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!

Content with Food and Drink

I'm well into the morning routine of language instruction, but this schedule leaves me a lot of free time. The program staff, in a kind-hearted effort to ease us into cultural activities and stave off days wasted on nonstop anime viewing, have arranged group events about every week and I have to say they're well worth the small extra expense.

First we went to a special cooking school ("Tokyo Gas," despite the fact that the stoves there are decidedly electric) and as the Martha Stewart stand-in demonstrated each step of the preparation we followed suit. The menu consisted of chirashi-zushi [a bowl-sized helping of vinegared sushi rice mixed with vegetable & egg pieces and topped with fresh salmon & shrimp] followed by sakuramochi [a thumb-sized lump of sweet red bean paste--which they say is an acquired taste but was immediately delicious--wrapped in a thin pink crepe and then a preserved cherry leaf].






"Not very much personal space...I must be in Japan. And just how am I supposed to pull the intestines out of this shrimp with such a dinky little stick?"











"Ahhh, lotus root. Finally, some breathing room and a real weapon in my hands. Too bad all the aprons weren't a proper, manly color."











"Careful, careful! Pour it all in, quick quick --that's it! Oh, well done! Well done!"
Instruction is only hands-on in the sense that student hands get to make the food, but at least they're generous with compliments.










"This leaf may look pretty, but whoever thought to pluck it off a tree, stick it in brine, and call it a garnish?"









Application: if you want to learn how to cook good Japanese food, buy an automatic stove with the snazziest timers and hire a maid. I'm only half kidding; in this land of specialization, there's a nationally administered proficiency test for personal cooking! Verdict: It was fun, but not exactly budget-level survival skills for a student kitchen.

Next up: the tea ceremony. Modestly subtitled as "the epitome of Japanese culture" in our student handbook, this ritual dates back 800 years and was summed up by our teacher in the phrase "ichi-go, ichi-e": one meeting at one time (and never to be reproduced again). There's quite a bit of Buddhist philosophy underpinning this, but suffice it to say that life is short and everything changes, so every second with company should be treasured. Such valuation is conveyed in the unhurried pace as well as the painstaking attention to traditional details--one's dress, the serving utensils and bowls, the room decorations (all of which are coordinated with the current season)--and above all the courtesy and generosity toward others contained in polite expressions of thankfulness, proper posture, and deep bows.

This tea sensei has conducted several ceremonies for California university students and thus was quite lenient with us about matters of dress and sitting position. Technically we should have been required to wear yukata [light summer kimono] or formal Western clothes, but the only stipulated item was a pair of fresh, clean socks. We were also able to sit cross-legged if we so desired, but the standard is seiza [kneeling while sitting directly on your feet, hands folded in your lap, and keeping your back straight but not stiff]. I was fine like this until I had to get up and awaken my legs--twenty minutes on bamboo wicker flooring was longer than I realized!

First we were served a sweet, delicately shaped like a firework, which had to be taken from the serving bowl with chopsticks in a fixed fashion (right hand lifts the pair from above, left hand comes from beneath and gently holds the other end, etc.) and set onto a sheet of paper in front of us before partaking. Before even this, though, each person had to bow to the next in line, acknowledging the privilege of getting to come first. This was followed by a bowl of bitter green tea, placed before us by charming young students and accepted with another bow.

The kids were well-trained (note their proper posture, even when off-duty) and fun conversation partners afterwards. The ceremony is considered such a high art that children usually begin studying around 5 or 6 at the latest--try putting that on your American resume!

All in all, I was quite taken with the calm environment and deliberate sensory enjoyment, as well as the respect for each participant. It's not unlike the feeling you get from gazing out over a mountain lake in the evening before the sun burns up the clouds (just add leg pains). I hope to further adopt this attitude of valuing every moment with others, though as an anthropologist I can't say the ritual sums up the entire culture. How simple are the elements of sustenance that bring us together...

Cuisine of the Rising Sun

I realize that when I write "Japanese food" many will think of sushi and tempura. My experience so far has been rice and noodles, with the occasional topping of sashimi [fresh, raw fish] or natto [fermented soybeans]. And I love all of it!

Restaurants here fall into two main classes, the all-around eateries and the specialists, with the latter generally being higher in quality and price. As a student who tends to be overly concerned with money, I have only been to one of those restaurants so far. Its delicious soba [buckwheat noodles in broth] were worth the 15-minute hunt in a rare burst of rainfall, but I want to keep such occasions a treat.

The broad-menu eateries usually have picture menus, plastic models of their cuisine outside, or both. This picture was taken in a store that specializes in such model-making...it all looks so good! Personally I think they're tacky but preferable to, say, the French restaurant with the indecipherable menu. The rice dish in the top left, called cha-han, is like regular rice with the other ingredients of Chinese-restaurant fried rice--yummy.

At that model shop, a few phrases of German caught my ear. I then turned around and asked where in Germany they were from, and the three students were surprised but happy to find another German speaker. We all ended up going out for lunch together to a restaurant I'd been meaning to try, which serves okonomiyake --imagine mixing the ingredients of a savory crepe into the dough and pouring the whole thing on a griddle in front of you. See below for our still-cooking meal and their smiling faces with that of their kind Japanese family friend, who helped us order.


There are, of course, sushi restaurants, and the cheapest of these are called kaiten-zushi; the first word means "rotation" and refers to the conveyer belt around the bar counter from which you select desired 2-piece plates of sushi, priced by the type of dish they're on. Below you can see the wall's per-plate expense guide as well as the chefs at work and individual spouts for tea water. At this local and tasty-for-its-class establishment, I discovered my taste for raw mackerel.



But what if I want something quick and cheap? Off to the convenience store, where you can find a whole bevy of plastic-wrapped eatables. I've picked up a dish here about every other day, including the Japanese-style curry in the lower third of the shot, but have so far managed to keep my dignity intact by avoiding the mayonnaise-topped rice rolls. Oh, and if you buy a meal-in-a-bowl the cashier will politely ask if you'd like it heated in their microwave.

But what if I want a break from Japanese food? Well, there's no shortage of international style restaurants, from Western-style breakfast places to (no joke) a Sizzler in the nearby shopping mall. Up until now I have stayed away from these, but I did go to a Korean place for lunch today with my new friend Michael--he enjoyed the personal BBQ and I tucked into my affordable bibimbap [assorted veggies over rice with kimchi--the Korean answer to sauerkraut that pops up alongside every entree].

But what if I don't really want to spend money and don't mind eating alone? Back to my room for my now-standard dinner, which is natto over rice and whatever vegetables I can find on sale. It's filling and healthy, and as a deliberate bonus I'm slowly becoming fond of the fermented beans which are known for turning foreigners away. I confess that normally the ingredients aren't as artistically arranged; this was just for aesthetic effect tonight, but I may invest that little bit of extra effort more often, as it was more fun to eat. The chopsticks below were given to me by a friend who's working as a missionary in Osaka, and using them at every meal is one way I'm working against waste--every restaurant provides disposable chopsticks, but those quickly add up in their environmental impact.


Just came back from the local grocery store, where I not only picked up more cereal (my breakfast luxury), but also discovered a new way to save money: the evening bargain sale! At the day's close, all the store-produced entrees go for around 50% off--an even better deal than the AM/PM lunches. With expiration dates looming, however, it may just be a matter of time before I try something I really can't stand. We'll see if the cheapskate or the connoisseur wins out.

Around the Apartment

I'm quite enjoying my little pad; here's your chance to see why.
















This is the room from the corner of my bed. Yes, it's messy, but at least I have my cheap generic-brand bass standing proudly in the corner. The stand and several other small goodies were included in its package deal--score!


This is taken from the above-seen corner of the bed. As you can tell, there isn't much space behind the computer I'm writing this on, but I really don't mind. After all, the place is nonsmoking (sign just below the lamp) and air-conditioned (top left, and not standard over here even in these humid conditions).

Note the little entrance where my shoes are patiently waiting to be walked; in an actual house this would be a raised step. I had to smile when I came in and saw two little hotel slippers perched on the other side of the line--they are my constant companions.

The gift-wrapped box in front of the closet is the 10-watt amp that came with the bass. Packaging is a big deal here; my lunch today (marinated tofu on rice) had a layer of plastic between the two components, was shrink-wrapped over its packaging, and handed to me in a carrying bag! Because space is at a premium, I took some liberties in rearranging the furniture for my stay, which explains why the microwave is balanced on the never-to-be-used TV.

This is the "park" that divides the street in front of the building. It is much prettier than other drab alleys, but I believe those trees are partially responsible for housing all the cicadas which start buzzing like crazy as soon as the afternoon sets in. The
bugs are so pervasive that they're practically taken for granted; one of my teachers was surprised today when I told her we don't
have any of the noisy things in California.

I'm having second thoughts about living a bicycle-based life; they're legally treated as cars--B.U.I. citations are handed out-- and fatalities are apparently more frequent than in the U.S.

















Finally, here's the convenience store next to the building. Unlike in America, there seems to be no real stigma attached to the cafeteria-style food they sell, though perhaps this is offset by the respect accorded restaurants that specialize in one particular dish. Please note the three garbage cans--combustible, bottles, and non-combustible waste--as well as one of the ubiquitous vending machines.