I have embraced being a tourist in Japan after my recent trip to Ise Shrine, one of the most important Shinto shrines in Japan. As you may know, I hate crowds. One of the most infuriating and uncomfortable days of my life was spent on a Saturday at Disneyland when everyone was out of school for winter vacation and the park was crammed with people. I spent the day squelching the urge to flail my arms and scream. Ostensibly, this kind of reaction would seal my fate in a country whose citizens love to be tourists and all the remotely interesting sights are crammed with people. But it's different here for some reason. I think it's because the people are so well-behaved and orderly. I went to the Van Gogh exhibit at the Aichi Arts Center and encountered one of the most crowded museum exhibits I have ever been to. But it was completely fine; everyone shuffled past the paintings, waiting for their turn. People who cut ahead stood back, looking at the paintings from behind the ones who had shuffled patiently. It also helps that almost no one in Japan has B.O.

So though the shrine was crowded, it still managed to be one of the most peaceful and rejuvenating places I have ever been. There was a charming little tourist district right next to the shrine selling omiyage (individually-wrapped shrimp crackers, anyone?) and food, much of it chestnut-related. (I'll get to that later.) For lunch I went to a restaurant specializing in Ise ebi (lobster). Funnily enough, when I was applying for the JET Program, I fell in love with the idea of Ise ebi. I never knew I would actually eat it one day and it would be delicious. I also ate a giant grilled snail and a salmon mochi. It turned out I was visiting Ise on mochi day, so everything was even more crowded than usual. Mochi day is the one day of the month when mochi is made and sold and apparently there is a stampede early in the morning and all the mochi is bought up within an hour. I was sad because after hearing about the mochi madness, I really wanted to buy some.

Speaking of madness, autumn has begun, so the nights are now chilly and chestnuts are in season. This is my first experience with a Japanese seasonal food mania, and it feels like chestnuts are everywhere: chestnut soft-serve ice cream, giant chestnut-roasting wheels, shows on TV about towns reknowned for their chestnuts, plastic chestnut replicas, and old women with sticks beating the hedges in search of fallen chestnuts. I have yet to eat a chestnut, but I have never in my life found the idea more appealing.

This weekend I am going to the Takayama Festival, touted as one of the Three Best Festivals in Japan. (There is a Three Best list for many attractions here. I’d like to be one of the Three Best of something in Japan. But I suppose I’m too much of a dilettante.) I’m excited about going to Takayama for the first time, but apprehensive about the crowds, however well-behaved and orderly they may be. I’m renting a car with a group of people and we just found out that the roads are going to be so crowded, we have to leave at 5AM or face spending half the day in traffic. With my new car-free life, I’ve been able to pretend that traffic no longer exists and I’m not sure I’m ready to return to reality. But at least I’m a dangerous American driver and therefore am not allowed behind the wheel without an international driving permit, which I didn’t get before I left the U.S. because I didn’t want to drive for a year. And my traveling companions are safe Australians who don’t need any kind of permit to drive in Japan. So I’ll be sitting in the backseat knitting and eating chestnuts and watching the autumn leaves go by and, really, what could be better than that?

I just bought Harumi's Japanese Cooking and am excited because I'm finding it hard to cook my usual dishes in Japan. First of all, trips to the grocery store in search of never-before-purchased ingredients always turn into hour-long field trips spent wandering the aisles, peering at packages and reading what I can (which isn't much). My attempt to make pizza was a dismal failure, mostly because the flour was all wrong and the paper I bought was not parchment paper after all. Also, I don't think the salt I used was real salt. (Sadly, I bought it because it came in a panda-bear-shaped container, so I can really only blame myself.)

The food magazines in Japan are amazing, like the most beautiful food porn you can imagine: close-up pictures of perfectly-frosted cakes sitting on cute little plates next to tiny, adorable forks. It's ridiculous. And unfortunately, it's all in Japanese. So I was excited to find this book, which is translated into English and filled with recipes calling for ingredients I actually have access to. Last night I made four dishes, which I thought was rather ambitious; new recipes usually take me awhile to make because I'm paranoid I'll make a mistake. But the meal was amazing! Look:

I made salmon teriyaki with fried mushrooms and leeks; green beans with black-sesame dressing; garlic fried rice (molded into little triangles); and carrot and tuna salad. It was all delicious and super-easy. I've joined the legion of Japanese housewives who love Harumi -- she beats Martha with one swift chop of her super-sharp Japanese knife.

This week was my school's cultural festival, which is basically an excuse for the students to wear non-uniform shirts and makeup (there were lots of boys in eyeliner) and not have classes for two days. It was also an excuse for my little stalker to spend two days following me around.

Yes, I have a little stalker.

He seemed harmless at first -- he was really enthusiastic about English (if not very skilled) and spent as much time as possible talking to me about his favorite English textbook, his favorite movie (Back to the Future), the number of CDs I owned, his favorite Japanese singer from the '60s and other fascinating topics. He also made me a very detailed seating chart. He was so weird and eager that it was even kind of funny. But as the weeks passed and he continued to unblinkingly stare at me throughout the entire 50 minutes of class twice a week; as he used every chance he could to say, "Excuse me!" and ask some question designed to impress me with his English skills ("How do you say 'yakitori' in English?" "Uh...'yakitori.'"); as he creepily lurked outside my office door for 15 minutes before coming in to tell me something -- I began to feel uneasy. Actually, it stopped being funny almost immediately and just started to remind me of all the weird nerds who were in love with me in junior high and high school.

Let's take stock: there was the kid who ate his own dandruff and would wear the same sweat-stained shirt for days on end; the kid who would pick at his zits until they bled, then blot with a tissue and stare at it for the duration of class (he was also known for unexpectedly attacking other kids with a freshly-sharpened pencil); the kid who was obsessed with R.E.M. and told me he was homophobic but would "go gay" for Michael Stipe; the kid who had such terrible B.O. he was christened "Taco Smell" by my friends and who told his mother I was his girlfriend; these are but a few. The problem is that I'm too nice. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. So back then I always dealt with the problem by ignoring the offending presence until he left the room, then making fun of him with a vengeance to my friends. (So I'm not ACTUALLY nice....)

But that won't work with this kid because first, he is not put off at all by being ignored and second, I can't make fun of him to the other students since I am, after all, a teacher. Sort of. (Don't think I haven't been tempted -- the girls at my school are awesome and I'm sure they would find it really funny.) For the last two days, he has been following me around in the most literal sense of the word. When I go into a room, he follows. Then, no matter where I go in the room, he moves so that he is only a few inches from me. And stares. He never says anything and I never make eye contact. Yesterday we were sitting in the gym and though I had made sure to let him sit first to ensure we remained far away from each other, he kept looking over his shoulder at me every couple of minutes and scooting back a foot or two. It was so strange and obvious that some of the other kids starting pointing and giggling. But he didn't care -- he just kept scooting until he was at his usual place a few inches from my elbow. Then I stood up and moved to the other side of the gym. He didn't follow.

I think he's finally starting to get it, especially after I declined his invitation for a guided tour of his class's cultural presentation. ("Are you free?" "No." "Can I have 15 minutes?" "No.") But I know I can't get too comfortable. I must remain vigilant!

So every time he leaves the room, I'll make fun of him with a vengeance on my website.

I spent all of my life until now in southern California, so I've never experienced a real autumn before and I am totally obsessed. I've been knitting like a fiend, wearing lots of orange and brown, and generally doing whatever I can to feel super-cozy. One of these things is making spiced wine, something I associate with cold nights and Halloween. In the US, I bought a bag of wine spices from Trader Joe's and followed the directions, but in Japan I have to make due with my own mishmash of spices from Deli, the local imported-goods store. Amazingly, the improvised recipe turned out to be yummy and just as cozy-feeling-inducing as I had hoped.

Spiced Wine, Japan-style
(Makes 4 small mugs)

1/2 bottle of wine
2-4 tablespoons sugar, to taste
3 cloves
1 cinnamon stick
1 1/2 tablespoon of apple-flavored herb tea (I spent a good 15 minutes sniffing all the teas in Deli to find the right one. Any herbal blend with orange peel or other citrus in it should work.)

Put everything in a pot and bring to a simmer. Turn off heat, cover and let sit for 10 minutes. Strain and drink! (Best served with squares of dark chocolate, mikan (mandarin oranges) or sliced persimmons. Yum.)

I'm sick. At the insistence of my co-workers and supervisor, I went to the doctor for the first time in Japan. The experience was painless -- barely a wait, an English-speaking doctor, a $10 charge for the check-up and the medication -- but I left with FIVE types of pills, including an antibiotic. If reading the public service posters taped up around the doctors' offices I have visited throughout my life have taught me anything, it's that you don't treat a cold or the flu with antibiotics. So that really weirded me out and then I became leery of all the medication he gave me. Before I took anything, I had a Japanese-speaking friend look at the medication list and tell me exactly what each one was. There was a stomach-soothing pill, I think because the antibiotic would irritate my stomach. Not taking that. Next: a harmless throat lozenge. Fine. Then: a pill for my sneezing, which seemed okay, but it was listed as a treatment for allergies. Uh...no. Finally: a cough suppressant, which a Japanese medical website likened to codeine or morphine. Huh.

So I've just been taking some over-the-counter cold medicine smuggled in from America and it's been fine. I'm now at the terrible-hairball-cough stage, but my fever is gone and my nose has finally stopped running. I also have to credit my diet of rye toast, mandarin oranges, rice gruel and kimchee. Kimchee is kind of like an antibiotic -- you reek so bad after eating it that nothing at all will want to come near you, including bacteria. Yummy.