Hiroshima

The name Hiroshima is mostly only assoicated with that fateful day in 1945, when the first Atomic Bomb put a full-stop to the pulse of progress; but there is so much more to the city.
Whether it's the city's architecture that blends European, American and Asian influence with flair, the prize-winning dish Hiroshima-yaki or the proximity to one of the three nationally treasured sights of Japan, a trip to Hiroshima is satisfying to all the senses.
On an early Wednesday morning in mid-August, I boarded a Hikari Shinkansen bound for Fukuoka and disembarked at Hiroshima in a mere 50 minutes (a distance of 220km/136 miles). Luckily for me there was a typhoon budding somewhere along the western coast-a common and recurring phenomenon in Summer- which made it less scorching and humid, so I wasted no time after checking into my hotel. A mere 10-minute walk led me to the main attraction of the city, the Peace Memorial Park, which houses the Genbaku Dome, a Cenotaph, the Children's Peace Memorial and an International Exchange Lounge.
The Genbaku (A-Bomb) Dome was a propped up ruin, floodlit at night, and an eternal reminder of the tragedy . It was the Industrial Promotional Hall until the bomb exploded directly above it, and as a result, its frame stands still to this day.
The Cenotaph was an arc with names of all the known victims of the bomb, and it framed the Flame of Peace, which will apparently 'be extinguished only when the last remaining nuclear weapon on earth has been destroyed'. Quite a long wait they've got, I couldn't help thinking...
The Children's Peace Memorial was perhaps the most poignant memorial for me in the park. It is inspired by Sadako, a 10-year old girl who developed leukemia in the aftermath's radiation, and aimed to fold 1000 Origami (paper) cranes (an ancient custom through which it is believed a person's wish will come true) in hopes to get better. She died before she could reach her goal, and her classmates and friends completed the cranes for her. The story inspired a nation-wide run of Origami cranes, which continues to this day. These cranes, from all over Japan, are displayed in the memorial, along with the heart-breaking inscription of 'Hear us, this is our cry to stop war'.
I'd seen enough of modern history; I felt too saddened to go and socialize in the Exchange lounge, which encourages foreigners living in Japan to do so. I made a quick roundabout to get to a streetcar stop, and after a 40-minute ride on the Greencar, I arrived at the port of Miyajima, from where I took the ferry to the 'nationally treasured sight' of the gates to the Itsukushima shrine. By the time I got there, the tide was out, which meant I couldn't see the gates in their full splendor-standing majestically as the waves lapped at their feet. I witnessed their feet only being lapped by mud, but their bright orange with the forest-green in the background and the cool blue of the sea yonder was quite a sight in itself.
A trek up and around the shrine led to a beautiful maple garden, called Momiji-dani where I cooled my feet by a gurgling brook under the shade of exquisite maple trees and a stone bridge. It was a tranquil moment's escape from the buzz of the tourist crowd.
After a few snaps and shots, I made my way back to the city of Hiroshima, where I made straight for a gastronomic treat.
The Hiroshima-yaki is the local take on the Okonomi-yaki, which is basically a pancake with stuffing that varies from the basic nikutama (meat and eggs with leeks), to exotic Kimchee, Mochi, cheese and seafood, topped by sauce and mayo. The Hiroshima version throws in a bit of Udon/Soba noodles in between 2 layers and tops it off with an egg. The rest of this episode goes down as an event in Gastronomic history.
After a jaunt with tired Nature's sweet restorer (sleep, in case you're wondering), I was ready to take on the nightlife scene. Hiroshima has a fantastic pub scene; probably the best city in the entire nation to enjoy a mellow night, having a casual beer and making some friends. I was pleasantly surprised at the city's atmosphere and people's attitudes-not in the least fake or mercenary as their counterparts here.
By far, Hiroshima was my most favorite city in all of Japan. Whether it was the beautiful architecture-a la wide roads, bridges and parks-that was reminscent of Meiji-era Japan; Gloucestershire, England; Philly, USA; or Hamburg, Germany; or the genuinely friendly, relaxed ambience; I enjoyed every bit of it and felt glad that I had pushed myself to get out and explore the place.

Miyako-jima

Miyako is a small island situated about 700km from mainland Japan. Part of the Yaeyama group of islands, it lies surrounded by acquamarine waters south of Okinawa.
I'd been yearning to see the ocean for ages. Actually, I don't live too far from the coastline of Honshu, but there isn't anything even remotely fascinating about the waters off of industrialized piers. I needed to see untouched, serene beaches.
And so when I found myself once again on the 'I can't make a visit back home this time-too expensive!' road during the Golden Week (National Holidays in the first week of May) vacation, I decided to go down to Okinawa. The weather'd be perfect and the rest of Japan would be busy travelling abroad, so I might just luck out and find a beach all to myself.
Just to be on the safe side, however, I decided to steer clear of the main island of Okinawa and opted instead for Miyako, which, popular as it was for the snorkelling/diving/jet skiing/Iron Man Triathalon it offered/hosted, was only so in peak summer, so I didn't think I'd run the risk of ending up smothered by a crowd. And thus began my journey of 4 days and 4 nights.

Day 1: After a sleepless night, copious amounts of tea, a train ride, a bus ride, and a flight lasting exactly 2 hours and 20 minutes, I found myself on island turf. I had arrived in Hirara, capital city of Miyako. I felt marvelously relaxed even as I stepped out of the airport and breathed in warm, salty ocean air, coupled with the sweet smell of sugarcane-which grew aplenty on the island. And my smile widened even further as this cute guy who'd been on the same flight (with whom I'd exchanged quite a few surreptitious glances) actually worked up the nerve to smile at me and wave (considering no Japanese man is ever that bold without alcohol, it was something.). A short cab ride later, I checked in at my hotel and did all the usual stuff before stepping out with a skip and a hop.
The night was so breezy and deliciously warm, and everything was within an arm's throw, so I walked around the town a bit before stopping for a bite at a famous Soba House, which specialized in the unique, original Soba Miyako was known for. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that the Miyako Soba is actually white, and made of a different species of wheat (Soba is usually made of buckwheat, which results in brown/dull grey noodles). Topped with Tempura, the huge bowl of steaming hot Soba made for a very filling meal.
Afterwards, I decided to take a short walk by the nearest beach. I passed partying youth with bonfires, and boats docking in another corner. At the further end of the path, I came upon a little cafe/bar called Bamboo. It was rather simple, made entirely of bamboo and other light wood, but the outer patio, shaped like a deck, was very inviting and the evening definitely called for a drink. As I sipped on a very well mixed Margarita, I couldn't help smiling at the whole scenario-a breeze I couldn't get enough of, soft sounds of the sea yonder, the rustle of palm trees, and the velvety darkness of the sky, which the gentle lighting did nothing to impede upon. I tried to see whether I was missing anything, and if so, what, but for once in my life, I was actually able to enjoy the moment without all that hash.
The place was empty save for myself and one other woman, who at nursing a lonely Jack Daniels on the rocks. Perhaps it was the margarita, or perhaps it was just the cheerful ambience, but whatever it was, I amazed myself by doing something I just hadn't done anymore-go up and say hello. She was a few years older, but surprisingly chatty. I found her to be a very hip single mom who worked hard throughout the year (in the oldest profession in the world, as I found later) and took a break on the islands every so often. We shared a good conversation blaming men for all the troubles in the world and discussing which was better when lying on the beach: face up or face down. Important stuff, I know.
The night was still very young, and while the restaurant next door housed some cute boys, they were all from the mainland, which only meant one thing-they lacked the guts to come up and say hello. I figured I was better off without their attentions after all. So I took solace in what lay before me: good old tequila. I amazed myself even further when I found that I could down 3 shots and 12 (that's right, twelve) margaritas in about 5 hours. No kidding! Of course, we're talking Japanese serving sizes, so that actually makes about 6 of them in actual sizes. I was rather buzzed, but no where near drunk.
So when the gaggle of boys who'd been partying inside suddenly came up and said hello, I was more than happy to socialize. They were predictably lame, like all their 23-year old counterparts here, thinking foreign women can't get enough of them; but I put a cork right on their spewing when I claimed loudly, in crude Japanese, that I wouldn't take them on even if they were served on a silver platter with watercress around them. That brought about gales of laughter which broke the ice, if any. After that, there were a few jokes, anguished repetitions of dialogues, more margaritas, and finally, pictures. The cameras flashed, we bid our byes, and we were off, in seperate directions. I agonized over whether my skirt had hiked up when I'd leaned on to the side in the pictures we took together, but then figured even if it had, so be it. Punks I'd never see in my life again-mere boys.
It was rather late by then, but I still couldn't get enough of the breeze. I decided to walk back to the hotel, and amused myself by wondering how I'd perform on an alcohol test right now. For a laugh, I tried walking straight on a yellow line (yes, it was the divider, and no, there was no traffic-I wasn't sloshed), and actually made it! Which could only mean one thing: it takes more than 3 shots and 12 margaritas to mess me up!

Day2: My friend of last night, the woman I'd met in the bar, called me up and offered to show me the town. I was a tad bit hungover (duh!), but nothing a good meal wouldn't cure. So we met up and downed some well-made sandwiches and good old coffee at a small bistro. We walked off any excess calories browsing at interesting souveneir shops and local food stores. Afterwards, we took a cab to the part of the town called Ueno, which housed the German cultural center. The Kaiser Wilhelm Monument, or the Hakuhai, as it was locally known, was a gesture of gratitude for the rescue of the crew of a typhoon-wrecked German merchant ship in 1873. Capitalizing on this connection was a kitschy German theme park. The beach nearby, however, was far more inviting, and despite the cloudy skies, we went up and strolled around the beach, and amused ourselves by snapping some pictures of unique life forms such as sea anemones, starfish, and corals that had washed up in the low tide.
Later on, we took the cab to Misaki, a lookout point with a lighthouse that stood at the spot where the Pacific Ocean met the Sea of Japan. The two seas were of different colors, and made for a very good Kodak moment.
The plan was to go straight into a bar and begin another drinking sojourn, but I was feeling a bit ratty. Perhaps it was still the after-effects of the alcohol, or perhaps I was irritated at my companion's constant reference to the importance of...er...d***. I am no judge when it comes to what people like to do for a living, but I couldn't help wondering whether she was simply justifying her job or she was honestly just, well, that frisky. Maybe I was just feeling bitchy. But there was reason enough: PMS and hangover in unison. Hell hath no fury like a woman..er..hung over and in PMS! Whatever.
So I turned down her offer and went straight back to the hotel. What was meant to be a nap turned into full-blown sleep, and I found myself wide awake around 11.00pm. I went downstairs to the hotel bar and had a (as in one, yes) beer, which led to chatting with the bartender and making another friend. I found I was starving so I gladly took the opportunity to take a walk in the breeze, down to a nearby covenience store and grab myself some munchies. What is is about islands, that everything and everyone is so relaxed; and nobody gives a second glance at some crappily dressed foreigner carrying a plastic bag full of Okaki (Japanese salty snacks) and soda at midnight...? I love islands!
Back at the hotel, I watched the most boring foreign movies (who made the selection, I wonder; it was all uniformally bad!) about a depressed German mother, Richard Gere finding it difficult to choose between 2 women, and a French teenager who kills her own father. Geez and I thought we had it bad in Hollywood! Eventually, the stagnant morass cleared to show a gem-a movie called Tempted. Now this movie I call a gem only because of one its actors, Peter Facinelli, for whom I could watch any movie, however crappy. When the Creator gets off crack, boy does he produce some good specimens!
I went to back to sleep some time past dawn, dreaming of Facinelli.

Day3: It was well past noon when I woke. I'd slept like a baby, refreshed and restored, so I put on my best flip flops and went on a jaunt to the nearest beach. Called Painagama beach, it's a local favorite for beach parties and swimming. I had had my reservations about getting into a bathing suit, but I threw all caution to the winds and donned on my best fluorescent green one piece and dived right in. It was rather cloudy, although not much, but it wasn't sunny either. The first touch of the cold water was shocking, but pretty soon, I was on a natural high. I lolled about in the water and much later, having dusted off as much sand as I possibly could on my skin and in my bag, I trudged back to the hotel. I'd seen a hazy sunset, I'd swum, and I'd soaked up a lot of UV rays! Life was good.
I didn't feel like doing much more; the bath and the bed were very inviting. So I went on a short stroll to a nearby noodle place and had a hot bowl of Udon. Back at the hotel, I soaked in a warm bath (too warm for hot), watched another session of dull movies (nope, no Facinelli ones today) and fell asleep mid way with the t.v blaring.

Day4: This was the day! I'd arranged for a cab to take me to the two best beaches on the island. The first one, Maehama Beach, was a mere 15km away; and I'd barely set my eyes on the turquoise green waters and white sands when I fell in love with it! The entire beach was about 7km long, and walking away from the main 'entrance', I found a great spot, isolated, and yet, within earshot of the small gatherings here and there, and set up camp. I threw down a sarong, placed my bag on it, hiked up my capris and ran straight into the green waters. I gasped at how refreshingly cool it was, and I didn't even wait to strip to my swimsuit, I just plunged. I probably drew a lot of 'look at that dumb foreigner!' looks, but who the hell cared? The waters were clear as crystal, I could see fish of several kinds-the rare tropical kinds, swimming around, even at this shallow level. It was breathtaking. I surfaced long enough to take my clothes off and spread them out to dry, before I plunged in again. I don't recall how long I was there, but I realized I was thirsty and went up to get some water. I can't put the euphoria I felt in words...
For the longest time, I hadn't allowed myself to stop being self-conscious, to enjoy the world in its true sense. But I was glad that whatever came over me at that moment, did. Perhaps it was just the island factor. Or perhaps, it was a combination of both. I was as happy as a child with a new toy.
I alternated between laying in the sun and swimming. I guess I turned 2 shades darker, but once again, who the hell cared? I wanted to make sure I caught the other beach as well, as I was leaving tomorrow; so I packed up and called my cab over.
A short ride later, I found myself in Sunayama Beach. Literally meaning sand dunes, you had to climb over several small dunes to get to the beach here. The water was blue, and the sand gold, but it was a much smaller beach. Nevertheless, I couldn't help running down the dunes and setting camp (no, I didn't whoop). I found that the sand was a lot coarser, and reading up on the place, I learnt that it was actually 'organic' sand:Made of parts of sea creatures. The tide was a bit rough and the water rocky, so I just waded in and lay down on the sand.
Sunayama was famous for its view of the sunset, which one had to view through a natural arc, and so, I waited till the sun went down, caught the view through the arc, and snapped a couple pics in the cave beneath. It was a very different experience.
Finally, it was time to go back. I had just a night left, so I returned my friend's call and went out with her to grab some dinner and perhaps a few drinks. The cafe of the other night seemd too dull, so we went to a neighboring bar, which served cocktails made with the local sake, called Awamori. Well-worth its steep pricing. And what was more fun, was jerking my head in surprise at the bartender playing Bhangra!! For a second I thought I'd already gone into the hallucination mode of Awamori overload (and I'd only had 1), but no, it was indeed, the sounds of the Dhol! Oh how I'd missed that rhythm....I was even more amazed when the guy got up and started dancing Bhangra-geez, I have missed it so much, I'm projecting it! But no, it was true, and I even joined him in dancing! Picture it: Me, and an Okinawan guy (they look slightly different from their mainland counterparts, as their origins are believed to be Polynesia), dancing in sync with the Dhol! I then realized how much I wanted to go back home.

It was a great ending to a great vacation. I went to bed feeling content, happy and refreshed. As I boarded the plane next morning, I felt glad I'd taken a real vacation-for once.

Sakura-Harmony in Pink

Like all other events in Japan, the 4 seasons are earmarked by a grand entry/exit of things.
Once the humdrum of the New Year, the Vernal Equinox, and the beginning of the Academic/Fiscal year die down, fresh excitement in anticipation of the Sakura, or the Japanese Cherry Blossom, begins. In early April, trees that lay barren since December burst into clouds of pink, the shades ranging from delicate baby to fierce heliotrope. Spring is now officially here.
The Japanese spirit is embodied in several things, but perhaps not so much elsewhere as in the Sakura. This aesthetic creation of Mother Nature is symbolic of many values the Japanese hold dear; such as humility, nobility and elegance. The trees are in bloom for a mere 2 weeks of the entire year, but they are at their brilliant best just before falling off. Like these trees, the Japanese strive to make the best of impressions before it is their turn to 'fall off'. While it is important to make the right impression, it is also required that one does so inconspicuously; and with no self importance. And looking at the Sakura, it isn't too hard to see the correlation. These blossoms stand out with their delicate grace, and while they are strikingly beautiful, they don't smite the eye.
Dating back to the Nara Era (8th Century), the Sakura has been playing a significant role in various fields-from cuisine and craft to art and literature. It features in many a haiku and tale; its wood has been used for making furniture, wood blocks for prints, and ornamental decors; and the leaves and the flowers alike are a part of delicate eatables that hit the stores in Spring. It is also the most favored decoration in Kimonos, dinnerware and lacquered craft.
The cherry blossom season is the prologue to many things-the start of the school year, a shift in energies, the beginnings of yearning to get out. The latter is apparent in the social activity Hanami, which is perhaps the most popular nature related event in the year. Families, friends, colleagues and other closeted groups gather in large numbers to go have a day-long, fun-filled picnic under the trees. Sake flows like water at these events, and the merry-making lasts all day. Literally meaning flower-viewing, Hanami symbolizes the yearning for the Japanese to go appreciate the pride of their land (for the Sakura is unique, and blooms nowhere else), to continue a tradition dating back to the Samurais.
I was well informed of the crowds and noise at popular Hanami spots this time of the year, but wanted to take a good look for myself anyway. I found myself on a Sunday morning at the Himeji castle grounds, which was wreathed in cherry blossoms, and what began as an innocent stroll among the trees and a search for a good photograph led to my participating in absolute strangers' Hanamis and watching people go off their rockers and joining in their merry-making.

Oshougatsu

New Year's is one of those occassions that leaves you the option of celebrating with cultural tradition, or sticking to the all too common routine of getting caught up in the storm where it rains beer; music and cheers rumble like thunder; and fireworks and undesirable peeks at female body parts flash like lightning. Or, for that matter, not celebrate at all.
My New Year's definitely seemed to be about to fall into the latter category; being down and desolate about not being able to go back home for a visit, I braced myself for a weekend of DVD marathons of Frasier and The Office on my laptop, overwhelming lethargy and mindless nibbling at snack foods.
Imagine my pleasant surprise when I was invited to spend New Year's Eve and New Year's Day at my students' house (yet again). This time, it was a couple in their 60's, who were the soul of amicability and generosity. I wasted no time in accepting their invitation and packing my toothbrush.
Once there, I not only got to experience the generous hospitality the Japanese are known for, but the traditional New Year celebrations as well. Starting out with some tea and nibbles, the kotatsu over which we shared a wealth of information on customs, traditions and cultures, and even life experiences (mine paled in comparison to theirs-understandably so, given the age difference, but I was humbled, nevertheless) never ran empty. The goodies kept coming.
The highlight of the afternoon, however, was my being able to participate in preparing the all too decadent Osechi Ryori, the cuilinary delight the entire nation waits the whole year for. Osechi is a plethora of different dishes, arranged aesthetically and delicately upon a three-tiered set of lacquered bento-boxes, called Jubako. Each dish has a significance and meaning; a symbolism appropriate to the New Year. For instance, the black beans represent a prayer for strength to work hard, and the roe for many a progeny. While the menu differs with region and familial preferences, typically, an Osechi Jubako will contain the following dishes:
*Ebi-no-saka-mushi (shrimp steamed in cooking sake)
*Date-maki (rolled sweet omelet)
*Konbu--maki (rolled kelp)
*Kurikinton (mashed sweet potato with chestnuts)
*Kuro-mame (sweet black beans)
*Kinpira Gobo and Renkon (braised burdock and lotus root strips)
*Tazukuri (small dried sardines marinated in teriyaki sauce)
*Namasu (pickled carrots and radish)
*Nimono (simmered gobo (burdock root), satoimo (taro), carrots and shiitake)
*Kazunoko (herring roe)
*Kamaboko (fish paste loaf)
*Tai-no-shio-yaki (grill sea bream)
Accompanied by rice, pickled Umeboshi (plums), fruit, and of course, shochu and beer, it was a king's feast.

But the evening had just begun. After warming up with more shochu, we set out for Hatsumode, the first visit to a shrine, at about midnight, to their local family shrine. There, we were greeted warmly by the shrine's residing priest and his family, who directed us to a warming bonfire and made preparations for the big ceremony. As we warmed ourselves, the crowds slowly gathered, and the toshi-koshi soba began getting dished out. Buckwheat noodles in broth, this is rather like the prasad one would recieve at Hindu temples; the length of the noodles representing longevity and continued good health. After that, it was time for the Juya no Kane. In this little ceremoy, the temple bell is to be rung 108 times to loosen oneself of the burdens of worldly desires (of which there are 108, and thus, one ring for each), which keep mankind from attaining Satori, or spiritual enlightenment. The gong to the bell was cast in iron, and took a great of muscle power to wield. But with every resounding ring, the New Year seemed more promising.
And finally, it was time for the religious ceremony. While Japan is largely an agnostic country, traditions and customs are meticulously observed, even if they are of religious significance.
Back inside the temple, the head priest prayed for everyone's welfare, and performed several little rituals to light a small fire in front of the deity. Once the fire got going, the crowd began chanting in unison, while the priest threw into the fire, one by one, small wooden plaques upon which each person had written down their wish for the year. If your plaque burnt to a cinder, you were granted your wish.
At the end, more sweets were handed out as offerings, alongwith charms for health, success and feritility.
It had been quite a while since I had set foot on holy turf, so I left the temple feeling a bit confused and ponderous. But on the whole, the experience was left incomparable.

On New Year's Day, I awoke feeling content and refreshed. It was time, apparently, for more goodies. On this day, it was more Osechi (typically, it is kept and eaten for the first 3 days of the year.), and Ozoni-soup with a miso broth/chicken/beef/fish/kelp stock base, in which winter vegetables such as spinach, daikon radish, potato, carrot, and/or a source of protein such as chicken, duck, shellfish, or fish are added. The choice of ingredients illustrates regional differences. For example, in eastern Japan the soup is transparent, while in western Japan it is white Miso. However, the main ingredient is mochi, sticky rice cake that has been simmered in the soup.
As I returned home that day, laden with Oseibo (this time, it was: a charm for good health, steamed Japanese sweets, and locally produced Udon and Shochu) I realized I was feeling something I hadn't truly, genuinely felt in the longest time-joy. I was touched by their kindness and felt like I had unearthed more treasure for my coffers of education-nothing like first-hand experience for learning.

Bonenkai

The approaching end of the year is a festive time for the whole planet (the commercialized parts of it, at least); what with Christmas bringing a brief but refreshing bout of cheer and goodwill, and the New Year right around the corner with cause for celebration and jollification. This is one of those rare times of the year that I actually bother with returning smiles, feeling less irritable and making the effort to 'be nice' (whatever that may mean). So when I say I missed the twinkling lights and Christmas carols and the word 'Sale!' plastered across the nation back home, you understand.
Christmas isn't the deal here as is back home. Funnily enough, the apparently trendy thing to do is indulge one's sweet tooth with a cake of sorts, and then patronize that ubiquitous symbol of America-McDonald's (or, hold your breath here-KFC's.). While Santa Claus and Xmas trees are beginning to gain popularity, it is still an occassion left to children and the media. In the professional world, there's no concept of the office Xmas party. This time of the year is devoted entirely (the whole month of December, in fact) to the much awaited Bonenkai.
Literally meaning 'forget-the-year-party', it is the biggest occassion of the year when the Japanese let their hair down. For a society that leaves no room for impropreity, the tolerance for certain behavior (no matter how inexcusable) under the influence of alcohol is astounding. One could get away with murder with the excuse of being sloshed to the gills here.
As a culture with strong work ethics, the entire nation works extremely hard throughout the year. From keeping up the level of efficiency to kissing up to superiors, the first 11 months are a real sweat-breaking session. In December, however, entire offices congregate at various watering holes and make do for lost time. And to forget the hard, rough year.
Social culture claims that it is rude to fill one's own glass while out drinking, and so is refusing a drink, especially during a festive occassion such as this. So, in a group of at least 20 people, imagine staying sober. Yea. Never been accomplished by anyone before; even staunch Aussies and Irishmen have been known to fail . Unless, of course, you are the designated driver. (It is illegal to drive with any amount of alcohol in your system, no matter how small-it is even illegal to drive after having consumed cocolates with liquer in them. No kidding.) Then, you get off scot-free.
My first Bonenkai was at one of my students' homes, a lady in her late fifties who worked in the local chapter of International communities. With many of her coworkers, clients, family members and friends, it was quite the congregation. The sheer amount of food and alcohol laid out for the guests was intimidating, not to mention the pressure to not offend anyone and continue stuffing myself with whatever was laid out in front of me. I sipped, drank, chewed, munched, swallowed, and performed every action associated with digestion, but the night never got old. Every time even a bit of my plate's porcelain white gleamed in the light, someone would come rushing across the room to cover it with more food. I believe it would be unnecessary to claim that the same fate met my glass. I tried nodding, politely shaking my head and working my trapezoid muscles in other directions, but in vain.
After a few hours of being fed, watered (times 10), ogled and interviewed-I was, apparently, the first Indian American they'd met-I could barely even shake my head anymore. I was drunk beyond oblivion (god, they don't mess around with their shochu-local sake-here!), and full wouldn't begin to describe how stuffed I was. Stuffed to the brim, perhaps; the brim being, mind you, my head.
But I sprang back to life and twisted those trapezoids into a firm 'NO' when they poured out a generous glass of Mamushi-zake as though it were the highlight of the evening. I might have overlooked the fact that it was more potent sake coming along my already benumbed brain and appreciated that it was 'special', but I drew the line right there because, you see, Mamushi-zake is no mere sake. It is a sake that has had a Mamushi, or a pit viper (that's right, the snake!), brewing in it for months/years. Apparently, it is one of those countryside specialities that have the dual capacity of being advantageous to health, as well as pleasurable. While I was told that the health aspect of the revolting drink (before you call me judgemental, try imbibing something that reminded you very strongly of the urine you passed when struck with a raging fever) was to warm one on a cold night, I found from some research on my own that it is actually intended for...um...how can I put this delicately?.....putting more 'boing' in the 'ol' wiggle stick' (to quote an eloquent Aussie). Since I felt sure I could survive sans such benefits, I refused, and believe, broke section 457 of the Japanese drinking code. Suffice to say I am still very much on good terms with the family, although they'll think twice next time before they waggle that dross in front of me.
The second Bonenkai was less trying on the soul (and intestines). Once again, it was with my adult students, but this time 'round, it was a quiet and simple affair. The plat du jour was a Kimchee Nabe, with delicately prepared salads and desserts for accompaniment. Meaning 'pot', nabe is a hotch potch of a choice of veggies, meats or seafood slow cooked in a flavored broth. It is cooked on the dining table over a mini-stove, and is often on the menu in Winter, especially when entertaining. Everyone gathers around the kotastu on a cold evening and enjoys the warming nabe dishes.
Our nabe had a kimchee base and a plethora of unusual ingredients-Kikuna (chrysanthemum leaves), Kudzukiri (arrowroot noodles), Enokii, Moyashi (bean sprouts), minced meat, shrimp, sea bass, and Mochi. When the solids were polished off, the left over broth was used to boil some Udon noodles in, which added a nice finishing touch. A delicate fruit salad with seasonal fruit was the denouement to a well spent evening. Plenty of shochu and beer flowed this time too, but seemingly in rivers, as opposed to the tsunami of last time.
The Japanese are also very meticulous about their gift giving. In the Winter, after a Bonenkai, it is customary for them to hand out Oseibo, or mid-winter gifts. It could be anything from a charm to electronics to gourmet food items. After both occassions, I left with a load of Oseibo that included bath salts, aged Shochu (nope, no viper- I checked), a gift coupon to a nearby famous Onsen inn and a charm for good health and prosperity.
Whether drowning their guests in liquor or feeding them with the best of the gourmet stock, the Japanese hospitality is to be admired and appreciated. 2005 was simultaneously a tumultuous and uneventful year for me, but I soon forgot all the undesirable periods and looked forward to more memorable times, thanks to people here, and of course, that very aptly named occassion, Bonenkai.

Living, Japanese Style

While the very idea of falling into a pattern qualifies as being on par with clannish sheep for me, I am beginning to see, much to my chagrin, that there is no getting around it. Apparently, that is what 'life' is all about. And 'living' in a society that is notorious for its reluctance to step even slightly off the beaten track, I am left with very little choice. But I am not complaining really; after all, things could be much worse-imagine falling into a routine where you can't call any of the shots. When I am out of the 'Office Space', at least, I am free to morph into a giraffe or shark, or even, gasp! a human...
Quite the zoo, yes, my life; but even zoos have schedules, and here's what mine loosely looks like:
**I sleep through most mornings, having stayed up until the wee hours writing, or attempting to write, or sharing contemplations(with faceless strangers on serious forums) upon the fate of Harry Potter in the yet to be published 7th, and final, book in the series. Thankfully, my work scedule doesn't begin until 2.00pm.
**I wake up with barely enough time to do the mindless habituary rituals necessary to keep the sheep's look at bay before I have to bolt to work.
**On Mondays and Thursdays, I get to crunch in an extra few minutes to complete the dream in which Brad Pitt and I end up marrooned on a remote island, as the branch I work in is a mere 15 minutes away. On Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Fridays, I must unfortunately cut that dream short (invariably in all the wrong places) and prepare for a 30-minute drive to another branch.
**Tuesdays also classify as Traumadays, as I have to wake up at the unearthly hour of 8.00 and drive for 30 minutes to teach a bunch of snotty Kindergarteners. I am yet to find them cute; and I doubt I ever will. Of course, this could also be due to one loud-mouthed brat who keeps claiming loudly that I have big boobs. In Japanese, which sounds all the more crass. Oh, and did I mention, he is 5?!
**On Mondays and Fridays, my friend Missy and I end up in the same branch, and we usually go stuff ourselves right after we get let off. Once upon a time (or upto a month ago), we scoffed at the idea of patronizing anything that remotely looked like fusion (which is the bigger half of regular fare when one eats out)-imagine mochi (sticky rice cakes) on pizza-but now, we can't get enough of it! Be it the 'Japanized' Indian curry (which is one hell of a party in the mouth, by the way), Spaghetti with kinoko (tender mushroom) and tarako (cod roe) sauce, or machcha (green tea) floats, they are all culinary wonders, and Missy and I are true converts now. Incidentally, mochi on pizza is the next best thing to sliced bread.
**The last few Fridays have also been all-nighters, thanks to the discovery of a quaint British pub with an extra friendly bartender who likes shelling out drinks as bribes to get us to stay (need I say, they're freebies?) and a questionable Salsa club with the most lewd owner and the cutest Japanese bartender in the world. The music, once Missy and I hit the club, is not even remotely close to Salsa-a result of our charming the (for lack of a better word) cute-DJ: it's mostly hip hop and house then; and we end up teaching Japanese men how to dance. Every now and then, when I surface for air, I gawk at the bartender, who, did I mention, is the cutest....oh, yea, I did. Oh well, anyway, you get the picture. After a good 6-7 hours, Missy and I drag our tired but happy butts back home on Saturday morning, and sleep through the day.
**When partying isn't on the cards, I try and make a short trip to some town/city. With Kobe, Osaka, Kyoto, and even Hiroshima all at close quarters, I am sometimes overwelmed with having to make up my mind on where to go. The 2 weeks right after pay day usually see a great burst of energy and willingness to spend money in me. I am up and about on those weekends.
Between smoking a few cigarettes a day, writing, and refusing to move from the kotatsu (coffee table with inbuilt heater) for fear of turning into a iceberg, I get all the relaxation I need after teaching English. Bwahahaha..yes, I laugh whenever I say that. But that is my job, and the students are all predictably-good. Exploring culinary horizons and helping Japanese boys with two left feet are the greatest excitements in life right now. Apart from that, well, I am just another sheep in the ei-kaiwa no sensei (English teacher) herd.

Momiji-Gari

As the warm air of Summer thins out to welcome the crisp winds of Autumn, the trees change into their seasonal outfits. Decked out in their very best red, orange, and gold, they present a striking picture. These trees, called Momiji, or the Japanese maple, are deciduous, and therefore, undergo drastic change in tint with the sudden plunge in temperature.
This metamorphosis marks the beginning of a lot of things. It is the time of the year when warmer clothing, blankets, and kotatsus (coffee tables with inbuilt heaters) are fished out of storage. It is also the time of the year when the unique custom of Momiji-gari is observed. A compound word built by combining those meaning maple and hunt (in that order), Momiji-gari refers to the yearly occasion that even the sworn urbanite would mark down on his palm pilot. And as its name suggests, it is indeed a hunt, a hunt for the view of the perfect maple that is resplendent in its Autumnal glory.
On a crisp Saturday morning in late November (when the leaves are at their brightest best), one packs up a fair-sized lunch and heads to the nearest park/woods with friends/family to ‘view’ the maples. These picnics are enjoyed in silence, the only sound generally being of leaves rustling in the cool wind and the occasional part of a soft conversation. These leaves, mostly deep orange and bright red, stand majestically amidst lush green hills, and are a sight to behold. Even the most workaholic businessman, who usually wakes to the sound of a stock dropping, takes a moment to gaze at these masterpieces of Nature and admire their breathtaking beauty.
Being fortunate enough to live close by many areas marked for their abundance of the Momiji, I stepped out briskly on a chilly morning to go hunting. A 40-minute drive took me to the Shizutani School, an area not only known for its populace of maple trees set amidst lush hills, but also as the oldest public school in Japan, dating back to over 400 years.
As I walked around the school grounds, I was awestruck at the brilliant colors and the subtle and yet remarkable differences in shades of the same color. From russet to scarlet to gold, every leaf stood out, as if to claim that when Nature takes up the paintbrush, she doesn’t mess around. With the hills yonder providing a serene backdrop, the trees shone brilliantly in the sunlight.
Momiji-gari is one of the three major events in a year that pertain to appreciating the amazing artistic skills of Nature; Tsukimi (Moon-viewing, celebrated during the Summer’s full moon), and Hanami (Flower-viewing, which is probably the most popular and widespread of the three-a welcoming picnic for the delicate pink Sakura (the Japanese Cherry Blossom) in bloom; celebrated in early Spring) are the other two.

Part VI: Himeji Castle

Himeji is a little town on the range of a city wedged between the charming Kansai country-side and the buzzing cities of Kobe and Osaka. It is home to a rather large foreign population, comprising mostly of JET instructors from the U.S and Australia. A few British and Filipinos seem to complete the recipe for a melting pot (a pot, mind you, of Japanese serving size).
By itself, it is a rather nondescript little town, its only claim to fame being a magnificent castle dating back to 1580 A.D that was once the home of the feudal lord Toyotomi Hideyoshi. It was later the abode of the Princess Sen, Toyotomi’s daughter-in-law, until she was widowed and remarried to the reigning lord in Edo (modern day Tokyo). Princess Sen was renowned for her devout Shinto faith as well as being the patron for enabling women to choose to get out of a marriage if they wanted (In those days, women weren’t allowed to initiate a divorce).
The castle is also called Shirasagi (literally, White Egret) and true to this name, it is indeed of a stately white form, nestled among dense foliage. It presents a striking picture. It is even more exquisite in the Spring, when the Cherry Blossoms are in full bloom, and the trees, covered in delicate pink, stand guard in unison to the castle, as the soldiers once did the lord. A true sight.
I was 2 seasons too early to witness this latter picturesque scene for myself, but as I walked in the castle grounds and posed here and there for my usual quota of ‘touristy’ pictures, I couldn’t help but feel the majestic presence of the castle: a lone but noble abode, standing tall above the town, overlooking everything below and keeping watch, just as its occupants once did their people. I felt a strange disquiet.
As I roamed further into the enormous grounds, I came across a well that was eerie enough in appearance-dark, moldy and isolated-but made more sinister by the story posted near it on a plank: the well was apparently haunted, by the ghost of a maid who’d been unjustly accused of causing damage to dinnerware bearing the Royal Motif-treasure, according to some sources-and was condemned to death. She’d had the habit of counting the plates out loud as she washed them, and to this day, some of us can still hear her doing just that-deep down in the well into which she was thrown. I wasn’t all that keen on discovering whether I had any Para-psychological tendencies, so I got out of there in a hurry. In that odd hour of dusk, when time was in limbo between day and night, eeriness seemed to multiply tenfold, and I couldn’t help the goose bumps.
My thoughts raced from memories of the spookiest stories I’d heard to the freakiest movies I’d seen, and I felt the sweat break out on my forehead. Was it just me, or had the main exit been this far away from the creepy well? I was beginning to feel really scared, until a family of mosquitoes came promptly to my rescue. Nothing jolts one’s senses back to Earth like losing a good liter of blood to a swarm of starved bloodsuckers. I realized I had gotten myself out of the castle gates and was causing the traffic to back up as I was standing plumb spang in the middle of the pedestrian crossing. Inclining my head in an apologetic bow, I broke into a run.

Home, Sweet Home

It is always a well-established fact that foreigners who come to Japan for employment, particularly those from America, the UK or Australia, are treated rather well by their employers-at least in terms of giving them ample facilities and lessening the drudgeries of settling down in alien town. And although I had already seen and experienced enough to have an opinion on either side of the spectrum in this statement, nothing prepared me for the palatial mansion I was `given` when I arrived in my new town and job. I expected to be let into a miniscule apartment straight out of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs once again, with bathrooms where I could fit my arm span into and kitchens that would require me to squat in order to reach the gas stove; but imagine my pleasant surprise when I walked into what once must have housed an entire family tree...!
There were enough rooms to play hide and seek in and never get found, closets and cabinets that could have stored your entire loot from the Spanish Main, and even had the whole Zen rock garden, to boot! Obviously, this mansion had been constructed by/for some genetic anomalies; the rooms are all too normal-sized (by my standards, needless to say) for it to be otherwise!
I was thrilled beyond bounds; it was the best thing I had happen to me in a lon~g time...so even though I came here with the intention of spending less time at home and more outdoors/exploring the nearby cities and towns, I can`t help myself-I want to be the homebody now.....cooking in the full range kitchen that would seat a good 10 people comfortably, or mucking about in the rock garden...Although the real reason that`s keeping me from actually venturing out and seeing the sights of great cities such as Osaka, Kobe, Kyoto, Nara and Himeji (another unbelievable piece of luck-my proximity to more than half of Japan`s wonders!) is the age old excuse once again-shortage of funds, I don`t know if I will have the heart to stay out and miss becoming one with the house..!(God, I have spent too much time in California-listen to that psychobabble!!)

I did however drag my behind out a couple weeks ago and did a quick jaunt around Kobe, and these were what I got from a day in one of the most gorgeous cities I have ever visited:
1. Kobe is a combination of Old World Western charm and the delicacy of Japanese aestheticism. It is one of the most sophisticated cities in the world, with a flair for the arts, and cuisine.
2. Kobe is probably the most `international` city in Japan; with more people well-versed in World cultures and history, multi-lingual Japanese who have experienced other countries, and associations pertaining to international relations-from French chefs to Russian Delegates-than anywhere else in Japan.
3. Kobe lies right smack in between the mountains and the sea, much like San Francisco, with the result of being home to some of the most breath taking views in the country.
4. Much of the city was destroyed in the 1995 Earthquake (of a 7.2 magnitude), but it was all reconstructed perfectly to the last brick-no surprise, really; after all, we are talking about the Phoenix that rose from the ashes of Hiroshima and Nagasaki during WW II here.
5. One of Kobe`s main hangout/shopping/Kodak Moment areas, Harborland, houses the Meriken Park, where a small memorial commemorates the many lives lost in the port area due to the earthquake. It includes a short, damaged waterfront section which has been preserved as a reminder of the earthquake's tremendous, destructive power.
6. Kobe still retains the Old Foreign Settlement, where many of the foreign delegates` houses from the last century are still preserved. There is a great French-Vietnamese restaurant here, which once used to be the residence of the American Ambassador in the early XXth century. It was fabulous!
7. Kobe has the largest number of 2nd~ generation Indians in Japan. Shivers of excitement went through me (for whatever reason) when I was in a store and overheard some young boys cracking jokes racously in Japanese-2 of the 5 were Indians! It was the first time for me to come across Indian-Japanese (if that`s what they`re called), and I was intrigued. Of course, all I could do was stare.

More to come on Kobe, don`t change the channel!

I love my new place. It really feels like home. I am hoping I will make some friends soon and indulge in yet another passion of mine-entertaining. All in due time. For now, I am concentrating on combining my energies with those of the house...did I mention, I`ve stayed in California for longer than it`s good for me...?

Onsen-mania

Onsen. Meaning hot spring, they are the coveted indulgence of volcanic country. One of the positive side effects of lying on the meeting point of several continental plates, Japan is dotted liberally with many an onsen. Ranging from the mineral hotch potch (including sulfur, magnesium, gypsum, carbonates and alkalines) to a pellucid jewel, the onsen vary in size, shape, temperature, and content. It is basically nature's version of a bathtub. But the onsen in which one can immerse his/herself into is the last stop in the journey that began in the very center of the earth.
Hotsprings are mostly rain water being heated by the Earth's magma. When the core cools down, it releases gases and minerals along with water vapor onto the surface, which then condenses to hot water. In some areas, however, it releases liquid fossil as well (when the remains of life forms turn into oil or water). When the water hits the surface, it is collected and stagnated into certain areas, after which it undergoes purification, detoxification, and other forms of processing. It is then channeled into pools/baths, called onsen. Very rarely, water of such purity and perfect concentration comes up that it is left untouched, and these latter, called shizen no onsen, or, natural onsen, are considered prize items. Keep in mind, however, that all onsen only contain natural mineral rich hot water from the core; it's only how they are made available that becomes 'man-made'.
The history of the Japanese and the onsen is purely medicinal. What started out as a form of treatment for ailments such as rheumatism, neuralgia, chronic fatigue, and even arteriosclerosis (various minerals would soak through the epidermal layers and enter the system), is now not only a means for recuperation and rehabilitation, but for also socializing and relaxing. A trip to the onsen is now anything from a family vacation to a romantic getaway to a field trip.
Most onsen are segregated into ofuro or rotemburo, meaning baths, and outdoor baths, respectively. As per their names, they are either public-sized wooden bathtubs in indoor pool areas, or large, shallow pools outdoors, decorated with rocks and plants for atmosphere. Needless to say, the latter are more popular.
The best of the bunch, however, are the rotemburo of shizen no onsen. These are usually found near mountains and rivers, and picturesque hardly beigns to describe them.
My true experience of these wonders of nature was at the Takaragawa Onsen. According to an old Shinto legend, a wandering noble was on a long journey when he became ill. Hoping to find a place to rest, he made his way up to the top of nearby Mt. Hotaka so that he could get a better view of the area. When he reached the peak, he saw a stunning white hawk circling above a spot below in the distance. The noble struggled down to where he saw the hawk and found several warm pools. He rested in the soothing waters and before long, was cured of his illness. He was then able to continue his journey, but before he left he named the onsen Hakutaka no yu (Hot Water of the White Hawk, literally) and it became renowned for its healing qualities. Later on, in the Edo Period, the local mountain became famous for its copper reserves, and several copper mines popped up. The river running through the hot springs was coined the Takaragawa (Treasure River) and the village became known as Takaragawa Onsen - as it is today. Takagarawa Onsen now boasts of the largest rotemburo in all of Japan.
True to its name and reputation, it was a real treasure. The views were to kill for; what with the proximity of a raging river and being hidden deep in the valley of majestic mountains. From the many shades of green to the spray of the crystal clear river and the settings of the onsen, there was beauty, serenity and spirit in the air.
As with almost every other rotemburo, superstition surrounded this one too. People seemed to believe that soaking in the precious water helped with feritility. To enhance the atmosphere, the ppol of water was bedecked with granite statues of the Goddess of Fertility, and mothers, all nursing their babies. While fertility was the last thing on my mind, I couldn't help noticing how beautifully feminine it all was, from the lusciousness of the green to the soothing wind, and, of course, the decor. But the real cherry on top was that it was drizzling slightly while I was there, and the crisp feeling of the cool drops on my face mingling with the deliciously hot water beneath me was unbelievable. I doubt I have ever experienced such a natural high.
I stayed in the water until the rain began to come down hard ( a good 40 minutes or so later), and needless to say, the blood rushed to my head when I stood up, but it was well worth it. A gallon of iced water later, I felt like I had just been crowned Ms. Universe. The feeling was amazing.
Onsen etiquette requires that one scrub him/herself squeaky clean before entering the hot spring, because there is no chlorine added. The other notable thing is that there is no wearing a swimsuit-or anything, for that matter. I had hang ups at first about getting naked in front of strange women (thank God, it was at least segregated by sex), but after the first few minutes of extreme self-consciousness, once I was in the water, Brad Pitt could have been there and I wouldn't have cared. Oh well, not Brad Pitt maybe, but let's say Orlando Bloom. Anyway, you get my drift.
For anyone wishing to experience real Japan, the onsen isn't to be missed. There are other hot spring wealthy countries, such as Iceland, where one just strips in the middle of the street (where they tend to spring up at regular intervals) with friends and strangers alike (another whole radical experience), but the contents and associations are very different here. I plan on getting my skin shriveled like a prune by the time I get back, as a result of having sat long in every damn Onsen this heaven has to offer.