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.