Untangling My Chopsticks by Victoria Abbott Riccardi Page B
Authors: Victoria Abbott Riccardi
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dishes made from local specialties, including tender wheat gluten, white miso, and yuba, the custardy skin that is skimmed off simmering soymilk.
I had stopped by TIC one dry bright November morning to locate the names of several schools where I might teach conversational English and study tea kaiseki. There were two women working behind the office's counter. One was helping a bearded gentleman with an Australian accent find his way to the nearby city of Nara. The other was an attractive woman in her forties. She was on the phone and her black bob was doing just that, bouncing up and down as she chatted into the receiver. I waited for her to hang up and then asked her if she had a list of schools where I might teach English.
“Just a minute, please,” said the woman, then headed over to the back wall lined with thick blue binders. She pulled one down, clicked it open, and returned with a list of English conversation schools in Kyoto and Osaka.
“It's not easy to find work here,” she said, pursing her lips. “Everyone wants to work in Kyoto. And you,” she said, glancing at the door, “are quite late. The Japanese school year begins in April.”
I felt deflated. “Wait until you get to Japan to find a job,” cautioned a friend, who had recently returned from teaching in Tokyo. “Schools in Japan know you want security, so they charge you for that. You'll earn a fraction of what you could if you sign the contract in person.” I took a different tack.
“How about a list of schools where I might study tea kaiseki?”
“Tea kaiseki?” she said, her brows lifting. “Maybe you want to eat kaiseki?”
I paused. “No, actually, I am interested in studying tea kaiseki.”
“Hmmm, tea kaiseki,” said the woman, tapping her fingers on her lips as if to play a little tune. “That is very difficult. Wait a minute, please.” She disappeared into the back office. I could hear cabinets sliding open. People talking. She reappeared.
“You say you want to study tea kaiseki?” she asked again, as if I hadn't answered her correctly the first time.
“Yes, I was told it originated in Kyoto.”
“I see.” She looked at me for a moment before speaking. “Maybe you want to study the tea ceremony?” I knew why she was confused. Most foreigners come to Kyoto to study the tea ceremony, not tea kaiseki. They enroll in full-time programs to study tea, which includes classes on tea kaiseki. I asked her if that was necessary.
“Just a minute, please.” She stepped into the back office again. I heard more talking. Someone dialed a phone. Several minutes passed and then the woman emerged.
“There is a school called Mushanokoji that offers just tea kaiseki classes. But you'll need an introduction and classes are very expensive.” Her eyes narrowed. “They are also taught in Japanese. Do you speak Japanese?”
“ Sukoshi (a little),” I said, squeezing my index finger and thumb together in the air. She was hardly impressed. Nor should she have been, really. I had only gotten to page ten in my Japanese for Beginners book and tape set I had bought three weeks before leaving for Japan.
I jotted down the name of the tea school and slid it into my knapsack, along with the list of language schools. The woman reached for the phone.
“Thank you for all your help,” I said with a little bow. The woman's hand hovered over the receiver.
“Is there anything else?”
“No, thank you so much for all your time.” She bobbed her head, then began to dial, while I helped myself to a map of Kyoto and left the office.
Back on the sidewalk I stood in the sun for several seconds gathering my thoughts. Then, swinging my knapsack over my shoulders, I headed uptown with a renewed sense of purpose. I had a list of English conversation schools. I had the name of a tea kaiseki school. Now all I needed was an introduction.
It was Florence Harada who helped provide me with the introduction. The wife of one of my father's college
I had stopped by TIC one dry bright November morning to locate the names of several schools where I might teach conversational English and study tea kaiseki. There were two women working behind the office's counter. One was helping a bearded gentleman with an Australian accent find his way to the nearby city of Nara. The other was an attractive woman in her forties. She was on the phone and her black bob was doing just that, bouncing up and down as she chatted into the receiver. I waited for her to hang up and then asked her if she had a list of schools where I might teach English.
“Just a minute, please,” said the woman, then headed over to the back wall lined with thick blue binders. She pulled one down, clicked it open, and returned with a list of English conversation schools in Kyoto and Osaka.
“It's not easy to find work here,” she said, pursing her lips. “Everyone wants to work in Kyoto. And you,” she said, glancing at the door, “are quite late. The Japanese school year begins in April.”
I felt deflated. “Wait until you get to Japan to find a job,” cautioned a friend, who had recently returned from teaching in Tokyo. “Schools in Japan know you want security, so they charge you for that. You'll earn a fraction of what you could if you sign the contract in person.” I took a different tack.
“How about a list of schools where I might study tea kaiseki?”
“Tea kaiseki?” she said, her brows lifting. “Maybe you want to eat kaiseki?”
I paused. “No, actually, I am interested in studying tea kaiseki.”
“Hmmm, tea kaiseki,” said the woman, tapping her fingers on her lips as if to play a little tune. “That is very difficult. Wait a minute, please.” She disappeared into the back office. I could hear cabinets sliding open. People talking. She reappeared.
“You say you want to study tea kaiseki?” she asked again, as if I hadn't answered her correctly the first time.
“Yes, I was told it originated in Kyoto.”
“I see.” She looked at me for a moment before speaking. “Maybe you want to study the tea ceremony?” I knew why she was confused. Most foreigners come to Kyoto to study the tea ceremony, not tea kaiseki. They enroll in full-time programs to study tea, which includes classes on tea kaiseki. I asked her if that was necessary.
“Just a minute, please.” She stepped into the back office again. I heard more talking. Someone dialed a phone. Several minutes passed and then the woman emerged.
“There is a school called Mushanokoji that offers just tea kaiseki classes. But you'll need an introduction and classes are very expensive.” Her eyes narrowed. “They are also taught in Japanese. Do you speak Japanese?”
“ Sukoshi (a little),” I said, squeezing my index finger and thumb together in the air. She was hardly impressed. Nor should she have been, really. I had only gotten to page ten in my Japanese for Beginners book and tape set I had bought three weeks before leaving for Japan.
I jotted down the name of the tea school and slid it into my knapsack, along with the list of language schools. The woman reached for the phone.
“Thank you for all your help,” I said with a little bow. The woman's hand hovered over the receiver.
“Is there anything else?”
“No, thank you so much for all your time.” She bobbed her head, then began to dial, while I helped myself to a map of Kyoto and left the office.
Back on the sidewalk I stood in the sun for several seconds gathering my thoughts. Then, swinging my knapsack over my shoulders, I headed uptown with a renewed sense of purpose. I had a list of English conversation schools. I had the name of a tea kaiseki school. Now all I needed was an introduction.
It was Florence Harada who helped provide me with the introduction. The wife of one of my father's college
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