Funny thing about living abroad is that names don't ring a bell to the foreign ear. For example, to a New Yorker "Rockefeller" rings a bell (former governor Nelson, his missus Happy, Japan Society, etc). Serving on the board of a Tokyo ladies club founded in 1949 at the suggestion of Count Kabayama, the tip-off is the fellow board member who identifies herself as the Count's granddaughter. Despite her lineage she is homesick for Manhattan. "It was heaven to live there," she confided in the type of gravelly voice that betrays a former smoker. "In Japan wives are never included in business dinners but in New York it was just the opposite! What fun we had socializing with American colleagues. And what fun I had filling the closet with bargains from Woodbury Common. I do remember thinking once: Not another dinner at Le Cirque! How spoiled I was."
When the count's granddaughter extended an invitation for tea in Hiro-o at Paper Moon, with another shop on East 77th Street, the only answer is: Hai. (Many NY eateries have Tokyo outposts, enabling the former Manhattanite to satisfy her appetite for the Big Apple.) Portions and prices are American style. Although our gracious hostess gained two stubborn kilos this year, she suspended her diet for one afternoon of reminiscing about her family. The owners of the patisserie greeted her warmly, exchanging a few words about the sudden resignation of prime minister Hatoyama this week as well as his righthand man Ozawa. The count's granddaughter lamented today's lack of statesmen such as her grandfather. "Our leaders need to be decisive," she said, like a true New Yorker.
Bites of cake alternated with bitesize tales of how John D. Rockefeller and Mr. Kabayama (as he became after 1945) co-founded International House in 1951, an active cultural center just a stone's throw from the Manor. Typical of Meiji era well-to-do nihonjin, all the Kabayamas studied in the US so it came as no surprise when in 1929 his younger daughter, Masako, made a love match with a Cambridge graduate by the name of Jiro Shirasu."My father moved us to the seaside resort of Oiso after the war, since Tokyo was completely burned to the ground," recounted the Count's granddaughter. "I was playing in the garden one day when a jeep pulled up and out stepped General MacArthur. He was the first American I ever met." Nihonjin know of Mr. Shirasu as the man who dared to talk back to MacArthur; at Cambridge he became an expert debater, which served him well with the Supreme Commander for Allied Powers (SCAP). Digesting the story and the rich cake, the afternoon closed with a promise to meet for a second slice of Mille Crepe at Paper Moon on E 77th Street.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
The Gotoh Museum in Setagaya
"Would you like to visit the Gotoh Museum?" invited tomodachi san, referring to the family-owned gallery in the southwest corner of Tokyo known as Setagaya ku. "There is a calligraphy exhibit and afterwards we can stroll through the garden." Hai, the automatic answer to every question, meant a thirty minute ride via two trains to Kaminoge eki on a summery morning. Tomodachi san brought two parasols since Tokyoites never allow the sun to touch their skin. A short walk through tree lined roads led to the Gotoh, formerly the private home of a railroad magnate. In another part of town visitors flock to the Nezu Museum, once home to another railroad family. With train lines privately owned in Japan, railroad families collect items that the government deems National Treasures and Cultural Properties that train travelers may enjoy for a price not much more than a train ticket.
Shodo (the way of writing), the ancient art imported from China, has no Western equivalent. Poems on exhibit currently at the Gotoh date from the Heian era (ninth and tenth centuries); mounted on patterned textiles they hang vertically like window shades. Impressive that the paper and legible, vivid ink are a thousand years old. As tomodachi san translated, our voices lifted a notch triggering the security guard to request that we keep down the volume. Outside in the garden, visitors are free to speak at any decibel. On a slope, Japanese stone lanterns of different designs lead downwards; my favorite was the "snow viewing lantern." Beyond the hill lies the Tama River, dividing Tokyo from Kanagawa, the neighboring prefecture of which Yokohama is the capital.
En route to tomodachi's home for a spot of lunch we passed the last remaining farm and even a vineyard; both used by NHK television crews when seeking local color. In her large garden tomodachi has many fruit trees including the native biwa (loquat), in full bloom now. "Here, try one," she offered, peeling it. Resembling an apricot, it is a closer relation to the apple. Lunch included many tasty treats from the garden; as we ate in the formal dining room, her ancient mother-in-law busied herself outside with weeding. The meal ended with the presentation of a furoshiki (cloth) wrapped box: a calligraphy brush from Tokei-ji, the temple of the family and a refuge for battered women since 1285. Ichi go, ichi e (one time one meeting) she wrote on the card, the slogan of tea ceremony. Our singular chance to spend an afternoon together properly savored, only five days remain until the Class of 2010 say farewell to Yokohama International School.
Shodo (the way of writing), the ancient art imported from China, has no Western equivalent. Poems on exhibit currently at the Gotoh date from the Heian era (ninth and tenth centuries); mounted on patterned textiles they hang vertically like window shades. Impressive that the paper and legible, vivid ink are a thousand years old. As tomodachi san translated, our voices lifted a notch triggering the security guard to request that we keep down the volume. Outside in the garden, visitors are free to speak at any decibel. On a slope, Japanese stone lanterns of different designs lead downwards; my favorite was the "snow viewing lantern." Beyond the hill lies the Tama River, dividing Tokyo from Kanagawa, the neighboring prefecture of which Yokohama is the capital.
En route to tomodachi's home for a spot of lunch we passed the last remaining farm and even a vineyard; both used by NHK television crews when seeking local color. In her large garden tomodachi has many fruit trees including the native biwa (loquat), in full bloom now. "Here, try one," she offered, peeling it. Resembling an apricot, it is a closer relation to the apple. Lunch included many tasty treats from the garden; as we ate in the formal dining room, her ancient mother-in-law busied herself outside with weeding. The meal ended with the presentation of a furoshiki (cloth) wrapped box: a calligraphy brush from Tokei-ji, the temple of the family and a refuge for battered women since 1285. Ichi go, ichi e (one time one meeting) she wrote on the card, the slogan of tea ceremony. Our singular chance to spend an afternoon together properly savored, only five days remain until the Class of 2010 say farewell to Yokohama International School.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Getting Naked Together
Hot topics at English conversation this week: Minutes earlier Mr. Hatoyama stepped down and reports came out that the Gores untied the knot after four decades. Eleven on the dot on a Wednesday at the Manor transported three sophisticated ladies out of shoes and into self-assigned seats around the table. Composer-san arrived typically 15 minutes late, while family illness kept driver-san away. "We are so embarrassed about our lack of leadership," said obaasan (granny) of five, echoing local newscasters. Hatoyama-san's bow exceeded the minimum 15 degree angle, which reflected the gravity of his apology. Promising to move the US base off Okinawa torpedoed his term after a mere 10 months; the skirmish between the Koreas underlined possible consequences. A samurai would have faced seppuku (self disembowelment), while Hatoyama may be faced with a life term in academia. As heir to the Bridgestone Tire fortune, can he understand the average nihonjin?
Al and Tipper led to the question of the Clinton marriage. "How could President Clinton remain in office after such public embarrassment?" posed chef-san. "I could not forgive my husband." Faced with evidence of adultery, they agreed that a prime minister would step down without an argument. The issue is the shame, not the cheating: Japanese couples often remain under the same roof for financial reasons, while leading separate lives (divorce rate is a mere 3%). Without revisiting that unhappy chapter of American history discussion moved on to the verb "to flirt," which did not translate directly. The performer Tamaki Koji , a well-known womanizer, is considered to have a psychological problem, since playful banter with the opposite sex is not part of the local culture.
Thanks to Mr. Milne, this week's installment of Pooh-san included the adverb "modestly." How surprising for Westerners to find that nude public bathing is widely practiced in the form of onsen (hot springs). People of all ages --even musume-chan (daughter)!--indulge in group nudity for the pleasure of sitting in ofuka with strangers of the same sex. After showering and washing off, with only a washcloth as protection, the onsen goer hops into the mineral water. Yakuza (gangsters) not welcome, which means no one with tattoos. How often do the ladies at the table visit onsen? "Never!" said obaasan, who is so thin that she fears critical eyes. Chef-san and husband head out of town to the outdoor onsen, where she admitted to holding the washcloth modestly in front. Composer-san and Traveler-san admitted to a healthy devil-may-care attitude about stripping down and enjoying the company of naked friends in the pool. Not much time for soaking in onsen before the graduation ceremony at YIS on the 10th.
Al and Tipper led to the question of the Clinton marriage. "How could President Clinton remain in office after such public embarrassment?" posed chef-san. "I could not forgive my husband." Faced with evidence of adultery, they agreed that a prime minister would step down without an argument. The issue is the shame, not the cheating: Japanese couples often remain under the same roof for financial reasons, while leading separate lives (divorce rate is a mere 3%). Without revisiting that unhappy chapter of American history discussion moved on to the verb "to flirt," which did not translate directly. The performer Tamaki Koji , a well-known womanizer, is considered to have a psychological problem, since playful banter with the opposite sex is not part of the local culture.
Thanks to Mr. Milne, this week's installment of Pooh-san included the adverb "modestly." How surprising for Westerners to find that nude public bathing is widely practiced in the form of onsen (hot springs). People of all ages --even musume-chan (daughter)!--indulge in group nudity for the pleasure of sitting in ofuka with strangers of the same sex. After showering and washing off, with only a washcloth as protection, the onsen goer hops into the mineral water. Yakuza (gangsters) not welcome, which means no one with tattoos. How often do the ladies at the table visit onsen? "Never!" said obaasan, who is so thin that she fears critical eyes. Chef-san and husband head out of town to the outdoor onsen, where she admitted to holding the washcloth modestly in front. Composer-san and Traveler-san admitted to a healthy devil-may-care attitude about stripping down and enjoying the company of naked friends in the pool. Not much time for soaking in onsen before the graduation ceremony at YIS on the 10th.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Seven Lucky Gods
Born Shinto, die Buddhist, is the conventional pattern in Japan. In between seek guidance from the Shichi Fukujin (Seven Lucky Gods), which includes one goddess: Benten-sama. She's got a lot on her plate as the protector deity of knowledge and the flow of creativity, specifically words and music. With temples and shrines dotting the town, Tokyoites in search of spiritual guidance are well covered. Unlike Western places of worship, paying respects Japanese style takes place out in the open. Up the hill from the Manor the small temple provides what appears like a small booth with statues and flowers. The worshipper pulls the bell rope to alert the deities to a human request, bows twice, claps twice, prays and takes a final bow. Tossing a coin into the money box is the polite thing to do.
For supplicants with specific needs there are issue appropriate temples. Writers and musicians, for example, would do well to head to Tokyo Tower. In its shadow sits Benten-sama's temple, Shoren-ja. Created for a Tokugawa princess of the Kanei era (1600s) on the first and seventeenth of each month all are invited in to stimulate the flow of creativity. Stepping gingerly on the stone path, the altar to Benten-sama is flush to the end of a thirty foot long tunnel carved into a hillside. Candles light the curved path, which requires a flashlight for proper navigation. (During wartime Benten-sama's tunnel was a safe haven.) For best results leave an offering on the altar next to the melon and melon sized onion; a pound cake and a tin of loose tea made a nice balance.
Although the temple is a stone's throw from Kamiyacho (site of the 1995 sarin gas attack) even the nihonjin in a group from the academically oriented women's group were astonished by this secret treasure. What good fortune that after some prodding, the California-born daughter-in-law of the resident priest generously invited our crowd. Ushered into the small temple building, we stepped out of our shoes and squatted on the tatami mat. Ottosan (father-in-law) made a few opening remarks, including the fact that he never anticipated his son would marry an American. After sharing many ancient relics, all the visitors did our best to bow properly upon our exit. Out on the street it was business as usual as the Number 97 headed to Shibuya and the month of June barrel s along to graduation day at Yokohama International School.
For supplicants with specific needs there are issue appropriate temples. Writers and musicians, for example, would do well to head to Tokyo Tower. In its shadow sits Benten-sama's temple, Shoren-ja. Created for a Tokugawa princess of the Kanei era (1600s) on the first and seventeenth of each month all are invited in to stimulate the flow of creativity. Stepping gingerly on the stone path, the altar to Benten-sama is flush to the end of a thirty foot long tunnel carved into a hillside. Candles light the curved path, which requires a flashlight for proper navigation. (During wartime Benten-sama's tunnel was a safe haven.) For best results leave an offering on the altar next to the melon and melon sized onion; a pound cake and a tin of loose tea made a nice balance.
Although the temple is a stone's throw from Kamiyacho (site of the 1995 sarin gas attack) even the nihonjin in a group from the academically oriented women's group were astonished by this secret treasure. What good fortune that after some prodding, the California-born daughter-in-law of the resident priest generously invited our crowd. Ushered into the small temple building, we stepped out of our shoes and squatted on the tatami mat. Ottosan (father-in-law) made a few opening remarks, including the fact that he never anticipated his son would marry an American. After sharing many ancient relics, all the visitors did our best to bow properly upon our exit. Out on the street it was business as usual as the Number 97 headed to Shibuya and the month of June barrel s along to graduation day at Yokohama International School.
Monday, May 31, 2010
The Art of Rubbish
Tokyoites divide trash into burnable and non, forcing everyone to consider what is going into the bin. How to determine a nonburnable, beside lighting a match to it? Residents at the Manor rely on the in-house expert who keeps the trash room neater than the average teenager's bedroom. No matter how fastidious Manor folks are about separating their detritus, Mr. Clean inspects each garbage bag to prevent mistakes that might incur fines from Minato-ku (harbor ward). A 27 page booklet on the subject explains more categories than one might expect. Sadly, the rules shifted last year, confusing gaijin (foreigners) even further. Sanitation workers will not accept garbage unless properly divided, sorted and wrapped. On collection days plastic bags are rounded up in blue netting to deter gangs of crows from pecking their way in, which they manage to do in any case.
Bins in the Juban come in pairs to allow for proper disposal. Once on a mountain hike with nihonjin, I dangled a banana peel carelessly. "Carry it home," I was advised. "But if we don't see you throw it away, you may." (Confession: it ended up under a tree.) Three years ago when Minato-ku's streets gleamed, I observed a child call out to a woman riding a bicycle; a tissue had fallen from her pocket. She stopped to collect it. Since the economic downturn of 2008 litter seems to be on the upswing, with cigarette butts the biggest offender. Wide as mailboxes, street ashtrays invite customers to congregate by corners since the law requires smokers to stand and puff together. Perhaps they prefer the bus stop for the Number 96 to Shinagawa, judging by the number of butts now underfoot.
"I started out in computers," Mr. Clean told me in perfect English. "When my mother fell ill, I switched to this job since it gives me more time to look after her." When he noted how many empty cans of essa (cat food) this Manor resident adds to the building's refuse, he pulled out his keitai (cell phone) to share photos of his three neko-chans (cats)-- adopted strays. (Tokyo has a tribe of well-fed stray cats, looked after by legions of women on bicycles rather than a non-profit org.) Lately, our refuse has become heavy on paper with high school practice exams. Is it only ten days until seniors don red gowns for graduation at Yokohama International?
Bins in the Juban come in pairs to allow for proper disposal. Once on a mountain hike with nihonjin, I dangled a banana peel carelessly. "Carry it home," I was advised. "But if we don't see you throw it away, you may." (Confession: it ended up under a tree.) Three years ago when Minato-ku's streets gleamed, I observed a child call out to a woman riding a bicycle; a tissue had fallen from her pocket. She stopped to collect it. Since the economic downturn of 2008 litter seems to be on the upswing, with cigarette butts the biggest offender. Wide as mailboxes, street ashtrays invite customers to congregate by corners since the law requires smokers to stand and puff together. Perhaps they prefer the bus stop for the Number 96 to Shinagawa, judging by the number of butts now underfoot.
"I started out in computers," Mr. Clean told me in perfect English. "When my mother fell ill, I switched to this job since it gives me more time to look after her." When he noted how many empty cans of essa (cat food) this Manor resident adds to the building's refuse, he pulled out his keitai (cell phone) to share photos of his three neko-chans (cats)-- adopted strays. (Tokyo has a tribe of well-fed stray cats, looked after by legions of women on bicycles rather than a non-profit org.) Lately, our refuse has become heavy on paper with high school practice exams. Is it only ten days until seniors don red gowns for graduation at Yokohama International?
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Shinjuku Salvation Army
Since nihonjin shun used goods, the secondhand market in Tokyo is a goldmine for gaijin. A fellow amerikajin from the academic ladies club (an avid kimono collector) shared the secret of her source: The Salvation Army in Suginami-ku. Coveting the elegant kimono worn by ladies traveling along the Namboku subway line en route to tea ceremony, ikebana lesson or wedding, was there much gold up north? One gray Saturday noon shodo tomodachi Madame G and I zoomed past Shinjuku via Yamanote (think: London's Circle Line) with transfer to the Marunouchi ("inside the circle") to dig for treasure. Exit at Nakano-Fukimicho turn left and at the Buddhist temple bear right 15 minutes past a hospital and another temple in Wada ni-chome to a small concrete building with a security guard outside. The gaijin looking at used bicycles confirm that you are there.
Inside the small building we found a dazzling array of items in immaculate condition, both Western and nihon. A quick sweep of crockery, with plates of every shape and design, yielded a quick treasure. Next, the kimono seller worked with Mme G for half an hour to find the correct length for a Western lady plus a good match for the obi (wide sash). A friendly nihon shopper lingered with us, and advised. At last, after much discussion in broken nihongo, each of us was pleased with her purchase. On to the stall of sensu (hand fans), invented 1300 years ago in Japan for the aristocracy. When irises are in bloom everyone whips out a fan (including men) to counteract the humidity. A delicate combination of bamboo and washi, lovely L-san of Yokohama presented me with a stunning sensu so elegant in its box that I am reluctant to disturb it. Ding-ding! Closing time at 2 PM cut our hunt short. Will there be a local eatery to provide a late lunch?
Only a block away, Mme G slid open the door of a soba (Japanese noodle) place. Absolutely empty, the hostess beckoned us in and we ordered the lunch set at Y 750 (about $9) with warm udon (wheat) rather than cold soba (buckwheat) since the day turned raw. The tray arrived with spring roll, udon, dipping sauce and small salad. The hostess told us her aunt lives in Los Angeles and that her younger brother owns the restaurant. As if expecting us, she was fully made up and camera ready. Since the shop has no business card, she gave us the take-out menu and we promised to return. Will there be time before musume-chan's high school graduation in two weeks? Time is running short.
Inside the small building we found a dazzling array of items in immaculate condition, both Western and nihon. A quick sweep of crockery, with plates of every shape and design, yielded a quick treasure. Next, the kimono seller worked with Mme G for half an hour to find the correct length for a Western lady plus a good match for the obi (wide sash). A friendly nihon shopper lingered with us, and advised. At last, after much discussion in broken nihongo, each of us was pleased with her purchase. On to the stall of sensu (hand fans), invented 1300 years ago in Japan for the aristocracy. When irises are in bloom everyone whips out a fan (including men) to counteract the humidity. A delicate combination of bamboo and washi, lovely L-san of Yokohama presented me with a stunning sensu so elegant in its box that I am reluctant to disturb it. Ding-ding! Closing time at 2 PM cut our hunt short. Will there be a local eatery to provide a late lunch?
Only a block away, Mme G slid open the door of a soba (Japanese noodle) place. Absolutely empty, the hostess beckoned us in and we ordered the lunch set at Y 750 (about $9) with warm udon (wheat) rather than cold soba (buckwheat) since the day turned raw. The tray arrived with spring roll, udon, dipping sauce and small salad. The hostess told us her aunt lives in Los Angeles and that her younger brother owns the restaurant. As if expecting us, she was fully made up and camera ready. Since the shop has no business card, she gave us the take-out menu and we promised to return. Will there be time before musume-chan's high school graduation in two weeks? Time is running short.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Kanji Crunch
Five terms of Thursday shodo (Japanese calligraphy) classes closed successfully with a project blessed by a hanko (red seal) imprinted on the piece by Nakamura-sensei. Only Sensei can apply the seal of approval, always with fanfare. Hanko time starts with a lipstick smile and outstretched bejeweled hand. Using scrap paper Sensei stamps out a sample and moves it around the page for position. Unlike Western signatures, hanko do not always sink to the bottom of the work. If kanji (Chinese characters) spell kaze kaoru (fragrant breeze), for example, why not place the stamp floating upwards? For a shikishi (board) hanko is the size of a postage stamp, for wall hanging shodo nearly Post-It size. When Sensei finds the right spot she tamps the hanko with red ink and aims it above the sample, moves it aside then dives down. Pressing for more than a few minutes she finally lifted it up: "Kireii! (Pretty)!"
"I hardly slept last night," confided Sensei, resplendent in Marina Rinaldi purple checked jacket, South Sea pearl on a chain by her throat. Three of the seven students are leaving Tokyo and our lessons. A youthful 75 Sensei does not want to take on new students. "You have improved so much this term," she generously said (mada, mada--not so). Every week she interpreted our moods through our work: New Yorkers have shrinks, Tokyoites have shodo Sensei. Knowing of Sensei's sweet tooth, I ordered a Japanese strawberry shortcake (heavy on the whipped cream). "Now I am the happiest Sensei in Tokyo," she clapped after many photos of the students, the work and the cake. We all agreed to meet in two weeks time for a farewell luncheon, since all key occasions in Japan are marked by ceremonial meals.
After class, tomodachi-san kindly offered a ride to the local art supply shop to find a frame for the final kanji ("frosty lake"). Ten minutes down the road to Gotanda the shop clerk made suggestions. "This frame mixes Japanese and Chinese parts, which is why it's half the price of a 100% Nihon frame. Is that OK?" tomodachi-san inquired. "I'm from the US where everything says Made in China-- no problem!" I replied. Disguising her personal reservations at my choice, she dropped me off in front of the Manor. What a surprise to stumble into a going-away party in the lobby for one concierge who is moving across town to Hiro-o. "I shall miss this building with its attractive ladies," he charmingly said. June is almost here: Only two weeks until Musume-chan (daughter) graduates from Yokohama International School!
"I hardly slept last night," confided Sensei, resplendent in Marina Rinaldi purple checked jacket, South Sea pearl on a chain by her throat. Three of the seven students are leaving Tokyo and our lessons. A youthful 75 Sensei does not want to take on new students. "You have improved so much this term," she generously said (mada, mada--not so). Every week she interpreted our moods through our work: New Yorkers have shrinks, Tokyoites have shodo Sensei. Knowing of Sensei's sweet tooth, I ordered a Japanese strawberry shortcake (heavy on the whipped cream). "Now I am the happiest Sensei in Tokyo," she clapped after many photos of the students, the work and the cake. We all agreed to meet in two weeks time for a farewell luncheon, since all key occasions in Japan are marked by ceremonial meals.
After class, tomodachi-san kindly offered a ride to the local art supply shop to find a frame for the final kanji ("frosty lake"). Ten minutes down the road to Gotanda the shop clerk made suggestions. "This frame mixes Japanese and Chinese parts, which is why it's half the price of a 100% Nihon frame. Is that OK?" tomodachi-san inquired. "I'm from the US where everything says Made in China-- no problem!" I replied. Disguising her personal reservations at my choice, she dropped me off in front of the Manor. What a surprise to stumble into a going-away party in the lobby for one concierge who is moving across town to Hiro-o. "I shall miss this building with its attractive ladies," he charmingly said. June is almost here: Only two weeks until Musume-chan (daughter) graduates from Yokohama International School!
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