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Exchange of Value: Development of the Penglais Otemae School Exchange

Imagine a country of deep traditions, great vitality, impeccable order, and fascinating complexity: this is Japan. My interest in Japan stemmed from many sources; When Mari, a Japanese girl, stayed with my family in Wales we became friends instantly; I realised then how easily friendship can leap over the boundaries of geography and culture; perhaps these differences heighten our appreciation of our common humanity. I longed to travel to Japan, to meet people in their own homes, to understand something of their culture and share their experiences: this became my aim.

4 a.m. in the temple, don't look drowsy, the thwack of a stout cane as it struck the sleepy monks to my left and right. Za Zen, or meditation, is practiced daily by Buddhist monks. Guests are permitted to join the morning meditation, often for only thirty minutes. As I was the only guest I sat for the full hour and a half. Now and then my posture was corrected as I sat cross legged on a hard cushion, hands on lap, palms upwards, eyes angled downwards. My mind focused, focused with all my energy, all my will power, on not falling off the cushion. I did not dare, would not let myself look at my watch. By the time the bell was clanged to signal the end I was shaking. I was handed an English translation of the sutras and we entered a room where the dusky form of a Buddha could be seen, sitting quietly, waiting. In the dim dawn light the temple seemed timeless, past and present merged into one. Generations of monks had bowed, knelt and chanted their sutras; the rhythmic, hypnotic sound, both calming and rousing, had a mesmerising quality. My aching limbs and throbbing head began to seem of little importance, the pain would pass, but this memory would stay with me forever.

Before coming to Japan I knew and was told that there would be good experiences and bad experiences. It was not so. Experiences like Za Zen were perhaps painful, but it was worthwhile, memorable (even so, I have no intention of converting to Buddhism). After the pain had eased I felt pleased that I had sat for the full hour and a half (without falling off my cushion). I believe that you get out of life what you put in. During my time in Japan I made every effort to approach everything with energy and enthusiasm and I know that my efforts were worthwhile. I put everything I could into my trip to Japan, and I got so much more in return.

I thoroughly enjoyed my time in Japan. I learnt many things and made many friends. Through e-mail, letters and photo's I hope to keep in contact with many, and my diaries will always help to remind me, but some memories, I am sure, will never fade.

Thirty six degrees Celsius, ninety per cent humidity. I stood waiting outside Hosoi Family house. A sun-bronzed arm reached up and wrinkled yet dexterous fingers closed gently over my wrist.

‘Cutchi, cutchi, cutchi'. The kindly face smiling up at me with a concerned expression. For a moment I wondered where this tiny old lady, bent double with years of working the land, was leading me. Guiding me to the house she stopped me by the wall. Above, the ornate lead tiles shone bright in the midday sun. One arm stretched upwards with the slow grace of age, one finger extended to be silhouetted against the white hot sun.

‘Atsui', (hot) she frowned. Her arm drifted through the air to point at the protruding roof tiles which cast a shadow around the house, her eyes folded in smiles.

‘Tsumetai', (cooler) she murmured in a softer tone, inviting me into the cooler shadows.

Japan's summer is indeed hot. I think this summer may have been a record, but despite the heat I joined Otemae School's running, kendo and tennis clubs.

Asami handed me a neatly folded note sealed with a Seiichi Hayashi princess sticker.

‘Maybe, I would like to join tennis club. It is OK?' I hesitated, unsure if I was asking too much.

Each school has its own tennis courts. Each club is run by the school pupils; lead by the club captain.

Asami handed me some ironed navy blue shorts and a pair of tennis trainers. Gold clay simmered under the sun, white lines glared. The smell of warm rubber and suntan lotion. The ball sailed over the net, bounced, kicked up unexpectedly high off the clay. A resonant ping. The ball bounced in my opponent's court.

Asami's friends came to watch. After my match I joined them, resting my back against the wire fence in the leafy shade of the roaring cicada trees. Someone bought ice-cold tea in plastic cups.

‘May I ask question? I read many young people in your country smoke.' Kanako looked anxious.

‘Maybe a few young people smoke, but today I think less people smoke. The government says to young people that they should not smoke, but some still do. Maybe many young people smoke because government and parents tell them not to. Many older people want to stop smoking. I don't smoke. Some of my friends do. It is not healthy. In Japan?' I waited for her reply; she concentrated as she formed her ideas into English.

‘Maybe same. Older people smoke more. Many man smokes more than women. More young people smoke sometimes... I'm sorry to ask this question. I read young people smoke and wonder if it is true.'

‘No, I am sports woman' she replied with a smile, understanding the teasing humour of the question.

‘She is strong sports woman. Good tennis player. You use her racket' Asami smiled. I hadn't realised the rackets belonged to individuals and had swapped the one first given to me for another more similar to my own.

‘No, is OK. I am pleased you chose my racket.' This attitude took me completely by surprise. Although I do not like to admit it my reaction would probably have been to politely but readily accept my racket back. Without doubt Kanako's reaction was far more positive and graceful. In Britain we may be brought up to be polite, perhaps once we were a nation famous for being polite, or as a Canadian once told me, politely rude, but in Japan people seem brought up to be graceful. This social grace was both touching and inspiring: it is a quality worth striving to emulate.

‘You like tennis, yes. Otemae School tennis club you join, yes. Mr Murakami plays tennis also. He tells me he looks forward to taking to the tennis court with you'. Masako had told me when I met her after Otemae School tennis club. And so I went with Mr Murakami to play tennis on a court that must be booked at least a month in advance. His tennis partners were Mr Kimura, a big man with a big personality and a big serve. His self assured air, too polite to be arrogant, and his jokey manner put everyone at ease. The other smaller, quieter man had a very long Japanese name. After 3 sets of doubles the smaller quieter man asked what my favourite Japanese food was.

Mr verylongname promptly decided to take everyone out for a sushi lunch. When I ducked under the hemp curtains I saw that there were no rotating belts, glaring colours or PVC skirts in this sushi bar. We sat on wooden stools at the bar and watched the chefs opposite at work. Japanese steel flashed and glistened as it cut paper thin slices of the freshest sashimi (raw fish).

Without doubt the Japanese are proud of their food, which has been exported worldwide. Sushi is arguably the most famous. The glutinous rice with its fresh, sweet sharp taste, the tingle of wasabi, the fresh sashimi (raw fish), a texture that almost melts in the mouth. The colourful array of different varieties presented on thick pine wood plates.

I read that Japanese food was something to be looked at, not eaten. Junchihiro Tanazaki argued that Japanese food was something to be contemplated. I would argue that it is something to be looked at, contemplated, and eaten: yellow tail, tuna, salmons eggs, prawn, octopus, squid, sea urchin, salmon, clam, conger eel, sardines, shellfish, sea bream, Pacific saury…

‘oishii, oishii!' I'd smile, and Mr Kimura slapped the bar and ordered something even more bizarre talking quickly to me in Japanese. Mr Murakami translated. The other man sat quietly but I was careful not to exclude him. He said very little but towards the end he leaned slightly towards Mr Murakami and spoke quietly.

‘You have good manners, he says you have good manners' translated Mr Murakami.

In a country renowned for good manners and etiquette, to be told that I had good manners made me very happy. I was pleased that I was able to play tennis as I felt that I could in some way repay the great generosity I was shown. When joining people in a sport, musical activity or games, the boundaries of language break down. By trying hard and being a good sport it is easy to enjoy yourself, win respect and show gratitude. Activities like this, where there is a slight competitive edge, are without doubt a highly successful way of engaging people. The experience of having Japanese visitors to my home has shown me that challenges which encourage friendly and respectful competition successfully achieve a feeling of team spirit. This may be ‘crazy croquet' around the garden pond or a quiz about Welsh culture, or tennis doubles: all are sociable, enjoyable, and are not limited by language barriers.

My ability to speak Japanese was limited. Although I had attended Japanese language club we were still only at the stage of learning katakana, the second alphabet. Most people I encountered in Japan spoke very good English. Most people were very pleased to have the opportunity to speak English. However, this was not always the case. Having arrived at Matsuda family home, Kanazawa I was sitting in the kitchen playing with Yuya and Mizuki, aged 3 and 5, when a tall, strongly built young man walked in

‘Konichiwa,. Nihongo ka? Boku wa no English desu. Wakarimashita?….' Mizuki and Yuya jumped up and clung to him like limpets to a rock. I stood struggling for a reply...

‘Boku wa no English desu, American English OK. I can speak American English no problem…'

Kouichiro spent four years in the US when he was younger, and lived there for a year when he was seventeen. It may have been the first time he had spoken English, American English, for ten years but he spoke with fluency and ease and a sharp New Yorker accent. Most people I met wanted to speak English: the entrance exam students, Nova school students, English teachers, but Kouichiro had made a point of not speaking English. What little Japanese I had seemed so clumsy and inadequate.

Niomi, Kouichiro told me, ‘graduated from a very smart girls high school but has no English'.

‘Many companies?' I looked up from the manga cartoon colouring book I was helping Yuya with.

‘Hai, many' Niomi scampered around the table to the shelves and pulled out a newspaper, waving it almost triumphantly, ‘Newspaper… company building'

‘hai, shinbun, newspaper, newspaper' she repeated as she gently folded it. Kouichiro rarely said anything as Niomi and I waved, drew pictures, danced and skipped our way to an understanding. He didn't say anything when I remembered the word for newspaper, but a smile flickered across his face as he nodded his head slowly.

My time in Japan strengthened my resolve to learn Japanese. The few words I spoke were greatly appreciated and although I do not think it was a great limitation it would definitely be an advantage to be able to speak more fluently. Perhaps by speaking their language I would have been able to integrate into my host families even more easily. This integration with families is, I feel, central to the exchange. By staying with Japanese families in their homes, taking part in everyday life, I was able to understand far more of their way of life and culture and share their experiences.

This view is shared by Masako Kawaguchi who led the first group of Japanese pupils to Aberystwyth in 2003. A petite woman with long jet black hair clipped modestly back with a silver Celtic pin. Brisk and efficient, her somewhat stern face relaxed into an almost childlike smile as she recalled Aberystwyth, where she taught Japanese from September 1995 until March 1997. ‘Aberystwyth, where I taught Japanese, is rather a small town, although it has a university and is very international and many people there have an interest and respect for foreign cultures. The experiences and the many friends I made there are my most precious treasure and I heartily appreciate them. As a teacher at Osaka prefecture senior high school, I've always wondered how I can pass these good experiences on to my pupils. Of course I daily try to use my experience and knowledge in my world history lessons but, as I myself experienced how precious it is to actually live in a different culture and interact with local people, I started to think it would be the best reward from me to Osaka prefecture if I could establish a link between our school in Osaka and one in Wales.' I am not only indebted to Masako for initiating the life changing experience of this exchange, but also for the phenomenal amount of effort she went to to ensure my extended stay in Japan was possible. It was Masako who arranged five homes for me to stay at, and even after the official exchange she continued to help me plan and organise, from cashing travellers cheques to playing tennis.

Arguably the best way to learn about a foreign country, its culture and its people, is to take part in daily life. A homestay exchange is a perfect opportunity to do this. The success of the exchange rests partly on the ability of host families to treat their guests, as much as possible, as a member of the family. This approach was taken by almost all of the families I stayed with.

I guessed that the door Ikuko had disappeared through lead to the sink. When I returned they were already sitting waiting. I picked up my cup and sipped the refreshing, cool tea.

‘This is a very beautiful cup.' The elegant curve of the handle was quite different from the heavy mugs they each clasped.

‘Yes, it was wedding present, very expensive I think. My mother gave me when I was married to my husband. My mother is dementia. Do you know dementia?'

I sometimes found it difficult staying with this family. However, what staying with them really did make me realise was that despite cultural difference, different history and traditions, many values and ideas are universal. They were incredibly proud of their home, their garden, its prestigious location, their annual foreign holidays. Many of the things that people in the West aspire to are also the aspirations of the East. Many values and perceptions are international. For young people school grades and the notorious university entrance exams loom large. The pupils of Otemae School were conscientious, diligent and smart. They had all had to pass an entrance exam to enter the school. The results of this exam are broadcast on Osaka TV News: a brief shot of Asuka Murakami's smiling face as she gave a little hop and embraced her mother. Asuka was one of the top pupils in the 2 nd grade, destined for Kyoto University.

I slid open the partition door. ‘Ohayoo gozaimasu' Asuka sat poised over her book like a peregrine waiting to dive. An untouched slice of toast, an empty coffee cup by her bony elbow. She looked up from her book ‘Ohayoo gozaimasu, good morning' she smiled. ‘It is my hobby. Study is my hobby'

‘My teacher tells us we must study hard. We must study hard eight hours every day to pass entrance exam.' In a Japanese culture presentation by Otemae pupils, the university entrance exam system was explained: ‘Remember, the most important thing is to pass entrance examination' a young student said earnestly.

Kouichiro felt that Japanese students may be well educated but they lack social skills and creativity. Interestingly, Japan has not to my knowledge created anything that has had a significant impact on modern life. Japan may be ‘number one' for hi-tech gadgets and gismos: Sony, Panasonic, Fuji, Canon, but these companies made their name by taking Western inventions and making them smaller, more efficient, cheaper. In the past this has been highly successful. Today the lack of creativity among Japan's aspiring graduates is a cause for concern. Some suggest that the education system should be changed, with increased emphasis on communication and expression. Perhaps in schools such as Otemae this change is already beginning. During my stay at Otemae, many pupils said that they were excited to be able to talk to a foreigner for the first time: ‘Thanks a lot! It is very good experience for me to interchange with you!!' The opportunity to communicate with people from a different country is valuable and worthwhile for all involved. As Atsumi put it, ‘I could get you to tell me about Wales and tell you about Japan. You love Japan and challenged a lot of Japanese things. You learned many Japanese, didn't you? You staying provoked me to work hard to be good English speaker. I'd like to go to Wales to see you when I become a good English speaker'. If Atsumi passes her entrance exam her family will come to stay with me in Wales.

Despite their rigorous schedule there was time for me to visit school classes to give Power Point presentations about Penglais School, Aberystwyth town, and Welsh culture. Eighty pupils sat at individual desks. The sound of a class of pupils being quiet. Ironed white shirts, black trousers, black pleated knee length skirts, white plimsolls. I stood at the front, pointing at the illuminated screen, Welsh music playing, sweets and postcards were handed out and a quiz. The boy slouching at the back leaned forward and picked up his pen. Two girls whispered quickly. A hand shielded an answer. The final question. Heads jerked upwards. There was a slight murmur.

I repeated, ‘how do you spell the Welsh word for lovespoon: llwy serch, llwy serch.'

We may be on the opposite side of the globe but many things are the same. Harry Potter, football, boyfriends and girlfriends, universities, Shrek ice cream (Shrek everything), Beckham's smooth smile as he answers his newest, smallest mobile phone. This realisation that similar things appeal, that even the most simple ideas are shared, and that this has been the case for centuries, is in some ways a comforting one.

‘What do you see when you look at the moon?' Asuka marched Luka, her golden retriever, along the road. The tarmac radiated the days heat but the glaring sun had sunk behind the mountains which circle Osaka. By the roadside the tall bamboo rustled gently: on the other side the windows of the new Venetian style houses glowed. In the distance the green blush of the golf stadium illuminations stained the sky. High above in the velvet darkness floated the moon.

‘Hai, a rabbit. It's the same in Japan.' Pointing upwards Asuka traced the shadowy rabbit's form leaping across the moon. ‘I see rabbit.'

‘In Africa there's a myth…. an old story, maybe fantasy, about a rabbit in the moon,'

‘Myth…..' I echoed, hoping it would help distil the word, making it hers. ‘So the African myth is that there was a rabbit jumping over a fire'

‘In Japan it is maybe rabbit's little happy sad story. I think happy. It has very good meaning. The man was walking in the forest and he had no rice. He was very starving so he sat down. All the animals like horse and cat and…. so on… saw he was had no rice. All the animals, like horse and cat, bought him present of food, like onigiri, or cat could bring fish, or potato, for the man. But rabbit had no gift to bring so he went to man and said to man ‘I have nothing to gift, please eat me.' The god was watching and sees rabbit say ‘eat me' and he thinks this is very good thing. God so puts rabbit in the moon for always remember good thing. It has very good meaning'.

Compassion, generosity and selflessness are valued and eventually rewarded. In Japan I was often greeted with great generosity, treated with great kindness. Although I may never be able to fully repay the debt of gratitude owed to each family I stayed with I hope that by helping to organise the future exchange programmes between Otemae School and Penglais School I will be able to make sure many more people can take part in this worthwhile experience. It is a unique opportunity to learn about ways of life and culture.

Japanese culture is something which has fascinated the West for years. The quiet dignity of many of Japan's highly developed art forms, customs and ceremonies are as complicated as they are beautiful. Tea ceremony is one of the ancient traditions of Japan, and one that is highly complex. Its procedures are full of dignity and gravity and so it was with some trepidation that I approached the tea ceremony temple. This was a special annual event where tea ceremony clubs from many of Osaka's schools gather to perform the tea ceremony. Ikuko had practiced tea ceremony for seven years but had only been to this event twice.

The tea ceremony waiting room was packed with kneeling yukata clad, fan fluttering girls, waiting. Two hours oozed by in the sticky heat. When our party was called through we stumbled to our feet and filed along a narrow corridor lined with shogi. Entering the room, carefully following the footsteps of Misa, I made my way to the space against the far wall. Politely the girl in charge asked our group to move to another space, to the only space left, the centre of the floor. With almond eyes watching from all sides I knelt down, bowing to the chief guest in his white Italian suit. I knew I would have the print of the woven tatami mats inscribed in my knees before the ceremony was over. The partition door slid open and the girl bowed, bowed again, bowed again and shuffled into the room. Tea was whisked with elegant swishing strokes of a wooden brush. Small blossom shaped sweets were presented on trays; placed on napkins and eaten slowly with small flat sticks. Tea cups were turned thrice clockwise so that the most beautiful part faced outwards towards the other guests. Green tea was sipped, the last drop drunk, leaving the bitter taste of something very healthy.

‘From Wales' and Misa stepped in, explaining in Japanese that I was an exchange student at Otemae School…..

Misa turned to me ‘You have good attitude he says' and I bowed as low as possible.

As we wandered away from the temple Ikuko turned to speak to me for the first time that day.

All through my school years I avoided singing at the annual Eisteddfod and was the only girl to choose poetry recital instead; I was also the only person to be banned from playing the triangle in Secondary School. Karaoke is perhaps not my calling.

Ikuko booked a karaoke room and a group of us huddled in to a kind of minimalist plastic caravan living room with a karaoke machine. Now and then a pimply teen stuck his head round the door and deposited a tray of brightly coloured free sugar water on the plastic table. We took it in turns. I had difficulty deciding whether I was glad everyone else was as musical as me or not. It made my task less daunting, but made my ears hurt. I was presented with a ‘yellow pages' of English songs. I found Bob Dylan's Positively 44 th street and got a reasonable score. My second choice was Hendrix's ‘All Along the Watchtower'

Ikuko's friends climbed on the chairs and waved their arms around to some emotive Japanese pop song. A few hours ago the same people had been kneeling and bowing with great dignity and composure. Tea ceremony and karaoke, shrines and sky scrapers, Hiroshige and Hello Kitty. Japan is a country of contradictions, a fascinating country.

Long queues of people. Watches glanced at. Necks craned to read the sign. ‘We apologise. Kansai train is delayed by 1 minute'. Watches glanced at again. A whooshing sound. A draft of cool air. A crowded train pulled into the station. An encouragingly cheerful tune played as the doors glided opened. People exit out the centre of the doors. People boarding enter at the sides of the doors. No one exited. Everybody boarded. Body to body, swaying in harmony with the train. Men held their hands in the air to avoid ‘misunderstandings'. I clutched my bag to my chest and tried not to breathe.

We rushed from the station, a minute behind schedule; elevator doors glided open and the yellow-hatted attendant smiled and waved goodbye: ‘This is 10 th floor. Have a nice day'. We hurried into a room. From the window we could see out over Umeda; streams of people, cars, trains, trams, more people. We were late.

The Koto master knelt waiting. The ivory plectrum on her thumb danced over the strings. The Koto is an ancient instrument, carved from a single piece of wood, inlaid with ivory and mother of pearl. The sound was both plaintive and soothing. I was told it cleansed the soul. It reminded me of a heron as it spreads wide its wings, launches and drifts through the air, leaving the branch of the larch tree trembling. The crush of the train and the bustle of the streets below, seemed long and far away.

Perhaps the neon headlong rush of Osaka could be overwhelming; the city may appear an impenetrable mass of concrete. When showing my family some photo's of the view of Osaka, as seen from the giddy heights of the Tempozan harbour ferris wheel, my father commented on the almost haphazard appearance of the urban landscape. Unlike many things in Japan which seem highly ordered and regulated, it is an almost incongruous mix of curves and corners, right angles, parallels and criss-crosses. The night illuminations of a street seem to exaggerate this, as pinks and oranges, purples and greens, glare, flash, clash and fuse into the neon glow of some futuristic science fiction scene. Namba, Osaka's entertainment area, is a perfect example of this peculiar type of Darwinism: survival of the flashiest.

Namba has been an entertainment and shopping area since the first boats arrived at Osaka port. The vibrant, colourful chaos of streets is described in the Lonely Planet Guide as the place to go ‘if you desperately need a tako-yaki (octopus ball) fryer, a red lantern to hang outside your shop or plastic food models to lure the customers in. You'll also find endless pots, pans, knives…'

I bought myself a Japanese cooking knife at a shop in Namba. The shop wall gleamed like fish scales, sharpened to a vicious edge. The clean, sour smell of polished steel, a hint of oil. The ribbon fold of each steel blade glistened gun-metal grey, engraved Japanese symbols, the ebony and wood handle, the perfect balance, the ease of slicing. A sushi connoisseur would tell you that one can tell the quality of the knife blade from the cut of the fish.

‘So you go shopping in Osaka ne?' The traffic light flared red and Kouichiro eased the Subaru to a halt. A stream of car headlights flowed across the junction. A gaggle of mopeds buzzed past, platinum hair sticking out from under pudding bowl helmets, t-shirts billowing: a skinny girl with pink aviator shades riding pillion.

‘Knives!?' Kouichiro kept his eyes on the road but he stretched back in his seat, his arms straight.

‘Yes, cooking knives from Namba. Japanese knives are fashionable. TV chefs use them'.

‘Yes! … But most families I've stayed with have been really surprised… and most of them don't use good knives. It seems strange.'

‘Japanese families don't use good knives' Kouichiro seemed amused. Leaning forward he rested his head on his arms and looked up at the traffic light hanging overhead. It was late: Yuya and Mizuki's heads were nodding drowsily, their eyelids drooping. Niomi folded Kouichiro's jacket over Yuya and rearranged the Pooh bear Kouichiro had won at the amusement arcade.

‘Actually you're the only family that seems to keep knives sharp'; he laughed loudly and translated this observation to Niomi. Kouichiro had spent several years living in the US. Perhaps spending time away from your home country teaches you both about another country but also about your own. I feel that being abroad offers a different perspective on your home country: it allows you to recognise the limitations of your own culture but also to appreciate its advantages, achievements and successes.

Kyoto, the imperial city, provided a contrast with Namba. In Kyoto the colours must be slightly more muted, more sombre and dignified, in keeping with the traditional style of the buildings.

We wandered along Shijo-dori. Reggae music spilled out of the fashion shops, a pickles shop, a noodle bar, gift shops, shelves piled with purses, boxes of ravioli shaped sweets, a shrine, a shoe shop. On the corner, in a dimly lit window, hung a large wood block print.

‘May we go this shop?' in my eagerness to be both polite, and to communicate the keenness of my interest, I had slipped into the sort of idiomatic speech that I might reasonably have expected from my hosts.

I spent many hours gazing at the work of the Zen school; artists such as Utamaro, Fujiwara and Tosa. I chose three Meiji period drawings of landscapes. Lines of ink hovered on the opaque paper. The subtle simplicity of the strokes; the grace of the line; the vivid landscapes evoked. Hitomi decided that I would like Ryoan-ji zen temple.

Ryoan-ji temple garden is described in ‘The Lonely Planet Guide' as ‘an austere collection of 15 rocks'. Here lines and space were everything. The raked gravel rippled and flowed around the steadfast rocks. The rocks were solid islands, permanent, the lines around them were changeable, they would be eroded, reconstructed, eroded; just as the urban landscape around the temple was.

The temples stood firm, enduring. Yoko Ezaki's family temple - ‘Big Cloud Temple' - had stood for 350 years. A heavy wooden door swung inwards. Before me a beautiful building, the sloping curve of the tiled roof, dark wood, solid but elegant. The breeze trembled through the red, green and yellow streamers wavering below the lantern. A well and garden in front: a skyscraper behind.

In Japan it seems that things old and new, tea ceremony and karaoke, shrines and skyscrapers, can coexist without conflict. Both are alive, both have their place, both are at peace with each other. Perhaps this is something you can see from simply travelling through Japan. Even as the silver bullet hurtles through the cities, from the window you can see shrines and skyscrapers side by side. But by staying with families I was able to live in Japan. I was able to learn about Japan's past and live in its present.

I was able to kneel in the main hall of Big Cloud Temple: golden storks sailed across silk screens, fruits piled high amongst candles and ornaments, the faint aroma of incense blended in clay pots buried in the damp earth. Candle flames wavered. Yoko's nimble fingers skipped across the piano keys. A Mozart sonata echoed delicately through the hall. The Ezaki family may be bound to practice age old traditions, but this does not mean Yoko could not practice piano in the temple hall. Nor did it preclude her father, the temple priest, from enjoying a Budweiser after a long day of temple duties. Ancient and venerable traditions are, in most cases, adapted to the demands of modern Japanese life.

However, some traditions are less adaptable, and as in all cultures nowadays, it is the reconciling of these traditions with our modern way of life which proves most challenging. The Ezaki family have lived in Big Cloud Temple for generations. Tradition dictates that the eldest son shall inherit the role and responsibility of temple priest. With no brothers, Yoko, as the eldest daughter, must marry someone prepared to become the temple priest. Yoko's boyfriend wants to be an astronaut. Yoko told me she did not think she could marry him: it is not possible to be an astronaut and a temple priest.

I was reminded of my first day in Japan. Atsumi took me to SpaWorld. We had our tickets stamped, were given trainers and a clean pair of socks in a plastic bag, pink nighties (boys got light blue pyjamas) and an orange towel. We were now ready to go to the gym. Lifting weights, cycling, jogging. We looked out over a theme park. Now and then a roller coaster hurtled past the window. To cool down we went to the pool. This was a circular belt of water. Everyone walked clockwise around this circle; children in ‘Hello Kitty' rubber rings, young couples, elderly people, around they all went. It was busier than Oxford Street on January 1 st . When a whistle was blown everyone huddled around a large tower, on top of which a bucket was poised. The bucket filled, tipped, and splashed over the waiting crowd. Everyone returned to walking clockwise. After two circuits we made our escape. SpaWorld's 4 th floor is the hot springs. We stepped out of our swimming costumes. I had expected to feel very uncomfortable and self conscious but I didn't: everyone else was naked too. Is this why things in Japan are so efficient? Is it because through uniformity, through walking clockwise, through greater focus on community rather than the individual, through acceptance of one's duty, that conflict of interest and friction is reduced. If Yoko accepts, without question, her duty to marry a priest, then there is no conflict. If everyone walks clockwise walking is a lot easier; even if ‘Hello Kitty' rubber rings do sometimes get in the way. In Japan there seemed to be a greater sense of working for the community, for the company. An employee's career is with one company, to whom they are faithful and devoted. In return they are guaranteed promotion at the appropriate time. This was the way for my friends' parents generation in Japan.

However, I felt that among my contemporaries this was changing. There was an ever so slight shift away from the company, an increased desire for individuality.

‘My boyfriend is unique' Atsumi had smiled her cheeky, intelligent smile as Hiroki flamboyantly bowled a ten pin ball. Strike. To call someone unique may have been rather alarming for the older generations but among teenagers it seemed to be a rather daring, rather cool thing; a risqué compliment. I am still not exactly sure what the connotations of ‘unique' are, but can confidently say that many of the people I met were indeed unique.

One unique person who I will always remember fondly is Mari: she was my first Japanese friend. She stayed with my family in Wales in the summer of 2003. Quick and bright, cheerful and curious, she was interested and fascinated by all the things that I take for granted. Her enthusiasm was infectious; she wanted to see and experience our culture, yet more than this, she wanted to get to know us.

To be able to stay with her and her family in Japan, to take part in their daily life, was wonderful. Racing back from the supermarket on bikes that steered like buses, azuki bean and green tea ice cream melting in the front baskets. Playing charades and card games. Folding Chinese dumplings for dinner. I felt that I was part of her family.

I had a wonderful time living in Japan, living with Japanese families. In response to Kouichiro's question ‘what did I think of Japanese families' I said that every family I stayed with had been very different, every family had shown me a different aspect of Japan, of Japanese life, but that overall Japanese families are not so different from British families: despite differences of culture, language and history, people are the same.

My experiences have intensified my enthusiasm for Japan and strengthened my resolve to further develop the exchange between Penglais and Otemae Schools. I hope to share what I have learnt and encourage more people to take part in this valuable exchange. I look forward to the future with great enthusiasm.

Itinerary

Penglais pupils welcomed to Otemae School: assembly with performances, speeches and Penglais pupils presentation of Welsh culture

Join English class for Q&A and presentations by Otemae pupils about Japanese culture eg. origami

Leaving ceremony for Penglais pupils: speeches, presents, performances, standing tea ceremony.

Depart Yoshimoto family house, arrive Mori family house in Osaka City, Osaka Prefecture

Depart Mori family house, arrive Murakami family house in Hirakata City, Osaka Prefecture

Meet Hitomi Mori at Kyobashi station and cycle to Museum of Oriental Ceramics

Depart Murakami family house, arrive Matsuda family house in Kanazawa, Ishikawa Prefecture

Depart Matsuda family house, arrive Hosoi family house in Kaya, Kyoto Prefecture

Depart Hosoi family house in Kaya, arrive Sugita family house in Yao City, Osaka Prefecture

Depart Sugita family house, arrive Ezaki family temple (Nakadera) Osaka City, Osaka Prefecture

Penglais - Otemae High School Exchange

Winston Churchill Travel Fellowship 2004

Exchange of Value: Development of the Penglais Otemae School Exchange

Itinerary