Walking the Shikoku 88 Pilgrimage (Part 8) - O-settai, or, "I'll treasure this tissue case"

“Wait here. I want to give you o-settai.” 

Near Kumadani-ji, temple number 8, we had stopped in front of some glorious cherry blossom, and I got chatting to two older gentlemen who were walking the trail. One told me he had never spoken to a gaijin-san, foreigner, before.

(The cynic in me wonders if that’s really true, or if by “foreigner” he meant “white person”…)

We took some pictures in front of the cherry blossom, and walked up the hill together.

Further up the road, a lady came out of her house and gave us some hard-boiled sweets.

The sweets were a form of o-settai, small gifts given to walking pilgrims. Traditionally, pilgrims didn't carry money, so they were helped along their way by gifts of food, lodging and other acts of generosity from local people.

“Wait here,” she said when she saw me, “I have something else for you.” 

She came back with a colourful children’s section of the newspaper – a visual guide to the Shikoku pilgrimage, with readings for the kanji characters written above in hiragana.

It was several years old. I wondered if she had been saving it for a passing foreigner.

I briefly considered attempting to refuse it: I already had a good map, and I can read kanji, so I didn't need a children’s guide. The next non-Japanese person she met might have more use for it.

But explaining that would have felt arrogant, and you’re supposed to accept o-settai graciously, so I thanked her, and we went on our way. 

The next day, I heard it again. “Wait here. I want to give you o-settai.”

I was alone this time. I had stopped to rest on a fading bench outside a children’s centre, and was enjoying my first iced can coffee in a couple of years.

There were no houses on this side of the road, but an elderly lady had come out of her house and crossed the busy road to strike up a conversation with me.

She referred to herself in the third person as obaa-chan, grandmother. She was 82.

The obaa-chan had walked the whole pilgrimage twice, she told me, and had hoped to do it a third time.

“But I’m too old to walk it again now, so I give o-settai instead.”

She went back into the house, and I saw her in the front room with a cardboard box. She did look frail. I wondered if I should follow her over the road so she didn't have to cross it again, but I didn't want to intrude.

“I must have given out hundreds of these,” she said proudly when she came back.

Inside the box were dozens of cotton tissue cases, in all different colours, each with a small packet of tissues inside.

“Did you make these?”

“Of course! Choose one.”

I picked out one with black cats sitting by front doors.

“Thank you very much. I’ll take good care of it.”

The tissue case had a secondary compartment, and inside that was a paper insert. It was a photocopy of handwriting - guidance for living a good life. “I like these words, so I included them too,” she added.

“When you use it, please remember the 82-year-old obaa-chan from Shikoku.”

The tissue case has travelled 6000 miles with me back to England, but I haven’t opened the tissues yet. I’m know she wanted me to use it; but I just want to keep it safe. 

It smells faintly of incense.

I think about the obaa-chan sewing tissue cases. I wonder if she waits by the window in pilgrimage season – spring and autumn – waiting for walkers to pass by.

She gave me much more than a tissue case. She made me feel welcome, and showed me kindness. Perhaps that’s what o-settai is…? It’s about human connection. It’s not about things, it’s about people.

I’ll treasure this tissue case, I promise.

Related posts:

Walking the Shikoku 88 Pilgrimage (Part 1) - Plan, plan, plan!

Walking the Shikoku 88 Pilgrimage (Part 2) - The Best First Day in Japan

Walking the Shikoku 88 Pilgrimage (Part 3) - What To Wear

Walking the Shikoku 88 Pilgrimage(Part 4) - How to Talk to Strangers in Japanese

Walking the Shikoku 88 Pilgrimage (Part 5) - Signs of Shikoku

Walking the Shikoku 88 Pilgrimage (Part 6) - Shouting at the French

Walking the Shikoku 88 Pilgrimage (Part 7) - Five Types of Rest Stop You'll Find Hiking In Shikoku

And also: "I treasure this pen case"

"I treasure this pen case"

“I treasure this mechanical pencil.”

(Applause)

One of the interesting things about working as an Assistant Language Teacher (ALT) in Japan is that you get to see the kind of English taught in Japanese state schools.

Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s bad; but in my opinion it’s always interesting, and you’re always learning something.

I worked as an ALT for a year in Nagoya, before I started teaching and translating Japanese.

On this particular day I was scheduled to be in class with 13 and 14-year-olds who were giving speeches about a special personal item. The Japanese teacher of English wanted the native English speaker (that’s me!) to assess the kids’ speaking.

I quite liked helping out with speaking assessments - most students enjoy it, and their talks were often funny and creative.

This day was a bit different, though. As the students started to give their talks, I realised all the speeches ended in the same, slightly odd, distinctive phrase:

“I treasure this mechanical pencil.”

“I treasure this eraser.”

“I treasure this pen case.”

(ペンケース (pen keesu), incidentally, is a perfectly good Japanese loanword, but it’s not the English word for “pencil case”, or not where I’m from anyway).

I looked at the textbook. The example from their textbooks was a boy talking about an ice hockey jersey his father had given him, and ended with “I treasure this jersey.”

Ah.

A large number of the students had either:

1) not understood that they were supposed to choose a special and important possession

or

2) forgotten to do the assignment altogether, and hastily cobbled together a speech based on an stationery item they had nearby.

Incidentally, the Japanese translation in their textbook for “I treasure this jersey” (a fairly uncommon English phrase, I’d say) is このジャージを大切にしています (kono jaaji wo taisetsu ni shite imasu).

〜を大切にします　(_____wo taisetsu ni shimasu) is a nice, natural sounding way to say you care about or value something in Japanese:

持ち物を大切にする mochimono o taisetsu ni suru - to look after your belongings

体を大切にして下さい karada o taisetsu ni shite kudasai - please take care of yourself

So, at least I learned some Japanese that day, even if I had to sit through thirty speeches about treasured erasers.

What’s your treasure? I’ll tell you about mine next week!

Summer Barbecue Party 2018! (Or, "Where's The Corn?")

Last year, I tried to break up the long months of summer by inviting my students for an August barbecue.

This year I've been teaching my Summer Courses, so summer hasn't been the long lesson-free months I'd got used to.

(This is a good thing. I like teaching, and I think my students are really enjoying their summer classes too.)

I still wanted to have a student party though! It was a lot of fun. Here are some pictures from our sunny day on the beach:

Setting up. I wanted to make it easy to find us this time, so I invested in this excellent Japan flag.

Beer with somewhat controversial Japan-inspired ingredients. (I liked the packaging more than the taste, myself...)

Joe brought home-made burgers again!

(Not everyone was here yet when I took this group photo, and it looks like I forgot to take another one - sorry!)

Home-made beer! Arigatou gozaimasu!

CORN!

If you came to the barbecue last year (or read my blog post) you'll remember that accidentally everyone brought corn. This year, I think we went the other way, and for a while it looked like there would be no corn!

Luckily, David saved the day by turning up with corn. Hurray!

After an afternoon on the beach, clean up time and a trip to the recycling!

Some of us decanted to a pub, to talk about pub quizzes, parkour and the Shikoku 88 pilgrimage.

Thanks for coming! Roll on next year :o)

"Two beers, please!"

I don't speak Portuguese. But here's what I learned last week on holiday in Lisbon:

• how to say "two beers, please"
  

• it's olá, not hola.
  

• a "thank you" with a smile is worth three "thank you"s with no smile
  

• i need to add "this please" to my Survival Japanese course as a central key phrase.
  

• learning words in a new language is a lot easier when you can read the words already (hurray for the roman alphabet!)
  

• you can delete social media apps for a week and put the out-of-office on, and the world will not end
  

• sometimes a very short blog post is fine

Walking the Shikoku 88 Pilgrimage (Part 7) - Five Types of Rest Stop You'll Find Hiking In Shikoku

"

Ky

ū

kei shimashou

" (休憩しましょう) is one of the first phrases I teach all my students, and it means "let's take a break".

Rest is every bit as important as activity - perhaps more important. In class, it helps you digest and absorb ideas.

And on a long-distance walk, rest stops (called 

kyūkeijo 

休憩所 in Japanese) can be a good place to 

strike up a conversation

.

Luckily for me, the bit of the Shikoku 88 pilgrimage trail I walked this spring had interesting and varied rest stops throughout. So what kind of places are used as 

kyūkeijo

?

1) Temple outbuildings

On the first day I walked with another pilgrim, who I'd met at temple number 1. We stopped around midday, at a 

ky

ū

keijo

in a temple outhouse building.

The women inside offered us tea and sweets, and in exchange we handed them

osamefuda

(納め札),

slips of paper with your name and a message, on which pilgrims carry instead of money

.

(...traditionally, I mean. Most modern pilgrims carry money too now.)

I was grateful to receive the tea and sweets, but even more grateful to have the opportunity to chat with these friendly women, who said they had lived in Shikoku all their lives.

They told me their ages (in their 70s and 80s), and that some of them had walked the 750-mile pilgrimage three or four times in their lifetimes.

2) Private houses

Some rest stops are out the front of a private home. The owners prepare tea or hot water each morning, and leave it out for visiting walkers:

I sat at this one alone and ate my packed lunch. It was a baking hot day, so I was glad to be out of the sunshine.

Both these 

ky

ū

keijo 

had signs explaining that the snacks and drinks are offered for free as 

o-settai

 (お接待), small gifts given to walking pilgrims to help them on their way.

3) Vending-machine seating

Usually, at the temple itself there will be a vending machine or two, with seating next to it. 

It can be seen as impolite to eat or drink while walking in Japan, so vending machines often have seats next to them.

You can enjoy your snack first, and then walk around afterwards. Remember, rest is important!

I sat at this one and had a can of iced coffee:

I also spotted this set of hardwood chairs in one temple rest area, which look like they're set up to accommodate a whole coach trip:

4) Outdoor rest stops 

In the mountains, a clearing with a place to sit down can be a really nice surprise. This one below had obviously taken some work to create, being in the middle of the forest. And it was labeled (in English!) as a "lounge", which I thought was just great. 

It clearly is a lounge. It just happen to be outside! 

5) Wooden huts

There are also small rest houses maintained by community groups. These are good for getting out of the sun (or the rain!)

This one had a formidable list of rules about not leaving rubbish behind, and stating that it was only for the use of walking pilgrims. It was on a main road in a town, so I guess they'd had problems before.

Anyway, it seems the rules are being followed these days, as the house was spotless:

I had some tea and a delicious fresh orange, read the extensive rules, and wrote in the guestbook.

Towards the end of my walk, I spotted another outdoor rest stop. This one was also purpose-built, with concrete table and seating, and a great view. 

What I liked was that people had added extra seating - the sofa and chair, presumably from someone's home:

But the best type of rest stop is when you get to your lodging for the night, and can put your feet up.

それでは、休憩しましょう！

Sore dewa, kyūkei shimashou!

So,

let's take a break!

Related posts:

Walking the Shikoku 88 Pilgrimage (Part 1) - Plan, plan, plan!

Walking the Shikoku 88 Pilgrimage (Part 2) - The Best First Day in Japan

Walking the Shikoku 88 Pilgrimage (Part 3) - What To Wear

Walking the Shikoku 88 Pilgrimage (Part 4) - How to Talk to Strangers in Japanese

Walking the Shikoku 88 Pilgrimage (Part 5) - Signs of Shikoku

Walking the Shikoku 88 Pilgrimage (Part 6) - Shouting at the French

Walking the Shikoku 88 Pilgrimage (Part 6) - Shouting at the French

"Sumimaseeeeeeeeeeeeeeen!"

I shouted.

("Excuse me!")

The couple turned round, but they didn't move.

They were both dressed in full pilgrim garb: long white clothes, their heads protected by conical hats.

"Otoshimono desu!"

("You dropped this!")

They stared at me blankly. I waved the little grey bag with its digital camera inside. "

KAMERA

!"

I still couldn't make out their faces, but I thought I saw a glimmer of recognition. One of the pair walked towards me, and it was only then that I saw her face.

"I thought you were Japanese," she said, and I heard a European accent I couldn't place.

"I thought

you

were Japanese," I said.

"We're French," she offered.

"Ah." I paused. "Um, bonjour?"

We walked together a little bit, and then I left them at a rest stop.

I bumped into them again later in the week, at breakfast in the inn we were staying at. The women was showing the owner a piece of paper, and he was squinting at it.

They seemed to be having some difficulty, so I offered to help.

I squinted at the piece of paper too, and was suddenly transported back to year 6, learning about French cursive in class.

There was the name of a youth hostel in the next town over, and a short message underneath. It was all in romaji (Japanese written in the roman alphabet), but in looping, cursive letters:

futari desu. kyou, yoyaku onegai shimasu.

"For two people. A reservation for tonight, please."

I read it aloud to the owner, who promptly got on the phone and made a reservation for them.

"Your note was fine," I told them. "I think he just didn't have his glasses."

Or perhaps he couldn't read their cursive? I didn't say that though.

I wondered later how the rest of their trip went. They seemed to be having a great time.

There's no right or wrong way to walk the Shikoku pilgrimage. And it's possible to travel in Japan without any Japanese language at all. But if you can learn even a bit of the language, you'll have a richer experience, I think.

And you'll understand when someone's trying to tell you you've dropped your camera.

Related posts:

Walking the Shikoku 88 Pilgrimage (Part 1) - Plan, plan, plan!

Walking the Shikoku 88 Pilgrimage (Part 2) - The Best First Day in Japan

Walking the Shikoku 88 Pilgrimage (Part 3) - What To Wear

Walking the Shikoku 88 Pilgrimage (Part 4) - How to Talk to Strangers in Japanese

Walking the Shikoku 88 Pilgrimage (Part 5) - Signs of Shikoku

On walking, and creativity

There are two reasons I like to walk.

The first is that if something is bothering me, I usually find it impossible to be annoyed about it once I have been walking for about half an hour.

You might think that's just because the irritating person or thing is now half an hour away from me.

And that's true. But I think it's something deeper than that, too.

There's something about movement, and being outside, that forces my brain to think about things differently.

Maybe

I

was in the wrong?

Or maybe they

are

being unreasonable, but there's nothing I can do about that, and that's ok?

Everything seems better after a half hour walk.

The second reason I like to walk is that's when inspiration seems to strike.

Or to put it another way, I find it almost impossible to be creative while sitting at my desk.

The idea of a

Survival Japanese

course had been rumbling around in my head for a while, but it formed itself into something concrete when I was in Shikoku in April.

I was surrounded by all these

Japanese signs

, and reading constantly. It made me think back to the first time I visited Japan, in 2008. I couldn't read

anything

then, and it was so frustrating.

By the end of the day, I had a clear idea in my head of what I wanted the Survival Japanese course to look like - a practical class, all about getting around.

No textbook, no grammar.

And an explicit invitation to students to be pro-active and selective about what they need to learn, and what they don't.

I wasn't trying to plan a course on my walk. I was on holiday! I was supposed to be resting my brain, and definitely not working...

But don't you ever find that ideas pop up when you're relaxed, physically away from your work space, and thinking about something else?

This can be annoying. My office isn't at the beach, and I can't take my computer with me on a walk. (You could get out your smartphone, I suppose, and start making notes. But that's not really in the spirit of the thing.)

The writing-things-down part has to happen at my desk. But the thinking part - that usually happens on a walk.

I suspect I'm not the only one. Am I?