For my last day in Kyoto I day-tripped with Hiroshi to the city of Nara, a former capital of Japan even before Kyoto was. (See FB pics.) The city is more manageable in size than Kyoto, with extensive parkland around the temples and shrines making it pleasantly stroll-able. At Nigatsudo Shrine Hiroshi bought a fortune ticket - something he would normally only do on New Year's Day, to orient his year. It predicted all good things, luckily.
I was attracted to the hill just east of the temples and was going to suggest to Hiroshi that I meet him at the base after a quick sprint up, for the view. But he gamely insisted on joining me. I had a few nervous moments, knowing of his heart condition and that he is 80 years old! But we made it up and down no problem. I don't think Hiroshi has made that kind of climb in decades...
Another highlight was the Isuien garden dating from the Edo and Meiji periods. At this point my cup was overflowing. So, even though Hiroshi was up for yet one more temple, I had to decline - saving my energy for the evening show described in my previous blog.
The following day I travelled from rarified Kyoto, tyrannised by beauty, heavy with history and its sense of self importance, to Kanazawa, a couple of hours north by train. The city was a breath of fresh air, with its wide streets, juxtaposition of new and old: vibrant multinational hotels next to fragile, ancient shacks - such as Pongyi guest house where I stayed. What a cute and homey place Pongyi was. Two tiny rooms stuffed with neatly arranged information, a computer; a kitchen leading to a shower room with a separating screen so close to the stove it looked as though it would catch light; closely spaced bunk beds; the whole place so small that you had to think carefully with each pace you took to ensure you didn't bump into or compromise anyone.
The reason for overnighting at Kanazawa en route to my last Woof destination, flatts.jp, was Kenroukuen landscape garden, famed as one of Japan's big three gardens. I had high expectations. Conceived in the Edo period and opened to the public 1874, it was designed to incorporate the six attributes of a perfect garden: spaciousness, seclusion, artifice, antiquity, watercourses and panoramas. But I was underwhelmed. Perhaps it reveals its full glory in cherry-blossom May. But on this sunny late-October day it looked a little tired.
I have started to feel yearnings for western food. It started the night before when, after seeing the maiko performance, the follow-up should have been an exquisite high-class meal. I ended up having a teriyaki Mc burger, which was as awful as you might imagine. In Kanazawa I found myself in a sandwich joint selling panini. The girl there gave the options. First up: boiled cow stomach. Oh how I hesitated... She then seemed to be offering duck, which sounded hopeful. So I gasped when, seconds later, I was presented with a hot dog, topped with an avalanche of evil-tasting relish. At this point I realised the conflation of "duck" and "dog". Anyway, washed down with some bean and green tea ice cream the event became a distant memory.
At this point I must share some recent toilet anecdotes, all in the last 24 hours. I thought I'd explored all options. Mais non. At Nara, in a very old fashioned cafe, I found a toilet with a furry cover on the seat you sit on. Yes. The next day I heard a recording of running water playing as I sat on a loo in Kanazawa. (You're thinking there was a leak somewhere? There was a speaker, I promise.) And at Pongyi there was a remote control to flush the loo. I say no more.
I was sorry to leave Kanazawa. Within range of the Japanese alps and coast, with its own traditions of geisha, samurai, cuisine, it has everything to recommend it.
30 October 2014
octogenarian guides and geishas
Allergic to tourist hotspots as I am, I would have given Kyoto a miss (heresy!!). But friends of my parents, who we knew from my childhood in Twickenham, had arm-wrestled me into adding Kyoto to my itinerary, kindly also offering to put me up for a night in their Osaka flat. So my next stop was Kyoto station, meeting Keiko Kano for day 1 of my stay.
I found Kyoto overwhelming, and the need to take buses between the sights bewildering - at least initially. After taking me around X and Y temples (the gardens the highlight for me: autumn colours, water courses, mossy shade, waterfalls and rocks) Keiko and I parted company, for me to continue strolling on my own and her to return to Osaka and greet Hiroshi, just back from a trip to Tokyo. I met them at their flat - by the skin of my teeth - that evening. I had underestimated how difficult finding Block D7 in a featureless Osaka suburb, with a map entirely in Japanese, at night, would be. Three kind people led me lengthy distances in three different completely directions before I arrived in a sweaty, dishevelled state at the Kano threshold!
The following day the three of us got up early for another day of temples and sights. Kinkakuji was, as indicated on FB, breathtaking. Even though the throngs of people required stern management, a park official directing us into the viewing area, policeman-style, it didn't diminish from the thrill of seeing the golden, gleaming temple.
I spent the next two nights in a Kyoto hostel. And that first evening joined an organised walking tour of Gion, the most famous geisha district of Kyoto. The whole geisha thing is mind blowing. Here's what I learned. Geishas prefer to be known as geikos, the "ko" denoting their professional status. Maikos are the girls in training, who spend 5 years going to "school" every day to learn the skills of etiquette, flower arranging, dance, playing musical instruments, making tea.
Unlike the geikos, maikos have limited skills, and only (!) their youth and beauty to offer clients. This is why their kimonos and accessories are more ostentatious: brilliant colours and designs in comparison to the more muted geikos who are fully proficient in all the arts of entertaining. The training is extremely tough. During their first year maikos aren't allowed home. Cell phones and use of the internet are forbidden (though, curiously, initial contact by girls interested in the career is via the internet). There is surveillance in the boarding houses where the girls live, and our guide had a story about one girl who received a phone call when she relaxed to the extent of leaning her arm on a table. There is zero tolerance of such behaviour.
A maiko's world is limited to a few hundred square metres of her boarding house. Apart from school, she will have contact with her dresser (there are five in employment in Kyoto), who will help her don her 20 kg kimono. She will go to a beauty parlour to be made up. Maikos receive only pocket money, with all earnings going into a common pot that finances their enormous expenses. During her training a maiko, whose costume and accessories are changed every month, will clock up half a million dollars' worth of kimono expenses.
Geikos, on the other hand, can choose the kind of life they want to have. Some might work in a different field, alongside; they can choose their clients - but also have to take responsibility for their expenses, of course. Our guide surprised us when she revealed the oldest geisha in Kyoto is a venerable 90 years old. I tested this fact on Hiroshi, and he could quite see that a woman of this age would have much skill. (Mum - are you reading this?!)
The whole geisha world is shrouded in secrecy and exclusiveness. Geiko might entertain politicians or businessmen and, with the need for discretion, an evasive way of talking needs to be acquired. (In fact people from Kyoto have a reputation for being this way, even amongst Japanese.) In addition, there is dialect to be learned, and the sing-song way of intoning.
The tea houses that are the basic venues are discreet, a tiny plaque, invisible to an uneducated eye, the only indication of the establishment. Access is by invitation only (Gorbachov was turned down the first time he wanted access). The ochaya (tea houses) are a kind of gentlemen's club for a monied elite; more recently, men can drop in to a bar in an ochaya simply to relax. Or, more formally, they can ask an ochaya to organise a party for W number of people on X date, for Y timing, with Z maiko/geiko - with no discussion of budget. They then can't blink when the bill arrives some months afterwards, as this way of doing business is based on trust. I asked Hiroshi if footballers would be allowed into this privileged world and got a very clear No!
And the discretion goes further. Clients don't use their real names, but (men) are referred to as "Brother X" (a young man) or "Father Y" (an older man). No wonder, when part of the entertainment can consist of childishly silly physical and drinking games. The only way for some men to let their hair down? I'd always doubted how the allure of the geishas could be linked to anything other than a kind of classy prostitution. But geiko are not prostitutes, and I think I have an idea of how the interaction might work. To be successful as a geisha requires great skill and determination, and geikos therefore have immense pride. The white make-up is said to enhance sexuality. But It also seems a way of preserving distance. This and the exquisite clothes and gestures set the geiko unreachably high. All men can do is admire. And the fact that only the most distinguished men are allowed access creates a power balance in the relationship.
And so we walked the streets, would-be voyeurs hoping for a view of a maiko or geiko as she went about her business. We got one glimpse of a girl whose dress (and lack of make-up) indicated her to be in the preparatory year, before maiko training. During this time around 40% of girls drop out - for very understandable reasons. But this didn't satisfy my curiosity. So, the following evening I bought a ticket to the tourist show put on in a theatre. For 10 minutes of the one-hour "demo" of different elements of Japanese culture we watched two maikos dancing. I am surprised to write that, despite resisting the notions of femininity and service that underpin the geiko culture, this inauthentic tourist experience was nevertheless spellbinding.
I found Kyoto overwhelming, and the need to take buses between the sights bewildering - at least initially. After taking me around X and Y temples (the gardens the highlight for me: autumn colours, water courses, mossy shade, waterfalls and rocks) Keiko and I parted company, for me to continue strolling on my own and her to return to Osaka and greet Hiroshi, just back from a trip to Tokyo. I met them at their flat - by the skin of my teeth - that evening. I had underestimated how difficult finding Block D7 in a featureless Osaka suburb, with a map entirely in Japanese, at night, would be. Three kind people led me lengthy distances in three different completely directions before I arrived in a sweaty, dishevelled state at the Kano threshold!
The following day the three of us got up early for another day of temples and sights. Kinkakuji was, as indicated on FB, breathtaking. Even though the throngs of people required stern management, a park official directing us into the viewing area, policeman-style, it didn't diminish from the thrill of seeing the golden, gleaming temple.
I spent the next two nights in a Kyoto hostel. And that first evening joined an organised walking tour of Gion, the most famous geisha district of Kyoto. The whole geisha thing is mind blowing. Here's what I learned. Geishas prefer to be known as geikos, the "ko" denoting their professional status. Maikos are the girls in training, who spend 5 years going to "school" every day to learn the skills of etiquette, flower arranging, dance, playing musical instruments, making tea.
Unlike the geikos, maikos have limited skills, and only (!) their youth and beauty to offer clients. This is why their kimonos and accessories are more ostentatious: brilliant colours and designs in comparison to the more muted geikos who are fully proficient in all the arts of entertaining. The training is extremely tough. During their first year maikos aren't allowed home. Cell phones and use of the internet are forbidden (though, curiously, initial contact by girls interested in the career is via the internet). There is surveillance in the boarding houses where the girls live, and our guide had a story about one girl who received a phone call when she relaxed to the extent of leaning her arm on a table. There is zero tolerance of such behaviour.
A maiko's world is limited to a few hundred square metres of her boarding house. Apart from school, she will have contact with her dresser (there are five in employment in Kyoto), who will help her don her 20 kg kimono. She will go to a beauty parlour to be made up. Maikos receive only pocket money, with all earnings going into a common pot that finances their enormous expenses. During her training a maiko, whose costume and accessories are changed every month, will clock up half a million dollars' worth of kimono expenses.
Geikos, on the other hand, can choose the kind of life they want to have. Some might work in a different field, alongside; they can choose their clients - but also have to take responsibility for their expenses, of course. Our guide surprised us when she revealed the oldest geisha in Kyoto is a venerable 90 years old. I tested this fact on Hiroshi, and he could quite see that a woman of this age would have much skill. (Mum - are you reading this?!)
The whole geisha world is shrouded in secrecy and exclusiveness. Geiko might entertain politicians or businessmen and, with the need for discretion, an evasive way of talking needs to be acquired. (In fact people from Kyoto have a reputation for being this way, even amongst Japanese.) In addition, there is dialect to be learned, and the sing-song way of intoning.
The tea houses that are the basic venues are discreet, a tiny plaque, invisible to an uneducated eye, the only indication of the establishment. Access is by invitation only (Gorbachov was turned down the first time he wanted access). The ochaya (tea houses) are a kind of gentlemen's club for a monied elite; more recently, men can drop in to a bar in an ochaya simply to relax. Or, more formally, they can ask an ochaya to organise a party for W number of people on X date, for Y timing, with Z maiko/geiko - with no discussion of budget. They then can't blink when the bill arrives some months afterwards, as this way of doing business is based on trust. I asked Hiroshi if footballers would be allowed into this privileged world and got a very clear No!
And the discretion goes further. Clients don't use their real names, but (men) are referred to as "Brother X" (a young man) or "Father Y" (an older man). No wonder, when part of the entertainment can consist of childishly silly physical and drinking games. The only way for some men to let their hair down? I'd always doubted how the allure of the geishas could be linked to anything other than a kind of classy prostitution. But geiko are not prostitutes, and I think I have an idea of how the interaction might work. To be successful as a geisha requires great skill and determination, and geikos therefore have immense pride. The white make-up is said to enhance sexuality. But It also seems a way of preserving distance. This and the exquisite clothes and gestures set the geiko unreachably high. All men can do is admire. And the fact that only the most distinguished men are allowed access creates a power balance in the relationship.
And so we walked the streets, would-be voyeurs hoping for a view of a maiko or geiko as she went about her business. We got one glimpse of a girl whose dress (and lack of make-up) indicated her to be in the preparatory year, before maiko training. During this time around 40% of girls drop out - for very understandable reasons. But this didn't satisfy my curiosity. So, the following evening I bought a ticket to the tourist show put on in a theatre. For 10 minutes of the one-hour "demo" of different elements of Japanese culture we watched two maikos dancing. I am surprised to write that, despite resisting the notions of femininity and service that underpin the geiko culture, this inauthentic tourist experience was nevertheless spellbinding.
29 October 2014
Goodbye Hongo
I've been feeling x, y and z, so the blog has gone quiet. But I'm being asked where I am. So here's an update.
I passed my last day with the Sakamotos, taking down the now-spent cucumber plants. I basked in 25 degrees - I probably won't be feeling that again for some while. I then badgered Shigeo to take me to the chicken sheds (photos on FB) a few km into the mountains. This seems to be where Shigeo's land is, a huge resource that has provided a pig-farming livelihood to his eldest son, and Shigeo's fifth field. The soil, with more clay than the fields in the valley, is used for root crops that tolerate the inferior drainage. Adjacent, is Shigeo's son's house, also home to his wife and four children. I was very surprised at the "third world" scene: bare-bottomed kids running around in the dust with dogs, vast areas of mechanical junk, an outdoor cooking area.
Just down the track Shigeo showed me his composting area, and the covered area Yohei and Kayo base themselves at during the summer for a few days each week. There was also a storage area where Yohei has been storing wood retrieved from old houses, in preparation for building a place of his own. Shigeo talked about this being on the same site - though, to me, Yohei and Kayo had expressed their desire to go to Kyushu island. Hmmm...
I was given the afternoon to pack (yeah, I know, and it didn't take that long). As I stashed my 2kg rice souvenir I listened to Radio 4, trying to orient myself towards the mother land.
That evening was the annual festival of light at Takehara. Sadly, the town has become a victim of the success gained via the TV drama: the streets were bursting with tripod-wielding tourists, the silent atmosphere of former festivals a thing of the past. We listened to a friend of Shigeo's and Keiko's singing a mixture of Japanese and Western pop classics, "How many loads must a man walk down..."
The following morning, weeping - as is my style - I made my farewells. And travelled north-east to Kyoto.
I passed my last day with the Sakamotos, taking down the now-spent cucumber plants. I basked in 25 degrees - I probably won't be feeling that again for some while. I then badgered Shigeo to take me to the chicken sheds (photos on FB) a few km into the mountains. This seems to be where Shigeo's land is, a huge resource that has provided a pig-farming livelihood to his eldest son, and Shigeo's fifth field. The soil, with more clay than the fields in the valley, is used for root crops that tolerate the inferior drainage. Adjacent, is Shigeo's son's house, also home to his wife and four children. I was very surprised at the "third world" scene: bare-bottomed kids running around in the dust with dogs, vast areas of mechanical junk, an outdoor cooking area.
Just down the track Shigeo showed me his composting area, and the covered area Yohei and Kayo base themselves at during the summer for a few days each week. There was also a storage area where Yohei has been storing wood retrieved from old houses, in preparation for building a place of his own. Shigeo talked about this being on the same site - though, to me, Yohei and Kayo had expressed their desire to go to Kyushu island. Hmmm...
I was given the afternoon to pack (yeah, I know, and it didn't take that long). As I stashed my 2kg rice souvenir I listened to Radio 4, trying to orient myself towards the mother land.
That evening was the annual festival of light at Takehara. Sadly, the town has become a victim of the success gained via the TV drama: the streets were bursting with tripod-wielding tourists, the silent atmosphere of former festivals a thing of the past. We listened to a friend of Shigeo's and Keiko's singing a mixture of Japanese and Western pop classics, "How many loads must a man walk down..."
The following morning, weeping - as is my style - I made my farewells. And travelled north-east to Kyoto.
23 October 2014
a gate and a hike
I am coming to the end of my fortnight with the Sakamotos, and am very reluctant to move on. Shigeo and Keiko have been incredibly welcoming, and their house now feels like home, dust and all. Their clarity about rest and work times, and the nature of the work - real jobs that make a difference to them, have made this a very satisfying experience. They feel like true friends and I will miss them both, and Yohei (son) and Kayo (daughter-in-law).
Alongside the work, both Shigeo and Keiko have done all possible to help me explore the surrounding area: when I tried to pay the yoga teacher earlier this week she told me that the bag of veggies we'd given her was in lieu of payment; on Mayajima island, from where I've just returned, Keiko put me in touch with a former woofer, and I was able to spend the day with her; Shigeo furnished me with maps and information and taxied me to and for the station; the trip to Takehara last week came about via one of Keiko's friends; when they see that I'm Skyping with Juan they are positively delighted and encourage me to take my time even if this means arriving late for supper. Etc etc.
Shigeo, thin and high-wired, burns around from dawn to beyond dusk. Why walk if you can run? And he drives in the same way, accelerating into amber traffic lights. Yohei jokes that Shigeo can wind down for a max 3 hours. I guess that's why driving 2 hours, and then a high-paced mountain walk, is his choice of relaxation.
Keiko, mother of the universe, surrounded by family, friends, woofers. Always late as conversations take priority but has the strength of an ox as she runs "her" veggie fields. Her warmth and humour balm to all around. Laments her inability to lose weight. I was amused, last night to see her finish her "main" (doesn't exist in Japan) course, eat the dessert I'd brought back from Mayajima, then revert to a fish dish. I think typical of sweet-and-sour Japanese mixing but very curious, all the same.
So I've just had 24 hours on Mayajima, an island just south of Hiroshima and one of the three top attractions in Japan. ("Beep! Beep! Danger! Danger!") I arrived in colossal rain. But the streets were nevertheless filled with boatloads of school kids. The big pull is the Torii gate (see FB pics), a 16m high structure first installed in the 12th century, and part of Itsukushima Shrine. The shrine was designed and built on pier-like structures over the bay so that it would appear to be floating on the water, separate from the sacred island, which could be approached by the devout. According to Wiki, retaining the purity of the shrine is so important that, since 1878, no deaths or births have been permitted near it. So e.g. pregnant women are supposed to retreat to the mainland as delivery day approaches.
Rain or shine, the group posing continued. In front of the Torii gate class after class stood on racked benches, quickly removing umbrellas for the obligatory, "Cheese!", amid indignant squeals as they were instantly drenched. Pure entertainment for me.
My first view of the gate was at low tide. I subsequently discovered quite how unusual that (people-empty "liked" FB snap) is: the following day at the same time, the throngs of tourists on the sand were impressive. (Though I was the only person to take off my shoes and, feeling strangely rebellious, paddle a few metres seaward to view the gate from a different perspective. What rule was I, unknowingly, transgressing?)
By chance, I learned, in some tourist literature at the hotel, about about the nightly floodlighting and returned to the scene after dark. The FB pics convey something of the magical quality of those high-tide illuminated views. But the streets were still alive with people. Where was that quiet-because-all-daytrippers-have-gone-home time that I'd been promised, the reason for me overnighting? By getting up early the following morning, I found the P & Q I was looking for: at high tide, in company with a handful of other tourists, I watched as the gate was gradually lit up by the sun.
After breakfast I met up with Saki, who had spent 6 months with the Sakamotos earlier this year as an agricultural trainee. She plans to make a living as a farmer but, in the mean time, is saving money by working a short contract at one of the island hotels (one of the "kimono girls" who meet and greet guests as they arrive). I'm afraid that, after visiting Daishoin temple and watching some intriguing dance and music (curious soul-tormented whining I subsequently discovered via Dad was gagaku, ancient court music ) at a nearby shrine (see FB pics), both in complete ignorance, I cut short visits to sacred sites and spent the rest of the day hiking up to Mt Misen. Rewarded by a new view of the Seto Inland Sea islands, and Hiroshima coastline. As we started the walk there were signs to the cable car: "10 minutes or 7 minutes if go little quickly". Which perfectly captures the spirit of Japanese tourism. I did wonder, afterwards, if I would have covered more ground if I'd taken that short cut, and gone a little faster. Am I in danger of becoming a "Japanese tourist"?
Alongside the work, both Shigeo and Keiko have done all possible to help me explore the surrounding area: when I tried to pay the yoga teacher earlier this week she told me that the bag of veggies we'd given her was in lieu of payment; on Mayajima island, from where I've just returned, Keiko put me in touch with a former woofer, and I was able to spend the day with her; Shigeo furnished me with maps and information and taxied me to and for the station; the trip to Takehara last week came about via one of Keiko's friends; when they see that I'm Skyping with Juan they are positively delighted and encourage me to take my time even if this means arriving late for supper. Etc etc.
Shigeo, thin and high-wired, burns around from dawn to beyond dusk. Why walk if you can run? And he drives in the same way, accelerating into amber traffic lights. Yohei jokes that Shigeo can wind down for a max 3 hours. I guess that's why driving 2 hours, and then a high-paced mountain walk, is his choice of relaxation.
Keiko, mother of the universe, surrounded by family, friends, woofers. Always late as conversations take priority but has the strength of an ox as she runs "her" veggie fields. Her warmth and humour balm to all around. Laments her inability to lose weight. I was amused, last night to see her finish her "main" (doesn't exist in Japan) course, eat the dessert I'd brought back from Mayajima, then revert to a fish dish. I think typical of sweet-and-sour Japanese mixing but very curious, all the same.
So I've just had 24 hours on Mayajima, an island just south of Hiroshima and one of the three top attractions in Japan. ("Beep! Beep! Danger! Danger!") I arrived in colossal rain. But the streets were nevertheless filled with boatloads of school kids. The big pull is the Torii gate (see FB pics), a 16m high structure first installed in the 12th century, and part of Itsukushima Shrine. The shrine was designed and built on pier-like structures over the bay so that it would appear to be floating on the water, separate from the sacred island, which could be approached by the devout. According to Wiki, retaining the purity of the shrine is so important that, since 1878, no deaths or births have been permitted near it. So e.g. pregnant women are supposed to retreat to the mainland as delivery day approaches.
Rain or shine, the group posing continued. In front of the Torii gate class after class stood on racked benches, quickly removing umbrellas for the obligatory, "Cheese!", amid indignant squeals as they were instantly drenched. Pure entertainment for me.
My first view of the gate was at low tide. I subsequently discovered quite how unusual that (people-empty "liked" FB snap) is: the following day at the same time, the throngs of tourists on the sand were impressive. (Though I was the only person to take off my shoes and, feeling strangely rebellious, paddle a few metres seaward to view the gate from a different perspective. What rule was I, unknowingly, transgressing?)
By chance, I learned, in some tourist literature at the hotel, about about the nightly floodlighting and returned to the scene after dark. The FB pics convey something of the magical quality of those high-tide illuminated views. But the streets were still alive with people. Where was that quiet-because-all-daytrippers-have-gone-home time that I'd been promised, the reason for me overnighting? By getting up early the following morning, I found the P & Q I was looking for: at high tide, in company with a handful of other tourists, I watched as the gate was gradually lit up by the sun.
After breakfast I met up with Saki, who had spent 6 months with the Sakamotos earlier this year as an agricultural trainee. She plans to make a living as a farmer but, in the mean time, is saving money by working a short contract at one of the island hotels (one of the "kimono girls" who meet and greet guests as they arrive). I'm afraid that, after visiting Daishoin temple and watching some intriguing dance and music (curious soul-tormented whining I subsequently discovered via Dad was gagaku, ancient court music ) at a nearby shrine (see FB pics), both in complete ignorance, I cut short visits to sacred sites and spent the rest of the day hiking up to Mt Misen. Rewarded by a new view of the Seto Inland Sea islands, and Hiroshima coastline. As we started the walk there were signs to the cable car: "10 minutes or 7 minutes if go little quickly". Which perfectly captures the spirit of Japanese tourism. I did wonder, afterwards, if I would have covered more ground if I'd taken that short cut, and gone a little faster. Am I in danger of becoming a "Japanese tourist"?
Hiroshima
How to write about Hiroshima... I'm still trying to digest my visit, and the Japanese response to the event. Even two generations on, it feels no time away, the aftermath still potent, the physical and psychological suffering ongoing. In Hiroshima prefecture there are 50,000 people who were present in the area on 6 August 1945.
On a dismal, wet day the "A-Bomb Dome" (see FB photo) was first on my itinerary. The building, originally known as the Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall, was designed by a Czech architect in 1915. Hiroshima citizens admired European modern-style buildings of the time and the building was well loved. Since it was located only around 160 metres from the hypo centre, the building was blown up, and all those inside the building died. However, the building was not destroyed completely because the blast of the atomic bomb, which was vaporised in the air, prevented it from totally collapsing (?). For years there was division regarding its preservation or demolition, but feeling in favour of preservation won out. It was designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1996 and now represents the Japanese people's desire for worldwide peace.
I then visited both Hiroshima National Peace Memorial Hall and the Peace Memorial Museum. Both are located in the area immediately adjacent to the hyper centre, just across the river from the A-Bomb Dome. Before the bomb, this was a residential suburb, with traditional wooden homes. After the explosion it was never rebuilt and the whole area is now a park, with a cenotaph and other memorials describing the buildings and lives that were lost.
In the Peace Memorial Museum I was squeezed through the exhibition rooms like toothpaste, alongside overwhelming numbers of school children. We passed a reconstruction of a bombed building; saw "before" and "after" photos of residential areas; read text panels with data on the appearance of skin subjected to different levels of radiation, how a post-nuclear reverse wind and black rain are created, the physics behind atomic-bomb creation, the distance from the hyper centre that wood/metal/concrete was laid to waste; saw a graphic model showing the extent of destruction across the conglomeration, poignant fragments of clothing, fused toys, videos of damaged survivors, melted roof tiles, samples of shard-blasted walls, data on warheads possessed (UK only behind France, in Europe).
In the end it was too much. I needed to get out. Past the hoards of children settling down to their packed lunches on the paved area outside the museum; or posing in class groups in front of the A-Bomb Dome... What can this mean to them? Like the First World War does to me? It didn't seem to be affecting their appetites as they tucked in to their bento boxes.
In retrospect it would have been preferable to visit the National Peace Memorial Hall as a follow-up. Although the rolling photo display of images of the 200,000 who died is heart-rending, and the audio-visual exhibition of children's accounts and drawings of that terrible time unbearably sad, I was moved, rather than depressed by, the emphasis on honouring the dead, providing a space for them to be remembered, and plea for peace:
"We hereby mourn those who perished in the atomic bombing. At the same time, we recall with great sorrow the many lives sacrificed to mistaken national policy. To ensure that no such tragedies are ever repeated, we pledge to convey the truth of these events throughout Japan and around the world, to pass it on to future generations, and to build, as soon as possible, a peaceful world free from nuclear weapons."
I can only admire a country that takes responsibility for its actions, and presents the story in such a comprehensive and objective way.
Addendum:
Having spent the following day with a young woman from Okinawa, the most southern part of Japan and enjoying a distinctive language and culture, I was interested to discover that the Okinawans, alongside the Allies, perceived the A-Bomb as the only way to end the war. Okinawan loss of life during the war was as much attributable to Japanese aggression (they viewed them as spies) as to the US.
On a dismal, wet day the "A-Bomb Dome" (see FB photo) was first on my itinerary. The building, originally known as the Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall, was designed by a Czech architect in 1915. Hiroshima citizens admired European modern-style buildings of the time and the building was well loved. Since it was located only around 160 metres from the hypo centre, the building was blown up, and all those inside the building died. However, the building was not destroyed completely because the blast of the atomic bomb, which was vaporised in the air, prevented it from totally collapsing (?). For years there was division regarding its preservation or demolition, but feeling in favour of preservation won out. It was designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1996 and now represents the Japanese people's desire for worldwide peace.
I then visited both Hiroshima National Peace Memorial Hall and the Peace Memorial Museum. Both are located in the area immediately adjacent to the hyper centre, just across the river from the A-Bomb Dome. Before the bomb, this was a residential suburb, with traditional wooden homes. After the explosion it was never rebuilt and the whole area is now a park, with a cenotaph and other memorials describing the buildings and lives that were lost.
In the Peace Memorial Museum I was squeezed through the exhibition rooms like toothpaste, alongside overwhelming numbers of school children. We passed a reconstruction of a bombed building; saw "before" and "after" photos of residential areas; read text panels with data on the appearance of skin subjected to different levels of radiation, how a post-nuclear reverse wind and black rain are created, the physics behind atomic-bomb creation, the distance from the hyper centre that wood/metal/concrete was laid to waste; saw a graphic model showing the extent of destruction across the conglomeration, poignant fragments of clothing, fused toys, videos of damaged survivors, melted roof tiles, samples of shard-blasted walls, data on warheads possessed (UK only behind France, in Europe).
In the end it was too much. I needed to get out. Past the hoards of children settling down to their packed lunches on the paved area outside the museum; or posing in class groups in front of the A-Bomb Dome... What can this mean to them? Like the First World War does to me? It didn't seem to be affecting their appetites as they tucked in to their bento boxes.
In retrospect it would have been preferable to visit the National Peace Memorial Hall as a follow-up. Although the rolling photo display of images of the 200,000 who died is heart-rending, and the audio-visual exhibition of children's accounts and drawings of that terrible time unbearably sad, I was moved, rather than depressed by, the emphasis on honouring the dead, providing a space for them to be remembered, and plea for peace:
"We hereby mourn those who perished in the atomic bombing. At the same time, we recall with great sorrow the many lives sacrificed to mistaken national policy. To ensure that no such tragedies are ever repeated, we pledge to convey the truth of these events throughout Japan and around the world, to pass it on to future generations, and to build, as soon as possible, a peaceful world free from nuclear weapons."
I can only admire a country that takes responsibility for its actions, and presents the story in such a comprehensive and objective way.
Addendum:
Having spent the following day with a young woman from Okinawa, the most southern part of Japan and enjoying a distinctive language and culture, I was interested to discover that the Okinawans, alongside the Allies, perceived the A-Bomb as the only way to end the war. Okinawan loss of life during the war was as much attributable to Japanese aggression (they viewed them as spies) as to the US.
21 October 2014
Okonomi yaki supper
I WISH I'd brought my camera to the greasy joe's fast-food joint we just had supper at. But if you click here you'll see the end product. The reason? Keiko has managed to carve a bit of time for herself, travelling to Nagoya for a school friends' reunion. And so we have lost our cook.
So this is how it works: you go into a minuscule frying shop where 6 chairs are lined up in front of a hot plate 3m long. On the wall facing you is a TV screen. A woman with elasticated "bob hat" awaits your choice of pork or squid. Then, in front of you, she dribbles a little circle of batter; forklifts a 15cm pile of shredded cabbage; drapes the cabbage mountain with long rashers of thinly sliced bacon followed by a handful of bean sprouts; dribbles another dose of batter over the top; flips the whole pile over; compresses the pile with a giant "iron"; cracks an egg adjacent and dumps the diminished food mountain on top of it; tosses it a final time; sloshes on a sweet soy sauce and mayonnaise (yes). And then - and oh for a photo - delivers it in front of you with a short plasterer's trowel. Eating directly off the hot plate the tool is used to hack through the pancake and then acts as a kind of Viking spoon. Anything further from classic Japanese etiquette would be hard to imagine.
And yes, it was delicious. And not at all greasy.
So this is how it works: you go into a minuscule frying shop where 6 chairs are lined up in front of a hot plate 3m long. On the wall facing you is a TV screen. A woman with elasticated "bob hat" awaits your choice of pork or squid. Then, in front of you, she dribbles a little circle of batter; forklifts a 15cm pile of shredded cabbage; drapes the cabbage mountain with long rashers of thinly sliced bacon followed by a handful of bean sprouts; dribbles another dose of batter over the top; flips the whole pile over; compresses the pile with a giant "iron"; cracks an egg adjacent and dumps the diminished food mountain on top of it; tosses it a final time; sloshes on a sweet soy sauce and mayonnaise (yes). And then - and oh for a photo - delivers it in front of you with a short plasterer's trowel. Eating directly off the hot plate the tool is used to hack through the pancake and then acts as a kind of Viking spoon. Anything further from classic Japanese etiquette would be hard to imagine.
And yes, it was delicious. And not at all greasy.
Japanese-style yoga
When Shigeo and Keiko asked me if I'd like to join them for their weekly yoga class I of course said Yes. This would be a unique opportunity to experience the Japanese take on a tradition with origins almost as far from Tokyo as from London. Besides, after all that harvesting and packaging I could do with a good work-out.
Keiko had told me that their teacher had a very gentle, low-impact style. But I was still surprised at the rhythm: very very gentle stretching of a "yoga for oldies with severe back pain" style, with seriously long pauses in between. Of course the class took place on a tatami floor, with yoga mats on top. So far so good. What was surprising was that I was the only person barefoot; everyone else had (toed) socks, a real "no no" in European yoga, where traction is needed. As we weren't exactly working up a steam it didn't matter. In fact I had to put on my cool-down layer at the beginning of the class, when I realised I wasn't even going to break a sweat.
As I looked around the room the bits of recognisable yoga looked wrong to me - and there was absolutely no feedback from the teacher. I found myself getting impatient: where's the burn? the push? the challenge? And in fact where's the goddam yoga? We're doing some nice do-in on our feet, and some traditional joint mobilisations. And lots of sitting quietly in seiza (Japanese kneeling position used in shiatsu). And we're all breathing calmly.
I'm being unfair. There were (very) lengthy explanations, listened to in respectful silence, which of course bypassed me. So I was only getting a very approximate idea of what it was all about. If this is typical of yoga in Japan there is a very large cultural difference with Europe. Keiko says that the teacher sometimes gives lectures on the philosophy of yoga - so she should know her stuff. But it felt very curious indeed to be rolling my mat up at the end with so little sense of change.
Keiko had told me that their teacher had a very gentle, low-impact style. But I was still surprised at the rhythm: very very gentle stretching of a "yoga for oldies with severe back pain" style, with seriously long pauses in between. Of course the class took place on a tatami floor, with yoga mats on top. So far so good. What was surprising was that I was the only person barefoot; everyone else had (toed) socks, a real "no no" in European yoga, where traction is needed. As we weren't exactly working up a steam it didn't matter. In fact I had to put on my cool-down layer at the beginning of the class, when I realised I wasn't even going to break a sweat.
As I looked around the room the bits of recognisable yoga looked wrong to me - and there was absolutely no feedback from the teacher. I found myself getting impatient: where's the burn? the push? the challenge? And in fact where's the goddam yoga? We're doing some nice do-in on our feet, and some traditional joint mobilisations. And lots of sitting quietly in seiza (Japanese kneeling position used in shiatsu). And we're all breathing calmly.
I'm being unfair. There were (very) lengthy explanations, listened to in respectful silence, which of course bypassed me. So I was only getting a very approximate idea of what it was all about. If this is typical of yoga in Japan there is a very large cultural difference with Europe. Keiko says that the teacher sometimes gives lectures on the philosophy of yoga - so she should know her stuff. But it felt very curious indeed to be rolling my mat up at the end with so little sense of change.
20 October 2014
a pie and a hike
On Saturday evening there was a muted response to my shepherd's pie (which felt absurdly simple - one brown dish instead of the usual array). And a few rice balls had to be sneaked onto the table for everyone to feel satisfied. But the apple crumble I followed it with went down a storm (amid total disbelief that I could have used 150g of butter in just one dish); the platter was licked clean. So I count it as a success.
Sunday was my official day off (taken rather guiltily as Yohei and Kayo could have done with my help with their wild-boar-trashed rice harvest, but sanctioned by Shigeo). If I had wanted to explore the Chūgoku Mountains, on the border of Hiroshima and Shimane prefectures, it would have been logistically impossible without a car. So Shigeo suggesting a walk there was a gift falling out of the sky. Once again all I had to say with "Yes, please" and "Thank you".
As we set off Shigeo revealed that it would be a 2-hour drive to our starting point - because where we live is relatively low, not like mountainous Gifu where I was previously. Hence a hefty schlep needed to get to anything of any height. Four hours of driving for a 3-hour walk? Bummer. But it at least gave me a view of Hiroshima prefecture: the dead-flat paddies and densely built countryside, progressively narrower valleys as we drove closer to the mountainous "spine" of the West Japan peninsula. And the journey gave an opportunity to chat. I learned a bit more about the politics of agriculture: how eating patterns have changed (from 3 rice meals a day to just one as bread is typically eaten at breakfast and noodles for lunch). With the decrease in rice consumption to a third of what it was 50 years ago, the government imposed on farmers a maximum of 70% of land to be used for rice. This figure has been relaxed somewhat - Shigeo's veg represents around 25% of his 5 hectares. (He gets a much higher revenue from the veg but it represents 80% of time and energy; the veg and egg production both 10%.)
Declining rice prices mean farming is becoming increasingly marginal. Older farmers simply wait until the next big mechanical repair makes it uneconomic to continue, and then cease farming. In Shigeo and Keiko's village the declining population means the village school has closed, and the Japan Agriculture (JA) agency - useful for Shigeo for tools - no longer exists.
Around us, on near-vertical slopes, was a mantle of universally dense forest, including the high-value kinoki (googling on "japanese hinoki tree" brings up some images) that I also saw around Kashimo. Shigeo's father and grandfather planted extensively, in their time, and the trees are now mature. But what would once have been a small fortune has diminished in value as cheap imports replace local wood. It now costs virtually the value of the wood to harvest it. So, when he built his current house 20 years ago, Shigeo did the whole felling and extracting operation himself.
The Chūgoku area is a series of 1200m-ish mountains and ravines enswathed with virgin forest of Japanese beeches (the most southern limit), oaks, horse chestnuts, and ferns. Mt Hiba, part of "Hiba-Dogo-Taishaku Quasi-National Park", is mentioned in the oldest Japanese chronicle, "Kojiki", and we walked past what is said to be the grave of one of the gods buried there.
Shigeo had told me how mountain hiking is the activity of choice for the 50+ age group. Once retired, many make it their mission to climb the "100 best peaks" that have been featured in a recently published book. (For Shigeo this would be completely impossible - e.g. a day's travel each way to get to Hokkaido, and only a handful of days when he can take time off from the farm.)
And yes, Japanese middle age was there in force, this being an idyllic sunny day with searing red maples heralding the way for the famed autumn show. Ninety per cent of the women were wearing T-shirts on top of long-sleeved shirts, and shorts on top of leggings. I didn't see anyone other than me with bare arms. In 23 degrees. When I commented on how over-dressed everyone seemed, Shigeo told me it was "the Japanese way", and how odd it seems to him when woofers working in the heat of summer strip off, though he knows this is "their way". He thinks the Japanese tolerate variations in temperature better than Europeans. Who can say - but I have plenty of evidence that the Japanese are calibrated differently to Europeans, and I swear no one was sweating like I was!
On the walk, once again I was wholly out of control: any map would have been difficult for me to use, given the language problem. But, in any case, Shigeo took the view that there was no need for one in this low-mountain area. So, by asking other walkers, and using the (Japanese, obviously) way marks, we made a circuit that climbed up and down woodland paths, with one short stretch giving fabulous 360 degree views (see FB photos), before finishing with a rather tedious forestry track. (4.5 hours instead of the 3 hours planned. Now where have I had that experience before...?!)
The icing on the cake was a relaxing soak in the onsen in the hotel right next to the car park, before the drive back home - where 12 people were gathered for a farewell meal for Kayo. She'll be leaving for her mother's next week, to have her first baby; common practice in Japan. (Yohei will be present for the birth, confident that the Shinkansen bullet train will speed him down to Kyushu at the appropriate time.)
Sunday was my official day off (taken rather guiltily as Yohei and Kayo could have done with my help with their wild-boar-trashed rice harvest, but sanctioned by Shigeo). If I had wanted to explore the Chūgoku Mountains, on the border of Hiroshima and Shimane prefectures, it would have been logistically impossible without a car. So Shigeo suggesting a walk there was a gift falling out of the sky. Once again all I had to say with "Yes, please" and "Thank you".
As we set off Shigeo revealed that it would be a 2-hour drive to our starting point - because where we live is relatively low, not like mountainous Gifu where I was previously. Hence a hefty schlep needed to get to anything of any height. Four hours of driving for a 3-hour walk? Bummer. But it at least gave me a view of Hiroshima prefecture: the dead-flat paddies and densely built countryside, progressively narrower valleys as we drove closer to the mountainous "spine" of the West Japan peninsula. And the journey gave an opportunity to chat. I learned a bit more about the politics of agriculture: how eating patterns have changed (from 3 rice meals a day to just one as bread is typically eaten at breakfast and noodles for lunch). With the decrease in rice consumption to a third of what it was 50 years ago, the government imposed on farmers a maximum of 70% of land to be used for rice. This figure has been relaxed somewhat - Shigeo's veg represents around 25% of his 5 hectares. (He gets a much higher revenue from the veg but it represents 80% of time and energy; the veg and egg production both 10%.)
Declining rice prices mean farming is becoming increasingly marginal. Older farmers simply wait until the next big mechanical repair makes it uneconomic to continue, and then cease farming. In Shigeo and Keiko's village the declining population means the village school has closed, and the Japan Agriculture (JA) agency - useful for Shigeo for tools - no longer exists.
Around us, on near-vertical slopes, was a mantle of universally dense forest, including the high-value kinoki (googling on "japanese hinoki tree" brings up some images) that I also saw around Kashimo. Shigeo's father and grandfather planted extensively, in their time, and the trees are now mature. But what would once have been a small fortune has diminished in value as cheap imports replace local wood. It now costs virtually the value of the wood to harvest it. So, when he built his current house 20 years ago, Shigeo did the whole felling and extracting operation himself.
The Chūgoku area is a series of 1200m-ish mountains and ravines enswathed with virgin forest of Japanese beeches (the most southern limit), oaks, horse chestnuts, and ferns. Mt Hiba, part of "Hiba-Dogo-Taishaku Quasi-National Park", is mentioned in the oldest Japanese chronicle, "Kojiki", and we walked past what is said to be the grave of one of the gods buried there.
Shigeo had told me how mountain hiking is the activity of choice for the 50+ age group. Once retired, many make it their mission to climb the "100 best peaks" that have been featured in a recently published book. (For Shigeo this would be completely impossible - e.g. a day's travel each way to get to Hokkaido, and only a handful of days when he can take time off from the farm.)
And yes, Japanese middle age was there in force, this being an idyllic sunny day with searing red maples heralding the way for the famed autumn show. Ninety per cent of the women were wearing T-shirts on top of long-sleeved shirts, and shorts on top of leggings. I didn't see anyone other than me with bare arms. In 23 degrees. When I commented on how over-dressed everyone seemed, Shigeo told me it was "the Japanese way", and how odd it seems to him when woofers working in the heat of summer strip off, though he knows this is "their way". He thinks the Japanese tolerate variations in temperature better than Europeans. Who can say - but I have plenty of evidence that the Japanese are calibrated differently to Europeans, and I swear no one was sweating like I was!
On the walk, once again I was wholly out of control: any map would have been difficult for me to use, given the language problem. But, in any case, Shigeo took the view that there was no need for one in this low-mountain area. So, by asking other walkers, and using the (Japanese, obviously) way marks, we made a circuit that climbed up and down woodland paths, with one short stretch giving fabulous 360 degree views (see FB photos), before finishing with a rather tedious forestry track. (4.5 hours instead of the 3 hours planned. Now where have I had that experience before...?!)
The icing on the cake was a relaxing soak in the onsen in the hotel right next to the car park, before the drive back home - where 12 people were gathered for a farewell meal for Kayo. She'll be leaving for her mother's next week, to have her first baby; common practice in Japan. (Yohei will be present for the birth, confident that the Shinkansen bullet train will speed him down to Kyushu at the appropriate time.)
17 October 2014
a day in the life..., and Buttsuji Temple
Today being Friday was full-on veggie boxes. Starting before breakfast with 2 hours stripping edamame beans; then cabbage trimming, mizune weighing and bagging, spinach wrapping, egg washing and boxing. I enjoy it: being told what to do, not having a plan in my head, and knowing that I can do it well. And I like the variety. In fact, without it I'd be a bit over cooked - yesterday's weeding and banking up the rows of leeks into nice raised lines was heavy duty; a second day on the trot might have been de trop.
I sometimes muse on how I would have followed up this woofing experience if I'd had it at a different time in my life. From my fifty-something perspective I wish doing something linked to organic farming could be an option for me now; but, as a twenty-five year old, might it only have felt like a "gap" activity until I got a "proper job"?
And of course I'm being dewy eyed: Floating in and out as a woofer gives a cushy snapshot of a life that seems in tune, truly collaborative, sociable, rewarding, sane. But Shigeo and Keiko work their socks off; and have constant uncertainty with the weather, and crop success or failure.
One aspect of living as a kind of guest is that everything is completely out of my control: what I eat, what I do... and maybe that's another reason why I am so content! I never know what will appear on the table next. For breakfast today it was a sausage, sliced cucumber, tomato omelet, yesterday's salad remains and sultana and walnut loaf. Washed down with the Earl grey tea I (boldly) brought from England. Lunch was wonton soup, a seaweed dish, a funny/slimy sweet potato cooked with soy and fish sauce, fried rice and veg. I made the mistake of putting a whole umeboshi plum into my mouth. It was utterly different from the Morimotos style, the sensation as though I'd swallowed a tablespoon of neat salt. I couldn't suppress my howls of discomfort. And then to be told "very healthy", the idea (voiced at the Morimotos, also) and that the Japanese low-meat diet has to have salt from other sources.
Keiko's cooking style is a little like mine - slap it on the table, serve everything up, make sure no left-overs. But some of the Morimoto influence is still with me and this feels - dare I say it - a bit gross! And I know I am eating more, too, none of the "eating with your eyes" that characterised Rie's cooking. But Keiko doesn't spend 5 hours a day cooking; two 40-minute sessions. Punto.
At the end of my stint today I was planning on having a kip but Shigeo suggested I use the last 2 hours of daylight to cycle to Buttsuji temple, half an hour away. (See FB pics.) Having no expectation whatsoever, I was entranced by the vermilion pagoda, mysterious statues, late-afternoon sun shining through maples, the tranquility, and remoteness. But I had no idea of the significance of the place until later in the day.
Googling, I've found that "the Zen Buddhist temple, Buttsuji, was founded in 1397 by Kobayakawa Haruhira who was the lord of the area around Mihara City. Under the patronage of the Kobakawas, a deeply religiously devoted family, Rinzai-Zen Buddhism enjoyed a golden period where, at its height, it governed 88 sub-temples and 3,000 smaller temples." Well well. And on my doorstep. I may have to make a return trip to check out what I missed today.
Meanwhile, the daily, "Lebecca, please take shower" has summoned me. I love it.
And I've been told hat I'll be having supper next door, with Yohei and Kayo. At this point I'm beginning to feel like the kid who needs babysitting - Shigeo et al are clearly out and I'm home and alone...
I sometimes muse on how I would have followed up this woofing experience if I'd had it at a different time in my life. From my fifty-something perspective I wish doing something linked to organic farming could be an option for me now; but, as a twenty-five year old, might it only have felt like a "gap" activity until I got a "proper job"?
And of course I'm being dewy eyed: Floating in and out as a woofer gives a cushy snapshot of a life that seems in tune, truly collaborative, sociable, rewarding, sane. But Shigeo and Keiko work their socks off; and have constant uncertainty with the weather, and crop success or failure.
One aspect of living as a kind of guest is that everything is completely out of my control: what I eat, what I do... and maybe that's another reason why I am so content! I never know what will appear on the table next. For breakfast today it was a sausage, sliced cucumber, tomato omelet, yesterday's salad remains and sultana and walnut loaf. Washed down with the Earl grey tea I (boldly) brought from England. Lunch was wonton soup, a seaweed dish, a funny/slimy sweet potato cooked with soy and fish sauce, fried rice and veg. I made the mistake of putting a whole umeboshi plum into my mouth. It was utterly different from the Morimotos style, the sensation as though I'd swallowed a tablespoon of neat salt. I couldn't suppress my howls of discomfort. And then to be told "very healthy", the idea (voiced at the Morimotos, also) and that the Japanese low-meat diet has to have salt from other sources.
Keiko's cooking style is a little like mine - slap it on the table, serve everything up, make sure no left-overs. But some of the Morimoto influence is still with me and this feels - dare I say it - a bit gross! And I know I am eating more, too, none of the "eating with your eyes" that characterised Rie's cooking. But Keiko doesn't spend 5 hours a day cooking; two 40-minute sessions. Punto.
At the end of my stint today I was planning on having a kip but Shigeo suggested I use the last 2 hours of daylight to cycle to Buttsuji temple, half an hour away. (See FB pics.) Having no expectation whatsoever, I was entranced by the vermilion pagoda, mysterious statues, late-afternoon sun shining through maples, the tranquility, and remoteness. But I had no idea of the significance of the place until later in the day.
Googling, I've found that "the Zen Buddhist temple, Buttsuji, was founded in 1397 by Kobayakawa Haruhira who was the lord of the area around Mihara City. Under the patronage of the Kobakawas, a deeply religiously devoted family, Rinzai-Zen Buddhism enjoyed a golden period where, at its height, it governed 88 sub-temples and 3,000 smaller temples." Well well. And on my doorstep. I may have to make a return trip to check out what I missed today.
Meanwhile, the daily, "Lebecca, please take shower" has summoned me. I love it.
And I've been told hat I'll be having supper next door, with Yohei and Kayo. At this point I'm beginning to feel like the kid who needs babysitting - Shigeo et al are clearly out and I'm home and alone...
15 October 2014
Japanese tea ceremony and a view of the sea
I thought I'd got the hang of things at Shigeo and Keiko's and that today I'd be doing a bit of veg processing, cleaning some eggs, maybe some more rice harvesting. But at breakfast I am told, "today early lunch; make sandwich". Hmm. Why? For who? Gradually, all is revealed: after a short morning weeding the cabbage patch, Keiko's friend, Miki, will be taking me to Takehara ("bamboo field"), where her sister - a Japanese tea ceremony teacher - lives.
Until recently Takehara was a little-known town with a substantial late Edo-period historic centre. Since being used as the location for a TV serial dramatising the story of whisky introduction to Japan (see http://www.nikka.com/eng/founder/, quite a story), it is firmly on the tourist trail. But there was no time for strolling the streets; I had 2 hours of intense etiquette training ahead of me.
The four of us were seated around a low table. Miki's friend, who has been learning for several months, started us off. This is the "new style" of sencha* ceremony, which has older people and tourists in mind. Less demanding on the knees than kneeling at a low table, it is more sociable on account of the table being narrower, and communication easier. Whereas, in the past, the ceremony would have taken place in silence, today having a natter is part of the package.
Then it was my turn, and I wished I'd watched with a bit more attention. Miki's sister doesn't speak a word of English so I was guided by Miki's rough translation and her sister's gestures. It was by turns stressful ("left hand not right hand", "rotate cup once only", "don't lift cup over tray, pass it round the edge", "place handkerchief the other way up in the holder", "lay out the cups in the 1-2-3-4-5 order", "keep your elbows down"... ) and meditative, as - by the second pass - I was beginning to remember some parts with no prompting. But a naughty, rebellious internal voice kept telling me this was a heck of a palaver for three mini sips of tea.
I was beginning to wonder how much longer we'd be sipping and bowing when it was suddenly time to leave. Miki then drove me to the top of nearby Mt Shirataki. See FB for incredible views of the Seto Inland Sea (seen from my Onomichi cycle ride, but I hadn't appreciated the scale of it). I asked Shigeo how many islands he thought there were. His "300" was way short; it's in fact nearer 3000, though clearly no one can have counted.
Just below the summit was a Buddhist temple, complete with an American monk, his wife and a veggie garden. Miki knows them well as she comes to the spot regularly, particularly if she's not feeling good. The wife gave Miki some white aubergines. This seemed such a reverse of the custom of giving alms to monks that it prompted the question, how do monks survive, financially? Miki thought about it and we were both amused that she had no idea. And nor did another friend, who we visited, on the way home. Miki and her friends make a 4000¥ (£20) per year contribution to their local temples but know no more than that what sustains their spiritual leaders.
A great day. But I'm feeling guilty: I barely worked 2 hours while Shigeo was out in the fields close to 14 hours.
..............................................................
* There is a formal art surrounding sencha, which is distinguished as senchadō, the way of sencha. Generally it involves the high-grade gyokuro class of sencha. This ceremony, more Chinese in style, was introduced to Japan in the 17th century by Ingen, the founder of the Ōbaku school of Zen Buddhism, which is in general more Chinese in style than earlier schools. It remains associated with the Ōbaku school, and the head temple of Manpuku-jihosts regular sencha tea ceremony conventions.
Until recently Takehara was a little-known town with a substantial late Edo-period historic centre. Since being used as the location for a TV serial dramatising the story of whisky introduction to Japan (see http://www.nikka.com/eng/founder/, quite a story), it is firmly on the tourist trail. But there was no time for strolling the streets; I had 2 hours of intense etiquette training ahead of me.
The four of us were seated around a low table. Miki's friend, who has been learning for several months, started us off. This is the "new style" of sencha* ceremony, which has older people and tourists in mind. Less demanding on the knees than kneeling at a low table, it is more sociable on account of the table being narrower, and communication easier. Whereas, in the past, the ceremony would have taken place in silence, today having a natter is part of the package.
Then it was my turn, and I wished I'd watched with a bit more attention. Miki's sister doesn't speak a word of English so I was guided by Miki's rough translation and her sister's gestures. It was by turns stressful ("left hand not right hand", "rotate cup once only", "don't lift cup over tray, pass it round the edge", "place handkerchief the other way up in the holder", "lay out the cups in the 1-2-3-4-5 order", "keep your elbows down"... ) and meditative, as - by the second pass - I was beginning to remember some parts with no prompting. But a naughty, rebellious internal voice kept telling me this was a heck of a palaver for three mini sips of tea.
I was beginning to wonder how much longer we'd be sipping and bowing when it was suddenly time to leave. Miki then drove me to the top of nearby Mt Shirataki. See FB for incredible views of the Seto Inland Sea (seen from my Onomichi cycle ride, but I hadn't appreciated the scale of it). I asked Shigeo how many islands he thought there were. His "300" was way short; it's in fact nearer 3000, though clearly no one can have counted.
Just below the summit was a Buddhist temple, complete with an American monk, his wife and a veggie garden. Miki knows them well as she comes to the spot regularly, particularly if she's not feeling good. The wife gave Miki some white aubergines. This seemed such a reverse of the custom of giving alms to monks that it prompted the question, how do monks survive, financially? Miki thought about it and we were both amused that she had no idea. And nor did another friend, who we visited, on the way home. Miki and her friends make a 4000¥ (£20) per year contribution to their local temples but know no more than that what sustains their spiritual leaders.
A great day. But I'm feeling guilty: I barely worked 2 hours while Shigeo was out in the fields close to 14 hours.
..............................................................
* There is a formal art surrounding sencha, which is distinguished as senchadō, the way of sencha. Generally it involves the high-grade gyokuro class of sencha. This ceremony, more Chinese in style, was introduced to Japan in the 17th century by Ingen, the founder of the Ōbaku school of Zen Buddhism, which is in general more Chinese in style than earlier schools. It remains associated with the Ōbaku school, and the head temple of Manpuku-jihosts regular sencha tea ceremony conventions.
13 October 2014
cleaning eggs in a typhoon
Shigeo was out before breakfast today, taking down the cucumber plants ahead of typhoon Vongfong, expected in the afternoon. Everyone was concerned about possible damage to crops and the TV was on most of the day, both in the living and veg-packing rooms. It seems they have a channel dedicated to weather? Scenes of stalled airplane passengers and deserted stations, the rail network closed down. It's coincided with a national sports day holiday. Bad luck all competitors.
Fridays and Mondays particularly busy here: the day the veg and veg boxes are taken away. Distributed as far as Tokyo. Consumers, particularly young families, worried about contamination from Fukushima. Many have moved away to e.g. Osaka and Onomichi. I hadn't realised the area around Fukushima had been a centre for organic farming - it had clean water, beautiful mountains. The younger organic farmers have cleared out; older ones don't want to leave their lives and livelihoods. Instead, according to Shigeo, trying to minimise the radiation in their produce. Taking readings and only selling if below a threshold. Sounds unbelievable, self-imposed control. What about consumer confidence? No Soil Association to arbitrate. Government giving bland assurances while children's health suffers in radiation hotspots as far away as Tokyo: nose bleeds, cancer etc. And now a conservative backlash with the latest government rescinding on the plan to move away from nuclear.
Talking of nuclear, all this is very poignant, given my location just east of Hiroshima. Yesterday Keiko's sister (who I forgot to mention, also staying here) went to a discussion of the all-important Article 9 of the Japanese constitution. It came about post WW2 and represented the Japanese desire to learn form the past and avoid future conflict. So the current role of the Japanese army is defence only. But the world has changed, fear is rife and the conservative faction, backed up by the US, wants to beef up army capabilities. Perhaps this explains the unpopularity of the US, and its bases in Kyushu.
Meanwhile, while the government may be giving false information on the radiation risk, in Shigeo and Keiko's business I could see the twin effect of packaging legislation and consumer demand for clean and tidy: all veg cellophane wrapped; eggs tenderly washed (we don't do this in Europe, surely? - I'm sure I've bought dirty dirty dirty eggs from local farms in France). Yes, egg washing began today. Around 400 (two days' worth) carefully wiped or - if necessary - scrubbed under a tap, and boxed up. While the wind blew, the rain poured and TV updates suggested the end may not be nigh, after all, I bagged up okra and "tidied up" onions. Nice therapeutic work.
Fridays and Mondays particularly busy here: the day the veg and veg boxes are taken away. Distributed as far as Tokyo. Consumers, particularly young families, worried about contamination from Fukushima. Many have moved away to e.g. Osaka and Onomichi. I hadn't realised the area around Fukushima had been a centre for organic farming - it had clean water, beautiful mountains. The younger organic farmers have cleared out; older ones don't want to leave their lives and livelihoods. Instead, according to Shigeo, trying to minimise the radiation in their produce. Taking readings and only selling if below a threshold. Sounds unbelievable, self-imposed control. What about consumer confidence? No Soil Association to arbitrate. Government giving bland assurances while children's health suffers in radiation hotspots as far away as Tokyo: nose bleeds, cancer etc. And now a conservative backlash with the latest government rescinding on the plan to move away from nuclear.
Talking of nuclear, all this is very poignant, given my location just east of Hiroshima. Yesterday Keiko's sister (who I forgot to mention, also staying here) went to a discussion of the all-important Article 9 of the Japanese constitution. It came about post WW2 and represented the Japanese desire to learn form the past and avoid future conflict. So the current role of the Japanese army is defence only. But the world has changed, fear is rife and the conservative faction, backed up by the US, wants to beef up army capabilities. Perhaps this explains the unpopularity of the US, and its bases in Kyushu.
Meanwhile, while the government may be giving false information on the radiation risk, in Shigeo and Keiko's business I could see the twin effect of packaging legislation and consumer demand for clean and tidy: all veg cellophane wrapped; eggs tenderly washed (we don't do this in Europe, surely? - I'm sure I've bought dirty dirty dirty eggs from local farms in France). Yes, egg washing began today. Around 400 (two days' worth) carefully wiped or - if necessary - scrubbed under a tap, and boxed up. While the wind blew, the rain poured and TV updates suggested the end may not be nigh, after all, I bagged up okra and "tidied up" onions. Nice therapeutic work.
12 October 2014
Shimaname cycle ride, and I make it to Hongo
I feel I'm travelling faster than I can process the geography. I'd chosen Onomichi as a stopover en route for Shigeo and Keiko's, at Hongo, because of its reputation as a chilled place, and because I wanted to have a glimpse of the island-spangled Seto Inland Sea. But, pre arrival, I was only vaguely aware of the cycling possibilities and hadn't realised I was going to be at one end of a world-class 70km cycle route connecting Japan's two big islands, Honshu and Shikoku, via an archipelago of 6 small ones and 10 suspension bridges.
So of course I rented a bike and set off. But there was just one small (mental) cloud: I hadn't had confirmation from my next Woofing host, Shigeo, of my arrival time. And I also wasn't certain of the timing of the next typhoon, scheduled to arrive from the south in the next 48 hours. So I didn't feel at leisure to venture the whole length of the route. But enjoyed at least cycling the mandarin orchards, residential and dockland areas of the first two islands.
Back at the Chai Salon Dragon I jumped on the ipad, scouring booking.com and trip advisor for a Plan B (the Salon being full). But there was nothing within a 70km radius. I wished I could access the many local places that, by searching on the Japanese word for "guest house", I could see were there. But the linguistic barrier was too high. I was getting to the point of contacting a seriously dubious airbnb place offering "shelter" (there is a trend where young entrepreneurs rent out rooms in decaying traditional housing stock while they renovate them) when Shigeo at last made contact. Phhyoooooooo.
Lad number 2, whose name I never clocked, insisted on "guiding" me to the station, presumably remembering my chaotic arrival (now matched by my rushed departure) and thinking the poor old dear wouldn't make it there without help. Sweet. And so I leave, but I hope I get back to shabby, friendly, lively, engaging Onomichi some day. Too short too short...
And, praise de lord, Shigeo is there at Hongo station. A kindly, gentle man with hesitant but good English.
At supper I am introduced to Shigeo and Keiko's son, Yohei, and his daughter-in-law, Kiyo, who live next door. I will be harvesting rice with them the following day.
The food is good, and not served in a zillion little dishes as at the Morimotos. Keiko is a hearty, funny, warm character, and definitely not exquisite or aesthetically precise. The food is pre-served onto plates, a pleasant array of familiar veggie dishes and the half-brown rice I've been missing since leaving Kashimo. The TV pipes images of Malala's Nobel award, and a typhoon update. It looks as though the search for bodies on Mt Ontake is continuing.
When I leave a few rice grains in my bowl (that's the part I still find difficult!) Keiko tells me to do a better job. At the end of the meal we each individually wash our bowl and chopsticks. It is explained to me that detergent isn't necessary because the food isn't greasy. And, at least on this occasion, this seems to work.
I have a massive Woofers' bedroom to myself - nice; a bed (I'm disappointed!); and enough space to put my luggage into neat piles. Happiness is having a bit of order. (But man oh man, the dust... hmmm... will need to do something about that.)
There is a hot shower and - so far - no bathing ritual.
My work routine is different from at the Morimotos: 9.30am to 12.30pm, and 3pm to 6pm. Today, as you'll see on FB, I had my first taste of rice harvesting: with Kayo (eight months pregnant) stacking the rice in piles on the ground after the cutter-binder had passed, then packing it onto the drier: a 70/30 sheaf split followed by a 30/70 one: push hard against previous sheaf, bang down twice. Left, right, left, right... Keep going, the typhoon is on its way.
After 3 hours every orifice was full of dust and bits of chaff. And the field was alive with the insects and frogs flushed out by the binder. I felt glad to have been of real use, and Yohei was very appreciative. We were helped by a neighbour whose house happens to overlook the field, and by another farmer who had a few spare hours. Yohei commented that, in the past, such collaborative farming was the rule. Not now.
On the way home Yohei stopped to feed his ducks. These are put on the flooded paddy in spring, before the rice plants come up, to clear the area of weeds and insects. Thereafter it's foxes and crows who are the main nuisance. And wild boars - another of his fields, not yet ready to harvest, was invaded last night and the damage evident: not a trace of rice plants in two ravaged areas.
During a delish lunch, udon noodles and veggie tempura, at Yohei and Kayo's we chatted about their honeymoon year cycle-camping from the Netherlands to Japan. Wow. And Kayo showed me photos of her million-yen (£5,000?) kimono gifted to her by the family, for the wedding, to be passed down through the generations to come...
So of course I rented a bike and set off. But there was just one small (mental) cloud: I hadn't had confirmation from my next Woofing host, Shigeo, of my arrival time. And I also wasn't certain of the timing of the next typhoon, scheduled to arrive from the south in the next 48 hours. So I didn't feel at leisure to venture the whole length of the route. But enjoyed at least cycling the mandarin orchards, residential and dockland areas of the first two islands.
Back at the Chai Salon Dragon I jumped on the ipad, scouring booking.com and trip advisor for a Plan B (the Salon being full). But there was nothing within a 70km radius. I wished I could access the many local places that, by searching on the Japanese word for "guest house", I could see were there. But the linguistic barrier was too high. I was getting to the point of contacting a seriously dubious airbnb place offering "shelter" (there is a trend where young entrepreneurs rent out rooms in decaying traditional housing stock while they renovate them) when Shigeo at last made contact. Phhyoooooooo.
Lad number 2, whose name I never clocked, insisted on "guiding" me to the station, presumably remembering my chaotic arrival (now matched by my rushed departure) and thinking the poor old dear wouldn't make it there without help. Sweet. And so I leave, but I hope I get back to shabby, friendly, lively, engaging Onomichi some day. Too short too short...
And, praise de lord, Shigeo is there at Hongo station. A kindly, gentle man with hesitant but good English.
At supper I am introduced to Shigeo and Keiko's son, Yohei, and his daughter-in-law, Kiyo, who live next door. I will be harvesting rice with them the following day.
The food is good, and not served in a zillion little dishes as at the Morimotos. Keiko is a hearty, funny, warm character, and definitely not exquisite or aesthetically precise. The food is pre-served onto plates, a pleasant array of familiar veggie dishes and the half-brown rice I've been missing since leaving Kashimo. The TV pipes images of Malala's Nobel award, and a typhoon update. It looks as though the search for bodies on Mt Ontake is continuing.
When I leave a few rice grains in my bowl (that's the part I still find difficult!) Keiko tells me to do a better job. At the end of the meal we each individually wash our bowl and chopsticks. It is explained to me that detergent isn't necessary because the food isn't greasy. And, at least on this occasion, this seems to work.
I have a massive Woofers' bedroom to myself - nice; a bed (I'm disappointed!); and enough space to put my luggage into neat piles. Happiness is having a bit of order. (But man oh man, the dust... hmmm... will need to do something about that.)
There is a hot shower and - so far - no bathing ritual.
My work routine is different from at the Morimotos: 9.30am to 12.30pm, and 3pm to 6pm. Today, as you'll see on FB, I had my first taste of rice harvesting: with Kayo (eight months pregnant) stacking the rice in piles on the ground after the cutter-binder had passed, then packing it onto the drier: a 70/30 sheaf split followed by a 30/70 one: push hard against previous sheaf, bang down twice. Left, right, left, right... Keep going, the typhoon is on its way.
After 3 hours every orifice was full of dust and bits of chaff. And the field was alive with the insects and frogs flushed out by the binder. I felt glad to have been of real use, and Yohei was very appreciative. We were helped by a neighbour whose house happens to overlook the field, and by another farmer who had a few spare hours. Yohei commented that, in the past, such collaborative farming was the rule. Not now.
On the way home Yohei stopped to feed his ducks. These are put on the flooded paddy in spring, before the rice plants come up, to clear the area of weeds and insects. Thereafter it's foxes and crows who are the main nuisance. And wild boars - another of his fields, not yet ready to harvest, was invaded last night and the damage evident: not a trace of rice plants in two ravaged areas.
During a delish lunch, udon noodles and veggie tempura, at Yohei and Kayo's we chatted about their honeymoon year cycle-camping from the Netherlands to Japan. Wow. And Kayo showed me photos of her million-yen (£5,000?) kimono gifted to her by the family, for the wedding, to be passed down through the generations to come...
10 October 2014
an airbnb like no other
Today I travelled around 560km west and south of Takayama, to the fishing port of Onomichi (the same latitude as Beirut, LA and Rabat - for anyone still in doubt as to which hemisphere I'm in). I used a combination of the speed-of-light (300km/h) Shinkansen and a slower local line. The Shinkansen is great for the Japanese wanting to cover large distances as efficiently as possible, but I haven't yet become a fan. Uncomfy seats, airplane-style windows and myriad tunnels that prevent more than a glimpse outside (rice-harvesting scenes interspersed with sprawling industrial development; and the backdrop of the densely forested rolls hills that cover so much of the country).
My arrival at Onomichi was bewildering. I had thought that my reservation was at a place called "Ocean view", but fat chance, of course, that this English name would mean anything to the locals. (For reasons too complicated to give here I didn't have the address.) I managed to get directions to the "Chai Salon Dragon" - a bar run by the guest house owner, Harafumi. But of course I got lost. Using the last bit of charge on my ipad I made a rather panicky call, to get through to I don't know who. But 5 minutes later two lads from the establishment found me and brought me to the bar, barely 100m from where I'd just walked, tucked away down a charismatically derelict alley way.
A bar. And no signing in English. So where's the guest house? The place is more a funkily renovated shack. I shouldn't be surprised - staying in someone's home is the airbnb philosophy. But this is extreme: a 60-degree sloped stairway through a workshop into a 4-bunk bedroom that will include me and one of the lads! He'll be joining me there at around midnight, after the (nightly) party that is taking place at another of the airbnb places run by Harafumi. There's a shower room and loo (both with outside access), and a sink where I've just brushed my teeth in full view of the street.
But the shower works fine and the lads are friendly, even inviting me to the party. You'll be astonished to hear that I've foregone the opportunity to feel a middle-aged freak in a cool scene where I don't understand the language. Instead, I've hung out for a while with lad number one, Miko, talking about his no-money, low-materialistic, travelling-light philosophy inspired by his (ex Berlin DJ) boss. He lurves Onomichi because the people are "sweet". As indeed is he. And plans to travel for 10 or 20 years. He has everything he needs, and is totally satisfied with life because he's doing what he loves.
Earlier I made a quick foray into the hugely atmospheric shopping arcade nearby. In need of Imodium for obvious and boring reasons I spotted what looked like a lab or clinic where five white-coated technicians were in some kind of meeting. "Was this a chemist's?", I asked. The reply was ambiguous. A completely surreal scenario then ensued: me asking them if they had Imodium, them looking it up on the internet and checking, with more graphic miming than I would have dared, that they'd understood me. They had. With a mixture of sign language and miming we got to me buying and dosing myself - though not with Imodium (prescription needed). I have no idea what pills I've just popped. Hilarious.
My arrival at Onomichi was bewildering. I had thought that my reservation was at a place called "Ocean view", but fat chance, of course, that this English name would mean anything to the locals. (For reasons too complicated to give here I didn't have the address.) I managed to get directions to the "Chai Salon Dragon" - a bar run by the guest house owner, Harafumi. But of course I got lost. Using the last bit of charge on my ipad I made a rather panicky call, to get through to I don't know who. But 5 minutes later two lads from the establishment found me and brought me to the bar, barely 100m from where I'd just walked, tucked away down a charismatically derelict alley way.
A bar. And no signing in English. So where's the guest house? The place is more a funkily renovated shack. I shouldn't be surprised - staying in someone's home is the airbnb philosophy. But this is extreme: a 60-degree sloped stairway through a workshop into a 4-bunk bedroom that will include me and one of the lads! He'll be joining me there at around midnight, after the (nightly) party that is taking place at another of the airbnb places run by Harafumi. There's a shower room and loo (both with outside access), and a sink where I've just brushed my teeth in full view of the street.
But the shower works fine and the lads are friendly, even inviting me to the party. You'll be astonished to hear that I've foregone the opportunity to feel a middle-aged freak in a cool scene where I don't understand the language. Instead, I've hung out for a while with lad number one, Miko, talking about his no-money, low-materialistic, travelling-light philosophy inspired by his (ex Berlin DJ) boss. He lurves Onomichi because the people are "sweet". As indeed is he. And plans to travel for 10 or 20 years. He has everything he needs, and is totally satisfied with life because he's doing what he loves.
Earlier I made a quick foray into the hugely atmospheric shopping arcade nearby. In need of Imodium for obvious and boring reasons I spotted what looked like a lab or clinic where five white-coated technicians were in some kind of meeting. "Was this a chemist's?", I asked. The reply was ambiguous. A completely surreal scenario then ensued: me asking them if they had Imodium, them looking it up on the internet and checking, with more graphic miming than I would have dared, that they'd understood me. They had. With a mixture of sign language and miming we got to me buying and dosing myself - though not with Imodium (prescription needed). I have no idea what pills I've just popped. Hilarious.
09 October 2014
Takayama night festival and the bullet train to Onomichi
The Takayama autumn festival, designated "intangible folklore cultural asset", is said to be one of the three most beautiful festivals in Japan. With origins in the 16th century, as a thanksgiving ceremony to the gods for bumper harvests, it venerates the Sakurayama Hachimangu Shrine (or "Hatchiman-sama"), the guardian deity of old Takayama.
The big attraction is the ten ornate yatai (floats) that process around the town during the afternoon and evening during the two-day period. Each of the yatai is owned by a yatai-gumi group, and is handed down from generation to generation. The god, Hatchiman-sama, normally resides in the shrine. But the autumn procession marks the two days he travels through the town, while flutes, cymbals, drums, and dancing purify the streets and rid them of devils.
The yatai were magnificent (see FB): gold, tassels, carvings and figurines gleaming in the sunshine; during the night procession their myriad lanterns fluttering as the yatai passed through the narrow streets of the preservation area - before turning into the main drag to finish.
I had hoped to see more than just two kimonos on the streets, given the overwhelmingly Japanese audience. But this tradition seems to be on the way out. The previous day, on the cycle tour, our guide Tatsu had said, "People used to believe the local god could affect the weather...", as though worshipping the local god was part of an ignorant past. But he, a Tokyo boy, would regularly visit a shrine, to ask for something or give thanks. So what difference is there between his visits and the farmers expressing their hopes for the agricultural year? Whatever. It was beautiful.
And now I'm on my first Shinkansen "bullet" train, speeding between Takayama and Onomichi, where I'll spend the night before going to my second woof host tomorrow. A packed train travelling through a continuously industrialised landscape, pockets of still-unharvested rice dotted here and there. Away from touristy Takayama I am, once again, a white minority of one.
The big attraction is the ten ornate yatai (floats) that process around the town during the afternoon and evening during the two-day period. Each of the yatai is owned by a yatai-gumi group, and is handed down from generation to generation. The god, Hatchiman-sama, normally resides in the shrine. But the autumn procession marks the two days he travels through the town, while flutes, cymbals, drums, and dancing purify the streets and rid them of devils.
The yatai were magnificent (see FB): gold, tassels, carvings and figurines gleaming in the sunshine; during the night procession their myriad lanterns fluttering as the yatai passed through the narrow streets of the preservation area - before turning into the main drag to finish.
I had hoped to see more than just two kimonos on the streets, given the overwhelmingly Japanese audience. But this tradition seems to be on the way out. The previous day, on the cycle tour, our guide Tatsu had said, "People used to believe the local god could affect the weather...", as though worshipping the local god was part of an ignorant past. But he, a Tokyo boy, would regularly visit a shrine, to ask for something or give thanks. So what difference is there between his visits and the farmers expressing their hopes for the agricultural year? Whatever. It was beautiful.
And now I'm on my first Shinkansen "bullet" train, speeding between Takayama and Onomichi, where I'll spend the night before going to my second woof host tomorrow. A packed train travelling through a continuously industrialised landscape, pockets of still-unharvested rice dotted here and there. Away from touristy Takayama I am, once again, a white minority of one.
08 October 2014
cycling through the rice paddies
Takayama is known as "little Kyoto" by virtue of its antiquity and refined wooden buildings, some of them built by the same artisans who helped build old Kyoto. Downsizing further, Hida Furukawa - a 15 minute train ride west - is known as "little Takayama" because it shares the architectural style. But it is much smaller and has retained a more authentic atmosphere, with fewer tourists.
Hida Furukawa was the starting point for a leisurely bike tour: a 20km circuit taking most of the afternoon. I'm not sure "remote" exists in agricultural Japan. Most of my FB photos disguise the fact that we were often on busy roads and always within view of houses and agricultural buildings. But human interest was high and our guide did a great job, explaining the fish trap built by a local restaurant every year, the rice-growing cycle, different types of rice, association of sake and shrines (offerings to the gods, shrines built in vicinity of cedars, the big cedar ball that hangs outside sake breweries), the shift away from farming, how farmers were engaged in silk production as a way of using winter "down time".
At times I felt as though my recent experience with the Morimotos was at least as interesting as his stories of former times. But it was an enjoyable spin that kept me out of the tourist shops in the city...
Hida Furukawa was the starting point for a leisurely bike tour: a 20km circuit taking most of the afternoon. I'm not sure "remote" exists in agricultural Japan. Most of my FB photos disguise the fact that we were often on busy roads and always within view of houses and agricultural buildings. But human interest was high and our guide did a great job, explaining the fish trap built by a local restaurant every year, the rice-growing cycle, different types of rice, association of sake and shrines (offerings to the gods, shrines built in vicinity of cedars, the big cedar ball that hangs outside sake breweries), the shift away from farming, how farmers were engaged in silk production as a way of using winter "down time".
At times I felt as though my recent experience with the Morimotos was at least as interesting as his stories of former times. But it was an enjoyable spin that kept me out of the tourist shops in the city...
07 October 2014
next stop Takayama
Leaving the Morimotos was a wrench - Rie's "It was short but deep..." suggesting that what we had shared was mutual. Masan, via a FB photo caption, was harder to decode. The translation read, "Today, Rebecca is gone. Rebecca strangely sentimental, was sometimes sadness last night. Thanks encounter. Under the Oscar sky, goodbye lunch. Thank you." I wonder where "Oscar" came from...
And so I have travelled to Takayama, largely for the autumn festival, which starts on the 9th, but also to explore some historic villages in the surrounding countryside. It's strange being on my own, and fending for myself. Perhaps that's why I've signed up for a couple of tours advertised in the hostel I'm staying at.
Firstly, this morning, a walking tour of the town which finished with sake tasting at one of the five breweries still in production. This area, renowned for the purity of its water and its high quality rice, thinks of itself as a centre of excellence. I learned about sake production, and how the difference in quality is inversely proportional to the percentage of the rice grain that is thrown away (low percentage retained = high quality). Also, that the fermentation process has to be stimulated by the introduction of an enzyme, unlike wine where the natural sugar in the grape is sufficient. Anyway, it was rather drole to be doing the tasting in company with two Parisians, and we all agreed that our interest in sake was probably of the moment and that we'd not be wanting to carry it home with us.
In the preservation area, the low doorways were an Edo-period tax dodge (deceptively spacious and high-ceilinged inside), the characteristic dark-stained wood another ruse to disguise the high-value wood used in the construction. At Shinto shrine entrances the rope garland is decorated with "lightning", to ward off bad weather, and a sheaf of rice, to bring a good harvest.
We were given an explanation for the rather spooky faceless "sarubobo" doll amulet (see FB) that is associated with Takayama: the absence of a face allows the owner to imagine it - when the owner is sad, they can imagine their sarubobo to be sad too. (??)
The second tour, a bus trip to World Cultural Heritage UNESCO village Shirakawago, was a bit of a disappointment, for reasons given on FB. I'm also not at all used to having a time limit: "Be at the bus by 4.00..." It must be pretty hellish living in a community that has over a million tourists tramping around the paths and roads annually...
Back at the hostel, wish me luck: I'm in an 8-bed mixed dorm.
And so I have travelled to Takayama, largely for the autumn festival, which starts on the 9th, but also to explore some historic villages in the surrounding countryside. It's strange being on my own, and fending for myself. Perhaps that's why I've signed up for a couple of tours advertised in the hostel I'm staying at.
Firstly, this morning, a walking tour of the town which finished with sake tasting at one of the five breweries still in production. This area, renowned for the purity of its water and its high quality rice, thinks of itself as a centre of excellence. I learned about sake production, and how the difference in quality is inversely proportional to the percentage of the rice grain that is thrown away (low percentage retained = high quality). Also, that the fermentation process has to be stimulated by the introduction of an enzyme, unlike wine where the natural sugar in the grape is sufficient. Anyway, it was rather drole to be doing the tasting in company with two Parisians, and we all agreed that our interest in sake was probably of the moment and that we'd not be wanting to carry it home with us.
In the preservation area, the low doorways were an Edo-period tax dodge (deceptively spacious and high-ceilinged inside), the characteristic dark-stained wood another ruse to disguise the high-value wood used in the construction. At Shinto shrine entrances the rope garland is decorated with "lightning", to ward off bad weather, and a sheaf of rice, to bring a good harvest.
We were given an explanation for the rather spooky faceless "sarubobo" doll amulet (see FB) that is associated with Takayama: the absence of a face allows the owner to imagine it - when the owner is sad, they can imagine their sarubobo to be sad too. (??)
The second tour, a bus trip to World Cultural Heritage UNESCO village Shirakawago, was a bit of a disappointment, for reasons given on FB. I'm also not at all used to having a time limit: "Be at the bus by 4.00..." It must be pretty hellish living in a community that has over a million tourists tramping around the paths and roads annually...
Back at the hostel, wish me luck: I'm in an 8-bed mixed dorm.
05 October 2014
Typhoon Phanfone, kindergarten sports, and my first onsen
We have a spot of weather: on the evening of Friday 3rd October Masan called me over to his computer to show me satellite images of a typhoon that is heading towards Japan and likely to hit Southern Honshu on Sunday or Monday. A foot of rain is predicted in the mountains, with all the accompanying devastation from mudslides. "The southern coast of Honshu, from the prefectures of Wakayama to Chiba, will bear the brunt of Phanfone's fury. Destructive wind gusts of 160 to 195 kph (100 to 120 mph) threaten to cause widespread and significant damage to tree and structures. Residents should prepare for extensive and lengthy power outages."
I had planned not to alarm anyone by blogging, not knowing how to gauge the level of risk we will be facing. Masan is phlegmatic: the typhoon is alive, and constantly changing; let's watch how it evolves, and enjoy Saturday. Then, because the high winds will bring down the ripening chestnuts, we can go out and gather them. (What - in 195 kph winds?) In the event it looks as though Typhoon Phanfone is going to turn south and east, so we'll miss the eye of the storm (which will peak around 5am our Monday morning), and I've stopped worrying - and restarted blogging.
But I'm beginning to understand how it feels, living with ongoing geological and meteorological threats. The troubles in the Middle East seem utterly remote when you're contemplating being washed away under a wall of mud.
Meanwhile, Saturday was the annual sports event at Fuku and Kanta's kindergarten. Masan was down there from 7.30am, setting up, and we joined him an hour later. I'm out of touch with such things but was gobsmacked by the level of parental commitment (the event lasted until 2pm); the complexity of the choreography (the children must have been practising for months - does this explain Fuku's constant charging about the house?); the sophistication of the props; and the sheer coordination of backing music, microphones etc. An Olympic effort.
I've FB'd a few images to show the paparazzi parents, and Fuku running for her life. Although some of it was very competitive there was plenty of collaboration, too, e.g. one child using an obviously well rehearsed technique to help another - in difficulty - do a backward roll over a bar. There was a bit of healthy indoctrination (?): a "race" where one child lay down, had a blanket put over him/her, was then woken up, jumped up, and given their school bag. (School - yeah - go go go!!) I only saw a few tearful or rebellious scenes.
Midway through, we had a stupendous picnic. The Japanese really know how to do it in style and, of course, with the usual aesthetic values.
And then the perfect end to the day: a visit to the local onsen (spa). I had been briefed about full nudity. So it was a relief to discover gender segregation. Phew. Even so, I had to suppress a fleeting sense of panic as I entered the pre-bathing changing and washing area where a couple of dozen women, from kids to the oldest of OAPs, were doing their biz. A lot of flesh!
I was happy to discover that the water temperature was pleasantly warm or hot, not the crazy molten affair chez nous. And that the complex included several outdoor pools and sitting areas where you could cool down, feeling the tingle of a light breeze on your skin. Delicious.
I had planned not to alarm anyone by blogging, not knowing how to gauge the level of risk we will be facing. Masan is phlegmatic: the typhoon is alive, and constantly changing; let's watch how it evolves, and enjoy Saturday. Then, because the high winds will bring down the ripening chestnuts, we can go out and gather them. (What - in 195 kph winds?) In the event it looks as though Typhoon Phanfone is going to turn south and east, so we'll miss the eye of the storm (which will peak around 5am our Monday morning), and I've stopped worrying - and restarted blogging.
But I'm beginning to understand how it feels, living with ongoing geological and meteorological threats. The troubles in the Middle East seem utterly remote when you're contemplating being washed away under a wall of mud.
Meanwhile, Saturday was the annual sports event at Fuku and Kanta's kindergarten. Masan was down there from 7.30am, setting up, and we joined him an hour later. I'm out of touch with such things but was gobsmacked by the level of parental commitment (the event lasted until 2pm); the complexity of the choreography (the children must have been practising for months - does this explain Fuku's constant charging about the house?); the sophistication of the props; and the sheer coordination of backing music, microphones etc. An Olympic effort.
I've FB'd a few images to show the paparazzi parents, and Fuku running for her life. Although some of it was very competitive there was plenty of collaboration, too, e.g. one child using an obviously well rehearsed technique to help another - in difficulty - do a backward roll over a bar. There was a bit of healthy indoctrination (?): a "race" where one child lay down, had a blanket put over him/her, was then woken up, jumped up, and given their school bag. (School - yeah - go go go!!) I only saw a few tearful or rebellious scenes.
Midway through, we had a stupendous picnic. The Japanese really know how to do it in style and, of course, with the usual aesthetic values.
And then the perfect end to the day: a visit to the local onsen (spa). I had been briefed about full nudity. So it was a relief to discover gender segregation. Phew. Even so, I had to suppress a fleeting sense of panic as I entered the pre-bathing changing and washing area where a couple of dozen women, from kids to the oldest of OAPs, were doing their biz. A lot of flesh!
I was happy to discover that the water temperature was pleasantly warm or hot, not the crazy molten affair chez nous. And that the complex included several outdoor pools and sitting areas where you could cool down, feeling the tingle of a light breeze on your skin. Delicious.
02 October 2014
happiness is the way
I'm coming to the end of my fortnight at the Morimotos, and wondering how I'm going to avoid an appallingly over-the-top, not-at-all Japanese, emotional farewell. I don't think I will manage it. Amid this happy, creative, kind family, I have been completely content.
How have they got it so right? I've already written about the parenting style: the children taught the skills of cooperative living from the start; given responsibility and freedom at an early age; and abundant love. At the same time the children are not taken seriously. A temper tantrum is as likely to generate amused laughter as a telling off; "bad" behaviour isn't oxygenated by attention; intervention is reserved for any situation that could be potentially dangerous. And Masan and Rie don't pressure the children: Yuta's obvious drawing and engineering talent is gently encouraged, with no attempt to hot-house; I have seen nothing of the "over praising" that some parents think helps boost children's self esteem (when in fact the reverse is probably happening).
Then there's the low-tech lifestyle already blogged; how celebrations of all sorts, and fun, one-off events replace the TV and computer-game diet of many families. The Morimoto children are rarely in front of a screen; laughing at the 30-second video of Masan I just posted to Facebook is as far as it goes. How is this possible? A bit of luck with the genes? - not all children would settle down to reading and drawing... But also having adults around to play and entertain. The children of course enjoy playing computer games with their pals (losing, laughs Masan) but, at home, don't miss what they don't have. Yet.
Another key to the harmonious atmosphere is that, on all levels, there is an awareness of other people. As we do household chores together we weave around each other, in tune, a team. When I was washing up Machiko and Dai chan noticed that my back was struggling with the low sink and immediately suggested I dried, instead. It would be inconceivable to hear, "But it's always me who puts away...". When I messed up with the fire-lighting yesterday I was on Machiko's radar and she quickly stepped in.
In two weeks I haven't heard a single cross or bad-tempered word. Blame or resentment don't exist. Balm to the soul. And, in turn, I suspect that I've been coming across as happy, willing and aware - because that's how I am feeling.
Meal times have been an education. We start (and end) with words of thanks, for which Masan's translation is:
Thank you for the gift of nature and people growing and cooking, and I promise to bite much, then I start to eat (before), and
I've had enough with full thanks for this given meal (after).
We are mindful of how much we take - collaboration not competition. Dishes are chosen to be of a size that reveals the beauty of the plate, not the pile-it-high presentation of European home cooking. And they are numerous: even a simple rice-and-vegetables lunch has several accompanying relishes and sauces. If there is a teaspoon of a dish left over, so be it; we'll find a teaspoon-sized pot to store it in, ready to be integrated into a future dish. There's no encouragement to have "just a bit more". Why would one eat more than one needs? And no hostess patter, "Would you like...". We all pass dishes in all directions, and ask for something if we want it. (Even I can manage this - in Japanese!)
How have they got it so right? I've already written about the parenting style: the children taught the skills of cooperative living from the start; given responsibility and freedom at an early age; and abundant love. At the same time the children are not taken seriously. A temper tantrum is as likely to generate amused laughter as a telling off; "bad" behaviour isn't oxygenated by attention; intervention is reserved for any situation that could be potentially dangerous. And Masan and Rie don't pressure the children: Yuta's obvious drawing and engineering talent is gently encouraged, with no attempt to hot-house; I have seen nothing of the "over praising" that some parents think helps boost children's self esteem (when in fact the reverse is probably happening).
Then there's the low-tech lifestyle already blogged; how celebrations of all sorts, and fun, one-off events replace the TV and computer-game diet of many families. The Morimoto children are rarely in front of a screen; laughing at the 30-second video of Masan I just posted to Facebook is as far as it goes. How is this possible? A bit of luck with the genes? - not all children would settle down to reading and drawing... But also having adults around to play and entertain. The children of course enjoy playing computer games with their pals (losing, laughs Masan) but, at home, don't miss what they don't have. Yet.
Another key to the harmonious atmosphere is that, on all levels, there is an awareness of other people. As we do household chores together we weave around each other, in tune, a team. When I was washing up Machiko and Dai chan noticed that my back was struggling with the low sink and immediately suggested I dried, instead. It would be inconceivable to hear, "But it's always me who puts away...". When I messed up with the fire-lighting yesterday I was on Machiko's radar and she quickly stepped in.
In two weeks I haven't heard a single cross or bad-tempered word. Blame or resentment don't exist. Balm to the soul. And, in turn, I suspect that I've been coming across as happy, willing and aware - because that's how I am feeling.
Meal times have been an education. We start (and end) with words of thanks, for which Masan's translation is:
Thank you for the gift of nature and people growing and cooking, and I promise to bite much, then I start to eat (before), and
I've had enough with full thanks for this given meal (after).
We are mindful of how much we take - collaboration not competition. Dishes are chosen to be of a size that reveals the beauty of the plate, not the pile-it-high presentation of European home cooking. And they are numerous: even a simple rice-and-vegetables lunch has several accompanying relishes and sauces. If there is a teaspoon of a dish left over, so be it; we'll find a teaspoon-sized pot to store it in, ready to be integrated into a future dish. There's no encouragement to have "just a bit more". Why would one eat more than one needs? And no hostess patter, "Would you like...". We all pass dishes in all directions, and ask for something if we want it. (Even I can manage this - in Japanese!)
But, most of all, things work here because life is celebrated, lived fully. And all tasks are done with love, whether the cleaning, the packaging of goods or the cooking. After just 2 weeks I am beginning to feel that connection. I'm more content cleaning our toilet than I could possibly have imagined.
black garlic and ffffire!
Today Masan took over the kitchen, clearing the habitually-ingredient-and-implement-strewn table (10 years of arguing with Rie, now they accept their differences - he can't work amid clutter!) to make black-garlic paste: a blend of 2-week-baked black garlic, roasted almonds, salt and several different oils. (See photo album and video on FB.)
Then I managed to get blisters peeling 2kg of garlic cloves, to be added to chillies, oils, and sake and converted into "Fire", Masan's premium product. It's a wickedly hot sauce that we add to just about every meal. Masan created it as a hobby, a few years ago. Since then sales have been growing, to the point where he is unable to meet demand. The plan is to sell 1500 jars over the next year. (Again, see FB for pics and video.)
The garlic-clove peeling was a lengthy job. So I had the i-pad alongside and, with Machiko, Youtube-toured around Western and Japanese classical music. At one point we risked making Fuku late for kindergarten as she gazed, transfixed, at the ballerinas in Swan Lake. All was relaxed until Masan, in the nicest possible way, told us to buck up. Unknown to us there was a timescale: food processing needed to be finished in the morning window before lunch. "So why didn't you tell us?!", I riposted; so that we didn't stress about it, he explained. Yet again, thinking of the other person.
Working with Machiko gave me an opportunity to test the universality of Masan's description of social interactions. For Machiko, the "Please accept my unworthy gift" rhetoric is a thing of the past, abandoned in her early twenties. (She is now 28.) And we both agreed that feisty Fuku, currently aged three, would punch out the lights of any husband who introduced her as "my poor unworthy wife". So things may be changing. But I'm also aware that there are layers within layers in Japanese itself; the language morphs, depending on who you are speaking to. (And there was me making a fuss about the "tu" and "vous" forms in French! Trivial, in comparison with things Japanese.)
As I write, I'm keeping an eye on the clock. Yesterday I screwed up on bath-fire duty, failing to understand that the stove needed to be refuelled every 15 minutes. It ended up with Machiko taking over and the water only heating very late. Embarrassing, and although no one gave me a hard time, I'll make sure it doesn't happen again. Though with me on duty it's tempting to stop heating at a point well before the third-degree-burn stage preferred by Machiko and Dai chan. Funny how the Japanese are built differently from us: they don't need or wear sunglasses in sunlight equivalent in intensity to the south of Spain; and pile on layers when the temperature goes below 20 degrees.
Then I managed to get blisters peeling 2kg of garlic cloves, to be added to chillies, oils, and sake and converted into "Fire", Masan's premium product. It's a wickedly hot sauce that we add to just about every meal. Masan created it as a hobby, a few years ago. Since then sales have been growing, to the point where he is unable to meet demand. The plan is to sell 1500 jars over the next year. (Again, see FB for pics and video.)
The garlic-clove peeling was a lengthy job. So I had the i-pad alongside and, with Machiko, Youtube-toured around Western and Japanese classical music. At one point we risked making Fuku late for kindergarten as she gazed, transfixed, at the ballerinas in Swan Lake. All was relaxed until Masan, in the nicest possible way, told us to buck up. Unknown to us there was a timescale: food processing needed to be finished in the morning window before lunch. "So why didn't you tell us?!", I riposted; so that we didn't stress about it, he explained. Yet again, thinking of the other person.
Working with Machiko gave me an opportunity to test the universality of Masan's description of social interactions. For Machiko, the "Please accept my unworthy gift" rhetoric is a thing of the past, abandoned in her early twenties. (She is now 28.) And we both agreed that feisty Fuku, currently aged three, would punch out the lights of any husband who introduced her as "my poor unworthy wife". So things may be changing. But I'm also aware that there are layers within layers in Japanese itself; the language morphs, depending on who you are speaking to. (And there was me making a fuss about the "tu" and "vous" forms in French! Trivial, in comparison with things Japanese.)
As I write, I'm keeping an eye on the clock. Yesterday I screwed up on bath-fire duty, failing to understand that the stove needed to be refuelled every 15 minutes. It ended up with Machiko taking over and the water only heating very late. Embarrassing, and although no one gave me a hard time, I'll make sure it doesn't happen again. Though with me on duty it's tempting to stop heating at a point well before the third-degree-burn stage preferred by Machiko and Dai chan. Funny how the Japanese are built differently from us: they don't need or wear sunglasses in sunlight equivalent in intensity to the south of Spain; and pile on layers when the temperature goes below 20 degrees.
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