JAPAN MISCELLANY

1. TIME ZONES: My blog remains set to US Central Time. Thus the time and date listed for each post is Madison time. I am 14 hours ahead of you. Right now, you are stuck in April, for me it is already May (Saturday morning). All this to say that I am now officially an EU-nian! [Today, Poland joins the EU. As yesterday’s International Herald Tribune reported (I broke my news reading abstinence and read it on-line), today’s monumental expansion of the EU has enormous consequences for the European continent. The IHT commented that never has something so important to the European community received so little coverage in the US.]


2. YUKATA: A reader passed on the correct term for the bathrobe-like garment worn by those attending Japanese public baths – it is the yukata. When asked why I didn’t in the end partake, I have but one answer: laziness. You have to scrub yourself silly before entering a public bath and everyone I’m sure would watch to make certain that the one American, with odd overseas customs, adheres to this one. I have heard that sometimes people take as long as half an hour for the pre-wash. After you have done this, you get to soak. I have, in my past travels here, soaked in a hot Japanese tub. My two word reaction? Freaky hot! (That is not to say it wasn’t pleasant in a steamy sort of way.)


3. FOOD: Last night I had dinner at a place that again offered the “all you can eat” option. This restaurant’s version of it was still different: it was, for the most part, a buffet (though you could order additionally freshly made tempura and grilled scallops) and you could eat anything at all from it, and drink any one type of drink as well, so long as you were out of there within 90 minutes. No problem, when you eat alone, 90 minutes tends to be the average amount of time you’d spend in a restaurant anyway. The meal for me was noteworthy because it had (in addition to other things which I will not mention because I am embarrassed at the glutenous way I approach dinners here) this recurrent trilogy, pictured here at the side.

4. NAGANO: In a few hours I am leaving Matsushima and heading inland toward the Japanese Alps, my second “scenic spot” selection for my pause from work here. My base will be in Nagano, so that you might say I am making the circuit of Japan’s Olympic towns (both Sapporo and Nagano hosted the games). Three train rides await me today. First, though, I must make my way to my paltry breakfast while the rest of the robed populace feasts.

JAPAN

THE BUCK STOPS WITH RAW CUTTLE FISH


[Matsushima at sunrise, from my window]

I am what you might call an adventurous eater. But as I’ve said earlier, for breakfast in Japan I revert to my traditional ways: I will not (and did not this morning) try the multitude of dishes offered from 7 am onwards – dishes that to my senses belong to lunch or dinner, preferably over a glass of sake rather than a cup of morning coffee.

So here I am, acting very un-Polish and passing up all sorts of delicious and healthy food in favor of a piece of toast and a cup of cafe au lait. Shame on me.

MISTAKES CONTINUE

This morning I went into the hotel garden to explore. How can that offend? Well, I went out in my outdoor shoes. After I came back I noticed that people took off their outdoor shoes and slipped into the proffered (meaning communal) wooden Japanese shoes. Sorry!

HOW AM I SO LUCKY



I had worried about being here during the holiday week and not enjoying much of anything because of huge crowds. I have experienced Japanese crowds and they are not for the faint-hearted. How surprised I was, then, to find myself on one of the farther islands [Fukuurajima: accessible by a loooong footbridge; there are some 300 islands around the coast here—in this lies the beauty of the place; they are slowly eroding, but for now, they look positively spectacular] and hiking the trails completely by myself, with the exception of a woman who appears to live there in a small house where ice cream is sold.


As I walked, taking in the splendidness of the coast, the views onto other islands, I came across a meadow and scattered throughout, fruit trees that were in their best blooming period. Sakura? Yes, it seemed like it. I asked the ice cream lady just to make sure that this indeed was the Japanese cherry blooming. She answered in her PERFECT Japanese that yes, indeed it was and there had been even more flowers before the rain brought some down (or, she could have been saying “fall to the ground and kiss my feet!” but I don’t think so –her beautiful gestures implied rain).




How am I so lucky to have been there, in the quiet of the meadow, looking at the delicate sakura against a pale blue sky? Bliss, nothing short of bliss. This blog entry is almost a gift to myself because I can go back and remind myself how SUBLIME a tree blooming on the last day of April can be.

I went back to the ice cream lady to tell her how much I had enjoyed the half hour I spent in the meadow (yes, that is precisely what I wanted to convey, don’t ask how I got to any sort of comprehension; maybe I didn’t, maybe she thought I said that I was frightfully allergic to cherry blooms and couldn’t wait to depart, but I don’t think so – my gestures were meant to indicate radiant exuberance). She said that there are many kinds of sakura down there in the meadow (this one was easy to key into, she started listing them: sakura this, sakura that… many different sakuras). Yes and all of them, along with the bordering pines and the younger willows, breathtakingly beautiful.




And yes, growing in the wild thicket of the pine forest, I came across a Japanese wild iris. Flower euphoria today.








CHILDREN-- EVERYWHERE THERE ARE THE FACES OF CHILDREN


Walking along the main road, I watched a bus full of school children pause at an intersection. A number of the girls leaned out and waved (I sort of can’t believe this, given that I am visiting a place that is not exactly unheard of here, but I remain the only westerner around) and of course giggled a lot. I asked (a bit stupidly, if you think about it) – ‘where are you from?’ I meant what city, town, prefecture, because they were obviously on a school excursion. They shouted ‘Japan!’ And then one brave soul asked ‘and where are YOU from?’ I said ‘America.’ Peels of laughter for that one and more faces came to the window and the girls waved and waved.

I didn’t take a photo then because, after all, we were in a conversation. But other children do tempt me and I have to say this is perhaps the only country in the world where I can get away with photographing some of them. They don’t mind. Even the little ones, with parents at their side – they seem pleased that I should want to. I attribute it to their own camera obsessions. They just assume, I’m sure, that everyone is simply a photography nut and would take pictures of anything in sight. I’m still a little reticent at times, but I know I will not be denied the opportunity if I ask. Mostly, I don't even ask.

THIS BLOG IS FOR REAL!


I have some doubting petunias out there among the readership and so I decided to nip the buds of festering cynicism about the authenticity of my trip and my photos. Of course, I did once post on this blog pictures of flowers that were not yet in bloom (in anticipation of times when they would be) causing great consternation among a number of readers. Who’s to say I am really truly in Japan now and not just making it all up? So, this morning I cornered a young lad and asked him to snap a photo of me just for verification purposes. I deliberately put myself in an unattractive pose so no one would think I am blog-vain. It’s Japan, honestly!

JAPAN

THAT WAS ONE LONG TUNNEL!

This morning I started my trip to Matsushima. It took four separate trains and a total of eight hours to get there and so I had plenty of time to watch two batteries die down on the computer and to count tunnels. There were many many tunnels to count. Of course, I was waiting for THE BIG ONE, the longest underwater tunnel in the world, the one that connects Hokkaido to the rest of Japan. I had wanted to time my own personal endurance record so that I could then brag on the blog how I had survived the 20 minute, or two hour tunnel. But after a dozen times of looking at my watch, thinking THIS SURELY must be it, I gave up and stopped looking and so now I can only guess: it seemed like about four hours, but that is possibly the grossest of exaggerations because that particular train ride was only three hours long and it had many stops before and after the tunnel. Still, I have to say that my going-under-water-by-way-of-train phobia seems to be a thing of the past.

Long train rides are a time to think and eat. This time I was prepared. No more staring at a solitary cup of Twinkle Lady tea. I had a feast . The tea was accompanied by a spotted monster apple (that’s the way they all looked in the market: I spent more on that apple than on my earlier-in-the-week cup of Starbucks latte and that’s saying a lot; fruits are expensive in Japan) and by treats from the food halls of the department store (I couldn’t decide which of the three so I took all three; my decision would have been a lot easier had I realized that they were all a variation on a white roll with chestnut bits; no matter, their price together amounted to just about one half the cost of the apple).

But I have to say that I am starting to crave vegetables. Aside from the pickled ginger that always accompanies raw fish here and that one piece of pepper tempura yesterday, I haven’t seen any vegetables at the dinner table. This morning, therefore, I broke down and took from the breakfast buffet a small plate of limp broccoli, cauliflower and carrots. One has to take things when they are offered in life. [For the curious: I had this BEFORE my cup of coffee and cereal; I pretended that I was still eating last night’s dinner before ultimately switching to breakfast.]


NEW DISCOVERIES AND MORE QUESTIONS

In trying to decide where to go during the Golden Week, I thought about selecting places of great natural beauty. I’ll be working in cities while I am here, but for my time off, I wanted scenic splendor. I chose two destinations. The first, Matsushima, is labeled as one of the three great natural sights of Japan (more on the second destination tomorrow). I learned a poem today by a famous seventeenth century Japanese writer. It goes like this:

”Matsushima, ah! Matsushima! Matsushima!” He definitely was smitten with the place.

It was evening by the time the last of my series of trains pulled in to the Matsushima-Kaigan station and so I saw little of the scenery tonight. From the station, a bus took me to the hotel Taikanoso, the place where I’ll be spending the next two nights.

I honestly do not remember how I found Taikanoso. I believe I was directed to it by some random blog I Googled my way to. I know this place does not have a website and it is not listed in any book on Japan. And so, apart from the price per night, I cannot say that I arrived informed about my new surroundings.

Driving up, I could tell that it fancies itself to be a bit of a ‘resort.’ You can just tell: there are ‘grounds.’ People move slowly, there is piped music in all public spaces, it has the feel of relaxation and leisure. Needless to say, I am the only non-Japanese person in the entire sprawling place, though occasional attempts at translation (as in the room information sheet) imply that English speaking people are expected to make their way here.


As a foreigner, I was, as usual, treated well by the Reception. My request for a ‘pleasant view’ got me the top floor room (the place is five stories high), and from the window I could see why the scenery merits top billing. Even at dusk, it was inspiring (see photo of view from room).

I am too removed from the town to search for eating spots and so tonight I am forced to eat here. If I sound reluctant, it is because the set price for dinner is almost as high as the price of the room and breakfast. The accommodation is cheap, the meal is not.






I wondered if I was expected to dress up. I hadn’t seen anything particularly excessive in this regard in the public rooms and so I decided not to. Why do I mention this? Well, clothes issues became a shocking part of my discovery. As I entered the huge dining hall, I saw that it was filled with people of assorted ages, most of whom were wearing identical cotton bathrobes (see photo)! So here I am, in this reasonably elegant dining hall, where a man in a tux is playing Chopin on the piano, cooks are heaping food onto a buffet table, and people are walking around in blue and white robes and identical brown slippers.

My guess is that there are public baths somewhere on the premises and that it is acceptable and even expected to go from bath to dinner. Of course I want to try this too, but think of the gaffs I am likely to make along the way: do I wear a bathing suit? What does one wear (if anything) under the robe? It’s not as if I can ask. And what if it becomes undone? Something awkward is likely to happen. Or, what if one only does this on Greenery Day, so that tomorrow I’ll show up to dinner in a robe and everyone will be wearing street clothes?

The dinner itself was quite good. I could pick and choose and so I avoided the western specialties (the desk clerk had said that they served Japanese and French food; the spaghetti, meat and mashed potatoes were, I presume, the ‘French’ part) and concentrated on the sushi, the raw fish, the crab – yes, the crab legs are with me again—the scallops, braised greens and the fruit (pictured at the very bottom of the post) for dessert.



[I cannot resist posting pictures of some of the signs in front of dishes. In an attempt to appear international, I see someone was given the task of coming forth with translations.]

And here’s an interesting gimmick: I asked for a beer with the meal and was told that it cost 800 Yen extra (that would be around $7). I hesitated. One mug of beer, $7? A Wisconsinite would cringe. But then I was shown a sign that said “3 alcoholic beverages for 1000 Y.” The dining hall attendant said I could thus get three beers for 1000 Y. I could also get three whiskeys or three glasses of wine. The Pole in me wanted to go the whiskey route because, of course, insofar as there’s a bargain in this pricing strategy, it is in the whiskey. Sanity prevailed and I hate whiskey anyway, so I stayed with the beer. A plastic sign was placed on my table with a number scrawled on it announcing to the wait-staff (and the world) on which beer I was at the moment. I noticed people around me were on number three while I was still nursing number two. I never could get through number three, but still, how could one not order in this way?


In the course of the meal, the music venue changed and we went from my beloved Chopin to a Japanese band singing American pop. To give you an idea, I heard music of the Carpenters and a lot of Elvis. The room came alive for this part. People listened, tapped their brown-slippered feet and applauded enthusiastically after each number.

All well and good, but I could not take my eyes off the bathrobes.

Back in my room, I noticed that by opening the window (it was awfully musty on arrival) I let in a nice army of monster bugs and so the rest of the evening is spent hunting for what look like drunken dragon flies (they fly low, sway a lot and move at the speed of 1 meter per minute).

JAPAN

HOKKAIDO CRAB AND GREENERY DAY

Last night I went to dinner at Ebi-kani Gassen. It is a miracle that I found Ebi-kani Gassen. My Lonely Planet Guide writes this about it: “Ebi-kani Gassen (with an all you can eat menu) is among Sapporo’s many crab places. Its two locations are busy, informal and fun.” Then there is a general X type mark on an inexact map of the city. Okay, not a lot to go on, but I’ve seen worse.

I set out for what I think would be the right block and I find many eating places, none of them having any western alphabet sign in front. I ask. There is an art to this: you have to pick someone who looks like they would know about an obscure eating spot in this area. Bingo! It’s rare that I strike gold on the first try but there you have it: a Japanese man scratches his chin (literally) and his face lights up. He leads me to an office building with a sign that has the listing of all offices on its 14 floors. Then he points to some characters next to the 12th floor designation and says jubilantly: “Ebi-kani Gassen!” I thank him and head for the elevators.

I get in the elevator, push “12,” the door closes, nothing happens. I remember from my hotel elevator that the buttons at the top refer to "door open" and "door close" and so through trial and error, I finally get the doors to open. I am, of course, on the ground floor. A group of people join me and I am excited because maybe they will demonstrate what button to push to make the damn box MOVE. They press “4” and we move to 4. They get out. I have pressed “12” but I see that I am going back down to “1.” Lord, is “12” out of business? Is it special access only? Is it not Ebi-kani Gassen??

New people come into the elevator. I ask them in my fluent Japanese: “Ebi-kani Gassen?” They discuss this among themsleves with gusto and fianlly point to 12. We’re in business! But I show them that when I press 12, no light goes on (in my Japanese: press, shrug, press shrug). Ahhhh: they drag me out of the elevator and point me to another. Apparently this first one does not go up to twelve. The other does. Lonely Planet, do better! How is ANYONE supposed to figure all this out on their own?

At Ebi-kani Gassen I am given a sheet of paper and miraculously it has an English line scribbled on it: “all you can eat: king crab legs, snow crab legs, shrimp tempura, shrimp sushi, crab sushi, tempura shrimp sushi, egg custard.”

I am not a good “all you can eat” candidate. In the hotel, breakfast is included in my daily rate. There is an elaborate buffet, with egg dishes, Japanese dishes, meats, breads, rolls, you name it. I take a bowl of cereal and some fruit and drink my coffee and walk away satisfied. But this is a very specific to Sapporo “all you can eat” type of place. You are given a set amount of food that includes all the listed dishes. And you are given 90 minutes. If you finish what’s in front of you, you can request a repeat of all the crab legs. If you finish that, you can ask for another portion. Oh, and you are given all the beer you can drink in that 90 minute period as well.

This would not work in Wisconsin. Big people would come with big appetites and even greater thirst and drive these restaurants out of business. But around me, I see the usual lean Japanese people and they are eating rapidly, but sanely. I, too, work through my allotment and then wonder if I should ask for more. The Polish nagging little guy within me says “eat more! It’s free! And besides, it is the famous Hokkaido crab, the best in the world!” And so I order another round.

I come back to the hotel and collapse, with crab crawling out of my every pore. I don’t care if I never see another crab leg in my life! Had I spoken Japanese, I would have asked for a half portion, but can you imagine me taking that one on? Instead, I chose to gorge.

But that was yesterday. Today is April 29 – a national holiday: “Greenery Day.” It marks the beginning of Golden Week, where all of Japan takes off for vacation. Because there are three national holidays close together (Greenerey Day, Constitution Day and Children’s Day), most businesses are closed for the entire period – from April 29 until May 5.




For me, it is time to leave Sapporo. I am headed south to see one of the three natural wonders of Japan. When next I write, it will be from Matsushima. More on that later. In the mean time, I am including photo reminders that Sapporo isn’t all modern buildings and neon signs (photo 2), that space is always at a premium, thus the Japanese devise innovative strategies to not use too much of it (photo 3) and that since greenery can’t readily be found here on April 29 (too early), it CAN be found at the market (photo 1).

JAPAN

PEACE



This afternoon I took a train to the town of Heiwa (which translates as Peace). It is a town that is not in any conventional guidebook on Japan (I can’t even remember where I heard about it) and there is no reason to go there but for one building.

I had postponed seeking out this place earlier during my visit here, but as I am leaving Sapporo tomorrow morning, I felt it was time I went.

The building – an uninteresting, small, brick structure, is owned by “Hibakusha,” meaning the living victims, the survivors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. They have converted an upstairs room of the house into a sort of gallery. Graphic photos depicting injuries sustained by the people living within a large radius of the atomic blasts line the walls, and paintings express the horror of those events.

There are some 500 or 600 Hibakusha living in Hokkaido and I met one of them today.

I rang the door bell somewhat apprehensively, thinking that this would be too hard to do, especially without the protective shield of an impersonal museum.

An old man opened the door and he looked surprised to see me. Right away he said “Hiroshima, Nagasaki” as if to explain what was there, thinking that perhaps I had the wrong address. When I reassured him in my nonexistent Japanese that this indeed is where I wanted to be, he took me upstairs and unlocked the door to the room holding the small gallery.

He followed me during the entire half hour I was there. He stood quietly behind me every time I paused in front of a picture and he said nothing as I looked on. But I felt it to be a gentle and kind presence and I welcomed his company. It is not a place where you can stand being alone very easily.

In leaving, I hated myself for not having the language skills to say more than thank you, at the same time that I felt relieved that I lacked the words, because, after all, what can anyone say.

I thought about the two photos I posted earlier today of Japanese children, especially the one from Biai, where the little girl is holding out her fingers in the symbolic gesture that the Japanese use for peace. Peace, from her tiny hand, held to the camera. Peace. It’s only when I recalled her living form that I became uncontrollably sad this afternoon. She made the children of the black and white photos on the wall of the brick house wear faces and have names.

Under the postwar Japanese Constitution, the country has no active military. In the last decade the government here has interpreted the document to permit a military without weapons, to be called forth only for reasons of defense. It was decided that such a unit should be sent to Iraq, though only for ‘humanitarian’ reasons and without weaponry of any sort. Even this was though by many to be excessive.

Travel is such a happy series of events for me, but this afternoon I had to do that other part of it, I had to go back and examine a piece of history – not the political history, but the personal one, experienced by the common, everyday people, just like the ones I am watching now go through their daily tasks of shopping, taking children to school, riding trains to homes in small towns and villages.

An image of a happy little girl in Biei, holding that little fist for peace is the proper ending to this post. Let me reprint the photo, just to remind myself of her smiling face.

JAPAN

TEMPTATION




If Blogger hadn’t given me the gift of direct photo posting, I would not have spent the first hours of the night-morning today learning the easy steps of uploading pictures from my camera.

Therefore I would have eaten breakfast before heading off to do a two hour presentation at the University. And I would have not had to run in the rain to make it on time. And afterwards, I perhaps would have also gone to the basement food halls of the department store (Japan ostensibly has three acclaimed “wonders,” one which I will actually see tomorrow, but I would add a fourth: the department store food halls—they are amazing!), but I would not have lusted hungrily after all that was being offered and I would not have searched out the free samples [I don’t like to eat my way through these when I have no intention of buying, though I would have loved to pick up a bag of the pickled eggplant (see photo below), but as I explained to the clerk (and I am sure she understood not a word), I was at a hotel where the minibar wouldn’t have held a kilo of pickled anything].

I remember when I first visited a food hall in Japan. There, and actually anywhere that something was being sold, clerks called out a friendly greeting, with big grins on their faces: “Irrashaimase!” You hear this everywhere and after a while you long to reciprocate. After some days had passed and I thought I had the pronunciation down pat, I would return the favor. “Irrashaimase to you too!” I would say.

It wasn’t until much later that I learned that what they were saying was “welcome!” (as in: come over and buy from us). Blunder along, that’s me alright.


Not to get carried away with visuals, but I can’t resist a few from this morning’s visit to the halls of culinary delight.

JAPAN

IMPATIENCE…


[image of Sapporo late last evening]

I’ve taken to running in Sapporo. I can’t help it –it’s because of the lights. If I walk at a brisk pace down the street, the green crossing lights are completely out of sync with me and so at almost every corner I am forced to stop and wait. And wait. Any red light here is like Madison’s worst nightmare intersection in terms of stopping time: each turning lane has it’s own green light and so you, the pedestrian, need to wait until all permutations have been exhausted. Thus, when I am walking along and I see up ahead that there is a green crossing light, I run to make it. This is yet another one of those transgressions that make me appear odd and foreign, but I can’t seem to help myself. Green light ahead? Run!

…AND GREED

Last night (that would be Tuesday for me) I sought out a place for dinner that I had noted earlier while leafing through the Lonely Planet guide to Japan. It was a simple place, with counter service and a few tables, but what had especially caught my eye was the reference to the use of fresh Hokkaido ingredients. Anyone who knows me would smile in patient (I hope) amusement: it has long been true that if the food is described as fresh and local, I’ll want to try it!

I had a hard time finding this place. The book referred to it as “Uoya Itcho,” but clearly the authors read and speak Japanese because nowhere on the outside, nor inside, is there a single letter of the western alphabet. And no one speaks any English – or they do a good job of feigning ignorance when asked. But I did finally corner a few random people to inquire if this was “Uoya Itcho” and though people here always appear to be agreeing with you even if you are dead wrong, something in the vigor of the “hai’s” and the nodding of the heads convinced me that this was indeed the place.


It was crowded, but I was given a comfortable spot at the counter and a menu to make my selections. Thank God for those photos on the menu!


As this was my first authentic Japanese meal (the others had elements of Japanese food, true, but this had the potential to fulfill my cravings for such things as sushi and sashimi) I went overboard with the finger pointing. What I had forgotten is that you have to sort of ease into raw fish eating if you’ve been away from it for a while. Getting a plate loaded down with five slices of every conceivable ocean critter can initially dazzle and eventually overwhelm. I had one of those momentary longings to have a dog under the table – anything to decrease the number of pieces still ahead.

The waiters, amused I’m sure, by this solo foreigner (the place was filled with men pausing to eat in the course of their evening of work, with random pairs of women thrown in, probably just for decoration), kept hovering and asking questions which I assume had the goal of assessing the degree of my satisfaction (or, they could have been asking about my age, wealth, or country of origin, how would I know...). Of course I had to finish THE WHOLE THING. Even a tall beer didn’t ease the pain of overindulgence. Oh yes, healthy, it’s all so healthy, but my God, did I eat a lot of raw fish!

It’s interesting how quickly you then forget the pain and look forward to a repeat performance.

JAPAN

WHY WOULD ANYONE HEAD NORTH ON A DAY LIKE THIS?

Finding myself with a conversational negative balance today (I spoke no recognizable English to anyone, and what English I did speak can only be classified as minus-English. Just as an example: “time! time next train Sapporo! Next, 16 clock?”), I decided to indulge myself here on the blog. Since “the blog never lies,” I mustn’t create fictionalized persons. Thus, the conversation is between myself and myself.

NC: So what did you do today?
nc: I took the train up toward the northern part of Hokkaido.

NC: Don’t you have enough train travel in your weeks in Japan just to get you places you need to be?
nc: I have a rail pass which entitles me to unlimited train travel. I am nowhere near ‘unlimited’ yet. A Pole never passes up a freebe. Besides, it felt cold in Sapporo – too cold to just walk around like I did yesterday.

NC: Wouldn’t it be even colder up north?
nc: I did not think of that when I studied the train schedules.

NC: How far north did you go?
nc: About 2.5 hours and two separate trains’ worth of territory was covered each way.

NC: Five hours total? You are nuts. There must have been something special to see up there?
nc: I went to check out a village. Actually it was somewhere between a town and a village: I could walk it’s circumference in about half an hour.

NC: Was it stunning? Is that why you went?
nc: I vaguely recalled reading somewhere about it, but I could not remember why it was so special except that in the summer they grow flowers around there. Was it stunning –well, I have never been to Alaska, but this is how I imagine an impoverished town or village deep in Alaska would look like, right around the month of March (desolate, deserted, scruffy and gray).

NC: Sounds thrilling indeed! Highlights?
nc: Watching the youngest children returning home from school in the afternoon. Their features were very much Hokkaido features: dark, pronounced, with not a small trace of Ainu. Beautiful smiles (photo doesn't do them justice!).

NC: Low points?
nc: Where do I begin? I think three words would summarize all relevant points: it was cold. This village (called Biei) is at the foot of a mountain chain, and the mountains were completely covered with snow. Not a single bud had broken through any of the trees in town. I had wanted to borrow a bike (apparently it is possible to do that) but thought that I would not last more than a quarter of a mile. I was warmly dressed, but the wind was piercing.

NC: When you figure out how to post photos, do let us see the snow-covered mountains.
nc: That I wont do. I don’t know enough about the camera yet (it is less than a week old) to figure out how to create contrast where non exists: today the sky was gray-white, and the snow-covered mountains were white-gray. You would have been viewing basically a picture of mixed whites.

NC: Any other thoughts on the outing?
nc: Yes. I am glad I went. Just taking this little one-car train for the final stretch was cool: people were traveling home with groceries bought in bigger towns. I imagined what it would be to live there year-round. You’d have to be pretty resilient. Oh, and BTW, when I came back to Sapporo, I found that it had been (still is) raining. I didn’t have any rain up north—I felt rewarded for my efforts to move myself out of the comfort zone of this city. Then, when I got back into town I did a first: I went to a Starbucks and bought myself a steaming latte. I’ve never felt so decadent. But you’ll be surprised to hear that I have yet to turn on the flat-screened TV in my room. No CNN to date. So if the world turned up-side-down in my absence, I wouldn’t known (there are no English newspapers in Sapporo news stands so I don’t even know what the headlines are, and no, obviously I haven’t been reading CNN.com – haven’t you been paying attention to my computer woes? I rarely can get a connection).

NC: So, are you having fun yet?
nc: But of course: the days are full, so full. Every minute explodes with something interesting and new. That is the essence of being elsewhere, isn't it?
Now can we go back to being one? I feel I'm bordering on the insane here.

JAPAN

WORK HABITS AND KIND BODY GUARDS

Well, the blog was to be built around photos and the photos disappear from the blog just moments after I post them, so technology and I are not friends at the moment. And the Internet is breaking down regularly. And Eudora will receive but not send. I can’t believe that I am using ten million high tech gadgets, all of them made right here in this country and none of them are capable of producing a good day’s worth of work.
UPDATE: Blogger and I are the best of friends! Oh, what that nice blogger rep did for me! Thank you so very much.

…As opposed to the people here, who have absolutely lost all perspective on the subject of work. How can you schedule a meeting with me from 7:00 pm, be done with it at 10:30 pm and then return to your office to continue with the work that you interrupted for my benefit?

But this morning I beat them to it! I was looking for a cup of coffee at 5 am and was deeply disappointed that the hotel was not about to recognize my cravings at what seemed to me to be a decent time to start a fresh day. The night clerk was, however, very polite about it and expressed great disappointment at not being able to oblige.

Sometimes I think that the people here should just blow their cool at the likes of me. It seems they should be saying things like “and who are you to come here and expect every one of us to speak your confusing language and to understand your weird gestures and requests when you yourself have memorized only five Japanese words and continue to violate virtually every social ritual known to us?” But no one says this. Instead, I am allowed to blunder along, and I am greeted everywhere with a desire to make my walk through this country an easy one.

In my work, I go from one meeting to another with my “guards.” These are the kind people who have agreed to translate for me – from foreign grad students to deans and professors, they all humbly undertake this, with no compensation, nothing at all from me except a thank you and a dumb little gift from Wisconsin (you can just imagine how creative those are—though to my credit, I have yet to hand over anything with a picture of a red badger on it, thinking perhaps that you would have had to at least pass through WI to work up any enthusiasm for our local mascot).

But I view them also as guards of sorts, as they protect me from my own ineptness, always apologizing, I am sure, for my ignorance. I know this to be true because I am beginning to pick up little signs here and there: like this afternoon when my ‘translator' swooped down to take my shoes and move them to a spot where I should have placed them; or earlier, when another handed me a fresh hankie as I made my way to the Japanese washroom without thinking to bring one; or this evening when I was too busy writing down answers to questions to reach for the proffered Hokkaido treat and found my “guard” gently placing one on my pad so that all could then begin to enjoy theirs.

WALKING THE WESTERN HILLS OF SAPPORO

“The sun so bright, I froze to death,” aptly describes this day: trees here are a month behind Madison (as opposed to the area around Tokyo where they are a month ahead; so where on Japan’s map is Madison??) and there is still an occasional patch of snow in the hills, but that not withstanding, it was a bright, bright day, one that needed a walk. The early morning was a perfect time for it.

Nothing is as uplifting as watching schoolchildren sail off to their elementary schoolhouses – in packs, on bikes, alone, with a parental hand clutching theirs. In France it may be all navy and white for the left bank private l’ecole set, but here, the colors of kid clothes are bright and mixed in interesting ways, so that the pink ‘little kitty’ sweatshirt will be on top of yellow ‘Tony tiger’ pair of pants, with perhaps a fluorescent pink ‘Astro man’ backpack to really set things right. Children appear to like cartoon characters generously sprinkled across every surface that lends itself to this sort of thing.



Eventually I reached the hills on the outskirts of the city. Not surprisingly, a bright red shrine stood halfway up the steep incline. Outside, a wooden stand had hanging garlands of beautiful origami cranes and a thick leather book, resting partly open, with a pen stuck inside, obviously inviting … who knows what. Is it one of those books where you’re expected to write something like “Hi! I am from Wisconsin! Glad to be here! Hey, how about that, I see someone from Pennsylvania visited last month! Go Pirates!” or maybe comment on the natural beauty of the setting (“you have one great shrine here and the view is like wow, like terrific!”), or is it maybe something that I am not getting, like a sinners book, so that if you sign in you are admitting to having killed your neighbor and lied to your own mother? I left it alone.

Sapporo is not a wealthy town. In fact, Hokkaido is a not a wealthy island. The already small Japanese houses are even smaller here. ‘Modest’ is a good operative word as you pass through residential neighborhoods. I paused in front of one mansion (that would have comfortably fit into the average Madison kitchen) to take a photo of the city below (note missing photo here as well) and I played “no, you go first” with the gentleman who lived here and was taking out the garbage and almost walked in front of the camera. After many gestures and words of protest, he won. I had to go first.

LUNCH AT THE FAC CLUB

I had my first official meal on of the trip – with the various faculty who are helping with my work here. We went to the faculty club – a beautiful modern building that looks exclusive and swank, though I was assured that it was open to anyone, including tourists if they chose to visit the campus of Hokkaido University. They said it was a disappointment because none ever came – too far off the beaten path.

And now the chopstick game begins. I am offered western eating utensils and I politely refuse. Big smiles all around for that one. I am adept enough at the chopstick thing that I can, as I’m sure most Americans can, transport food from plate to mouth without losing half of it, no matter how slippery or small – a feat that never ceases to bring forth great exclamations of praise and wonder. (Japanese people must think us to be such indelicate eaters!) But the game isn’t over. I then have to decline having any such skill. And so we go back and forth on this and end the exchange with a mutual bow of acquiescence, each acknowledging that the other is right, followed by a minute’s silence to contemplate the miraculous wonder of this. The chopstick game happens quite frequently. I am happy, because at least I think I know how to participate in this one.

JAPAN (almost, almost, but not quite)

Mistakes of travel (list prepared by one who made them all):

- Arriving at the Union 1 minute before Madison’s bus departs for Chicago’s O’Hare airport. [What was I thinking? One badly timed red light and the trip would have been a disaster before it had even started.]

- Hesitating before a Krispy Kreme six-pack at the boarding gate. [This is a new one! Foreign visitors can now take some American carbs, fresh from the vats of boiling grease, back home as a souvenir. For me, the unexpectedness of it caught me off guard. I almost caved in.]

- Listening to the Air France news in flight. First of all, French news announcers SHOULD NOT be all that stunning to look at. This one in particular, with his oh-so-casual blue window-pane shirts and striking tie – come on, mess it up a little, all that visual perfection is distracting. Secondly, watching clips of GWB against a backdrop of rapid fire French was so incongruous as to be completely disconcerting. Our president doesn’t speak French, he doesn’t like the French, there’s nothing French about Crawford Ranch, it was just too confusing.

o Luckily, there was also an English news wrap-up toward the end so that I could quit thinking that I am on my way to a vacation in France. I am not. Just passing through, on my way to Japan (though even the Air France ticket agent was puzzled: “you are flying to Tokyo through Paris?” she asked. People have no imagination.)

o The presentation of news in English was… thought provoking. I watched a story about Russians celebrating Lenin’s birthday today. The announcer said “ the crowd of mainly communists gather to celebrate Lenin’s birthday..” Now how did he know they were mainly communists? I didn’t see anyone being asked. Assumption, assumptions.

Not done yet, mistakes continue all the way through my 2.5 hour lay over in Paris:

- Having pushed the limits of timeliness in Madison, why should it be different now on this side of the ocean? But what could I do: we’re landing in Paris in perfect sunshine and I see ribbons of dazzling yellow fields below. What are they? Why should I wait at the airport in a stuffy lounge if I can be OUT THERE, frolicking and skipping through those fields?

o It doesn’t work that way. Impulses to board random trains at airports in search of golden fields should not be followed. After a few stations, I disembarked at Sevran Beaudottes, a town that seemed enough far away from the airport as to hold out the hope of golden fields and sweet pastoral bliss, but no, it was not to be: the fields were elusive, the town was bland (but for the spring flowers as seen in the early morning light, here on the left), and I cut it a bit too close.

o A side note: at the town’s train station, I saw this rather prominent ad [in case the low grade photo I’m using doesn’t allow you to decipher it, the words say: “Grace a vos dons, vous seul pouvez permettre une action rapide et impartiale en Irak” which, I believe, means ‘thanks to your donations, you alone can allow for quick and impartial action in Iraq.’ The picture shows a military helmet stuffed with food].

Shortly after take off, I sat back, imagining that I was soon to be flying over intriguing and complicated countries: I could very well be over Iran, perhaps Iraq – they seem on the way. History unfolds, while I am safe in the air, privileged, as usual. So humbling.

- oh no, oh no, we are not headed for Iran, not for any of those places. It seems we are currently flying over POLAND!! What? We’re heading north! Of course! A short-cut! So it’s going to be a Siberian junket. Oh, but right now it’s Poland – how about that!

Now let’s get in the right mind-set already: what better way then to watch Lost in Translation – several times. The flight from Paris to Japan is long (12 hours) so that I come to know by heart the last scenes, where they meet up after lunch, meaningfully connected.

JAPAN (Yes, for real)

TWO SHOCKING MOMENTS UPON ARRIVAL AT NARITA (TOKYO) AIRPORT:

1. The very first greeting from the Japanese is a loudspeaker announcement as I approach the passport gates. A friendly voice tells me: “You are passing by the health center. If you have a fever of diarrhea please stop here.” Do people readily admit to this? An ethical dilemma right then and there: if something is upsetting your digestive system, do you move quickly in the hope that it doesn’t show, or do you fess up, risking who knows what –isolation? Deportation?

2. The train connections to Sapporo (my final destination) for today are BAD: I will need to take four separate trains, and I wont get there for a full 14 hours. Lord, this week-end of travel will never end. [Note things to be grateful for: the sight of cranes standing in wet rice paddies outside. It was a fleeting moment, but a nice one.]


I notice that my computer battery is fading. At one of the ‘change trains here’ stations, I see a electrical socket by the escalator. What would the traveling public think if I took the opportunity to recharge? Stellar computer moment happens: I stand by a hugely crowded passage-way and type a sentence or two as the computer balances on my suitcase and recharges for a few minutes. All this, while smiling candy salesclerks look on.

MOMENT OF PANIC:

I am one to say things like ‘I would never ever take the train under the English Channel. I’d FREAK OUT! I am way too claustrophobic!”
So at what moment (today) did I realize that you cannot take a train from Tokyo airport to Sapporo without going through the world’s longest under-water tunnel?
What are you going to do in these circumstances – not go?? However do I get myself into these situations? If I post this tonight, that means I will have survived.

On the train, people are chomping at box meals and flushing it all down with Sapporo beer. Me, I’m still nursing that cup of tea the train hostess brought me. Notice the sign on the cup: it’s in English and yet it makes little sense. The feeling of disconnectedness is starting to take center stage. As for the fancy service –oh yes, there’s that. And the train toilet seat is heated, and if you press a button, thinking it to mean ‘flush,’ you get a nice big burst of warm water right where you, foreigner that you are, least expect it. You can even preset the strength and temperature.

I CAN’T BELIEVE I SLEPT THROUGH THE WHOLE THING!
Tunnel came, tunnel went, I never noticed. Suddenly some kind passenger was tap tap tapping me and telling me the train is about to empty out. Well, I can test my new tunnel capabilities on the return: there’s only one way to leave this place, and that is via that dark, long tunnel.

I am closing off with a note on my final destination, Sapporo, where it is at the moment cold, dark, and completely closed up for the night. Food would be easy to come by if only the hotel telephone operator would quit repeating all that I say to her. We are making no progress. ‘Shrimp curry’ I say. ‘Shrimp curry’ she says, falteringly. ‘Room service?’ I ask. ‘Ahhh, room service’ she answers. And so on. There are always the free nuts that I stuffed mindlessly into my bag during the plane ride. Sound Polish survivalist impulses were guiding me then.

Nipponese wanderings

Tomorrow (Friday) I am setting out for Japan. Therefore, for the next 25 days this weblog will truly live up to its name: posts will indeed appear from the other side of the ocean.

I am traveling in an odd manner: I’m going across the Atlantic. Don’t ask. I sometimes do things for reasons discernible only to me and my dog. Let’s just say for now that it has a little to do with days number 23 and 24. WAIT AND READ!

But this convoluted flying mode does make for a very very long trip, especially given that my first destination is Sapporo. I will use a combination of buses, flights and trains to get there and I wont arrive until late Sunday (meaning late Sunday for me: I will now always be 14 hours ahead of everyone on Central Time, 13 on Eastern). Consequently, this blog will be without posts for the next 2-3 days. After that, I should be able to post regularly. I am traveling with my computer, and I will make good use of business centers when my connections fail.

I promise NOT to make this a travel journal. There will be no educational overtones to the posts – the reader will learn nothing about the Tokugawa rule (1600-1868) or the Taisho era (1912-1926), nor about the hot political topics confronting Japan (unless they become so overwhelmingly important that they threaten to ruin my very existence!). What will it be then? WAIT AND READ!

True, not everyone wants to get into this Japan stuff. I understand that. I myself would not be fascinated if someone were to post daily updates from Antarctica. Too cold down there and the food can’t be good. Oh, maybe I’d check in on the blog anyway, just to see if there was any mention of seals and polar bears, but I wouldn’t rush to it. So, too, blog readers may not want to hear of things Japan-related. To honor their preferences, and to make life easy for the countless confused others who read 827 blogs each day and can’t remember who is doing what and from where, I will precede each post title with the word: JAPAN. If it’s there, I must be in Japan. You don’t like Japan? You’re forewarned: move on.

For the occasional new reader – what can I say, they’ll think me to be Japan-based, or Japan-obsessed, or Japan something. Logging onto a weblog in mid-sentence always has the potential to unsettle and mislead. For instance, I continue to wonder what readers who do not know me must think if they jump into the middle here and start noticing my obsessive Poland-related posts, which, these days, are no longer explained or justified.

One last comment. Why am I IN Japan to begin with? Work: I am collecting information on the evolving legal interventions into families in crisis. Thus I have a number of interviews scheduled in different parts of the country (plus a number of guest lectures thrown in for the fun of it, yes, sure, for the fun of it). What is my itinerary? WAIT AND READ (hint: I will NOT be in Tokyo)! This is my fourth trip to Japan which at once seems like a lot and not anything at all, since I truly do not understand so much about this endlessly fascinating country. Most of the destinations will be repeat-visits, but I guarantee that I will feel lost and confused and out of my element (a version of Bill Murray I guess). I always do.

I hate to sound trite, but I do think that in wanderings of this nature, it is essential to keep an open mind and to start each day afresh.

Wild flowers, sent to gladden hearts less mean than mine

If keeping a blog verges on being slightly narcissistic (I have been told this!), then posting notice of one’s birthday has to be the epitome of (inoffensive, to be sure) self-indulgence. Oh, but how nice it is to hear from everyone!

Still, I worry that it is an unreciprocated event. I think of all the birthdays, name days, celebrations and important dates in people’s life that I have passed without so much as nod of greeting. Makes me cringe with shame.


These flowers, then, are for all those forgotten, unrecognized, or mistreated by me souls (oh so many!)!


[BTW, the answer to the earliest post of the day is, of course, that all those faces belong to April 21st birthdays; this post title is my blasphemous reworking of a poem line by Clare]

On a more serious note...

Kristof’s Op-Ed piece today in the Times (here) again reminds us that the current administration, preoccupied as it is with Iraq, refuses to engage in negotiations with N. Korea. Kristof writes:

“Resolving this crisis is in the interests of virtually everybody on the planet, with two exceptions: President Bush and Mr. Kim. They may have nothing else in common, except that their fathers also ran their countries, but they do share an interest in delay.”

It’s as if we only ever have enough mental energy to worry about one issue at a time. But with each day, nuclear arsenals grow, the air quality goes down, the Sudan massacres continue, a child falls sick, a weapon takes a life, many many lives actually, and we continue to sit back passively, refusing to hold our current leaders accountable, as we skim the papers and debate Kerry’s upbringing or oratorical style. There’s something terribly wrong here.

Tatuś (Polish for dad)

My father called minutes ago. This blog never hears about there still being a father which, I suppose, is because I rarely hear about there being a father either. He lives in Poland and he makes no use of computers, little use of writing implements and certainly even less use of the phone (international phone rates from Poland are, I believe, the highest in the world: when last I stayed in a hotel in Krakow and called Madison for about ten minutes, I was amazed to see at checkout time that the phone call cost me more than the room for the night).

It’s easy to lump my father into the UN fold and refer to him as that UN guy, since he played such an important part in the life of the organization (from its inception almost 60 years ago up until he retired at the end of the 1970s). But has the organization really shaped him substantially as well? I didn’t see that it had. Up until this year I had regarded him as being the quintessential Pole – shaped, more than anything, by the war years and the political transformation that ensued.

But during my last visit to Poland, I talked about this with him – about his Polishness, about his feeling of belonging there (when he finished his tour of duty at the UN he was asked if he would like to stay in the US: no thank you, was his answer). It seems, however, that my images haven’t been that accurate all these years. He told me he prides himself in having little allegiance to feelings of nationalism of any sort. Poles typically swell with pride when they speak of their deeply wounded country, torn apart by neighboring states over the centuries. He, on the other hand, said to me “I’ve always actually wanted to be born to a Nordic father and an Italian mother – I’d have both the height and the good looks on my side!” He is a pretty short guy (not helped by the fact that my mother is tall and for a long time wore high heels. Maybe that’s why they eventually separated!).

Anyway, he called today and he even remembered to inquire about other members of the family, though I’m not sure my answers registered much. I’m going to fault the bad phone connection for that. Today, I just prefer to have this image of him--sitting by the phone, dialing, wondering whether I’d be home, then singing a song befitting the day.

April 21

When I was born (in Warsaw, Poland, April 21, 1953), my mother displayed her rebellious streak by refusing to name me according to the conventions of the day: she did not want to be constrained to the use of names that were those of known saints. Her decision was so out of conformity with the norms of the time and place that it took a while for the governing authorities to approve her choice. But eventually she got her way and so I came to have a name that was not on the calendar of Saints. Thus, in addition to belonging to the .000001 % of non-Catholics in Poland at the time (or so the percentages seemed to play out for me), I also had a name that had no “Name Day” celebration associated with it.

Perhaps this is of no consequence to those who read this here, in the States, but for me this was deeply disturbing (at least from a kid’s point of view) as in Poland Name Day celebrations were far more consequential than birthdays. You were a star in school on your Name Day. You brought treats for the class. People fussed. Your house was filled with drop-in visitors all day long.

April 21 has thus had to serve double duty, or, more often, no duty at all, since celebrations of this sort were of no great consequence in my childhood household, particularly once one passed the age of 10. Still, for me, this day isn’t only about a birthday. Really, I just like this time of the year. I also like the symbolism of days that stand for progress, movement forward, a leap into the future with a glance and a smile at the past.

April idling

What do these people have in common?

Charlotte Bronte

Catherine the Great

Queen Elizabeth II

John Muir

N Dorota Lewandowska C

[It has been suggested that Hitler and Lenin be added to the list, but that would be just wrong.]

[Answer to follow later today]

Local talent

In the late afternoon I went over to visit an old haunt –l’Etoile restaurant, Madison’s flagship culinary powerhouse. Odessa Piper, winner of the James Beard Award for best Chef of the Midwest back in 2002, was presiding over the staff meal and I thought I’d join up and listen in on the latest buzz. It seemed timely since this weekend marks the seasonal beginning of the Saturday Farmer’s Market on the Square. L’Etoile and the Market are so interlinked that I do believe if one would vanish, the other would soon follow.

The restaurant world is like no other (and yes, I know, you can say this about any subgroup of intensely focused, crazily obsessive people). In a place like L’Etoile, cooking on, say, a Saturday evening becomes a total adrenaline run: one sweats, curses and moves so quickly, in such tight spaces, with complete body awareness of all the other players, that it becomes more like a test of agility than food preparation. And everything, everything has to be timed to the second, so that it is ready for pick up, at exactly the right moment, not a minute too soon or too late, coordinated with all other dishes that you work on for a given table.

The turnover among cooks is extremely high. The l’Etoile cooking folks from two years ago are now mostly scattered all over the globe – the pastry chef is in Chile, the fish cook is in Japan, the appetizer guy’s in California. But the waiters are all the same, down to the last one, and so are the Latin American dish washers, with some new cousins thrown in.

The staff meal was good – but for the food! Typically, one chef takes on the chore of cooking for the bunch of them (using scraps and ingredients that were purchased in excess of what was needed). Not infrequently, the chef will humor the desire to get away from high-end cooking. So, for example, today we could enjoy potato salad with bacon (ahhh, but the ingredients are always the best that the local small farms have to offer, so that it was NUESKE’s bacon!) and something that looked like sloppy joes. It’s not unusual to see the chefs douse any or all of the meat dishes with fiery Mexican sauces that someone will have picked up in Milwaukee. Left-over meat or fish are a staple of staff meals because the restaurant life of these products is extremely brief and so if customers don’t order in a predictable pattern, the ingredients are retired for the staff to enjoy.

I like this world of intense people with lives that appear oftentimes on hold. I left just as the first L’Etoile diner was making her way to the table. The meal that will be served to her within the hour of her arrival will be pricey. It will be admired maybe, criticized perhaps, but it most certainly will be a product of a day-long effort to make it appear just so. It's really quite amazing: so many people conspiring to perfect something on her plate. I wonder if she’ll even give it a second’s thought.