Infectious Part 3.

Today's absentee count of the first years was over 80 students today. The second years are beginning to drop as well, with almost 30 students absent with influenza. The only reason the third years aren't getting sick is because they're too busy studying 20 hours a day in solitary confinement in their bedrooms.

In the effort to prevent an influenza epidemic, although I suspect it's already too late, all classes tomorrow have been cancelled. There was a big meeting after lunch about it, and I've found it hard to express surprise at the decision without being amused. The students still at school are completely thrilled at the bonus day, and I'm content with a student-free day myself.

To then be told that in order to prevent further sickness myself, I should gargle with either tap water or green tea every time I leave the staff room, because the virus lives in the throat, makes me wonder a) if we'll actually get to graduation next week, and b) who the amazing people are that do such a wonderful spin job on the at-home remedies in Japan.

How to gut fish.

Things I'd never thought I'd learn in Japan:

Apparently gutting a fish (serves me right for not looking properly and assuming) means that I have to scrape the innards out with my hands. eeeeew. Eew.

That I'm a little squeamish when it comes to innards....actually, I don't know why that one's a surprise in Japan, given some of the things I've had put in front of me and been expected to eat. Case in point: boiled fish ovaries. eew.

Infectious Part 2.

I took this morning off. I've been feeling like I've been fighting something off for about 2 weeks now, and really didn't fancy the prospect of sitting in the simmering pot of sickness that is our staffroom at the moment.

I got to school at lunch time to be questioned by many people who all kept me at arm's length as though my germs were going to be more gaijin vicious. Then I was told with a small hint of delight that there were over 60 first years away today due to colds and influenza. The kids still left at school are finding it somewhat amusing that they're tougher than their friends and have taken to mocking each other coughing.

Jokes aside, really, I'm not surprised that everyone's getting sick. The classrooms are generally freezing, there's 40 kids in each room, the windows are never opened, and the kids are constantly pushed hard. It's almost the end of term, there's exams and classes finishing, and graduation and song competitions and the cultural festival coming up. While I'm all for having a full life and being busy, you've got to wonder about the durability of these kids when roughly one quarter of the year group is absent, fallen to something that can only be fixed by prolonged bed rest. Like Amanda said, preventative medicine has a long way to go in this country. Not coming to school and getting well is surely going to be a lot better recieved by your colleagues than passing around the malady that you're incubatuing.

Infectious.

I just taught a class of 23 kids. 23. I normally have 40 kids in a class. Today, 10 of them were home with influenza, and the other 7 were home with colds. The remaining 23 weren't all that flash either, with at least half of them looking like they were on the wrong side of the black plague. Minus the pustules.

Ganbatte, anyone?

Everyone else around me seems intent on spreading whatever it is that they have - the spluttering, spitting and sneezing symphony is in full swing in the stuffy, over-heated staffroom drowning out the pious ones with their Micheal Jackson-esque masks. I feel kinda crappy, and I'd rather take my chances with my own solitary germs at home than the cocktail of air-borne mucus that's on offer at school at the moment.

A wee bit excited!

Your estimated departure time for HOKKAIDO is in approximately 4 hours. Please try not to panic as you will surely have packed enough clothes by now. Sit back, relax and enjoy the fun that that freezing cold white stuff will provide.

Madam, your complimentary glass of champagne awaits you on board.

Thank you for flying ANA.

The Night Bus of Evil

The night bus is evil. It sucks you in with promises of luxurious reclining coach seats and the adventures of travel, but above all, a cheap ticket to somewhere far far away, all made possible while you rest and sleep.

They lie. Except for the cheap part. After the first time, you swear never, ever again, but something keeps bringing me back, like the glutton for punishment I am.

Night buses, let me state again, are evil. The whole premise that you fall asleep on departure and wake bright and refreshed is null and void. Instead, you contort into uncomfortable positions, try desperately not to encroach on your fellow passenger's minuscule personal space and have the pleasure of being woken, if you've been lucky enough to sleep in the first place, every 90 minutes for a wee and a cigarette and yet another omiyage store. To add to this whinging tale of woe, (because really, that's all this is - I got off the bus in Osaka at5.30 this morning, and I'm stuck at school AND I'M TIRED, GRUMPY AND SORE SORE SORE) encourage the majority of the night bus shenanigans during the winter months to far away snow fun that the powder monkeys clamour for.

But, should you persevere, you will be rewarded for your sacrifice. This weekend, Jeff and I headed up to Nozawaonsen, for a weekend of throwing ourselves carelessly off the side of mountains, onsens of sulphurous water that are barely cool enough to dip a toe in, Apple Kit Kats, and pigeons with wheels (if I ever find anything on the web about these, I promise promise to post a link).

When we arrived early Saturday morning, there had been 20 cms of fresh powder, and the same happened on Sunday night. There was a brilliant gully of powder between two runs that was fun to do again and again and again and as one who has never been boarding through powder, I am an instant convert. It's like falling in pillows, but it takes concentration and muscle (well, from me anyway) to turn through it and avoid the trees.

I may not be able to move my legs fully at this present moment, and anything that requires stomach muscles is a lesson in why sit-ups are good for you, and the night bus may well be the most hellish thing I have had this misfortune to have experienced of late, but the endorphins you get out of gunning down the powder on the side of a black run makes you forget all about 10 hour bus marathons.

Next weekend: Hokkaido. It's the third weekend of a potential 5 in a row of boarding and I fear it may be the point in which my body turns into nothing but a mass of highly sensitive pain receptors. Apparently whatever doesn't kill you only makes you stronger.