Japanamazing: Miscellany I

This blogger humbly posits that these are lemon-pepper chicken flavored kitkats... Or sesame tofu??

why not?

Master Epic Storyteller Meets Karaoke Ingenue

 I don't feel particularly articulate or coherent at the moment, but the past few days have been so wonderful that I have to write about them, though I have no way to illustrate them with images.

The first highlight? An abomination. Tearing up the town on a Monday night! I didn't do a single scrap of homework during the weekend, and there I was, out 'til midnight. Can you believe that alcohol wasn't involved? The only intoxicant was the presence of our charming new Japanese friend: Yasumori. My roomie and I met Yasumori and his friend Kenji about a week ago, on a Friday night in Shibuya. They were sitting next to Hachiko, smoking and looking bored (but attractive) so we approached them. I opened the conversation with a brilliant pick-up: "Do you like art?" (I know, I know, but I was put on the spot, alright?). Somehow that didn't flounder in awkwardness so we ended up with phone numbers. After a week of texting and failure to make a Saturday night Karaoke date, I invited Yasumori out for Monday night coffee.

A hot cocoa, a little conversation practice---innocent enough for a Monday, right? It could almost be considered homework. However, despite the fact that the conversation was almost entirely in Japanese, the evening somehow spun out of control, into an orgy of fun that included screaming Nirvana lyrics in unison, crooning Beatles ballads, stumbling through a Gaga remix... no wait, I know exactly what happened to my Monday night: ... karaoke!

To our credit we did do about 2 hours of straight up cocoa and conversation---almost entirely in Japanese, and surprisingly fluid. But then we really weren't ready to go home yet, and the karaoke place was right there... And I had never been before! So, it was an important... cultural... experience.

It was a lot like a bowling alley, actually. Everything was made of formica and smelled like stale cigarettes and fried food. It wasn't that gross though---nearly everything's a little cleaner, maybe a little less smelly here in Japan. There was just enough grime to make it nostalgic. Anyway, the complimentary fountain drinks were very bowlingalleyesque. Except somehow classier... So we walked down a narrow hallway---like a cheap motel-- and entered this dark little room that was dominated by a giant tv. And then we belted like broadway. I think I rocked my solo of Sympathy for the Devil, but my roommie and I crashed and burned with our foolish attempt at Blackbird... *shudder.* Yasumori is an A Capella singer, so his solos were really the main attraction. Although, finding out that he knew Smells Like Teen Spirit--just plain wonderful.

So then I could make up my homework between classes on Tuesday afternoon, right? That is, unless I decided to hike across 'the rainbow bridge' instead, once again in the company of a charming new male acquaintance. This time I had no pretenses of productivity: the conversation was entirely in English, with another native English speaker. However, Alan's an art major, so we were able to talk about all sorts of art history things. Great company, amazing vistas. All-in-all I've had worse afternoon excursions.

The art history chatting has been good lately. I spent over an hour yesterday chatting with my (equally endearing) Contemporary Art professor about Yukio Mishima and the aesthetics of nationalism. However, I haven't been back to the Tokyo National Museum yet... but then again, we're going to a contemporary exhibition this Sunday.

As if my day couldn't get better, I saw my first live biwa performance tonight. It was incredible. Sakurai Akiko, a local biwa master, came into our class and performed two iconic heikyoku (songs of the Heike) for us. One of them was the famous opening lines of the epic: "The sound of the gion shoja bells echoes the impermanence of all things..." And the other was the moving climax, in which the child emperor Antoku dies in his grandmother's arms.

It was incredible--a totally different experience in person. Ever since I first heard it, I've loved the haunting, dolorous sound of the satsuma biwa. I'm not sure how to describe it. It is shadows and cobwebs and a cold wind, rendered in sound... It is sparse and astringent, a snapping and twanging accompaniment to a voice that at times growls, at times wails... but then there's so much sweetness and nuance in certain notes, such a range of sounds and textures. But the vocals are really the impetus behind biwa--even more varied and complex than the guitar. It was so moving--it was as though the player was weeping for the souls of the dead as she told their stories. There was a wonderful pathos in her singing--each phrase seems too sonorous and nuanced to be a cry, and yet too potent to be 'song,' as we understand it stateside.

The best part was being able to sit four feet away from the performer and observe the precision and elegance of her technique. She also gave a short lecture about different techniques and illustrated some of the brilliant ways biwa players manipulate the strings to get such evocative sounds.

I guess I could try to condense the biwa approach to storytelling: the voice conveys the emotion while the words tell the story, and the string accompaniment illustrates the story. The performer sings a brief passage, then plays a brief passage of biwa. The biwa playing sounds like whatever the performer just described---a wonderful confluence of onomatopoeia, mood, and rhythm that evokes the scene itself.

Ah, an illustration: youtube has an excerpt from the Kon Ichikawa film Kwaidan, which has a performance of that exact passage set to a stylized reenactment-

 

And another clip-- I think it gives a better sense of the variety of sounds a biwa player might employ, and what it actually looks like.

Fortunately for me, Sakuraisan will play recitals in Ueno Park 3 saturdays this month--free recitals, part of the ume blossom celebration. I cannot wait to participate in my first flower-viewing festival, and to hear her play again.

Engrish Report III

 A handbag:

"On The Rord Again"

I think they should make a song out of it.

On a large shopping bag:

"You gave all these gentleness of me and strength
STRONG CHILD TREASURE
CUTE KID GOOD CHILD
your word is like magic.
GENTLE CHILD
SPLEASE PRAISE ME."

Needless to say, the 'splease' is sic.

On a haute coutoure ad:

"Lingerie is Love-Jewelry"

I'm not even sure what to do with that one...

A type of candy:

"Crunky Ball Nude"

Ironically, they kind of look like gonads.

2 gems from the pizzeria where I ate in Shinjuku last weekend:

"sake is the best of all"

and, the HOLY GRAIL of all engrish:

a poster of a frog in a glass that says:

"ENGRAND"

That's where I'm going on my next vacation.

And oh @#$% a @#$%ing KAPPA!

Note from the Blogger

Pictures are really difficult to format on this blog. For some reason I'm really picky about that. So it bugs me.

AND NOW YOU KNOW. (+_+)

Escape to Kamakura

Ever since I found out I would be in Tokyo, I have planned to spend most of my weekends in Kamakura. Yet my glitzy new social life and the excitement of the city have kept me in the entertainment districts for nearly a month now. For a couple of weeks I resolved to go to Kamakura today, and by god, I did. And was very surprised to find it only took 45 minutes to get there. If it weren't for the expense (maybe $16 round-trip?), I would be there every day! 

There are many things to see and do in Kamakura, but today was just about personal sanity--I had to get out of the city and do some hiking. So I had planned to just walk the Ten-en trail that winds around the hills above Kenchoji. But of course, Engakuji is right there at the Kita Kamakura station, so I couldn't help stopping there first. 

The winter sun hangs low over Japan, so when I reached Kita Kamakura at 2pm, its gradual descent had already begun. Half of me felt edgy about being caught on the trails in the dark; The other half was delighted that everything is transformed by 'the golden hour,' and I happened to have 3.

I wandered through Engakuji, simply experiencing the place. I didn't bother to identify the various buildings or their historical context--I left my inner-academician at home. The ume blossoms were lovely--Engakuji has many. Certain things from Dr. Harper's art history lectures did strike me, and it was very powerful, experiencing them in person: the indigenous Japanese layout--meandering, asymmetrical, intuitive; the easy mixture of decorative Chinese architecture and austere indigenous styles; the amazing little accidents of nature celebrated everywhere... I love the masonry that lines the walkways. It was a wonderful contrast to the reconstructed masonry I saw at the Imperial Palace on sunday. Those straight, solid walls communicated power and force, but at Engakuji, straight rows of square rock give way to random thrusts of twisting cliffside, and groping roots cling to every crack.

Accidents of nature rock my socks off. And yes, that is a money mushroom.

One of the highlights of Engakuji was a venerable old ume tree, bent over like an elderly rice-farmer, its trunk so cracked and broken as to appear hollow; it completely depended upon the supports that had been carefully constructed around it. However, at the end of this tortured trunk there bloomed a sparse crop of ume blossoms, lovely in their scarcity. That is the kind of tree Zenchiku described as the pinnacle of reticent beauty: "after enduring years of rain, dew, wind, and snow, [it] puts forth only a few scattered blossoms."

 

As I was leaving Engakuji, aware of the waning light, I noticed a group of people dressed in traditional Japanese clothing. I wandered toward the subtemple and found that they were practicing traditional archery. It was like dance: precise, slow, grueling, elegant... A man in his sixties raised his loaded bow above his head and slowly brought it down to his chest; even more slowly, he drew back the bowstring, his arm visibly shaking with the effort. When he finally loosed the arrow, it whizzed swiftly to the target. It was mesmerizing to watch. The golden light hit their white garments in just such a way... I so wanted to keep this image. It took a few minutes, but I psyched myself up to approach one of the instructors and ask if I could take a photograph. She smiled and said it was fine, so I took a few.

A cheerful middle-aged man was working the gift-shop counter. We bantered a little, and he told me about his visit to Los Angeles 20 years prior. Everyone in Kamakura was friendly. Tokyoites are amazingly friendly for city folk, but a small town like Kamakura can't be beaten.

 After Engakuji, I walked past a little studio with a wall covered by postcards and prints of cats. The cats were rendered in various colorful pop-art styles. A little tabby--one of the models, I later learned--slunk away as I approached. A kind, joyful looking man was crouched out front, watering some potted plants. "Is this [uncle's] art?" I asked him. He smiled and nodded. I explained my course of study in Tokyo, and we struck up a fun conversation. He showed me one of the postcards that included all five of the cats depicted in his work. They all live there with him; he told me each of their names. They were all adorable, but I only remember three of them: Gohan (rice), Meron (melon), and Mikan (clementine/satsuma). I bought one of his postcards and got his meishi (business card). I'm gonna post a link to his website, however, a lot of the art I saw at his shop is much better than the stuff he has uploaded here:

http://www1.kamakuranet.ne.jp/nekonohako/index.html

I walked past a Murasaki Imo Sofuto stand--they sell Kamakura's famed purple potato ice cream (!)--but I was short on change and decided to save that experience for later. Then I entered Kenchoji. I ended up cutting through most of it, though I did enjoy a glance at the architecture, and on my way back down, I heard an evening service being chanted, which was lovely. I made my way up several flights of stairs to the highest point in the complex; high-school baseball players sprinted past me, panting and groaning. Lions and strange bird-faced guardians grimaced at all newcomers. In front of the highest sub-temple sits an observation deck, and there I found the baseball boys convalescing on benches. I was awed when I looked back and saw the whole of Kamakura laid out before me, and the ocean beyond. Oddly, It was my first time seeing the water since my flight into Narita, though I live about 30 minutes (walking-distance) from the bay.

That's where the trail began-- the Ten-en 'Haikingu Kosu' (Hiking Course ^_^)--and it went straight upward--another two flights of stairs, and an even better observation deck. I could see about forty-five minutes between the sun and the sea, so I picked up my pace. From there the trail was often flat, though sometimes I had to scale surprisingly steep rocks with both hands. One particularly precipitous passage had a helpful knotted rope attached to it.

The terrifying part? Several people passed me as I panted asthmatic, with a calm and composed 'konnichiwa!' ...and most of them were at least 60 years old. I had actually read about this curious phenomenon-- the septuagenarian domination of the sport of hiking in Japan. Apparently it is unique among the world's countries: few nations have such active seniors. Still, nothing can prepare you for the mortifying moment when someone more than three times your age leaves you in the dust.

The trails were lovely. At first I found myself in a tunnel of dense bamboo, but after that it was standard forest, golden light streaming through bare deciduous branches. Among their snaky roots were nestled dozens of caves and niches, some of them a foot tall, some of them big enough to walk into. Many of these hosted little buddhas, bodhisattvas, and images of teachers. Spent incense sticks stood in little glass cups at their feet. One magnificent near-life-size statue of a teacher sat serenely at the top of a steep rock formation, framed by fluttering white prayer flags. Ancient kanji carved in the cliffside had become nearly illegible with age.

Periodically I would reach a small clearing, and once again Kamakura--clear to the sea--lay golden before me. The camaraderie of hikers is even greater than that of morning people--everyone I passed greeted me with a hearty 'konnichiwa!' Broad, dark hawks swooped overhead, crying out into the evening, and occasionally I'd be startled by the ominous and sudden WARRA! of a crow overhead.

Elated by my surroundings, I clearly saw what the theme of the entire day had been-- a recurring thought: this is the Japan I came to see. This is the Japan I was looking for. For the past few weeks, I've dressed well and made an effort to be very outgoing. I've even gone out on the town and partied (a little). Free to try on a new identity, and without any intense academic workload to tether me to my old one, I definitely experimented. But today as I was hiking, it suddenly seemed very clear: I have flirted with Shinjuku, Shibuya, and Minato--clothes, makeup, and getting phone numbers from random (but charming!) Japanese college boys. But days like the one I had today in Kamakura--they're the reason I'm here, and I won't let go of that.

Little did I know that the high-points of my day had yet to come. When I reluctantly doubled back to the observation deck at the trail head, the sun was finally about to touch the sea. It hovered in the haze like a giant, bright, pink-gold peach. Below it the sea glowed, a flat strip of light. It was like living and breathing inside an 18th-century gold-leaf byobu. The orange of the sky was fading, and a light blue mist hung over the city below.

Sunsets are hard to capture, but I tried. Basically, it was like this except cooler.

An old man walked up beside me. He grinned and asked me where I was from. I told him, and he made a gesture like he'd been hit by a truck ("Uwa!"). From then on I was drawn into a wonderfully animated conversation with this eccentric ojiisan, which lasted the entire walk back to Kita-Kamakura station. I guess another one of those universals is elderly people thrilled to spend a few minutes not being ignored. In any case, he spoke slowly and clearly (or 'normally and comprehensibly' to my ear, but I guess that's why I'm a gaijin) and so we sustained a shockingly fluent conversation.

It was wonderful practice. Maybe I was on a roll, or maybe I just knew he'd be patient with me so I was less flustered, but I must have used every grammatical construction I've learned over the past 3 semesters. We talked about all sorts of things. He told me he was out walking for his health, because he has diabetes. He also told me about a trip he once took to San Francisco, and about seeing the Golden Gate Bridge. He laughed when I told him that in LA, a distance that takes 30 minutes by car requires 2 hours by bus ("Don't you have trains there?"). He even asked me if LA was scary (making a pantomime of a handgun--he's the second person here to associate LA with such a gesture). We talked about various Japanese foods I have yet to try--he was surprised to learn that I, [gaijin], 'can' eat sushi ("taberaremasuka?! Uwa!"). But he also seemed surprised that I had never eaten eel. Go figure. He also told me he actually doesn't like Murasaki Imo Sofuto, though he's lived in Kamakura his whole life.

He was curious to know what Americans think of Japanese culture. It was hard for me to describe in broad strokes, so I decided to focus on a positive specific: how American kids love Japanese anime. He thought this was pretty amusing. It led to a detailed conversation about our favorite Miyazaki movies (yes, even Ojiisan loves Miyazaki!), which led to the shocking revelation that I am actually familiar with some of the iconic Japanese films that came out when he was my age ("Mizoguchi wo shteiru?! Ozumo?!!"). That was a wonderful affirmation. It's actually the first time I've talked about movies with a Japanese person old enough to recognize my favorite art films from the 50s and 60s.

When I reached the train station we went our separate ways, but I sure hope I run into him again--after all, Kamakura's a small place.

Here are some more pictures of Engakuji:

Engrish Report II

A loofa with a suggestive silhouette scrubbing herself (suggestively):

"It enjoys the girl at sweet time"

I also walked past an old dude (60's?) wearing a white hoodie (street cred in itself--esp. in Japan) with these words written in rainbow letters on the back:

"I will try hard if you will allow me a short vacation."

I should probably explain the hilarity of this injoke: in japan, when someone is intimidated by an endeavor or even just happens to be doing something difficult you say "gambatte!" The literal translation is, "try hard!" Teachers and superiors will also often say this to students/employees. When a professor hands you a test, this is what they say. So in Japanese terms, this old dude is stickin' it to The Man. Hat-tipping is necessary.

Engrish Report I

Two gems from the cover of my composition notebook (which I bought, 3 for a dollar, at a hyakuen shop):

"It is our hope that this item will become your good friend and help to make your life enjoyable all the time."

I thought this was a pretty generous expectation for 30 cents. But the copywriter covered his/her tracks:

"The benefit of this notebook is up to the sense that comes from your passion."

... so I suppose my passion will dictate the bounds of our friendship. As of right now? I wouldn't call us 'passionate' quite yet, but my notebooks and I have a decent working relationship. And at the moment my life is enjoyable, nearly all the time. So maybe there's something to it. (^_-)

Another good T-shirt:

"Come back, apple!" (surrounded by bouncing apple motif)