Nothing says Japan louder than flavored Kit Kats. Soy, green tea, cheese cake, cherry blossom, vinegar, melon and only 69 calories per mini bar. Nestle Japan produces nearly 100 types of KitKats, many limited edition for seasonal occasions. Every Wednesday I used to lay out Kit Kats on a tray beneath the envelope in which the English Conversation ladies placed their coffee money. "Kit Kat sounds like a phrase in nihongo that means 'you shall succeed'," tomodachi san told me. "This is why students like to eat KitKats at exam time." Any excuse to eat KitKats will do.
This explains why upon turning in my gaijin card to an Immigration officer wearing a white mask, I decided to reward myself with the most exotic KitKat at Narita Airport. Within 10 minutes I chose wasabi (Japanese horse radish). What works for sushi might work with chocolate, and certainly the box was pretty. And why not throw in a lemon flavored pack as well? Treasure in hand, I boarded. "My name is Steve, drink?" offered the flight attendant with a tray of sparkling wine. "What's wrong, you want orange juice?" he asked when I hesitated. Ten hours into the flight I requested coffee. "I'd have to make a new pot," was the Yankee response. Wakarimashita (I see).
At Narita the Airport Limosine Bus runs on a schedule with assigned seats, no tipping allowed with attendants who bow as the bus pulls out. At JFK the Manhattan Express runs haphazardly. "Wait five minutes" I was told. A bus marked Manhattan Express pulled up in five minutes: "Not that one-- the next one." So desu ne, a bus marked Parking Lots was actually the Manhattan Express. A Japanese couple followed me on board; the husband nervously gobbled an onigiri (rice ball with savory filling). The bus was plastered with signs: "Tips Welcome." At Grand Central Station a bus employee announced, "The bus driver will be pleased to accept your tip." Along 42nd Street a chauffeur waiting for his client called out to me, "Hey, honey, how you doin'?" Good question.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Tata Takanawa
Downhill from the Manor at Nino Hashi (Second Bridge) how convenient to catch the No. 96 bus. Swipe your pasmo (travel pass) and in 15 minutes you are delivered within a block of the Tokyo American Club. Preschool students in blue-and-white checkered uniforms fill the front seats with their mothers, smart in navy; as they alight in Takanawa Ichome by the large supa (supermarket) the boys shout in gratitude to the driver ("arigatou gozaimashita"). Off the bus rolls, past the final resting place of the 47 Ronin (samurai without a daimyo) to Shinagawa Eki (think: Penn Station) where most passengers hop off. Next stop is ours Gotenyama Koban Mae (police box) with its daily report on display of train accidents--casualities in black ink (over 100), fatalities in red (1 or 2).
A final cappuccino "without cinnamon please" on the third floor of TAC (aka the Tokyo American Club) with Mme G. After three years of weekly meetings to exercise body and mind with the study of shodo (calligraphy) under the indulgent eye of Nakamura-sensei, both of us are packing. Our families landed within weeks of each other, and now we shall take off in the same month. Ages ago in London I first heard of TAC from Hiromi, who rhapsodized about the camaraderie it promoted. Like a campus under one roof it offers classes and entertainment, as well as dodgy institutional food. Within months I was sitting on committees and working on policy until Mme G reminded me that we ought to be taking advantage of the cultural programs.
"TAC is an island," observed another tomodachi-san who has been a member for 20-odd years. While she has never lived in the US, she has a taste for things American; her craving is satisfied by regular visits to TAC since she would never dream of leaving her family home. For gaijin struggling with nihongo on a daily basis, what a relief to have an English-speaking retreat complete with books and magazines that are as expensive here as Tiffany bracelets. This melange of native and foreign folks make a point of visiting this island within an island, which has temporarily moved out of its home in Roppongi during a major renovation. Nowadays American members are thin on the ground, and some joke that the A in TAC could be deleted. Refurbished TAC reopens in January 2011 when the wrecking ball demolishes this interim building. As Mme G and I got up, the server grabbed my hand to wish me well. "Kyotskete kudasai (take care), kyotskete." Dropping a thank you note in the Tell TAC box naming many of the people who made this island special, I walked out into the humid afternoon and Mme G dropped me at the Narita express.
A final cappuccino "without cinnamon please" on the third floor of TAC (aka the Tokyo American Club) with Mme G. After three years of weekly meetings to exercise body and mind with the study of shodo (calligraphy) under the indulgent eye of Nakamura-sensei, both of us are packing. Our families landed within weeks of each other, and now we shall take off in the same month. Ages ago in London I first heard of TAC from Hiromi, who rhapsodized about the camaraderie it promoted. Like a campus under one roof it offers classes and entertainment, as well as dodgy institutional food. Within months I was sitting on committees and working on policy until Mme G reminded me that we ought to be taking advantage of the cultural programs.
"TAC is an island," observed another tomodachi-san who has been a member for 20-odd years. While she has never lived in the US, she has a taste for things American; her craving is satisfied by regular visits to TAC since she would never dream of leaving her family home. For gaijin struggling with nihongo on a daily basis, what a relief to have an English-speaking retreat complete with books and magazines that are as expensive here as Tiffany bracelets. This melange of native and foreign folks make a point of visiting this island within an island, which has temporarily moved out of its home in Roppongi during a major renovation. Nowadays American members are thin on the ground, and some joke that the A in TAC could be deleted. Refurbished TAC reopens in January 2011 when the wrecking ball demolishes this interim building. As Mme G and I got up, the server grabbed my hand to wish me well. "Kyotskete kudasai (take care), kyotskete." Dropping a thank you note in the Tell TAC box naming many of the people who made this island special, I walked out into the humid afternoon and Mme G dropped me at the Narita express.
Monday, July 19, 2010
The Last Supper: Okonomiyaki
Pizza is to New York as okonomiyaki is to Tokyo. Fry (yaki) batter made of flour, yam, eggs and cabbage, like an omelette add to it "whatever you like" (okonomi). After grilling the batter on a teppan (hot plate) the chef decorates it Jackson Pollock style with squizzles of mayo. "Shall we have okonomiyaki?" asked tomodachi san about my final dinner in Tokyo. Hai! Off we go to the sixth floor of Bic Camera, the discount electronics mega store by Tokyo Eki. Shujin (husband) considers it the ichiban (top) okonomiyaki place in town. "You have to get there early," he advised.
Windowless Bic Camera is full of temptations, offering every gadget under fluorescent light desired by Edoko; as a former depato eateries are located on the top level. While the Thai joint is half empty, Chibo is already busy. "How about the counter?" tomodachi posed. To start she ordered (healthy) tofu salad, and then we shared a series of pies (plain and sea food). Oishkata!(Yum) Ices for dessert, with cups of kocha (tea). A whispered remark in tomodachi's ear; so desu, a queue has formed. Strolling through Tokyo International Forum, three tomodachis wend our way to the Four Seasons where the staff greets me by name. How do they all recognize me?
On the seventh floor of the hotel we peeped into the bar, and were surprised to find that the Business Centre consists of one sole computer in this land of texting. Back on the street the queue of taxis extended for a mile; the financial crisis has caused many jobless Edoko to become cab drivers. "Such a strange month for you," tomodachi pointed out. One sayonara party was organized by a woman with acute laryngitis forced to communicate in writing; another by someone who arrived after the last sushi was swallowed. How many nihonjin have crossed my path in three and a half years! With promises to meet in New York, we exchanged sayonaras under the bright lights of Tokyo International Forum.
Windowless Bic Camera is full of temptations, offering every gadget under fluorescent light desired by Edoko; as a former depato eateries are located on the top level. While the Thai joint is half empty, Chibo is already busy. "How about the counter?" tomodachi posed. To start she ordered (healthy) tofu salad, and then we shared a series of pies (plain and sea food). Oishkata!(Yum) Ices for dessert, with cups of kocha (tea). A whispered remark in tomodachi's ear; so desu, a queue has formed. Strolling through Tokyo International Forum, three tomodachis wend our way to the Four Seasons where the staff greets me by name. How do they all recognize me?
On the seventh floor of the hotel we peeped into the bar, and were surprised to find that the Business Centre consists of one sole computer in this land of texting. Back on the street the queue of taxis extended for a mile; the financial crisis has caused many jobless Edoko to become cab drivers. "Such a strange month for you," tomodachi pointed out. One sayonara party was organized by a woman with acute laryngitis forced to communicate in writing; another by someone who arrived after the last sushi was swallowed. How many nihonjin have crossed my path in three and a half years! With promises to meet in New York, we exchanged sayonaras under the bright lights of Tokyo International Forum.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Harajuku Girls and Hokusai Woodcuts
Passing the "Harajuku girls" in their Bo-Peep outfits, I wedged out of the Yamanote (Circle Line) en route to the Ota Museum. Indulging in cosplay (costume play), the teens who congregate here bring to life popular manga (cartoon)characters. Strangely, their outfits appear much less exotic than the kimono clad women mincing in geta (wooden sandals) to nearby Meiji Jingu (Meiji Shrine). Through the torii (archway) along the winding graveled road to the Shinto shrine, past gardeners sweeping up leaves with twig brooms, past a city block wide display of sake barrels donated to the resident priests. For Y 500 I stopped at the garden, admiring the pond with its herd of koi and stroked the water in historic Kiyomasa's well. At the altar I observed Yakuyoke (Driving Away Evil), a prayer performed for men aged 25 or 42 to the beat of a taiko drum. When Emperor Meiji chose this sacred site in the 19th c it was an open field; still enshrouded by a serene 175 acre forest, visitors toss coins into the prayer box at the wooden altar and then cross the street to worship at the Louis Vuitton flagship on the Omotesando.
Two blocks away I made a beeline to the intimate Ota Museum, which specializes in ukiyo-e (woodcuts or "pictures of a floating world"). Like posters, this mass produced art was affordable and subjects capture the streets of old Edo. The current show celebrates the 250th anniversary of Hokusai, the master of this art form. For a mere Y 1000 the visitor may view his iconic "Thirty Six Views of Fuji." Remove shoes, onegai: slippers are provided for shuffling through the hushed gallery. Interesting to find that an earlier artist depicted Fuji in all its moods, yet Hokusai won the acclaim. Of his five children his youngest daughter, Oi, specialized in drawing nihonjin beauties and was considered better at this subject than her father. Hokusai produced his most important work in his 60s, and his influence reached West to inspire Van Gogh.
Since the year 660 AD native hikers have climbed Fuji-san, the tallest mountain in nihon, only one hour by car west of Tokyo. About 200,000 hardy souls make the trek every year in the hiking season, which opens in July. Around New Year's the mountain is visible on a clear day, yet magically disappears during the rest of the year. In 1860 the first gaijin made the climb and in July 2010 musume (daughter) completed this challenge with a doitsejin (German) classmate, walking through the night to watch the sunrise. As the saying goes: A fool does not cliimb Fuji san once, while only a fool climbs her twice. After making a quick purchase at the modest museum shop, I headed back to Chiyoda to meet tomodachi for okonomiyaki.
Two blocks away I made a beeline to the intimate Ota Museum, which specializes in ukiyo-e (woodcuts or "pictures of a floating world"). Like posters, this mass produced art was affordable and subjects capture the streets of old Edo. The current show celebrates the 250th anniversary of Hokusai, the master of this art form. For a mere Y 1000 the visitor may view his iconic "Thirty Six Views of Fuji." Remove shoes, onegai: slippers are provided for shuffling through the hushed gallery. Interesting to find that an earlier artist depicted Fuji in all its moods, yet Hokusai won the acclaim. Of his five children his youngest daughter, Oi, specialized in drawing nihonjin beauties and was considered better at this subject than her father. Hokusai produced his most important work in his 60s, and his influence reached West to inspire Van Gogh.
Since the year 660 AD native hikers have climbed Fuji-san, the tallest mountain in nihon, only one hour by car west of Tokyo. About 200,000 hardy souls make the trek every year in the hiking season, which opens in July. Around New Year's the mountain is visible on a clear day, yet magically disappears during the rest of the year. In 1860 the first gaijin made the climb and in July 2010 musume (daughter) completed this challenge with a doitsejin (German) classmate, walking through the night to watch the sunrise. As the saying goes: A fool does not cliimb Fuji san once, while only a fool climbs her twice. After making a quick purchase at the modest museum shop, I headed back to Chiyoda to meet tomodachi for okonomiyaki.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Konnichiwa Four Seasons Marunouchi
"Welcome, Mrs. B," the doorlady bowed and greeted me by name in perfect English at the Four Seasons Marunouchi, a sleek low building between Tokyo Station (think: Paddington) and Ginza (think: Oxford Circus). Hai, this neko (cat) friendly hotel recognizes a neko owner on sight. Are we the only guests here, this welcome made me wonder. (Sumimassen, a few other gaijin appeared later.) A cage large enough to accommodate a leopard graced a corner of the well appointed room, complete with food, bowls and the pee pads so popular among the lapdog set. Suki-chan made a graceful entrance, curling up in the obedient manner of Japanese pets. Tokyo dog grooming parlors never cease to amuse as furry, slutty clients allow themselves to be publicly rubbed and scrubbed.
Decamping from the Manor means moving into a hotel for a brief stay, which allows for exploring Chiyoda, the part of town within sight of the Imperial Palace. For nearly a century Tokyo Eki has served as commuter central, and despite the firebombing of 1945 service has continued uninterrupted. Currently the east wing is undergoing a major facelift behind a white facade that will be removed in time to celebrate its centennial in 2013. On the other side of the tracks 10 minutes by foot leads to Muji Riushi; all chain stores including this fashionable no-label brand slash prices in July. A nice selection of lightweight cardigans fits gaijin shapes at a deep discount. Sugoi!
NHK evening news covered the stabbing death in Osaka of a 15 year old grandson by his irate 66 year old obaasan (granny) who allegedly was not happy with his test results. Next a report on the sumo scandal; wrestlers have been gambling and must make a collective bow of apology. Nihonjin viewers prefer baseball and golf nowadays, perhaps due to the fact that sumo yokozuno (champions) are gaijin. Finally, the news turns to politics: Prime Minister Kan ("Yes we Kan") remains in place, the sixth prime minister in the four years of our residence, but his party has lost seats in the upper house. Popularity is growing for Renho Murata, the half Taiwanese 42 year old Minister for Administrative Reform who could potentially be the first woman candidate for PM. Tomorrow's plan is a final visit to Harajuku, 25 minutes from the Four Seasons via the Yamanote (Circle Line), for a visit to Hokusai exhibit at the Ota Museum.
Decamping from the Manor means moving into a hotel for a brief stay, which allows for exploring Chiyoda, the part of town within sight of the Imperial Palace. For nearly a century Tokyo Eki has served as commuter central, and despite the firebombing of 1945 service has continued uninterrupted. Currently the east wing is undergoing a major facelift behind a white facade that will be removed in time to celebrate its centennial in 2013. On the other side of the tracks 10 minutes by foot leads to Muji Riushi; all chain stores including this fashionable no-label brand slash prices in July. A nice selection of lightweight cardigans fits gaijin shapes at a deep discount. Sugoi!
NHK evening news covered the stabbing death in Osaka of a 15 year old grandson by his irate 66 year old obaasan (granny) who allegedly was not happy with his test results. Next a report on the sumo scandal; wrestlers have been gambling and must make a collective bow of apology. Nihonjin viewers prefer baseball and golf nowadays, perhaps due to the fact that sumo yokozuno (champions) are gaijin. Finally, the news turns to politics: Prime Minister Kan ("Yes we Kan") remains in place, the sixth prime minister in the four years of our residence, but his party has lost seats in the upper house. Popularity is growing for Renho Murata, the half Taiwanese 42 year old Minister for Administrative Reform who could potentially be the first woman candidate for PM. Tomorrow's plan is a final visit to Harajuku, 25 minutes from the Four Seasons via the Yamanote (Circle Line), for a visit to Hokusai exhibit at the Ota Museum.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Sayonara to the Manor
In a country where recycling is serious business and the market for secondhand goods is limited, unloading used furniture is a challenge. Does it surprise you that Japan is the largest exporter of used cars? Neighbors at the Manor kindly adopted plants, while the Filippina housekeeper was pleased to have Wanda's TV along with the answering machine that spoke nihongo. Bank folks snapped up tables and chairs, which were priced for quick sale. "Please accept my grandmother's fukuro obi," said one shopper in bidding for the flat screen TV. She made an excuse for no longer needing the hand-embroidered sash with built in bag, wrapped in a furoshiki (cloth wrap) and ordered the takubin (delivery service) to carry off the TV.
Double checking how Manor residents bag refuse is the Sanitation Specialist who sorts through the bin bags. Upon first noticing empty cat food tins thanks to Suki-chan, he pulled out his keitai (cell phone): "This is my family." He flicked through photos of three stray cats who adopted him and his wife. A former salaryman, he switched jobs in order to look after his elderly mother. Over time he posted photos of his feline family around the gomi (garbage) room and for three years we exchanged remarks typical of cat people. How gratifying that he accepted the chair with a round seat, perfect for a curled up cat. He promised to email photos of the chair with its new users, we bowed to each other, and exchanged an emotional sayonara.
Resident grandfather, the building manager Okutsu-san, retrieved a camera and nvited us to step outside for a group shot. "Please come back soon," he said, adding that the young man who visits musume (daughter) each week is polite and nice looking. When asked about culture shock in Japan I have observed that it has been an adjustment to live among people who are polite, pretty and punctual. Promising to return a second emotional bow exchanged, time to pack up neko-chan and musume for the move to pet friendly Four Seasons Marunouchi as we contemplate surrendering our gaijin cards. Mata ne (later).
Double checking how Manor residents bag refuse is the Sanitation Specialist who sorts through the bin bags. Upon first noticing empty cat food tins thanks to Suki-chan, he pulled out his keitai (cell phone): "This is my family." He flicked through photos of three stray cats who adopted him and his wife. A former salaryman, he switched jobs in order to look after his elderly mother. Over time he posted photos of his feline family around the gomi (garbage) room and for three years we exchanged remarks typical of cat people. How gratifying that he accepted the chair with a round seat, perfect for a curled up cat. He promised to email photos of the chair with its new users, we bowed to each other, and exchanged an emotional sayonara.
Resident grandfather, the building manager Okutsu-san, retrieved a camera and nvited us to step outside for a group shot. "Please come back soon," he said, adding that the young man who visits musume (daughter) each week is polite and nice looking. When asked about culture shock in Japan I have observed that it has been an adjustment to live among people who are polite, pretty and punctual. Promising to return a second emotional bow exchanged, time to pack up neko-chan and musume for the move to pet friendly Four Seasons Marunouchi as we contemplate surrendering our gaijin cards. Mata ne (later).
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Isamu Noguchi (1904-1988)
Where to find Noguchi lamps in Tokyo? Three years of admiring them and now I can't remember where I saw these 20th century paper lanterns. In 1950 American artist Isamu Noguchi came up with the design combining washi paper, bamboo and wire in response to a commission by the mayor of Gifu. His challenge was to save the paper industry against the invasion of electric lights; his solution was to marry the light bulb to the mulberry bark cover-ups. Rather than traditional shapes, Noguchi's shades are dramatic and asymmetrical like ikebana. Best thing is they fold flat for easy mailing across the world.
Takashimaya Shinjuku offered a bell shaped knock-off in the lighting department, but the real thing must be somewhere in this town. SOS, tomodachis! "Like Kyoto gardens, Noguchi lamp shades are not as popular in this country," pointed out one knowledgeable tomodachi-san who suggested a DIY option, giving new purpose to the practice papers from shodo that I have piled up. Another tomodachi-san sent me a link to Yamagiwa, a design shop in Akihabara. Last time I visited Akihabara, the electronics part of town, was shortly after Oshogatsu (New Years) to have coffee at a Maid Cafe with Senichi-san and visitors G & P. Waitresses dressed as manga characters for the pleasure of customers pose for photos at an additional fee. On the Yamanote Line (Y 130) in 13 minutes I returned to this sleazy, youthful part of town, walked two blocks and entered the Noguchi showroom.
July is sale time in Tokyo and everything in Yamagiwa was 20% off! Akari Light Sculptures sat on the floor and dangled from the ceiling. Making a decision was made easier when the salesman informed me that not every design was available to carry away. Instead of globes, I carried away two boxes of glob-shaped Akari. Back into the downpour that marks the end of tsuyu (rainy season), through the throngs of young men seeking Maid Cafes, in to the shelter of the JR (Japan Rail) I transported my treasures to the Manor.
Takashimaya Shinjuku offered a bell shaped knock-off in the lighting department, but the real thing must be somewhere in this town. SOS, tomodachis! "Like Kyoto gardens, Noguchi lamp shades are not as popular in this country," pointed out one knowledgeable tomodachi-san who suggested a DIY option, giving new purpose to the practice papers from shodo that I have piled up. Another tomodachi-san sent me a link to Yamagiwa, a design shop in Akihabara. Last time I visited Akihabara, the electronics part of town, was shortly after Oshogatsu (New Years) to have coffee at a Maid Cafe with Senichi-san and visitors G & P. Waitresses dressed as manga characters for the pleasure of customers pose for photos at an additional fee. On the Yamanote Line (Y 130) in 13 minutes I returned to this sleazy, youthful part of town, walked two blocks and entered the Noguchi showroom.
July is sale time in Tokyo and everything in Yamagiwa was 20% off! Akari Light Sculptures sat on the floor and dangled from the ceiling. Making a decision was made easier when the salesman informed me that not every design was available to carry away. Instead of globes, I carried away two boxes of glob-shaped Akari. Back into the downpour that marks the end of tsuyu (rainy season), through the throngs of young men seeking Maid Cafes, in to the shelter of the JR (Japan Rail) I transported my treasures to the Manor.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Meet Me at The Darjeeling
"Meet me at Wendy's" used to be the the refrain when meeting someone in Azabu Juban, six minutes by foot from the Manor. With its prime position at the top of Exit 4, everyone knew how to find the hamburger joint in a city where getting lost is a sport. (The Exit is key since warren-like stations have multiple exits that extend for miles.) Wendy's acted as the gateway to the Juban shopping street until the chain quit Japan in 2009; the landmark became an empty storefront until today when The Darjeeling appeared, a tearoom with pricey pastry.
Like Greenwich Village the Juban is dotted with cafes and boutiques. Across from what has become The Darjeeling sits Tully's, the self-proclaimed Starbucks competitor owned by Green Mountain, while Starbucks dominates the next corner. On the same street after the sushi and kimono shops the thirsty person may choose between Koots (green tea chain) or Precious Coffee Moments, an old-fashioned kissaten (coffeeshop) established in 1933. Continuing towards Roppongi Hills (think: Beverly Hills) a second Tully's offers outdoor seating for the many dog owners and smokers. Predictably an artistic nihonjin sporting a blond ponytail and white spectacles parks his electric bike by this Tully's where he holds court in the early evenings.
Always a crowd at the shop selling sembei (Japanese crackers) and temptation at the handbag shop called Asami, which keeps a sale rack of their one-off designs outside on the street. Who can resist a stop at one of the two 100 Yen Shops in the Juban? A supplier of chewing gum, envelopes, cleaning supplies and for Y 200 the clear umbrellas that make navigating the crowded streets easy during rainy season. How times have changed since the Tokugawa shogun ran his horse trading market in the Juban 400 years ago.
Like Greenwich Village the Juban is dotted with cafes and boutiques. Across from what has become The Darjeeling sits Tully's, the self-proclaimed Starbucks competitor owned by Green Mountain, while Starbucks dominates the next corner. On the same street after the sushi and kimono shops the thirsty person may choose between Koots (green tea chain) or Precious Coffee Moments, an old-fashioned kissaten (coffeeshop) established in 1933. Continuing towards Roppongi Hills (think: Beverly Hills) a second Tully's offers outdoor seating for the many dog owners and smokers. Predictably an artistic nihonjin sporting a blond ponytail and white spectacles parks his electric bike by this Tully's where he holds court in the early evenings.
Always a crowd at the shop selling sembei (Japanese crackers) and temptation at the handbag shop called Asami, which keeps a sale rack of their one-off designs outside on the street. Who can resist a stop at one of the two 100 Yen Shops in the Juban? A supplier of chewing gum, envelopes, cleaning supplies and for Y 200 the clear umbrellas that make navigating the crowded streets easy during rainy season. How times have changed since the Tokugawa shogun ran his horse trading market in the Juban 400 years ago.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Signs of Summer
"Back home the first sign of summer is when we turn off the central heating," said an English neighbor at the Manor. "Here it's when we turn off the Toto." Her reference is to the toilet manufacturer rather than Dorothy's lapdog in Oz. Five years ago when former Tokyoite Liz showed me the Toto line at Gracious Home on Third Avenue I did not anticipate living with one. Now I cannot imagine life without my Toto. At Narita Airport, in Mitsukoshi depato and at every restaurant the electrically warmed Washlet with its panel of sprays and even a blowdryer welcomes all and sundry. A Niagara soundtrack masks unpleasant noises; easy to press that button by mistake when fiddling with the controls.
Second sign of summer is the kasa (umbrella) and higasa (parasol). July is firmly Toto time off as humidity hovers at 90% and downpours swoop down in the late afternoon. Off to Odaiba for the International Book Fair at Tokyo Big Sight via the Yurikamome (blackheaded seagull) line with the crowd. Fully automated the Yurikamome flies across the Rainbow Bridge above Tokyo Bay. No uniformed drivers with white gloves to make announcements on the platform (Go chewy kudasai -- watch your step); instead commuters are treated to a bird's eye view of water traffic.
Final sign of the season is the folding fan (hiogi) invented in nihon in the Heian Era some 1500 years ago. Paper and bamboo are an excellent cooling agent even in these automated days; men and women pack them and freely flutter them. At the Book Fair clever publishers distribute uchiwa, the nonfolding variety of fan that carries a marketing message. What a perfect omiyagi (souvenir) after hours of walking the aisles in the cavernous convention center.
Second sign of summer is the kasa (umbrella) and higasa (parasol). July is firmly Toto time off as humidity hovers at 90% and downpours swoop down in the late afternoon. Off to Odaiba for the International Book Fair at Tokyo Big Sight via the Yurikamome (blackheaded seagull) line with the crowd. Fully automated the Yurikamome flies across the Rainbow Bridge above Tokyo Bay. No uniformed drivers with white gloves to make announcements on the platform (Go chewy kudasai -- watch your step); instead commuters are treated to a bird's eye view of water traffic.
Final sign of the season is the folding fan (hiogi) invented in nihon in the Heian Era some 1500 years ago. Paper and bamboo are an excellent cooling agent even in these automated days; men and women pack them and freely flutter them. At the Book Fair clever publishers distribute uchiwa, the nonfolding variety of fan that carries a marketing message. What a perfect omiyagi (souvenir) after hours of walking the aisles in the cavernous convention center.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Zen Pets
Chisai inu (lap dogs) are the accessory of choice for Edoko with long-haired dachshunds leading the pack. In the Juban the dog grooming parlor Candy Jam is as entertaining as a quiz show on NHK; the plate glass window invites passerby to admire the polite pets as they get clipped and blowdried. Of late corgis seem in greater evidence, and one dog owner near the Manor pushes two mini schnauzers in a pram while a third rides in a backpack. As a rule dogs do not touch paw to sidewalk but are transported in tote bags, which is how I got the inspiration to carry Suki-chan in my fashionable Dean & Deluca canvas tote.
Hai time for Suki-chan's visit to the vet. With a recommendation from Cindy-san, our local expert, the appointment was made in nihongo at Athena Dobutsu Byoiin (Animal Hospital). Located behind Tokyo Midtown, a tower visible from the Manor, entailed a one mile taxi ride; the meter starts at Y 710 (about $8) but no tipping of course. To insure timely arrival we printed a map and asked the concierge to write our request on the sheet. Musume (daughter) popped Suki-chan into the tote bag, where she disappeared without a peep. I carried the hardcase plastic carrier in case neko (cat) turned into tora (tiger). After one or two false turns, the taxi driver found the street address and we entered the storefront. Glass walls meant we could watch the other patients: A papillon and a mini-mini poodle, both smaller than our Suki-chan. I tossed the plastic case in a corner while we waited our turn.
What a pleasant surprise: Our tora-chan peeked her nose out of the bag, then snuggled back down like a sweet neko-chan (cat). On her best behavior, she permitted Fukumura sensei to take her vitals, clip her claws and admire her luxurious neko no ke (fur) since local cats are mainly shorthaired with short tails. Back in the bag, she curled up despite the yipping of the Yorkie who followed. Does the tote bag explain the good behavior of pets around town? After settling the bill in cash (about $50), no problem to use takshii nihongo to direct the driver to the Manor. Mission accomplished.
Hai time for Suki-chan's visit to the vet. With a recommendation from Cindy-san, our local expert, the appointment was made in nihongo at Athena Dobutsu Byoiin (Animal Hospital). Located behind Tokyo Midtown, a tower visible from the Manor, entailed a one mile taxi ride; the meter starts at Y 710 (about $8) but no tipping of course. To insure timely arrival we printed a map and asked the concierge to write our request on the sheet. Musume (daughter) popped Suki-chan into the tote bag, where she disappeared without a peep. I carried the hardcase plastic carrier in case neko (cat) turned into tora (tiger). After one or two false turns, the taxi driver found the street address and we entered the storefront. Glass walls meant we could watch the other patients: A papillon and a mini-mini poodle, both smaller than our Suki-chan. I tossed the plastic case in a corner while we waited our turn.
What a pleasant surprise: Our tora-chan peeked her nose out of the bag, then snuggled back down like a sweet neko-chan (cat). On her best behavior, she permitted Fukumura sensei to take her vitals, clip her claws and admire her luxurious neko no ke (fur) since local cats are mainly shorthaired with short tails. Back in the bag, she curled up despite the yipping of the Yorkie who followed. Does the tote bag explain the good behavior of pets around town? After settling the bill in cash (about $50), no problem to use takshii nihongo to direct the driver to the Manor. Mission accomplished.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Bye Bye Buddha
"You've been to Kamakura many times but I haven't been yet," said musume chan (daughter). Most guests at the Manor (you know who you are) were escorted on the journey to the seaside town to pay their respects to Daibutsu (Great Buddha). Thirty miles south of Tokyo, one thousand years ago Kamakura served as the capital of nihon and the seat of the shogunate. Over the centuries the population has held steady at about 200,000, which now qualifies it as a suburb. So, without further delay on a rainy day in tsuyu (rainy season), haha to musume (mother and daughter) rode Japan Rail for one hour on a farewell tour. Tokyo train travel is simple: On the Jorudan Route Finder web site plug in the departure station (Tamachi) and the destination (Kamakura), and voila! A screen offers options at each price point.
En route we made a brief stop to Engaku-ji in Kita Kamakura (North Kamakura), perhaps the most important Zen Buddhist complex in the country. For a ticket of Y 300 we admired the San Mon (Main Gate), Shari-den (shrine of the Sacred Tooth of Buddha) and climbed up a steep staircase to view the Ohgane (Temple Bell). Europeans swarmed behind us, mainly speaking Italian. Back at the train station a sweet faced lady with a parasol smiled and asked a few questions in nihongo, then recommended the local soba (buckwheat noodles) restaurant.
Walking from Kamakura eki to Daibutsu for half an hour weaves through a hodgepodge of suburban homes in every style. Some houses would be comfortable in Scarsdale, while some could only make sense in Kamakura. Rain dappled the great bronze Daibutsu sat serenely with a tray of genetically modified fruit upon the altar at his feet. A ticket of Y 200 entitles visitors to pay their respects; for another Y 20 visitors can enter inside his body for a view from the window at the back of his head. At 13 meters he is nearly as tall as the largest Buddha, who resides in Todaiji Temple, Nara. Musume invested in a good luck amulet for good health, haha bought one to avoid calamities before returning on the 3:27 PM Yokuska Train back to the Juban.
En route we made a brief stop to Engaku-ji in Kita Kamakura (North Kamakura), perhaps the most important Zen Buddhist complex in the country. For a ticket of Y 300 we admired the San Mon (Main Gate), Shari-den (shrine of the Sacred Tooth of Buddha) and climbed up a steep staircase to view the Ohgane (Temple Bell). Europeans swarmed behind us, mainly speaking Italian. Back at the train station a sweet faced lady with a parasol smiled and asked a few questions in nihongo, then recommended the local soba (buckwheat noodles) restaurant.
Walking from Kamakura eki to Daibutsu for half an hour weaves through a hodgepodge of suburban homes in every style. Some houses would be comfortable in Scarsdale, while some could only make sense in Kamakura. Rain dappled the great bronze Daibutsu sat serenely with a tray of genetically modified fruit upon the altar at his feet. A ticket of Y 200 entitles visitors to pay their respects; for another Y 20 visitors can enter inside his body for a view from the window at the back of his head. At 13 meters he is nearly as tall as the largest Buddha, who resides in Todaiji Temple, Nara. Musume invested in a good luck amulet for good health, haha bought one to avoid calamities before returning on the 3:27 PM Yokuska Train back to the Juban.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Breakfast at Tsukiji's
"How about meeting at Tsukiji for our final meal together?" asked the five Eating Out Group tomodachis, referring to the biggest seafood market on earth. Since the days of old Edo dealers have operated from this port to satisfy a diet that draws seriously on les fruits de mer. To get the measure of the place, think Fulton Fish Market to the tenth power. As the auction gets started around 5:30 AM, gaijin (foreigners) like to start their Tokyo tour there. Jet-lag does not mix well with 900 professional wholesale dealers; since May the market has limited the number of visitors to 140 per day. With our rendezvous set for 10 AM, our group manages to miss rush hour and I have invited another American friend who rounds out the group.
Descending into the bowels of Azabu Juban to board the Toei Oedo line bound for Tsukijishijo eki (station) I bump into one of my eating companions. "I'm 77, same as Yoko Ono," she likes to say, and both of them are holding up well. Although she is an Edoko (native), this is a first for her on the Toei Oedo as well as eating at Tsukiji. We climb up into the market, greeted by a dense heat as well as earlybirds toting their purchases. While the auction may be over, the market is a hive of shops and the place is buzzing. Weaving our way through the market's alleyways, on one side a shopkeeper demonstrates his knives while on the other today's catch is on display. Surprisingly there is no noticeable fishy smell. Long queues form in front of some of the sushi shops. Last month Phyllis and I stopped at a kaiten joint (plates on a conveyor belt) where four plates of the freshest nigirizushi amounted to Y 600 ($7).
"Shall we try chirashizushi?" asked tomodachi ("scattered" sushi over a bowl of rice rather than individual pieces). For Y 1, 400 (about $15) seated at the counter, in minutes we were served miso soup and sushi bowls with a glass of mugi cha (cold barley tea). "The fish in the picture looked nicer," tomodachi told the counterman, who quickly handed over a plate of extra maguro. "Not enough vinegar in the rice," whispered another tomodachi. "How do you like the taste of urchin?" asked third tomodachi, referring to the yolk colored item without flavor. "That is squid," explained another tomodachi about a bowl with three nut shaped items. Perhaps the places with queues are superior, they wondered, as we polished off brunch. Calendars out, they set up September's lunch --the first one without me ("We miss you!" they say poignantly in the present tense)-- and promised that whenever I next visit Tokyo they will organize a reunion.
Descending into the bowels of Azabu Juban to board the Toei Oedo line bound for Tsukijishijo eki (station) I bump into one of my eating companions. "I'm 77, same as Yoko Ono," she likes to say, and both of them are holding up well. Although she is an Edoko (native), this is a first for her on the Toei Oedo as well as eating at Tsukiji. We climb up into the market, greeted by a dense heat as well as earlybirds toting their purchases. While the auction may be over, the market is a hive of shops and the place is buzzing. Weaving our way through the market's alleyways, on one side a shopkeeper demonstrates his knives while on the other today's catch is on display. Surprisingly there is no noticeable fishy smell. Long queues form in front of some of the sushi shops. Last month Phyllis and I stopped at a kaiten joint (plates on a conveyor belt) where four plates of the freshest nigirizushi amounted to Y 600 ($7).
"Shall we try chirashizushi?" asked tomodachi ("scattered" sushi over a bowl of rice rather than individual pieces). For Y 1, 400 (about $15) seated at the counter, in minutes we were served miso soup and sushi bowls with a glass of mugi cha (cold barley tea). "The fish in the picture looked nicer," tomodachi told the counterman, who quickly handed over a plate of extra maguro. "Not enough vinegar in the rice," whispered another tomodachi. "How do you like the taste of urchin?" asked third tomodachi, referring to the yolk colored item without flavor. "That is squid," explained another tomodachi about a bowl with three nut shaped items. Perhaps the places with queues are superior, they wondered, as we polished off brunch. Calendars out, they set up September's lunch --the first one without me ("We miss you!" they say poignantly in the present tense)-- and promised that whenever I next visit Tokyo they will organize a reunion.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Shinjuku-ku
By my calculation half of the women in Tokyo studied piano at Juilliard, while the other half belongs to a choir. Singing for health, to keep the lungs youthful, is recommended by medical experts in nihon. With so many people making music, weekends are chockablock with concerts. After practicing "Carmina Burana" with her choir all year generous tomodachi san sent me a ticket for the July 4th performance at Tokyo Opera City Concert Hall. In order to insure timely arrival two other tomodachis agreed to meet at Shinjuku Eki (station) one hour before the concert.
Most cinema viewers have seen the hectic streets around Shinjuku from the outside, thanks to Sofia Coppola's "Lost in Translation." Inside the station is another story: A mini city with shops and restaurants galore, it feeds into the Takashimaya and other depatos; by comparison, Grand Central Station appears sleepy. After traveling on the Women Only car of the subway (to deter chikan--gropers-- during rush hour), the plan is to meet at South Exit. This entails leaving the private train line for the JR (Japan Rail) meeting point, which takes about 15 minutes on foot. At the appointed platform packed with wall-to-wall travelers, how to find tomodachis? Via cell phone, of course, which proves that we are a few steps apart.
One more stop along a third train line leads to the Concert Hall, upstairs in a Lincoln Center type complex. Early birds have created a snakelike queue along the hallway-- seats are first come, first served! Doors open, a mad dash for seats. Finally, settled together, embraced by the air con a quick check of the audience reveals the majority listening with eyes closed, chins on chests. With 150 on stage, the supportive audience is full of friends and family. Omedetou gozaimasu (congratulations)! Afterwards tomodachis stop for happy hour at the British Pub before rushing home to catch Ryoma-den, the NHK series about the 19th century hero, Sakamoto. Tanoshikata (fun)!
Most cinema viewers have seen the hectic streets around Shinjuku from the outside, thanks to Sofia Coppola's "Lost in Translation." Inside the station is another story: A mini city with shops and restaurants galore, it feeds into the Takashimaya and other depatos; by comparison, Grand Central Station appears sleepy. After traveling on the Women Only car of the subway (to deter chikan--gropers-- during rush hour), the plan is to meet at South Exit. This entails leaving the private train line for the JR (Japan Rail) meeting point, which takes about 15 minutes on foot. At the appointed platform packed with wall-to-wall travelers, how to find tomodachis? Via cell phone, of course, which proves that we are a few steps apart.
One more stop along a third train line leads to the Concert Hall, upstairs in a Lincoln Center type complex. Early birds have created a snakelike queue along the hallway-- seats are first come, first served! Doors open, a mad dash for seats. Finally, settled together, embraced by the air con a quick check of the audience reveals the majority listening with eyes closed, chins on chests. With 150 on stage, the supportive audience is full of friends and family. Omedetou gozaimasu (congratulations)! Afterwards tomodachis stop for happy hour at the British Pub before rushing home to catch Ryoma-den, the NHK series about the 19th century hero, Sakamoto. Tanoshikata (fun)!
Sunday, July 4, 2010
The Raumen Museum
Leave it to the nihonjin to come up with the concept of a food amusement park. The dish in question is ramen, the noodle soup crowd pleaser that satisfies the appetite like a slice of pizza at 4 PM on Lexington Avenue. Location is Shin Yokohama, about 45 minutes by underground train from the Manor plus one stop along the JR (Japan Rail). For Y 300 the visitor steps into Showa 33 Tokyo (1958 New York), the year that instant ramen changed eating habits around the world. Wandering along alleyways are outlets of about ten well-known chains, along with a few bars and even a candy store with old fashioned treats.
First neighbor Wanda-san introduced me to the hearty soup in the winter of 2007; in the Juban we devoured a spicy bowl at Ka for less than Y 1,000. The following year, under the tracks of Shinagawa eki (station), Mme G and I discovered a joint that played the Beatles along with pork based ramen. Much later tomodachi san explained that light colored ramen is from Kyushu (the South), whereas Edoko prefer miso based. With shujin (husband) we ate at a shop with toilet bowl sized portions; I even queued with tomodachis at one of Tokyo's most popular shops, within walking distance to the Imperial Palace.
Is there more to ramen than the 1985 "noodle western" Tampopo (Dandelion) starring Ken Watanabe? Hai, according to Iwaoka san, who founded the Raumen Museum with its deliberate strange spelling in 1994. On a weekend evening families and couples drank in the old-time ambiance along with the bowls of chow. Tomodachi san and I selected one of the less crowded outlets; I ordered the harukiya (soy based with pork, ginger and garlic). We drank remonade with its marble ball in the neck of the glass bottle. Oishkata (delicious)!
First neighbor Wanda-san introduced me to the hearty soup in the winter of 2007; in the Juban we devoured a spicy bowl at Ka for less than Y 1,000. The following year, under the tracks of Shinagawa eki (station), Mme G and I discovered a joint that played the Beatles along with pork based ramen. Much later tomodachi san explained that light colored ramen is from Kyushu (the South), whereas Edoko prefer miso based. With shujin (husband) we ate at a shop with toilet bowl sized portions; I even queued with tomodachis at one of Tokyo's most popular shops, within walking distance to the Imperial Palace.
Is there more to ramen than the 1985 "noodle western" Tampopo (Dandelion) starring Ken Watanabe? Hai, according to Iwaoka san, who founded the Raumen Museum with its deliberate strange spelling in 1994. On a weekend evening families and couples drank in the old-time ambiance along with the bowls of chow. Tomodachi san and I selected one of the less crowded outlets; I ordered the harukiya (soy based with pork, ginger and garlic). We drank remonade with its marble ball in the neck of the glass bottle. Oishkata (delicious)!
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Tanabata (Star Festival)
No question that the biggest adjustment to life in nihon is becoming illiterate. Not even 180 hours of nihongo lessons nor passing Level 4 Japanese Proficiency makes a dent: I need help to decipher everything that lands in the mailbox. As a result, telephone service has been cut off and parcels remain uncollected. Inside the Manor concierge Okutsu-san kindly irons out these domestic struggles; but how to manage in the outside world? Alice, our first visitor, found the answer in her SF Chronicle: Tokyo Free Guide. Generous Edoko (natives) donate their time to help tourists navigate around town. Through this service I made my first native friend, Senichi-san, a reliable source of answers to all questions including: Can you please guide my next visitor?
For our farewell tour we made three stops along the Toei Oedo line. First stop, (E09) Ueno-okachimachi. Since Meiji Era (late 19th century) the Honkan (Japanese Gallery) at the Tokyo National Museum has displayed rooms of designated National Treasures and Important Cultural Property. Rooms of scrolls and calligraphy tools spark our conversation until a guard was forced to hush us. En route to the Y 800 lunch set at Ganko in Ueno Koen (park) Chinese street performers entertained the sweaty passersby with a magical mask changing dance and impossible contortionist poses; when they passed the hat afterwards, everyone was generous in this country without panhandlers.
Before heading to (E 32) Nakai, to see what remains of the Edo era cloth making industry, we hopped off at (E07) for a stroll at Koishikawa Korakuen ("the garden for enjoying power later on") designed by the daimyo Tokugawa about 350 years ago. Turtles lolled on stones in the central pond, as the resident heron preened. An obliging fellow visitor snapped our photo by the Engetsu-kyo (Full Moon Bridge). On the way out, visitors were invited to write a wish on colored strips of paper and hang it on a bamboo tree to celebrate Tanabata (Evening of the Seventh) or Star Festival, the 7th of July, a great excuse to make a wish that I might return to nihon to visit all my tomodachis in the near future.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Blue Samurai Blue
Last Wednesday morning at 11:01 five weary English conversationalists arrived at the Manor and tiptoed out of size 5 and 6 shoes. In somber shades of gray and black, they assumed the self-assigned seats around the table: Chef-san facing Traveler-san, two obaasan (grandmothers) facing each other, Composer-san opposite me. Four had gone to bed at 2 AM following the defeat of the Samurai Blue warriors at the World Cup in Pretoria. No more blue lights at Tokyo Tower in support of the home team, which reverted to everyday orange. No more throngs of fans gathering at large screens in nearby Roppongi Hills or Shibuya Crossing. No more words of praise from newly appointed Prime Minister Kan ("Yes We Kan") about the hard work of coach Okada.
"It was not a good PK," explained the obaasan (grandma) of five, elaborating on how the final penalty kick went awry. "No one interviewed Komano-san after he fumbled the game for the Samurai Blues," said Chef-san looking distaught. "He was too upset." What is the English word for seriously bummed out because you lost the game for your team and let down your entire country? Devastated or crushed will do or, as the Brits would say, gutted. Mix that with a dose of guilt and enormous let down, but is there just one word? Rollercoaster ride? Suicidal? Obaasan offered up the word in nihongo for the fan who only watches soccer during the World Cup, a group to which she belongs.
Feelings close to the surface, the generous English speakers presented me with an antique set of Japanned (lacquer) dishes, stacked on a tray, each painted with a delicate flower. A lengthy photo session captured the presentation and untying of the furoshiki (cloth cover), admiring the box decorated with cat stickers in honor of Suki-chan who had audited so many conversation sessions over the past two years. Time for the final chapter of A.A. Milne's classic, "Christopher Robin Gives Pooh a Party and We Say Good-Bye." In September the group will continue speaking English at the home of lively Joy, who is appropriately named. We promise to keep in touch and, when Chef-san asked for a good-bye hug, the finality that hit Samurai Blue washed over us too.
"It was not a good PK," explained the obaasan (grandma) of five, elaborating on how the final penalty kick went awry. "No one interviewed Komano-san after he fumbled the game for the Samurai Blues," said Chef-san looking distaught. "He was too upset." What is the English word for seriously bummed out because you lost the game for your team and let down your entire country? Devastated or crushed will do or, as the Brits would say, gutted. Mix that with a dose of guilt and enormous let down, but is there just one word? Rollercoaster ride? Suicidal? Obaasan offered up the word in nihongo for the fan who only watches soccer during the World Cup, a group to which she belongs.
Feelings close to the surface, the generous English speakers presented me with an antique set of Japanned (lacquer) dishes, stacked on a tray, each painted with a delicate flower. A lengthy photo session captured the presentation and untying of the furoshiki (cloth cover), admiring the box decorated with cat stickers in honor of Suki-chan who had audited so many conversation sessions over the past two years. Time for the final chapter of A.A. Milne's classic, "Christopher Robin Gives Pooh a Party and We Say Good-Bye." In September the group will continue speaking English at the home of lively Joy, who is appropriately named. We promise to keep in touch and, when Chef-san asked for a good-bye hug, the finality that hit Samurai Blue washed over us too.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Volcano Visit
Two hours north from Haneda airport (think: Laguardia) lands a Tokyoite in Chitose Airport, Hokkaido ("North Sea circuit"), the prefecture closest to Siberia. When picking up dinner in Peacock Supa (market) in the Juban all dairy products are stamped from Hokkaido, and during rainy season it is famously dry. Sayonara humidity, konnichiwa rolling green hills reminiscent of upstate New York! Cows and farm buildings could be borrowed from any TV Western, and long stretches of road without a car in sight are not unlike our own stretch of Route 57 in Massachusetts. Traffic signs in nihongo, as well as road crews every few minutes, are constant reminders that we are in new territory. As we have been warned not to disturb the local cops, every car that comes by passes us.
After driving through many small villages with main streets that would be comfortable in South Dakota, at last we arrive at the Hilton Resort, Niseko, facing the ancient volcano Yoteizan (Mt Yotei). In winter it is a haven for skiers, but now it provides cool breezes in the evening. The next day we visit lively volcano, Showashinzan, which only erupted in 1944 as an unlucky omen; it continues to exude smoke in a dramatic manner. No better way to end a day of volcanic visits than a stop at the Hilton onsen (hot spring), which allows for sitting outside in the buff and contemplating Yoteizan. Men and women are segregated, with a discreet bamboo screen dividing the two (remember, this is nude bathing).
Since Niseko is a ski resort, many restaurants feature a German menu. Why not try one with the attractive name of Mozart? Some cars parked outside are an encouraging sign; inside there appears to be a small flea market in one corner with a huddle of ladies. One has misplaced her wallet, which sends everyone checking under the table. The smiling hostess asks us to remove shoes, offering slippers. Chief, cook and bottlewash she disappears into the kitchen to cook up three huge sized authentic Viennese schnitzels with fresh asparagus, while her neko-chan (cat) wanders through the dining area. Amy Winehouse music wafting in the background, can Tokyoites ask for more?
After driving through many small villages with main streets that would be comfortable in South Dakota, at last we arrive at the Hilton Resort, Niseko, facing the ancient volcano Yoteizan (Mt Yotei). In winter it is a haven for skiers, but now it provides cool breezes in the evening. The next day we visit lively volcano, Showashinzan, which only erupted in 1944 as an unlucky omen; it continues to exude smoke in a dramatic manner. No better way to end a day of volcanic visits than a stop at the Hilton onsen (hot spring), which allows for sitting outside in the buff and contemplating Yoteizan. Men and women are segregated, with a discreet bamboo screen dividing the two (remember, this is nude bathing).
Since Niseko is a ski resort, many restaurants feature a German menu. Why not try one with the attractive name of Mozart? Some cars parked outside are an encouraging sign; inside there appears to be a small flea market in one corner with a huddle of ladies. One has misplaced her wallet, which sends everyone checking under the table. The smiling hostess asks us to remove shoes, offering slippers. Chief, cook and bottlewash she disappears into the kitchen to cook up three huge sized authentic Viennese schnitzels with fresh asparagus, while her neko-chan (cat) wanders through the dining area. Amy Winehouse music wafting in the background, can Tokyoites ask for more?
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Selecting a Toro (Japanese Stone Lantern)
"If you want a nice toro for a reasonable rate, I am happy to introduce you to the owner of a local shop," said tomodachi san. With a wedding anniversary looming and endless remarks from shujin (husband) upon viewing Japanese stone lanterns around town, the offer was accepted instantly. Temples and shrines on every Tokyo corner boast at least one granite ishidoro (ishi = stone, toro = lantern): a hollowed out, lidded candle holder weighing about a ton perched upon a pedestal carved from stone. Since the sixth century these exalted carvings have lit the path for worshippers along ancient routes, with 2,000 lighting the way in Nara to the Daibutsu (Great Buddha). During the Edo Period they were adapted as decorative touches to private gardens. While to the Western eye the stone sometimes appear chunky or even awkward, they symbolize the light that Buddha sheds upon human ignorance.
One dull Saturday afternoon at Ebisu eki, tomodachi san collected us and we headed to Setagaya (one of Tokyo's 23 wards). First stop was a stone mason's yard in the neighborhood known as Yoga (no relation to the Indian practice). "Please use this bug spray," admonished tomodachi san, who was well aware that stones are a breeding ground for Tokyo's blood thirsty mosquitoes. Within minutes our ankles were covered in welts, as we browsed the many styles of toro. Since the proprietor was nowhere to be found, we moved on to the second stop: a gallery of lanterns below the Shuto Expressway behind the local Book Off (used book shop chain). The owner, an elderly gent, emerged from the building. When asked for a price, he sucked his teeth, the Japanese signal of reluctance: The lantern in question was made in China, a copy, so not a good choice. No price was quoted.
Climbing up the fire escape to another level, more lanterns were examined. Each selection was rejected as not worthy of a sale ("That one is from Korea"). Unlike Western salesmen, this proprietor did not seem eager for business. Back down on the ground, we entered the showroom. A lantern with no price tag beckoned, and the proprietor looked in his price book: It was for sale at a reasonable price! But what about delivery? Generous tomodachi-san offered to drive it to the Manor. The proprietor wrapped the three part toro in burlap and climbed into the trunk of the car to tuck it in carefully. In his office he produced a bill of sale with the official hanko (seal), which was ceremonially handed over to shujin. Out of the shop we rode, victorious, proud owners of a toro that will live out its days in the Berkshire hills of Massachusetts.
One dull Saturday afternoon at Ebisu eki, tomodachi san collected us and we headed to Setagaya (one of Tokyo's 23 wards). First stop was a stone mason's yard in the neighborhood known as Yoga (no relation to the Indian practice). "Please use this bug spray," admonished tomodachi san, who was well aware that stones are a breeding ground for Tokyo's blood thirsty mosquitoes. Within minutes our ankles were covered in welts, as we browsed the many styles of toro. Since the proprietor was nowhere to be found, we moved on to the second stop: a gallery of lanterns below the Shuto Expressway behind the local Book Off (used book shop chain). The owner, an elderly gent, emerged from the building. When asked for a price, he sucked his teeth, the Japanese signal of reluctance: The lantern in question was made in China, a copy, so not a good choice. No price was quoted.
Climbing up the fire escape to another level, more lanterns were examined. Each selection was rejected as not worthy of a sale ("That one is from Korea"). Unlike Western salesmen, this proprietor did not seem eager for business. Back down on the ground, we entered the showroom. A lantern with no price tag beckoned, and the proprietor looked in his price book: It was for sale at a reasonable price! But what about delivery? Generous tomodachi-san offered to drive it to the Manor. The proprietor wrapped the three part toro in burlap and climbed into the trunk of the car to tuck it in carefully. In his office he produced a bill of sale with the official hanko (seal), which was ceremonially handed over to shujin. Out of the shop we rode, victorious, proud owners of a toro that will live out its days in the Berkshire hills of Massachusetts.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Ozu Washi Shop, Nihonbashi
After two years of investing in endless packets of mitsu matagami type washi (literally wa for Japanese, shi for paper) in shodo (calligraphy) class, some tomodachis indulged me in a visit to Ozu Washi. Since 17th c samurai days Tokyoites have traveled to the shop to buy their washi. Museums proudly display scrolls from the Edo Period and earlier, proving the durability of this cottony textured paper. Ozu offers the option of making your own washi and this group is ready to roll up our sleeves. Via Ginza line to the old Nihonbashi part of town, we rendezvoused at Mitsukoshimae (in front of the Mitsukoshi depato), passing eager shoppers lining up in anticipation of their day's sport.
Ten minutes by foot from Exit A3 led to a shop in the shadow of the overhead Shuto expressway. Our Ozu guide stepped on the street to introduce us to the kozo (mulberry) trees that grow in front of the shop: Washing and boiling the bark results in washi pulp. Ushering us inside she instructed us to remove watches and rings since we must immerse our arms into an icy bath of mashed pulp; many thousands of dollars of jewelry tucked away in pocketbooks and locked in a classroom, the obedient group followed to the workshop.
Aprons on everyone! She introduced us to the craftsman who walks us through the paces: Stand by the sukibune (tub), grab the sugeta (screened tray), dunk into the slimy liquid and jostle while counting to 20. Excellent way to build biceps! Repeat. Drain the wet sheet by passing over a vacuum, place on a frame and design using materials at hand (liquid dyes, confetti, string). Allow to dry on a heated iron and you have a unique sheet of washi. Sugoi! Kozogami with its clothlike texture is suitable for clothing; a wedding dress is on display in the showroom. Technology has streamlined the ancient system of washing and hanging out to dry on the line for hours or days. Browsing the shop for one hour, drawers full of washi tempted and we succumbed.
Ten minutes by foot from Exit A3 led to a shop in the shadow of the overhead Shuto expressway. Our Ozu guide stepped on the street to introduce us to the kozo (mulberry) trees that grow in front of the shop: Washing and boiling the bark results in washi pulp. Ushering us inside she instructed us to remove watches and rings since we must immerse our arms into an icy bath of mashed pulp; many thousands of dollars of jewelry tucked away in pocketbooks and locked in a classroom, the obedient group followed to the workshop.
Aprons on everyone! She introduced us to the craftsman who walks us through the paces: Stand by the sukibune (tub), grab the sugeta (screened tray), dunk into the slimy liquid and jostle while counting to 20. Excellent way to build biceps! Repeat. Drain the wet sheet by passing over a vacuum, place on a frame and design using materials at hand (liquid dyes, confetti, string). Allow to dry on a heated iron and you have a unique sheet of washi. Sugoi! Kozogami with its clothlike texture is suitable for clothing; a wedding dress is on display in the showroom. Technology has streamlined the ancient system of washing and hanging out to dry on the line for hours or days. Browsing the shop for one hour, drawers full of washi tempted and we succumbed.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Rikugien (Six Elements Garden)
Ten stops from the Manor on the Namboku line (Y 160) transports the Tokyoite back 300 years to an Edo period garden called Rikugien. Just at the time of the 47 ronin the powerful daimyo (feudal lord) Yanagisawa created his green masterpiece. Based on the six elements of waka (poetry), Yanagisawa-sama forged trails around a central ike (pond). Taking 88 poems Yanagisawa set out to bring waka to life; of these 32 remain for the modern visitor who wishes to buy a ticket at the quaint entry booth (Y300). Rikugien is one of nine feudal estates now open to the public as Metropolitan Gardens.
"Shall we bring Mme G to Rikugien?" posed tomodachi-san on the last day of shodo (calligraphy) class. Despite cloudy weather predictions, the sky miraculously cleared, the humidity lifted and three shodo students entered the cool oasis. "Shall we take the 30 minute trail or the 60 minute trail?" tomodachi-san asked. After admiring the enormous sakura (cherry tree) a bench in the shade vis-a-vis Fujishiro-toge (Fuji viewing peak) removed further choice. After a long sit-down, the trail led to Chidori-bashi (stone bridge). Below our feet schools of carp and turtles vied for attention. Following the trail to the Takimi-no-chaya (Teahouse) led to a choice of macha (green tea) set: Hot or cold? Iced macha for all proved to be very refreshing.
"Is there time for a short walk in Yanaka?" asked tomodachi-san, referring to the old part of town. Within 10 minutes we strolled the narrow alleys with its small crafts shops. Who can resist a few sheets of hand printed paper from the washi shop? And a small bean paste ice cream sandwich? Returning to the Namboku line, promises were made to meet on the weekend to visit a stone mason who carves Japanese lanterns. Mata! (later)!
"Shall we bring Mme G to Rikugien?" posed tomodachi-san on the last day of shodo (calligraphy) class. Despite cloudy weather predictions, the sky miraculously cleared, the humidity lifted and three shodo students entered the cool oasis. "Shall we take the 30 minute trail or the 60 minute trail?" tomodachi-san asked. After admiring the enormous sakura (cherry tree) a bench in the shade vis-a-vis Fujishiro-toge (Fuji viewing peak) removed further choice. After a long sit-down, the trail led to Chidori-bashi (stone bridge). Below our feet schools of carp and turtles vied for attention. Following the trail to the Takimi-no-chaya (Teahouse) led to a choice of macha (green tea) set: Hot or cold? Iced macha for all proved to be very refreshing.
"Is there time for a short walk in Yanaka?" asked tomodachi-san, referring to the old part of town. Within 10 minutes we strolled the narrow alleys with its small crafts shops. Who can resist a few sheets of hand printed paper from the washi shop? And a small bean paste ice cream sandwich? Returning to the Namboku line, promises were made to meet on the weekend to visit a stone mason who carves Japanese lanterns. Mata! (later)!
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
View Towards Kankoku (Korea)
"What a great concert Rain gave at Zepp Tokyo last night," reported obaasan (grandmother) of five at English Conversation group. Unlike capacious Tokyo Dome that can accommodate thousands, Zepp Tokyo is the intimate club where I watched Bob Dylan croon before hundreds of fans a few months ago. Just two eigo (English) speakers in cream colored cardigans stepped out of rain soaked shoes this week at 11:02, with apologies for late arrival, as the three absentees were out of town this Wednesday. Pop idol Rain (born Jung Ji-Hoon in South Korea) has been included in People magazine's Most Beautiful People issue. Popular Korean imports in Nihon are soap operas and pop stars.
"Rain is so sexy, although I was embarrassed when he removed his shirt," obaasan elaborated about the 28 year old singer. What is his best feature? "He never had plastic surgery the way other Korean singers do to make their eyes rounder," she replied, explaining that plastic surgery is widely available in Seoul. "Asian pop stars want to appear more Western and most of them have their eyes done, but he is natural." Did she go alone to Zepp Tokyo? "My friend who likes Rain got the tickets, which were standing room in front of the stage," she said, referring to the mosh pit. Although she worried that standing for 90 minutes would be tiring, staring at her pop idol erased all fatigue.
Not far from the Manor the South Korean Embassy stands behind a tall gate on Sendaizaka, typically guarded by a battalion of policemen. On weekends organized protests in the form of sound trucks festooned with hinomaru (Japanese flags) drive to the embassy to broadcast anti-Korean views through megaphones and blast military music. "Have you noticed that there are fewer police by the Korean embassy in recent times?" whispered tomodachi san. Hai, I thought perhaps it was too early in the day for guard duty when I last walked by. Is this reduction a sign of government cutbacks due to the financial crisis, or is it a deliberate message to South Korea?
"Rain is so sexy, although I was embarrassed when he removed his shirt," obaasan elaborated about the 28 year old singer. What is his best feature? "He never had plastic surgery the way other Korean singers do to make their eyes rounder," she replied, explaining that plastic surgery is widely available in Seoul. "Asian pop stars want to appear more Western and most of them have their eyes done, but he is natural." Did she go alone to Zepp Tokyo? "My friend who likes Rain got the tickets, which were standing room in front of the stage," she said, referring to the mosh pit. Although she worried that standing for 90 minutes would be tiring, staring at her pop idol erased all fatigue.
Not far from the Manor the South Korean Embassy stands behind a tall gate on Sendaizaka, typically guarded by a battalion of policemen. On weekends organized protests in the form of sound trucks festooned with hinomaru (Japanese flags) drive to the embassy to broadcast anti-Korean views through megaphones and blast military music. "Have you noticed that there are fewer police by the Korean embassy in recent times?" whispered tomodachi san. Hai, I thought perhaps it was too early in the day for guard duty when I last walked by. Is this reduction a sign of government cutbacks due to the financial crisis, or is it a deliberate message to South Korea?
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Heisei 22 (2010)
According to the nihon calendar this Toradoshi (year of the Tiger) marks Heisei 22 (peace everywhere) or the twenty-second year of the era of the current reigning Emperor Akihito. While English royals are the bread and butter of tabloids, the Imperial Family is off-limits to journalists; as a result, the public is starved for scoop on what goes on behind closed doors at the Kokyo (Imperial Residence) deep within the park in Chiyoda-ku. Known fact: The Emperor fell for his wife, Michiko-sama, in 1957 on a tennis court in Karuizawa, a mountain resort in Nagano Prefecture. Also known: Michiko-sama is the first commoner to sit on the Chrysanthemum Throne. Final fact: Twice Michiko-sama suffered nervous distress that caused her to lose her voice for many months.
"I have heard from someone in the Imperial Household that Michiko-sama likes to drink whisky everyday," whispered tomodachi san. "Her favorite is the Scotch label, White Horse." Could it be that her husband's infidelities led her to console herself in this manner? Known fact: Crown Prince Naruhito married for love and now must cope with a wife who suffers from "adjustment disorder." Rumor: Second son Prince Akishino, father of three including the future emperor, often travels to Thailand on so-called business that may involve another woman. What of the Emperor's third child, Sayako-sama, now a woman of 40 and an ornithologist with a specialty in kingfishers? Five years ago she relinquished her position within the Imperial Household upon marrying a commoner whom she met through her brother and fell off the public radar.
In recent times the Heisei era faces challenges as witnessed by the revolving door of prime ministers. Every autumn the bi-cultural ladies social club organizes a reception attended by the Prime Minister's wife: Mrs. Fukuda in Heisei 19, Mrs. Aso in Heisei 20, Mrs. Hatoyama in Heisei 21. At the moment Mrs. Kan is ruling the roost, but that could change by September Heisei 22. After 50 years of rule by the LDP (Liberal Democratic Party), the DPJ (Democratic Party of Japan) has assumed the majority position. Despite the unsettled times, during tsuyu (rainy season) in late June Tokyoites can rely on tall banks of ajisai (hydrangea), a changeable flower believed by samurai to reflect a fickle nature.
"I have heard from someone in the Imperial Household that Michiko-sama likes to drink whisky everyday," whispered tomodachi san. "Her favorite is the Scotch label, White Horse." Could it be that her husband's infidelities led her to console herself in this manner? Known fact: Crown Prince Naruhito married for love and now must cope with a wife who suffers from "adjustment disorder." Rumor: Second son Prince Akishino, father of three including the future emperor, often travels to Thailand on so-called business that may involve another woman. What of the Emperor's third child, Sayako-sama, now a woman of 40 and an ornithologist with a specialty in kingfishers? Five years ago she relinquished her position within the Imperial Household upon marrying a commoner whom she met through her brother and fell off the public radar.
In recent times the Heisei era faces challenges as witnessed by the revolving door of prime ministers. Every autumn the bi-cultural ladies social club organizes a reception attended by the Prime Minister's wife: Mrs. Fukuda in Heisei 19, Mrs. Aso in Heisei 20, Mrs. Hatoyama in Heisei 21. At the moment Mrs. Kan is ruling the roost, but that could change by September Heisei 22. After 50 years of rule by the LDP (Liberal Democratic Party), the DPJ (Democratic Party of Japan) has assumed the majority position. Despite the unsettled times, during tsuyu (rainy season) in late June Tokyoites can rely on tall banks of ajisai (hydrangea), a changeable flower believed by samurai to reflect a fickle nature.
Monday, June 21, 2010
The 47 Ronin
"May I show you Sengakuji?" asked an Eating Out Club tomodachi referring to the temple that is the resting place of the 47 ronin. Touching her nose she indicated herself nihon style rather than with a Western tap on the chest. Hai, how often the #96 bus swept past Sengakuji on the hill in Takanawa about 10 minutes before the Manor stop yet I never stepped out. Cinema buffs familiar with the 1962 Inagaki film know the tale of the samurai who avenged the murder of their daimyo (feudal lord) over 300 years ago. Hard to imagine posh Takanawa with its private schools and fancy supermarkets was once the site of bloodshed.
In a torrential downpour tomodachi waited like a shimmery apparition beneath a flowery kasa (umbrella) at the # 96 bus stop. Leading across the busy zaka (hill) she told the story of how a Tokugawa daimyo came to blows with the sensei of Imperial protocol in the shogun's palace. "The sensei tried to embarrass his student, the daimyo, who pulled his sword in anger and nicked the sensei's shoulder," she said. After committing this crime the daimyo was forced to commit seppuku (disembowelment or hara-kiri) and his men became ronin (samurai without a lord). After plotting for many months on the 14th December 1702 the ronin broke into the sensei's home, and the tale ends with mass seppuku. "On weekends especially nihonjin from outside Tokyo travel to pay their respects to the ronin," she explained."On December 14th busloads of visitors fill the temple."
Thanks to the rain the temple was deserted. Inside the courtyard to the left up we climbed up to an incense selling concession; sold in a bundle and prelit, the seller handed it over on a bamboo tray. "Just leave one stick at each grave, we still have many to go," advised tomodachi san, allowing me the honor. Afterwards we toured the small museum with its ronin artifacts (Y500) and watched a short video about the temple. "Are you ready for some fresh mochi from my local shop?" asked tomodachi, referring to the treacherously chewy rice cake. Hai: Mission completed, two 21st century tomodachi walked to a building of mansion flats for afternoon tea.
In a torrential downpour tomodachi waited like a shimmery apparition beneath a flowery kasa (umbrella) at the # 96 bus stop. Leading across the busy zaka (hill) she told the story of how a Tokugawa daimyo came to blows with the sensei of Imperial protocol in the shogun's palace. "The sensei tried to embarrass his student, the daimyo, who pulled his sword in anger and nicked the sensei's shoulder," she said. After committing this crime the daimyo was forced to commit seppuku (disembowelment or hara-kiri) and his men became ronin (samurai without a lord). After plotting for many months on the 14th December 1702 the ronin broke into the sensei's home, and the tale ends with mass seppuku. "On weekends especially nihonjin from outside Tokyo travel to pay their respects to the ronin," she explained."On December 14th busloads of visitors fill the temple."
Thanks to the rain the temple was deserted. Inside the courtyard to the left up we climbed up to an incense selling concession; sold in a bundle and prelit, the seller handed it over on a bamboo tray. "Just leave one stick at each grave, we still have many to go," advised tomodachi san, allowing me the honor. Afterwards we toured the small museum with its ronin artifacts (Y500) and watched a short video about the temple. "Are you ready for some fresh mochi from my local shop?" asked tomodachi, referring to the treacherously chewy rice cake. Hai: Mission completed, two 21st century tomodachi walked to a building of mansion flats for afternoon tea.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Chichi Day at Mori Tower
Lurking over the quaint Juban (10th district) shopping street within view of the Manor, Roppongi Hills Mori Tower emerges like Frankenstein. In fact, six years ago a little boy was killed by this monstrosity in a revolving door incident. Despite its freaky exterior, within beats a heart of golden cultural opportunity namely the eponymous Mori Art Museum. Mori-san, Fortune's "Asia Businessman of 2007", created Roppongi Hills as his homage to Le Corbusier and the museum as a shrine to 21st century art. At the steep ticket price of Y 1,500 a visitor is entitled to zoom up to the 53rd floor to enjoy the Sky View along with the exhibit, currently: Roppongi Crossing 2010, Can There Be Art?
On a muggy Chichi Day (Father's Day), the Mori is filled with young families and the hand-holding couples who seem to frequent art venues in Tokyo. People watching is more fun than viewing some of the more confrontational artworks such as a video about an elderly nihon no fufu (couple) living in poverty. The wall of constructions by Teruya Yuken is of greatest interest since an IB art examiner compared the work of musume (daughter) to this contemporary 3D artist. The attractive security guards in each room sit as still and straight as statues, which bears closer investigation. Following the arrows to the Museum Shop, chichi (Dad) selects a black T shirt with yellow arrows as a present.
As one of the installations was a room full of pizza delivery boxes, everyone has an appetite for pizza. Will this be the day to try out Savoy, the popular but tiny pizzeria in the Juban? Noticing the queue outside the shop, we inquire as to the wait: ichi-ji-kan (one hour). Still New Yorkers at heart, we head off to the Mexican joint recently opened by the yuubin kyoku (post office). Within 15 minutes the whole family is happily munching burritos. Itadakimasu! (The blessing said before each meal).
On a muggy Chichi Day (Father's Day), the Mori is filled with young families and the hand-holding couples who seem to frequent art venues in Tokyo. People watching is more fun than viewing some of the more confrontational artworks such as a video about an elderly nihon no fufu (couple) living in poverty. The wall of constructions by Teruya Yuken is of greatest interest since an IB art examiner compared the work of musume (daughter) to this contemporary 3D artist. The attractive security guards in each room sit as still and straight as statues, which bears closer investigation. Following the arrows to the Museum Shop, chichi (Dad) selects a black T shirt with yellow arrows as a present.
As one of the installations was a room full of pizza delivery boxes, everyone has an appetite for pizza. Will this be the day to try out Savoy, the popular but tiny pizzeria in the Juban? Noticing the queue outside the shop, we inquire as to the wait: ichi-ji-kan (one hour). Still New Yorkers at heart, we head off to the Mexican joint recently opened by the yuubin kyoku (post office). Within 15 minutes the whole family is happily munching burritos. Itadakimasu! (The blessing said before each meal).
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Kurosawa (1910-1998)
Somewhere near Shinagawa Eki, the local shinkansen (bullet train) station for residents of the Manor, film director Akira Kurosawa was born 100 years ago. Son of a samurai family Kurosawa-san would hardly recognize his old neighborhood, now a cluster of corporate skyscrapers built on landfill. In 1923 he survived the Great Kanto Earthquake that reduced the city's population by over 100,000 (with more earthquakes than any other city on the planet, experts predict another serious shakeup soon). Apprenticing at Toho studio, the director began his career during wartime; his breakout film Rashomon (1950) launched his legendary career. That film tells the same story through the eyes of four characters, posing the question: Which is the truth?
Since food is the great preoccupation of Tokyoites, Kurosawa san's children decided to honor their father with a restaurant minutes from the Tameike-sanno eki (Exit 5). Tucked beneath a concrete monolith a quaint building (as per his 1965 film Red Beard) houses the Kurosawa Soba shop. Buckwheat noodles are to Tokyo what pasta is to Roma, but these te-uchi (handmade) are hand-cut by the chef as observed through a window. Inside the sliding front door the foyer boasts posters of Kurosawa's masterpieces (The Seven Samurai perhaps the best known), and servers in costume designed by the director's daughter welcome five members of Nihongo Kaiwa (Japanese Conversation Group). Everyone is delighted by the Y 1,100 set (prix fixe), which includes a bowl of noodles, side dishes of lotus root, tofu and beef bowl, plus macha (green tea) ice cream. Oishkata (delicious)!
Across the road at the top of the zaka (hill) visitors pay their respects at the ancient Hie Jinja, a Shinto shrine devoted to the god Oyamakui who manifests as a saru (monkey). A brief stop at the shrine shop to buy blessings for musume (daughter), born in the Year of the Monkey. As June 15th is Sanno Matsuri, one of the great festivals of old Edo, a temporary archway stands in the center of the courtyard. "Walk through it three times, twice to the left and once to the right, to leave bad spirits behind!" instructs tomodachi-san. The shrine gardener offers us kiku (chrysanthemums, the Imperial Flower) from the large display that he is disassembling. Trailing kiku petals into the eki the time has come for sayonara.
Since food is the great preoccupation of Tokyoites, Kurosawa san's children decided to honor their father with a restaurant minutes from the Tameike-sanno eki (Exit 5). Tucked beneath a concrete monolith a quaint building (as per his 1965 film Red Beard) houses the Kurosawa Soba shop. Buckwheat noodles are to Tokyo what pasta is to Roma, but these te-uchi (handmade) are hand-cut by the chef as observed through a window. Inside the sliding front door the foyer boasts posters of Kurosawa's masterpieces (The Seven Samurai perhaps the best known), and servers in costume designed by the director's daughter welcome five members of Nihongo Kaiwa (Japanese Conversation Group). Everyone is delighted by the Y 1,100 set (prix fixe), which includes a bowl of noodles, side dishes of lotus root, tofu and beef bowl, plus macha (green tea) ice cream. Oishkata (delicious)!
Across the road at the top of the zaka (hill) visitors pay their respects at the ancient Hie Jinja, a Shinto shrine devoted to the god Oyamakui who manifests as a saru (monkey). A brief stop at the shrine shop to buy blessings for musume (daughter), born in the Year of the Monkey. As June 15th is Sanno Matsuri, one of the great festivals of old Edo, a temporary archway stands in the center of the courtyard. "Walk through it three times, twice to the left and once to the right, to leave bad spirits behind!" instructs tomodachi-san. The shrine gardener offers us kiku (chrysanthemums, the Imperial Flower) from the large display that he is disassembling. Trailing kiku petals into the eki the time has come for sayonara.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Tokyo Tower
After staring at Tokyo Tower from the Manor for three plus years, the time was ripe for a trip to the viewing station. A slightly taller clone of the Eiffel, the nihon Tower bathes in orange light at sundown with blue lights between 8 and 10 PM. "Yes, let's go," said tomodachi-san, whose little daughter I taught at an afterschool English program (organized by the academically oriented women's group). "I haven't been there since my school days," echoed three other tomodachis. All agreed to meet on a weekday lunch hour on what turned out to be one of the hottest days of June. For Y820 each, the elevator lifted us to the first viewing station at the midpoint of the Tower. (For another Y600 visitors zoom to the top but that entailed a long wait.)
In a city where addresses are expressed by coordinates, landmarks rule: Tokyo Tower stands out from almost everywhere around town. Lording over the friendly sounding park of Shiba Koen, the Tower functions as a glamorous stand for an antenna. (After faithfully broadcasting NHK programs for 52 years, the Tower's function is about to be dwarfed by giant Tokyo Sky Tree going up in Oshiage by the Sumida river.) In the brilliant sunshine, Tower visitors admired the panorama from the Observation Deck. "How many new skyscrapers!" was the consensus of tomodachis. Fun to look down on the construction of the new Tokyo American Club and to find the Manor hidden between a pair of new highrises. Pretty Rainbow Bridge connects Shibaura Pier to Odaiba, one of the many teenage meccas. A quick visit to the "lookdown window" (glass tiled floor board), and the Milky Way display (a cheesy combination of blue holiday lights and saran wrap) completed the tour.
As all proper excursions end with a meal, the food court on the second story supplied a wide selection (pizza, sandwiches, curry and the omnipresent Macdonalds). In a country where purse snatching is unheard of, it is customary to leave personal belongings on the table while going off to purchase food. On the floor below for an extra fee fans may tour a Michael Jackson exhibit or make a reservation for the big "sleepover" planned for the end of June. Michael has a big following, although not among these tomodachis! Before saying sayonara, our organizing tomodachi-san with the English speaking daughter has set up an excursion to Ozu Washi Museum to make paper together. Raishu mata, ne! (See you next week!)
In a city where addresses are expressed by coordinates, landmarks rule: Tokyo Tower stands out from almost everywhere around town. Lording over the friendly sounding park of Shiba Koen, the Tower functions as a glamorous stand for an antenna. (After faithfully broadcasting NHK programs for 52 years, the Tower's function is about to be dwarfed by giant Tokyo Sky Tree going up in Oshiage by the Sumida river.) In the brilliant sunshine, Tower visitors admired the panorama from the Observation Deck. "How many new skyscrapers!" was the consensus of tomodachis. Fun to look down on the construction of the new Tokyo American Club and to find the Manor hidden between a pair of new highrises. Pretty Rainbow Bridge connects Shibaura Pier to Odaiba, one of the many teenage meccas. A quick visit to the "lookdown window" (glass tiled floor board), and the Milky Way display (a cheesy combination of blue holiday lights and saran wrap) completed the tour.
As all proper excursions end with a meal, the food court on the second story supplied a wide selection (pizza, sandwiches, curry and the omnipresent Macdonalds). In a country where purse snatching is unheard of, it is customary to leave personal belongings on the table while going off to purchase food. On the floor below for an extra fee fans may tour a Michael Jackson exhibit or make a reservation for the big "sleepover" planned for the end of June. Michael has a big following, although not among these tomodachis! Before saying sayonara, our organizing tomodachi-san with the English speaking daughter has set up an excursion to Ozu Washi Museum to make paper together. Raishu mata, ne! (See you next week!)
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Iris (Ayame) Viewing
Nihonjin are flower lovers with a matsuri (festival) every month to celebrate each stem. This week ayame (iris) are in the spotlight. "Shall we go to the Ayame Matsuri in Itako?" posed a pair of hana (flower) loving tomodachi san some weeks ago. Hai: Tokyoites typically satisfy the ayame urge in the garden at Meiji Jingu (the Shinto shrine dedicated to the 19th century emperor), which is conveniently located on the Yamanote sen (Circle Line) at Harajuku. Visiting Itako entails a trip via highway bus (Y 1,800 return) from Tokyo eki to Ibaraki prefecture heading north at 8:20 AM. By 9:30 an obliging taxi driver at the Kashima stop assured us that indeed the flowers reached their peak. Hai, by the calendar rainy season has started but not a drop falls in Itako.
First stop: A boat ride on the Tonegawa, second longest river in the country, flowing along fields of thousands of irises in shades of blue and purple. Women in colorful costumes with straw hats attacked like a pack of coyote, looking for boat riders. Tomodachi-san rejects the ticket price, until it comes down (Y 1,000 each). Onto a six-seater tented wedding boat we crawl, joined by a trio of men; like brides of yore, we float downstream as boat lady steers, offers a few facts about the 500 species of ayame and croons enka (ballads). On shore kindergarteners on field trips stride past the handkerchief-sized ayame, while the silver (over 65) set snap photos of each other. No one is camera shy in Nihon.
Next stop: A country inn that serves kaisecki (a traditional multi course meal). "I ate breakfast at 5 AM, let's have lunch now," said tomodachi san. At 11:15 a taxi dropped us on a hillside at the end of a long leafy drive much like old Edo. Shoes neatly lined up in the entry, a server in kimono ushered us to the comfort of a private tatami (strawmat) room. For two hours kimono servers present us with small dishes of seasonal treats, including a grilled fish (ayu) skewered with a stick on a rectangular platter. Oishkata (delicious)! Back on the highway bus, a happy trio return to Tokyo eki, sip Starbucks and marvel at the rain-free day. Can it be four weeks until blast off out of Nihon back to the West?
First stop: A boat ride on the Tonegawa, second longest river in the country, flowing along fields of thousands of irises in shades of blue and purple. Women in colorful costumes with straw hats attacked like a pack of coyote, looking for boat riders. Tomodachi-san rejects the ticket price, until it comes down (Y 1,000 each). Onto a six-seater tented wedding boat we crawl, joined by a trio of men; like brides of yore, we float downstream as boat lady steers, offers a few facts about the 500 species of ayame and croons enka (ballads). On shore kindergarteners on field trips stride past the handkerchief-sized ayame, while the silver (over 65) set snap photos of each other. No one is camera shy in Nihon.
Next stop: A country inn that serves kaisecki (a traditional multi course meal). "I ate breakfast at 5 AM, let's have lunch now," said tomodachi san. At 11:15 a taxi dropped us on a hillside at the end of a long leafy drive much like old Edo. Shoes neatly lined up in the entry, a server in kimono ushered us to the comfort of a private tatami (strawmat) room. For two hours kimono servers present us with small dishes of seasonal treats, including a grilled fish (ayu) skewered with a stick on a rectangular platter. Oishkata (delicious)! Back on the highway bus, a happy trio return to Tokyo eki, sip Starbucks and marvel at the rain-free day. Can it be four weeks until blast off out of Nihon back to the West?
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
The Business of Marriage
Matchmaking (omiai) is still a career option in Nihon. "My parents took me to a hotel with our omiai to meet my husband-to-be with his parents and matchmaker, " one tomodachi (friend) recalled about the first interview of her husband 25 years ago. "Three on each side of the table, with the matchmakers at the end of the table." After a sperm test (to check that late onset chickenpox had not impaired fertility), the deal was sealed and now two children attend med school. While at Juilliard studying piano, another tomodachi received a visit from parents with omiai since she reached the dangerous age of Christmas cake (stale after the 25th). Thanks to a serendipitous introduction she met a nihonjin in the Big Apple; they married and saved her parents a bundle. Each consultation starts at $100.
"My neighbor stopped by this morning with a present to tell me that it is settled with that her husband will move out," said tomodochi san at Eating Out Club this week. "She said it has all been fixed." Tomodachi-san admitted that she barely knew the neighbor, although there are only four flats in the building. The last time they spoke the neighbor mentioned her husband's retirement. Separation for empty nesters is not unusual among nihon no fufu (couples): After the job of raising a family is successfully completed, some wives prefer to live alone. Why the present? "As a thank you for listening."
Marriage is losing steam in this country, despite the parade of brides posing at the Meiji Jingu ( shrine) or by one of the many Prince Hotels. Young women are becoming "career girls," living with the parents and spending their earnings on designer handbags or trips abroad. The trend does not discourage matchmakers who specialize on different age groups and keep files of eligibles. "My friend's daughter has been looking for a husband for 18 years," said one tomodachi. "She hasn't found anyone suitable yet, and the pool of men is becoming smaller so she is meeting the same men again after all this time." Time moves quickly, tomodachis, how is it possible that in four weeks this blog will come to its natural conclusion?
"My neighbor stopped by this morning with a present to tell me that it is settled with that her husband will move out," said tomodochi san at Eating Out Club this week. "She said it has all been fixed." Tomodachi-san admitted that she barely knew the neighbor, although there are only four flats in the building. The last time they spoke the neighbor mentioned her husband's retirement. Separation for empty nesters is not unusual among nihon no fufu (couples): After the job of raising a family is successfully completed, some wives prefer to live alone. Why the present? "As a thank you for listening."
Marriage is losing steam in this country, despite the parade of brides posing at the Meiji Jingu ( shrine) or by one of the many Prince Hotels. Young women are becoming "career girls," living with the parents and spending their earnings on designer handbags or trips abroad. The trend does not discourage matchmakers who specialize on different age groups and keep files of eligibles. "My friend's daughter has been looking for a husband for 18 years," said one tomodachi. "She hasn't found anyone suitable yet, and the pool of men is becoming smaller so she is meeting the same men again after all this time." Time moves quickly, tomodachis, how is it possible that in four weeks this blog will come to its natural conclusion?
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Sunday in Shakuji
On an overcast Sunday the densha (train) whizzes Tokyoites with backpacks, sun hats and walking shoes to the outskirts. "Water Walks in Tokyo" by Enbutsu offers a selection of fourteen hikes: From the Manor the Toei Oedo line leads to Walk 2 Shakujikoen within 41 minutes (33 minutes on board plus eight to switch at Nerima) per the online Japanese Train Route Finder. On the platform a list of stations by line devised by a self-described "housewife," advises as to which carriage to board for quickest route to make connections. Thrilling to discover that Nerima, at the NW corner of Tokyo's 23 wards, is the birthplace of anime (Japanese animation).
Overlooking the river valley Shakuji Jo (castle) was home to the Toshima samurai clan nearly a thousand years ago and became their final resting place. While castle and clan are history, 21st century Tokyoites picnic on the grounds of Shakuji Koen (park), fish the two ponds and stroll a boardwalk trail. Floating lotus blossoms in Sanpoji Ike (pond) welcome visitors at the entry. A flash of turquoise alerts birdwatchers to the resident kawasemi (kingfisher). Aosagi (gray heron) and akagashira sagi (night heron) Sankuji Ike (pond) strike a pose in Shakuji Ike (pond) allowing tripod toting nihonjin to record the moment. The ubiquitous Asian karu gamo (spot billed duck) wearing yellow lipstick mingle with the more familiar ma-gamo (mallards).
Outside the park a brief detour follows an allee of pine trees to Dojo-ji, described by Enbutsu as an open air museum of Zen temple architecture. Children scamper on the grounds as adults attend a memorial service; a bell tolls. According to legend a priest is hiding in the bell to escape the advances of a woman whose passion turned her into a serpent. Around the corner a torii (gate) signals a shinto shrine, namely Sanpoji, with a magical serenity. A couple walks up to the altar, pulls the bell rope, bows in unison, claps, pays their respects. Back in the park a mama ban (moorhen) shows off her three chicks, for the pleasure of the birdwatchers on the shore. Shocking to discover that while out exploring a 6.2 earthquake shook musume out of a sound slumber.
Overlooking the river valley Shakuji Jo (castle) was home to the Toshima samurai clan nearly a thousand years ago and became their final resting place. While castle and clan are history, 21st century Tokyoites picnic on the grounds of Shakuji Koen (park), fish the two ponds and stroll a boardwalk trail. Floating lotus blossoms in Sanpoji Ike (pond) welcome visitors at the entry. A flash of turquoise alerts birdwatchers to the resident kawasemi (kingfisher). Aosagi (gray heron) and akagashira sagi (night heron) Sankuji Ike (pond) strike a pose in Shakuji Ike (pond) allowing tripod toting nihonjin to record the moment. The ubiquitous Asian karu gamo (spot billed duck) wearing yellow lipstick mingle with the more familiar ma-gamo (mallards).
Outside the park a brief detour follows an allee of pine trees to Dojo-ji, described by Enbutsu as an open air museum of Zen temple architecture. Children scamper on the grounds as adults attend a memorial service; a bell tolls. According to legend a priest is hiding in the bell to escape the advances of a woman whose passion turned her into a serpent. Around the corner a torii (gate) signals a shinto shrine, namely Sanpoji, with a magical serenity. A couple walks up to the altar, pulls the bell rope, bows in unison, claps, pays their respects. Back in the park a mama ban (moorhen) shows off her three chicks, for the pleasure of the birdwatchers on the shore. Shocking to discover that while out exploring a 6.2 earthquake shook musume out of a sound slumber.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Yesterday in Yokohama
How is high school graduation like childbirth? Once in the actual moment, all careful preparation falls by the wayside. Three dear, generous tomodachis (friends) converged from points around Tokyo at Motomachi Chukagai eki (Chinatown station) to help parents applaud as musume-chan accepted her YIS (Yokohama International School) diploma on a Thursday evening. With a 7 PM ceremony two joined our family for an early bird supper; the third opted to meet at the school. Only the Trattoria at Barney's Yokohama was open for business at that unsophisticated hour, which turned out to be perfect. (Barney's is a popular label among Tokyoites.) The graduand (as seniors are called at YIS) changed into her evening clothes in the loo.
Yokohama, where the Queen Mary docks, boasts an ocean breeze no matter how high the temperature climbs. Sadly, the breeze was not invited to the ceremony: Looking crisp upon entry into the gymnasium, parents in kimono and serious finery soon wilted with just a Kyoto-standard issue fan blowing down in the enormous space. Soon guests unfolded hand fans, and before long programs turned into impromptu fans. The heat took its toll on our camera, which meant relying on generous tomodachis to record the event. After the student orchestra scratched out a prelude, school administrators expressed gratitude for all their colleagues-- except each other. Headmaster, in his final address before a transfer to Munich, described the circuitous path of his career from failed med student to school administrator; parents understood. By contrast student speeches were witty, irreverent and suitably sarcastic. Remarks in English from the guest of honor, the Governor of Kanagawa, were pithy and pertinent to the host country.
After 90 minutes the red-robed graduands strode to the stage for the handshake and leather bound diploma in two languages. High School Principal introduced each by name with a sentence about future plans, covering an enormous gamut ("Interpol agent," "science teacher," "pharmacist," "stock broker," "ski instructor," "model," "artist," many "don't yet know"). Musume expressed the desire to perfect her nihongo in order to become an interpreter and translator. After another musical interlude, hats thrown high, 59 international students embraced each other in a sweaty group hug and little ladies with trays served bottles of mineral water and Coke. A final nonalcoholic toast with everyone raising a glass of Appletizer, and finally in their status as graduates the whole gang took off into the cool wilds of Shibuya not to be seen again until long after sunrise.
Yokohama, where the Queen Mary docks, boasts an ocean breeze no matter how high the temperature climbs. Sadly, the breeze was not invited to the ceremony: Looking crisp upon entry into the gymnasium, parents in kimono and serious finery soon wilted with just a Kyoto-standard issue fan blowing down in the enormous space. Soon guests unfolded hand fans, and before long programs turned into impromptu fans. The heat took its toll on our camera, which meant relying on generous tomodachis to record the event. After the student orchestra scratched out a prelude, school administrators expressed gratitude for all their colleagues-- except each other. Headmaster, in his final address before a transfer to Munich, described the circuitous path of his career from failed med student to school administrator; parents understood. By contrast student speeches were witty, irreverent and suitably sarcastic. Remarks in English from the guest of honor, the Governor of Kanagawa, were pithy and pertinent to the host country.
After 90 minutes the red-robed graduands strode to the stage for the handshake and leather bound diploma in two languages. High School Principal introduced each by name with a sentence about future plans, covering an enormous gamut ("Interpol agent," "science teacher," "pharmacist," "stock broker," "ski instructor," "model," "artist," many "don't yet know"). Musume expressed the desire to perfect her nihongo in order to become an interpreter and translator. After another musical interlude, hats thrown high, 59 international students embraced each other in a sweaty group hug and little ladies with trays served bottles of mineral water and Coke. A final nonalcoholic toast with everyone raising a glass of Appletizer, and finally in their status as graduates the whole gang took off into the cool wilds of Shibuya not to be seen again until long after sunrise.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Rainy Season (tsuyu)
Full attendance of five ladies in gray tones around the table for English Conversation on the Wednesday that marked the start of rainy season. Composer-san, 15 minutes late as usual, has been in the kitchen since 5 AM stirring vegetable soup and preparing obento (lunch boxes) for her grown daughters and husband-- isogashii (busy). Two ladies slipped out of raincoats (one black, one white). With musume (daughter) about to graduate from high school, I circulated a prom photo. How grown up Western girls of 18 with lipstick appear! Thanks to Hollywood, our group has witnessed proms on the silver screen. Nihon no onna no ko (girls, literally : little women) are mere babies! Musume has an enviable alabaster complexion, they noted. (Drugstore shelves are laden with skin whitening products.) Like Princess Masako, I revealed, I needed medical intervention to have a baby; I pulled out the book I wrote 10 years back that describes my adventures in fertility treatment.
"What is the English word that describes how you must feel now?" asked obaasan (grandma) of five. "Grateful" was the best my limited vocabulary could muster; nihongo offered a richer variety of adjectives (kangai, bugai) for feelings of joy, pain and reaching a goal after much hard work. Current events provided two hot topics: the premiere of Sex and the City 2, and the appointment of a new prime minister. Since Composer-san's family is busy making music, they have no time for television; in fact, she does not own a TV so just smiles broadly as she often does. Who is Sarah Jessica Parker? she wondered. Obaasan objected to the nudity, Chef-san looked forward to the fashions and Traveler-san chuckled at the prospect of light comedy. Driver-san was most informed on the actresses, perhaps since her daughter now lives in New York. All voted Kim Cattrall the most attractive of the bunch.
As for the government shake-up, the group had high hopes for the new leader, Naoto Kan. "Our last prime minister and many of his cabinet members come from rich backgrounds," said Chef-san, leading to a discussion of the idiom "born with a silver spoon." Humorously, Kan's unofficial slogan is "Yes we Kan." Obaasan elaborated: "Mr Kan comes from a regular family and his wife is very intelligent. We call her the Japanese Hillary. Every night she debates with her husband and he usually loses." Then why isn't Mrs Kan prime minister? I carefully posed. Obaasan replied," It is not in our culture." In the US we tell girls they can grow up to run for president, why not here? "Our lifestyle will change," was the consensus of these accomplished, well-traveled women. What of the Sex and The City roles? "Yes, we have more career women in Japan now but...it is a slow process." Yet how quickly the past 18 years have flown! At sundown tomorrow parents of 50-odd students will attend Yokohama International School graduation ceremony.
"What is the English word that describes how you must feel now?" asked obaasan (grandma) of five. "Grateful" was the best my limited vocabulary could muster; nihongo offered a richer variety of adjectives (kangai, bugai) for feelings of joy, pain and reaching a goal after much hard work. Current events provided two hot topics: the premiere of Sex and the City 2, and the appointment of a new prime minister. Since Composer-san's family is busy making music, they have no time for television; in fact, she does not own a TV so just smiles broadly as she often does. Who is Sarah Jessica Parker? she wondered. Obaasan objected to the nudity, Chef-san looked forward to the fashions and Traveler-san chuckled at the prospect of light comedy. Driver-san was most informed on the actresses, perhaps since her daughter now lives in New York. All voted Kim Cattrall the most attractive of the bunch.
As for the government shake-up, the group had high hopes for the new leader, Naoto Kan. "Our last prime minister and many of his cabinet members come from rich backgrounds," said Chef-san, leading to a discussion of the idiom "born with a silver spoon." Humorously, Kan's unofficial slogan is "Yes we Kan." Obaasan elaborated: "Mr Kan comes from a regular family and his wife is very intelligent. We call her the Japanese Hillary. Every night she debates with her husband and he usually loses." Then why isn't Mrs Kan prime minister? I carefully posed. Obaasan replied," It is not in our culture." In the US we tell girls they can grow up to run for president, why not here? "Our lifestyle will change," was the consensus of these accomplished, well-traveled women. What of the Sex and The City roles? "Yes, we have more career women in Japan now but...it is a slow process." Yet how quickly the past 18 years have flown! At sundown tomorrow parents of 50-odd students will attend Yokohama International School graduation ceremony.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Hotel Okura
What the Waldorf-Astoria is to a New Yorker, the Hotel Okura is for the Tokyoite: a landmark a bit past its prime yet aging gracefully. No lobby exudes more glamor than the Okura with its circa 1960 design by Yoshiro Tanaguchi. Vis-a-vis the US Embassy by Kamiyacho eki, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton feels at home in the low building with its wide hallways. Hotel workers in kimono beckon visitors to the next elevator, bowing until the closing doors firmly meet. For decades the Okura has hosted the June program of the bi-cultural ladies social club. Last year the Empress addressed the assembly in tinkly tones to honor the 60th anniversary of the club; this year a boy band improbably called Le Velvets (not a typo) serenaded guests.
John and George Astor, flutemaking brothers from Waldorff, Germany, later fur merchants, built the Park Avenue hostelry. Baron Okura Kihachiro (1837-1928) of Niigata prefecture, a weapons dealer and an avid collector of Oriental antiques, endowed a museum as well as the luxury hotel in Toranomon. Japan owes their car culture to his son, Kishichiro (1882-1963), who attended Cambridge but turned to race car driving. Hai, the Okuras would have approved the pearl bedecked ladies filling the banquet hall. At the head table board members welcomed honored guests such as Mrs. Okada, wife of the Foreign Minister. When the prime minister resigned last week, Mr. Okada was briefly considered for the slot but remained in position.
"How do you do, I'm Midori," introduced my neighbor at the head table, as she turned out a co-founder of Ikebana International and widow of "Mr. Navy," a key member of General MacArthur's team sixty years ago. Japan is too hot in summer, she confided, which is why she will soon head out to San Francisco.Sending the ladies into summer vacation in the right frame of mind, Le Velvets (not a typo) belted oldies such as Frankie Valli's "You're Just Too Good to Be True" and, more incongruously, "O Sole Mio." Coffee was my cue as VP to stand up, thank the president and, on behalf of the assembly, proffer the standard silver photo frame (monogrammed). Only 48 hours now until graduation evening at Yokohama International School.
John and George Astor, flutemaking brothers from Waldorff, Germany, later fur merchants, built the Park Avenue hostelry. Baron Okura Kihachiro (1837-1928) of Niigata prefecture, a weapons dealer and an avid collector of Oriental antiques, endowed a museum as well as the luxury hotel in Toranomon. Japan owes their car culture to his son, Kishichiro (1882-1963), who attended Cambridge but turned to race car driving. Hai, the Okuras would have approved the pearl bedecked ladies filling the banquet hall. At the head table board members welcomed honored guests such as Mrs. Okada, wife of the Foreign Minister. When the prime minister resigned last week, Mr. Okada was briefly considered for the slot but remained in position.
"How do you do, I'm Midori," introduced my neighbor at the head table, as she turned out a co-founder of Ikebana International and widow of "Mr. Navy," a key member of General MacArthur's team sixty years ago. Japan is too hot in summer, she confided, which is why she will soon head out to San Francisco.Sending the ladies into summer vacation in the right frame of mind, Le Velvets (not a typo) belted oldies such as Frankie Valli's "You're Just Too Good to Be True" and, more incongruously, "O Sole Mio." Coffee was my cue as VP to stand up, thank the president and, on behalf of the assembly, proffer the standard silver photo frame (monogrammed). Only 48 hours now until graduation evening at Yokohama International School.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Count Kabayama's Granddaughter
Funny thing about living abroad is that names don't ring a bell to the foreign ear. For example, to a New Yorker "Rockefeller" rings a bell (former governor Nelson, his missus Happy, Japan Society, etc). Serving on the board of a Tokyo ladies club founded in 1949 at the suggestion of Count Kabayama, the tip-off is the fellow board member who identifies herself as the Count's granddaughter. Despite her lineage she is homesick for Manhattan. "It was heaven to live there," she confided in the type of gravelly voice that betrays a former smoker. "In Japan wives are never included in business dinners but in New York it was just the opposite! What fun we had socializing with American colleagues. And what fun I had filling the closet with bargains from Woodbury Common. I do remember thinking once: Not another dinner at Le Cirque! How spoiled I was."
When the count's granddaughter extended an invitation for tea in Hiro-o at Paper Moon, with another shop on East 77th Street, the only answer is: Hai. (Many NY eateries have Tokyo outposts, enabling the former Manhattanite to satisfy her appetite for the Big Apple.) Portions and prices are American style. Although our gracious hostess gained two stubborn kilos this year, she suspended her diet for one afternoon of reminiscing about her family. The owners of the patisserie greeted her warmly, exchanging a few words about the sudden resignation of prime minister Hatoyama this week as well as his righthand man Ozawa. The count's granddaughter lamented today's lack of statesmen such as her grandfather. "Our leaders need to be decisive," she said, like a true New Yorker.
Bites of cake alternated with bitesize tales of how John D. Rockefeller and Mr. Kabayama (as he became after 1945) co-founded International House in 1951, an active cultural center just a stone's throw from the Manor. Typical of Meiji era well-to-do nihonjin, all the Kabayamas studied in the US so it came as no surprise when in 1929 his younger daughter, Masako, made a love match with a Cambridge graduate by the name of Jiro Shirasu."My father moved us to the seaside resort of Oiso after the war, since Tokyo was completely burned to the ground," recounted the Count's granddaughter. "I was playing in the garden one day when a jeep pulled up and out stepped General MacArthur. He was the first American I ever met." Nihonjin know of Mr. Shirasu as the man who dared to talk back to MacArthur; at Cambridge he became an expert debater, which served him well with the Supreme Commander for Allied Powers (SCAP). Digesting the story and the rich cake, the afternoon closed with a promise to meet for a second slice of Mille Crepe at Paper Moon on E 77th Street.
When the count's granddaughter extended an invitation for tea in Hiro-o at Paper Moon, with another shop on East 77th Street, the only answer is: Hai. (Many NY eateries have Tokyo outposts, enabling the former Manhattanite to satisfy her appetite for the Big Apple.) Portions and prices are American style. Although our gracious hostess gained two stubborn kilos this year, she suspended her diet for one afternoon of reminiscing about her family. The owners of the patisserie greeted her warmly, exchanging a few words about the sudden resignation of prime minister Hatoyama this week as well as his righthand man Ozawa. The count's granddaughter lamented today's lack of statesmen such as her grandfather. "Our leaders need to be decisive," she said, like a true New Yorker.
Bites of cake alternated with bitesize tales of how John D. Rockefeller and Mr. Kabayama (as he became after 1945) co-founded International House in 1951, an active cultural center just a stone's throw from the Manor. Typical of Meiji era well-to-do nihonjin, all the Kabayamas studied in the US so it came as no surprise when in 1929 his younger daughter, Masako, made a love match with a Cambridge graduate by the name of Jiro Shirasu."My father moved us to the seaside resort of Oiso after the war, since Tokyo was completely burned to the ground," recounted the Count's granddaughter. "I was playing in the garden one day when a jeep pulled up and out stepped General MacArthur. He was the first American I ever met." Nihonjin know of Mr. Shirasu as the man who dared to talk back to MacArthur; at Cambridge he became an expert debater, which served him well with the Supreme Commander for Allied Powers (SCAP). Digesting the story and the rich cake, the afternoon closed with a promise to meet for a second slice of Mille Crepe at Paper Moon on E 77th Street.
The Gotoh Museum in Setagaya
"Would you like to visit the Gotoh Museum?" invited tomodachi san, referring to the family-owned gallery in the southwest corner of Tokyo known as Setagaya ku. "There is a calligraphy exhibit and afterwards we can stroll through the garden." Hai, the automatic answer to every question, meant a thirty minute ride via two trains to Kaminoge eki on a summery morning. Tomodachi san brought two parasols since Tokyoites never allow the sun to touch their skin. A short walk through tree lined roads led to the Gotoh, formerly the private home of a railroad magnate. In another part of town visitors flock to the Nezu Museum, once home to another railroad family. With train lines privately owned in Japan, railroad families collect items that the government deems National Treasures and Cultural Properties that train travelers may enjoy for a price not much more than a train ticket.
Shodo (the way of writing), the ancient art imported from China, has no Western equivalent. Poems on exhibit currently at the Gotoh date from the Heian era (ninth and tenth centuries); mounted on patterned textiles they hang vertically like window shades. Impressive that the paper and legible, vivid ink are a thousand years old. As tomodachi san translated, our voices lifted a notch triggering the security guard to request that we keep down the volume. Outside in the garden, visitors are free to speak at any decibel. On a slope, Japanese stone lanterns of different designs lead downwards; my favorite was the "snow viewing lantern." Beyond the hill lies the Tama River, dividing Tokyo from Kanagawa, the neighboring prefecture of which Yokohama is the capital.
En route to tomodachi's home for a spot of lunch we passed the last remaining farm and even a vineyard; both used by NHK television crews when seeking local color. In her large garden tomodachi has many fruit trees including the native biwa (loquat), in full bloom now. "Here, try one," she offered, peeling it. Resembling an apricot, it is a closer relation to the apple. Lunch included many tasty treats from the garden; as we ate in the formal dining room, her ancient mother-in-law busied herself outside with weeding. The meal ended with the presentation of a furoshiki (cloth) wrapped box: a calligraphy brush from Tokei-ji, the temple of the family and a refuge for battered women since 1285. Ichi go, ichi e (one time one meeting) she wrote on the card, the slogan of tea ceremony. Our singular chance to spend an afternoon together properly savored, only five days remain until the Class of 2010 say farewell to Yokohama International School.
Shodo (the way of writing), the ancient art imported from China, has no Western equivalent. Poems on exhibit currently at the Gotoh date from the Heian era (ninth and tenth centuries); mounted on patterned textiles they hang vertically like window shades. Impressive that the paper and legible, vivid ink are a thousand years old. As tomodachi san translated, our voices lifted a notch triggering the security guard to request that we keep down the volume. Outside in the garden, visitors are free to speak at any decibel. On a slope, Japanese stone lanterns of different designs lead downwards; my favorite was the "snow viewing lantern." Beyond the hill lies the Tama River, dividing Tokyo from Kanagawa, the neighboring prefecture of which Yokohama is the capital.
En route to tomodachi's home for a spot of lunch we passed the last remaining farm and even a vineyard; both used by NHK television crews when seeking local color. In her large garden tomodachi has many fruit trees including the native biwa (loquat), in full bloom now. "Here, try one," she offered, peeling it. Resembling an apricot, it is a closer relation to the apple. Lunch included many tasty treats from the garden; as we ate in the formal dining room, her ancient mother-in-law busied herself outside with weeding. The meal ended with the presentation of a furoshiki (cloth) wrapped box: a calligraphy brush from Tokei-ji, the temple of the family and a refuge for battered women since 1285. Ichi go, ichi e (one time one meeting) she wrote on the card, the slogan of tea ceremony. Our singular chance to spend an afternoon together properly savored, only five days remain until the Class of 2010 say farewell to Yokohama International School.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Getting Naked Together
Hot topics at English conversation this week: Minutes earlier Mr. Hatoyama stepped down and reports came out that the Gores untied the knot after four decades. Eleven on the dot on a Wednesday at the Manor transported three sophisticated ladies out of shoes and into self-assigned seats around the table. Composer-san arrived typically 15 minutes late, while family illness kept driver-san away. "We are so embarrassed about our lack of leadership," said obaasan (granny) of five, echoing local newscasters. Hatoyama-san's bow exceeded the minimum 15 degree angle, which reflected the gravity of his apology. Promising to move the US base off Okinawa torpedoed his term after a mere 10 months; the skirmish between the Koreas underlined possible consequences. A samurai would have faced seppuku (self disembowelment), while Hatoyama may be faced with a life term in academia. As heir to the Bridgestone Tire fortune, can he understand the average nihonjin?
Al and Tipper led to the question of the Clinton marriage. "How could President Clinton remain in office after such public embarrassment?" posed chef-san. "I could not forgive my husband." Faced with evidence of adultery, they agreed that a prime minister would step down without an argument. The issue is the shame, not the cheating: Japanese couples often remain under the same roof for financial reasons, while leading separate lives (divorce rate is a mere 3%). Without revisiting that unhappy chapter of American history discussion moved on to the verb "to flirt," which did not translate directly. The performer Tamaki Koji , a well-known womanizer, is considered to have a psychological problem, since playful banter with the opposite sex is not part of the local culture.
Thanks to Mr. Milne, this week's installment of Pooh-san included the adverb "modestly." How surprising for Westerners to find that nude public bathing is widely practiced in the form of onsen (hot springs). People of all ages --even musume-chan (daughter)!--indulge in group nudity for the pleasure of sitting in ofuka with strangers of the same sex. After showering and washing off, with only a washcloth as protection, the onsen goer hops into the mineral water. Yakuza (gangsters) not welcome, which means no one with tattoos. How often do the ladies at the table visit onsen? "Never!" said obaasan, who is so thin that she fears critical eyes. Chef-san and husband head out of town to the outdoor onsen, where she admitted to holding the washcloth modestly in front. Composer-san and Traveler-san admitted to a healthy devil-may-care attitude about stripping down and enjoying the company of naked friends in the pool. Not much time for soaking in onsen before the graduation ceremony at YIS on the 10th.
Al and Tipper led to the question of the Clinton marriage. "How could President Clinton remain in office after such public embarrassment?" posed chef-san. "I could not forgive my husband." Faced with evidence of adultery, they agreed that a prime minister would step down without an argument. The issue is the shame, not the cheating: Japanese couples often remain under the same roof for financial reasons, while leading separate lives (divorce rate is a mere 3%). Without revisiting that unhappy chapter of American history discussion moved on to the verb "to flirt," which did not translate directly. The performer Tamaki Koji , a well-known womanizer, is considered to have a psychological problem, since playful banter with the opposite sex is not part of the local culture.
Thanks to Mr. Milne, this week's installment of Pooh-san included the adverb "modestly." How surprising for Westerners to find that nude public bathing is widely practiced in the form of onsen (hot springs). People of all ages --even musume-chan (daughter)!--indulge in group nudity for the pleasure of sitting in ofuka with strangers of the same sex. After showering and washing off, with only a washcloth as protection, the onsen goer hops into the mineral water. Yakuza (gangsters) not welcome, which means no one with tattoos. How often do the ladies at the table visit onsen? "Never!" said obaasan, who is so thin that she fears critical eyes. Chef-san and husband head out of town to the outdoor onsen, where she admitted to holding the washcloth modestly in front. Composer-san and Traveler-san admitted to a healthy devil-may-care attitude about stripping down and enjoying the company of naked friends in the pool. Not much time for soaking in onsen before the graduation ceremony at YIS on the 10th.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Seven Lucky Gods
Born Shinto, die Buddhist, is the conventional pattern in Japan. In between seek guidance from the Shichi Fukujin (Seven Lucky Gods), which includes one goddess: Benten-sama. She's got a lot on her plate as the protector deity of knowledge and the flow of creativity, specifically words and music. With temples and shrines dotting the town, Tokyoites in search of spiritual guidance are well covered. Unlike Western places of worship, paying respects Japanese style takes place out in the open. Up the hill from the Manor the small temple provides what appears like a small booth with statues and flowers. The worshipper pulls the bell rope to alert the deities to a human request, bows twice, claps twice, prays and takes a final bow. Tossing a coin into the money box is the polite thing to do.
For supplicants with specific needs there are issue appropriate temples. Writers and musicians, for example, would do well to head to Tokyo Tower. In its shadow sits Benten-sama's temple, Shoren-ja. Created for a Tokugawa princess of the Kanei era (1600s) on the first and seventeenth of each month all are invited in to stimulate the flow of creativity. Stepping gingerly on the stone path, the altar to Benten-sama is flush to the end of a thirty foot long tunnel carved into a hillside. Candles light the curved path, which requires a flashlight for proper navigation. (During wartime Benten-sama's tunnel was a safe haven.) For best results leave an offering on the altar next to the melon and melon sized onion; a pound cake and a tin of loose tea made a nice balance.
Although the temple is a stone's throw from Kamiyacho (site of the 1995 sarin gas attack) even the nihonjin in a group from the academically oriented women's group were astonished by this secret treasure. What good fortune that after some prodding, the California-born daughter-in-law of the resident priest generously invited our crowd. Ushered into the small temple building, we stepped out of our shoes and squatted on the tatami mat. Ottosan (father-in-law) made a few opening remarks, including the fact that he never anticipated his son would marry an American. After sharing many ancient relics, all the visitors did our best to bow properly upon our exit. Out on the street it was business as usual as the Number 97 headed to Shibuya and the month of June barrel s along to graduation day at Yokohama International School.
For supplicants with specific needs there are issue appropriate temples. Writers and musicians, for example, would do well to head to Tokyo Tower. In its shadow sits Benten-sama's temple, Shoren-ja. Created for a Tokugawa princess of the Kanei era (1600s) on the first and seventeenth of each month all are invited in to stimulate the flow of creativity. Stepping gingerly on the stone path, the altar to Benten-sama is flush to the end of a thirty foot long tunnel carved into a hillside. Candles light the curved path, which requires a flashlight for proper navigation. (During wartime Benten-sama's tunnel was a safe haven.) For best results leave an offering on the altar next to the melon and melon sized onion; a pound cake and a tin of loose tea made a nice balance.
Although the temple is a stone's throw from Kamiyacho (site of the 1995 sarin gas attack) even the nihonjin in a group from the academically oriented women's group were astonished by this secret treasure. What good fortune that after some prodding, the California-born daughter-in-law of the resident priest generously invited our crowd. Ushered into the small temple building, we stepped out of our shoes and squatted on the tatami mat. Ottosan (father-in-law) made a few opening remarks, including the fact that he never anticipated his son would marry an American. After sharing many ancient relics, all the visitors did our best to bow properly upon our exit. Out on the street it was business as usual as the Number 97 headed to Shibuya and the month of June barrel s along to graduation day at Yokohama International School.
Monday, May 31, 2010
The Art of Rubbish
Tokyoites divide trash into burnable and non, forcing everyone to consider what is going into the bin. How to determine a nonburnable, beside lighting a match to it? Residents at the Manor rely on the in-house expert who keeps the trash room neater than the average teenager's bedroom. No matter how fastidious Manor folks are about separating their detritus, Mr. Clean inspects each garbage bag to prevent mistakes that might incur fines from Minato-ku (harbor ward). A 27 page booklet on the subject explains more categories than one might expect. Sadly, the rules shifted last year, confusing gaijin (foreigners) even further. Sanitation workers will not accept garbage unless properly divided, sorted and wrapped. On collection days plastic bags are rounded up in blue netting to deter gangs of crows from pecking their way in, which they manage to do in any case.
Bins in the Juban come in pairs to allow for proper disposal. Once on a mountain hike with nihonjin, I dangled a banana peel carelessly. "Carry it home," I was advised. "But if we don't see you throw it away, you may." (Confession: it ended up under a tree.) Three years ago when Minato-ku's streets gleamed, I observed a child call out to a woman riding a bicycle; a tissue had fallen from her pocket. She stopped to collect it. Since the economic downturn of 2008 litter seems to be on the upswing, with cigarette butts the biggest offender. Wide as mailboxes, street ashtrays invite customers to congregate by corners since the law requires smokers to stand and puff together. Perhaps they prefer the bus stop for the Number 96 to Shinagawa, judging by the number of butts now underfoot.
"I started out in computers," Mr. Clean told me in perfect English. "When my mother fell ill, I switched to this job since it gives me more time to look after her." When he noted how many empty cans of essa (cat food) this Manor resident adds to the building's refuse, he pulled out his keitai (cell phone) to share photos of his three neko-chans (cats)-- adopted strays. (Tokyo has a tribe of well-fed stray cats, looked after by legions of women on bicycles rather than a non-profit org.) Lately, our refuse has become heavy on paper with high school practice exams. Is it only ten days until seniors don red gowns for graduation at Yokohama International?
Bins in the Juban come in pairs to allow for proper disposal. Once on a mountain hike with nihonjin, I dangled a banana peel carelessly. "Carry it home," I was advised. "But if we don't see you throw it away, you may." (Confession: it ended up under a tree.) Three years ago when Minato-ku's streets gleamed, I observed a child call out to a woman riding a bicycle; a tissue had fallen from her pocket. She stopped to collect it. Since the economic downturn of 2008 litter seems to be on the upswing, with cigarette butts the biggest offender. Wide as mailboxes, street ashtrays invite customers to congregate by corners since the law requires smokers to stand and puff together. Perhaps they prefer the bus stop for the Number 96 to Shinagawa, judging by the number of butts now underfoot.
"I started out in computers," Mr. Clean told me in perfect English. "When my mother fell ill, I switched to this job since it gives me more time to look after her." When he noted how many empty cans of essa (cat food) this Manor resident adds to the building's refuse, he pulled out his keitai (cell phone) to share photos of his three neko-chans (cats)-- adopted strays. (Tokyo has a tribe of well-fed stray cats, looked after by legions of women on bicycles rather than a non-profit org.) Lately, our refuse has become heavy on paper with high school practice exams. Is it only ten days until seniors don red gowns for graduation at Yokohama International?
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Shinjuku Salvation Army
Since nihonjin shun used goods, the secondhand market in Tokyo is a goldmine for gaijin. A fellow amerikajin from the academic ladies club (an avid kimono collector) shared the secret of her source: The Salvation Army in Suginami-ku. Coveting the elegant kimono worn by ladies traveling along the Namboku subway line en route to tea ceremony, ikebana lesson or wedding, was there much gold up north? One gray Saturday noon shodo tomodachi Madame G and I zoomed past Shinjuku via Yamanote (think: London's Circle Line) with transfer to the Marunouchi ("inside the circle") to dig for treasure. Exit at Nakano-Fukimicho turn left and at the Buddhist temple bear right 15 minutes past a hospital and another temple in Wada ni-chome to a small concrete building with a security guard outside. The gaijin looking at used bicycles confirm that you are there.
Inside the small building we found a dazzling array of items in immaculate condition, both Western and nihon. A quick sweep of crockery, with plates of every shape and design, yielded a quick treasure. Next, the kimono seller worked with Mme G for half an hour to find the correct length for a Western lady plus a good match for the obi (wide sash). A friendly nihon shopper lingered with us, and advised. At last, after much discussion in broken nihongo, each of us was pleased with her purchase. On to the stall of sensu (hand fans), invented 1300 years ago in Japan for the aristocracy. When irises are in bloom everyone whips out a fan (including men) to counteract the humidity. A delicate combination of bamboo and washi, lovely L-san of Yokohama presented me with a stunning sensu so elegant in its box that I am reluctant to disturb it. Ding-ding! Closing time at 2 PM cut our hunt short. Will there be a local eatery to provide a late lunch?
Only a block away, Mme G slid open the door of a soba (Japanese noodle) place. Absolutely empty, the hostess beckoned us in and we ordered the lunch set at Y 750 (about $9) with warm udon (wheat) rather than cold soba (buckwheat) since the day turned raw. The tray arrived with spring roll, udon, dipping sauce and small salad. The hostess told us her aunt lives in Los Angeles and that her younger brother owns the restaurant. As if expecting us, she was fully made up and camera ready. Since the shop has no business card, she gave us the take-out menu and we promised to return. Will there be time before musume-chan's high school graduation in two weeks? Time is running short.
Inside the small building we found a dazzling array of items in immaculate condition, both Western and nihon. A quick sweep of crockery, with plates of every shape and design, yielded a quick treasure. Next, the kimono seller worked with Mme G for half an hour to find the correct length for a Western lady plus a good match for the obi (wide sash). A friendly nihon shopper lingered with us, and advised. At last, after much discussion in broken nihongo, each of us was pleased with her purchase. On to the stall of sensu (hand fans), invented 1300 years ago in Japan for the aristocracy. When irises are in bloom everyone whips out a fan (including men) to counteract the humidity. A delicate combination of bamboo and washi, lovely L-san of Yokohama presented me with a stunning sensu so elegant in its box that I am reluctant to disturb it. Ding-ding! Closing time at 2 PM cut our hunt short. Will there be a local eatery to provide a late lunch?
Only a block away, Mme G slid open the door of a soba (Japanese noodle) place. Absolutely empty, the hostess beckoned us in and we ordered the lunch set at Y 750 (about $9) with warm udon (wheat) rather than cold soba (buckwheat) since the day turned raw. The tray arrived with spring roll, udon, dipping sauce and small salad. The hostess told us her aunt lives in Los Angeles and that her younger brother owns the restaurant. As if expecting us, she was fully made up and camera ready. Since the shop has no business card, she gave us the take-out menu and we promised to return. Will there be time before musume-chan's high school graduation in two weeks? Time is running short.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Kanji Crunch
Five terms of Thursday shodo (Japanese calligraphy) classes closed successfully with a project blessed by a hanko (red seal) imprinted on the piece by Nakamura-sensei. Only Sensei can apply the seal of approval, always with fanfare. Hanko time starts with a lipstick smile and outstretched bejeweled hand. Using scrap paper Sensei stamps out a sample and moves it around the page for position. Unlike Western signatures, hanko do not always sink to the bottom of the work. If kanji (Chinese characters) spell kaze kaoru (fragrant breeze), for example, why not place the stamp floating upwards? For a shikishi (board) hanko is the size of a postage stamp, for wall hanging shodo nearly Post-It size. When Sensei finds the right spot she tamps the hanko with red ink and aims it above the sample, moves it aside then dives down. Pressing for more than a few minutes she finally lifted it up: "Kireii! (Pretty)!"
"I hardly slept last night," confided Sensei, resplendent in Marina Rinaldi purple checked jacket, South Sea pearl on a chain by her throat. Three of the seven students are leaving Tokyo and our lessons. A youthful 75 Sensei does not want to take on new students. "You have improved so much this term," she generously said (mada, mada--not so). Every week she interpreted our moods through our work: New Yorkers have shrinks, Tokyoites have shodo Sensei. Knowing of Sensei's sweet tooth, I ordered a Japanese strawberry shortcake (heavy on the whipped cream). "Now I am the happiest Sensei in Tokyo," she clapped after many photos of the students, the work and the cake. We all agreed to meet in two weeks time for a farewell luncheon, since all key occasions in Japan are marked by ceremonial meals.
After class, tomodachi-san kindly offered a ride to the local art supply shop to find a frame for the final kanji ("frosty lake"). Ten minutes down the road to Gotanda the shop clerk made suggestions. "This frame mixes Japanese and Chinese parts, which is why it's half the price of a 100% Nihon frame. Is that OK?" tomodachi-san inquired. "I'm from the US where everything says Made in China-- no problem!" I replied. Disguising her personal reservations at my choice, she dropped me off in front of the Manor. What a surprise to stumble into a going-away party in the lobby for one concierge who is moving across town to Hiro-o. "I shall miss this building with its attractive ladies," he charmingly said. June is almost here: Only two weeks until Musume-chan (daughter) graduates from Yokohama International School!
"I hardly slept last night," confided Sensei, resplendent in Marina Rinaldi purple checked jacket, South Sea pearl on a chain by her throat. Three of the seven students are leaving Tokyo and our lessons. A youthful 75 Sensei does not want to take on new students. "You have improved so much this term," she generously said (mada, mada--not so). Every week she interpreted our moods through our work: New Yorkers have shrinks, Tokyoites have shodo Sensei. Knowing of Sensei's sweet tooth, I ordered a Japanese strawberry shortcake (heavy on the whipped cream). "Now I am the happiest Sensei in Tokyo," she clapped after many photos of the students, the work and the cake. We all agreed to meet in two weeks time for a farewell luncheon, since all key occasions in Japan are marked by ceremonial meals.
After class, tomodachi-san kindly offered a ride to the local art supply shop to find a frame for the final kanji ("frosty lake"). Ten minutes down the road to Gotanda the shop clerk made suggestions. "This frame mixes Japanese and Chinese parts, which is why it's half the price of a 100% Nihon frame. Is that OK?" tomodachi-san inquired. "I'm from the US where everything says Made in China-- no problem!" I replied. Disguising her personal reservations at my choice, she dropped me off in front of the Manor. What a surprise to stumble into a going-away party in the lobby for one concierge who is moving across town to Hiro-o. "I shall miss this building with its attractive ladies," he charmingly said. June is almost here: Only two weeks until Musume-chan (daughter) graduates from Yokohama International School!
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