Santa Likes Seiza

Ho ho ho! Japanese people tend to pray to their ancient harvest deities throughout spring and fall as well as New Year's, but there is no real doubt to the chief of Christmas: a pudgy white elf who loves to spoil children. Perhaps Mr. Claus is so popular because he fits all their best stereotypes of foreigners and gives generously while asking nothing.

Possessing one precious commodity (snowy skin) and one nice bonus (adequate conversational Japanese) as I do, it was no big stretch to say yes to an offer I recently got to play the jolly boss from the North Pole for a childcare center. The staff there had a fun idea: have Santa enter with an English "Merry Christmas!" and have the kids practice a few lines of English, then ask the fat man if he can speak Japanese and carry on from there in the language most familiar to the kiddos.

So we did just that. The bag has wrapped presents of candy for each boy and girl; the only two catches were that I offered a male present to someone of the female sex with a particularly short haircut and that there were too many gifts for the boys, leaving the staff to fix the imbalance as I left.






One fun little thing was practicing culturally proper sitting posture (see "Content..." from August, 5th paragraph) while in costume. They also offered green tea, as is customary when serving any visitor to an institution, and I plan on recommending that my toy workshop be retrofitted with tatami flooring once the blue-collar elves get their act together after New Year's.


This is my last post for 2007, a.k.a. Heisei year 19--the Japanese system assigns dates by emperor's rule. Please have a good holiday season and I look forward to seeing you, the Lord willing, at some point in the coming year.

Like Water

This is a depressing post, so please choose the time when you read it wisely. I'd hate to ruin your day through my carelessness.

I was ambling through one of the temples in my Kyoto Sunday morning stroll. Photography was permitted in all areas of the place except for one altar hut, which had an idol of a Buddha surrounded by stuffed animals--Pooh, Mickey and Pikachu crowded in on the stony guy as if trying to cheer him up with a big group hug.

This seemed intriguing, but I couldn't quite make out the meaning of the explanatory plaque, which ended with the characters for "[cold] H2O" and "child." So I asked one of the people staffing the place, and learned that the hut was built in memory of aborted babies. They were given that two-character euphemism because they came out like...well...right. And I could only shudder inside.

I think this issue has become so clouded over with rhetoric and ideology in America that both sides forget the very real human emotions and situations underlying the whole debate. For the record, though, I will say that I do not believe in justifying abortion access on the basis of forced-pregnancy cases, as this seems like the same kind of minority logic that would paint all would-be immigrants as illegal migrant workers.

And now a moment of silence for the hurting mothers with the memories they retain. Please fill it as you think best.

Guitar Grandstanding

Just attended a high school talent show this afternoon; my local host family's eldest daughter was playing a crunchy indie-rock rhythm guitar for two of the eight groups on the program. So naturally I am reflecting on what makes rock music, well, rocking. After all, the genre survived some bashing from one or two horrible singers and a drummer who dragged the beat so bad I had to resist the urge to go up & swap him out.

If it's true that a chain is defined by its weakest link (not always, though) then this entertaining block of time should help evaluate what makes the form strong. It certainly isn't lyrics, for when they weren't mumbled beneath the beat they were absolutely incomprehensible--ever heard "Smoke on the Water" from Japanese vocal chords? What kept my ears tuned in were the driving riffs [short melodies played in unison between guitar & bass to the rhythm of pounding drums]. Yes, it's a very old observation, but isn't 'original music criticism' an oxymoron? Writing about any art form can only strive to point others to the much better creativity within the work itself.

Now don't get me wrong; I'm not saying that Deep Purple forever define rock as a genre and that poetic lyrics are dead. My comments should only be taken to mean that when you overcook songs through continual download exposure and then strain them through a language barrier and a so-so school PA system a certain karate-chop strength remains. Let's see Josh Groban try copping that vibe one of these days...no, wait. The result would probably make me long for today's wince-worthy "Teen Spirit" cover.

Pushed Around

You're in a small American farming town at night, cruising down the main drag, when all of a sudden you have to pull over. The locals appear to be rioting! They're partying in a wild abandon, completely shattering all your stereotypes about staid country folk, and what's more, they are dragging you and a bunch of other onlookers into the whole craze!

If you add hordes of tourists and switch pagan influences for nominally Christian ones, you can start to appreciate the harvest-shindig-meets-Mardi-Gras events the Japanese simply call "festivals." This one in Chichibu was only a convenient 1.75 hours from my Tokyo suburb and of the "float" type. And said floats aren't by any means the Rose Parade or slopped-together high school Homecoming carts but vehicles with decades or even centuries of history behind their ornate, gilded front.

The pictures didn't turn out too well, but here's kind of what it looked like: crowded streets with teams of headscarved youth pulling the gigantic vessels along with ropes (OK, only those right next to the floats were actually exerting much effort).







Each float was unique, but all had lanterns and riders perched on them at various points.





The whole spectacle was obviously exciting, but another key reason for coming was for the carnival-esque atmosphere, highlighted by seemingly endless rows of food stalls. This man here is preparing "octopus bake," dough balls with a small chunk of tentacle at the center and topped with generous helpings of parsley & Worchestershire-like sauce. Very tasty! Note also the cute little mollusk on his sign; adorable logos are prevalent over here to the point of market exhaustion--and by that I mean to say that even train safety alerts sometimes employ the Hello Kitty character!

Anyways, it was a good time for all because no one got lost and the mountain air wasn't as cold as expected (an unexpected benefit of global warming--though it doesn't justify this phenomenon). Guess even this notoriously hardworking culture needs some officially sanctioned party time.

That Losing Feeling

I hope you don't know it well--that gut reaction of "Oh crap, I know I just left it [keys, jacket, wallet] back here; where did it go?" I've had more than a few pangs of this brain-overriding emotion here, but cultural norms have made most of them irrelevant. You see, it's very difficult to lose something here.

Gloves? Dropped one in a crowded street during a festival [will post pictures soon]; it was left to the side waiting for me. Bike? I've left my keys in the lock for hours--on accident, of course--and come back to find it untouched. Passport? An airport staffer ran it out to me when I left it on the counter in my rush to enter Tokyo!

This isn't to say that theft is absent here, or that it's the world's safest country. However, I've been extremely blessed so far. It's also clear that leaving anything in my buttery fingers is dangerous!

It's just my opinion, but I think the Creator of all things and Father of us all has given this Spiritually dark country this ray of common grace in their culture. Jesus said: "But I say to you, love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven; for He makes His sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust." (Matthew 5:44-45)

And while we're about that work of holy imitation, maybe we should take the scarf that guy dropped and set it at eye level on the fence. After all, he might be an absent-minded type who will come back for it later.

In Quiet Temples

Kyoto is renowned for being the epicenter of traditional Japanese culture, with over 1200 years of history. I figured, then, that 24 hours would suffice.

I must not be very Japanese yet, because irony is rarely thought of as funny over here (though regardless of country my all-too-cryptic humor rarely hits home). In any case, I arrived at the one-day option by necessity rather than choice; I had only the weekend, and the first half was already booked for writing with new friends also participating in National Novel Writing Month. Here's how my two-day, night-bus (combining travel and accommodation) itinerary came out:

Friday: Made the bus stop five minutes before departure. Paused to let my heart start beating normally again, griped into my diary about the intrusive ads scattered all over Tokyo and then enjoyed the provided slippers (hooked just above the foot rest in front of me) on a pre-sleep bathroom run.

Saturday: Kicked off the bus at 6 AM, an hour from my destination and 4 hours from the agreed-upon rendezvous time. Read and prayed for a while in a cafe, then noticed this little station shop I hope to patronize the next time I'm in the Kansai region (it's a branch of Cafe Du Monde, which I've visited twice in its home city).

Met the other writers--all English teachers from America--and enjoyed a leisurely stroll around the Buddhist temple where Murasaki Shikibu [pen name of the world's first novelist] is said to have begun work on the renowned melodrama Genji Monogatari. We boosted our word counts over a cheap spaghetti meal and I then crashed in the cheapest place possible: a rent-your-own-cubicle Internet cafe.


Sunday: Woke up just in time to avoid extra charges. Rented a nice bike and tooled over to the western area of Arashiyama, where I spent restful time visiting three temples, all of which had gorgeous fall foliage and one of which was connected to another famous work of literature: Heike Monogatari, in several ways Japan's Iliad although it was written in the Middle Ages. It was fulfilling both due to literary-geek dream realization and the abundance of silence, not really attainable in Tokyo. I can see why country people are renowned for loathing living conditions in that metropolis.

Spent the rest of the day visiting two summer-program friends and biking around the Gion district, famous for geisha entertainment. Had a split second of pure poetry: on "Flower-Viewing Street" I saw a kimono-clad, sandal-shod woman with white makeup and a bright-lipsticked smile ushering a business-suited Japanese man across an intersection. She was definitely either a high-level maiko [apprentice geisha] or master, as no one else would accompany an obviously important customer. No room for pictures, but that only underlines the ephemeral spirit of much Japanese art.

Monday: Woke up with my back complaining from the third night sleeping in a chair. Took longer than usual in the shower to make up for skipping the two previous days. Unpacked presents for dorm friends (social obligation over here, usually in packaged-cookie form) and uploaded photographs. Flipped idly through my country guidebook in search of the next adventure.

Best personal souvenir: free 8x11" posters from a Kyoto temple when I asked where I could buy the lovely one hanging by the ticket window
Best food: soba topped with mackerel at a 300-year old restaurant Sunday evening
Best sign on the trip: One that promoted litter cleanup by inventing the phrase "Beautification Enforcement Area."

Law's Long Arm

So it finally happened last week: I was biking down a residential street, minding my own business, when I got pulled over by the police. Sure, they were riding bicycles just like me and didn't command me to move over, but I understood. In their eyes, I probably had little business cycling around there on what looked like a pilfered machine.

I'd heard stories about foreigners getting sidelined out of what appeared to be ethnic profiling reasons, but here I was not 50 meters from my destination (a local orphanage where I've been volunteering) and the talk had become reality. One of the two coppers asked for my ID; the other one remained silent throughout and was thus probably a subordinate. Thankfully, I had my well-stocked wallet on me and was able to provide the card he asked to see; otherwise my day would have quickly become a lot longer.

They seemed impressed when I mentioned that I was a foreign exchange student and pointed out the corresponding International House decals on my bike. The dominant officer still radioed my machine's specs in, but I was then let off the hook and free to complete my trip on a vehicle that on second thought looks crappy enough to have been swiped out of desperation. It wasn't a big deal in the long-term scheme of things and I'm thankful for greater contact with the reality of power and old cultural mindsets here...yet I am not quite as carefree as I once was when errands take me off-campus. Perhaps this is part of the reason why minority groups in the States, particularly within inner cities, often seem weary: they are tired of fending off other's unverbalized but blatant suspicion.

Ghosts in the Material World

Cultural differences are obvious even in children's TV shows. A lot of the programming for kids, based on what I've seen orphans here watching, is centered on an American "edu-tainment" model and the rest is cartoonish. However, even in those not explicitly tied to Japanese tradition, things of the past often pop up.

One of my dormmates channels surfs every morning over toast so that he can hear easy-to-understand Japanese and get one step closer to immersion. In the program he was watching today, an employee of a company is continually oversleeping and causes the rest of his co-workers, like one big extended family (to be touched on in a coming post) to gossip about why. They eventually decided that something special had happened, perhaps a new baby, so they came over with presents only to be greeted at the door by the ghost of one of his ancestors!

In Japanese fairy tales, ghosts malevolent and benign play a large role, as I imagine they do in other countries once centered on ancestor worship. Even today grave-visiting ceremonies are taken very seriously, though I have my doubts as to how many people under 30 actually believe anything spiritual goes on there. Anyways, the ghost on the show sits down and eats with the company crowd, despite increasingly giving away his presence by inadvertently flying and letting slip lines like "Well, food isn't necessary for me." There's thankfully no laugh track, but the intent is clearly humorous.

These and other experiences have caused me to reflect a little on spectres and other wraiths, and the unoriginal conclusion thus far is that any discussion of ghosts--either side of the Pacific--centers, spoken or not, on death or the fear of it. Perhaps becoming one ourselves, passing through the grave only to find a Sisyphean half-life back on earth, would be the worst fate of all. This stands in stark contrast to the words of my hero Jesus, Who despite coming from heaven to willingly die for us all speaks only of His eternal life, which His passing allowed us to gain in Him. Indeed, we who believe in and trust our all to Christ are confident in His promise that He has conquered death for us so we need never fear it! True, some delight in expounding upon His agonies, but to be Biblical such thoughts must always circle back to the "life to the full" (John 10:10) He offers to us in Himself even here & now.

All that to say: you can keep the remote, my couch-potato friend. I'd rather look at the rising sun and think of Him Who rose than dwell on nighttime myths couched in electronic form. That future is much brighter than the long arm of the endlessly rehashed past.

Fall Foliage

Sorry for the month-long absence; blog-writing attempts were completely hijacked by National Novel Writing Month participation and various other endeavors, but I now can focus on showing off my surroundings again.

So here are a few shots of the ephemeral beauty that surrounds me, proving that for 30 days or so my place is prettier than Cal.

This is the view from the station, and it's heartening to see that the true natural beauty of Japan can outshine the drab-
ness of 'modern' designs. Unfortunately the two tallest trees are already clad in Christmas lighting (barely visible as threads) and it looks like human plans will win the upper hand all too soon.

Here's the campus--I am so thankful for the clear weather today.







Now the explosion of gingko color that I saw when I turned around:

I will indulge myself with one last shot that I hope you all enjoy, taken right from the top of the back-door dorm stairs that I use everyday.

When shooting these in the style of the typical Japanese tourist, I realized that never-
changing pictures are somewhat contrary to the spirit of passing beauty they attempt to capture. Perhaps too philosophical a dilemma, but it does encourage me to enjoy the real thing while I can in God's artistic timing.

Sanctum, Plus Snicker

If you haven't noticed, I'm working to make up for my long silence by posting a lot of stuff while it is still technically October because this site records entry dates from American time. Anyways, this last one for a time collects two things that didn't fit well with the others and would have made them overly long anyways.

Here's the best part of my room, taken at a head-tilted-left angle for a dash of excitement that might cause a few of you to actually read this superficial post. My messy desk and four-stringed friend, named "Solomon" as an ironic comment on its rock-bottom purchase price, take center stage. Unlike my last apartment, I didn't go through the motions of cleaning any accumulated clutter for your viewing ease this time, so if you feel moved to do so please pray for my future wife (Lord willing, in His timing) and her willingness to give somewhat sloppy me extra grace here.

The other thing is a literally translated sign that made me smile when I saw it in the Daiso store I mentioned last time. Plain forms of verbs in Japanese don't sound like commands at all and can even be a natural sentence in casual conversation, but the effect in English...well, judge for yourself.

Money To Burn

A lot of people were watching the World Series recently because it's the first time in history that two American teams competing for the title had Japanese players--and do Americans give half a rip about what their players do overseas? Very interesting. However, this recent diversion doesn't change the entrenched fact that the national pasttime over here is clearly shopping!

So let's say you are visiting me and want to spend some of your tourist cash. Where would I take you? Answer: I would probably make you buy me a fancy meal and train ticket to someplace I haven't been yet.

'No, no, no,' you say, 'I want to spend where you spend, experience the life of an exchange student for a day.' I would laugh at you, because you must not understand that I am a closet ascetic, a cheapskate who gets a secret thrill out of buying random, expiring vegetables and using them in some improvised way at my next home-made meal. I get much more satisfaction out of using what I already have well and living frugally than in securing a lot of new things.

However, if you were to beg and plead, I would probably realize that I was being selfish in imposing my own opinions on you, as well as not much fun. So we would go together down to the local bakery, or in Japanese pan-ya ["pan" comes from Portugese, I believe, and means bread, while the character for "ya" simply means shop or establishment].

There is almost always a pretty saleswoman out front trying to draw new customers to try the latest seasonal recipe. Please let me digress for a minute on the apparent fascination with/promotion of Halloween this year. Next to the jack-o-lantern there are a few shelves of pumpkin-shaped cookies, and two weeks ago many of the trains had advertisements for Tokyo Disneyland's "spook-tacular" shows. Why? Well for one thing it's from America and thus exotic or worthy of imitation. For another, it accords well with the ingrained Japanese habit of taking a few days in the year to dress up and throw off societal restraint; back in the old days this meant festivals, while now it means "cosplay" at anime conventions. Either way, I think it's pretty silly to have all this top-down promotion of an age-old harvest ritual in any society where the average person isn't farming for their sustenance.

Where were we? Right--buying bread. There are a lot of delicious varities here, as the rule seems to be 'any flavor that the customers like is worth selling.' I was a bit concerned in my initial months because most bread seemed to be of the soft, bleached-bland sort and I very much appreciate European-style seeded wheat bread--hard on the teeth, but good for fiber and very tasty once you stop relying on pure-sugar spreads for flavor. (I get preachy too easily, don't I? Please be patient with me.) However my first purchase at this shop, a crusty wheat loaf chock full of dried figs and walnuts, countered this trend in a delicious manner. I am not a big fan of the artificially flavored 'melon bread' that so many foreigners rave about, but maybe I haven't loosened up my sweet tooth enough yet.

OK, so you want something besides food? First stop is Daiso, where basically everything is 105 yen (currently 91¢), the Japanese answer to dollar stores. Some of the stuff is cheap junk, but much of their inventory was purchased in bulk and can thus be sold for cut-rate prices. The pink sign on the far-left window says "Night help wanted," though I think neither homework nor my current skill in the respectful language required to do business without offense would allow me a spot on the payroll, and the circle around each logo on the double doors says "Welcome" in both English and Japanese (please see my "Tongues" post below if this seems strange).

What's that? You still want to keep spending? Fine; the window shopping district is over that way. I've had enough for the day and will see you back at the dorm, OK? Some quickly perishing spinach is begging to be tossed into a makeshift salad.

Construction Nation

Now for something completely different--and unfunny, at that. A recent sea change in my view toward this new homeland of mine came while reading Alex Kerr's Dogs and Demons. It was not unlike meeting a charming stranger in class and then having one of your friends come up and tell you how that person cheated and was put on academic probation last semester. However, I pray that my love for Japan and all its many good qualities will not sink into cynical disillusionment at its various problems (and what nation doesn't have its issues?) but be strengthened and deepened as I see more of its true state.

I recommend picking up this book if you have a deeper-than-passing interest in this country, though chapters 9 & 10 are fairly redundant and it is definitely a discouraging read. For those of you without much time, as well as those who will read it but may doubt some of its claims, I offer an example from my hometown (which the Haradas, my geographically closest host family, first brought to my attention).

Once upon a time in this suburb called Kunitachi, there stood a very well-built train station. The architectural style wasn't lavish, but tasteful and stately. It was regarded with pride by its residents and was a sort of town symbol, even earning a spot in the pavement of the long pedestrian road that heads to Hitotsubashi University.


Unfortunately, that plaque and a few old pictures are all that remain. The government and the train system, flush with construction cash and steeped in expansionist dreams, made the executive decision that the station needed more platforms and a redesign more fitting with modern styles (historical retrofitting is, from the little I've seen, almost never taken into account as a viable option). When you lift your eyes from the walkway pictured above and walk in front of the nearby bus stop, this is what you see.

True, it isn't Wurster Hall on the Cal campus or some other such visual monstrosity, but Kunitachi has lost a part of its unique charm and become homogenized into the bland functionality that characterizes almost all of the buildings where everyday Japanese people work and live. The influence of their country's world-renowned architects doesn't exactly trickle down to something most people see.

For another sad example, this is the street which I bike up and down every time I need to get to the train station. Advertising clutters the sides of every building, telephone cables needlessly hem in the sky, and the sidewalks are not only narrow--two people alongside each other is almost cramped--but also freely given over to bike usage, another good reason to cycle rather than stroll. Apart from designated parks, there is very little nature to be found in this mammoth metropolis.

I realize that these things are small complaints and I am blessed to be here with all this convenience and efficient transportation. However, a little regard for streetside appearance and more concern for nature at the planning stage isn't, I think, an unreasonable request for change. Those of you out there studying architecture or interior design, please change the world wisely! OK, off the soapbox.

Please Enter My Domain

Many of you have been waiting quite some time for these exclusive pictures of my wild and uncharted habitat. The BBC documentary deal has been indefinitely postponed, but international rights agreements have enough loopholes that I was able to sneak these shots off the set.

We'll start from the building my Friday seminar (3 hours of discussion in acad-
emic Japan-
ese, but I'm learning things slowly) is held in. About half the campus buildings are in this elegant style; the others could have been stolen from your average community college. The smell of the older ones, though, always brings my nose back to the school buildings of Germany--does this make me sound like an elitist wine connoisseur or what?

A quick turn as we cross the street back to my dorm and it becomes clear that students, accust-
omed to an excellent train system and no longer required to take PE-type courses, are habitual bicycle users. As a fellow addict, I can't offer much criticism; I rode the 50 meters to this computer center just to save a few seconds!

OK; we're getting close. The dorm is straight ahead on this path, and the Sherlock Forest that greets me every time I bike out in the morning is on our left.












Here's the main entrance! I'm glad the picture is of a sunny day, which we have more of and with better tempatures (though probably worse air quality given the distance from the ocean) than in Berkeley.









Just one flight of stairs brings you to my floor, which was a big relief when I arrived with over 150 lbs of luggage. My mailbox is among the gray bins on the far left.

If we go left at the top of the stairs, we enter this little communal hangout nook, where people watch silly enter-
tainment shows or maudlin TV dramas and pretend to study. No, I don't know why there is a separate hand-washing sink when the communal kitchen is on the other side of the right wall.

Here are three of the four other UC exchange students working in my favorite part of the dorm, preparing a group dinner of spaghetti topped with soy sauce and salmon. Yes, it was delicious, largely because I didn't pay for it. At times it gets busy in here, but I love that people are always dropping in to cook and chat.


That's all for now. Here's to cross-cultural bonding!

Quirks and Quotas

Finally, a chance to update after many busy days getting settled into my university environment. I now feel that I've truly moved here because I just today changed my cell phone billing address to my dorm room; what makes this monumental is the nasty fact that my first month's bill was apparently sent to my old address and not forwarded, leaving me with a disconnected & useless phone for the past twelve days. But, of course, that is now blessedly over--I am free to have my personal space freely invaded and rack up insanely expensive charges again.

One funny thing over here is the urinals, and I must ask approximately 75% of my readers to bear with me here. In America things are fairly standard; you use the facility and flush, period. Here, however, as soon as you approach the basin a jet of water comes down automatically and washes it for you. Seeing as there is an automatic flush as well, the initial jet has no actual function aside from assuring the soon-to-be-user that everything is sanitary. The logical next step, which is probably only a few years down the line in this politeness-conscious society, is to attach a voice which says "Please forgive our unsightly facilities and the time it takes to clean them for your use."

Another unique country feature is the meditation practice company workers do on the train.

Just kidding! As you can see, these two gentlemen are clearly dozing in public with no thought whatsoever for the safety of their belongings. Can you do that on Amtrak or a bus? Now here's the real question: why? I think two parts of the reason for the situation here is a uniformity of social training and expectations which lead people to believe that they can do this without being disturbed. Another small piece of the puzzle is that trains over here are generally so crowded that a thief would have a very hard time moving away from their mark quickly.

Here are a few statistics about my stay so far, should you care to read them.

Number of host families: 3
Host families who have let me stay the night: 1 (2 if you count my
pastor's family)
Number of self-performed haircuts: 2
Price of a 3-month commuter pass to my church's train stop: $25
(half-price student discount)
Price of a 5-pack of apples: $2.80
Karaoke experience: Once, following summer language program with
all my classmates
English songs chosen: U2's "Pride (In the Name of Love)"--a little too
high-pitched for me--and Stevie Wonder's "Golden Lady"
Visits to sushi restaurants: 4 (all kaiten...see the cuisine post)
Visits to McDonald's: 0
Visits to TGI Friday's: 2...and my church friends made me do it, I
swear! Come on: if everyone was going there for dinner hang-out
time and you wanted to join them, would you bring your own food
or sit there & starve it out? Even cheapskate me is not quite that
ascetic. And the quesadillas are pretty good after months without Mexican.

Clicked En Route

Apart from the people and the home-
cooked food, this is why I love the country: the views. Sky unadult-
erated by arrogant high-rises or the fog of lifestyle excesses. It reminds me of the small town in Germany where I lived for a year, though in my picture you can't see the roads and power lines (no city in Japan is free of those). Thankfully, though, unlike other cities, in Matsumoto you can bike far enough away to get past that unsightliness and enjoy the natural color display.


Here's a traditional Buddhist family grave. It has the two black pillars with individual names, two small black boxes for incense and water offerings with a small white box for flower arrangements in between (very small, brown flowers), and a tiny statue of a Buddha on the right.


OK, OK, a tourist shot. However, Matsumoto-jou is gorgeous enough that I don't feel bad coming off my high horse of snobbery. Though originally built to face gunpowder weapons, it never saw battle and is still beautifully preserved. Another reason it is well-preserved and -designed lies in the Japanese utilization of castles: they weren't houses, even for the nobility, but armored forts serving as pure displays of prestige in peacetime.


On the other hand, this gassho-
zukuri farm house at an open-air museum was well-used as a communal residence & storage facility. These type of buildings are quite famous both in world architecture and this area, but what really struck me when I visited them is the smell: fires are kept burning in them every night so that the lumber is kept in close-to-original condition.


I could fill this whole post with nature pictures, but they really don't need commentary (which says something about my writing vs. God's creation). However, I will add that water is fundamental to the Japanese conception of nature, which can be seen even in Zen gardens; rock "flows" often stand in for streams. Even in such places, though, a small trickling ornament is usually added for that critical sound effect.


Here's a very atmos-
pheric Shinto shrine in Takayama, with two guardian stone dogs right and left of the torii or bird gate. One dog is making an "aah" sound and the other a "nnn" sound with its mouth, the reason being that these are the A and Z of the phonetic alphabets and represent an attempt to protect against all calamities.


This small statue was just too cool. I'm not in the West anymore...and it is possible for men to look manly in a robe.

Check out the traditional geta [wooden thonged footwear, which combine a flat sole with 1-3" high platforms] which are still worn by apprentices to the sumo and geisha professions as well as by those who prefer the dress of older days.




Finally, a picture to show off my recessed left toe--the badge of my mutant status--but I have no idea why standing on small plastic pegs is thought to be good for your feet.

Traveling Accomodations

My one-man trip was really awesome! I've never enjoyed America's legendary "country hospitality" and so this trip in Japan showed me by analogy just what I've been missing by holing up in a city for the past few years.

The Lodging

I wanted to put edible things first, but for those of you who are similarly stomach-driven, my waiting will encourage you to actually read this part.

I stayed at two ryokan (Japanese-style, futon pad on bamboo rattan mat [tatami] floor inns) and one youth hostel inside a Buddhist temple. One thing I was initially concerned about was the adjustment to tatami sleeping--wouldn't it be painful on the back and harder to sleep comfortably? Thankfully, I was completely wrong; my body loved the mat more than a Western-style mattress!

This is what the rooms typically look like, with bedding in the center of the single room and a little sitting table with tea utensils inside the circular box. All the bedding is stored inside deep cupboards which are covered with sliding wall panels, making it easy to use the room for a multitude of purposes. This multi-purpose ingenuity comes from the time when ancient aristocratic houses used to have all rooms with tatami.

The youth hostel had the same flooring but multiple dudes to a room and common sit-down areas instead of an in-room table. Here's the entrance, and if you look closely you can see the "JYH" sign above the door. Those windows on either side of the main door are styled after the lotus flower, which to many Buddhists is not only a metaphor of pure mind rising above the murk of worldly illusion but also the chair that devout followers will perch on in the afterlife.

The Food

OK, OK, I give in. Matsumoto, my first stop, is famous for oyaki [dim sum-style buns stuffed with regional veggies], basashi [horse sashimi], and inago [crickets coated in a sugary glaze]. The middle one was expensive and the first one a roadside snack, but I couldn't resist the chance to tell people I'd munched on crickets. (There's my pride, I confess.) So I headed off in search of the elusive insect treat, and ended up being let into a closed restaurant by a kindly woman--here's that hospitality--who served me not only crickets but some kind of insect larvae with the same preparation. I didn't ask too many questions and can report that while the taste is a little too cloyingly sweet to be eaten alone, crickets have an excellent texture. Yes, I will return if the Lord wills to this town so I can order a proper meal at this restaurant...it's called reciprocity.

Takayama, my ending destination on the other side of Mountain Peak National Park (also known as the "Japanese Alps"), is famous for its miso [salted soybean paste] grilled with mountain vegetables on a magnolia leaf, but I went for something a bit heartier: a stew of the same mixture with chicken and dumplings. It was delicious! Miso takes some getting used to, but it's an excellent source of vegan protein and very versatile (apparently used instead of butter or salt on Japanese corn-on-the-cob). And this stew, like almost every BBQ or pot-based dish over here, was served on a tabletop stove to ensure that it finished cooking right in front of you.

I know school is just getting into gear for everybody now, so rest assured that I'll only torment you with one or two more entries on my freedom, which ends Monday.

Appetite for Instruction

After six weeks of morning language class in a nondescript room, I have gained a fresh appreciation for those rare breaks in scheduling that allow more involved methods of learning. One example would be our field trip to the Disaster Prevention Museum, where Tokyo kids can learn from several fun demonstrations that life is full of faceless threats like the earthquake being simulated below.


It was actually neat to walk through a darkened 'apartment' filling with simulated smoke and watch a 3-D movie about the aftermath of a potential nightmare on the Richter scale. But most impressive of all was the firefighting practice; everyone got to shoot water from a full extinguisher at a virtual fire on a large, high-resolution screen. It's good to hear Smokey say that we should prevent the next blaze, but I think California kids should be similarly ready to yell "Fire!" and not have to waste time reading the instructions on the can.

The following week, I went on another cultural outing, following the enjoyable times at the cooking class and tea ceremony. This one, however, was to an elementary school only half an hour's walk away from my future location on the west side of the city. All the participating exchange students were paired up, guy-girl as much as possible, and sent off to classrooms for an hour of not-super-demanding assistance with English instruction. I got to enter a 4th grade classroom, and after my partner and I gave simple self-introductions each kid came up and introduced themselves by name (all in simple English), ending with a high-five.

Our teacher proceeded to have everyone sing "Head & Shoulders..." together, pointing to the appropriate body parts, and I was very grateful for still remembering the lyrics from my grade school years. The tape of backing music quickly got faster and soon everyone was laughing while trying to keep up in double time. After this, we played a keep-away game (which is called "Fruit Basket," according to my partner) that involved recognition of basic animal and color words. It was great to be around kids again, even if we were only playing for about 45 minutes, and perhaps I'll get to come back occasionally in the future.

Finally, I got a taste of my coming campus life by taking a short orientation and dorm tour at Hitotsubashi. Unlike almost every other university I've heard about in Tokyo, there was actually enough room on the property for an international dorm; paying nothing for commuting costs will really add up in time and spare change, thankfully. Most of the other buildings are brick in a tasteful Ivy-League mold, but my favorite part is the pervasive greenery, which was given a clear boost by the mild shower that added atmosphere & wet socks to the visit.

Only two short weeks of free time before I plunge into the fall semester! I hope to spend the first on a solo vacation (details when I return) and the second on intense language review and kanji character memorization. Finally I can set my own classroom location...wherever I go.

The Muddle of Tongues

Sometimes I look around and feel like I'm in some kind of linguistic Twilight Zone. Ads blare four different alphabets, with sometimes every fourth word in English; some train lines have announcements in both languages; people hesitate when meeting you, unsure if the foreigner is competent enough to understand slow Japanese; companies and colleges proudly display their names in Roman letters for its connotation of international standing.

What would it be like if America resembled Japan in this aspect? The second option wouldn't be Spanish--too politically loaded outside California and higher education. Probably wouldn't be from this country, either, as with a declining population and geographically precarious location Japan's future is quite unstable. My bet would be on China or India, but the former better suits me for clarifying the Rising Sun by analogy.

So the land of the dragon takes off economically as the pundits predicted, but something else happens: the popular culture--and I'm not talking about martial arts movies--becomes incredibly trendy. "Made in China" is suddenly stuck with pride on designer clothing, technology, and Internet-based youth entertainment. What would happen linguistically if the parallel were very close?

Well, Chinese characters would be taught from elementary through high school years. Most people would pronounce their few basic greeting phrases with a strong accent but be able to read and occasionally write (skills more emphasized in languages where the proliferation of symbols leads to outright memorization) at a roughly middle-school level. University or business school students would be required to prepare abstracts and proposals in both languages so as to be ready for the job market. Immigration breaks would be granted to Chinese willing to teach in America, but the majority of instruction would be by Stateside natives with a tiny bit of practice.

This is basically the case in Japan, save that English has an unpredictable grammar system as well as a varying pronunciation system. Poor Japanese students, starting as they are from a language that has consistent and less complex pronunciation--no real distinctions between U and W or R and L, as well as ending nearly every syllable with a vowel--are starting at the bottom of a steep hill made harder by applying their rote-retention teaching methods for Chinese characters to a much more fluid tongue. I can't really criticize their system, though, without noting that America has nothing like it and no momentum to change.

One last note: the longer I stay, the less difficulty I have with words from my first foreign language (German) jumping into my mind faster than Japanese. Perhaps when I move into the international dorms and make some Berlin-based friends I will take a few more steps towards becoming fully trilingual. That faculty is possibly the strongest argument I could make for U.S. language education reform...but there are definite advantages to avoiding a national melting pot of speech. Completely understandable advertising is not one of them.

Tale of Two Districts

It was the geekiest of places, it was the trendiest of places. Tokyo may be most famous for the technorazzi [speedy tool change] skyscraper glitter and congestion, but every resident has their favorite spot to unwind. Some settle for the pachinko [pinball gambling] arcades right outside their company, while others change neighborhoods like clothing for different occasions. I recently did a little unsubsidized urban anthropology (a.k.a. people-watching) of the latter kind.

"Otaku" is slang for a fanatical geek. Owning Dungeons & Dragons or both Halo games doesn't have quite the same cache in a cutting-edge metropolis, so the herds congregate in Akihabara's "Electric Town." I was reminded of nothing so much as the merchant stands in Shanghai where people browse from one crammed sidewalk shop to another.



In addition to the computer parts, video games, household gadgets, and luxury goods--these higher up in the department stores away from the street bargain seekers--were easy to find. Acting on a "free thing in Tokyo" tip, I tried out one of the massage chairs here, ready for a little muscle relaxation. In fact, it was actually stress-building; notice how the man's arms are locked into the machine! When the pads clamped around my legs, I had fleeting doubts about whether they would ever loosen. The masseuse fingers also turned out to be more insensitive than the most heartless Swede...but I asked for trouble with the "strong" setting.

I was pretty dismissive of the shallow samurai-land image projected by most Japan-related pop culture products in America, but apparently a similar historical oversimplification holds true for many people over here. How else can I explain this suit of displayed shogunal armor--an attempt to reassure buyers that their purchases affirm a consumer-oriented modern version of the warrior spirit? A stereotype is sadder when people custom-fit it to themselves.

Harajuku as a neighborhood has much less to fruitfully describe here, especially since I didn't go to glimpse the Sunday fashionistas who spring out of the suburbs to display their garish taste in costume to anyone with a camera phone. A good woodblock-print museum and vegetarian restaurant are in the area, but most Tokyoites come to spend and stroll in European style. If it wasn't for the flags and license plates, that street might be in Paris--but not having been there, all I can compare it to is downtown Sacramento. Ah, the places to go...

Spirit and Squid

Another cultural activity, this one a group trip to Kamakura, a small town 2 hours down south which served as the country's capital nine centuries ago and is accordingly loaded with tourist-accessible history. Perhaps the closest American comparison I could make is Philadelphia, if the town's iconic Daibutsu [Great Buddha] statue were somehow analogous to the Liberty Bell.

First stop of the Saturday: Hokokuji, a Buddhist temple famous for its bamboo garden. All 18 students and our 3 helpful staff coordinators burst in upon the small building's grounds, which apart from the few moss-covered structures didn't seem to hold much. I refrained from paying the extra fee for green tea in the garden, but as soon as I'd entered the actual bamboo forest I realized that my critical judgment was made too soon. The stalks towered three stories above the small walkway, putting each of us back in our small place, and the tea house offered a lovely view of an almost invisibly sculpted garden. A small waterfall trickled away in the background as the others and I sat quietly, enthralled by the midmorning peacefulness.

Quite in line with the foundational Buddhist doctrine of impermanence, we were soon shepherded off to the next destination: the Hachiman-gu shrine. It's named after the guardian deity of the Minamoto clan, which ruled the country from here (imagine the Greeks from the Trojan War or the North in the Civil War, as the historical reality is between those two struggles). In contrast to the tranquility of the temples, this place is paved with concrete and designed to lead its throngs of visitors to the altar for customary good-luck prayers and charm souvenirs--not very picture-worthy or enjoyable for me.

I had to chuckle when I saw this, though. Where else but Japan could you find a fortune-telling vending machine?














Later we went to the Daibutsu itself. I had seen pictures of the statue from a distance and was expecting to be underwhelmed, but I was again wrong. The colossal bronze figure was larger and more artistically serene in person, and despite the crowds it was easy to appreciate the sculpture's beauty. A lone pilgrim walked around the figure, chanting "Amida Buuuuuddha" with every step, and reminded me that this was not merely art or even a cultural symbol but a spiritual reality for many people there.

This brings out a fundamental paradox in my studies: I follow Jesus alone yet study life patterns from an anthropological, relativistic perspective. This doesn't mean I am intimidated by the idolatry in these temples--their only reality is in the reactions of those who view them--but when there is no art to distract my mind, the depressing fact of false worship is all that's left. As a side note, I wonder whether I will ever be able to glimpse Japanese attitudes towards religion aside from the standard lines: "Japanese only follow rituals," "A Japanese person is someone who visits a temple at New Year's," etc. From the little I know, most people under 40 apparently believe in the shrines as much as I do.

There's little else interesting to share about the trip, but walking around much of the day (even without the characteristic humidity, thankfully) was pretty tiring, so I broke out my snack: a debeaked and dried cuttlefish. It was quite salty and therefore tasty, but there's a reason why the package has the word "chew" written five times on the front!