Blowin' in the Wind

      Only in this town do rock concerts begin promptly at sundown, a groupie's early bird special. Dylan's show was no exception as men in black leather with sleek ponytails flooded into Zepp Tokyo at 7 PM on the far side of the bay in Odaiba, yet another teen mecca. My nihonjin guest and I slipped in through the VIP line, guided up to the balcony, our seats in the center of the row beside a woman in black cashmere and diamond studs. Her date (in suit and tie) appeared to be a captain of industry.The theater went dark almost instantly: When the lights come on, we were transported back to the Age of Aquarius as Bob and company open with "Everybody Must Get Stoned." In front of me a guy in baseball cap with gray ponytail clapped along with the crowd; only the youngsters by the stage jumped to their feet. Incense smoke wafted upwards.

       Bob, the legend in gaucho hat and a Royal Mounties uniform (complete with medallions), crooned solo for two hours. Cooler than all the celebs who depicted him in the 2007 film "I'm Not There" (Christian Bale, Cate Blanchett, Heath Ledger etc), he swayed to the tunes as he leaned into the electric organ and wailed on the harmonica. Raspy voice harsher, a la Louis Armstrong, when it gave out he recited the words to outbursts from the fans. Some old standards were unrecognizable due to a jazzier beat and the ojiisan (grandpa) croak: Desolation Row and Highway 61 were positively perky. His lungs kept the harmonica going through a series of familiar tunes. By the time he got to "Forever Young," the crowd was roaring. Could this be the finale?

     Tokyo concert goers expect an encore at 8:30, on the road by nine. Sumimassen (excuse me):  The cashmere clad woman and her husband snuck out early. Bob wowed the hardy souls who stayed behind with "Like a Rolling Stone" and an unfamiliar rendition of "Blowin' in the Wind," asking the audience: "How does it feel to be without a home...."  The nearly 70 year old rocker took his bow at 9 PM, and his loyal followers who traveled to the outskirts were able to hit the futon by 11 PM latest.

Anime Fair

     Curiosity and a daughter with a long-standing interest in anime compelled a trip to the convention center nicknamed Tokyo Big Sight. The Conference Tower (four inverted pyramids)  looks like a giant robot keeping Tokyo Bay safe from alien intruders. Like the Javits Center in NYC, this place requires hiking through endless hallways, hopping on moving walkways and navigating many escalators to get to the destination of choice. A few oddly dressed youngsters indulging in "cos play" (costume play) plus 54,000 other normally dressed folks led the way to the International Anime Fair 2010. Along the outside of the building, public art pieces by big names (ie Claes Oldenburg) broke up the long trudge to the atrium.

     For Y 1,000 or $12 (half price for students) a visitor could spend time with representatives from companies such as Studio Ghibli, the producer of classics "Princess Mononoke" and "Howl's Moving Castle." Toddlers were going gaga for Anpanman (Red Bean Man), a super hero whose head is essentially a jelly donut. The other hit for the under-five set was a soy bean character called Spring. Pokemon was in great evidence, with Pikachu receiving sloppy kisses from pintsize admirers. For the teenagers screens blasted coming attractions in 3D, booths offered giveaway tote bags as well as appearances by some of the actors and actresses, which created a feeding frenzy of keitai (cell phones) snapping photos of the celebs. Pillows in the shape of some of the shapely female characters sold out quickly. An Italian radio crew interviewed musume-chan (daughter) about what brought her to this Fair.

      After 90 minutes of this onslaught, it was time for a sit-down at the coffeeshop called Pronto. Gaijin (foreigners) at the next tables were exchanging telephone numbers, while nihonjin (locals) were cradling tote bags covered with illustrations of some Goth looking characters. Can it be a coincidence that tomorrow evening just one subway stop away I will hear Bob Dylan crooning at a hall called Zepp?

  

Shinjuku Gyoen O-hanami

     What a treat to picnic on a blue tarp one sunny Saturday in Shinjuku Gyoen (imagine Central Park with a $2 admission charge) among legions of o-hanami enthusiasts. No sooner is sakura season announced than parks all over Tokyo are covered by standard issue blue tarps. Picnickers arrive, step out of their shoes and on to the tarp where a feast is laid out and devoured. In between bites, picnickers rush up to the closest tree in bloom and focus the zoom lens on the prettiest blossom. Paler shades are more popular than magenta, although some Shinjuku trees displayed a range from strawberry to pearl. Sugoi!

     Our gracious host, Senichi-san, is one of the "unofficial ambassadors" who offer English tours in town through Tokyo Free Guides. Alice (our first Tokyo visitor) introduced us to the group and since 2007 Senichi-san has become a friend as well as local resource. While the volunteer guides have the chance to practice English conversation, thanks to their outreach foreign visitors maximize their time in Tokyo. The group celebrated its fifth anniversary last year -- omedetou gozaimasu (congrats).

     Rounding out the first weekend of this short season our family strolled over to Roppongi Hills for the interactive Art Night 2010. A 13 meter tall balloon installation called Before Flower looked above the throng. Our favorite piece featured six monitors that displayed a variety of neko-chan (cats) doing their thing, with a brief written blurb explaining that watching cats makes people happy. Overhead a huge monitor recorded the comings and goings of visitors as a large arm occasionally patted the stray head. In an oversize playpen groups of eight were instructed to fling pink confetti while onlookers cheered. What freedom sakura time permits to Tokyoites for two weeks a year. No one wants to miss the opportunity.

Pillow Talk

     Go-ju kata ("50 year old shoulder" aka frozen shoulder) is plaguing my lovely ladies who buzz the Manor doorbell promptly at 11 AM every Wednesday for English conversation group. While I suffered the pummelings of good old-fashioned physical therapy during my bout with frozen shoulder, these women opt for acupuncture and herbal remedies. The cooking sensei enrolled in a ballet stretch class to keep her spine supple. "I am the youngest one in the class, " she confided, "and I am 52." To sleep with or without a pillow? Without (or with a thin one) seemed to be most popular. Discussion turned to a magical item that Uniqlo sells for the very purpose of keeping shoulder blades together."But it is difficult to find one,"  the world traveler complained. Each of us self-consciously pulled our shoulders back.

    "Shall we read a book on feng shui next month?" I asked. My limited grasp of kanji (Chinese characters) includes these two, literally "wind" and "water." No offense intended, Mr. A.A. Milne: Although the group has been politely ploughing through the adventures of Pooh san, the time has come for a new subject. "May I tell you something?" the cooking sensei asked the group rhetorically. "My son decided to stop going to university last year. I was so worried that I went to a feng shui expert. He advised me to place my son's bed in the North side of the room!"  A shudder swept through the group: In Japan only the dead lie with the head to the North. She tried it, and her son returned to university. Next, the expert advised bowls of salt by the sink in her kitchen. "It is expensive to buy so much salt, but we are all doing well in the family," she concluded with an apology for taking so much class time. Across the road in the Juban restaurants keep bowls of salt at the threshold, perhaps for this reason.

     Our tea master, also a proud grandmother, revealed that the walls of her home contain blessings on washi paper that her mother wrote and inserted before they were covered up with plaster. (New buildings, skyscrapers included, are routinely blessed upon completion.)  Beverage of choice before bed seems to be camomille tea, although the world traveler admitted to the occasional cup of hot milk as it is "good for health." Milk is sold in quarts and pints, in this country that acquired a taste for dairy in the second half of the 20th century.

      A little camomille tea might work for me as I fret about my ticket for the Bob Dylan, which has yet to arrive for Monday's concert.

 

Secrets of Calligraphy

      What could be cozier on a rainy afternoon than a matinee at kabuki-za with two lovely tomodachi (friends)? With 37 days until the wrecking ball arrives (plus three years until the earthquake proof theater opens) management is dealing with record crowds saying Sayonara to the 120 year old building. A mere Y1200 (about $15)  purchased a small seat for Hitomaku-mi (one act) in the peanut gallery by the rafters. The key to grabbing an unreserved seat is to join the queue at least 25 minutes before tickets go on sale; afterwards, SRO (standing room only). Among the ardent groupies we climbed the steep red-carpeted steps to the top, flinging coats on the available seats and renting audiophones with simultaneous translation.

     For four centuries kabuki actors have entertained audiences in and around Edo (Tokyo). Like English pantomime these shows are reruns of old fables; the actors are the draw. Also in the tradition of English panto, female roles are played by men although not as flamboyantly as the panto dames. Today's cast was stellar, judging by the reaction of the audience. Experts shout out stage names of their favorites at key scenes known to insiders; we were seated by one such vociferous gentleman (only men seem to care). How fitting to watch "Secrets of Calligraphy" during spring break from our calligraphy class. While the secret is never revealed, for 90 minutes we followed the story of the expert Kan Shojo who passes a scroll with the secret to his disciple. Sword fights, a love story, and a calligraphy scene ensue. When the buffoon attempts to steal the scroll that contains the secret, he is punished by having a desk strapped to his back.

     Back down on the dori (avenue), we navigated a few blocks to Ginza, (think Fifth Avenue); a few brave cherry trees starting to display in the cold rain.  No time to browse at Itoya, the world's best stationer, or the large Muji since rush hour is upon us. At lunch we discovered the rainy day special: All you can eat dessert.  Isn't one teaspoon of ice cream sufficient? I bet  Bob Dylan doesn't look back.  

Flower Viewing along Philosopher's Path

     NHK weather forecasters confirm the start of o-hanami (cherry blossom season) more than a week early in Kyoto and on schedule in Tokyo. By closely monitoring selected trees, the Meteorological Agency counts five flowers per tree as the key signal. The local tree grows nearby in Yasukuni Jinja, blithely oblivious to the political implications of its location. Dedicated to the kami (souls) of those who died in combat, the Yasukuni shrine complex is supported by the War Dead Family Welfare Union and includes a war museum with a revisionist point of view. While their line of work compels meteorologists to visit the shrine, the current Prime Minister and his cabinet may prefer to admire the trees along the Imperial Moat.    

     Two hours on the shinkansen (bullet train) transported our family to Kyoto, which served as the nation's capital from 794 to 1868. Zooming at 90 miles per hour through a sandstorm that blew across from China, the next day we were rewarded with clear skies.  Mid-morning at the Silver Pavilion, Ginkakuji was swarming with Japanese visitors photographing its renowned raked gardens. Originally intended as a retirement home for a shogun, for 500 years it has served as a Zen temple; thanks to recent earthquake proofing, it is guaranteed another 500 years. Outside the gates we followed in the footsteps of Nishida Kitaro along Tetsugaku no michi (Philosopher's path) who made the daily trek by the canal to Kyoto University. A few early bloomers sparked a paparazzi-like flurry of snapping while vendors sold a variety of potato treats including yaki imo (baked sweet potato) along the two kilometer stretch. Temple cats lolled in the sunshine, welcoming visitors to the sandy garden.

     Last stop in Kansai was rain-soaked Nara, which is celebrating its 1,300th anniversary. Sacred shika (deer) make themselves available to accept special crackers sold for their culinary pleasure. Ever tried to feed a herd of deer? Very fast work. Walking to the Great Buddha Hall, founded in 728 AD, the deer strike a variety of alluring poses. Once inside the Hall the single challenge is to shimmy through a hole in a huge supporting pillar to guarantee enlightenment in the next life. (No one in this family earned that status.) A steady rain and drop in temperatures are postponing flower viewing in Tokyo to the weekend: By Monday will I be ready to venture indoors to Zepp to hear Bob Dylan's last night in town?

Graduation season

     "Did you notice loads of girls in kimono at Omotesando eki (subway station)?" was the topic at nihongo conversation. Since the Japanese school year ends in March, these young ladies were decked out for graduation ceremonies.  Floral and fan patterns with full-length sleeves hanging almost to the hem, an obi or Japanese sash (as crossword solvers know) with an obijime (cord) and obidomegane (clip) to hold the kimono closed. Excellent way to improve posture when properly tied. Hair is worn swept up with the occasional flower, feet enclosed in tabi (mittens for feet) inserted into zori (sandals) that create mincing steps.

     Twelve months of the year commuters spot kimono clad women riding the subways of Tokyo. "How many more seasons do I have?" sighed calligraphy sensei, who sensibly wants to get her money's worth from this pricey outfit. What occasions require formal wear? Obvious ones like weddings and funerals, followed by classes in the traditional arts such as ikebana (flower arranging) and temae (tea ceremony), which takes decades to master.

      By season and age the kimono system follows a strict code with the turning point at arou-fo (around 40):  Older kimono wearers must select muted tones. Once I took a fan dance lesson, strapped into a kimono. (Twirling and kneeling were a challenge.) For optimal shape, beneath the kimono lies an undershirt or hadagi , the underskirt or susoyoke, waist pads and bow pads. Is it all right to carry a handbag that doesn't match the zori? (Sometimes.)

      Spring is a bank holiday and a signal for the spring kimono to make its appearance. Let's see what the Kyoto natives wear as we count down to the March 29th Bob Dylan concert.

    

Karaoke and Carol King

       "Doctors recommend singing to keep your lungs healthy," said tomodachi-san (friend), which explains the overwhelming number of amateur choirs around town. Those of us who prefer socializing to rehearsing patronize the karaoke boxes, modest buildings crammed with studios that pop up around every corner.  From the Japanese for "no orchestra," karaoke participants dial up prerecorded songs and sing along while lyrics appear on a large monitor against a backdrop of random images. At the rock bottom price of $1 per hour, plus $3 per soda, on any weekday afternoon the karaoke box is the perfect retreat for high school students, moms pushing strollers and the occasional sayonara party with guests like me belting out "People" and "You've Got a Friend" among other oldies.

       Today's therapeutic session took place in Shibuya, a stone's throw from the scene in Lost in Translation where Scarlett Johannsen crosses the hectic street on the diagonal.  A lucky group of seven (three American, three Japanese and one other) gathered as a send-off for the Swiss member, reluctantly leaving Asia after a decade. With Carole King coming back to town in a few weeks, "You've Got a Friend" and "I Feel the Earth Move" were particularly timely in this earthquake zone.  Although most of us binned "Tapestry" along with college textbooks in the last century, Carole is hotter in this town than Madonna. Next month her Troubadour Reunion with Berkshire pal James Taylor is sold out.

      "That's world famous Bloomingdale's," I blurted out as Lexington and 59th Street and the grotty steps leading down to the N train crossed the screen. "John Lennon and Ono Yoko lived there," I volunteered as the Dakota appeared behind a Beatles tune. (Japanese names are stated surname first.) Pretzel vendors on Park Avenue, the boat lake in Central Park and Trinity Church on Wall Street flashed across the screen. Following Aretha and Diana Ross, a few  nihongo no uta (Japanese songs) emerged in the line up; how thoughtless of us non-Japanese to punch in song requests without asking permission from our friends.  

     Three hours of song (plus one solo dance performance to "Shotgun") boiled down to $10 per hour per person. Out in the sun along the dori (avenue) cherry trees in bud promise to bloom on or about March 25th, according to projections. One week to Ohanami (cherry blossom festival), two weeks to the Bob Dylan concert.

The Sacred and Profane

     Promptly arrived for the 9:40 Bullet Train in Shinagawa Station at 9:30: The 10 Japanese members of JANZ (Japan Australia New Zealand) Ladies were visibly relieved. Obento lunch boxes distributed, hot drinks available from nattily dressed snack-sellers pushing pretty carts and bowing at the exit. Hurtled southwest with a change at Nagoya, then a coach ride to Japan's holiest Shinto shrine known as Jingu (shrine). Since 4 BC pilgrims have trekked to this hamlet (which bears an uncanny resemblance to Tanglewood, Massachusetts, in high season) to worship the Sun Goddess by the Isuzu River. Fleets of workers pruned trees, raked the grounds and tended the huge park.

     "Please remember our bus number," implored Sacho-san (JANZ president) as we fell in behind bus loads of other visitors. "How lucky to have the only English speaking tour guide." For centuries this shrine is rebuilt every 20 years in order to train a new generation of builders. (The next shrine will be unveiled in 2013.) Trudging along the winding gravel path to the altar evoked a similar one in Tokyo that leads to the 19th c. Meiji Jingu. "Gravel slows your pace and alerts the spirits of your approach," the guide explained.

    Climbing ancient stone steps to the altar we each threw a coin into the money box, bowed twice, clapped hands twice, made a wish and closed with a bow. Why the security guard?  "He is making sure that no one takes photos," was the answer. "Also, he helps with crowd control."  Relics (i.e. the Emperor's Holy  Mirror) are out of bounds for commoners. The sudden, lucky appearance of wild deer sparked a paparazzi-like reaction from visitors. Trees girdled with bamboo deter enthusiastic visitors from peeling bark; instead, blessings with specific powers (protection against traffic accidents, success in academics, safe childbirth) may be purchased from shrine maidens on the way out. "Rub the second pillar on the bridge for luck!"  Outside the torii (gate), the high street was roaring. Next stop:  the Wedded Rocks (Meoto Iwa) that represent the chief Shinto gods, tied together like spouses by a one ton rope, forever in the ocean.      

     Off for the evening to Thalassa Shima Resort, with a panoramic view of the bay. My room-mate (the other American) unpacked a bottle of sake; we watched a bit of Jane Fonda in "Julia" (1977).  At dinner I sat with a 77 year old chef: "I've been teaching cookery for 50 years," she confided. "Including a special course for men." The most petite women packed in the most mouthfuls of dinner, including loaves of seaweed bread. Everyone was ready for a morning at Mikimoto Pearl Island, which turned out to be a barge along a polluted river off a highway. Divers are all female due to two factors: An extra layer of fat and capacious lungs that can dive deep without O2. A bit of retail therapy, then back on the Bullet Train where Mt Fuji made a cameo appearance in the clear evening light.

     How nice to bring back a blessing, an envelope of sacred sand and a box of miso flavored Kit Kats from Nagoya.

Showa Japan

     "Any questions?" asked Hans following his presentation about life in Japan 1950 to 2000, including an eight minute slide show. He looked out at the well-heeled crowd in the lecture hall of I House (International House), the members only social center of Roppongi go-chome. Is it possible that not one of 60 women in the audience could come up with something? Or were they distracted by the temptation of the strawberry tarts on the buffet table? As a rule, Japanese students do not pose questions but politely keep thoughts to themselves. Ditto this group.

    Once the coffee and tea started to flow, the ladies became more animated. The cakes went quickly. Meanwhile, Hans was gratified to autograph all of the English edition books he had on hand, and made a nice dent in the Japanese stack for sale, too. With many of the women in the room related to Emperor Showa or one of the 20th century Prime Ministers, no one could bring herself to reply to Hans' observation that the educational system in this country needs an overhaul. Never mind: The slide show of bygone Japan struck a chord and brought back youthful memories.

       With my duties as event organizer completed for the month, I have accepted an invitation from the Japan Australian New Zealand Ladies for an overnight trip. In the morning we board the shinkansen (bullet train) bound for Ise Jingu, the Shinto shrine dedicated to the goddess Amaterasu-omikami, believed to be the holiest place in the country. What a lovely coincidence that the shrine is located close to Mikimoto Pearl Island, which will close out our jaunt.

       Has anyone checked the exchange rate of yen to dollars?

Underground activity

     As Simon gave American Idol candidates the boot the sofa rocked, although not to the beat:  North of Tokyo the meteorological agency reported a 5.7 earthquake. After experiencing the back and forth rumble a few times, it becomes routine: Hangers clang in cupboards, furniture bounces, and by the time you realize what happened, it ends. Everyone stocks survival kits (helmets, tarps, water) in the event of a serious one. My guess is that, as with childbirth, all preparation will fall by the wayside when the moment arises.

     On the surface Tokyo is serene, polished by teams of cleaners scrubbing subway stairs, gardeners pruning trees along the dori (avenue) and shop owners sweeping sidewalks with twig brooms. Beneath the surface is another story, as per the rumbling. A banned book called "Tokyo Vice" offers an explanation for why the streets of Japan are safe, with no mention of Shintoism. Speaking at the Tokyo campus of Temple U, the author (a crime reporter for the Yomiuri Shimbun) revealed how the yakuza (mob or "ultimate path," as they refer to it) controls government officials and eliminates petty crime by a form of vigilante rule. He blamed the fall of Lehman Brothers on mob accounts of millions of dollars that disappeared without a trace. Predictably, he travels with a body guard.

      "Where will you find a more organized organized crime syndicate than in Japan?" he challenged the audience. Yakuza carry business cards, keep office hours and even have a monthly magazine that keeps fans apprised of their doings. "What do the police do?" was the first question. "Same thing, only they can't act as quickly," was the response.  Tacitly the population supports this system since the yakuza are preferable to the alternative -- gaijin (foreigners). When we arrived in town three years ago, there was a rub-out a few blocks from the Manor. "Nothing to worry about," we were assured. "They only kill each other."

     On Monday Hans will present his talk of Showa era of the 1960s. Hirohito, the posthumously named Showa Emperor, reigned longer than the 123 men who preceded him. On Christmas Day 1926 he ascended to the throne, remained through wartime and broadcast a speech asking his people to "endure the unendurable" in August, 1945. It was the first time that the Emperor's voice was heard by his subjects.

Treasures in the Sky

     Why do Westerners prefer to separate art from commerce? The altitude of the Mori Art  Museum on the 52nd floor of Roppongi Hiruzu (Hills) aka "Artelligent City" has not deterred gaijin (foreigners) who arrive in droves.  Herded by elevator guides into the correct cars, guests zoom up past the offices of Goldman Sachs, Pokemon Productions and other familiar companies. Weather permitting contemporary art lovers may glimpse Mount Fuji from the Tokyo City View area. Two hours or so outside of Tokyo, Fuji-san graces the city with its dignified presence in winter and then retreats. Shujin (husband) boasts a view from his office near Tokyo Eki (station). In summer, when the trails are open, intrepid hikers attempt the climb in order to see the sunrise. As the saying goes: A wise man climbs Fuji-san once, a fool twice. This was confirmed by one wise man,Wanda-san's husband, who has no regrets.

     On the ninth floor overlooking the Imperial Palace garden visitors enter the jewel box known as the Idemitsu Bijutsukan.  Turn right at Exit B3 of Hibiya station, a second right into the office building where a courtly gentleman indicates the lift for a quick ride, presumably past offices of the Idemitsu Petroleum Company. Still time to catch "The Elegance of Vessels: Masterpieces of Japanese Ceramics," which includes highlights such as an ancient set of twelve square plates each depicting a different bird, and a folding screen painted with cherry trees. Many of the pieces in these few rooms are kokuho, or National Treasures, defined as precious "tangible  cultural properties." Follow the arrows through the rooms to the picture window and settle among the rows of comfy seats along with a cup of matcha (green tea).

      Taking a page from the National Trust of England, a select group of Tokyo's stately homes have been opened to the public. One sunny March afternoon our calligraphy class gathered at an Art Deco palace, formerly home to Prince Asaka (1887-1981), consort to the eighth daughter of the Meiji Emperor, Queen Victoria's contemporary. Used as a State Guest House until 1974, the home is now a gallery set in a park. We caught a show of Tuscan masters who called themselves I Macchiaioli and painted scenes of Firenze including a few of Settignano, where my sisters and I fell in love with Italy as students. Never expected to run into scenes of the Piazza Signoria in Meguro-ku.

        Only three days until Hans gives his presentation at the International House for the ladies social club. Latest reports have number of guests hovering at 60, and temperatures hitting 60 F for perfect symmetry and lucky numbers.

      

Kitchen Drinkers

     True confessions at English conversation group this week: Composer-san admitted that her doctor had put her on a diet last year when she hit 70 kilos (155 lbs). "Twice my weight almost!" gasped the Obaasan (grandmother) of the group. By filling up on cabbage soup everyday and avoiding alcohol, Composer-san reached her goal of 62 kilos. At long last she is allowing red wine into her diet "for medicinal purposes," of course. In English all the ladies agreed how well red wine goes with Italian food. Consequently, they indulge in a glass once or twice a week with a bowlful of pasta. Sake, meanwhile, is for holidays, and white wine for summer parties.

     For the many bottles I've shared with women friends over meals, toasting birthdays and other happy occasions, never have I indulged with female friends in Tokyo. Only at cherry blossom time, Ohanami, do rules fall by the wayside. This year predictions put the beginning of the season at March 24, a mere two weeks from now. Picnickers camp out in the big parks like Shinjuku Koen and smaller ones, like my special favorite, Sheba Koen.  Even in the local playground, a small crowd always gathers beneath the single, gloriously pink cherry. Everyone is giddy and possibly tipsy, dropping the inhibitions and formality that rule the other 11 months of the year. Spring fever takes on a new meaning in Japan.

    "Do you have 'kitchen drinkers' in America?" Obaasan asked. She explained that this syndrome strikes women who claim to cook with wine, but actually swig the stuff. Apparently, it is a growing issue. Familiar situation in my country but not a problem, I assured the ladies. "Then what do you call people who drink too much?" Comparing a Bowery bum with a woman enjoying un verre in the comfort of her kitchen just doesn't jibe. Certainly, the culture of salarymen in Tokyo allows serious drinking for the male of species. Shujin (husband) has paid the price with a bad headache on a few occasions. "After passing un certain age, isn't the reward an increase in alcohol intake for us?" I posed. "Hai, it is healthy," was the consensus, confirming my evening indulgence.

     As the ladies prepared to leave they presented me with a box of luscious macaroons for White Day, March 14th, the counterpart to Valentine's Day.  February 14th is the day to gift men, while women receive their sweets a month later. The sexes conduct parallel lives in Japan, which reminds me that Hans will be faced with a room full of women next week when he presents his talk to our social club. I look forward to watching him in action.

          

Axis Building

      As a closet communist I am uncomfortable with choices, which explains why I love walking over to the five story Axis Building in Roppongi 5-chome: All the decisions have been made for me by a panel of experts. Start with Living Motif, a housewares shop ( perhaps a distant relation to a New York store from the 1980s called Turpan Sanders). On the ground floor it displays a limited cross-section of table ware with a focus on local designers. Along one wall an arrangement of bath supplies waits patiently, with testers available for instant gratification. Furniture and stationery supplies one floor up, and design books in Bibliophile one floor down. Who needs more?

     Across the hall from Bibliophile in Nuno, the showroom of Reiko Sudo, credit cards get a serious work-out. With her work in the permanent collection at  MOMA and the V & A, Sudo-san's textiles blend dreams with Japanese reality. Her fabrics dangle from the ceiling, woven with feathers and the unexpected. Scarves are mildly affordable, and, around the long central table, the only people under 40 are salesclerks. Our first Tokyo guest, Alice, invited me to a business meeting with Sudo-san, who arrived a surprising 30 minutes late. She blamed it on the train, which occasionally runs late due to suicides. (Jumping on the tracks is popular at rush hour.) Although Sudo-san did not give Alice an order, we were pleased to make her acquaintance and admired her super pointy lace-up shoes.

       I've been told that the Axis Building belongs to Prime Minister Yukio Hatoyama thanks to his mother, nee Ishibashi (Stonebridge), heiress to the Bridgestone Corporation (radial tires). Their family  home in Tokyo has become a popular tourist attraction. As leader of the DPJ (Democratic Party of  Japan) Hatoyama ended the 50 year reign of the LDP (Liberal Democratic Party). Due to his wild hairstyle, Mr. Hatoyama is affectionately called "The Alien."  Mrs. Hatoyama, who had a previous husband and a career as a chorus girl, must have a nickname as well but so far no one has shared it with me. We met at a reception for the ladies social club, and she impressed everyone with her glossy dark pageboy. A regular talk show guest she mentioned that in a prior life she was Mrs. Tom Cruise.

     The Axis Building is a stone's throw from International  House, at the other end of Roppongi 5-chome, where I will introduce Hans' talk next Monday. Time permitting, I'll dash out for a quick browse through Axis beforehand, and, who knows, perhaps I'll run into Mrs. Hatoyama.

Goody Bags

     A mysterious box of towels arrived in the post a while ago with a printed note, which I could not read. (The passing grade in the Japanese Proficiency Test puts me at first grade.) Could this be a premium from a department store for making a large purchase? I stare at the kanji with no luck and carry the note to the building manager, our cherished O-san. He hops to his feet and adjusts reading glasses. "Ah, it's from Suzuki-san. He thanks you for your kind contribution to his father's funeral."


     Shujin (husband) mentioned a collection at work for a funeral. After that I spied the section at stationery stores that supply a range of envelopes (red ribbons for weddings and black ones funerals), calibrated at different amounts. At my lesson I asked nihongo sensei whether further action was required. She explained that to defray the expense of a  Japanese Buddhist funeral, which runs a  minimum of Y 2 million ($20,000), it is customary to send condolence money (koden). The bereaved family then sends a present for half the value of the contribution and that ends the exchange. Cremation is the rule and families are buried together in plots that are well tended. "Nowadays the family may even send out a catalogue so that you select your own present," she smiled.

     Soon after, nihongo sensei's father passed away. I handed her an envelope at the first opportunity, and a week later a pretty package of dried mushrooms arrived. "My  native home in Kyushu is known for this type of mushroom," she told me. With memorial services scheduled on the 49th and 100th day following cremation, she made the journey twice more.

     Weddings also come with a price tag (minimum $300) and goody bags from Tiffany, judging by the weekend outflow from the private Mitsui Club across the road from the Manor. As our Japanese acquaintances are all married, we have not yet had to invest in a red-ribboned envelope.

  

    

  

Democrats in Tokyo

    Wedged between Daimaru Peacock Supa and Quick Photo in the Ju-ban, the Blue & White store front is a landmark to those in the know. Displays of local crafts change daily, providing amusement for the grocery shopping trade. When US  presidents stop in Tokyo, their First Ladies make a beeline to this sliver of a shop that has been in the location for 35 years. The secret to the shop's success is the owner, author of Japan Country Living," who also happens to be the niece of old-time New York Mayor Robert Wagner.  In the 1960s she married a Japanese exchange student, despite a letter his parents had him sign promising not to bring home a gaijin bride, and they settled in Tokyo.

     One snowy winter's day I was invited to tag along with the owner of Blue & White to visit a local craftsman in Hachioji, on the outskirts of town. "I don't read Japanese," our driver told the two of us, while asking for directions every 15 minutes. Eventually we landed in a picturesque barn where artisans were making shibori fabric (tie-dye, to gaijin). We tied rubber bands to white Muji tee-shirts and dipped them into the pots of icy indigo dye. (Since the 8th century indigo has been the dye of choice in Japan.) Rather than the recommended number of dips, we were satisfied with the results after 20 minutes.

     Afterwards, our guide drove to a country inn where we coped with traditional kaiseki. Sitting on a tatami mat, which is a challenge to Western spines, the meal goes on all day. Although portions are smallish, the number of courses is surprisingly long and, just when you think it's over, the server presents a steaming bowl of rice. Leaving anything on your plate is considered rude and doggy bags don't exist. Yet Japanese women remain slender, which is a mystery. (I have been told the secret is cabbage soup only for the next few days.)

     With the number of native English speakers in Tokyo an estimated 1%, we swim in a small pool. Thanks to the generous editor of the Tokyo American Club magazine, my pool includes locals such as the Dutch born author of Showa Japan, the Emperor Showa (as Hirohito is now called). In a little more than a week, he will share the story of how he landed in this far-away land.

  

Sealing the Deals

     Signing on the dotted line is not done in Japan. Instead, when faced with a delivery, the courier hands over a sheet and indicates a small circle. Do they want my initials, you wonder? Actually, they want your hanko or seal. Every adult has a personal seal for documents and shujin (husband) has a business hanko for contracts. The seal is composed of a kanji (Chinese character) that fits perfectly when stamped in ink into a circle.

     Artwork is signed with a hanko dipped in red ink. Depending on the size of the piece, the seal may be square or rectangular and contain one or more kanji.  In calligraphy class I have been blasphemous by acquiring ready made hanko. My collection began at the souvenir shop atop the Tokyo Metropolitan Building, grew at the Great Wall in Beijing and rounded out with a thoughtful gift from a friend who found the kanji for my married name (meaning "tea").

      Calligraphy class is a two hour session of grinding sumie ink on an inkstone and then copying the same kanji with one brush stroke dozens of times on washi paper. When Sensei approves of a final piece, after weeks of practice, she holds it up: "Mina-san (everyone) look at this." She may even ask for your hanko and place the seal in the correct place, which is a Sensei's job. This week she gifted me with a round, woven frame for my effort at writing Hina Matsuri (Girls Day) in honor of March 3rd. But with  my unworthy hanko she literally could not seal the deal, which is why I humbly asked for her help. How pleased Sensei was that at long last I had come to my senses and she could put in an order with her supplier for my custom hanko.

      March 24th is the red letter day when Ohanami (cherry blossom festival) is predicted to begin in Minato-ku (Harbor Ward). But before that I have only 10 days to fill the seats at the International House for Hans' slide show about Sixties Tokyo. Will the temptation of the pretty cakes seal that deal?



  

  

Room to Read

     Meeting John Wood is only one degree separated from Oprah, the fairy godmother of Room to Read (his charity). Appearing on her show was the "tipping point," he told the wine sipping audience in the Manhattan room at the Tokyo American Club. "I went to Oprah camp before the taping where I was warned that she is moody,"  he recalled. Approaching the stage was like walking the plank until Oprah took his hand. "I love your work," she said and pledged $100,000 on the spot.

     Slumped in the Club lobby it took a minute to put jet-lagged John together with the author photo on his bestseller (How I Left Microsoft to Change the World). Making pots of money before age 35 allowed him to pursue his dream to become the Andrew Carnegie of library building for the developing world. Doubtful that Carnegie had as many female followers, judging by John's entourage and the turnout. Like CNN's Anderson Cooper John leads a nomadic life, trekking  through Asia to inspect library sites and relying on the kindness of ladies to organize his fundraisers.  

     At the end of the talk I invited the audience to buy his book, at which point John inquired if proceeds would go to Room to Read? A quick word with the Japanese librarian revealed that indeed there would be a modest donation from sales. During the course of 60 minutes John received a promise from one NPO to partner in Pakistan, and another promise of miles from a corporate executive. Nice that the Library could act as go-between.

     My public speaking skills meet their next challenge for the ladies social club on March 15th at the International House. The program will be Showa Japan as seen through the eyes of my neighbor, Hans Brinckmann.  As usual, the members will listen to the talk with eyes closed, which is not considered rude in sleep deprived Japan. Eyes open wide at the announcement of coffee and cakes that follow.
    

Cafe Society

     Surprise! Macha (green tea) is not the hot beverage of choice in Tokyo: It's coffee. On the high end you bump into Stabba (aka Starbucks) every block or two. Azabu Ju-ban Dori features one at either end, a freestanding duplex and another inside Tsutaya, the local version of Barnes and Noble bookstore. Sippers browse magazines just as if they were sitting on East 86th Street, only the publications are in Japanese. Rather than cheap office space for laptop owners, Stabba in Tokyo serves as a meeting place for girlfriends who want an expensive room in which to display their Louis Vuitton bags. Occasionally, tables for two become impromptu classrooms for English or nihongo lessons.

     Segafreddo, the original chain in town, still offers the best espresso in Minato-ku. Like an Italian coffee bar, customers perch atop stools. Thirdly, coffee lovers have the West coast option of Tully's, which is hellish to pronounce. Azabu Ju-ban Dori, which is only about five blocks long, features two of these. Each Tully's has outdoor seating for the smokers who seem to favor this brand of java. Inevitably, in the center of the Ju-ban, an intriguing man with a dyed blonde ponytail and ivory spectacles puffs away at Tully's in what appears to be his reserved seat. Sometimes he whizzes past me on his bicycle and I am tempted to bow as he passes. If you just want a quick fix vending machines sell Wonda for Y120, hot coffee in a can.

    For an undistinguished cup of joe, served with an unwanted dash of cinnamon, we go to the Tokyo American Club. Stuck in a time warp, TAC also features a salad bar with cottage cheese. Tomorrow evening TAC will provide the backdrop for my meeting with Mr Room to Read, John Wood, who will address a sizeable audience in the Manhattan Room.  Can he possibly be more engaging than the Father of Sudoku? Stay tuned.

Yuki Torii

     Hai, The Manor sits on a zaka (hill) in the Mita district within sight of Tokyo Tower, the jumbo orange replica of its distant cousin, Eiffel. When asked where we live,however,  we answer: "Azabu Ju-ban" (ju=10, ban= district).  What Woody Allen could do with a neighborhood called Ju-ban! Down the hill and across the avenue a blend of boutiques and bakeries, the Ju-ban is a hybrid of New York's SoHo meets Cairo:  The ancient Inari Shrine (AD 712) sits alongside the fictional home of manga heroine, Sera Mun (Sailor Moon). As you recall Sera-chan's cat Luna-chan reveals her owner's supergirl powers disguised beneath a nautical school uniform. Sera Mun decoys spill out of the Juban subway station everyday.

     Across the street from the high-end supa (supermarket), Naniwaya, I window-shop in the Ju-ban at a small boutique called Yuki Torii. Thanks to the Ju-ban I discovered this well-established nihon label founded after the war by Torii-san's obaasan (grandma). An award-winning designer who has worked with Lacroix and Liberty of London, I am mesmerized by Torii-san's windows. Food shopping becomes more tempting when passing Torii's shop to see what she envisions for spring (tiered skirts) as I stop for avocados and tomatoes at the vegetable shop next door.

     I promised to participate in today's fire drill at The Manor. What better time to think about disaster than the day after the 8.8 Chile earthquake? The building managers look after us with the care and attentiveness of two grandfathers. We practice with using the fire extinguisher. "Remember to dial 119 in the event of fire," the charming O-san reminds us. "If there is a fire, evacuate after 3 minutes." Note to self.

    The Library advises me we have more than 50 sign ups for the Room to Read event. With the Olympics and Tokyo Marathon behind us, it's time to think about the written word.