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.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Bye Bye Buddha
"You've been to Kamakura many times but I haven't been yet," said musume chan (daughter). Most guests at the Manor (you know who you are) were escorted on the journey to the seaside town to pay their respects to Daibutsu (Great Buddha). Thirty miles south of Tokyo, one thousand years ago Kamakura served as the capital of nihon and the seat of the shogunate. Over the centuries the population has held steady at about 200,000, which now qualifies it as a suburb. So, without further delay on a rainy day in tsuyu (rainy season), haha to musume (mother and daughter) rode Japan Rail for one hour on a farewell tour. Tokyo train travel is simple: On the Jorudan Route Finder web site plug in the departure station (Tamachi) and the destination (Kamakura), and voila! A screen offers options at each price point.
En route we made a brief stop to Engaku-ji in Kita Kamakura (North Kamakura), perhaps the most important Zen Buddhist complex in the country. For a ticket of Y 300 we admired the San Mon (Main Gate), Shari-den (shrine of the Sacred Tooth of Buddha) and climbed up a steep staircase to view the Ohgane (Temple Bell). Europeans swarmed behind us, mainly speaking Italian. Back at the train station a sweet faced lady with a parasol smiled and asked a few questions in nihongo, then recommended the local soba (buckwheat noodles) restaurant.
Walking from Kamakura eki to Daibutsu for half an hour weaves through a hodgepodge of suburban homes in every style. Some houses would be comfortable in Scarsdale, while some could only make sense in Kamakura. Rain dappled the great bronze Daibutsu sat serenely with a tray of genetically modified fruit upon the altar at his feet. A ticket of Y 200 entitles visitors to pay their respects; for another Y 20 visitors can enter inside his body for a view from the window at the back of his head. At 13 meters he is nearly as tall as the largest Buddha, who resides in Todaiji Temple, Nara. Musume invested in a good luck amulet for good health, haha bought one to avoid calamities before returning on the 3:27 PM Yokuska Train back to the Juban.
En route we made a brief stop to Engaku-ji in Kita Kamakura (North Kamakura), perhaps the most important Zen Buddhist complex in the country. For a ticket of Y 300 we admired the San Mon (Main Gate), Shari-den (shrine of the Sacred Tooth of Buddha) and climbed up a steep staircase to view the Ohgane (Temple Bell). Europeans swarmed behind us, mainly speaking Italian. Back at the train station a sweet faced lady with a parasol smiled and asked a few questions in nihongo, then recommended the local soba (buckwheat noodles) restaurant.
Walking from Kamakura eki to Daibutsu for half an hour weaves through a hodgepodge of suburban homes in every style. Some houses would be comfortable in Scarsdale, while some could only make sense in Kamakura. Rain dappled the great bronze Daibutsu sat serenely with a tray of genetically modified fruit upon the altar at his feet. A ticket of Y 200 entitles visitors to pay their respects; for another Y 20 visitors can enter inside his body for a view from the window at the back of his head. At 13 meters he is nearly as tall as the largest Buddha, who resides in Todaiji Temple, Nara. Musume invested in a good luck amulet for good health, haha bought one to avoid calamities before returning on the 3:27 PM Yokuska Train back to the Juban.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Breakfast at Tsukiji's
"How about meeting at Tsukiji for our final meal together?" asked the five Eating Out Group tomodachis, referring to the biggest seafood market on earth. Since the days of old Edo dealers have operated from this port to satisfy a diet that draws seriously on les fruits de mer. To get the measure of the place, think Fulton Fish Market to the tenth power. As the auction gets started around 5:30 AM, gaijin (foreigners) like to start their Tokyo tour there. Jet-lag does not mix well with 900 professional wholesale dealers; since May the market has limited the number of visitors to 140 per day. With our rendezvous set for 10 AM, our group manages to miss rush hour and I have invited another American friend who rounds out the group.
Descending into the bowels of Azabu Juban to board the Toei Oedo line bound for Tsukijishijo eki (station) I bump into one of my eating companions. "I'm 77, same as Yoko Ono," she likes to say, and both of them are holding up well. Although she is an Edoko (native), this is a first for her on the Toei Oedo as well as eating at Tsukiji. We climb up into the market, greeted by a dense heat as well as earlybirds toting their purchases. While the auction may be over, the market is a hive of shops and the place is buzzing. Weaving our way through the market's alleyways, on one side a shopkeeper demonstrates his knives while on the other today's catch is on display. Surprisingly there is no noticeable fishy smell. Long queues form in front of some of the sushi shops. Last month Phyllis and I stopped at a kaiten joint (plates on a conveyor belt) where four plates of the freshest nigirizushi amounted to Y 600 ($7).
"Shall we try chirashizushi?" asked tomodachi ("scattered" sushi over a bowl of rice rather than individual pieces). For Y 1, 400 (about $15) seated at the counter, in minutes we were served miso soup and sushi bowls with a glass of mugi cha (cold barley tea). "The fish in the picture looked nicer," tomodachi told the counterman, who quickly handed over a plate of extra maguro. "Not enough vinegar in the rice," whispered another tomodachi. "How do you like the taste of urchin?" asked third tomodachi, referring to the yolk colored item without flavor. "That is squid," explained another tomodachi about a bowl with three nut shaped items. Perhaps the places with queues are superior, they wondered, as we polished off brunch. Calendars out, they set up September's lunch --the first one without me ("We miss you!" they say poignantly in the present tense)-- and promised that whenever I next visit Tokyo they will organize a reunion.
Descending into the bowels of Azabu Juban to board the Toei Oedo line bound for Tsukijishijo eki (station) I bump into one of my eating companions. "I'm 77, same as Yoko Ono," she likes to say, and both of them are holding up well. Although she is an Edoko (native), this is a first for her on the Toei Oedo as well as eating at Tsukiji. We climb up into the market, greeted by a dense heat as well as earlybirds toting their purchases. While the auction may be over, the market is a hive of shops and the place is buzzing. Weaving our way through the market's alleyways, on one side a shopkeeper demonstrates his knives while on the other today's catch is on display. Surprisingly there is no noticeable fishy smell. Long queues form in front of some of the sushi shops. Last month Phyllis and I stopped at a kaiten joint (plates on a conveyor belt) where four plates of the freshest nigirizushi amounted to Y 600 ($7).
"Shall we try chirashizushi?" asked tomodachi ("scattered" sushi over a bowl of rice rather than individual pieces). For Y 1, 400 (about $15) seated at the counter, in minutes we were served miso soup and sushi bowls with a glass of mugi cha (cold barley tea). "The fish in the picture looked nicer," tomodachi told the counterman, who quickly handed over a plate of extra maguro. "Not enough vinegar in the rice," whispered another tomodachi. "How do you like the taste of urchin?" asked third tomodachi, referring to the yolk colored item without flavor. "That is squid," explained another tomodachi about a bowl with three nut shaped items. Perhaps the places with queues are superior, they wondered, as we polished off brunch. Calendars out, they set up September's lunch --the first one without me ("We miss you!" they say poignantly in the present tense)-- and promised that whenever I next visit Tokyo they will organize a reunion.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Shinjuku-ku
By my calculation half of the women in Tokyo studied piano at Juilliard, while the other half belongs to a choir. Singing for health, to keep the lungs youthful, is recommended by medical experts in nihon. With so many people making music, weekends are chockablock with concerts. After practicing "Carmina Burana" with her choir all year generous tomodachi san sent me a ticket for the July 4th performance at Tokyo Opera City Concert Hall. In order to insure timely arrival two other tomodachis agreed to meet at Shinjuku Eki (station) one hour before the concert.
Most cinema viewers have seen the hectic streets around Shinjuku from the outside, thanks to Sofia Coppola's "Lost in Translation." Inside the station is another story: A mini city with shops and restaurants galore, it feeds into the Takashimaya and other depatos; by comparison, Grand Central Station appears sleepy. After traveling on the Women Only car of the subway (to deter chikan--gropers-- during rush hour), the plan is to meet at South Exit. This entails leaving the private train line for the JR (Japan Rail) meeting point, which takes about 15 minutes on foot. At the appointed platform packed with wall-to-wall travelers, how to find tomodachis? Via cell phone, of course, which proves that we are a few steps apart.
One more stop along a third train line leads to the Concert Hall, upstairs in a Lincoln Center type complex. Early birds have created a snakelike queue along the hallway-- seats are first come, first served! Doors open, a mad dash for seats. Finally, settled together, embraced by the air con a quick check of the audience reveals the majority listening with eyes closed, chins on chests. With 150 on stage, the supportive audience is full of friends and family. Omedetou gozaimasu (congratulations)! Afterwards tomodachis stop for happy hour at the British Pub before rushing home to catch Ryoma-den, the NHK series about the 19th century hero, Sakamoto. Tanoshikata (fun)!
Most cinema viewers have seen the hectic streets around Shinjuku from the outside, thanks to Sofia Coppola's "Lost in Translation." Inside the station is another story: A mini city with shops and restaurants galore, it feeds into the Takashimaya and other depatos; by comparison, Grand Central Station appears sleepy. After traveling on the Women Only car of the subway (to deter chikan--gropers-- during rush hour), the plan is to meet at South Exit. This entails leaving the private train line for the JR (Japan Rail) meeting point, which takes about 15 minutes on foot. At the appointed platform packed with wall-to-wall travelers, how to find tomodachis? Via cell phone, of course, which proves that we are a few steps apart.
One more stop along a third train line leads to the Concert Hall, upstairs in a Lincoln Center type complex. Early birds have created a snakelike queue along the hallway-- seats are first come, first served! Doors open, a mad dash for seats. Finally, settled together, embraced by the air con a quick check of the audience reveals the majority listening with eyes closed, chins on chests. With 150 on stage, the supportive audience is full of friends and family. Omedetou gozaimasu (congratulations)! Afterwards tomodachis stop for happy hour at the British Pub before rushing home to catch Ryoma-den, the NHK series about the 19th century hero, Sakamoto. Tanoshikata (fun)!
Sunday, July 4, 2010
The Raumen Museum
Leave it to the nihonjin to come up with the concept of a food amusement park. The dish in question is ramen, the noodle soup crowd pleaser that satisfies the appetite like a slice of pizza at 4 PM on Lexington Avenue. Location is Shin Yokohama, about 45 minutes by underground train from the Manor plus one stop along the JR (Japan Rail). For Y 300 the visitor steps into Showa 33 Tokyo (1958 New York), the year that instant ramen changed eating habits around the world. Wandering along alleyways are outlets of about ten well-known chains, along with a few bars and even a candy store with old fashioned treats.
First neighbor Wanda-san introduced me to the hearty soup in the winter of 2007; in the Juban we devoured a spicy bowl at Ka for less than Y 1,000. The following year, under the tracks of Shinagawa eki (station), Mme G and I discovered a joint that played the Beatles along with pork based ramen. Much later tomodachi san explained that light colored ramen is from Kyushu (the South), whereas Edoko prefer miso based. With shujin (husband) we ate at a shop with toilet bowl sized portions; I even queued with tomodachis at one of Tokyo's most popular shops, within walking distance to the Imperial Palace.
Is there more to ramen than the 1985 "noodle western" Tampopo (Dandelion) starring Ken Watanabe? Hai, according to Iwaoka san, who founded the Raumen Museum with its deliberate strange spelling in 1994. On a weekend evening families and couples drank in the old-time ambiance along with the bowls of chow. Tomodachi san and I selected one of the less crowded outlets; I ordered the harukiya (soy based with pork, ginger and garlic). We drank remonade with its marble ball in the neck of the glass bottle. Oishkata (delicious)!
First neighbor Wanda-san introduced me to the hearty soup in the winter of 2007; in the Juban we devoured a spicy bowl at Ka for less than Y 1,000. The following year, under the tracks of Shinagawa eki (station), Mme G and I discovered a joint that played the Beatles along with pork based ramen. Much later tomodachi san explained that light colored ramen is from Kyushu (the South), whereas Edoko prefer miso based. With shujin (husband) we ate at a shop with toilet bowl sized portions; I even queued with tomodachis at one of Tokyo's most popular shops, within walking distance to the Imperial Palace.
Is there more to ramen than the 1985 "noodle western" Tampopo (Dandelion) starring Ken Watanabe? Hai, according to Iwaoka san, who founded the Raumen Museum with its deliberate strange spelling in 1994. On a weekend evening families and couples drank in the old-time ambiance along with the bowls of chow. Tomodachi san and I selected one of the less crowded outlets; I ordered the harukiya (soy based with pork, ginger and garlic). We drank remonade with its marble ball in the neck of the glass bottle. Oishkata (delicious)!
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Tanabata (Star Festival)
No question that the biggest adjustment to life in nihon is becoming illiterate. Not even 180 hours of nihongo lessons nor passing Level 4 Japanese Proficiency makes a dent: I need help to decipher everything that lands in the mailbox. As a result, telephone service has been cut off and parcels remain uncollected. Inside the Manor concierge Okutsu-san kindly irons out these domestic struggles; but how to manage in the outside world? Alice, our first visitor, found the answer in her SF Chronicle: Tokyo Free Guide. Generous Edoko (natives) donate their time to help tourists navigate around town. Through this service I made my first native friend, Senichi-san, a reliable source of answers to all questions including: Can you please guide my next visitor?
For our farewell tour we made three stops along the Toei Oedo line. First stop, (E09) Ueno-okachimachi. Since Meiji Era (late 19th century) the Honkan (Japanese Gallery) at the Tokyo National Museum has displayed rooms of designated National Treasures and Important Cultural Property. Rooms of scrolls and calligraphy tools spark our conversation until a guard was forced to hush us. En route to the Y 800 lunch set at Ganko in Ueno Koen (park) Chinese street performers entertained the sweaty passersby with a magical mask changing dance and impossible contortionist poses; when they passed the hat afterwards, everyone was generous in this country without panhandlers.
Before heading to (E 32) Nakai, to see what remains of the Edo era cloth making industry, we hopped off at (E07) for a stroll at Koishikawa Korakuen ("the garden for enjoying power later on") designed by the daimyo Tokugawa about 350 years ago. Turtles lolled on stones in the central pond, as the resident heron preened. An obliging fellow visitor snapped our photo by the Engetsu-kyo (Full Moon Bridge). On the way out, visitors were invited to write a wish on colored strips of paper and hang it on a bamboo tree to celebrate Tanabata (Evening of the Seventh) or Star Festival, the 7th of July, a great excuse to make a wish that I might return to nihon to visit all my tomodachis in the near future.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Blue Samurai Blue
Last Wednesday morning at 11:01 five weary English conversationalists arrived at the Manor and tiptoed out of size 5 and 6 shoes. In somber shades of gray and black, they assumed the self-assigned seats around the table: Chef-san facing Traveler-san, two obaasan (grandmothers) facing each other, Composer-san opposite me. Four had gone to bed at 2 AM following the defeat of the Samurai Blue warriors at the World Cup in Pretoria. No more blue lights at Tokyo Tower in support of the home team, which reverted to everyday orange. No more throngs of fans gathering at large screens in nearby Roppongi Hills or Shibuya Crossing. No more words of praise from newly appointed Prime Minister Kan ("Yes We Kan") about the hard work of coach Okada.
"It was not a good PK," explained the obaasan (grandma) of five, elaborating on how the final penalty kick went awry. "No one interviewed Komano-san after he fumbled the game for the Samurai Blues," said Chef-san looking distaught. "He was too upset." What is the English word for seriously bummed out because you lost the game for your team and let down your entire country? Devastated or crushed will do or, as the Brits would say, gutted. Mix that with a dose of guilt and enormous let down, but is there just one word? Rollercoaster ride? Suicidal? Obaasan offered up the word in nihongo for the fan who only watches soccer during the World Cup, a group to which she belongs.
Feelings close to the surface, the generous English speakers presented me with an antique set of Japanned (lacquer) dishes, stacked on a tray, each painted with a delicate flower. A lengthy photo session captured the presentation and untying of the furoshiki (cloth cover), admiring the box decorated with cat stickers in honor of Suki-chan who had audited so many conversation sessions over the past two years. Time for the final chapter of A.A. Milne's classic, "Christopher Robin Gives Pooh a Party and We Say Good-Bye." In September the group will continue speaking English at the home of lively Joy, who is appropriately named. We promise to keep in touch and, when Chef-san asked for a good-bye hug, the finality that hit Samurai Blue washed over us too.
"It was not a good PK," explained the obaasan (grandma) of five, elaborating on how the final penalty kick went awry. "No one interviewed Komano-san after he fumbled the game for the Samurai Blues," said Chef-san looking distaught. "He was too upset." What is the English word for seriously bummed out because you lost the game for your team and let down your entire country? Devastated or crushed will do or, as the Brits would say, gutted. Mix that with a dose of guilt and enormous let down, but is there just one word? Rollercoaster ride? Suicidal? Obaasan offered up the word in nihongo for the fan who only watches soccer during the World Cup, a group to which she belongs.
Feelings close to the surface, the generous English speakers presented me with an antique set of Japanned (lacquer) dishes, stacked on a tray, each painted with a delicate flower. A lengthy photo session captured the presentation and untying of the furoshiki (cloth cover), admiring the box decorated with cat stickers in honor of Suki-chan who had audited so many conversation sessions over the past two years. Time for the final chapter of A.A. Milne's classic, "Christopher Robin Gives Pooh a Party and We Say Good-Bye." In September the group will continue speaking English at the home of lively Joy, who is appropriately named. We promise to keep in touch and, when Chef-san asked for a good-bye hug, the finality that hit Samurai Blue washed over us too.
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