We don`t need no education.

My school

(1)Jump out of the little blue Honda, (2) swap outdoor flip flops for indoor shoes, (3) feel a special bond with Surfer-Sensei (so named for his impressive collection of billabong shirts) who also shuns socks in the fiery blaze that is Japanese summer, (4) run up the stairs to the staff room, (5) greet any students I meet with a `good morning`, every now and then substitute with `what up ladies`, get a response of ferocious giggling, (6) Open the door with a loud `Ohayo gozaimasu` (good morning), (7) get back a few mumbles of Ohayo or gozaimasu, (8) sit at desk, (9) stand up and bow when the bell rings for the start of morning meeting, (10) understand nothing said at morning meeting, (11) Start the day.

My coordinates on the map of education has me sitting between Math-Sensei who always expresses great amusement when I proudly tell him the new Japanese words I had learned the previous night while watching TV, as they are almost always words used exclusively by men, and my favorite English teacher. I value Life-saver-sensei more than world of warcraft gold and do not know what I would do without her. Not only does she teach me Japanese, like the kanji for beef so I don`t order liver by mistake but also imparts some slices of sage advice on me, like the fact that cotton tofu is better for frying and silk tofu is best eaten plain. She is also an invaluable teammate while playing Japan`s national sport of bureaucracy.

Silken on the left (Kinugoshi), Cotten on the right (Momen)

Every Tuesday and Thursday we are graced with the presence of snack-time-sensei who instituted the practice of 3-lunch-Tuesday followed closely by 3-lunch-Thursday (We literally eat 3 lunches that day). We all put out our bento (lunch boxes) at the same time and Snack-time-sensei adds whatever food she had cooked that day. It is a hit and miss game that has had me enjoying noodles wrapped in flatbread to planning an escape strategy for octopus on a stick. As snack-time-sensei is also the art teacher, I have been drawn twice and even Roland has been thrown under the paintbrush one afternoon after school. Snack-time-sensei kept muttering about how Japanese men just don`t strike a perfect profile without such a good nose.

Free Japanese pears (Nashi) from a kind teacher

Rooibos tea that I brought for the teachers (one of them made the sign to explain to the other teachers)

There is a fair amount of prep work that goes into entertaining 15 classes a week for an hour at a time. My five English teachers all have different styles and requirements that range from very specific, like `today Furiida Sensei let`s listen to a song and fill in the blanks, please find a suitable song and create a few activities, to `today Furiida Sensei lets have fun. I teach 1st, 2nd and 3rd year senior high school kids ranging from sugary sweet girls to sleepy third years and a few rowdy little characters who are not aware of the fact that I am used to South African kids and so their best efforts come across as chatty with a sprinkle of bad English jokes. My two favorite little chancers call themselves Antonio and King Bob. I have six 1st year classes and all of them are super genki (lively). They all fall head over heels for the games we play and scramble to get the right answers so that they can obtain the holy grail of rewards I employ in my arsenal of motivation: the passport stamp. Collect enough stamps and you are on your way to prize town on a train filled with World cup merchandise and beaded key chains.

My student`s passports

Most classes are a joy and I just have to ask and participation flows like Sake (rice wine) but there is one class that is all boys, except for one poor girl, who also happens to be 3rd years, the most overworked, shy, to-cool-for-school and sleepy year of all. Here I have to really jump up and down and make sure that the lessons do not require any questions directed to the class in general, for all that will greet me if I were to ask anything at all would be that proverbial cricket who usually chirps to let you know just how silent it all just became. Lucky for me this is far from the norm and most of my time is spent pretending to be Cleopatra, playing word bingo, destroying enemy team`s castles or drawing pictures of vocabulary words at the speed of me eating a bag of nick naks.

Before you know it, the clock strikes 4:15 and its home time again. (1) Pack up bag filled with little white boards bought at 100 yen store, prestic and SA flags designed to be placed on the castles I draw for a game of the same name, (2) Stay a little longer than required since it is rude to leave early, although I sincerely doubt my five minute effort is even scratching the surface of diplomacy, (3) Stand at the door and say `otsukaresama deshita` (thank you for the hard work), (4) Swap in and outdoor shoes, (5) get into the little blue Honda, (6) wave at Grumpy-but-loves-crackers-sensei, (7) Start the next mini adventure.

I will have two more prawn tempura Mr Shinkansen

So there we were, two little river rafters bound by an inflatable dinghy and undiluted terror. Well if I am honest the terror tipped the scale more to my side, while more of an enjoyable rush weighed down Roland`s. Imagine if you will, a super tube big enough to accommodate two people on a rubber duck with two holes cut out for two bums, now have that ride take as long as Roland ordering something from a menu and have it twist and turn along the outside of the building, oh and before I forget, paint it all pitch black. You would think that being tossed and turned while absolutely blind, at an insane speed would be enough to terrify Roland, but alas, while I was scared to the point of not even screaming, the only thing my senses picked out of the abyss was the sound of giggling coming from the blond sitting in front of me.

Out of the five super tubes we braved that day, the aforementioned monster was by far the worst and while it was terrifying, it was also exhilarating enough for me to ride that Kraken of the super slide world twice.

The American/Japanese/South African alliance.

The emperor was kind enough to give us Monday off to pay our respects to the aged and so we scored a 3 day weekend. We made the most of Saturday and went to see some tame monkeys that roam around Takasaki Mountain and invited 3 Nakatsu residents to come keep us company for the next 2 days. Our Sunday was spent going up a mountain (just noticed we had quite a thing for mountains this weekend) in a cable car, along a very long ropeway. It was pretty damn high but it is impossible to panic while they pump out Disney music and light jazz all the way to the top. I am not going to lie to you, the view was something else and the only thing that broke the spell was my eventual shouting that I could see my house from there (in my defense I really could see my house). Thanks to one of our guest`s Japanese skills we all drew our fortunes from the little shrine right at the top of the mountain as he translated. Mine was ok but for the second time in a row Ducky got one of the worst fortunes on offer and while she did tie it to a pole to dispel the bad voodoo a wasp followed her and only her for a good 10 minutes.

Getting our fortunes on.

Near the cableway we discovered a little tucked away restaurant and all feasted on rice, onion, beef and broth in different combinations and cooking styles. That evening we all went to my favorite Korean restaurant and Roland and I confidently ordered the wrong thing. Said wrong thing turned out to be pretty good but the party really got started when the right thing finally made an appearance. We love that place so much that Roland has said that the best Japanese food he has had so far has been Korean.
On Monday the South African-American alliance made our way to Umitamago, our aquarium named, sea egg. Here we heard as many sugoi`s (awesome) as we did tabetai`s (want to eat) and if I were any of those fishies I would count my lucky fins that there was a plate of glass separating me from the tourists. I have to admit that when lunchtime strolled over we were all ready to swap the live fish for some of their rice and soy sauce covered cousins. We stopped at sushi train, where a little Shinkansen (bullet train) delivers what you ordered. After stacking up a decent amount of plates it was time for Aquabeat, or as I like to call it, the waterlogged hall of horrors.

Ok, ok I have been known to exaggerate a teeny tiny bit so in all fairness it was not that scary. They have a wave pool and lazy river for those incurable scaredy cats such as myself and the onsen and Jacuzzi really hit the spot after all that sliding and screaming. We were literally the last 5 people out of the pool and while old langsyne was playing as the goodbye music all the staff lined up to bow and say thank you

The next day I served as a judge at a speech competition and tomorrow is autumn equinox day or as Roland and Ducky call it, wooden roller-coaster day. I will be buying a grandma ticket since even the kiddy rides at the theme park we wish to visit would give me post traumatic stress syndrome. I will let you know if those two daredevils make it alive.

An impossible view and an impractical drink.

I will be telling you nothing new by saying that Japan is one massive contradiction. You have heard it before and you will hear it again but that does not tarnish the truth of the statement at all. One minute you are walking, with hair straightened, new sunnies resting on your head, past inventions you have literally never seen before and fashion you have never imagined before in a 6 story shopping plaza that laughs heartily at our malls and the next you are just left of the middle of nowhere, standing on a dam wall decorated with Japanese mythology, drinking a fizzy drink introduced in 1876.

In the battle for my attention, modernity is doing its best to lure me to its side. Shopping in Japan is an art and I am fast becoming a great master. My preferred palette is usually colored in the shades of food. Everything is exciting and tasty and comes in either strawberry or melon. The bread tastes like cake and the cake tastes like heaven. You can choose between 6 or 4 slices as your loaf of bread and they only come in one variation: impossibly thick. They are the kind of slices that only my dad can slice (however, they don`t always have jam on them when given as school lunches, even though my sister and I both don`t eat the stuff). My toaster would never accept this breads advances and I have trouble fitting it in my lunchbox, which is the size of a 2 liter ice-cream tub. The sheer amount of variety leaves your head spinning and not an evening goes by without Roland and me walking to the convenience store to try a new desert. 

Shopping in Japan

We have points cards for Mr Donut, Tokiwa (grocery store), three hardware stores, two furniture stores and the Max Value where you can buy cans of sodas for 29 yen and tofu for 40 yen (that’s about R4 baby). We even have a card to take out DVD`s near our house even though it almost killed the shopkeeper to explain the terms and conditions to us in his best English and most simple Japanese. For all I know the conditions could say that after failing to return any DVD`s they are entitled to me washing their car and giving Roland over as their new personal slave

The other side of the coin is nicely illustrated by how Ducky, Roland and I spent our lazy Sunday. We drove into the jungles of Kunisaki and found the most incredible spot. It was a huge dam wall, surrounded by forests with a view of rice paddies and little Japanese style homes, stone tile roofs and all. Next to it was a tunnel through the mountain that had a chilling echo and Roland could not resist belting out an evil laugh every few seconds. While standing on the wall, admiring the mythological scenes depicted with mosaic all around us, we drank our first bottle of ramune. This 134 year old soft drink has a strange bottle neck that has a marble resting on it. The aim of the game is to pop the marble down into the neck of the bottle and then, if you are not a world class ramune drinker, spray it all over yourself.

Other contrasts appear every minute of every day. Girls here always have their shoulders covered, there is not a spaghetti strap in sight and even short shorts are an endangered species in the 35 degree heat but then there are about 4 love hotels from my house to Ducky`s and very naughty reading material right next to the morning paper.
My school has the fastest internet in the world, literally, but computers so old that I saw `Fred Flintstone was here`, carved on one of them. The paper cutting machine in my office is so advanced that you need a degree in engineering to start it but they hang everything on the walls with sticky tape and stare with slack jawed amazement at my Prestic. I can buy a CD player for the price of four oranges and a digital camera for the price of anything made of wood or stone. I have decided not to pass away while in Japan because a gravestone is the price of a sports car.

It is scary how much fun I am having, my job is more hectic than I thought it would be but it is far from being the salt mines. I will tell you all a bit more about teaching when I get the chance. Oh and thank you for leaving comments, I read them all and miss you guys a whole bunch.

Why can`t I find Orion`s belt.

Walk, walk, walk, bow, Roland says konbanwa (good evening), I say konnichiwa (good afternoon), the little Japanese lady replies with konnichiwa, I smile, walk, walk, walk, bow, we both say konnichiwa, the man on the bike says konbanwa, we both smile, walk, walk, run, nasty sea cockroach in the way, walk, walk, walk, discover a free outdoor gym.

Evening walks in Hiji are made of magic. A mere 5 minutes by cute shoes you will stumble upon the most amazing walkway winding down the coast. It is not really a beach, unless you usually tan on concrete and huge wave breakers but it has a great little path with a small wall protecting you from the biggest of the sea cockroaches and crabs. The path leads you past the ruins of a famous castle and while only the base remains it is still fun to pretend that you are a samurai laying siege to the sheer rock face that is all that remains of the once impressive fortress. Not that Roland and I would climb a heritage site, no that does not sound like us.

Then you stop walking and talking and almost breathing because in front of you lies, according to my Japanese guidebook, one of the most valuable views in Oita. You stop and stare at Beppu bay. A few feet away churns choppy water, annoying the nets cast our earlier that day and across the bay shines a thousand little lights. If you are lucky plumes of steam rise up from every hot spring in Beppu and if you are luckier still a cool breeze rattles at all the bamboo planted along the path. You are close enough to see the trains race between the buildings and the Asahi beer tower changing from white to red as it reminds you to pick up a six-pack on the way home. The four people in Hiji who own a dog, dress them in better clothes than I can afford and let them loose for a few precious moments, while girls and boys on bikes bob and weave through the joggers and strollers cluttering the path.

Oh the many braais we have braaied over the years!

Teaching my teachers the art of the braai.

Autumn braai

 As I mentioned earlier if you walk far enough you will stub your toe on a free gym with benches for pull-ups, sit-ups and pushups and any other equipment a young ninja warrior might require. I could not help but giggle when I first discovered it, since it gives me a vision of a Japanese man dressed in a business suit looking at the gorgeous view and proclaiming that ` people are going to be frightfully bored while standing here or even worse, might feel the urge to loiter around. Best we give them something to do. `

Rising steam of Beppu

This was not however the beach, Roland, Ducky and I turned into a proper `Boere Braai` for my birthday. I stumbled upon a quaint little sandy shore about 6 kilometers from my school. Here you can indulge in a little beach volleyball as the nets are never taken down (this not being SA, nobody thinks to steal the nets and have their own garden volleyball back home) or just get yourself an ice cold coke from a vending machine. Oh yes vending machines are found on beaches, in parks, at school and even on Mount Fuji. I kid thee not. They not only sell soft drinks, cold coffee, warm coffee, fake flavored purple grape juice but with real whole grapes (why Japan, why), green tea, black tea and milk tea but also any beer your heart desires. As for those who were thinking, `wow a beer in a vending machine, how odd` there is more my friend, you can get a 6-pack from the same dispenser and at only a few yen more than you would pay at the shop.

See!!! Mount Fuji vending machine.

 For the price of 2 peaches and a melon Roland and I purchased our very own BBQ, not barbeque, my kids say B B Q letter for letter and scavenged some pork chops and chicken. These were generously spiced with madam Paarman and I took care of the potato salad and braai broodjies. Ducky brought along some of the very tasty Japanese meat and snacks. We ate ourselves into a stupor and then while drunk on Fanta grape and chicken spice we lit two hundred Rands worth of fireworks. At one point we were lighting fireworks with fireworks and I could just see my dad telling me a long story of how someone he knew lost a foot or an eye so I was glad when they all went off without incident. Our little alien gathering must have looked very strange indeed and I image the glow-in-the dark bangles Ducky had covered us in must not have helped. It was a fantastic evening and if it were not for all the stars being in the wrong place it would have felt like home.

Rubber duckies down a slide.

It is almost deathly quiet. A barely audible flip of a page drifts over periodically from the right and the vibrations more than the sound of the air-conditioner adds to the tension that the figure sitting at the desk closest to the wall is feeling. She has delayed long enough; it is time to make her move. Slowly she rises from the desk and instinctively allows her right leg to bare more weight than her left. She slides around the corner and past a teacher sleeping lightly on his arms, it is just before lunch and there are only about six eyes in the staffroom to even take notice and none seem to do so. She curses softly under her breath as her shoes squeak while she takes little steps past the bin busting with recycled bottles. The door is reached by putting one nonchalant foot in front of the other but once outside she starts to run. There is nobody waiting in the corridor and the girl lifts two tissues from her capri pants pocket. The bright sunshine of the outside balcony barely reaches her face as she finally gets to blow her nose.

I know I am being a little gross, but I really miss getting to blow my nose in public or at least when I need to. Here I would get less dirty looks if I were to sing the national anthem in my birthday suit. Something that I expect many of you would not miss however is the lack of `nomihodai` in South Africa. Nomihodai means all you can drink and of whichever poison you have made your mistress. Anything from melon juice to whiskey is on the table for a set price and I know some rugby manne that would make Japan think twice about this little venture.
Well on Friday I experienced my first enkai (work drinking party) with only the fairer sex in attendance. All the lady teachers and myself went to a Spanish restaurant and as I would get some odd looks if I did not at least booze it up a little I chose white wine as my escort for the evening. I did not really over indulge but Roland tells a different story (I think it involves me falling off the couch when I got home but it is best to ask him) and we all had a really great time. I remember speaking a lot more Japanese and I am hoping that, that was really the case and I did not spend the evening chatting in Afrikaans. Either way it was a great way to get to know the ladies of my school and eat some fantastic food. Nothing like a bit of wine to make raw octopus taste like top class calamari.

After sleeping late (which sadly is only till 9am these days), Roland and I met up with ducky and made our way to the water park found not too far from where I live. The three of us lathered up with 2 liters of suntan lotion and jumped into the circular pool that with the help of some strong jet propulsion creates some wicked currents. As is to be expected from the two charlatans I refer to as friends, I was forced via peer pressure to go down the scarily high super tube. I was relieved to see the word yukuri (meaning slow) next to a picture of a little man sitting as opposed to lying down. Ducky and Roland opted for the speed demon option while I yukuried by bum down the slide. Emma even closed her eyes because you can never have enough terror in your life. All said and done it was super fun and I even managed to lie down all the way during one of our attempts.

Our evening was spent at a traditional Japanese summer festival and all three of us were coerced into dancing in a vast circle to the tune of taiko drums and eerie singing. Once again the festival food was amazing and more than twenty people came and thanked us for joining in or asked us to come again the next year. I am slowly getting used to bowing more that fifteen times in one conversation.

Festival food!!!

Summer Yukata!!!

 I have fireworks filled plans for next weekend but more on that later. For now I will leave you with a quote written on the tissue box, standing on my desk. `Puzzling scenes that may come and go in everyday life. They make me feel lovely. And I feel very familiar with them. Let me be one of the things that make you smile`. Oh and you do tissue box, every day.

Have you hugged a clown today?

It`s not everyday that you see a red faced devil, horns and all, happily posing for a photo with a baby in each arm, but I feel I might be getting ahead of myself a little bit, so let me rather take you back to this last weekend. At the risk of balancing on the border of bragging, please allow me to say that weekends in Hiji are fan-friggin-tastic. On Saturday Roland and I made our way into Beppu in search of a screen to match his newly arrived computer. This however proved to be a fair bit easier said than done and while Yamada Denki (the huge two story electronics store) carried everything from a camera that can airbrush your face to flawless perfection to an electric toothbrush for your poodle, they were sadly lacking in the screen department. All they had on offer was one scruffy little flat screen for monitoring emergencies hidden in a cobwebbed corner. We had to make another plan. This contingency plan landed on our doorstep last night in the shape of a monster 27 inch monitor that barely fits on our dodgy little desk. We ordered him from Japanese Amazon on Sunday night and are still smiling at how cheap he is compared to his South African brothers.

The rest of the day was spent sweating to death at Harmony land (Hello Kitty World) where we were served up two huge platters of super cute. For breakfast we rode the huge Ferris wheel (yes I shouted at Roland for making it rock back and forth), for tea time we rode an amazing 3D ride, for lunch we controlled our own mini rollercoaster around a very high track (yes I shouted at Roland for making it go too fast around corners) and for dinner, along with hundreds of other Japanese families we watched a spectacular fireworks display.

Sunday was Ducky day and me and my quieter half went to visit Roland`s second wife in Kunisaki. Oh my goodness, by Japanese standards Ducky lives in Buckingham Palace. I was under the impression that my apartment was a good size but at her mansion I kept looking around for the moat or at least the changing of the guard. After hiking down her corridor for many days, we finally made it into the lounge and just in the nick of time too as we had been running low on food and water. While I would be loath to give up my close proximity to the train and everything exciting in Hiji, her nice sturdy bathtub does make my box filled with water look decidedly sad. We stole some of her internet and ordered our screen and then it was time to get back into `Ouma` (that is the new name we have given our little car after a few days of use). You see grandma is still very strong and loves walking around town but you don`t take grandma up a mountain and you don`t make grandma run marathons to Nagasaki or Kumamoto. We also realized with much regret that you don`t buy Ouma a lemonade scented air freshener that smelled nice in the shop because after an hour behind the wheel you will lament the fact that it smells like someone spilled a two liter Sprite on the back seat.



Monday came a knocking with some unexpected adventure. After having taken the train into Oita so as to attend a meeting in the city, I was glad to catch a lift back with Ducky. We had stopped at this insanely awesome secondhand shop and browsed the isles of Louis Vuitton bags and playstation 3`s till about 20:30 ish. When we jumped back into the car and when no sound at all escaped as Ducky turned the key, we knew we were in for a bit of trouble. Roland attempted the old push start but the car was as dead as any plant I have ever tried to grow. We asked the owner if it would be ok if Buta (meaning piggy) could sleep in his parking garage that night and then headed for the nearest train station. After wearing fancy shoes all day I had developed two prize blisters on my heels and when the second one popped I had quite enough of my shoes. Shoving my baby dolls in my bag I walked the streets of Beppu bare footed. I must have looked beyond peculiar as I tried to hide my feet under some bags of shopping while we grabbed the train home. Ducky then stole `Ouma` as Kunisaki is yet to get round to installing a train, so she would not be able to go to work the next day if she did not have a car. I hear `Buta` has had some surgery and is recovering nicely.

You cannot really tell here but Ducky had a pretty big house.

Then Tuesday the sweetest English teacher you will ever meet and I asked my vice principle if we could sneak out and go watch the dancers at the local shrine festival. There was fan dancing and samurai sword cutting and even a clown in the traditional Japanese fashion wearing a hilarious mask with a skew mustache. At one point he stole a little boys cap, making him ball his eyes out, he then threw a huge amount of candy in the air and everyone grabbed a few treats, after which he stole the same little boys’ candy causing more water works. Roland even got a big hug from the jester, much to the delight of the all Japanese audience and finally we get to the red devil. As the performers portrayed Japanese mythology through dancing and plays a big scary demon stalked the audience grabbing tree branches that the audience had brought along from home. They would have a tug of war and I think the aim of the game is to let the devil win but one little girl got so excited she clung on for dear life and the devil had to concede defeat. It was particularly sweet watching him pose with all the little kids and babies, most of whom stopped crying the moment he gave them some of the yummy candy he carried in his pocket.

Ninjas on a train

The train to work and back

A Ninja followed me home as I tumbled down the hill that leads to my school from Oga station. She was dressed in black from the tips of her toes to her glove covered fingers. She sported a mask and a hat was wrapped completely around her head. This particular ninja also happened to be about 60 or 70 years old from what I could tell. You see the ladies of my town fear the sun like I fear my little brother-in-law washing my dishes. They are never without a hat or a parasol and many wear gloves in 35 degree heat. The ninja and I jumped on the 4:34 train and as always the seat to my right and left were left empty. I am one of only two foreign girls in my town and the locals still treat me with a little trepidation or at least caution. I think it is less about being nervous around me and more about not wanting to bother me but if I say `konnichiwa` 1st they cannot reply fast enough. I have however stopped a two year old from crying in the post office, his little eyes staring at me until I left the building and I have a slightly sickening feeling that the woman who bumped her little red Nissan into the car in front of her did so because she was straining to see what this foreign girl had bought at the local supermarket. I hope I am wrong.

My station during spring.

 Ah but I digress, the trains, oh the wonderfully fast, clean trains. I have fallen head over heels for these beautiful beasts that take me to and from school each day. They are on time to the minute and you do not even have to hide your money in your shoe or eat an orange in order to look poor (feel free to ask Roland about this theory which I think he has revised since landing in Japan and paying more for an orange than a pair of cute shoes). Everyday I look at the mountains and the rice fields and the homes dotted in amongst them. Two little girls no more that eight years old ate their lunch next to me the other day and I felt distinctly jealous that I could never see my country in the same way unless I robbed a bank and then took the blue train home. I did not however take my new love to Yufuin the next day as I was lucky enough to grab a lift with the coordinator of the camp and the only other foreign girl in my town.

My station during the winter

 What a chaotic couple of days. The theme of the camp was a murder mystery set in Las Vegas and while the instructors played out the murder, we the group leaders helped the kids to solve the crime. There was a veritable love octagon and secret romance was the order of the day. A poor rich man was strangled with a pearl necklace and then it was up to me and my new 11 little friends to solve the crime. As well as playing Watson and Holmes we also had a treasure to hunt, an obstacle course to get stuck in, a quiz to master, a play to direct, an artwork to create and a tricky dance to learn off by heart. By the end of the camp I had run a marathon and shaken my booty to poker face by lady Gaga a million times.

We are all super red after getting our groove on

I am told that I will be the leader of group C4 who I immediately christen as group dynamite, the joke is lost on the Japanese kids but the sentiment is not and we end up being by far the most explosive group in the bunch. I have two very clever boys and nine very flirty girls. This fact becoming plain as day while engaged in our 1st activity of the camp. During the treasure hunt our objective is to take photos of clues that we figure out. We were miles ahead when one of said clues led us into the TV room where two of the male instructors were taking a bit of a load off and resting on some chairs. The necessity of taking a photo of the remote control flew out of the window as my ladies swarmed around the poor instructors. They were now employing their best English of the day to say `Good morning Casino owner Greg and floor manages Pat, how are you guys doing?` It took a few shouts of `less flirting more hunting clues` to tear the ladies from their pray.

The next clue also gave me some cause for concern, we needed to take a picture of a camera but what group would allow you a chance at getting further ahead. My fears were proven unfounded as four of my ladies tackled the poor boy holding the camera for group C3. I still have the picture of the half pinned, half strangled boy and it still makes me giggle when I look at it. If I taught those 11 kids any English at all during that first activity it would be `if old Freda can run up these stairs so can you`. Needless to say team dynamite won the treasure hunt in the style of true pirates.

We were spectacular at sports and our play, called `the big samurai mafia fight` was performed in front of the entire assembly to much laughter. We might not have been as skilled at art but what we lacked in talent we made up for by using half of Japans reserves of glitter glue on our project. Even Elton John would have blushed at the sight of it. Then came the dancing. Everybody learned a choreographed dance to the tune of poker face and that evening we all shook what our mamma's gave us in unison. It was pretty amazing actually and I think I missed a few steppes every time I would stare at the precision of everyone around me stepping in time.

The next day I was elevated to revered status when I showed my ladies a picture of my blue eyed, blond haired man. One of my flirtiest girls, who appropriately enough dreams of becoming a flight attendant in the future, told me that she would study even more English so she can marry such a handsome man one day. I am still not sure how I feel about this but hey at least she will be fluent one day. At the end of the camp I received a monstrous cheer and a card filled with thank you notes, I was very touched and will miss my mischievous little flirts and the sweet, shy boys who put up with them.

The murder mystery crew

 All that crazy exercise did however claim its pound of flesh and on my return home I caught a nasty little Japanese bug. I am not all that sick but it did force me to wear a surgical mask to school so as to not infect the entire office. So when the 4 o`clock bell rings today there will be two ninjas boarding the train and making their way home.