Mt Ontake continues to erupt, and the laundry mystery solved

As Machiko and I cut the sorghum crop, humming arias from the Marriage of Figaro, a helicopter whirred overhead, signalling the ongoing body-recovery operation from Mt Ontake. Despite its proximity, and the fact that Masan and Rie have a friend working in one of the refuges affected, the event seems not to be discussed. This could, of course, be my linguistic isolation. So I checked out my perception, asking Masan whether it's a live topic. The answer was that yes, but in a very Japanese way: not spoken about much, but felt deeply inside. There's also a total absence of the knee-jerk finger pointing that characterises Western reporting; a blend of philosophical acceptance and respect for authority? Masan acknowledges this is the Japanese way. For Masan and Rie day-to-day life carries on. And that attitude - focusing on the immediate, and what's close to home - perhaps explains the absence of Tokyo from the photos of the climate-change demonstrations a couple of weeks ago. It's taken to quite an extreme chez the Morimotos. One friend asked me, "If everything requires such precision and mindfulness, how do they get stuff done?" To which I replied that most of their life centres on the basics of growing, cooking, cleaning, washing, heating, maintaining. And these tasks aren't chores to be completed as fast as possible; they are the stuff of life, i.e. the end as much as the means. So, as already described, doing jobs as quickly as possible isn't the point. And, hard for me, it's also not about completing a job, it's also about resting. And, perhaps in order to give us all variety of work, numerous times I've been denied the satisfaction of "job done" that, I realise, is important to me. On the subject of Japanese mores, Masan has just served me a cup of top quality Earl Grey tea, joking about how it is the Japanese way to say it is of very poor quality; and adding that, when introducing his beloved wife, he would present her in the same way, as an item of low value. This I could not take: you, Masan, free-thinking citizen of the world, how could you?! He just laughs. This diminishing of self, combined with flattery of the other person, accentuates the social differential. "But I'm staff!", I protested. Yes, but an equal, he said. It's all upside down, I understand nothing. One thing that's been bugging me: how eight of us can generate up to 100 or more items of laundry a day. I've FB'd a couple of images of part of today's load. It's insane! But, having interrogated everyone, I think it's because (1) everyone changes their entire set of clothes every day, including a full wash of dirty outdoor clothes that will get re-trashed each and every day, (2) some, like Dai chan, may change their outdoors clothes twice if they get very hot working outside, (3) up to 15 towels per day are used in the kitchen, (4) traditional Japanese underwear is large (cloth measuring 20cm x 50cm plus ties), (5) the children put their pyjamas in the wash every morning in preference to following their mother's instruction to fold them up and put them away! But it still barely stacks up. And I'm told this is nothing compared to summer, when there are 5 woofers all fuelling the machine. In this lowest of carbon footprint households it seems curiously profligate.

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slowly slowly: umeboshi plums and permaculture

I'm trying to learn some Japanese cooking but it's difficult - being at the right place at the right time; seeing something through (preparation is often complex, taking place over a day or more); the ingredients are unfamiliar; and we have a language barrier. All this plus I reckon I have the skill level of an average 6-year-old.

Yesterday evening I was given a lethal hatchet knife to slice up spring onions. But my 3mm slices weren't good enough; 1mm was what was required. Not for the first time I felt very uncivilised. So, this morning, when Rie asked me to arrange some umeboshi plums from the bin where they'd been soaking in brine, to a flat basket, to dry, I made sure that they were arranged exactly as briefed. Which meant really slowing down, and concentrating. It's the same with the gardening, because of the approach to weed control. We're at the end of the major growing period so the weeds are as rampant as they'll ever be; even more so, in fact, because it looks as though things are a little behind schedule. What veggies remain are completely invisible, fighting for their lives in the jungle around them. So "weeding" becomes a delicate operation, pulling the weeds taught and slicing them at their base whilst not taking with them the precious remaining veggies. You'll understand this doesn't sit easily with my more gung-ho approach, and there were a few casualties.

We're having a run of balmy hot sunny days, which makes outdoor work a real pleasure, even if it's physically quite challenging. I get reminded, "Please take a rest". And much of the afternoon I am free. Someone has to light the fire around 2pm, and I'm guessing that will be me, tomorrow - as I've just been shown the process for the second time. 

Back to learning Japanese now... And then it'll be, "Please take a bath".

pooped

Today started with me sleeping through the village farm-workers' tannoy, and scrambling down the stairs to breakfast, late. It was then a heavy-duty morning hacking up a mound of huge plastic-hessian sacks ("not cut chicken today") in hot hot hot sun.

But no chance of a hot shower until the water is heated late afternoon. So I slooshed down with cold and then, at Masan's invitation, had a macomo (Manchurian wild rice) bath. For once the temperature was perfect and I had a blissful 20 minutes immersed up to my chin in coffee-dark water that has been continuously heated (and the water not changed) since the spring. The colour is given by a yeast taken from the macomo plant. It was an effort not to fall asleep.

I've put some photos of macomo on FB, taken in the small-holding. Even for Japan a macomo bath is unusual; people visit Masan's from far and wide. It has fabulous healing properties, particularly for skin problems. Lucky me!

Masan has been spending today with a regular guest who seems to be learning his "energy work". He needed people to practice on. So the 3 Woofers had their toes and fingers jiggled; a process of toxin elimination. Hard to feel the effect, tired and macomo-relaxed as I was. Then crawled to my bed space and hung out with the Radio 3 breakfast show until the under-the-eaves heat became intolerable. Oh for a comfy chair! But life is sweet...

But more lives have been lost in the Mt Ontake eruption than first appeared; Japanese bureaucracy (requirement for death certificate) slowing down the release of a figure. Next week I'll be even closer to the volcano than I already am, and planning a day of walking. Might need to revise plans.

shiatsu and the Sunday market

This morning we checked out a new local market. I was hoping to stock up on fruit but it turned out to be street food under a huge marquee with a running programme of dance acts on a stage at one end. So we had a team of 60-80-year-old women, "Pansy" emblazoned on the backs of their emerald-green T-shirts, kicking and twirling to a ditty from Okinawa; some break-dancing youths; and a group of infant kids. I've FB'd a couple of videos. It gave the impression that this a nation who just has to perform, with and without talent. But Machiko insisted that many Japanese are very shy. And I guess that's another reason why the drinking culture is so strong.

I let slip last week that I'm a shiatsu practitioner and Masan was quick to line me up, starting with a session for Rie. She is perceived as most in need, still recovering from a serious car accident last year. So this afternoon we hit the futon.

It was interesting, bringing Western-style shiatsu back to the country in which it originated - or at least gave it its name. I knew my quality of touch would be less physically challenging than a Japanese body worker's. And Rie's feedback confirmed this - and that what I had done was right for her today. So that was good. Masan, of the no-pain-no-gain mentality, will be a different ball game.

Shinto and chicken slaughter

Albums and video on FB

False alarm, charger is still working! The blog lives on.

Just to reassure you, although we're only 20km from today's eruption at Mt Ontake, we're not involved! And Masan's friend, who runs a refuge there, is alive...

Masan told me, when I arrived here 10 days ago, that every day would be different and boy has that been true. The one fixed element is my before-breakfast toilet/bathroom/scullery clean. Thereafter...

Today, after breakfast, we drove to a neighbour to pick up three hens that were being replaced owing to their lack of productivity. We would then kill them (yes, we're not strict vegans!) and eat them tonight. Things got a little complicated when it turned out that one of the hens had laid the night before: which one? Masan tried to determine, by feeling in their lower abdomen to see whether any eggs were "in the pipeline". More detail than you need, dear reader? Anyway, as things panned out he probably made the wrong choice - one of the two we killed was later found to have four... Aieee...

But I'm running ahead. Before the slaughtering Masan took me, with Fuku, to a local gorge that is a favourite place for him to pray, be with himself and nature, give thanks - and play his flute. Masan found it amusing that Fuku had chosen to wear flip flops, knowing the terrain. But had allowed her to discover the consequences by herself, yet another example of his hands-off, experiential parenting style. He commented on the power of water to wash away negativity, and how he felt it was good for Fuku simply to be there, to feel that quality. Looking around at the waterfalls, rocks, trees, stony-bedded stream, I was struck by how classic Japanese garden design takes its inspiration from the dominant landscape type. In the same way could one view English gardens as miniatures of the pastoral English landscape? Perhaps not - ours reflects our travel-botanising history.

At the entrance to the gorge was a shrine and Masan explained, and I copied, the bowing and clapping etiquette, that Fuku is beginning to learn, aged three. It's so completely simple and free of baggage, and everyone in Japan does it; a way to connect with oneself and the 8 million Shinto gods, and give thanks - or set a wish or intention. As we walked up the three-arch staircase we spent a few minutes pulling out weeds, being careful to stay to one side of the stairway, to allow the gods passage.

Yet again I found myself wishing I'd grown up in a culture where people are united in their spiritual life, and have strong local traditions and community spirit. I think of our local wood at Vaulnaveys, and the vodka-bottle-littering local lads. It isn't quite the same. But the practice of saying Thank you, many times a day, for people and experiences, and food... at the risk of it ringing empty through mechanically applying, there's nothing stopping any of us...

We paused at the daily farmers' market on the way home. I was expecting to see photogenic piles of exotic veg, but government legislation forces a high level of packaging. The result is an anaemic-looking cellophane-enclosed affair. Though I was impressed to see one large mushroom retailing at 10,000¥ (50 quid).

We were then all involved for a good part of the day in the chicken-killing and preparation process. I wasn't sure I wanted to seize the opportunity of killing a bird. And when I saw the way Dai-chan struggled to hold the bird still and slice into its throat I decided the second bird would suffer less without my involvement.

Both birds were put upside down in a box, to drain the blood. A little while afterwards Masan plunged them briefly into below-boiling water and we rushed to pluck them. That was the easy part. The skilled bit, which I managed to get out of, was disembowelling them. A really delicate operation that got me wondering to what extent it is mechanised in the UK. What a job, if it's done by hand. I've just Googled to see the score but, too quickly, found myself on a site about hygiene standards. I doubt we are complying so I decided not to look any further, or scare myself to death!

My role came at the point when the birds were gutted and cleaned: jointing, then cutting the meat from the bone. I've never attempted this with raw meat and it was bloomin' tricky. I did a real botch job, the first time so far that I've felt a lack of enthusiasm for a task.

As I watch the sun set from the window near my bed space I envy Dai-chan, here for an extended period to learn the good life. What can I take back...

The good news, for tonight, is that our guest left this morning, earlier than anticipated. I had heard him talking twenty to the dozen last night so wasn't surprised when Masan commented that he sometimes receives visits from "such a person", who is more interested in himself than in Masan and what's happening here, and who quickly thinks he's got the place sussed without being here enough to really feel it. It makes me want to relish every single minute if have in this precious place.

And, yet another lovely moment today: Fuku understanding my "Pass me the water, please", pouring me a glass, seeing that I had quickly drunken it and refilling my glass, in so doing giving me the most heartwarming smile. Remember, she is 3 years old! I haven't written much about the children because it is a slightly difficult area, the linguistic barrier slowing down the bonding. But at one moment today I had both Kanta and Fuku sitting on my knees as we watched the others working on the chickens. I was happy to be a simple "chair".

Later, at supper, chewing hard on the toughest chicken I've ever tasted, I admit the day's experience impacted on my appetite. It's no surprise to have Masan confirm what I already knew: in the past the slaughtering of animals was an occupation reserved for the lowest caste. Tomorrow I'm promised chicken curry. ????

the road to Tsumago

See FB timeline for pics.

This is surreal. I'm sitting in a cafe in Tsumago, with wi-fi connection, and "good king Wenceslas" playing. My desire to share, and blogging addiction, not to mention appreciative audience, is creating something of a hamster-wheel syndrome. But the Universe has intervened: the dodgy US connector I've been using to recharge the i-pad has finally fried (fingers crossed it hasn't done irretrievable damage to the i-Pad). Anyway, here goes, note-form this time...

Magome tourist info - I gasp when I read about bears. "Small bear, eat honny only", smiles info lady. Ah, we're talking cuddly Japanese Winnie the Pooh, that's alright, then. Anyway, 2cm bell you can hire is a joke and I decide to chance it without. Signs and bigger bells along the way slightly unnerving.

Pass house with tray of sweet potatoes for sale. Buy one for lunch. All along the way rest rooms, rest spots. Sound of running water: river, water-powered turbines, garden installations, ponds, vegetable-washing systems, you name it.

Lovely path through bamboo forest. Steep ravines shored up, a reminder that this is an unstable, slippy-slidy country. Also noticed evacuation area in village, and warning system in restaurant.

Pass ancient barn where friendly peasant of similar vintage provides elevenses in form of green tea, pickled cucumber and omeboshi plums. A first.

Hot, humid, a light breeze. Perfect for walking.

Arrive Tsumago for Internet cafe pause (too long) and then on to Nagiso to pick up train back to Nagatsugawa. Can't make contact with Masan as number Machiko gave me connects to a puzzled Japanese woman. Emailing works and Dai-chan meets me at the other end. Turns out I was talking to Machiko's grandmother. What?!

Happy to be "home". We have a paying guest, one of Masan's "fans", come to talk with him. Reminds me of how, in former times, people would gather around Percy Smith, at Pilsdon. A similarly charismatic leader.

Over and out before battery fails. Alas and alack...

a suit and a 17th-century village

See FB for pics.

This morning Masan reinvented himself as a classic, suave, suited Japanese business man. What's going on? During the drive to Magome, where I'm spending the night for a bit of tourism (a big detour for Masan but typical of his generous spirit), I got some more of his story.

Twenty years ago he was a "fighting business man", consulting on ISO standards in no less than 3 different corporate areas (unheard of, apparently), including the environment and safety. He was the golden boy in his company, comfortably established in the "Hollywood" suburb of Tokyo, and heading for even greater things; living a lifestyle of fast cars and extravagant overseas holidays. Then the 1995 earthquake in Kobe jolted his thinking: he was moved by the way people worked together, from their hearts, and decided to make change in his life.

To the amazement of his friends he upped sticks: quit his job and went to live in his holiday home in the mountains outside Tokyo. His first wife stayed in Tokyo, not sharing his desire for a different life. He then worked as an apprentice in an institution for handicapped children, and qualified as a chef. But left after 2 years because of being ill at ease around the total lack of autonomy given to the children.

After a stint selling natural cosmetics he was invited to work with a restaurant-running "miracle worker" who lived in the mountains. He learned many of his cooking skills during the year worked there, gathering herbs and plants in the mountains and then preparing dishes in the restaurant. Somewhere along the way he separated from his first wife and met Rie, who he described as being "pure love". And it's true, she radiates something difficult to put into words.

And the suit? He had a meeting with a government official about changing his tax status. Their "snack business" looks like a random hand-to-mouth, under-the-table operation. Not at all. They have had to jump through hoops that make France look entrepreneur-friendly. Right now Masan is exploring how to organise things so that Machiko and Dai-chan's salaries (I hadn't realised they were paid) are funded via the government. A good wheeze, if he can get it to work. And rather needed as their portfolio - cookery classes, other courses, guest house, energy work, food sales - is only enough for a very modest lifestyle.

Via a risky conversation about cleanliness (which I now regret) Masan told me about an amazing second bath they have, used by the family. (So we haven't all nine of us been using the same water!) One of the vegetables they grow is called makomo. The roots are eaten, the leaves dried to stuff pillows and make tea. Somewhere along the way a yeast is extracted (?) and this is used to purify the water, colouring it brown. The water is then not changed. Ever. Masan has only been running his bath since spring this year, but knows someone who hasn't changed the water in 20 years. I hope this is blowing your mind as it did mine. If I play my cards right I might get the opportunity to try it out.

Meanwhile I experienced the communal tub, hotel-style, this evening. By chance I went in as soon as it was open and enjoyed water the temperature "ours" normally is having cooled down overnight! But, like Masan's, it is heated while you are in it. So, after around 20 minutes, I was getting the lobster experience once again and had to get out. Just as well. If I'd stayed any longer I'd have been sharing with an Aussie tourist on her way in. I'm not sure either of us could have coped with that!

Magome is a cute tourist trap nestled in the mountains just north-east of Nakatsugawa. Its claim to fame, along with Tsumago, to which I'm walking tomorrow, is as a "post town" where travellers left their horses when the going got too steep. It's part of a 530km path created by the Edo period (17th century) Tokugawa shogunate to link Tokyo and Kyoto. I'm looking forward to a bit of walking tomorrow. It's a steep 7km and 27 degrees forecast, so I'll take my time.

That's it, for now. This seems to be turning into a daily diary. At some point I'm gonna wind down into more leisurely posts - surely...?

birthday tempura

See FB for photos

An incredible evening. Ex-tempura chef Masan (is there anything the man hasn't done?) set up shop on a low table with a deep frying pan of oil, a bowl of batter and 10 or so small piles of vegetables, pork and prawns, pushing the boat out in my honour. For as long as it took to fry around 200 or so tempura he worked without a break. Meanwhile I got to wear the birthday hat; sat on a chair; slurped my way loudly through noodle soup, thereby showing my appreciation; had delicious tempura, then a wonderful cake made by Rie almost entirely from derivatives of rice. When they handed me a hand-made card and gift - a very special kind of incense used in the temples - it was all too much: I burst into tears. There was comic relief when the children improvised on the spot, handing me presents from Kanta's birthday last week! And then they thanked me for being there with them on this special day. Incredible.

Tomorrow I'll be spending 48 hours in some tourist-trap villages an hour or so away. So time to repack a few things and ?? chill... ??

birthday bamboo survival

Photos on FB

I won't forget this birthday! - as a guinea pig in a dry run of a "survival day" Masan is organising later in the year. He wanted to see what we could create using local materials to filter water, cook, make chopsticks and bowls, a pit toilet, and to fuel the ancient old bath tub - and have our daily bath outdoors.

Expecting to be led into the jungle and left to our own devices I was mildly surprised when we headed down the tarmac to a piece of forest slap by the Nakatsugawa road (owned by a friend of Masan's). Felling 4 chunky bamboo trees, trimming them and hauling them back to the house reminded me of my conservation-volunteer days - except that we had no tool-safety talk, and some of the tools were in a frightening state of disrepair! It was a fun morning, and I was amazed by the versatility of bamboo, e.g. that it's hollow, and the horizontal stripes correspond to internal "walls". By sawing either side of two stripes we had instant "long bowls"; sawing close to one stripe gave a mini bowl. A longer length, with two chambers could be placed in the fire vertically, with vegetables in the upper compartment and water in the bottom; holes gauged in the chamber wall between the two allowed the tube to act as a steamer. Meanwhile, three lengths of bamboo, with a lid cut into the central chamber, could form a rIce "baker" when placed in the fire. All this, and some potatoes baked in foil, made a very tasty meal, perfectly cooked. It would have been even better if one of the 3 bakers hadn't rolled into the fire, spreading rice and water everywhere! But I'm learning restraint so when asked, "Have you eaten enough?" I said, "Yes".

Alas, the antique bath tub let us down: it wasn't watertight. So we ended the survival "day" after lunch. Although "just" lighting the fire to heat the water for the communal bath is now looking like a soft option, I'd give anything to be able to jump straight into one now! Rain is sloshing down and, although my digestive system is loving the low-meat, no-sugar, no-dairy diet, my knees and back are challenged by kneeling for every meal. But I'm cheered by the promise of birthday tempura for supper. So a very special day.

in the paddy and a drunken tug of war

Images of last 24 hours on FB

Yesterday's lion dance at the local village autumn celebration was distinctly  underwhelming - though it was only when visiting woofer/friend-of-the-family Sunnei voiced how tedious she had found it that I dared to admit the same! The lion proceeded at snail's pace through the village, amid a circle of fire braziers held by half a dozen or so, to a pavilion at the top of the village. What had started as a simple folk procession then seemed to assume weighty religious significance: after the lion had "danced" (about which the less said the better), two priest-like dignitaries received and placed on the altar a long succession of offerings to welcome the gods. Finally - though we left before it had finished - the assembled officials paid their respects: an elaborate choreography of bows and claps. Phew.

Back at the house the celebration continued in a rather surprising way: an array of junk food including the most disgusting plastic capsules of fish fused with cheese. Happy autumn!

Today, thanks to Sunnei, several jigsaw pieces have fallen into place. I'm beginning to understand why verbs don't conjugate: the individual counts for so much less;  whether it's me, you or them isn't the point. Sunnei even said that the western emphasis on "I think x, I think y..." can even be quite jarring. And when I asked what the Japanese was for "Please could you pass me the..." I was told "Kudasai...", which I know means "I would like...". In other words, simply saying the latter is enough; the Japanese tune in so readily to each other that someone's wish becomes their command.

As we worked together weed-managing (I can't say "weeding" as we leave the root in place - probably just as well as much of it looks suspiciously like the dreaded Japanese knotweed) we chatted about relationships and the differences between the frontier north, Hokkaido, where Sunnei is from, and the more traditional south where arranged marriage is still common. But even for Sunnei the individual is less important than the family. I'm not quite sure where this leaves her - a modern girl trying to make it as an acupuncturist and body worker but struggling because she isn't state-licenced. It's a weirdly familiar but different situation. You can only practice as a body worker if you do the amma style of massage (reserved for blind workers) or if you have a fully state-recognised acupuncture qualification, which is a very expensive training. So she supplements her living doing admin jobs.

I also discovered that Rie is an ex-restaurant macro-biotic chef, and artist. And Masan was an environmental and museum-exhibitions consultant. Tiens tiens...

After lunch we returned to the village shrine to watch a different kind of procession.  In contrast to yesterday's this one was riveting: teams picked from cohorts in the village, their year of birth emblazoned on their team T-shirts. The game was to haul a (?) shrine up the same route as yesterday, competing with each other with two routes to pull the vehicle off course. Clearly the drinking had begun early in the day. Most were drunk as skunks. And further aided by officials passing to and fro refilling with sake. It's curious that drunkenness is tolerated - even encouraged - but I barely saw anyone smoking. I suggested to Sunnei that this might be because it's the only way people can break free and indulge in free expression. And she agreed!

So another full-on day comes to a close. I am having an incredible experience. But I think I must abandon any idea I had of this being a kind of retreat. There's far too much going on! And tomorrow, my birthday, Masan has just announced at the supper time "next-day briefing" that we are going to do a survival activity. No water, no fire, no toilet. Everything will have to be constructed. Is this what I would have chosen as my birthday treat? The man is mad. Watch this space...

first Woofing day

Even before breakfast, at 6.30am there I was, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, cleaning the loo, loo floor, utility area etc. Stomach rumbling, hoping breakfast wouldn't be too much later than 7am. And it wasn't: brown rice with seaweed paste, soy sauce and spring onion, miso soup. Yum yum.

The brown rice is cooked in what Juan thought (when I Skype-toured him) was a giant pressure cooker; in fact a magic rice cooker that mysteriously refills with no one doing anything. I finally got to the bottom of this today: we eat rice cooked the previous day (easier to digest?); it is topped up with the next batch of rice (yeah, how does the first batch avoid getting over cooked?). And, since we never finish it, er, when does the cooker get cleaned? Every week or so.. Wow... What was that we all learned about never storing and reheating cooked rice?

After breakfast all hell broke loose when Fuko and Kanta found out that the school stickers they'd been earning for e.g. going to bed before 9, clearing away their bowls etc had got mixed up. Kanta just couldn't get over it, inconsolable. Fuko, on the other hand, went bananas and then moved on. Interesting how the school is involved at that level, in establishing routines that we might expect parents to decide on an individual basis. But that is one of the key differences about Japan.

So, back to the cleaning and was I perhaps trying to earn a sticker with my zealous scrubbing of the bathroom floor? Needless to say, e-cloths, "telescopic" cleaning handles and anything fancier than (?) baking soda are not part of the woofer's cleaning kit; I was on my hands and knees throughout. Then to the living areas where I attacked places that I swear haven't been cleaned this year, e.g. between the sets of sliding doors that are shut off during winter. This is the quintessential Japanese house: most of the downstairs a huge area of tatami matting, with removable door panels to increase or decrease the room size. The children can have a ball, running around doing cartwheels etc. At some point they will learn restraint, take up less space, those diminutive poses...l

The rest of the morning we were outside: a bit of grain harvesting then clearing a couple of the raised beds. The technique we used must be permaculture - cutting the weeds at ground level rather than uprooting them (unless too big), then leaving them on the alleys between the beds, seed heads and all. This is what Masan describes as growing with love, and that's what this place is all about. I have found the original Japanese hippy family! I asked him what his neighbours thought of him. The answer was mixed: they acknowledge his contribution to the community    - strimming in the area around his property, but they object to his "natural" style of farming on the grounds that it attracts more insects, and is not beautiful.

Beautiful. There's a lot to be said about that word. Last night we celebrated Machiko's birthday and my drinking posture was corrected because it is more "beautiful" for a woman to place her non-glass-holding hand horizontally beneath the glass, lifting the glass with both hands. Blimey, that's gonna be tricky to integrate!

Work ended at lunch time and I've spent a pleasant afternoon mooching around. The bath invitation was earlier than usual (it would be completely unacceptable to decline!) - and the water once again too hot to actually get into. So I did a mixture of cold sloshing with the shower, and scooping and diluting from the bath.

Must stop now. Early supper then out to the village autumn festival.

to market to market...

My arrival here has coincided with a major new project for family Morimoto: today they are launching a range of home-made cakes and desserts, drinks, condiments (miso, soy sauce) and lunch boxes - the classic "bento" but with their own macrobiotic/vegan spin - at the monthly market at Gifu, a 2-hour drive from here. Rie, helped by the team, has been cooking for days, the final push being this morning, when she got up at 3am to make the bento boxes. So, from around 4am, delicious smells we're wafting up to the first-floor "attic" space where me and the other two woofers sleep.

Yesterday I helped Machiko wrap up and label individual slices of cake, my Neanderthal fingers making heavy weather of the delicate operation. Even the muffins were lovingly packaged - no "pile it high" strategy here.

Meanwhile, Masan played with the children who, in their different ways, are all confident and supremely independent. Far from clutching to mummy's skirts, 3-year-old Fuko is already taking responsibility for dressing herself, laying the table, serving out the miso soup (hilarious, as it slops wildly around). The boys draw and read and play board games. At supper they are at ease using the lethal kitchen knives to slice up sausage for the pizza. Squabbles are rare, the house rings with laughter. Even Rie, slogging non stop, does so with serenity. And this on Kanta's birthday when most European - and indeed Japanese - parents would have been doing their nut putting on a complicated party event. Instead, Kanta went out to see his friends (it being such an intense work day at home). We then had a simple but lovely pizza-making evening. For once all rules were broken and both meat and cheese appeared. But Masan was keen to point out that the birthday dessert (a fruit tart) had no butter, eggs or white sugar! And yes, it was delicious. Rie is a wizard.

This was the ultimate non-materialistic birthday. Kanta's present from his brother was a tiny home-made "space ship"; from his parents it was comic books. Did he feel any disappointment, in the face of peer comparison? Who knows... He sat in his "throne", surrounded by a forest of decorative streamers while we sang - in English - Happy Birthday, and looked contented enough.

The daily activities change - this has been the weekend, so no school - but the household is anchored by rituals of different sorts: at 6.30 the valley is filled with uplifting muzak, a signal to farm workers that it's breakfast time; in the house each meal is preceded and finished by simple words created by Masan and Rie; bathing for the whole family is completed before supper; there is no fuss and no negotiation at any time - the children and parents eat, together, the same food and everyone clears the table together. At the end of the day Masan reads a bedtime story and that's that. And, as described, life is celebrated. The dream family?

With the family away for the day, today is a "free day" for me. Most days my tasks seem to be making the fires; laying the table and clearing up for every meal (a major job with no dish washer and unbelievable numbers of pots, pans, implements and dishes used in the ultra-complicated meal preparation - the downside of vegan cuisine); heating the bath water. Masan told me on day 1 that I was "staff", and therefore a different status from the permanent woofers. But the pecking order is pretty friendly, the atmosphere relaxed.

I see that Masan has FB'd a couple of food snaps from this morning, so I'll share the link. If you click on "translate" you'll have a rough idea of why cooking here is such a complex operation, and why it is so delicious. I'm hoping to sample a bit at lunchtime!
I'll also post a few more of mine to FB - and this will be my strategy for photo sharing, at least for now.

arrival at Masan's

After my castle tour it was already time to leave Matsumoto - even before I'd started to explore its potential as a base for the Japanese Alps ("so sorry, so sorry!" apologised my castle guide when she found I lived in the "real" Alps). But this trip is a cultural, not hiking, adventure. So, this afternoon, my train plus bus journey brought me safely into the hands of Masan and his family at Kishomi (see link in August blog). I was highly relieved, there being no plan B!

It's looking like what I had thought was a "community" is in fact a kind of extended family. Masan and his wife Rie live in a traditional farmhouse of a style which Masan says is unusual even for the Japanese. The ethos, atmosphere and nature of the business remind me of the similar farm enterprise of the Pommart farm at Villeneuve d'Uriage (tragically burned just after I left fork the UK - if anyone reading this has any news please let me know). Machiko, long-term assistant at the family home of Masan and Rie, is packing and labelling home-baked cakes, ready for sale in the recently opened shop. Daichan (another woofer) and The children, Kanta's (5), Yuta (9) and Fuku (3), are glued to a DVD - a one-off treat because it is Kanta's birthday tomorrow. Masan is doing something on the computer and Rie is organising laundry. I have a glass of Chilean red wine in my hand, having sampled Masan's home brew at supper. (Beer is amongst the products they sell. I am "off duty", this being my first day, with instructions to relax. It's not easy - I am in sensory over-load!

So far... my first experience of washing, Japanese style. Water is heated to blistering point by a wood-burning stove. You immerse yourself into the tub after washing with a shower (cold) mixed with a bit of water from the tub. Although Masan (excellent English, widely travelled) has made clear that I am considered as "staff" rather than family, on this occasion I was given first bathe = honoured guest. The rest of the household then followed. I found this mildly awkward so made sure I was pristinely clean before getting into the tub. As for relaxing there... Hmm ... It was roastingl

Supper.. Exquisite and the best Japanese food I've ever had. Delicious brown rice and veggie dishes made with a whole array of veg, tofu and seaweed. Small portions eaten on tiny plates. Little Fuko already adept with her chopsticks, a recently acquired skill. I was helped out by a fork. Kind people. They think I'm too beautiful to be aged 54! Masan's searingly hot home-made chilli sauce brought tears to the eyes and - oh no - dribbles to the nose, and I found myself in the dreaded socially compromising situation. So I simply asked, where should I go to blow my nose. And the adjoining room was considered appropriate

Must stop now as I have an early start tomorrow.

first day in Japan

Writing this in the waiting room at Matsumoto station, not knowing for sure that my first woofing host has received my message about my arrival time his end. But there's no room in my brain for worry - too much novelty to digest. Finally, I have to let go... Boosted by how easy everything has been so far.

I had been a little anxious about my journey into and out of Tokyo. But Yesterday I glided through Tokyo airport without a hitch, sped round the city on the Narita Expressway, and then out from Shinjuko to Matsumoto on another train. At any point when I hesitated, a sign in English or a friendly local helped me out.

As I write, a cleaner is spraying and scraping meticulously at a stain on the (already immaculate) floor, followed up by a thorough mopping. Even the Swiss could learn something here. And it was the same yesterday: the Narita train floor scrubbed clean before we boarded, and, on every balcony in every flat we passed, I could see clothes drying. Clean clean clean. At the backpackers hostel I stayed at last night the wheels of my wheely suitcase were wiped by my host, to avoid dirtying the floor. And this morning was the first time I've walked barefoot around a fortress - my shoes removed to walk up Matsumoto castle's six floors. The only western tourist, and the only one without socks.

My castle visit was greatly enhanced by a local guide, the bowing, smiling and thanking that is so much a part of all dialogue reaching new proportions. The 16th century fortress has resisted wind, rain, fire and earthquakes to stand as one of only three of its type in Japan, a "National treasure". At the entrance, posing next to the two samurai warriors was de rigeur, and, to avoid giving offence to them or my guide I did likewise. I wasn't able to pull the V sign plus teeth-flashing pose of the Japanese but I'm sure it will come!

All through the visit my guide was solicitous: were my feet cold, did I want my picture taken (again), did I want to know any more about the history of guns... And I'm finding this everywhere: on the train, people check before reclining their seat that it's ok, the face masks - disconcerting at first, and which we assume are for protection - are apparently worn to protect others from the sight of a dribbly or red nose. (I'm not yet convinced of this; it means an awful lot of the population is ailing!)

Something else I've noticed: the sense of fitness for purpose. For my lunches I've been buying triangular wedges of rice sold with a separate leaf of seawood that you wrap around the rice - totally practical; in the backpackers a really simple thing, but oh how useful - hangers with clothes pegs to dry your towel, or whatever.

Anywhere and everywhere things are unexpectedly different: on the bus you take a piece of paper with a number that corresponds to an illuminated display; as the journey progresses your fare mounts up, as in a taxi. In the trains there are carriages for reserved seating and others for non-reserved. Walking along the street I saw  someone doing shiatsu in a shop front made entirely of glass, the client in full view of the street. Loo seats are heated; flush options include bottom spraying (I've pushed as hard as I dare to understand the detail but it's got embarrassing before I fully understood!); the hand basin is positioned just above the cistern, activated by the flush mechanism? And so much more. But if I don't stop here I'll never get to what happened next. Which - for me - has been like a dream. I have landed in totally the right place.