Kit Kat culture

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. 

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).  

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.

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.  
  

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.      

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.  

 

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.      

    

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.

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)!

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)!  

    

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.          

      

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.