I have returned. Kyoto, Japan is now 10,000 kilometers away again. I have yet to be home for more than a week and it certainly feels that way. I am call my friends for directions to their houses, forget to leave tips at restaurants, bow when I receive change from cashiers and often find myself dodging the left on crowded sidewalks. It seems as though I have strayed off my path. It seems as though I am lost. It has been too long since I have driven through the streets of Seattle, enjoyed the amazing international cuisine and hung out with close friends and family. With that said, there is no doubt that I am enjoying myself at home. However, the sudden and comprehensive change in my surroundings that I experienced just six days ago truly set me off my course.
The last few days I spent in Kyoto, Japan were for the most part unremarkable. I was operating on a "these-are-the-last-days" daily routine: cooking for one, biking all across town, selling the bikes I rode all across town, attending goodbye parties and getting to sleep far too late. It was with subtle realization, while I was carrying out this unremarkable pattern in the final throws of my Japanese exchange, that I came to understand the importance and pricelessness of the simple lifestyle I was concluding. I had almost come to the point of compiling a small list of trivial aspects of Kyoto life that I will come to miss. I never did write them down on paper, but I guess it wouldn't hurt to share a few nostalgic characteristics of the priceless past eleven months:
Japanese food: I may have eaten over 900 meals in Japan and I never once experienced the "gut bomb", "man I need to lay down" or "I am never eating that again"-type-of-feeling. Below is my final supper in Japan, prepared by Rakuraku's head chef and owner, Akira-san
My mode of transportation: I rode a bike with a basket and bell everyday in Kyoto. The metallic blue frame of my miniature mamchari (grandma-bike) had become an extension of my oversized body. I owe it all to my mamachari, the bike that seemed to ride itself home from late nights at the river, karaoke or Korean barbeque.
Bamboo: Much more interesting than Evergreen trees on all levels, especially sound and movement.
Studying Japanese by default: As a resident of Japan last year I was surrounded by Japanese everyday. From television, magazine, newspapers and conversation, I will always remember the power of immersion in language.
"This instant leads into the distant future"
Japanese as a common language: This was by far the most pleasurable aspect of my stay in Japan. As a resident in an international dorm, I had the opportunity to share showers, laundry facilities, kitchens and company with students from Sweden, Taiwan, Mexico, China, Norway, Korea, Germany and New Jersey. I did, unfortunately, spend a lot of time speaking in english with my fellow American dorm mates, but more often than not Japanese was the common language among the residents of Ritsumeikan International House II. Expressing my own personality and opinion in Japanese was challenging to say the least, but it did push me to utilize and apply the my Japanese in a very unique way. On the other hand, interpreting personality traits through conversation in Japanese became an amazing learning experience and a refreshing change in the process of forming new friendships.
It was truly difficult to say goodbye to my friends, the dorm, my bike and the streets I rode it through, the language I became so familiar with and the country of Japan that taught me so much. I have certainly not close the door to Japan.
Today is my birthday and yet I am so far from family and the close friends that usual surround me on this day. Instead I am in Japan celebrating with friends from all across the world; family surrounds me here as well.
OK, time travel. Two weeks ago I took advantage of a once in a lifetime opportunity involving the former Swiss Consulate General and a loyal friend from Australia. Last term, the fall and winter of 2007, I took an introductory class to interaction in the international community called Special Studies. My professor, Mr. Aviolat, was the former Swiss Consulate General and provided an amazing perspective on the course. He has lived on almost every continent for an extended period of time and has met the “famous and the infamous” (a quote from the 2000 Year Old Man). Either way, the class was designed for discussion, but with a majority of the students barely holding on to a basic understanding of English it was painful at times. At these uncomfortably quite junctures my close Australian friend, Jillian (Jill), and I would break the silence and share our comments, you know, to ease the tension, get the creative juices flowing. In the end the professor appreciated this effort to such a degree that he gave me his business card and invited me to his “club” in Kobe if I had any free time. I took the card gladly thinking, ‘Wow thanks, but you’re so old, is this creepy?’ Jill and I went to the club two weeks ago, far from creepy, borderline luxury.
An hour train ride on the JR line carried Jill and I to one of Japan’s oldest ports, Kobe. After a short walk we were picked up in front of Mr. Aviolat house in his car and were driven to the Kobe Club. The Kobe Club was established in 1868 shortly after the Meiji Restoration and was originally open only to foreigners. Over years it has become a hub of international interaction and hosts art exhibitions, that Mr. Aviolat organizes and hosts throughout the year. Check it out: http://www.kobeclub.org/modules/content/?id=1. So Jill, Mr. Aviolat and I had a nice drink and headed back to our professor’s apartment for dinner. I had a feeling of uneasiness at this point, like a ‘whoa, this is too much, I’m still in university, what am I doing why am I being wined and dined the former Swiss consulate General?’ type of feeling. Looking back at Jill’s face as we both entered our professor’s dynamic abode, I could tell she felt uneasy.
This is Jillian, from Australia, she's eating bread. The broken chair behind her on the wall was broken by Desmond Tutu himself
You know that smell, the smell a decadent life? There is a certain smell that resembles walls covered in foreign paintings, floors draped with one-of-a-kind hand woven carpets, a crowded living room of international furniture, tasteful music and a cute little women from Myanmar cooking dinner. I guess that was the kind of smell inside of Mr. Aviolat’s house. During the best dinner of my life, Mr. Aviolat happened to mention that Bishop Desmond Tutu had been sitting at that very table having dinner just a few weeks ago. Oh yeah, Desmond Tutu broke a chair, a nice one too. All that broken that night, however, was my waistline and my expectations for the hospitality I received from my professor. It was a very special was to say goodbye.
Adam and I at Rits
So I get home from Kobe still riding the high of that next-level experience and I find out that my good friend from Camp Solomon Schechter is staying at Myoshin-ji, a local temple, studying for five weeks in Kyoto. Without any delay, he and I make a time a date to meet up and before I knew it I was sharing the company of an old friend. He told me come to come to this small bar, Rakuraku, to have a couple of beers, food and listen to some live music. It may have been chance, destiny, Hashem whatever one would like to call it, but the night I met up with Adam Newman, my friend, there was a live Klezmer band playing at Rakuraku, no joke. After catching up a bit with Adam over a few beers and edamame, Hava Nagila came on and before I knew it I was on stage singing for a packed house of gaijin and goyim, about 15 people in total. The chef at Rakuraku, Akira-san, and his cute assistance, Kio-san, have become a new close friends and I will leaving going to visit them tonight for a little celebration.
klezmer
I was still in the middle of exams two weeks ago and as a last group event within the dormitory a bunch of my dorm mates and I gathered early in the morning and headed out to Osaka to go to the ever-famous SPA WORLD. Imagine a huge water park with slides, food stands, small pools and the works…on the 6th, 7th and 8th floor of a building. That is the kind of atmosphere SPA WORLD provides. However, if two thousand people crowding into small wave pools with children running, screaming and squirming all around you doesn’t float your SPA WORLD boat there are other options. This month the women were assigned to the European floor and the men to the Asian floor. So after bathing with two countless Japanese people, I decided to hit up the various Asian baths. Persian baths, salt saunas, extremely cold and hot baths and outside bath awaited me at every turn. Walking around with a damp towel on my head for hours, dipping into all kinds of medicinal baths really does something to one’s psyche; it gets you on the level. The mist enjoyable experience at SPA WORLD was definitely lying out on the tatami mats in Japanese room. Lining a 30-meter wall in the Japanese section of the 6th floor, there was a long stretch of tatami mat with headrests that allowed one to lie down and appreciate the comfort and simplicity of tatami. I appreciated and then fell asleep, after which I woke up and hopped into the cold bath; I never knew bathing could be such a rush.
farewell
i house farewell
i house farewell II
fireworks
A week after SPA WORLD, the Study in Kyoto Programme (SKP) held its bi-annual Closing Ceremony. It was very moving to hear my fellow students deliver speeches. For one, the content of the speeches was very reflective of all out feelings at the time. What was more amazing though was the speakers addressed the audience in Japanese. To be able to reminisce about the past year with everyone in the audience with Japanese as a common language was very special for me. The day after the Closing Ceremony I had my last exam and since then I have been running around like I have two weeks left in Japan, cause I do, actually only one now. My first stop was the ocean.
With Ai and Marina at the Farewell Party
Just a few days ago a group of seven friends, three off which I already knew, headed out to Osaka in a rent-a-car for a nice relaxing day on the beach. The short drive out there was very fun. I got a chance to chat in Japanese for a long period of time and we even got a traffic ticket. This was very interesting. Instead of the police officer filling out the forms in front of our car, he asked the driver to follow him to this bike. I was flabbergasted, because that exact situation is the kind that leads to a “World’s Wildest Police Videos” clip, at least in America. Running a yellow light in Japan takes a little bit of courage, a ten-minute chat with a respectable police officer and 9,000 yen (90 American clams), ouch. The beach was great. I made a sand castle, found a small crab, put it in my castle, soaked up some PTRs (prime time rays) and left with some nice pictures, a sandy towel and a satisfied smile. There’s nothing like taking a dip in Pacific 10,000 kilometers away from where one usually does-very stimulating, the ocean.
crab
My very good friend Kuri provided me with another refreshing experience just the other day. A 24 year-old Japanese man from Tokyo who returned back to university after spending four years in Tokyo working in the movie business right out of high school can only be expected to show a close friend a good time, right? Either way, I met Kuri in the smallest of allies in the northwest part of Kyoto the other night for my first “tachinomi” (literally, standing and drinking) experience. Next to the tiny restaurants and karaoke bars near Saiin station there is an even smaller bar with a capacity for twelve and that’s cutting it close. The men and one very attractive women that come to this “anaba” (literally, a whole somewhere, or in English a whole in the wall) are there for few reasons, fast service, crappy T.V., cheap and delicious food and of course to stay standing while they enjoy the company of their unmoving neighbours. I happen to come a lucky night where the store’s stock of maguro (tuna) was filled. There is nothing like a tall, cold beer, simple egg, salad and soft, rich maguro in the company of a good friend.
Beer, egg salad, Maguro . . .
Kuri actually also was the brains behind a group birthday celebration just last night; when one turns 24, I guess one’s sense of responsibility, if not already present, becomes overwhelming and if gone unused can, well, go unused I presume. Right, back to the birthday celebration. In the middle of downtown on the roof of the Takashimaya department store, I spent four straight hours laughing, eating and drinking beers in the warm summer weather and an entertainingly interactive atmosphere. A mix of my close acquaintances and Kuri’s old friend from his part time job and old school created a great environment for whatever limited interchanges people had between staring face-to-face with their beer jockeys or standing in line at the buffet.
The roof of Takashimaya, Asahi beer garden, Kuri is on the left
Today, 31 July, is not just my birthday. Today, in 781 Mount Fuji erupted; Emperor Nijo of Japan was born today in 1143; Fred Quimby, the creator of Tom & Jerry, which still serves as the monumental foundation of my adult character, was born today in 1883. With that off my chest, it will be much easier to convey the simple yet fulfilling day I spent reflecting on the last 21 years. I spent lunch with good friends today at a posh café near school and finally got a chance to tell them, three girls the came on exchange to UBC last year from Ritsumeikan, how I felt about living in Japan this year, learning not only Japanese, but how to live among the people that speak it. I walked home alone in the afternoon, cicadas ringing silently in and all around me; it took a long time to get home today, but I wasn’t lost. In the evening I went to Rakuraku and enjoyed some amazing food graciously prepared by Akria-san and his wife and was afterwards serenaded with a freestyle reggae happy birthday song by a slightly intoxicated Akira-san. I could not have asked for anything more except my family. I feel funny saying this though, for they are and will always be on my shoulders, as they continue to say.
Birthday Cake with dog stensil
Shout out to Luke McGrath, my good friend from New Jersey. Luke, you are home safe by now, but I House II has now a great void. I am going home in one week and plan on coming to the east coast soon enough, too bad they don’t have onsen.
Last September over one hundred jet lagged exchanged students gathered in one of Ritsumeikan’s brand new lecture halls for our first orientation meeting. At that time we had yet to cover any sort of logistics, so what we were presented with was a introduction to life in Kyoto and Japan in general. The leader of the session was Jason, the international student advisor who would later become a very beneficial source of guidance and friendship. Jason showcased his own photography, experiences and words of wisdom. The one thing I remember him saying was to take advantage of your time in Japan. With respect to this comment Jason mentioned one thing in particular: every year a group of exchange students has the chance to climb Mount Fuji. From that day in September I knew that Fuji-san would be one of my destinations prior to my return home. Finally, last week, with the help and organization of the Study in Kyoto Program Buddies (Japanese students who volunteer to help out exchange students), I was able to reach the summit of Fuji-san and more importantly come back to tell the story.
After waking very early on the 5th of July, shouldering my bursting backpack and riding the city bus to Kyoto station I was well on my way to Mount Fuji. However, once I boarded the tour bus that would take us to Yamanashi-ken (Yamanashi Prefecture) I realized that I had to endure a long uncomfortable bus ride before starting my climb. In other words, Japanese buses still do not accommodate for anyone taller that 175cm. I came to out of my sleepless daze as our bus arrived at base camp number 5 of 10 at roughly 17:00 (that’s five in the early evening, army time guys, get used to it). At approximately 18:15, after eating surprisingly nice meal of udon, fish, pickles and veggies, the yellow group (my climbing group) started up the mountain, that’s right, we were in for a night hike.
In order to avoid getting altitude sickness, which is caused by a mixture of the body/brain not receiving enough oxygen and not properly adjusting to the different pressure as altitude increases, the yellow group kept a slow pace until we reached base camp number 8. We had been hiking for four hours in winter conditions, but the fleece vest that I was wearing, which I stole from my father and the trail mix that I had made in Kyoto, kept me right on track. From 23:30 to 1:20 I slept in the closest quarters of my entire life. At least two hundred people were sleeping shoulder-to-shoulder in this amazingly small cabin on the side of Fuji-san only a few kilometers away from the summit. Sleeping above the clouds is something that I will never forget. I will also not forget waking up centimeters from my friend’s drooling face.
From 1:30 until 4:30, my good friend from Bulgaria Lilia and I made a mad dash for the summit and in the end it was worth it. In the last few hundred meters of the trail as we passed through a few Shinto gates, the sky behind us was glowing brighter and brighter as if it were pushing us the mountain. Lilia and I reached the summit of Fuji-san, just moments before the sun broke the cloud line horizon. It was surreal. When the sun had rose far past the horizon I had already taken the chance to take a tour of the summit, saw the crater of Mount Fuji, which is probably from its last eruption in the early 1700’s in the Edo Period. It was time to descend. I had been dreading the moment for the whole hike. That is, over 3000 meters of steep switchbacks and my Ramras Family knees. In the end though, we all made it back to Kyoto safe, sound and for me very satisfied.
The very next weekend was the SKP (Study in Kyoto Program) Farewell Party in the heart of downtown. These semi-formal events always turn into a fun time, whether fun means socializing with your friends over a couple of drinks and some nice food, or drinking your friends under the table that has some nice food on it…socially. After the party a mass of foreign and Japanese students dressed in suits and yukata arose from the roaring basement lounge and on the shores of the Kamogawa (the Kamo River) where the conversations and hilarity continued into the wee hours of the morning when the whole wide world of Kyoto was fast a sleep.
Farewell
This weekend marked the climax of the Kyoto’s famous Gion Matsuri (Gion Festival). In 869 during the Heian Era of Japan, the Gion Matsuri origin came from a decree by the Emperor Seiwa to pray at Kyoto’s Yasaka Jinja (Yasaka Shrine) in order to rid Kyoto of it’s current plague of disease. The current Yamaboko, halberds or floats that are still hand made only using rope to fasten their gigantic structure, represent the spears that were used in purification rituals during times of sickness.
YAMABOKO
Yukata at Yasaka Jinja
These things are as I have said, huge. When I took a trip downtown last night to check out the small street market I saw these huge yamaboko measuring up to the adjacent department stores of downtown Kyoto on my way to the original Yasaka Jinja in the heart of Gion (commonly known as the Geisha district). For having been built and erected by hand, they are truly amazing. Apart from seeing the packed markets in the small side streets of downtown Kyoto, I also got to see a very special parade in the middle of the night that started inside of Yasaka Jinja and continued through the small streets of Gion. The clang of the bells, the high shrill of the flutes and the Maiko and Geiko running in and out the sliding wooden doors of their teahouses made for a truly aesthetic and unforgettable experience.
Geiko at Yasaka Jinja
PARADE
With only three weeks left in Kyoto, Japan I am beginning to feel, how can I say this…uneasy. I will be going home, but on the other hand I will be leaving Kyoto behind. I will have to make the most of these last few weeks and I will not fail to keep you all posted.
A big shout out to my previous advisor Jason for giving me the advice that made this year practically worry free and filled only the best of experienced including reaching the summit of Fuji-san, the best to you.
I don’t like using exclamation points! Whenever I read a text that includes a lot of exclamation points, I feel like the person who is writing is trying too hard to convey to the reader that what they have to say is really important! Happy Fourth of July!!!
See, there is a funny joke that I learned in elementary school, I think in Geoff Ruskin’s class, that went a little something like this: Is there a fourth of July in Japan (I think the example country was Britain, but for my sake I’ll use my current country of residence)? Well of course there is, there is all around the world…yeah, I guess you had to be there…and be twelve years old in order to understand the true hilarity in the joke simple meaning.
Today is the day that I looked forward to as a child. The day where family and friends come together, eat drink and spend time together. A time to blow shit up in honour of our still young nation’s founding. As the day progressed I began to think about why it took me almost half of the day to remember that today, a day that holds so many wonderful memories, was my country’s independence day. First of all, I am thousands of miles from any true American media, besides that music that I have on my computer and the Americans that I live and go to school with. Second, since I always celebrate the Fourth during my summer break, it was hard to make a connection to the day of remembrance while in the middle of a regular academic term.
On the other side of my complete oblivious united state of mind, there are so many other important things that happened on this day aside from the 1776 Declaration of Independence and John Hancock’s famous signature. Let us reflect on a couple of monumental historic moments that also fall on this Fourth. In 1903 Theodore Roosevelt opened the first Pacific cable from Manila to San Francisco. More ironically, though, is the fact that today in 1946 the Philippines ceased to be a United States colony. Talk about a day to remember independence! Oops.
At the beginning of this week I had the pleasure of meeting my high school Japanese teacher, Tashibu Sensei, in Kyoto during here annual summer/spring trip to Japan. Accompanied with two handfuls of recently graduated Roosevelt High School students, I immediately sensed the presence of exhaustion in Sensei’s voice when I made my first call to her last weekend. “Would you please take the kids out for a night on the town Asher?”, Sensei kindly asked. Aside from my genuine interest in showing visitors around Kyoto, I could not pass up an opportunity to provide Sensei with a small slot of time for some rest and relaxation.
I planned to take the children out to dinner at a well-known eatery in the Ritsumeikan neighbourhood, followed by a healthy session of karaoke. However, I started to doubt my plans when the first group of kids met me with their hands full of MacDonald’s. Also, I told that one of the students had “disappeared” and whose whereabouts were still unknown. What else is one to expect from high school students? So as I rode the city bus from the middle of Kyoto to the university neighbourhood, with a group of half satiated high school students, missing one friend, I decided go with the flow and not change my plans. After a nice meal we took a nice stroll in terribly humid weather and proceeded to a nearby karaoke box. Two hours later I had a group of karaoke-hungry children planning their next outing that I assume will include more screaming and middle school nostalgia. The lost child was found and experiences varied.
I am climbing a mountain tomorrow. Kanagawa marks the most western part of the Kanto region of Japan, which includes the national capital of Tokyo. Lying between the border of Shizuoka and Yamanashi prefectures stands a majestic dormant volcano. My destination, along with 79 other exchanged students and Japanese students, is Fuji-san (Mount Fuji), towering 3,776 m (12,388 ft) above sea level. I have only reached the summit of two legit mountains in my life: Metzada, in Israel and Squaw Peak, in Phoenix, Arizona. Fuji-san will definitely be the tallest summit I will have reached in my life-that is if I can step up to the challenge. The challenge being 14 hours of climbing with 1 cup of rice, some trail mix, 2 liters of water, winter conditions and 2 hours of sleep. I have checked my list twice and am super pumped to climb. With my Mom, Pops, Grama and Chloe on my shoulders, I should be back at base camp soaking in an onsen (public bath) in no time. For now though, I have to finish making some onigiri (hand held rice balls) for tomorrow’s trek.
Shout out to John Hancock, beer, hotdogs and ketchup; dirty white t-shirts, spilled drinks, explosions and 332 years of freedom.
I am at a loss for words. I can barely move in Kyoto without sweating liters and having heat induced hallucinations. Before arriving in Japan, I was under the impression that Kyoto and Seattle lay on roughly the same longitude. After researching for a quick second I have found that I was correct. However, despite the fact that Kyoto and Seattle are separated by just ten longitudinal degrees-Seattle being further north-summer in Kyoto has proved drastically different.
One can only imagine how hot it can get in 31 degree centigrade weather with 80% humidity in school desks designed for my cute little cousins back home, but it is hard to fathom the heat endured by Kyoto’s famous Maiko and Geiko (more commonly known, but incorrectly referred to, as Geisha). One week ago, instead of my weekly Japanese research class, a guest Maiko-san so graciously came to Ritsumeikan University and shared a short demonstration as well as a question and answer period for the Study in Kyoto Program students.
The demonstration consisted of two short dances of the utmost elegance and simplicity. It was very interesting to witness such a formulated dance routine performed by such a young girl talented. Well aware of how precise and carefully Maiko-san are trained in all of the arts they practice, ranging from dance, shamisen, drums, calligraphy and song, I couldn’t help but noticed the individual influence this particular Miako-san had added to her seemingly flawless performance. For one, the songs were about love and the neighborhood of Gion (more commonly known, but incorrectly referred to, as the Geisha district of Kyoto) and, of course, Love. The most interesting dance, I thought, was a short anecdote about a butterfly, fluttering from flower to flower, undecided as to which one would be appropriate to settle upon; the song was about love. It was not until after the question and answer period that I realized why I had taken interest in this Maiko-san’s particular interpretation of the dance. The girl was fully and officially trained, white faced, restricted from getting married at the cost of losing her job and a mere 17 years old. Could there not be other reasons for young girl to so thoughtfully display wistfulness when expressing love through dance? And she was wearing many layers of thick Kimono; she must have been suffering the same kind of heat that I was at the time, of course.
In addition to practicing my regular school routine in this ridiculous heat and constantly rising humidity, I have also been attending my cycling circle without fail. This past weekend we took our biggest trip of the year so far. After heading east for 40 kilomteres, ten of which being steep, winding hills, fourteen members of the Ritsumeikan Cycling Club (RCC) reached the shores of Biwa-ko (Lake Biwa), the largest lake in Japan. Upon our arrival, we immediately stopped by a nearby onsen (public bath) to relieve our tense muscles and enjoy the company of gargling, naked, old Japanese men.
For dinner the RCC posted up on the beach of Biwa-ko and made huge batch of white curry rice with chicken potatoes and onion, a seemingly appropriate dish for fourteen hungry cyclists. With the sun well behind the horizon, we finally arrived at our humble youth hostel, just steps away from the lake’s shore. I was stunned when I walked in the entrance our room, to find all tatami mats, futon stacked in a smaller removed room and my favourite squatter toilet. There is nothing more comfortable than laying on tatami mats, drinking beer, playing cards and lighting fireworks on a shoreline.
Another 40 kilometers back home and I had successfully completed my longest round trip in Japan thus far. I were to share my favourite part of the trip, it would have to be my reunion with the utterly pacifying presence of water. As a resident of Seattle, I spend everyday surrounded by bodies of water and to be completely removed from such an easily forgotten joy of living in the northwest was much harder than I had thought. However, with the opportunity provided to me by the RCC and the endurance of my aching, sweaty self I was able to make contact with water and it was just as I remembered.
Shout out to Chloe, my sister, for she is departing to Israel tomorrow. Travel well Chloe, study hard and stay safe, for we will miss you and be thinking of you often.
3:40am. Sunday. June the 1st. What to do? I just vacated a prolonged session of karaoke. The room was to small. The room was too loud. I hate the smell of cigarettes. John Coltrane, Giant Steps-if you haven't listened yet, please do.
What I am trying to say is that language and the barriers it creates can get one into the most interesting situations. A prime example could certainly be my experience today during my field trip at a 200 year old residence in the city of Kyoto, capital of Japan from 794-1868.
When I arrived seven minutes early at the meeting point, I was met by a handful of my fellow classmates and a former Sensei of mine, Mitsui Sensei. As i waited outside the 200 year old house I began to converse with the only native English speaker present, a Canadian born male by the nickname of Spence. He and I exchanged remarks about what we did the night before. He went to a drag queen show downtown, I went to a hip-hop, reggae, rock, DJ show in the neighbourhood. Enthralled in the conversation that Spence and I held, we did not, for a few moments time, take notice of the blatant language barrier that had been unconsciously constructed among the eight students present. There were, in fact, two females conversing in French, two females speaking in Japanese-one of which was Korean-and a male and female speaking in Mandarin, respectively.
Instinct. Comfort. Exhaustion. Hangover. What was it that split our group of eight into four, multi-lingual pairs?
I thought about that multilingual encounter all throughout the hour-long explanation of the 200 year-old house that i quietly sat in, cross-legged, poised, knees hurting from sitting in seiza position (google it). Our lovely guide in a tasteful grey Kimono and orange Obi, shared with us the secrets and subtle nuances of the house that she had been born and raised in. From the iron cast iron doors to the early 19th century one-way security windows, our multi-lingual group sat silent, listening to our common language, Japanese.
Simple as it may seem, the encounter I had today has emerged numerous times since September of last year and has made a profound impact on my awareness of the concept of a common language and language barriers.
It had become light outside, 4:40am. I can hear the birds, but they sound the same, as if they were in my own backyard in Seattle.
Shout out to Danny Parker and my second family on the occasion of Danny's graduation. I wish I could be with you guys basking in the sun, praising achievements and riding scooters in Hawaii.
Good Evening Everyone I am in my room, trapped by the rain and looking at an extended forecast that reads 100% chance of precipitation for the next four days. It starts now. The raining season in Japan, 梅雨時 pronounced tsuyudoki, has begun. Don’t get me wrong, I love the rain and seeing as I am a Seattleite, I have my fair share of rainy day experiences. Yet, living in Japan does change the way one looks at the supposedly normal rainy day.
First of all, the smells…whoa. As a frequent traveler, for the sake of remembering my adventures, I try my best to take in as much as I can from any given place that I may visit, including the way it smells. It may sound strange, but smell and memory have a strong connection, in my opinion. With that said, Japan has a very unique smell when its dense foliage becomes saturated with rain originating mostly from continental Asia. The slight essence of bamboo and pine trees is something that I wish I could bottle up and sell to, well, those who are into smelling for the sake of memory.
To continue the trend of our senses, the sound of rain in Japan is quite different in both an audible and, strangely enough, linguistically. Appropriately, there much onomatopoeia to corresponds to the various types of rainfall. For instance, when the size of the raindrops is quite large one would say, ame ga (the rain is) しとしと（している）shitoshito (falling in such a way). At the first sign of a rain shower one would say, ぱらぱら（している）parapara (shiteiru). Additionally, when the rain is falling like cats and dogs, as we say in the West, one would describe such a shower as, ざあああzaaaa. I am experiencing and listening closely to a rainfall of the ZAaaaa variety.
Finally, Japan, the country of excessive accessories, seems to become enveloped in one continuous string of umbrellas. Men and women can be seen toting any colour, design and size of umbrella at the first sign of any parapara, if you will. Coincidentally, every single one of these umbrellas happen to be held at the same level as my eyes, which contributes to one of the only dangerous aspects about my living in Japan. Worry not, for I still see clearly with both my eyes, thanks to my cat like reflexes, speed and regular consumption of over-sized Japanese carrots.
Speaking of eyesight, I had the pleasure, last weekend, to gaze upon the numerous and various artifacts housed at the Kyoto National Museum. In weather far sunnier that today, the Ritsumeikan Cycling Club (RCC) and I took a nice forty-minute bike ride to the museum, parked and proceed to ogle at pottery from the Jomon Period (14000-400 BC) with its characteristic chorded pattern (the literal translation of the word jomon); bronze cast bells from the Yayoi Period (400 BC-AD 250) whose designs and craftsmanship were all heavily influenced by Korea; Buddhist art from various south east Asian nations all from the Yayoi Period; and bronze cast mirrors, lacquer ware, Kimono, emaki (scroll paintings) and poetry all from the Edo Period (AD 1603-1868). It was pleasure to see such a display of aesthetics and history with the company that I had. Japanese people. I have never been through a museum that fast in my life. When I was a child visits to museums always seemed long and now that I have grown up and found interest in the diverse histories of the world I actually do take time in museums. That being the case, I was quite surprised at the pace with which the RCC members unknowingly whisked past over 16000 years of their own people’s history.
At the Museum, pondering the Ponderer
Shout out to my Father. I wish you the safest recovery from your long awaited surgery. I can’t wait to see you stand tall. Mom, way to hang in there.
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