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!

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...