Yukiko Hanai

      Due to the heavy rain this Wednesday, the doorbell rang at 11:05 as three soggy ladies arrived for English conversation. Our fourth member, the Obaasan, was nursing a granddaughter with a fever, and our fifth member was out of town. Five minutes late, I checked the calendar: Isn't today Wednesday? Gomen nasai! (Sorry): As a group they shed dark raincoats to reveal outfits in pastel tones that favored pink. Composer-san always matches a headband to her blouse (a style she adopted 30 years ago). All eyes were on the cardigan worn by the cooking-sensei (the one who consults the feng shui specialist to help her younger son keep his mind on his studies).

     "Yukiko Hanai," she explained about the cardigan's label. In seashell pink it closed with a small hook and eye.  Collar and cuffs were covered in what appeared to be flower petals in shades of pink. "I went to a sale  last week in Aoyama Itchome (think: Madison Avenue) with my friend, who bought one for her daughter," she said. "Do you think it is too young for me?" Not at all -- we all made a mental note to head for the shop. Hanai from Yokohama has been around since 1970, yet this is the first I've heard of her! No time to lose in checking out her new line, Optimist, and trying out her beauty line.

    Along with coffee I served Owl and Pussycat sugar biscuits from England that I found in Kinokuniya fancy food emporium on Omotesando. "Let's read the nonsense poem from 1871 by Edward Lear that inspired these cookies," I said and distributed both. While the cookies were easy to appreciate, the poem was not as palatable. The concept of rhyming aside, why pair an Owl with a Cat? Sail away for a year and a day? In Nihon where matchmakers still make a living, why would a couple "tarry"? "Let's return to Pooh-san," I suggested, turning to the chapter where Christopher Robin leads the expedition to the North Pole. Everyone smiled at the idea that the adventurers expect to see a pole stuck in the mud up north. Nice to be on familiar territory.  

 

Sounds of Spring

     One rare sunny Thursday what a treat to take hirugohan (lunch) al fresco with two dear calligraphy classmates. Chattering beside a tall pine tree, we were interrupted by a sudden bird song. Tokyoites are accustomed to the bold cawing of gangs of crows and squeaky bulbuls, but this was a melody. Who was serenading us? Nothing was visible as the song emerged clearly from deep within the evergreen. Our server identified the tune as the spring visitor uguisu (nightingale), often heard but not seen.  

     " Nakamura-Sensei is so  modern," tomodachi-san observed about our shodo no sensei (calligraphy instructor) as we walked to the classroom. "She allows us to choose projects freely."  For the month of April four ambitious students are producing kanji (Chinese characters) on scrolls that measure the height of our rather tall Sensei. A few are working on shikishi (square boards). One student is preparing for an exam. Tomodachi-san selected a waka (30 syllable poem). During my last trip to the art supply shop I bought a vertical piece of washi, paper from the mulberry as delicate as onion skin.

     "How charming, a tanzaku," Sensei said: "A poem card."  During o-hanami (flower viewing season) I followed a trail of rectangular cards along the Meguro River, a haiku series in sumie ink. "During the Heian period about 1000 years ago, calligraphers used white tanzaku for poetry anthologies, but in later times it became the custom to decorate the paper with cloud patterns."  She showed me a sample rectangle in lilac with flecks of gold and handed me an anthology of haiku with a gray bird on the cover--  the elusive uguisu.  Seventeen syllables about the uguisu on practice tissue paper has stacked up until Sensei recommends the plunge into the lilac rectangle.

Shiny Golden Week

     Suddenly the meandering roads of Azabu Juban have gone quiet. Allez France is producing fewer baguettes, and the queues are shorter at Daimaru Peacock supa (supermarket). Just as with Memorial Day in Manhattan (and Easter in London) the natives seem to have fled the scene. That's right, it's time for the annual exodus that begins on 29th April (Emperor Showa's birthday) to 5th May (Boys' Day): Ogon Shukan (Golden Week) is taking its toll on the population. To honor boys, kites in the shape of carp hang at the entry of the important shrines. With half of Tokyo on holiday, many companies shut down and flights for Hawaii, Guam and Seoul are fully booked. The "golden" bit of the week describes the sunshine that drenches Tokyo during the first week of May.

    "Never travel within Japan during Golden Week, since hotels and restaurants always put up their prices at that time," tomodachi advised me since Day One. Fine, I think, I have the whole town to myself. En route to a board meeting for the women's intercultural club on the Monday morning before Showa (aka Hirohito) Day, a smattering of commuters rode the Hibya sen  to Nakameguro, the cool cousin of New York's SoHo. Plenty of seats in the Ladies Car, so designated during rush hour to keep women safe from the men who take advantage of the crowd to cop a feel. Today's meeting focused on the excursion to Ashikaga Flower Park 50 miles north of Tokyo in three weeks time. "Could be the cool spring will keep the wisteria in bloom for our tour," speculated our program organizer, referring to the oldest wisteria in the country.

    En route home I checked for landmarks around Nakameguro Eki (station). Bals Tokyo Nakameguro continues to display Japanese house furnishings in black, white and red tones, as well as stunning table settings. Alice will be sorry to hear that Iroha Sushi, where we shared a memorable lunch, is history:  All the shops beneath the tracks have been gutted and covered by standard issue white fencing. Wanda, I didn't have the heart to walk to Junkadelic at the end of the tracks. (In any case, a second Junkadelic opened in Akasaka and a hot Mexican joint called Frijoles next to the yuubin kyoku (post office) in the Juban is the go-to place nowadays.)  From Hiroo eki I walked past Arisagawa Koen (a park, originally a stately home) and the Kankoku Taishikan (Korean Embassy) at midday, both deserted. How satisfying to find our local vegetable stand open and selling avocados at half a dozen for Y 200 (about $3).

Tea Ceremony

     Chai lovers find comfort in Tokyo: Stabba (Starbucks) pops up every other block in this town. Rather than the hangout for laptop owners that it has become on New York's East Side, for label mad nihonjin Stabba is an upscale meeting place where patrons linger over a pricey beverage. (Only gaijin have the courage to sip take-away cups outside of the shop.)While Starbucks starts its service with "tall", Stabba offers chisai (small) cups at the "tall" price of Y 400. Much better value at the chain called Cafe de Crie where a cake set (coffee with a slice) goes for Y750. Or the Stabba take-away coffee-pot service, complete with paper cups and napkins, only Y 2,000 (about $22) for a thermos that serves 20 cups in the comfort of your home. No extra charge for the use of the thermos!

    At the other end of the spectrum is chanoyu (tea ceremony), the ancient ritual that continues to be a serious preoccupation for modern followers. To become a tea master requires decades of practice along with the responsibility to train the next generation. Five centuries ago tea master Sen no Rikyu promoted the concept of ichi go ichi e (one time, one meeting) to describe the respect that taking tea deserves. Each tool is a masterpiece of craftsmanship with the tea bowl the most prized item.  The Joy of Tea Drinking exhibit at the Idemitsu Museum on the ninth floor of the Imperial Theater Biru (building) provides the proper atmosphere to spend quality time with tomodachi (friends). Entry fee (Y1,000) includes a paper cup of matcha (green tea) at the end of the show, with seating that overlooks the very green Imperial Gardens. No extra charge for the sunshine that made a sudden appearance after a string of wet days.

    Afterwards back on the streets of Hibiya shoppers spill out of Bic Camera, with Ginza shops drawing people to the other side of the JR (Japan Rail) tracks. Where to stop for a final cup of tea before parting? Seats were scarce at La Mer Riche, and the Muji cafeteria was a bit too far away. On the lower ground level of the Tokyo International Forum an empty table appeared at the Excelsior Coffee Shop. In chairs rather than on a tatami mat, conversing rather than meditating, the spirit of Sen no Rikyu took on a 21st century flavor.

Merchants of Osaka

     "Samurai, carpenters, farmers, merchants--these were the four trades of old Edo," my Eating Out Club tomodachi (friend) told me during our monthly get-together. As she spoke, she lowered her hand from top to bottom: Merchants, the lowest rung on this ladder, describes the likes of those who hail from Osaka. How off-putting to prim Tokyoites that the first question from an Osakan is always: "How is business?"  They are also known for engaging strangers in conversation while queuing, walking on the righthand side of the road and impatiently crossing the street before the light turns green. They are always so busy they may even eat on the run. (In other words, they behave like New Yorkers.)

     No one at the corner table in this French eatery in Minami Ebisu, the oddly named De Roanne, had any links with Osaka. The amuse-bouche from Chef Okamoto (pureed cauliflower in a goblet) set off the chorus of oishii (delicious) that mark every ladies' luncheon in town. Western size portions did not daunt these experienced luncheon mates, who keep their figures by only sipping cabbage soup at dinner. The most senior tomodachi, a contemporary of Ono Yoko,  never allows food to pass her lips after 5 PM. "This restaurant never disappoints," said tomodachi. "Save room for dessert!" Rather than the typical delicate scoop of ice cream with one twig of a cookie on top, Chef Okamoto allows diners to taste each of the eight items on offer. (Most memorable was the grapefruit tart.)

     Over the dessert course two Eating Out Club members confessed that they were fans of the Kiefer Sutherland series 24. "We Japanese can learn from that show," tomodachi said. "It's important to be able to use your judgement to make quick decisions. Nowadays Japanese tend to drag out the  process...." Everyone at the table wondered how Prime Minister Hatoyama will resolve the current stand-off with the USA on the subject of Futenma base. Only the senior tomodachi expressed compassion for the prime minister's quandary. By the time of our next luncheon in May, Hatoyama will have to make a move. Bellies full, coats on and umbrellas at the ready. Gochisosama!
    

    

Hot Names for Aka-chan

     First thing in the morning an army of men marched through to clean the filters in the air-con system. With ladders and plastic sheets, they dispatched with the whole business in 10 minutes flat. Their foreman peered at his clipboard, jotting notes. "Daijobou?" (OK?) A 15-degree angled bow (most appropriate) preceded a formal exit. Should summer ever arrive after this spell of cold rain, cool air will be on tap. Second group of the morning, three-fifths of the English speakers elegantly entered at the stroke of 11 AM, all in shades of dove gray. Out of their shoes they tiptoed, carrying notebooks into the sitting room and resuming the same seats around the table.

    "A new baby was born, and now he has a name, " confirmed the proud Obaasan of five grandsons. Unlike Western couples who study books of names over the course of nine months and develop a short list after much bickering, the Japanese couple waits for the birth. Western choices include the ready-made option of Dad's name plus "Junior," or honoring someone else in the family. Not to mention the selection of a middle name or names. No such pressure in Japan: After seven days the parents select a name for the newborn or aka-chan (red little thing, literally) based on the study of kanji (Chinese characters).  "His name is Yuta, which  means generous and openhearted," smiled the Obaasan. (To Western ears it's odd that boys' names often end in A and girls' names in O.) Smiles all around the table. Japanese grandmas are called baba, much like Russian. Grandpas, however, are jiji, which only brings to mind the Leslie Caron film. 


     Much to our surprise after comparing all t he cultural differences we found common ground: The universal sign for "quiet" (placing a finger on the lips and saying sssh especially to children). "We tell children to be quiet or hush," I said. "So I can tell my grandsons to hush when they become noisy?" Obaasan asked. "When can I  use shut up?" The sound of that vulgar phrase in the land of politesse took me off-guard. Unless suddenly transported to Loew's 84th Street movie theater where the jerk behind you rudely talks during the film, no need for the phrase. The universal finger on lips will do.   
     

One Flower, One Flower Holder

     "Wouldn't you like to come to the best ikebana exhibit of the year at Takashimaya?" invited tomodachi-san whose family has lived in Tokyo for "about" one thousand years. In New York Takashimaya is the edgy, intimidating depato on Fifth Avenue with pricey chopsticks. In Nihonbashi, the business district of town since the 17th century,  Takashimaya is a hive of older women buzzing about purposefully. The main entrance with its tall ceiling and mezzanine balcony is reminiscent of Macy's on 34th Street. Up to the top floor we buzzed. A greeter bowed as we entered a hall filled with displays of single blooms or branches artfully posed in unexpected shallow containers.

    Kimono clad women studied each display, including the shadow that became part of the piece. (Besides flowers ikebana exhibits allow for close observation of the elegant kimono.)  Many visitors held up cell phones to capture favorites. Jars hung from overhead with single stems leaning precariously. The basic concept: organic minimalism. Unlike the sexy multibloom bouquets of the West, these arrangements celebrated the individual stem. Favored shape is the triangle, so that flowers lean sharply to one side (moribana). With a variety of schools teaching different styles of arrangement, to the novice it is difficult to discern the nuances. As there is a spiritual element to the practice these sensei were monks, huddled together in simple kimono with heads shaved in a corner of the hall.

    "This one is Nara style," explained tomodachi-san about one display of a brick-like container set upon an ancient slab of wood. (Nara, the original capital of Japan and home to the Great Buddha, is celebrating its 1,300th anniversary.)  After purchasing a few postcards at the exit down to the depachika (Food Hall) we descended for a quick browse in the busiest part of the shop for a few bits and bobs for dinner. Outside it is suddenly springtime.

A Garden of Buildings

    Snowfall in Tokyo makes headlines, much less in April at the tail end of sakura season. How strange to see yuki (snow) following  ohanami (viewing parties) to celebrate the prized single sakura of the somei- yoshino;  double blossoms of the shogetsu now in evidence are considered gaudy. Closet admirers of the zaftig cherry blossom traveled half an hour from Shinjuku to pay their respects at Koganei Koen (Small Gold Well Park) on a sunny Sunday. Families sprawled on standard issue blue tarps with bowls and chopsticks, played music beneath the flowers as per the 1,000 plus year old custom.

      Once the appetite for blossoms is satiated the park offers a Garden of Buildings  (Tatemono En), a collection of curious places from other parts of the country. Salvaged and relocated after the war, these houses capture a range of styles from the thatched roof cottage of Edo to the post-war home of the affluent Mitsui family. At each foyer visitors remove shoes, then shuffle along wooden floors in stockinged feet, which requires a sturdy pair of socks. Unlike the six over six panes of Western homes, windows appear to be sheets of glass tempting visitors to stare outside;  strolling gardens below invite serene escapes. One inner courtyard framed an impromptu collage of sakura petals against a mound of new snow.  

     Perhaps the most famous building in the garden is the public bath house that served to inspire modern animator Miyazaki. Musume (daughter) is a longtime fan of his masterpiece, Spirited Away (Sen to Chihiro Kamikakushi). Back along immaculate streets to the next train station, an open platform overlooking the industrial suburb. A queue of backpackers lined up by the indicated spots for the next Rapid Express into town. How lucky to find two seats together but surprising to nod off while reading Writings from Japan by Lafcadio  Hearn. Only four weeks to go before we meet the author of The Joy of Sumo. Is it a joyful sport?

Ponzu Diet

     Picture Harrod's Food Halls plus Whole Foods sprawled along one below ground level to get the measure of the miles of delectable comestibles on offer beneath the depatos (department stores) of Ginza. Counters stacked high with gift-wrapped boxes, trays of tempting items in display cases, energetic young ladies in starched uniforms and head scarves welcome customers with a friendly bow. Pastries that would be at home in Paris beside obento boxes filled with slippery healthy choices sit fresh and ready for purchase. Even Harrods and Fortnum & Mason attempt to attract shoppers to buy tins of Western kocha (tea). Irashaimasse! smile the salespeople, inviting a browse or proffering a sample.

     "Have you tried ponzu?" inquired tomodachi-san (friend) looking at a small bottle with a lemon drawn on the label. After browsing an art gallery on the top floor, we found ourselves in the basement at Mitsukoshi crossing the Food Hall en route to the subway.  In1673 the fourth son of a miso dealer, Takatoshi Mitsui, tested the concept of a general store to replace traditional door-to-door selling. In the 21st century the Mitsui Gurupu (group) continues as a global mega publicly traded company while Mitsukoshi rules as the landmark go-to shop for stylish Tokyoites. Like Bloomingdale's brown bag, the  Mitsukoshi shopping bag speaks volumes.

     For the uninitiated  ponzu is the salad dressing of choice among the ladies of Tokyo. It is a blend of soy sauce and lemon juice with a few secret ingredients (rice vinegar and seaweed). "Oily salad dressing is fattening," continued my tomodachi-san. "Sprinkle this dressing on grated daikon everyday. It is filling and low in calories." Daikon, the radish with a gland condition (literally the size of a baseball bat) comes in grated form in most Tokyo eateries. As a side dish with tonkatsu (fried pork chop) daikon is topped with goma (sesame seed) reminiscent of Russian dressing. The elegant set prefers ponzu. "It also goes well sprinkled on fish," she advised.  Carrying a bottle in the crisp white Mitsukoshi tote, we entered the crush of commuters headed to the Ginza line.  

  

Lost & Found

     All along the Upper East Side of Manhattan pennies, dimes and even quarters gleam along the curbs. No such twinkling on the streets of Tokyo: Coins are rarely underfoot perhaps due to how often the street is swept with brooms made of twigs. Even if the occasional Y 100 coin (about $1) slips out of a hole in a pocket, for example, it remains where it falls until the owner returns. Unless a good Samaritan takes the time to pick it up and deposit it at the local koban (police box) for the owner to identify at a later date. At least this was the consensus at the weekly English Conversation group gathering.

     As predicted at 11 AM on a Wednesday at the  Manor, four immaculate English speakers (this week favoring white and cream) mulled over the appropriate way to handle lost coins. (The fifth member aka Obaasan-- or grandmother-- was absent this week in order to help her daughter-in-law with the newly born third son.) Conversation opener this week: "See a penny, pick it up. All day long you'll have good luck."  What a strange Western belief: Who would pick up the flimsy aluminum Y 1 coin that has the feel of play money? No one at this table. All agreed that the smallest coin they would bend down to get would be Y 500 (about $5), a large copper. Whether they would bring it to the koban depended on how far they would have to walk. The act of touching a dirty item on the ground is the challenge in this germ-phobic nation.

     When I abandoned a textbook on a city bus, it was catalogued at the lost and found for the #96 bus. Upon retrieval, the book was handed over in a carrier bag with the time of loss noted.  A database tracks the thousands of found items on Tokyo transport, most often the kasa (umbrella); one wet day a conductor collected five per car, which explains how 3,500 pile up after each rainy day. Nowadays the keitai (cell phone) is vying for the number one slot for lost item. As a rule lost items are returned to their owners thanks to an honor code that dates back to 718 A.D. Provided that the finder reports the lost item to the authorities, a reward may be offered. One acquaintance who dropped her diamond bracelet at Starbucks got it back later that day. When our Vermont visitor left a parcel behind at a ferry station, we took the next ferry back to find the parcel undisturbed. Only Alice is still waiting to hear about an envelope of cash, payment for her lecture to the ladies social club, left behind in a taxi.

The Imperial Hotel

     What better place to rendezvous with the mother of a member of the Imperial Family than the lobby of the Imperial Hotel? The obvious reason for this choice is the Hotel's location, a stone's throw from the Fukiage Gardens. Deep within the gardens stands the Kyuden (residence) of the Emperor and his consort of 50 years, Michiko-sama,  their son, the Crown Prince, his intensely depressed wife and their eight year-old daughter Aiko-sama who may have Asperger's Syndrome (according to the press) or just may be a spoiled brat. Outside of Japan the Emperor is called Akihito; within the country his era is known as Heisei (heavenly) as in Heisei 21 to describe 2010 or the 21st year of the Emperor's reign.

      Another excellent reason to meet at the Imperial  is to see the remains of Frank Lloyd Wright's vision on view in the lobby. No sooner had the doors opened on Wright's hotel than it crumbled thanks to the 8.3 earthquake of 1923. In 2006, when our family first arrived in town, we stayed at the Imperial. How impressed we were with the elevator ladies who usher guests into the correct elevator and bow so that the part in their hair is visible as the doors shut. Ladies in kimono repair for refreshment in the lobby after catching a Western musical at the Takarazuka theater across the street. The all-female musical troupe was founded in 1914 by the president of a railway company, and the productions continue to be funded thanks to railway travel. A livelier version of the all-male Kabuki-za, rumor has it that Mrs. Hatoyama, the prime minister's wife, started her career on the Takarazuka stage.

      But the third and true reason for today's rendezvous was to visit Uyeda Jeweller on the lower ground level. As board members of the intercultural women's club our mission was to place an order. Since the club was founded 61 years ago, each April vice presidents make this trek. Same order, different name. For our 2 PM rendezvous, I arrived at 1:45 to find the princess's mother, a vision in gray, waiting. Sumimassen. The elevator lady ushered us down, and one moment later Inoue-san, Jewelry Adviser, per his meishi (business card) seated us at the counter. The princess's mother produced the order papers, we agreed on the spelling of the president's name and my Imperial counterpart agreed to be the point person. Cups of green tea were put before us, and the transaction was completed by 2 PM. While the princess's mother was burdened by other Imperial duties, for me it was off to Uniqlo for the Style Up undershirt that pins sagging shoulders back.

Chewing the Rusk

     Manor residents have no worries in the selection of boulangeries. Stroll down the zaka (hill), cross the dori (avenue) and follow the aroma into the Juban (think Greenwich Village) to find the delicacies of Pointage. A glassed-in kitchen with shoes lined up at the threshold allows passers-by to watch bakers in slippers produce one exquisite baguette after another at Y 285 a pop (about $3). English bread (i.e. sliced) is another specialty, and there is seating for those who can't wait to get the goodies home. Take a left at Shoe & Shoo Repair, the lone cobbler with a pet bunny in the window. Or turn right and see what's on offer at the newly reopened Allez France. As of March 25, an auspicious opening day, it has been keeping the ovens churning to lure in customers with its crispier variety of baguette. However, the shelves are often bare, which is either a sign of healthy sales or an unhealthy output.  

     Deeper into the Juban Chou a La Creme (http://azabuchou.com) started out as a takeaway for lovers of cream puffs. Now expanded into the next shop it offers stools for three (four is unlucky, pls remember). At Y 160 (about $2) for the basic puff, it's a local bargain with the catchy slogan: "Cafe: eat in or take out?" Undaunted, Le Pommier Patisserie Salon de The (www.lepommier-patisserie.com) opened kitty corner beside Naniwaya, the supa (supermarket).  Very posh with three tables, the tartes begin at Y 400. Continue to Azabu Juban shopping street (think High Street) for Mont Thabor, which seems to pump out cinnamon perfume but produces inferior breads, kitty corner from Starbucks.

     Well-positioned on the corner of the Juban piazza is cool Tokyo Rusk, "baked with love"  and with a pretty logo and carrier bag. While American mothers associate rusks with the Zwiebacks given to teething infants, Tokyoites seem to find the sweetened twice-baked bread to be a choice dessert. Y 450 (about $6) buys a box of six packets at this exclusive rusk outlet, each containing two flavored crusts. Maple is quite popular nowadays. Just to utter the Spanish word "rusk" is a challenge in a language that interchanges L and R, and ends every word with a vowel. Yet these funny bits of bread are sold in the finer food stores around town to satiate the appetite of anyone who fancies a rusk.  

Civet Cat in the City

     When that craving for a yard sale hits on a warm Sunday in Tokyo, make a beeline for the International Forum. Outside the ship-shaped convention center, vendors set up their wares in tasteful displays and even hold parasols to shade customers from the solar rays. Of course, haggling is out of the question. With a growing collection of kokeshi (wooden dolls) and haori (kimono jackets) this hunter-gatherer has a purpose. Digging through one rack of haori two begged to live with us at the Manor: One, a translucent black number with a sheer rose lining, the second in lilac with fan design for spring. Total bill = Y 1,000 (about $12).

     Purchase bagged, money accepted with a bow, time to invest Y120 in the ubiquitous drink vending machines. Hydrate, hydrate, these machines silently implore. With a dazzling selection of flavors, could this be the day to taste Pocari Sweat? Musume-chan (daughter) believes that "sweat" was intended to be sweet, but is more memorable spelled this way. Suddenly, a most fanciful wild animal emerged from the other side of the vending machine: Long snout, masked face, about the size of a weasel. Except for colonies of feral felines, who are fed every evening by legions of women on bicycles, Tokyo is critter-free. Parks have no frisky squirrels or obvious rodents. This slinky guy could have walked off the pages of Dr. Seuss.

    Tanuki, one vendor said, referring to the raccoon's Japanese cousin. Habishi, said another, habishi!  Minutes later two policemen with clipboards arrived to a summons for help. The habishi (palm civet cat) climbed up an external staircase, and tried to ignore the small crowd below who were aiming their cell phones in its direction to capture the moment. With any luck the animal was transferred to the zoo, which is doing its best to collect these solitary felines who are now popping up around town.  

Drawer Money

   "Show me the money," Tom Cruise's mantra in the film Jerry Maguire, resonates for Tokyoites. In Western cities shoppers rely on credit cards and worry that carrying too much money will make us a target for pickpockets. In a town without crime credit cards are suspect and tend to lead to financial trouble, while walking-around money becomes a serious wad. Not that you would carry a messy wad of bills: Tokyoites are known to iron their notes.  I feel naked unless I have at least three ichiman notes (about $300) in my wallet at all times. Every conbini (convenience store ie 711) has change for a $100 bill, no matter how small the purchase. Ditto the automatic ticket machines in the subway that spit out $90 change when I top up my Pasmo (travel card a la New York's Metrocard or London's Oyster).

    At the post office the clerk counted out stacks of bills for a sweet little old lady who inserted them into an envelope that she put into her pocketbook. While she may have been headed to Akihabara, the part of town where locals buy large appliances (we exchanged a similar stack at Laox  for a TV), my nihongo-sensei conjectured that she was replenishing her "drawer money."  Why make multiple trips to the bank: Simply fill a drawer with neat blue and pink bills, and replenish as needed. With the threat of an earthquake that will rattle the town and disable the ATM system, keeping three or four months supply of cash on hand makes sense.

    Once a month the paperboy rings the bell at the Manor to collect Y4,160 (about $45) for the Asahi Shimbun (Daily News) edition of the International Herald Tribune. Newspapers in Japan have the largest circulation in the world (10 million readers for the Yomiuri), with a daily delivered to every household in the country. In New York the rude plop of the Times on the doormat is the cock-a-doodle-doo that starts the day; at the Manor the slim (24 page)  IHT waits politely in the mailbox.  In New York to suspend delivery for a holiday, subscribers dial in and punch a code. At the Manor suspension entails dialing and speaking to customer service, plus reciting numbers in nihongo. Each month the same good-looking young man parks his bike, appears at the door and repeats the same short speech in eigo (English). In exchange for an envelope of cash, which had been prepared since the bill arrived, he offers a packet of garbage bags and a deep bow.        

New Green Day

     Clouds of cherry blossoms exploded over Minato-ku all week, dropping a trail of petals on picnickers bundled up in coats and huddling under umbrellas in parks or under a lone tree in the Juban playground. Girly sakura trees are fluffy confections dangling on chocolate colored limbs without the distraction of leaves. During the first week of April they take center stage, while all other types of trees politely hold back. Wedding photographers posed young couples against the natural confetti backdrop in the mid-afternoon. Finally, this week leafy trees are making their debut on the street scene, echoed in the wardrobe of passers-by featuring lots of shin ryoku (new green) to greet this season. Is it possible that the newspaper publishes a recommended color of the day? Or in this homogeneous country does everyone know that green is right for them now, I wonder.

    Three-fifths of the ladies around the table for English Conversation arrived in new green (think wasabi) beneath white trench coats, the other must-have for spring 2010.  The obaasan (grandmother) confided that much to her chagrin her next grandchild, due next week, will be another boy in a series. Her news prompted a discussion of the vocabulary of childbirth ("labor," "contractions," "delivery") and the revelation that natural childbirth is the norm for nihonjin: No pain killers, no epidural! (The one obstetrician in town who offers these modern services is swamped with Western clients.) Next, Obaasan  wondered if her youngest grandson has an oral fetchi (fetish) since he likes to suck his thumb. Fetchi is a hot new word borrowed from English as in: "Many women are considered to have a shoe fetchi." Compare and contrast "fetish" to "obsession" to "shopaholic." At this point feng shui mom, (remember, the one who moved her son's bed to an auspicious position to get him to return to university) blurted out: "My son dropped out of the pharmacy program and returned from Australia!"  Another bed adjustment is in the offing for the sensitive lad.

     Before saying sayonara,  I observed that composer-san looked a bit weary. Yes, many engagements, mainly playing at the opening ceremonies of school since the academic year begins in April. That evening she would play a concert of mimikuree.  Who? All of us were stumped: Is that the name of a composer? No, no! Was this a reference to the ear (mimi)? No, again! Mimikuree, the sounds of a bird, or an animal, as created by a musical instrument. Finally, as often happens when Japanese borrow words from English, the penny dropped: mimicry. Hai, hai!  Smiles all around as everyone in new green buttoned up trench coats and stepped out into the gray afternoon.

Gallery Hopping in Tokyo

    What a pleasure to travel 15 minutes on the Ginza line to Tokyo International Forum, the site of Art Fair Tokyo 2010, at the invitation of the okaasan (mother) of one of the hot young artists. Glass and steel intertwine to create a ship-shaped convention center permanently docked by Tokyo Station (think Grand Central), opposite the office building of shujin (my husband).  Okaasan was delayed due to a check for poison gas on the JR (Japan Rail).  Kowaii (scary). A few exchanges on the cell phone explained the problem and 30 minutes later with one flash of her VIP card in we went.

    Following okaasan  I stood face to face with hot young  artist Mai Miyake in white sequined Tee-shirt, who greeted us with a deep bow. Mai-san exhibited a triptych: SanPuku-tsui, three scrolls (cut-outs under plexiglass) at Y 1 million each. Sugoi (cool). Browsing the other galleries the exhibitors shared treasures with us: a Hokusai woodblock print circa 1820, a Yoshitomo Nara  ("Naughty Girl") on a wall-sized plate made of strips of canvas, a "mu-fe-re" (muffler) designed to hang around the neck with two breasts dangling at either end.  No Tokyo outing is complete without a meal, and this one ended with hot food on an unseasonably cold spring evening.

    A few nights later it was my turn to invite okaasan to an opening at Bank Art Gallery, Bashamichi, a former bank turned into an art center in Yokohama. Last year we had met there to watch a Yoko Ono video of viewers taking scissors to Yoko's clothes until she sat in bra and panties. (Friends, she still looks good in her skivvies.) Little did I realize that I would be returning to this same location for a more personal event so soon: Fifteen seniors from Yokohama International School --including musume (my daughter) -- exhibited the work they have produced over two years to satisfy requirements for the International Baccalaureate. In a role reversal I became the okaasan of the young artist and tomodachi-san (friend) became the guest. Rather than a bow, musume chan in miniskirt and heels shook hands. How coincidental that musume favors three dimensional work with cut-outs and new media, but her prices do not yet compare to what Mai commands.

     Wine and nibbles served, the evening ended predictably by 9 PM as do all Tokyo events, and the Toyoko line transported us back to the Manor by 10 PM.

Think Pink

     Nothing makes me feel more at home than bumping into a friend when I venture outside my usual beat. Memorably this first happened at the Silver Pavilion, Kyoto, when a Tokyo acquaintance bellowed my name down the road, and brought shame upon shujin (my husband). This Easter Sunday in Kawasaki, an urban center wedged between Tokyo and Yokohama, in the midst of a jolly mob celebrating the Kanamara Matsuri, I recognized a familiar face. Sumimassen (excuse me!)

     Each week brings a different matsuri (festival), but this one has attracted global notoriety since it openly worships the male genitalia. While the ordinary Shinto festival assumes the somber tone of a Memorial Day Parade, the Kanamara (Steel Phallus) procession combined St Patrick's Day with Halloween in Greenwich Village: American soldiers from the nearby base provided the former, while gay geishas shouldering a 10 foot tall hot pink penis on a portable shrine (mikoshi) provided the latter. In the days of Edo prostitutes traveled to this shrine to ward off disease; nowadays the shrine raises money for HIV research and promotes fertility (judging by the number of young mums carrying papooses). 

     With many revelers (including children) sucking on penis-shaped lollies, where to buy this souvenir? Hot pink ones were available from stalls (Y 500) along the way to Kawasaki Daishi, the 900 year old Buddhist temple that is the crown jewel of this suburb of Kawasaki. Pilgrims travel from around the country to pay their respects to Kobo Daishi, the ascetic who brought the teachings of Buddha to Japan. A compound of more than 20 buildings the temple dedicated to this holy figure made a stark contrast to the day's events. 

     En route to the train station, a stop at the Steel Phallus shrine meant entering the scrum to buy an orange plaster cast penis lolly from a lone vendor in a bamboo shack. While Tokyoites queue up even when waiting for the subway, here it was each man for himself as the crowd threatened to knock down the shack. A quick glance confirmed that this mainly gaijin (foreign)crowd was shelling out Y 600 a pop. Souvenirs safely packed, on the JR (Japan Rail) platform it was back to "manner mode" as the train zipped past avenues of cherry blossoms and headed to the serene streets of Tokyo.          

     

The Emperor's New Blossoms

     Sakura (cherry blossom) viewing is serious business in Tokyo, especially on peak weekend. With trees at 90% capacity the hot spots in town are magnets for admirers who come from near and far. Weeks ago two dear friends arranged for a Friday walk about the Imperial Palace grounds, predictably among the top viewing spots in town. Little did we know that the weather would turn raw and wet, which thinned out the crowd considerably. Traffic wardens used loudspeakers urging us to keep to the left, even when we were the only pedestrians in sight.

     No Japanese native would venture outdoors on an empty stomach, so we stopped for a bowl of fortifying ramen (Chinese noodle soup) at a popular shop in Kudanshita. (My respect for the dish  has reached new heights since renting the classic film, Tampopo, about one woman's search to sell the perfect ramen.) How surprising to find a queue as late as 12:40, since noon is the preferred lunch time for Tokyoites. We bought tickets, handed them to the efficient waiter and waited outside in the drizzle; the bowls were served upon taking our seats 30 minutes later. "This is the first time I have ever had to queue for ramen," tomodachi-san (friend) remarked, speaking from long experience. After slurping down the daily special (with slices of pork and a hard boiled egg) we began our journey around the Palace grounds. "There was a time when my mother and I would come here at 8 AM, before the crowds arrived," recalled tomodachi-san.

      Our route began at Chidorigafuchi Moat, at the northeastern tip the most popular viewing spot in town where the pale pink blossoms greeted us. "Kirei! Kirei! (beautiful)," my friends said in unison. Out came the cameras as everyone posed with the obliging trees. Some passers-by snapped self-portraits with their cell phones; no one in Tokyo is shy about photographs. Some rowboats enjoyed the view from the moat, to the tune of Y 800 (about $10) for 30 minutes. Down the allee we observed junior office workers setting up for the evening picnics. Past the home of the Crown Prince, whose wife is said to be depressed and whose daughter recently missed a few days of school due to bullying, down to the British Embassy compound where the cherries date to 1897, we strolled. How convenient to warm up with coffee at a hotel restaurant filled with kimono clad guests in their spring finery. Our appetite for flower viewing satisfied we retreated to Hanzomon Station, and  promised to meet again at azalea time.

A Visit to Ebisu

      For a nation that shuns public nose blowing, how to explain that packs of tissues are distributed free with ad inserts at every street corner? En route to this month's reunion of Eating Out Club, I accept three packets (Konami Sports Club, Yubin-nenga and Eau Douce)at Ebisu Station. Distributing tissues is a job that requires support from passers-by like me. Personal favorites in my copious collection include nearby Hotel The Glanz and AU (cell phone company), with a kawaii (cute) squirrel in its logo. Tissues come in handy for those of us who do not carry the requisite tenugui (hand towel) when stopping in the immaculate public restroom.

     Finding a location the first time is reminiscent of a needle in a haystack, even for native Tokyoites. Standard issue is the Tokyo City Atlas or, at the very least, a photocopied map. Only a few stops away on the Hibiya sen, Ebisu is new territory for me. Easiest way to reach a destination is to identify a landmark and navigate from there. Addresses consist of three numbers: Our London address, for example, 28 Kensington Square, W8 5 HH, would become 8-5-28 Kensington Square. Same elements, different system. The search for Harumi restaurant meant following arrows on a photocopied map. Suddenly at a crossroads, the trail went cold. Next course of action is to check electric poles for coordinates (ie a zip or post code). At that moment the cell phone vibrated: Salvation!  Just across the road--but wait: Tokyoites never jaywalk.

      Inside faux francais Harumi restaurant, all is crisp and cozy. Prix fixe of Y 2,600 includes three courses (about $30). Need I repeat that tipping does not exist? Since the death of our dear member S-san, the group has become more tightly knit. Two (of four) members uncharacteristically ordered wine with lunch! "Let's enjoy life!" urged H-san, who has reached a multiple of 12 this year of Tora (the Tiger). The chardonnay loosened her tongue, as she criticized Prime Minister Hatoyama in perfect English and confided that her husband's height was stunted in the war due to lack of calcium. "Sleep without a pillow to keep your neck taut," she advised, revealing a well toned jaw as she tilted her head back. Dessert included asparagus ice cream. At the door the chef, maitre d' and head waiter all bowed in unison with sincere thanks. Along the dori (avenue) the sakura (cherry blossoms) are already 60% opened; daily news reports cite the progress of blooms from Kyushu to Hokkaido. Hai, at least 10 more days of sakura viewing ahead!