Spring Cleaning

Today, in a generous display of neighborly harmony, we joined with members of the local resident's association to pick up the rubbish that had accumulated over the winter. One of the many interesting facets of life over here is the dynamism of the local resident's association. Known as chounaikai, they are responsible for organizing a year round series of various events - everything from monthly recycle day when all the plastic and glass bottles are collected, to the summer mikoshi festival, when a small potable shrine is carried around and the local blackmailers, sorry, kids hit you up for a couple of thousand yen or reign curses and rotten eggs on your house.

The other thing to note about the chonaikai is that the organizers are predominantly retired, older people and joining any of their activities makes me feel positively spring-chicken like. They refer to me as 'young fella' and admire my youthful vigour as I snag another plastic bag full of empty beer cans from the bushes.

And there were a lot of them. It would seem that some of the less environmentally enlightened citizens of Muroran prefer to do their drinking al fresco and hope that the local wildlife will clean up after them.

The 24th Date Half Marathon

Last Sunday saw me and some 3,800 other hardy souls take a jog around the windy environs of Date city. Actually, the very windy bordering-on-gale-force environs of Date city. The occasion was the 24th Date Spring Half Marathon, an event that prides itself on being Hokkaido's first road race of the year. Given that it takes place in the middle of April, it is an indication of how long the winters over here actually are.

Anyway, I have ran this race a couple of times before, enjoyed it and decided to reaffirm my innate, primeval athleticism (but softened by my soulful stride - there's that effortless alliteration again, folks) after winter's enforced hibernation.

It was windy, though. Did I mention that? Bear it in mind.

As the first race of the season it is quite popular and attracts more than the usual number of entrants from all corners of Hokkaido and further afield from Honshu too. This to a somewhat out of the way place, a northern Japanese version of Wexford. It also attracts a disproportionate amount of old people. The oldest competitor there was Mr. Nishizawa, a sprightly 82 year old from Sapporo. Yes, 82. Or to put it another way, he was born in 1929, the year of the Wall Street Crash and the first television test broadcast. And he ran 21.1 km (13.1 miles). On a very windy day. Excessively windy, even.

To be honest, the rude good health of so many seniors was both refreshing and a tad unnerving to witness. According to the race guide there were 41 competitors over the age of 70 and I'd swear at least 40 of them passed me by.

There I'd be, trotting along at what I thought was a fair old clip, when I'd hear this cheerful 'Hello' come from beside me and a grinning, hobbit like man with a twinkle in his eye who looked as if he was on temporary day release from the local nursing home, would go pitter-pattering past me, all the while thanking me for taking part and urging me to ganbatte, or do my best. And then he'd continued to pitter-patter on until he dwindled into the distance (or got snatched by a roaming band of orcs - Date is notorious for them).

And this happened a lot. Obviously for the local elderly hobbit population there is nothing quite as motivating as beating someone from the Race of Hairy Men in the Date half marathon. Plus, given their smaller, whippet like frames, they could cut through the wind whereas us men folk bore the full brunt of nature's fury.

Christ, that wind.

Anyway, despite my best efforts to slipstream behind some of these speedy hobbits, I still ended up coming home in 1:46, a good five wind-resisted minutes outside my personal best. I know, I know, for shame - Cian still refuses to look me in the eye and Sanae has taken to calling me 'Lard Arse'. But I console myself with the thought of Mr. Nishizawa and the fact that (hopefully) I still have another 40 years to beat my personal best.

Team Ireland - Pre Race

All hail the foreigner, for he is from the Race of Men! And he has abundant chest hair!!

Cian, refusing to meet his father's eye.

Cian, refusing to share his rice ball.

Daddy, hiding his social ostracism behind alcohol.

New term

Back teaching this week after my month-long stint reporting on the 'Land of Level 7' as Fox News will no doubt soon begin calling us. While my coverage has been as hard-edged and recklessly brave as ever, unfortunately my teaching skills have rapidly deteriorated. It's a bit like coming back to GAA spring training after a long winter lay off which was spent mainly at the pub, or in front of the TV, or on Monday nights and Sky Soccer, both.
You feel flabby, out of sorts, unable even to do the basic stuff like manage the classroom, issue instructions and put the fear of a gaijin god into the impressionable first year students. My Japanese is a constant fumble for elusive meaning, my class introductions are laboured and rambling, and I am met with polite incomprehension. I feel like Rocky, the first one, right down to the need to get into teaching shape by drinking two raw eggs every morning and pounding the bloody pulp out of sides of beef down the local Muroran meat packers.
Well, actually I don't. Rather I swallow some fish oil tablets (with added EPA! Yeah! Come on!! You want some of this?! Huh! Huh!), and whilst humming the 'dah, dah, dah, dah, dah, da-da- dah..' theme tune, jog up the, well, okay, walk, slowly, up the stairs to my fifth floor office. But the dream is still the same. You know, to be boxing heavyweight champion of the world in the future conditional. And then make pairs and tell your partner why.
Anyway, the snow has been replaced by gentle rain, the temperatures are nudging double figures and there's this strange green stuff beginning to appear on the trees and ground. I think the technical term for it all is 'spring'.

Gaynor sensei in training. (Note: Dog not his own. Wife won't allow it).

Thursday Night

So there we were, fast asleep having gone to bed just shortly after 10.00pm. Sleeping amidst dreams of verdant gardens and forest walks.

Though that was just me. Sanae was probably dreaming of chocolate while Cian was, as always, drooling contently on to his pillow.

Then, shudder. Huhhh. Shudder, shudder, jolt, shudder-shudder-shudder-shudder-shuddershuddershuddershudder - things begin rattling and swaying that really shouldn't be rattling and swaying.

Christ an earthquake, aftershock, what feckin ever but it’s causing the bed to shake. Sanae bolts out of bed and heads for Cian's room. She's got a couple of years on me but I still manage to pass her on the stairs up to Cian's room.

Shuddering begins to subside as we enter his room. Cian is still sleeping, slowly, as ever, rinsing his pillow in his own drool.

We step back outside and in whispers debate what to do. Wake Cian, dress and evacuate the house. Or, the Irish option - go back to bed and pretend it never happened.

We go back to bed.

It takes us a while to get back to sleep though. Too much adrenaline coursing through our systems.

7.1 aftershock is what the television news tells us the next morning. At 11.36 at night it felt a lot stronger.

Ongoing effects

The continuing disaster, for there really is no other word for it, continues to dominate the news over here. It has been nearly a month since the earthquake but the effects, in so many different spheres of life, are still being felt. In the shops and supermarkets here in Muroran it is almost impossible to find yoghurt any more - although Hokkaido is the dairy capital of Japan, most of the actual food processing takes place down in Honshu, close to the big urban areas. Plastic bottled water is also running short, again because many of the manufacturing plants were badly damaged by the quake. Tokyo Disneyland, one of Japan's premier tourist attractions is still closed and is likely to remain so for the foreseeable future as the continuing electricity blackouts mean the rides (which are undamaged) can't operate (you can read a longer article here). De Paper carried an interesting report on the dilemma currently facing school book publishers. The new school year begins next week and the already printed secondary school science textbooks have a chapter devoted to extolling the virtues of nuclear power and how wonderful everyone's lives are thanks to the miracle of the atom.

A tad controversial, I think you'll agree.

And there's half a million of textbooks ready to go into school bags and the publishers and the Ministry of Education don't know what to do. They can't pulp them and reissue a new textbook in time for the start of classes, but nor can they leave them unchanged and be accused of corrupting youthful minds. So, what to do? Suggestions, anyone?

Nor are we immune up here in Hokkaido. On the radio this morning I heard a report detailing how Hakodate, probably the island's most popular tourist destination, has seen a 60% decline in tourist numbers for March as compared to last year. Despite being far removed from everything down south, Hong Kong, Taiwan and Korean airlines have all cancelled their scheduled flights to Hokkaido until further notice - this in response to pretty much across the board cancellations by intending visitors. Nor is there any sign of a respite - the situation in Fukushima looks likely to take months if not years to stabilize and until then foreign tourists are going to stay away, Japanese exports, particularly foodstuffs, will be banned and/or shunned and me and Cian will probably end up panhandling on the street corners of Muroran. Sort of like a radioactive, glow-in-the-dark version of Ireland.

Me and 'De Paper'

My interview with the Hokkaido Shimbun ('De paper') has, courtesy of Sanae's mother 'gone viral', if phoning every relative, friend, and acquaintance about her son-in-law's interview can be termed 'going viral'. The original article ran in the Muroran edition of the paper but obviously it dawned on them the 'scoop' they had on their hands ("Christ! It's him. It's really him. Brian Gaynor! Brian feckin Gaynor! Stop, I say, stop the presses!! Hold the front page!!!"). So they promoted me to the island wide edition and long forgotten Japanese acquaintances who thought I had long ago returned to Iceland to resume my simple life of whale-hunting and volcano-dodging, contacted me and begged me to (a) come visit them; and (b) stop my mother-in-law from phoning them.

Now, courtesy of this bit of magic we call "d'auld internet", you too can experience the frenzied excitement of my mother-in-law. Here's the link:

http://www.hokkaido-np.co.jp/news/chiiki/278960.html

For those of you who don't speak the cupla focail of Japanese (shame on you), I will provide a translated summary:

"Brian Gaynor, the brooding, warrior-like albeit strangely poetic manifestation of hairy chested manhood is the voice of Japan for all back in Ireland, his home country (and a sadder place without him). Through his rich, oak-casked, mellow baritone he has reassured an anxious nation of despairing gaels that his adopted home isn't going straight to hell in a radioactive basket. Day after anxious day his quite, steady, rock-like presence on the airwaves has spread a sense of serenity as those worn weary by worry have their heavy hearts lightened by his wise words and unsurpassed alliteration.

His career in journalism has been long and varied - you can see it in his pale blue eyes, eyes, though kindly, that mask a lifetime's worth of lived experience, an experience most of us couldn't imagine let alone live. He has been present at pivotal moments in our shared history - in '75 on the last chopper out of Saigon, in '91 on the first tank into Baghdad, '95 in the Upper Cusack Stand when Clare won the All-Ireland, '99 at the now legendary JET renewer's conference in Kobe ("sort of like the Rolling Stones at Altamont but edgier" as one participant described it), and Amsterdam, 2010, when he was on the last Aer Lingus flight to Dublin on that infamous Christmas Eve.

Through it all he his stoic, big-footed virility has ensured that, no matter what the circumstances, 'he gets the job done' and that is why he is who he is and not who he could be. And he likes small, soft fluffy kittens. And has a thing for world peace and, you know, the Dalai Lama and all that Tibetan stuff, man."

As a postscript, the media over here can't get enough of my 'stoic, big-footed virility' and a television station is dispatching a TV crew from Sapporo down to Muroran this coming Monday to interview me. I will keep you posted.