On my second trip to Japan, I went to the western (or really, central-western) part-- Kyoto and Nagoya-- which is quite different from the eastern, Tokyo area, where I went the first time. As with comparing the West and East coasts of the US, it can be hard to pinpoint exactly what is different, but there is no doubt that clear differences exist. For instance, the Kansai region (around Osaka and Kyoto in the west) is known for its love of food and entertainment compared to the more practical and serious Kanto region (around Tokyo in the east). And yet, western Japan is more xenophobic than the east-- a little more closed, conservative, and less accepting of gaijin. There is less English on the signs, and shopkeepers or waiters are less likely to be accommodating of those who are different. More on that below.
Getting there. As always, the journey is a long one. The direct flight to Osaka took a bit over 12 hours. I sat next to an odd pair of Japanese. They seemed to know each other fairly well, but weren't married. I wondered if they were work colleagues. The man kept ordering alcohol for the woman and Coke for himself, and then he would playfully pour some of the Coke into her drink (beer and Coke didn't strike me as a great combination). I would have tried chatting with them in Japanese, but they ended up sleeping much of the time, which is weird. It's a bad idea to sleep on the flight to Japan because you arrive in the late afternoon. It's best to be tired so you can go to bed early and get up after a long sleep relatively adjusted to the time.
By the way, this was just a month after the 9/11 terrorist attacks in the US, and there were some effects from that. There were National Guard troops at SFO, and they made me take my laptop out of its case and send it through the X-ray machine by itself. At Kansai airport in Osaka, there was a sign in the customs area that said explicitly, "Due to terrorist attacks in the United States, customs will take a little longer than usual. Please be patient." But despite all that, I encountered no snags. And the plane was full.
Anyway, I took the train from the airport into Kyoto, and was instantly greeted with some typical Japanese kawaii-ness (see the write-up of my first trip to learn about Japan's unique cuteness). The train line terminates at the airport, so it rides in, then rides back out the other way. I watched as the conductor pulled a lever that caused all the seats to rotate by 180 degrees so they would once again be facing forward!
Once in Kyoto, I wanted to grab a cab to my hotel. So I walked to the first cab in line, and the driver got out and opened the trunk. But then he started moving toward someone off to my right, and when I turned to look, I saw an American man standing on the curb. "Oops," I said, "Were you here first?" "Oh no," he said, "You were. Go ahead." So I turned back to the cabbie and more firmly gave him my luggage for the trunk. After he stowed it, he again tried to get the man's luggage. Both of us were waving him off, but he seemed confused. He finally said, "Issho?", which means "Are you together?" Actually, the implication was, aren't you together? Apparently it was a difficult concept for him that I was traveling alone.
Once installed in my room, I re-familiarized myself with all the things I love about Japan. The toilet in my room had various spraying options, as well as instructions (with diagrams!) about how to use the toilet from both standing and sitting positions. (Much more on high-tech bathrooms below-- this one was actually pretty tame). I also watched some TV, and was pleased to see that the same news anchor I watched a year ago in Yokohama was still at it. But sleep was soon necessary.
Whirlwind history lesson. The next day I headed out to absorb Kyoto, which is an impossible task for just one day. Luckily, I had a guide-- one of my company's Japanese employees who lives there. But still, Kyoto is a place of deep history and culture, and I longed for a month to take it all in.
It's worth noting that school groups from all over Japan traditionally make a trip to Kyoto each year to learn history, not unlike American schoolkids going to Washington, D.C., except this tradition is even stronger and more widely practiced. So we saw lots of school groups because it happened to be the end of the Japanese semester.
The first thing I did was try to get in the driver's side of the car (oh yeah, they drive on the left). Doh. But with that misstep out of the way, I was ready to tackle 800 years of emperors, samurai, daimyou, and Zen Buddhism. (I was really glad for the car, by the way. Due to major knee pain, I was rather restricted on how far I could walk at one time during this trip). Here's where we went:
Kinkakuji. This means "golden pavilion," and they're not kidding. It's a three-story temple (ji), the upper two of which are completely covered in gold lacquer. According to my guide, it's pressed into place with some special mechanical technique, and the thickness is about 4 microns. The total value on the temple is probably $20-$30 million. It was built at the end of the 14th century, and I kept thinking how jealous Louis the XIV would have been if he had known about it.
(Note: there is also Ginkakuji, where gin means "silver" as compared to kin, meaning gold. But we didn't see the silver pavilion on this trip).
Ryoanji. Also a temple, but with a totally different feel. It is a very peaceful place, nearly silent. You feel like talking would violate the atmosphere. On the way in, we sampled a special seaweed tea made by the disciples there. It is very salty and thicker than typical tea; at first I thought it was soup.
The temple features a Zen rock garden that has 14 stones, except that they are positioned such that from most angles, you can only see 13 of them. I think it demonstrates that some aspects of life are always hidden from you, or that every perspective has some blind spots, but I suppose the interpretation is up to the viewer. On the other side of the temple is a stone with water flowing over it, and four characters carved in it. They spell tsukubai, which means, "I learn only to be contented."
Nijo-jou. This is a castle (jou) located near the shogun's palace. Built in the early 1600's, it was basically a bureaucratic building dedicated to running the affairs that helped keep control of the local daimyou (land-holding noblemen or feudal lords, more or less) after the capital moved east to Edo (Tokyo). The floors are built to squeak deliberately so that an assassin can't approach without being heard. (I've forgotten the Japanese word for this kind of floor, but it translates literally as something like "birdsong planks." Note added later: The word is uguisu-bari, where uguisu means "bush warbler" and bari comes from haru, "to lay (planks) on"). The exhibit featured a lot of beautifully painted wall screens preserved from the original time-- apparently painting office walls and doors was a medium for many famous artists of the time. There were signs everywhere prohibiting photography, which makes sense since flashes degrade the color, but I was surprised that sketching was also prohibited.
Shoujin-ryouri. In other words, lunch. Ryouri is cuisine, and shoujin means something like devotion to one's religion (in this case, Buddhism), so this type of food is vegetarian. It was a traditional Japanese restaurant with floor cushions and not a gaijin in sight except for me. (Side note: sitting on the floor is not my thing right now, but believe me, it was worth it!). The main course was something called yu-dofu, which is tofu steamed in a big pot on the table. You eat it with green onions, some special spice mix (which tasted a bit like lemon-pepper to me, but I've forgotten the Japanese word), and soy sauce. We also had tempura veggies, an interesting potato gruel (it's better than it sounds), and a sesame block that resembled jello in consistency (also better that it sounds). In fact, it was a great meal! To finish it off, we had bowls of rice in the ocha-zuke style, which means, "with tea added." You literally pour your tea into the rice bowl. It's supposed to be something light to eat at the end of a heavy meal. The only problem is that with the tea in it, the rice is no longer sticky, and it's nearly impossible to pick up with chopsticks. Basically, you slurp it up out of the bowl.
Nanzenji (Southern Zen Temple). This temple is built to be impressive; the gate alone is about three stories high. It is also Zen, and featured several rock gardens, these ones with trees and shrubbery, not just rocks. One curious thing was an aqueduct that ran through the grounds carrying water from the mountains down into the town of Kyoto (I found out later it is called Kyoto Sosui, and it runs from Lake Biwa). Apparently it is still in use, as much of Kyoto's power is hydroelectric.
Pottery. You won't find this one in the guide books. I felt extremely fortunate to be treated to a visit to a working pottery collective. It turns out my guide is a potter in his spare time, which I never knew. This place had banks of old wood-burning kilns, although they are no longer in use since they violate local pollution regulations (so they've gone electric). It is pretty special for a Japanese person to share a hobby like this with a gaijin.
Kiyomizudera. This is a really big temple located at the top of a hill lined with all types of touristy vendors. (Actually, the area reminded me a lot of Kamakura-- see the first trip report). Near the entrance to the temple is a little building that you can walk through for $1, featuring a "journey through darkness toward enlightenment." It's really fascinating-- the pathway is pitch black, and you walk by holding a single rope lined with wooden beads. You shuffle along in the darkness for a while (you can't even see the person 3 feet in front of you), and then you see a lighted stone printed with a character that means "god" (or maybe more like "the Om" or "the inner spirit"-- my guide had trouble explaining it). It is supposed to symbolize the way that life has little clarity until you embrace the god concept, at which point you can walk successfully through the darkness with just that single guide. It's hardly a unique concept, and I wouldn't be so impressed with it in America. But then again, I don't think you'd see it conceptualized quite that way in the US.
The temple itself is perched on a cliff, and there is a famous overlook that commands a fine view of the city. In fact, there is a saying in Japan: when you make a decision, you can say, "I have jumped from the overlook at Kiyomizudera."
By the way, in most of these places, the part open to the public features an indoor section where you take off your shoes to walk through. If you visit Kyoto, be sure to wear shoes that are easy to get in and out of!
One more interesting thing I learned is that because Kyoto is so historical, there are strict regulations about building there. When you clear an area to start digging, you must hire some government inspectors to come search the area for possible treasures. Given Japan's bureaucracy, this process can take as long as a year (and I suppose longer if they find some treasures!). I bet builders hope fervently that treasure won't be found.
Onward to Nagoya. Alas, the day was over too soon, and I had to head to Nagoya so I could be there for a conference starting the next day. I took the shinkansen, or bullet train, which was fun. Buying a ticket isn't easy-- it's done by machine, and you have to go through about 7 menus all in kanji, but I had help so it was OK. The shinkansen has a bar and snack counter, as well as women wandering the aisles selling o-bento and candy.
At Nagoya station, I still had to take another train to get to the right part of town, and I had my first encounter with the less open nature of the west. Even though Nagoya is a huge city, none of the signs were in English. I saw a few stations like this in the Tokyo area, but they were small stations; the main ones were very Westerner-friendly. Despite knowing the relevant kanji, I couldn't find the right track, but luckily I now know enough Japanese to simply ask (and I can even understand the answer). However, once I found it, the train was right there, and already boarding! I got on without a ticket and rode to my destination. Then I had to explain what I had done and pay my fare before I could get out of the station.
Thank goodness my hotel was right by the station. I knew darn well I would pay for all this walking, and my luggage was getting heavy. I was immediately greeted with yet more Japan-isms.
For starters, my room key said in bright, cheerful letters, "Welcome, sir!" Then I noticed that my room contained not only the New Testament (the Gideons have a long arm, it seems), but also another volume called "The Teaching of Buddha." (Placed there for your enlightenment by the Society for the Promotion of Buddhism, which seemed vaguely odd because I thought Buddhists did very little proselytizing).
The Bible was in Japanese. At first it seemed funny to see such a translation, but then I realized that it is no stranger than reading the Bible in English, rather than the original Aramaic and Greek. It's all translation at this point (not to mention multiple reinterpretations along the line).
The Buddhist book was in both English and Japanese. As I perused a few sections, I was reminded of the role of Buddhism in Japanese history. Buddhism (bukkyoh in Japanese) came to Japan around the 6th century by way of Chinese monks. At that time, the Japanese were peasants with no written language-- writing probably evolved only a few times in human history, for example in China and Mesopotamia, then spread from these epicenters. The Chinese monks brought writing to Japan in the form of pictographic characters, but Japan went on to modify the meaning of some characters and to add its own syllabic alphabets. Even now, the Chinese pronunciation of characters persists in Japanese (the on reading), while there is often a distinct Japanese pronunciation too (the kun reading).
As with the language, the ideas of Buddhism were absorbed too, and then transformed with local character. Japan has a way of making things its own so thoroughly that the Japanese version can come to be thought of as the original thing itself. I have read some Japanese Zen Buddhist philosophy in the context of understanding haiku. Unfortunately, I felt that the English translation of this more general philosophical text in my hotel room was lacking. It read like a kindergarten book with little of the explanatory nature I value in Buddhism (the Buddha thought you should know why things are the way they are-- a rarity among religions). So in the end, I didn't read much; I opted for bed.
The high-tech bathroom really took the cake. The toilet featured a heated seat, two washing options, and a button called "free odor." It also made a whirring noise when you sat on it to mask your embarrassing noises. The hairdryer was labeled "Far Infrared and Turbo Dry," causing me to wonder if I could use it for spectroscopy or astronomical measurements as well as hair drying. And the best feature: a heated patch behind the mirror so that when you take a shower, that place doesn't fog up! It's perfectly positioned so you can see your face, of course. Cleverly, it doesn't heat up all the time, only when the shower is on (I suspect it is heated by the hot water pipe for the shower).
By the way, Nagoya is a rather industrial city. It is the manufacturing headquarters for Toyota and Mitsubishi Heavy Industries. Compared to Kyoto, it doesn't have much deep culture, although there is some (see my sightseeing experiences later). Also, some of the historical buildings were destroyed in WWII.
Conference, Day 1. The Nagoya Congress Center is a strange place. The rooms are all spread out over four buildings and four floors with long passageways and escalators connecting them. American conference centers are also big and imposing, but they are designed to maximize interaction and chance meetings. This set-up almost guarantees that you'll never just "run into" someone unless you're at the same session. The Congress Center also has the biggest statue of a samurai on horseback I have ever seen.
One interesting thing was the aggressive presence of the Nagoya Tourist Board. They had a table set up with lots of free literature about Nagoya, places to visit, restaurants, etc. It was staffed with many smiling, English-speaking, Japanese women who were encouraging everyone to enjoy the city. They even had questionnaires to fill out where you estimated how much money you were going to spend on various things in Nagoya (entertainment, food, hotel, transportation, etc), as well as rating the services you had received so far (curiously, the choices were only "good" or "bad"-- check one). I got a free gift for filling it out, plus some coupons for local attractions-- good deal!
The conference itself was good. I was one of only a handful of Americans who came, due mostly to the events of September 2001. Most non-Asians were European. I saw some interesting talks and new products in the demo room.
It began to rain in the evening, so I was pleased to have a little quiet time to relax before bed. And at a time like that, who could resist drinking the Pocari Sweat from the minibar? (It's a grapefruit soda, by the way). And I successfully connected to the Internet from my hotel room.
Conference, Day 2. More of the same, but I discovered another cute Japanese technology: escalators that are normally off, but switch on when they detect you approaching. I also met a Canadian guy who had been living in Japan for 10 years. He pointed out something that I had noticed vaguely but hadn't quite articulated. Japan is a society of deep contradiction. In many ways, it is far more "high-tech" than the US, always pushing for the newest gadgets; a lot of things are more advanced in Japan. And yet, Japan's social conservatism is far more pronounced than that in the US. The culture is xenophobic, adheres quite strongly to traditional gender roles, and harbors a general sense of "we've been doing it this way for 1,000 years because it's the best way to do it. Don't tell us otherwise." (There are some fine examples of this social conservatism below). Unlike in the US, those who are most socially conservative may also be the biggest proponents of hot new technologies. Somehow, this combination works for the Japanese.
[Aside: Of course, the US is a deeply contradictory place too. Our country is founded on the principle of equal rights for all, and yet we have a very checkered past of slavery, discrimination, and our own periods of xenophobia. We also haven't decided how to balance the equally fundamental concepts of equal opportunity and meritocracy. But let's not get into that now.]
Something fishy at the sushi bar? For dinner, I headed to a nearby sushi bar where they didn't speak English. I immediately ordered a beer, partly because I always try to drink alcohol with sushi in some vain attempt to kill stray microorganisms on the raw fish, but also because it's easier to speak Japanese when slightly buzzed. (Or maybe I just don't notice my errors. Either way, it works).
It was one of those places where the sushi goes around on a conveyor belt, and you pick out what you want. You can also call out special orders to the chef. The sushi was fabulous. I had some of my favorites like maguro and hotate, and also tried something called engawa-hirame, which was a white fish that came with a mint leaf along with the rice. I found out later that hirame is flounder, and engawa (which literally means "veranda") means that the meat is cut from the outermost portion of the fish, often the dorsal fin. To be honest, it wasn't that good :-), but it is a kind of sushi that you don't generally get in America, so it was fun to try it.
Another great thing about sushi in Japan-- it's cheap! I had 14 pieces of super-fresh sushi plus the beer, and the total came to about 1,800 yen, or about $15.50. Try that in America! Now for the slightly fishy part: I tried to pay with two 1,000-yen bills, but the guy at the counter refused to take them! He kept saying, ichi-man yen, ichi-man yen, which means "10,000 yen." I was a little buzzed on the beer, and didn't quite trust my arithmetic, but I didn't have a 10,000-yen bill, so I offered a 5,000-yen bill instead. This he took, and gave me change (3,000 yen plus some coins, so it was correct change).
What the heck was that all about? I thought maybe he was just messing with my gaijin mind, trying to put me off balance since I obviously wasn't very skilled with the language. When I told some friends about this by email, one suggested that maybe it was because Japanese think of coins as slightly "dirty." If I paid with 2,000 yen, I would only get coins back, but if I paid with 5,000, or better yet, 10,000, yen, I would get some bills back too. (She had heard this from an old Japanese roommate). So the next day I asked the Canadian guy who had lived here for 10 years, as well as a native Japanese guy if that was true. They were skeptical. So it still wasn't clear what was going on. [However, see the comments from a few days hence. I went back to this place later!]
Conference, Day 3. This day was jam-packed with talks I wanted to see, so I just did that all day. But I did have an interesting dinner with an older Japanese man and a Greek woman my age whom I met at the conference. We went to a fancy crab restaurant with a huge tank of live crabs in the lobby that probably weren't aware of their impending fate. It had seven floors of private dining rooms, each one with a distinctive theme or style. (By the way, nice restaurants in Japan often feature private rooms for all patrons, not just special rooms that you have to reserve in advance for a fee like in America. They have a little bell that you ring when you need service). We removed our shoes before going up. Our room had a view of a rock garden with a bamboo spout filling a little pond.
We ate crab sashimi, crab salad, and crab sushi. The waitress kept asking if it was OK for us gaijin to eat this type of food. Did we really know that this was raw shellfish? Is that OK?
As we warmed up and relaxed on beer and food, the conversation turned to Japanese culture. Inevitably, we hit the social conservatism of the older Japanese guy. He was concerned about young people not marrying, like his son, for example. The son is 34 years old and has a girlfriend, but they don't want to get married because they enjoy the freedom of being single. Terrible! He was outraged that there are 10 million unmarried young Japanese people who would have been married by now if they had grown up a generation earlier. Particularly young intellectual women-- they are the ones who really don't want to get married. Truly terrible.
I bit my tongue. It's the same old, tired story the world over. (1) The problems of the world are caused by young people who don't act like their parents' generation. (As if every generation, including the older guy's, didn't break away from what their parents did!). And (2) when you get right down to it, the problems are really caused by young women who don't do what they're supposed to do. Oh, and by the way, this guy is a huge proponent of hot new technologies.
Cutting loose. The next day was the last day of the conference, and after it ended, I was ready to head out and see a few sights in the late afternoon/early evening. Here's what I did:
The Nagoya Orchid Garden (aka, bull in the china shop). I hadn't heard of this attraction before, but it was one of the discount coupons I got at the conference, and it sounded intriguing. It turned out to be a beautiful place tucked in among the bustling center of town.
The atrium area was a greenhouse with over 250 varieties of orchids. The colors were gorgeous, as well as the unique shapes of flowers and leaves. But alas, I acted like a clumsy gaijin. As I passed along a narrow walkway, my jacket brushed a display stand and knocked a pot to the floor with a crash. Three Japanese guys sitting at a table nearby jumped up and told me it would be OK, but of course I felt very bad. Two went off to find a staff member while the third tried to chat with me in Japanese. We got through where I was from and why I was visiting Nagoya before one of the women from the front desk came. I did my best attempt at a Japanese bow, and apologized profusely in Japanese, which I hope was better than apologizing in English. She was very nice, and said, Daijoubu desu (it's OK). Oh well. I still felt bad.
I escaped outside to the garden, which was designed like an English garden. There were walkways, creatively arranged flower gardens, and a pond with lily pads. I finally got around to reading the explanatory pamphlet that I got on the way in, and found that it was written in typical Japanese English. For instance, I learned that "the pot plants in the courtyard, set in the finest terra-cotta pots, always draw lots of attention." I'll bet they do!
Nagoya TV Tower. I strolled slowly up the street to the Sakae area of town, which is sort of the heart of Nagoya, with office buildings, shopping areas, restaurants, and the like. It was impossible to miss Nagoya TV Tower, which sticks up 180 meters like a giant steel monument. I also had a coupon for that, so I thought, why not?
It turned out to be something of a tourist trap. You pay 750 yen (600 with discount) to ride up an elevator 100 meters and get a view of the surrounding area. (Come to think of it, what did I expect?). For one thing, I didn't expect so much smog. The mountains just 60 miles away to the north (Suzuka Mountains, Japan Alps, and Mt. Sangane) were almost totally obscured, as was the bay to the south. Nagoya is a sprawling, industrial-looking city that seems to go on forever. Ah, well.
Underground shopping. Having gone up, I then went down. I visited Central Park, and underground shopping mall. I had dinner in a café and browsed around the stores, which were mostly shoe, clothing, and drug stores. Some guy tried to sell me a secondhand suede shirt for 900 yen (less than $9-- yasui yo!), but it looked like it would fit a 9-year old. One interesting place was called "Healthy Food Store," which was a lot like its US counterpart (GNC, or some such). There were tonics and energy-boost drinks, vitamins, and diet pills. I actually like some of those "power bar"-type things, and it seems that they have now hit Japan. There were ones called "Balance Up" and "Calorie Mate," promising protein and vitamins for people on the go. Of course, don't expect the usual flavors: "Balance Up" comes in "butter flavor"-- not what I would have expected for a health-food product! And "Calorie Mate" comes in vegetable flavor as well as something called simply "fresh flavor." Feeling brave, I bought one of each-- in chocolate flavor. When I tried them later, they weren't so good, but it was fun to try. In the meantime, I'll stick with the American version.
Before the voyage home, I stopped in a department store to use the bathroom. I found some confusing signs. Outside the restrooms, there was a sign saying, "Restroom: alpha space" with an arrow and pictures of a man, woman, person in a wheelchair, and an infant. Huh? Farther in, the same pictures were accompanied by the label "multi-toilet." OK, I get the concept-- the bathroom accommodates people of all types-- but sometimes the translations can get really strange. Alpha space?
Low and high art. The next day was my last full day in Japan, and I devoted it to sightseeing. First let me mention what I didn't do. Nagoya has a famous castle that all tourists are supposed to go see, but I had asked several Nagoya residents about this castle, and they all said it wasn't that great, especially compared to the historical sights in Kyoto. So I skipped it with no regrets.
Instead, I took a challenging voyage out to the Aichi Prefecture Ceramics Museum, which is an hour out of town by subway and bus. At the subway's terminus where you pick up the bus, there is no English spoken or written. It took three tries to find the right bus stop because I couldn't read the posted information well enough, but I made it to the museum eventually.
There is a section with pottery on display from famous artists, as well as some restored old-style kilns and a tea house that serves o-cha in cups made by prominent potters. But the real reason I was attracted to this somewhat obscure place is that they have an on-site ceramics studio where you can make your own pottery! I read about it in one of the many guidebooks I received from the Nagoya Tourist Board.
No one there spoke any English (not that I tried, actually, but in the cities people will often just speak English to you. Here everyone spoke Japanese to me). I managed to get through the sign-up procedure, choose the type of clay I wanted (I chose light over dark), and buy a 2-kg hunk of it. Then I and two Japanese women had a 15-minute lesson in shaping clay, after which we were turned loose in the studio for our two-hour block of time.
Mind you, I am no artist. I putzed around with the clay as best I could, and ended up with a misshapen bowl that looked pretty lumpy. Maybe it was OK for a first attempt. One of the other two women had actually been there before, and was bringing her friend for the first time. Both of their works turned out gorgeous, of course. The deal is that the studio will fire your piece with the glaze of your choice, and you can pick it up later-- between 30 and 60 days later, it turned out.
Oops. Now how am I supposed to pick it up? I asked if they would send pieces, and they said yes, for a fee. Great, I thought! Oh, but wait-- they don't send overseas. This was getting complicated and was stretching my ability to communicate. By the way, it was not just my poor Japanese that caused the problem. Like in America, there are various regional accents in Japan. Kansai Japanese is quite different from Tokyo Japanese, which is sort of the "standard," and is what I learned. So trying to communicate with these people (especially since they weren't city people) was a little like trying to understand Southern English when you are a foreigner with only a minimal understanding of "standard" English (you know, what we speak in California :-)).
Finally I managed to get across the idea that I do know some people in Japan, and I would find a way to have them pick up the piece (or get it sent to their address in Japan). That seemed to satisfy the people at the studio, but there was a definite communication gap. They were very skeptical that I knew what I was doing at all. And they kept saying long, complicated sentences that I couldn't understand. At one point, a woman at the counter chided the man talking to me by saying, "She doesn't understand you!"
Looks like I got myself in trouble. I don't think they had ever seen anyone like me there-- an American who waltzed in and worked in the pottery studio for a couple hours, then wanted the piece sent back overseas, and only spoke Japanese at the level of a 5-year-old! Oh well, I'm not very good at doing what I'm "supposed" to do. However, I have to say it goes over better in America than in a non-urban part of Japan. I hope I'll see that lopsided bowl again! [Note added later: I did see it again! A Japanese colleague of mine had the bowl sent to his place, then brought it to me in the US the next time he came. It's really ugly, but I find that I do use the darn thing now and then].
That was a really fun experience. I certainly couldn't have had it on my trip a year ago. On the bus back, there was a group of deaf Japanese kids speaking in sign language. I smiled to myself because we had something in common: difficulty understanding spoken Japanese!
That was the low art. I went on to absorb some high art at the Tokugawa Art Museum. This is a famous museum with all sorts of treasures from the Edo period (about 1650 to 1850), as well as quite a few things from even earlier (Heian and Kamakura periods, for instance).
I saw original samurai armor and swords, Noh theater costumes, and materials for the tea ceremony. One rather interesting exhibit was of early guns-- like the swords, they had beautiful inscriptions and artwork; they had clearly been personalized for each warrior. Japan is a country that actually gave up firearms after using them for a while. Now there are almost no guns in Japan.
The highlights of the exhibit are the ancient scrolls. They have a few pieces of the original version of The Tale of Genji, which is generally considered to be the first novel (it was completed in the early 11th century by Lady Murasaki, a lady of the Emperor's court). Also there are many old scrolls and books from the 12th and 13th centuries. What struck me about these written documents is how they were perceived as works of art in a different way than ancient European documents were. I've seen illuminated manuscripts from similar times in the West, and although the calligraphy is fancy and there are extra drawings around the text, the text and the paper remain essentially separate. The paper is just the medium on which the document is written, even though it is finely decorated with illuminations.
These Japanese scrolls treated the paper itself as part of the art. It was often flecked with gold or streaked with pastel shades (to be honest, it kind of resembled fancy wrapping paper of today). Most documents were painted with watercolor images in the background over which the characters were written in black ink. Sometimes the writing was matched to the artwork through the way it was centered or where it started relative to items in the picture. Some items were poetry, where you might expect such care, but others were contracts or instruction manuals. All were incredibly beautiful.
By the way, about half the women at the museum were dressed in kimono. Normally Japanese people don't wear these garments anymore-- certainly not when going out for a day of sightseeing!-- but it seemed that this was a special practice for groups of obaasan. It certainly made the experience more picturesque for me!
I was really beat after all of that, and it was sunset, and I was hungry. After a long rest for my leg so that I could walk again, I went back to the sushi bar I ate at a few nights ago. It was hopping, and I sat next to an older Japanese woman who chatted me up in Japanese. I really only followed about half of what she said, but we staggered through a conversation (my guess is that her western accent was pretty strong). She expressed regret at the recent terrorism, and told me that she had been to China, but not to America. She seemed to have different taste in sushi than I do, constantly picking out things that looked unappetizing. But when she offered me a piece of something I hadn't tried before, I certainly couldn't refuse. She said it was uni, and proceeded to explain what that was, but I had no idea what she was saying. The sushi was OK, although a bit fishy for my taste. When I looked up uni later, I found out that it is sea urchin.
By the way, in America we seem to have modified the original way to eat sushi. The Japanese generally don't add wasabi to the soy sauce for nigiri sushi since there is already a dab of it on the rice pad. Many people don't use extra wasabi at all, in fact. (I happen to love the spicy bite of wasabi with the taste of the fish, but I got a few looks for mixing it right into my dipping sauce-- how gross). Also, the purpose of the pickled ginger is not to eat with the sushi, but to eat between the sushi, to clear your palate.
Anyway, it was fun to talk to her. It's neat to be able to go to places where they assume you speak Japanese just to have gotten yourself there. I can just barely get through these basic encounters now. And by the way, I had no trouble paying with a bill that would only get me coins in change! It was a woman at the counter this time. I still think that guy was messing with my gaijin mind a few nights ago.
The last taste. Flights out of Japan leave in the early evening, so I met a friend for lunch on the last day at a fancy Japanese restaurant for one last taste before heading to the airport. We had sashimi and tempura, washed down with plenty of sake. I'm not a huge sake fan, but with the traditional food, it tastes pretty good. I found out that high-quality sake is made in varieties to be served both warm and cold, but lower-quality sake is invariably served warm. Apparently the differentiating feature is how finely you mill the rice down-- about 30% for regular quality, and up to 70% for really high quality. Also the harder the water, the better the sake comes out. We had cold sake.
The flight back was the usual: blissfully short at 8 hours. When going to Japan, the time difference works out such that you should not sleep on the plane, which makes the 12-hour flight interminable. But on the way back, the time change means that you must sleep on the plane, which makes the 8 hours fly by.
Overall, I definitely noticed that I got more out of this trip than last simply because I know more Japanese. I am not intimidated by restaurants or stores with only Japanese because I can read some of the kanji and I can successfully ask questions and understand (simple!) answers. But I do have one frustration to vent:
Guidebooks and pamphlets ought to (1) print the kanji for place names even when they are intended for non-Japanese-speaking foreigners. That way, you can match the guidebook to the signs you see. So many times, I knew I wanted to go to a station with a certain name because the name was printed in English in the guidebook, but I couldn't find it on the subway map because they didn't tell me the kanji! In those cases, I just asked a Japanese person to point it out on the map, but I could have done it myself if I had had a picture to go off of. And (2) the guidebooks need to respect the single and double vowels of Japanese. "Tokyo" is not the correct name, of course-- it is Tookyoo or Tohkyoh (two long o's). A couple of times I misunderstood a place name because it was written with a single vowel in English, but it was actually a long vowel in Japanese. Sometimes the books do it right-- by writing the vowel with a bar over it to indicate length-- but not always, and they ought to. Unfortunately, it's unlikely to happen because it would require adjustment of how people are used to seeing the names written. Heck, I violated this myself in this article by writing "Tokyo" and "Kyoto." But still, I'd like to see a guidebook do it right.
Copyright © Kim Allen 2001
