The 2011 Okinawa Trip, Day Three

First...a Bit of History
After Emperor Meiji succeeded in removing the shoguns from power and reasserting imperial control toward the end of the 19th century, he set in motion a plan to reconstruct the country along more Western lines. The dialect of Tokyo was made the official language, and systems of administration and education were established based mainly on the British model. Efforts were made to adapt western technology and ways of thinking. One of the more significant of the latter was the concept of nationalism, i.e. loyalty to the nation and its sovereign rather than to a local lord. For perhaps the first time in Japanese history, the whole concept of being "Japanese" became a serious issue...and in some cases a divisive one.

Surprise military successes against China and Russia at the beginning of the 20th century caused the new nationalism to become even stronger and more militant. Ironically, though Japan entered WWI on the Allied side against Germany under newly-crowned Emperor Taisho, his weak rule gave rise to an explosion of democracy and intellectualism...and foreign debt. This changed quickly with the rise of Emperor Showa (Hirohito) at the end of the 1920's; determined not to let Imperial Japan fall under Western colonialism, he set the boots of militarism marching again, and democracy was quickly trampled underfoot. Soon the government was dominated by the military (as it had been under the shoguns). Schools were gradually turned into patriotic brainwashing camps. Harassment of people who spoke anything but the national tongue (i.e. Tokyo dialect) was institutionalized. Intellectuals and dissenters were often brutally intimidated if not accused of treason. The Shinto religion, including the worship of the Emperor as a god, became obligatory. Dissent in the occupied territories was cruelly crushed, which also helped feed the imperial ambitions of the military government.

In 1931, in response to a staged provocation, Japan invaded and occupied Manchuria. Then it began a series of border wars with the Soviet Union. The West responded by imposing sweeping economic sanctions on Japan coupled with a demand that the Japanese military be vastly downsized. Japan refused to give in, resulting in a decade of economic hardship and growing poverty which only fed the militarist sentiment. Finally, on December 8, 1941 (Japan time), multiple attacks were launched against the Pacific forces of the US and Britain. Thus began the Pacific War.

At first the forces of Imperial Japan were virtually unstoppable, and they claimed victory after victory against the Western colonial powers in the Pacific. However, only half a year after the attack on Pearl Harbor, Admiral Yamamoto's dire predictions came true; the "sleeping enemy" woke up, and with the somewhat miraculous victory at the Battle of Midway, the US turned the tide of the war for good.

Now America was unstoppable, and as the flag of the Rising Sun fell inexorably closer to home, the Japanese reasoned an invasion on their soil was inevitable. They also reasoned correctly that the Americans would try to take Okinawa first to use as a staging ground. Thus began a major defensive operation that was never meant to succeed. Indeed, Imperial Japan intended to use Okinawa only as a giant land mine, sacrificing it and its people in a hopeless war of attrition meant only to delay the enemy while defensive preparations were carried out on the mainland. Only a relatively small, token Imperial Army force remained in Okinawa. Meanwhile, the Okinawan Defense Force was organized in desperation...and often in violation of Japan's own laws. Guns (mainly obsolete surplus rifles dating from WWI) were given to any male members of the population able to carry them regardless of age or physical condition. Girl students and young women were pressed into service in support roles, often on the front lines. They were poorly trained, poorly equipped, and regarded by their Imperial Army superiors as little more than cannon fodder.

When the American attack force arrived, Japan sent thousands of planes to meet them (most of them kamikaze attack planes), but more than 90% were shot down before they got there. Similarly, the Imperial battleship Yamato, arguably the most powerful of the war, was sent to Okinawa with a one-way supply of fuel but was taken out by US aircraft before even getting close. Effectively unchallenged, the Americans started off with a heavy campaign of bombing and naval bombardment. Then the troops started landing on the beaches near Kadena. The Okinawan Defense Force was outnumbered, hopelessly outgunned, and had little in the way of support, and yet it dragged on through a battle that lasted three months...and became the one of the worst bloodbaths of the entire Second World War. And if the toll on the battlefield was bad...

* * *

The Cave of Life and Death, pt. I
The day I have long dreaded has finally arrived. It has very much to do with the principal theme of this whole trip, and as an American cursed with a conscience, I'm not relishing this. I will say that I have always intended to make this trip; as an American, I consider it an obligation. It doesn't make it any easier. None of my many visits to Hiroshima ever seemed to get easier. In some ways, this one might be even harder.

For the first part of the day's dark itinerary, our classes separate and go to different locations that are more or less the same thing. They all served the same function during the battle. They all saw the same atrocities. They are all "gama".


Not surprisingly, the one we visit is in a really eerie crevasse...

The "gama" are those among the many natural caves on the Okinawan coast which were designated as survival shelters. Their tunnels were expanded and rooms dug out in order to accommodate people during typhoons or other natural disasters. As it turned out, they wound up housing women, children, and the elderly during the battle plus Okinawa Defense Force members charged with caring for them...as well as deserters from the Imperial Army.



It was apparently hoped that, by lying low in the caves, they wouldn't be found by the American soldiers. That turned out to be very mistaken. Whenever the patrolling American soldiers found a cave entrance, they would shout in Japanese, "If anyone is in there, come out! You will not be harmed!" That posed a two-edged sword for the Okinawan women, children, and elderly hiding in there.



If they tried to surrender, the Imperial Army deserters hiding with them would shoot them, and the Americans would respond to the gunfire by immediately filling the cave with flaming napalm. If they didn't surrender, the Americans would flame-thrower them anyway...or pump the cavern full of tear gas which could still be very lethal. Many hundreds of unarmed civilians wound up dying that way.

As we enter the crevasse and approach the cave, I feel very cold. I do not want to be here. The students already know a bit of the story, and so I avoid their gazes and stay at the back of the group as we await our guide.



Our guide is someone who was actually there. He is a survivor. He was one of the Okinawa Defense Force members there to take care of the civilians hiding in the cave. Now old and frail-looking, he nonetheless speaks with resolve, and we can only listen. He leads us into the natural part of the cave, which served as an ancient tomb and thus includes a couple of very old graves, and brings us to a stop in front of the tunneled-out shelter area. There he begins the tale.

There were some 300 people in there when the Americans came, all packed into a tiny space. As they listened to the battle outside...and later the voices of the patrolling American troops..., they huddled in the darkness as their candles, food, and water ran out. The deserted Imperial Army troops with them demanded special privileges, snatched up the food and water, and treated the others like rats. Anyone caught speaking the Okinawan dialect was immediately branded a traitor and killed. Later, a young girl tried to go out in search of more candles, and she was shot dead by one of the Japanese soldiers. When the American troops inevitably came and spoke their demand to surrender, the Japanese soldiers told the Okinawans with them to keep silent or die. The Americans then flamethrowered each of the cave entrances and detonated large tear gas bombs inside the tunnel. Perhaps two-thirds of the people inside were killed.

The guide asks us to switch off our flashlights and observe a moment of silence there in the darkness. Then he leads us into the shelter tunnel, and as he does so, he defuses the tension by joking with the students, which surprises me. I guess this isn't all going to be doom and gloom after all.

After we finish our tour of the cave, we are taken up above to a nearby park, where we gather under a shelter overlooking the intensely blue ocean. Then the guide starts his speech.

"What were our leaders thinking?" he rails. "What business did they even have trying to pick a fight with a country that was clearly so much bigger, so much more powerful than us? And for what? What did it get us? They didn't care; they just kept their fat asses on their sofas drinking sake and ordering us to go and die for their stupidity! We shouldn't blame America for this. But we need to remember what's important. People are important. Life is important." He looks around at the kids. "You're the future! I'm asking you! Remember what's important!"

I have to admit that I'm surprised and more than a little moved. Despite the tragedy and the atrocity, there is none of the "America did it all" slather that I expected. No guilt trips in my direction at all. If anything, the guide shows far more anger and resentment toward the Imperial Army and the Imperial regime than the US forces. The black cloud over my soul dissipates, and I start to breathe a little easier.

But we're still just getting started...

The Cave of Life and Death, pt. II
As with all students in Okinawa at the time, the 222 high school girls of the Himeyuri Girls' Medical Corps were activated and pressed into service in support of the Okinawa Defense Force. They were assigned to an army surgical hospital located inside of a natural cave.


The memorial to the girls of the Himeyuri Girls' Medical Corps at the mouth of the cave.

The girls never had any doubt about what they were doing. They'd been steadily force-fed a diet of propaganda and patriotism throughout their school lives. They firmly believed that there was no greater honor than dying in the service of the Emperor and being enshrined at Yasukuni Shrine (the Shinto shrine honoring war dead). They firmly believed that the red cross flag over the cave would keep them safe. They also firmly believed that Japan would win the battle in a matter of days (so much so that many showed up for service with their school supplies).



As the battle raged on, they worked around the clock inside the cave assisting the doctors. Their surgical hospital was given the most serious cases, and every day they saw hundreds of soldiers brought in with horrific injuries, few of whom would ever recover. The girls' duties included bringing meager portions of food and water to the patients, trying to comfort them, helping dress wounds, carrying supplies, disposing of amputated limbs, and helping the most hopeless cases commit suicide.


Offerings of paper cranes, a symbol of peace, next to a memorial for those killed in the American bomb attack.

The first girl died when she was sent up for supplies and was strafed by an American fighter plane. About a dozen others were caught in the crossfire as they performed various duties. It turned out that they were the lucky ones.

As the battle entered its final, most desperate days, the Himeyuri girls were suddenly given the deactivation order. Together with their teachers, they were told they were on their own and abandoned. Confused, they remained huddled just inside the cave...and were hit by an American bomb dropped directly inside. Those that survived the attack went crazy. Some went running madly into the battle zone where they were quickly cut down in the crossfire. Others killed themselves either by jumping off the nearby sea cliff or pressing grenades to their chests. A number ran into the caves and remained in hiding, some long after the war ended, some falling prey to disease, madness, or American weapons. Some were found by American troops but refused the orders to come out, resulting in their meeting their fate via grenade or flame thrower. In the end, out of 222 Himeyuri girls, only about a couple dozen survived.

One of them is in the museum at the Himeyuri memorial, and our students talk to her.

The museum, as expected, is gloomy, and yet there is no obvious blame game. It just shows what was, and what happened. I think what moves me the most is the room entitled "Requiem for Himeyuri". It is surrounded by blow-ups of the original class photos of the Himeyuri girls captioned with their names, birthplaces, hobbies, school activities, and how they died. Our students are far more interested in the collection of diary entries written by the girls, and as they pore over them, I walk around and look at each of the photos and read each caption. I glance around at my own students and realize that it could just as easily have been them. The only real difference is the era.

Tragedies have far more impact when they have a human face.

We have lunch after that, traditional Okinawan fare, and I'm surprised I have any appetite.

A Memorial to Peace?
Our next stop is the huge Peace Memorial.



The peace monument is elegant but its impact seems rather muted...



The Peace Museum with its Peace Tower pulls most of the focus.



There is also the monument to those fallen in the Battle of Okinawa: a huge expanse of dark, granite slabs with the names of the dead carved into them, separated by location. Naturally, Okinawans account for the overwhelming majority.



Over in the comparatively tiny Ibaraki section, I find a name or two that might be members of my wife's extended family. I may have to look into it.



There are also a few names in the American part that might be related.



After the obligatory group photos, we get a chance to look out over the sea cliffs where so much death occurred...cliffs that were literally blasted into a completely different shape by American naval guns. It looks so peaceful and beautiful now...



Next we head up to the imposing museum, designed with traditional Okinawan roofs.

Inside, the museum is an impressive display not only of the Okinawa battle but of the history of Japanese warfare from the Meiji period onward. It also shows quite a bit of life in Okinawa when it was under US administration from 1945 till 1978.

Not surprisingly, it is quite crowded, mainly with students on school trips. It isn't nearly as bad as the aquarium was, but now I'm getting more than my fill of "Look! An American!" (followed by mimed shooting), punks speaking with mock American accents in my vicinity, or grade school kids recoiling from me with wide eyes. Fortunately, I'm not the only gaijin there, though one foreigner, a big guy speaking what sounds like Russian, is clearly railing on and on to his Japanese partner about how evil the Americans were (or are). It is the only real psychological warfare I've had to deal with so far on this trip, but instead of feeling depressed or guilty, now I'm just getting irritated. Still, I understand that it's par for the course and something that, as an American in Okinawa, I just have to deal with.

On the other hand, I also can't help noting with some cynicism that all the big peace monuments, including this one and the ones in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, are located in countries that lost wars. By comparison, peace monuments in the US seem rather small and half-hearted. I guess people are only really interested in peace if they suffer defeat. What does this say about us as a civilization?

Okinawa World
The last item on the day's itinerary is a visit to the theme park called Okinawa World. It has two main parts.



The first, Gyokusendo Cave, is a half-mile-long natural cavern with some pretty impressive subterranean scenery including some really huge stalactites and stalagmites. (Of course, I'd enjoy it more if I weren't sharing the narrow catwalk with kids who are apathetically plowing their way through in a hurry to get back out.) The next part is a village constructed in old Okinawan style (No pics that I can post available...sorry) including a fruit market/juice bar, glassworks and potters, a traditional tea house/restaurant, traditional dance performances, and lots of street vendors. In other words, it's specially designed to get me to empty my wallet in a hurry. Fortunately, I restrict myself to only a few items of glass and pottery, a couple of small traditional musical instruments, and some juice while spending plenty of time watching the glassworkers and potters do their thing. Then I have to sprint to get to the buses at departure time. The students have a good laugh about that...

The International Street of Commercialism



Naturally, our day in Naha is crowned by turning the students loose on Kokusai Dori (literally "International Street") to blow what's left of the money they've brought. I and some other teachers then follow on "patrol" (chuckle) so we can drop some yen, too. I have to hand it to the Okinawans, though; as crassly commercial as Kokusai Dori is, it's nowhere near as obnoxious as similar shopping streets in other parts of the country tend to be. It actually has a certain kind of class...though I can do without the street hawkers trying to get in my face. In the end, I come away with a couple of obligatory gift items, a couple of bottles of Okinawan sake to try, and no new musical instruments (not that the sanshin vendors make it any easier...).

The trip is almost at an end. Tomorrow we say goodbye.

E-lectronic T-raffic C-on?

The E.T.C. unit I ordered finally came, but the card hasn't yet. That might actually be a good thing right now.

I'd been tempted to get an E.T.C. (Electronic Toll Collection) device for my BLUE RAV4 for some time. They are just so convenient. Instead of having to stop and provide amusement for a bored toll collector by trying to dig your wallet out of your seat-embedded pants in a very awkward position (and pulling muscles in the process), you just slow down and drive through a gate. The device links in to a wireless system, exchanges your personal data, and the toll charge is either charged to your credit card or taken directly out of your bank account. No fuss, no hassle, no lost time, no germ-infested items changing hands, no pulled muscles. Only the cost of the items made me keep doubting whether it would be worth it.

Enter the government. (Prince By-Tor ap-)(*WHACK*!)(Ow!) Suddenly, out of the BLUE, the federal government announced it was starting a campaign to encourage people to get E.T.C. units. First they implemented a system whereby, while regular tolls remained fixed, E.T.C. tolls changed depending on the time and date, becoming much cheaper during commuting hours. The government also offered to subsidize up to a designated number of E.T.C. units purchased nationwide starting from the beginning of April by offering a 5000 yen (about $50) rebate. Needless to say, despite rumors that the real reason for the campaign was to help introduce a mileage-based tax system, the country quickly became gripped with E.T.C. fever.

I finally gave in and tried to buy an E.T.C. unit toward the end of April, but they were basically nowhere to be found. I went ahead and ordered one though I was warned that there was no way of knowing when it would arrive, meaning it wouldn't be in time for the subsidy. As it turned out, it came about a week later, and I got the rebate. There was no extra charge for the installation, and I was a happy camper until I tried to get the E.T.C. card necessary to make it work. I was told that, because of the rush (and the Snow D-)(*WHACK*)(Heyyy...) the quickest way would be to go to the bank where I got my credit card and have a companion E.T.C. card made. My existing account would eliminate the hassle, and there would be no charge. I was even assured over the phone by my bank that it would only take about a week. Unfortunately, when I actually went to the bank, filled out the forms, and provided the genetic sample (kidding...) I was informed it would probably take about a month. That means that, for the next few weeks at least, every time I start my car or approach a toll gate my E.T.C. unit says, in a slightly nasal feminine voice (in Japanese), something like, "This unit is in an inoperative state! Please insert your card into the upper entry slot!" (Noooo....I'm gonna jam it into the back! Sheesh...)

Now let me tell you what happened to me the first time I went out on the expressway with my new, INOPERATIVE E.T.C. unit. Except for the annoying voice telling me to stick my card in its slot everytime I approached a toll gate, it was business as usual. I drove through the regular gate and paid the regular toll in the regular manner (and amused myself by yelling at the E.T.C. unit to go shove itself up its own slot). However, there was one odd event that most definitely got my attention...

I was in the passing lane trying to go around a clot of slow-moving cars gathered around a bus (aka mobile traffic-jam maker). A speed camera gate was coming up ahead, so I kept my speed at a relatively modest level. Next thing I knew, a sports car was coming up on my six really fast, and it showed no sign of slowing down. I was blocked from leaving the passing lane, so I punched my accelerator, went into passing gear, whipped around the clot, pulled into the center lane, and then quickly braked to get back down below the acceptable margin before hitting the mark on the pavement showing the speed camera's aiming point.

That's when my E.T.C. unit started beeping. "This unit is in an inoperative state! Please insert your card into the upper entry slot!" But there was no toll gate anywhere to be seen. I can only assume that the unit had been activated by the speed camera gate. That would mean that they were trying to fine me electronically for being a click or two over the margin when I hit the X. I have noticed that a lot of drivers on the expressway have an odd tendency to ignore the speed cameras and just barge on through at high speed. Assuming they aren't privileged (i.e. they aren't missing any fingers), that would mean that rumors I've heard that the police don't pay much attention to the speed cameras are true to at least some extent. An on-the-spot, E.T.C.-based fine collection system would be a completely different story, and a very ominous one. There is a possibility that my unit linked up with a toll gate at an exit I passed, and I just didn't notice it, and I hope that's all it was. After all, a recent case in Italy, where red-light cameras and the signals they were attached to were intentionally tampered with in order to garner extra fine revenue, shows how easily automated law-enforcement systems can be abused. Moreover, since my driving habits are actually more in accordance with the norm rather than the exception, it would mean that a lot of these recent E.T.C. buyers could be falling victim without knowing it. At the very least, there has been no public indication that such a system is being implemented. I hope that means I'm mistaken.

In other news, I've finished another tune. It's called "From the Hat". It's another bit of fun, and kind of chaotic, with lots of genré-hopping, but please give it a listen. There are a lot of complicated details I won't go into here, but you can see them on my Minstrel's Muse site.

By the way, with this tune I have enough tracks available to make a finished CD, so it's in the works. The title is Blue Taxi. I'll leave all the tracks on my Minstrel's Muse site for now, but once the CDs are ready I'll delete that post and replace it with a regular promo like the others. That means you can listen to all the tunes in mp3 format...though I'll give fair warning that the original wav versions, and therefore the CDs, have considerably better sound quality (which probably serves me right for using a freeware file converter, but oh well).

UPDATE - I think I've found a reasonable (and reassuring) explanation for the ETC beeping at the speed camera gate.  It turns out that there are "ETC check" sensors set up at certain speed camera gates, usually at the border between fare zones.  One of my coworkers says his ETC unit always beeps at the same locations no matter how fast (or not) he's going.  The reason for these sensors isn't entirely clear, but apparently they verify whether or not your car has a functioning ETC unit on it or not.  The good thing is that it's apparently not an electronic fine-collection system.  The bad thing is that it, together with those weird "tracking cameras" set up at intervals in addition to the speed cameras, seems like another Orwellian eye on our private lives.

The (Disturbed) State of the Nation

In a poll taken two weeks ago in this country, 71% of respondents said they thought Japanese Prime Minister Taro Aso should resign as a result of both his incompetence and public sentiment that he is becoming increasingly out of touch with current issues. This compares to 13% that supported him and 45% who felt the country should instead be led by the main opposition leader, Democratic Party of Japan chief Ichiro Ozawa.



(A campaign poster for the DPJ featuring Ozawa. The caption says, "The Father of Japan moves," or something like that.)

Now 57% of poll respondents are saying Ozawa should resign both as DPJ chief and as a member of the Diet as a result of a recently uncovered political donation scandal.

The voting public can be pretty fickle, can't it? Then again, so can politicians' morals.

As for me, I'm 100% fed up with politics in general, but since I can't vote, it doesn't really matter, does it?

Heads in the Clouds

About a month ago I was told that my daughter's 6th grade class was going to take a trip up to Mt. Tsukuba here in Ibaraki Prefecture. I was also invited to join. Well, after the usual convoluted mess of sketchy information, miscommunications, and seemingly random schedule changes, I wound up going. Although I wasn't happy about some of the complications that resulted, I really was looking forward to going.

The lower two-thirds of Ibaraki is mostly a plain, i.e. flat as a pancake. There is, however, a small cluster of mountains right around the middle, just west of Lake Kasumigaura. None of these is particularly high; most of them are only about 500-600m in height. However, they look imposing simply because the surrounding landscape is, well, flat. By far the most impressive is Mt. Tsukuba, the tallest of the lot (though not the tallest mountain in Ibaraki. That honor belongs to Mt. Yamizo in the far north, which looks far less impressive simply because it's inconspicuously nestled within the alps).

The name "Tsukuba" (筑波, normally pronounced more like "skuba"), translated directly, would come out as "zither wave", but that wouldn't be appropriate. The first kanji, read "Tsuku" or "Zuku", is in fact the ancient name of the island of Kyushu. Therefore, the mountain's name is more properly translated as "Wave of Kyushu". The title fits; with its distinctive, broad shape and twin peaks, it most definitely looks like a great wave rising above the sea of the Kanto Plain. Interestingly, while most Japanese mountains are of volcanic origin and thus are composed mainly of igneous (i.e. volcanic) rock, Mt. Tsukuba is made of metamorphic rocks such as granite. That means it was most likely formed underground and pushed up into its current shape. That is only one of the mysteries of this enigmatic mountain.

Mt. Tsukuba has a great deal of both historical and legendary significance. It is believed that a Shinto deity who came to earth tried to rest on Mt. Fuji but was refused by its spirit, so it came to Mt. Tsukuba, where it was welcomed (which, they say, is why Mt. Tsukuba is lush with life while Mt. Fuji is barren). Its twin peaks, named Nyotai ("female body") and Nantai ("male body"), are believed to enshrine if not embody Izanami-no-Omikoto and Izanagi-no-Omikoto, the celestial pair that spawned not only many if not most of the deities of Japan, but Japan herself. (Interestingly, the story of Izanami and Izanagi has a twist that is remarkably similar to the tale of Orpheus. After Izanami was tragically killed, Izanagi went to the Underworld to find her. He succeeded, but he was warned not to look at her until they got back to the world of light. Needless to say, Izanagi failed to do so. He looked at her and saw that her time in the Underworld had corrupted her and turned her into a grotesque creature. He promptly abandoned her, and she became the proverbial woman scorned...doing all kinds of evil things to mankind and other deities after that.)(I seem to have digressed a bit...) The mountain has long had an important place in the Japanese heart and has appeared in art and literature at least since the early 8th century.

Most people that climb the mountain start their trek at the famous, centuries-old Tsukuba Shrine and take the path that starts there. We didn't. Instead, we went to the Tsutsujigaoka Parking Area, a tolled parking lot and amusement complex on one of the mountain's flanks. Taking the path from Tsutsujigaoka instead of the Shrine adds a bit more lateral distance but cuts the climb nearly in half.



This is the view from our bus looking toward the trail entrance. A group of people can be seen climbing the first (and easiest) stairway. The main peak of the mountain, which is to the upper left, is obscured by clouds. Also on the left is the Ropeway, which provides a much easier alternative route to the top.



Here's a view of the Ropeway station and a clearer view of the ropeway itself. We didn't take it.



Here we are beginning our trek. (The girl on the right foreground is my daughter. Don't ask me what the deal is with the chicken!) It started out easy enough, with lots of shallow steps. We gained altitude fast.



Soon we were looking down on the Tsutsujigaoka Parking Area from above.



For a while it was fairly smooth going up the slope. It wasn't long before things changed, and we were clambering over broken boulders, roots, mud, dead bodies (Okay, I'm joking)... Anyway, things started getting positively eerie once we got off the flank ridge and onto the main peak itself.



Take this, for example. It looks like the kids are heading into a tunnel, right? Guess again. (Incidentally, that rope with the hanging tassels is a Shinto ornament indicating a sacred place, i.e. the presence of an important spirit. There are lots of those on the mountain.)



They are, in fact, walking under a precariously-balanced boulder! (There are lots of those on the mountain, too!)



Here's a tiny shrine tucked under a giant boulder of pink granite. It's said that, if children squeeze inside and touch the rock underneath, they'll grow up to be good people. All the kids did so. (I don't think it worked. More on that later.)



There were lots of huge, spooky-looking rocks all over the place.



Take this one, for instance. It's called the "Seated Buddha" because its silhouette is said to look like...well, you figure it out! Actually, though, the scariest rocks were underfoot. Once we got high enough to get into the (very low) cloud layer, things got damp. The dirt parts of the path became mud, which meant our shoes got poorer traction, which meant stepping on the uneven rocks became tricky. There was lots of slipping, but fortunately no falling. Finally, after a couple of hours of climbing...



...the summit of Nyotai ("female body"), which is the higher of the two peaks by six meters. (Hmm...) Anyway, after that hard climb, we were rewarded with a spectacular view...



...of absolutely nothing.



This is the Shinto shrine near the summit. Part of it was recently rebuilt, so it smelled strongly of new hinoki wood. It may be a small shrine, but it gets lots of visitors...



...as shown by all the omikuji fortunes tied to the fence! It is the custom to tie an unfavorable omikuji to a tree branch at a shrine in hope that the shrine deity will help reverse the fortune. There aren't any good branches to use up here, so metal does the job just fine. (At least all those people hope it does!)



Coming back down from the summit, we camped out in a wide clearing at the intersection of four paths right below the shrine. Here we had our picnic lunch...and watched all the people go past. Yes, climbers were out in force. What surprised me was how many of them had professional walking sticks, i.e. they looked like telescoping ski poles. That reminded me of the time, eighteen years ago, when I was taken on a hike to the top of Mt. Bandai in Fukushima Prefecture. I had only just arrived in Japan, and I was shocked when I met up with my climbing partners and found them in wool shirts, wool socks, heavy boots, and lederhosen (I kid you not!) with professional walking sticks! (They were a bit flabbergasted at my polo shirt, cutoffs, high-top sneakers, and homemade, hand-whittled walking stick. Can you say, "Culture shock"? Nice try.)



After lunch I was ready to hike across to Nantai ("male body"), the other peak, and was disappointed to hear that the group was heading back. We were given a choice of hiking or taking the Ropeway. I was all set to hike back down, but my daughter had a fit. Not wanting to hear her beg, I gave in and joined the group taking the Ropeway down. Before boarding the car, however, I decided to be a gaijin with a camera and snap some more shots.



Here's a look across to Nantai, where I didn't go.



This is the big guidemap to the whole Mt. Tsukuba area displayed at the Nyotai Ropeway Station. Does that couple look Japanese to you?



And here's my little girl giving her shy grin with Nantai as a backdrop.

After that we rode the Ropeway back down to the Tsutsujigaoka Parking Area, did some souvenir shopping, had something to drink, and waited. And waited. And froze. And waited. Then those who had hiked down rejoined us, and the kids promptly took off to the amusement center. And the rest of us waited. And waited. And froze. And waited. Finally we boarded the bus and headed for home.

All the while, during the trip, I was thinking how amazed I was at how well behaved the kids were. They were really being at their best during the trip. It was almost spooky how suddenly that changed once we were on our way home. The parents had prepared some activities for the time on the bus for the return trip, but the kids immediately vetoed them, saying they were too sleepy. That was fine with me, because I'd been hoping for some shut-eye, anyway. Well, I got approximately ten minutes of sleep before I was suddenly awakened by screaming. Yes, screaming. Basically, there was one group of four girls and three boys positioned behind me that had apparently gone hard of hearing or something, because they were practically shrieking everything they said...and kept on shrieking for the better part of an hour. (One girl pointed out that I was trying to sleep and was reassured by the others that I was "only pretending". My own comment that the girl was right was soundly ignored.) That only changed when another boy grabbed the bus mike and started singing; the screamers promptly snatched the mike from him (mid-song) and started "singing" (read "yelling in rhythm") themselves. Meanwhile, the girl sitting directly behind me kept repeatedly jumping up and down using my chair back for support, i.e. my chair was constantly moving. I wondered why the teachers weren't doing anything about it, and then it hit me: There were no teachers present on the trip. It was only kids and parents. And all the parents but me were up in the front of the bus pretending none of it was happening. I suggested passing around a garbage bag just before arriving, and the Romper Room bunch in the back handed it back to me with the assurance they had no garbage left. When the bus arrived, they immediately bolted off the bus ahead of everyone else...leaving a mess of discarded gum and candy wrappers all over the seat and floor. Irritated almost to the breaking point, I recommended calling the kids back immediately and making them clean up their mess properly. I was ignored; the mothers quietly cleaned it all up themselves. Why should I be surprised? Stupid kids = stupid parents. (Now, what was it they said about touching that f*****g rock?)

I definitely intend to try climbing Mt. Tsukuba again. Next time maybe I'll go alone.

Very Superstitious...

(funky clav starts playing in the background)

Yes, we're coming into spooky season. The Autumnal Equinox has been crossed, and the balance is tipping toward the forces of winter and darkness (also known as "The Dead"...or "politicians"). Already the climate has changed from being hot and muggy all day and all night to just hot and muggy during the day and chilly at night, making wardrobe selection a far greater challenge (i.e. you actually have to wear clothes at night). The grating cacophony of the cicadas has finally given way to the gentle chirping of my kids fighting over their Nintendo DSes the crickets, which are considered good luck in Japan.

Speaking of luck, as we approach Halloween (which reportedly at least one community in Massachusetts is trying to reschedule for "safety reasons"), that most supernatural of seasons, superstition once again comes to the forefront. Images of black cats, broken mirrors, Sarah Palin, etc., remind us that spiritual powers are coming into full swing.

So what about here in Japan? Are there Japanese superstitions that differ from their Western counterparts? The answer is a very evil-sounding YES! Japan has a wealth of superstitions that date from ancient times (i.e. my students are still hard pressed to remember ANY of them, but anyway...).

• Back in ancient times it seemed like there were lucky and unlucky cycles for just about everything. Back in the Heian Era, often called Japan's golden age, there were even certain directions in which one couldn't go each day without suffering bad luck, or so it was believed. That made travel a tricky affair; you either had to time your trips so that you moved in a lucky direction or take a roundabout route to avoid the cursed direction (which sounds like trying to go somewhere making only left turns, but anyway...). That tradition has long since faded to zero, as well as the lucky times for eating certain foods, playing music in certain keys, or wearing one's clothing a certain way, but there are still lucky and unlucky days marked on the calendar. Major events are almost always timed so that they appear on a "taian" (大安 - means "great security") day, which is luckiest. "Butsumetsu" (仏滅 - means "Buddha's death") days, on the other hand, are strictly avoided.
• Speaking of death, there are many superstitions based on funeral traditions. For example, one never embeds his chopsticks in his rice fully upright. (That's a rite for the dead.) One never folds his garment right-over-left. (That's only done on the body of a deceased.) Two people should never hold the same piece of food with their chopsticks at the same time or hand something chopsticks-to-chopsticks directly. (That's only done after a funeral, when two people together pick up a single bone fragment of the deceased with chopsticks and place it in the burial urn. See my post on my mother-in-law's funeral.) When eating, one should keep his rice on the left and his soup on the right. (The opposite is apparently another funeral tradition, or so I'm told.)
  
• Funerals themselves have superstitions of their own. After a funeral it is customary to avoid taking a direct route home so as to throw off any spirits that might be trying to follow. Also, before entering one's house afterward, one should sprinkle salt over oneself so as to purge any spirits that might be hitching a ride and keep them from getting inside. (Packets of salt for that purpose are always included in the gift bags given to funeral guests.) Some people also sprinkle salt around the front door just in case the spirits try to sneak in on their own.
• Black cats have no significance in Japan, but crows do. In ancient times, crows were believed to be harbingers of death, and the sight of a murder of them (Yes, that's the correct term) gathering outside someone's house was a very bad sign. It was also not good if a crow perched outside someone's window and watched him intently (as seems to happen a lot at Ye Olde Academy whenever I give an exam).
• Life after dark can be a tricky affair. Whistling is out. (It's said to attract snakes and/or ghosts.) So is cutting your toenails. (It's said to attract burglars.)
• As in the West, certain numbers are believed to be unlucky. One of them is 4; one of its readings is "shi" [四], which sounds like the Japanese word for "death" [死]. The other is 9, whose reading "kyu" sounds like Japanese words meaning "suffer" [窮], "enmity" or "evil" [仇], "rot" [朽], as well as "weep" or "grieve" [泣] . (It also sounds like both "father-in-law" [舅] and "rescue" [救], but oh well.)

There are certainly others, but I'll end the list here.

If you think these superstitions sound odd, whoever came up with the idea that finding a four-leaf clover brings good luck, or that you should toss salt over your shoulder if you spill it? I've heard it said that there's a lot of common sense in superstition, but there isn't a whole lot of logic. Now if you'll excuse me, I'd better go light some incense to help prevent my MIL's ghost from haunting the place.

Listening but Not Seeing, pt. II

It was back in February when I first heard that volunteer performers from the Kashima Philharmonic (current motto: "We're still not sure whether we suck or not, but we're trying") were going to be helping out with some sort of art exhibit. At the time I was asked to participate, and I gladly accepted. Then, about a month later, I asked for details and was told unceremoniously that the bill was full, and my services weren't needed after all. I figured that was that and went on with life.

In April I was once again asked to help, but in a totally different capacity. Mr. Ogawa told me that the artist to be featured at the exhibit had written a poem for every one of his works, and that some of them had been put to music. To be specific, there was a collection of tunes, each written by a different composer but still using the artist's poems as lyrics, compiled into a single work for a choir with a piano accompaniment. Someone involved with the upcoming exhibit had requested the Kashima Philharmonic put together a chamber orchestra and perform some of those tunes. Naturally, that meant someone had to arrange them for a chamber orchestra. Naturally, that someone was me.

The tunes were all, well, very typical examples of modern choral music, i.e. lots of bizarre time shifts and very close, often dissonant harmony. It wasn't a simple matter of transcribing the parts as they were; I had to put a lot of thought into it while still staying as close to the originals as possible. As usual, I got totally wrapped up in the project. Paying little heed to such trivial things as my job, I immersed myself in the tunes, tried to get to know them as best I could, even make them a part of myself, and then try to shape them into something of my own.

Looking at the book and the examples of the artist's work it contained, I had a fleeting feeling of familiarity (or was that "a familiar feeling of fleet..." never mind). It seemed I had seen that artist's work before, or at least something very much like it. I didn't pay it much mind, however, for I soon became too engrossed in the music to care.

In the end, however, the arranging didn't take me long at all. There were a little under a dozen tunes in the collection, and I had all of them but one scored and on Mr. Ogawa's desk within two weeks. (Mssr. Maestro was quite astonished, I can tell you!) I never heard anything more about it, though, so I figured the project had quietly dried up.

I'd figured wrong. At the end of the Kashima Philharmonic rehearsal on May 12th I was told that the chamber orchestra was going to try reading through my arrangements, which the members had apparently been practicing individually during the previous week (and which I had virtually forgotten). I was asked if I could hang around and make sure nothing needed fixing. Well, with all the bizarre tone palettes and changing meters (not to mention some very unorthodox musicality), we quickly found something that needed to be fixed: the lack of a conductor. I directed the rehearsal, and after selecting the pieces that would be used at the performance, the konzertmeisterin asked me if I could conduct them regularly. I agreed with some reservations knowing full well it was just another load to try to give time I really didn't have.

There were two performances, the first of which was on Saturday the 24th after my morning of guiding people (and ill-tempered old farts) to the mass choir rehearsal. Real communication was at a premium, and the schedule kept being subject to random changes, but I still managed to get myself over to the Kashima Workers' Culture Hall for the final rehearsal followed by the performance itself. It seemed like a comedy of errors. At least a fifth of the group had never rehearsed the pieces. We started the practice session with a couple of missing members, who came waltzing in (quite out of step with our changing meters) in the middle. And if rehearsal was a confusing joke, the Saturday performance was even worse. We were called to standby backstage only to find that the stage crew had no idea who was doing what where or when. It came down to a, "Well, why don't you let [so and so] go on first, and then we won't have to move the piano," sort of thing. The members of the chamber orchestra went onstage, but no one bothered to set up my director's stand, so I brought it out myself...and was immediately introduced by the announcer as the prelude to our performance, i.e. no time to tune up. The tuning was iffy. The execution was stilted. The conducting was awkward. The playing was tentative. The performance was lackluster. The crowd response was muted. The members of the orchestra were disappointed. The Moody Minstrel was out of the building and in his BLUE RAV4 headed homeward as soon as he could get out of there.

At least we had another chance to redeem ourselves on Sunday the 25th.  Things got off to an awful start (i.e. no one told me our performance had been rescheduled half an hour earlier, so I showed up late...forcing them to reschedule it again).  However, this time the stage was set up properly and the orchestra was able to tune up.  I felt much more in the groove with my conducting, and the players responded well.  It was a much better performance than Saturday's had been, and the audience response reflected it.  We all felt much better afterward.

(When we had returned backstage one of the violinists said, "Now I finally understand these tunes!  Can we perform them again?)

I stayed long enough to hear some of the other performances, and then I thought, hey!  Since I had gone to so much trouble for an art exhibit, the least I could do was see the exhibit, right?  Especially since I had a complimentary ticket!  Well, I did just that.  I left via the stage entrance, went around to the front of the Culture Hall, and went in to find the usual group manning the reception desk and door stations.  (Kashima seems to have its own "inner circle" which is involved with if not in charge of just about every significant event that takes place in the city.  I'm well acquainted with most of them.)  I also found a LOT of people.  I hadn't expected it to be so crowded, but apparently the artist was very popular.  When I finally got to the first group of paintings I understood why, too, because I realized with a shot that I had seen them before.  In fact, I'd had one of the author's books for nearly a decade!

Tomihiro Hoshino was a young and very active P.E. teacher when he broke his neck demonstrating a double somersault to his students and wound up paralyzed from the neck down.  At first depressed and fighting for his life in a hospital, he later came to learn how to write holding a brush in his mouth.  A sequence of events led him to develop an increased appreciation for life, nature, and God, and that led him to start painting.  The rest is history.

The overwhelming majority of his works are essentially illustrated poems, i.e. the words with an accompanying picture.  Most are in an ethereal watercolor, but some are in more vivid media.  His poems are generally of a deeply reflective nature, showing clearly his great love of natural beauty, particularly of flowers.  Some are of a more psychological and/or philosophical bent.  There are also some that reflect his religious beliefs, but always in a subtle rather than "in-your-face" manner, for example:

When I thought life was the most important thing,

Life was naught but misery.

When I realized there was something more important than life,

Life was naught but joy.

(Translation my own.)

One interesting thing about Hoshino's work is that he almost always provides an English translation.  Most of his books, including the one I own, are bilingual.  Even the art exhibit I visited included a placard with a translation for each individual work.  However, I did my best not to look at them.  You see, it is easy to translate the meaning of words between languages, but not the nuance.  You wind up meaning the same thing but saying something different.  Therefore, if you want to grasp the heat of the moment when the author wrote the work, you should read it as he wrote it in his own language.

Besides, even though I hear the translations were all made by native English-speakers, I found the ones I looked at sadly clunky.  The writers just translated the Japanese of the poems into English without any consideration for the feeling or the flow.  It turned beautiful poetry into very awkward and lifeless prose.  Frankly, I don't know why they didn't ask poets to do the transliterations, but that's just my moody minstrel way of thinking.  (But if I were asked...)

I found Hoshino's work very moving, and I thoroughly enjoyed the exhibit even with the crowds and the stuffiness.  I took my time, reading every single poem and enjoying the pictures that went with them.  I also couldn't help but feel a surge of pride knowing that I'd had a part in that exhibit, taking the music for a couple of his poems and making them my own work of art.

Translation:

The things I can do,

Such insignificant things,

But for them

I am grateful.

If I can do them,

They are much greater things.

- Tomihiro Hoshino

(I won't tell you how much I spent at the gift shop...)

Regular, High Octane, or Total Confusion?

Recently I got a letter from the IRS (yes, even here in Japan). Actually, it was good news; it said that I will likely qualify for a tax rebate...even though I haven't had to pay U.S. taxes for almost twenty years! Yes, the letter actually said as much almost in those very words. It's part of the Economic Stimulus Package recently signed by President Bush. (I couldn't help but notice that they also made careful note of that last tidbit in the letter...during Election Season. But anyway...) I mean, it's all well and good for Uncle Sam to be handing some of its dough back to its masses as a way to try to get people to spend more money and, in theory at least, try to stimulate the sagging economy. However, when I hear stories of U.S. troops in Afghanistan and Iraq having to depend on donations for things like soap, blankets, chocolate, and body armor, it seems ridiculous for me to receive a check in the mail in hopes that I'll run out and buy things at American stores when I live in Japan! (Or will there be a stipulation attached that I can only use it at Costco?) That puts a rather interesting burden of conscience on me. Oh, well. You can't blame the government for trying to solve the economic problems.

What's really interesting is that a similar economic stimulus "measure" in the form of a tax cut is now occurring in Japan, only it happened by accident. You see, for the past thirty years a law has been in effect allowing the government effectively to double the standing tax rate on gasoline with all revenue thus generated earmarked for road construction. The ruling "Liberal Democratic Party" (which is really conservative, elitist if not royalist, and fractured) still maintains that that extra funding is needed for at least another decade in order to bring Japan's road system up to par with its needs. However, the last extension of that law was due to expire at the end of the last fiscal year, i.e. on March 31. Moreover, the (liberal) opposition Democratic Party of Japan, which currently controls the Upper House of the Diet, refused to approve a new extension. Their reasons for doing so were:

1. Dropping the extra tax would greatly offset the rising price of gasoline,
2. Reduced gas prices would help the Japanese economy, which is still just coming out of a prolonged recession,
3. A lot of the revenue earmarked for road construction was really going into needless pork projects if not the pockets of corrupt officials anyway,
4. Making Prime Minister Fukuda look like a wimp if not a total loser could force an early election in the more powerful Lower House with the LDP administration on the losing end, giving the (liberal) opposition a greater chance of gaining control of the government.

PM Fukuda wrangled, debated, discussed, lectured, and finally out and out whined, but all in vain. The opposition wouldn't budge on the issue, and the tax increase quietly expired at midnight on March 31.

I know what some of you are probably thinking. The liberal opposition cut taxes? Over the objections of the conservatives?? WHAT??? You'd think it would qualify for an episode of the Twilight Zone. (doo doo doo doo - doo doo doo doo...) However, that was nothing compared with the craziness that followed during the first week of this month.

On one hand, local governments, who had only just finalized their budgets assuming the increased tax would still be in effect, suddenly found themselves entering the new fiscal year facing a nasty revenue shortfall. The government department in charge of building and maintaining the national highway system was told its allotted funds for the following year will maybe wind up billions of dollars less than expected. Meanwhile, many gas stations quickly put up signs saying, "The tax cut does not mean prices will immediately drop," only to see their competitors lower their prices...and wind up with LONG lines of people eager to take advantage of an average reduction of around 20 yen per liter (about 75 cents a gallon at the current exchange rate). Many gas stations decided to avoid either possibility by simply eliminating their price signs completely, meaning customers wouldn't know how much they'd be paying till they pulled up to the pump. The result was a brief but totally insane price war until things finally settled into an equilibrium again based on the new, lower rate.

And to think I'd only just gotten used to the fact that most gas stations here are now automated, vending-machine-style, self-service types! Hey, being from Oregon (where self-service gas is, to my knowledge at least, STILL illegal), I had never pumped my own gas in my life till just a couple of months ago! Now I'm suddenly pumping it a LOT cheaper than before! And! (?)

I can't say that I'm complaining, but I am a bit worried about what local governments and the highway department are going to do with the reduced funds. Are they finally going to tell the bribe-paying construction companies to stuff it, knock off all those nauseating pork projects, and just concentrate on what's really needed? Our survey says: "BAAAAAH!!!!"

Han Kichi pt. I - A Trip from Hell that Leads to Heaven

I mentioned in my New Year post that, for my omikuji (fortune) for 2008, I drew han-kichi, or "half-good fortune". The fine print said that most of my endeavors would end in success, but I'd have to endure a lot of pain and bother getting there.

Well, consider the trip from which I've just returned.

First a little background. Back in October, my wife decided to give us both a special gift for our anniversary. Her favorite mail-order cosmetics supplier (like just about everything here) has a purchase-point program, and she had amassed enough points to get a free gift that was fairly high up on the list. She chose a couple of coupons that would allow the two of us to stay a night at the InterContinental Yokohama The Grand Hotel at a discount. The InterContinental Yokohama The Grand is a massive, uniquely-shaped 5-star hotel located on the Yokohama waterfront very near the Yokohama Cosmoworld amusement park and Yokohama Landmark Tower.

(The InterContinental Yokohama the Grand Hotel is the crescent-shaped building on the left.)

Needless to say, it is a very fancy, high-class hotel. It was likely that it would cost us a pretty penny even with the discount coupons, but it still seemed worth it to celebrate our anniversary. Unfortunately, we were never able to work a stay there into our randomly-changing, eternally-conflicting schedules. First October vanished in a puff of fate. Then November gwugged and faded. December offered us a couple of potentially usable weekends, but our original plan of going as a couple and leaving the kids with the in-laws wound up in the NBL (Not Bloody Likely) category. But then both of those "potentially usable" weekends wound up being hijacked anyway.

Finally came January, along with my birthday, and we were faced with a dilemma. The coupons were only good till the end of March, and neither February nor March seemed even remotely doable. January turned out to be an even bigger scheduling headache than December, but we decided to take the kamikaze approach and go anyway. We each took a little bit of time off on Friday the 11th and planned to come home, grab the kids and our luggage, and shoot off to Yokohama hoping to cover as much ground as possible before the rush-hour crunch. We would then have Friday evening and all day Saturday to play with. First we thought about booking a second room for the kids, giving us our much-needed private time, but after talking to the hotel on the phone we settled on putting an extra bed in a double room and housing the four of us together. It seemed nuts by any standard, but it was very much better than nothing.

On Thursday the 10th my wife informed me that she'd had an attack of conscience and had decided to ask her parents to join us. I think you can guess what my reaction was. Having the kids with us was like having a two-kilogram-weight shackled to one ankle. It was a given that having my in-laws with us as well would be like having a twenty-kilogram weight on the other ankle. You have to understand; after a few disastrous family outings early in our marriage I made it a policy to avoid traveling with the in-laws as much as possible. Still, I could understand where my wife was coming from. She is still terribly worried about her cancer-fighting mother and would rather not cause her parents any more grief than necessary. I decided not to resist. Besides, as my wife pointed out, odds were that her parents would decline our invitation anyway.

They jumped at the chance.

Friday the 11th was the first day of classes at Ye Olde Academy after winter vacation. Most of the day was taken up by tests, so it was an easy workday. It was also brutally stressful (for a number of reasons I obviously can't discuss). When my requested off-time arrived, despite the attempts at dumping extra work on me and the related guilt trips and other psychological games when I declined, I bolted out of there like a BLUE comet and raced home to find...

...that my wife had been delayed due to trouble at her school. She got home more than two hours later than planned and wasn't even packed yet. By the time we finally got ourselves, the kids, and my MIL in my BLUE RAV4 (FIL, who had to attend a funeral, was to travel to Yokohama by train and meet us there) and onto the expressway, the rush-hour crunch was already starting. As it turned out, however, by some miracle, the expressway became jam-packed but kept moving at a decent pace. (I also had plenty of room to weave through traffic...though my poor wife was sometimes scared witless.) We somehow managed to get to the hotel at about the time we had originally planned. FIL hadn't quite arrived yet, so we checked in, dropped off our luggage, and waited for him. Then we headed out in search of dinner. FIL has a strict rule against eating dinner at hotel restaurants (Why else? Because they're too expensive!) so we went over to the nearby Minatomirai complex, which includes the Yokohama Landmark Tower and adjoining Queen's Square and Dockland Gardens shopping centers.

Here was where we began to feel the weight shackled to our ankles. The Minatomirai complex is both cosmopolitan and widely varied. There are lots of different restaurants all over the area representing a variety of classes and countries. Within a five-minute walk you can find fare ranging from Wendy's hamburgers to fancy French cuisine. My wife and I have tried only a couple of places so far (yes, including Wendy's) and have long wanted to check out some more, especially some of the classier ones. Unfortunately, FIL won't go into an eating establishment that costs more than average and refuses to wait more than ten minutes for a table. He also won't eat anywhere that doesn't serve rice. MIL, on the other hand, hates sushi and sashimi, wants her food bland, and gets out of joint if she can't get green tea. We went all over the place listening to the two of them gripe until we finally settled on a soba and udon noodle restaurant deep in the Dockland Gardens (so named because it's built in an old dry-dock, as is virtually the entire Minatomirai complex). That's when the real "fun" began.

To be fair, the food and service at the restaurant were both quite good. I also appreciated being able to drink multiple mugs of ice-cold draft beer without any harassment. However, most of the clientèle there were clearly businessmen just off work, i.e. lots of noisy drunks...and lots of smokers. To make matters worse, someone at the neighboring table was chain-smoking Peace cigarettes, one of the strongest and most pungent types made in Japan. (Yes, I do smoke on occasion, and Peace is one of the brands I sometimes smoke, but I have a problem with people that light up in restaurants, where they're clearly wrecking things for others.) My son whined the whole time about the smoke, and the rest of us tried to get him to cork it while coughing and sneezing ourselves. However, that wasn't the worst problem.

My daughter, aged 11, can sometimes have a bit of a chip on her shoulder. I'm told it's the age. At any rate, when my wife was trying to order her meal, my daughter, who had already ordered, kept grabbing her menu and trying to snatch it out of her hands for some reason. My wife asked her to quit twice, to no avail, and then finally scolded her. That caused my daughter to clam up. She has tended to do that ever since she was three or so. Whenever she gets the slightest scolding or criticism she just sits there weeping, then pretending to be sick, and won't speak or do anything for a long time, sometimes hours. I know from experience that it's nothing but a play for sympathy (which of course has always worked very well with the in-laws), but it usually goes on and on ad nauseum. Her food arrived, and she naturally wouldn't touch it. Pretty much the whole evening was spent attempting to get her to calm down and snap out of it, but in vain. That on top of the yammering, drunk businessmen, the foul air, and my son's non-stop whining just got to be too much. I finally managed to pry everyone out of that restaurant and out into fresher air. We tried to walk around a bit to take in the beautiful night scene there, but my son, who had refused on pain of death to wear a warm coat (because they make him "too hot") started whining that he was freezing, so we went up into the mall complex, where we wound up spending the whole [expletive] time with my in-laws trying to find something my daughter would eat. (Of course, she limped along with a pathetic look on her face and wouldn't touch anything.) That did it. I decided that I'd had enough and declared that I was taking her back home to Namegata that very night as soon as I'd sobered up enough to drive.

I think you can imagine the scene in our hotel room that night. From our tenth-floor window the view of Yokohama's night lights was gorgeous. The room was spacious and comfortable. My daughter lay stiff as a board in one bed feeling very sorry for herself. In another bed my son lay crying both out of worry for his elder sister and sorrow that she and I were going to be leaving. Next to him lay my wife, upset to pain that our long-anticipated and well-intentioned trip had gone straight to hell despite all the effort and money that had gone into it (not to mention other personal issues). Meanwhile, I was lying in the third bed wondering whether there was something seriously wrong with my parenting skills, my DNA, or a combination of the two while wishing I knew an African chocolate plantation owner who was in need of a couple more child slaves. (Yes, I know...that wasn't funny.) Ironically, though, what saved the day in the end was my daughter finally giving up the ploy and eating one of the chocolate muffins my wife had bought. I declared the matter closed. My wife and son had already gone to sleep by then, so I calmed my nerves and my stomach by reading Isaac Asimov's autobiography till I finally felt ready to sleep.

My son was up at the crack of dawn and very much relieved. So was everyone else (when we finally got up), so there were none of the ill feelings of the night before. The in-laws decided to have breakfast by themselves in the hotel's traditional Japanese restaurant, so the rest of us went down to the buffet-style restaurant down on the pier and pigged out on very good, very cosmopolitan fare. (Oink!) That was enjoyable, and with our spirits now lifted a bit, we were well prepared to spend all day having fun in Yokohama. However, we were faced with two new problems:

1. It had gotten colder and started raining.
2. The in-laws, who had originally planned to do their own thing and head home on the train, decided to join us instead. Naturally, FIL insisted we do something that would entertain him, i.e. he didn't want to go anywhere he'd already been. And of course MIL made it clear that she wasn't up to walking much, didn't want to take the train, didn't want to take a cab, didn't really want to get out of bed, etc....
   

We weren't about to accept defeat, however. We stuck with our original plan, which was to take the kids to the Yokohama Doll Museum. There was a decent parking lot there, so I went ahead and drove...cramming the six of us into my wee BLUE RAV4


I know what some of you are probably thinking, but the doll museum is actually kind of interesting. It gives a good cross-section of the history and types of Japanese dolls plus a lot of info on dolls from overseas. It talks about how an exchange of dolls played a significant role in Japan's opening up to the world at the end of the 19th century, mainly through Yokohama. There is a fascinating room that includes representative traditional dolls from most countries of the world (kind of like the "Small, Small World" thing at Disneyland, only less annoying). This time there was also a special exhibit of toy cars, which were a passion of mine when I was little. In fact, I was amazed to look at the display case representing the Matchbox line and realize that I owned almost every single model they had in there! (Actually, I think my parents still have them, too! How much are they worth now, I wonder?) I only had one of the Corgi types they had, though...and my son has only a few of the Tomy Car models on display. It was still fascinating to look at all those metal toy cars from various ages, most from the fifties and sixties, and recall that these were models designed and crafted with pride and later loved to death by children.

My son didn't seem too impressed, though. He is definitely a child of the modern age, and he wants his technology. That's what finally got his attention. In yet another room there was a sort of interactive exhibit of powered toy cars. Actually, it was a competition venue. They had a big, old-style slot car track set up...apparently something that has come back into vogue recently. They also had something I'd never seen before: miniature radio-control cars. I mean, both the cars and the controllers were tiny! The man on duty said they could also be controlled using cell phones! They had a whole race course set up on a single tatami mat, and Taiki was on it in a flash. He was so taken with it that I gave in and got him a car. (Hey, it cost a lot less than those damned Nintendo DS games usually do!)

After that we walked in the freezing mist over to nearby Yamashita Park on the waterfront, but all the attractions there were either shut down, reserved, or due to open an hour later, so we headed over to the nearby Yokohama Marine Tower...to find it closed until further notice. (Apparently it shut a year ago, as the Wikipedia link explains.) We gave up and headed back to the Minatomirai complex. The in-laws decided they wanted to drink green tea (and ONLY green tea), so we went into a famous, high-class tea shop for a break. Then FIL decided he wanted to try something new; specifically, he wanted to check out the 69th floor observation deck of the Landmark Tower. We had never been up there, either, so we decided to go for it...and just told my son to shut up. (He hates high places...and is scared to death of elevators for some reason.)

Wow. The super-fast elevator ride itself is a trip, but the view from up there... Wow. Still, in the end, that wasn't what really did it for us. You see, we found something up there we never would have expected.

One of my all-time favorite TV programs here in Japan, which I rarely get to see anymore because it conflicts with something the rest of the family always wants to watch, is "TV Champions" ("Terebi Champion"). The easiest way to describe it is as a weekly competition between super artisans. Basically, they find the best people they can find in a particular trade, usually an art or craft, and they pit them against each other in a brutally demanding competition. The one thing I don't like about the show is that some of those fantastically talented individuals and their brilliant creations have to lose! I've always been a sucker for hand-made items, especially ones that show great talent and imagination on the part of the creator. This program caters directly to that love of mine.

Anyway, there were two artists up there, a man and a woman, who had both appeared on "TV Champions". The female artist, Azusa Kuwahara, had actually been the second-place finisher. I'd seen that particular contest on TV and remembered it to an extent; it had been for caricature drawing. Both artists have other lines (Azusa is both an illustrator and a model, while the man, Kazufumi Matsubara, makes impressive wall and ceiling murals often designed for black light viewing), but they and some other illustrators apparently formed a professional team called "Chef's" for booking and mutual support. (On the linked site, Azusa's sample collection is at the upper left, while Kazufumi's is to its immediate right.) One of the things they do is appear regularly on the Yokohama Landmark Tower observation deck doing caricature drawing. Needless to say, they're quite good at it, too. I couldn't resist. First I had Azusa draw the two kids. Then, while she was still at it, I had Kazufumi draw me and my wife. Both artists were really interesting individuals, and it was a lot of fun. Since it was a slow work day, i.e. we had been their only customers so far, they really gave us the works. My wife, who had been extremely reluctant at first, was finally so excited by it that she ran and got her parents to come and have their own caricature done. They weren't too sure about it, but they were also very happy with the outcome. As it turned out, we may have helped drum up business for them. A number of people who had come to watch us being drawn wound up having it done themselves. Anyway, the artists were great people, and it was a special honor to meet and have my picture drawn by skilled individuals who had competed...and placed...on "TV Champions"!



Just for fun, here is the picture of my kids drawn by Azusa. I think she captured their personality perfectly!


(Here's a shot of the kids for comparison.)


Here's the picture Kazufumi drew of me and my wife. This, friends, is a classic!

(Actually, the first time I had my caricature drawn by a pro was when I went to Hawaii in my school days. That caricature cost far more than this one and was nowhere near as good!)


I don't have the caricature Azusa drew of the in-laws, but here is a commemorative photo we took with the artist with my MIL holding the caricature. It's brilliant. I might also add that the artist is, well, rather tall... (Kazufumi was drawing someone else behind them at the time and couldn't be in the picture. A pity!)

We were all feeling pretty happy when we finally came down from the observation deck and had a very good, healthy buffet-style lunch. That had pretty much made the whole trip. After that we went back to the Landmark Tower mall, hit the bookstore and the Pokemon store, and then crowded into my BLUE RAV4 for the drive home. It was still rainy, but there was very little traffic, so it was a nice, easy drive home.

Yes, as a trip it was all kind of a pain in the posterior, but I think it was worth it. At the very least it was one to remember.

The Vanishing Culture of Japan? (pt. I)

Culture, like language (or disease), is constantly evolving. Unless it is totally bottled up in its own environment, it is a given that it will be influenced by other civilizations which come into contact with it. Even countries with the strongest sense of ethnic and/or national identity will find themselves adapting if not borrowing outright customs from beyond their borders, and this will lead to some native customs being abandoned in favor of foreign ideas which prove more popular. The result is a change in the host culture.

Darwin called this process "natural selection". Whether you believe in evolution, Intelligent Design or the Flying Spaghetti Monster, it is a very real and observable process, and the clash of civilizations is a very good example.

Culturally speaking, Japan has always been a very resilient country. In his novel "Silence", Japanese author Shusaku Endo describes his native Japan as a "swamp". He says that, no matter what ideas and customs may come in from abroad, they all wind up sinking into the swamp. Rarely is anything imported verbatim. Once a foreign custom or idea is brought in, it winds up becoming something Japanese in the end. Columnists and politicians here in the Land of the Rising Sun are fond of complaining of the Westernization of Japan and the corresponding demise of Japanese culture, but is this really the case? Well, let's look at some fading traditions and draw our own conclusions.

1. Chopsticks



This is a favorite of the local media. It seems that many if not most Japanese children nowadays can't use chopsticks properly. They hold them in all kinds of bizarre ways, often with messy results. Given a choice, most will choose Western-style forks and spoons. Now more and more convenience stores are giving out plastic forks with salads instead of the traditional waribashi (disposable chopsticks) unless specifically asked. Even maps and car navigation systems indicate a restaurant (even a traditional Japanese one) with a symbol of a knife and fork.

However - I actually ran into some trouble when I first came to Japan because the Japanese have their own system of manners regarding use of Western eating utensils. Once when I ate at an American-style restaurant in Kashima I followed the usual pattern of starting with the outermost utensils and working my way in. Apparently that was wrong, because, with a huff, the waitress replaced the knife I'd used with my first course, took away the next one in line on my table, banged it into the dirty dish tray, and said, "Baka ja nai?" ("What an idiot!") I've also noticed that it's the custom here to eat plain rice on the underside of the fork. Actually, though, I don't think chopsticks will disappear completely. They're still what you get if you eat at any traditional Japanese restaurant.

2. Kimono



Back in my high school days I remember watching a Japanese exchange student perform a traditional dance in a lovely kimono. After she was done, she grabbed the microphone and said, "You probably think I dress like this all the time. Wrong. I don't. This dress is really uncomfortable, and I don't like to wear it." Back then I couldn't help but be a bit surprised by her caustic attitude revelation. (Now, thinking about it in retrospect, I'm only surprised by her English ability!) I of course had always harbored an image of Japanese girls as being polite, graceful, and at least sometimes clad in kimonos. Boy, was I mistaken! Yes, kimonos are rather uncomfortable. (No, I've never tried wearing one myself, but I know how tight they pull those obi sashes...and I also know how well kimono don't fit the Westernizing Japanese female figure!) They are also very expensive. At the same time, Japanese women tend to be obsessed with European name-brand clothing anyway, so kimonos just don't enter the picture.

However - while modern Japanese women may not like to wear kimono often, they still take great pride in them. You can often see them parading around in them at festivals or important events like weddings. Also, young women go to a lot of expense and trouble to dress up in special kimono for their "Coming of Age" ceremony. Little girls are also dressed up in kimono for their Shichigosan (7-5-3) celebrations. While we're talking about female dress, I suppose it would also be appropriate to add that clothing fashions here do NOT exactly match those of the countries whose brand names they adore. In fact, when my wife and I visited Burberrys, Liberty, and Laura Ashley shops in London during our honeymoon she was shocked at how "boring" the selections were there compared with those of the same shops back in Japan!

3. "Squatty Potties"



Western-style toilets weren't always easy to find back in the 90s. Many if not most houses as well as the overwhelming majority of public restrooms had the traditional Asian "squatties". Even at Ye Olde Academy there were only three restrooms in the entire, sprawling campus that had sit-down types, and they were all intended for either guests or the principal. Actually, "squatties" aren't as bad as you probably think; many people, including a lot of ex-pats here, believe them to be a more effective way of emptying one's bowels. I also appreciated the fact that you didn't have to worry about pressing your naked cheeks against a freezing-cold seat in winter. However, it's impossible to relax when using them. Medical experts have even gone so far as to claim they present a possibly damaging strain on the legs. At any rate, public opinion seems to be turning against them, and they are rapidly disappearing. Now it seems like most restrooms either offer a choice (like most of them now do at Ye Olde Academy) or have only Western sit-down types.

However - As Western-style toilets have become prevalent, so have the heated toilet seat and the bidet. Now it is even harder to find a simple, unpowered toilet than it is to find a "squatty". Moreover, toilets of any sort in Japan have always been equipped with 2-speed flushing, i.e. "little" (for "number ones") and "big" (for "number twos"). Most Japanese would probably find a single-speed flush toilet hard to understand.

4. Keigo

お客様、こちらへ御覧に成ります。これから御説明致します。

The term "keigo" (敬語) directly translates as "honorific speech". In addition to separate plain and polite forms of the verb, the Japanese language includes a number of unique words, expressions, and even grammar patterns that are used to indicate either respect for someone else or polite self-degradation. Honorific speech can be quite complex. Indeed, it was one of the most difficult parts of my Japanese language study before I came to Japan...

...and discovered that few people actually use it. In fact, most adults here seem not to know it very well at all, and they often use it as a trivia game topic to quiz each other during parties. The overwhelming majority of teens have no concept of it whatsoever. It used to be simple, everyday, common sense etiquette, but now it is virtually a dead language.

However - even though the Japanese people tend not to use keigo very much anymore, their machines certainly do! Withdraw cash from any modern ATM machine, and a soft female voice will probably bathe your ears with some classic polite speech (usually while a doe-eyed cartoon woman bows demurely on the monitor screen). The same is true of a lot of vending machines. Keigo is also what tends to spew from those obnoxious speaker vans and planes that blast political campaign messages during election season. In other words, keigo has become something that is heard but not spoken, but that will help ensure its existence for some time.

5. Kanji

The Chinese written system, known locally as kanji (漢字), was brought into Japan as early as 47 AD(/CE) but didn't come into widespread use until around the 5th century. It has been a problem ever since. True, there are many advantages to using kanji; the fact that it is mainly read for its direct meaning rather than its phonetic pronunciation actually speeds up the reading process (though it makes writing more tedious) and makes misunderstanding less likely. However, the Chinese written system was obviously designed for use with the Chinese language, which is totally different from Japanese. Since compatibility was all but impossible, Japanese priests, scholars, scribes, and nobles adopted the habit of simply writing everything in Chinese but reading them in Japanese. That was more than a little inconvenient, obviously, (Imagine going through life with everything written in Greek but read in English!) , but the practice was maintained for around 500 years. To make things a bit easier, a system of markings was developed to add to the Chinese writing to at least help the reader understand the differing word order. That was still a pain in the butt, of course, so finally female aristocrats in the 10th century got fed up with it all and designed a pure phonetic alphabet which could be used to write Japanese directly. That script is now known as hiragana. It quickly caught on with everyone except the male nobles and Buddhist scholars, who stubbornly went on writing in Chinese (rather like IBM stubbornly sticking with "sophisticated" text-based operating systems even when Apple had proven people like GUI things better) and then invented their own, parallel phonetic script, which is now known as katakana. Eventually the three written systems settled into a sort of uneasy symbiosis, with kanji providing the meaningful components of most words, hiragana indicating the grammar constructions, and katakana spelling out all the foreign stuff.

Perhaps the biggest danger lie in the fact that hiragana was also used for children's writing. In other words, kids learned it first followed by katakana and kanji later. That meant that not only did people retain hiragana easier, but they tended to fall back on it whenever they couldn't remember how to write a particular kanji. Over time, it became more and more common for more difficult kanji to disappear from writing altogether, replaced instead with hiragana as the standard. Even now I'm occasionally told that kanji I learned in college are no longer considered part of everyday written discourse, and my using them makes me sound rather stuffy or bookish. Even worse is the fact that it seems to be an increasing fashion trend for young people , girls in particular, to write ONLY in hiragana...i.e. teens and twains writing like grade school students. They say they do it because it "looks cute", but it has also become a custom in SMS messaging an cell phone e-mails. Kanji has suddenly found itself being dragged closer and closer toward life as a museum exhibit.

However - the Japanese in general still seem to have a lot of pride in kanji, and they consider its knowledge a mark of good character. Even teens who rarely write anything but hiragana outside the classroom occasionally quiz each other on their kanji knowledge. Finding difficult kanji on a sign also arouses intense curiosity more often than not. Also, as I mentioned in a recent post, the Japanese still take great pride in the kanji they use in their names. Yes, kanji may likely fade from general use, but it will never disappear completely.

(To be continued...)