when he wasn't standing next to a 3-foot Lego model of Gundam (and even less so with the first place winner - another large doll dressed in Victorian mourning).  Needless to say, this time I did not bring home a prize, and I didn't actually care.  The judges were SO encouraging - one even suggested that next year I offer plushie making as a panel.  I went to her panel on dolls in anime the next night, and it changed the direction I'll take my lesson in when I start making them with my students this fall.  By the time we got back to Glenwood, I had decided who I could make to compete with the complexity of some of my opponents, IF they have a contest next year and IF I were to attend.  And since coming back to Mongolia (a month ago, if you're wondering), I've basically been sewing nonstop, completing 3 more with another 2 that are waiting for some finishing touches.

At the end of the day, AnimeIowa wasn't the anime convention of my dreams.  This is not to say I didn't enjoy it - I actually had a blast, and it was a great road trip with my mom, who agreed with me that cosplayers don't actually look that out of place in Wal-Mart at 10 pm.  It's just that I've seen more of the world.  At one point in the marketplace, I thought to myself, "Maybe when I move to Japan."  And then I realized that I could actually, realistically say that.  Rural Iowa isn't as far as you can get from Akihabara, but if it's not on a different planet, it's definitely on a different continent.  I'm ridiculously lucky that I have the kind of life where I can decide to indulge my nerdiness by moving to the source.  Not everyone has that kind of privilege.