JAPAN

THE HEAVENS OPEN UP

The notable thing about today (Tuesday) is that it is supposed to rain. For days now it has been in the forecast. Don’t do anything grand on Tuesday, the Tourist information Center tells me, it is going to rain. The Japan Times is in agreement. Across Japan, Tuesday = rain.

But this morning I look out the window and see this:


It’s not that I proceed to disbelieve the weather people, it’s that I think that perhaps the rain will be an on again, off again kind of thing.

Besides, it is my last day in Nagano. Tomorrow, official holiday time comes to an end and, along with the rest of Japan, I will resume my work-related activities, sprinkled for me with some down time here and there. But today is free completely and so I want to return to the mountains.

The Tourist Information Center suggested that I check out the region called Hakuba: it is where some of the Olympic events took place (the ski jump for one). A 90 minute bus ride will put me in the little town of Happo, which even sounds joyful and upbeat.

There aren’t many people heading for Happo this morning (one, besides me). Everyone else listened to the weather forecast. And here’s the REALLY dumb thing: I decided to not even take my umbrella. My Gap back is showing signs of ripping and I thought one more item may tip it over the edge. So no umbrella.

It remains decentish as we leave Nagano. But as we climb deeper into the highlands, the first drops appear. By the time I get off at Happo, I am not happy to note that that it is raining. Pouring, actually.

Do I get on the next return bus to Nagano? No, I do not. I have had my day of sunshine in the Japanese Alps. This now poses different challenges. Surely in this sleepy Alpine village (Happo is, I am sure, positively hopping in winter, during ski season) there can be good things to discover, even in the rain. [The answer will be yes – so much, YES!]

I NEED AN UMBRELLA: But first, there’s the umbrella issue. I ask at the bus ticket office where I might buy one, fearing that “nowhere” may well be the answer. I never even get an answer. The sweet, sweet agent tells me to borrow hers, resting in the umbrella rack at the side. The happiness starts kicking in (it is THAT kind of a place).


SOBA THIS…:Encouraged, I walk to the mountains. Interestingly, it is a very warm rain and so I never even need the extra sweater. But warm or not, it is still a heavy load of moisture. I decide to hold off on the mountains until the torrential cloud passes (so that we could return to the more steady rain). I walk slowly through the alleys and small streets and I come across a house with a big window. Inside, I see an older woman showing a younger one how to roll out dough. I’ve seen this dough before – it is the soba that is used for noodles here. I watch fascinated. This clearly is a soba noodle-making place. I hover in the doorway and the people from inside ask me to come in and watch.

There is a trick to working with this particular dough, but it is not a difficult trick. I think I can replicated it, though my rolling pin at home is one tenth the length of theirs. But it will work. I make a note to pick up some soba flour to take back home.


I am offered tea – soba tea and it is absolutely sublime. I definitely taste the buckwheat, but it is so mellow and aromatic that I am completely won over. I make a note to bring some of that home as well (anyone who wants to come over for a cup upon my return, email me; the tea is to be shared; after all, it is through someone’s sharing that I learned of it).

As I get ready to leave, I see two other young women arriving, clearly for their soba noodle-making lesson. We chat in the typical incomprehensible way. One of them asks me if I would like to join them in their lesson. In an uncharacteristic move on my part, I decline, though I am ever so touched by the offer. But having watched for a while, I feel comfortable with the technique and in truth, I do want some time to explore. The rain is now just steady, as opposed to torrential.

After buying some soba flour and soba tea, I began to despair. My Gap bag is loosing it’s navyness. It is not only bulging, but the characteristic Gap draw string is ripping the plastic. In short, it is time to find alternate solutions.

Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart.. A MIRACLE: just around the corner there is a souvenir shop loaded with pretty old-looking food stuffs (we are definitely in the off season now; no one is buying). And there on the shelf, alongside little trinkets that have the typical nonsensical English slogans, there is a very inexpensive sac on two sturdy cords that you could use in a bag-pack style. It, too, has a slogan. It says: “Forest of Owl --- whatashiwa morino guardman” and it has sweet pictures of owls on it. Precious, maybe a tad too precious for jaded Madison. But a LIFESAVER for me now – it is just what I need and it is cheap!

I do worry about what whatashiwa morino guardman means. I ask the store clerk, which has to be the most ludicrous of questions since he seems to speak all of two words of English, if that. But this being Happo, he understands my gestures and questioning stance and so he gets a dictionary and does a rough translation. I believe it is something about owls being the protectors of the forests. The owl is a mascot of this region and so it makes sense. [Of course, I could have completely misunderstood and he could have been telling me that the owls form a marching army of military activists, but let’s assume not.]


Equipped with something that will even stay dry under the borrowed umbrella, I set off for the forest. The woods in the rain have a fresh, exhilarating smell. It is quiet everywhere. There’s not a single walker out except for me. But I know I wont go far. The rain is, after all, wet.


A WORKING GONDOLA? I notice that at the side of the mountain, where the skiing terrain is located, one of the gondola lifts is in operation. I can’t imagine why. Is it maybe a way to keep the operators on the payroll year-round? Surely no one is riding the gondola in the rain up to a clouded-over summit. And since no one is doing it, I decided I must be the one person to give it a try and see what’s on the top.



To give them credit at the gondola station, no one thinks it weird that I should buy at ticket on this wet wet day. At least their faces hide their questions about my mental state.

As the gondola moves in and out of misty passages I admit I have moments of doubt about my sanity. I find being in dense fog a bit claustrophobic and this is promising to be a trip through very cloudy terrain. But I do notice that I am not the only one using the gondola. A person gets off at the base and he is carrying skis. Skiis???

At the top, I alight to what appears to be the mid-station of a ski area. Oh, it is raining alright, and the air is still warm, but the snow has not melted up here yet – at least not completely – and there are some fanatics who are actually skiing. (The season officially ends here on May 5th –that’s tomorrow).

Am I tempted to join the nuts on the slope? Only a little. Much as I’d like to work my way down that slope, I know that one fall would have me completely drenched in the wetness of the slushy snow. TO SAY NOTHING OF THE CONTINUING RAIN!! I have, after all, never skied with an umbrella before.



But there is another reason not to do it. These people have EQUIPMENT: not only ski gear (which is always easy to rent), but waterproof parkas, gloves, hoods, the works. I, along with my little “Owl, protector of the forest” pack, would definitely feel out of place.

I stand and watch for a while. The mountain goes in and out of cloudcover and I remember how frightening it is to be skiing down and finding yourself in a complete whiteout. You lose your orientation very quickly. Of course, I’ve seen this during snowstorms, never during rain! The most incongruous sight is the one pictured faintly here (these are not optimal photographic conditions): a sakura tree, beginning its bloom, against the backdrop of the wet, snowy ski mountain.

Eventually I take the gondola back down. One attendant has the sole job of wiping down seats in the cabin for future passengers. I’d say that at the rate of one passenger per 1000 cabins, his job seems pretty tame, but then, I am grateful for the dry seat.


P.S.: A break from dinner reflections tonight. You guessed it – I’m back at Gotoku Tei for a final farewell meal there. But tomorrow I am in a completely new locale. Food will be an item once more, I’m sure.

P.P.S. Break from dinner blogging is withdrawn! My hero chef prepared a whole new seasonal menu tonight! Only two of the 11 dishes overlapped from the day before. I’ll spare the descriptions and just roll out a few photos for the foodies among you. EXCEPT, except, well, I have to say that the meal had a problem course. Take a look at the first photo.


If your favorite Japanese chef in Nagano (true, I only know one) went all out for your last night and threw in a delicacy to make you remember this meal forever, would you not eat it? Of course you would. Crispy yummy grasshoppers. What could I do… I’ll still think great thoughts of these last three meals. And if truth be told, the taste of the bugs was quite okay. But oh, those little legs and whiskers and eyes and torsos…So crunchy, too!

JAPAN

OBSERVATIONS ON THE STATE OF BEING

1. Today (Monday) I am tired and not because of all that hiking but because of worrying about blogging between the hours of midnight and 3. Resolve: I will not be so stupid again.

2. Half of me looks like I spent 2 weeks in the Caribbean. For some odd reason the right side of me got very very tanned yesterday (face, neck, arm, the whole bit). It must have been a trail’s positioning, or perhaps the doze by the lake, but I do look odd. I have to give a lecture in two days. I hope I look less odd by then.

3. The Rail Pass is wonderful for a person like me who was raised on train travel (my parents didn’t even own a car until I was in my teens) and would not mind spending a portion of each day in a comfortable train seat. (I include the qualification “comfortable” because there are trains in Poland that I would only recommend to persons whom have caused great harm in this world.) Not surprisingly then, on this day I am again riding the Japan Rail.

WASABI PARADISE


My morning today is at Hotaka – a small town, known for its farming of wasabi (Japanese horseradish). Hotaka is at the foot of the high Japanese Alps; it sprawls across a RELATIVELY flat stretch of land. Let me repeat: RELATIVELY.

…So that my idea of borrowing a bike to move around on is only a semi-good one. I say ‘borrow,’ because the woman renting a handful of bikes has this charming way of proceeding: she tells me to pick a bike, writes my name down on a piece of paper and waves me off .

No credit card? No deposit? No lock on the bike for when I park? No gear shift? NO! How did she know I would not abscond with it? Well, you’d have to take one look at the bike and you’d understand: a one-speed squeaky brake special. But it moved and stopped when I asked it to and she charged me 100 Y (about a dollar) per hour. In Japan. Yes. That little.

THE PROBLEM: The wind today is of gale force, I’m sure. Schools would close and people would go down to the basement back in Wisconsin if we had such gusts blowing. Pedaling against the wind, sometimes uphill, on a one-speed bike is----difficult.



THE JOY: Visiting a large scale wasabi farm is cool enough, especially since the producers went ALL OUT to attract visitors. There are paths through various wasabi-growing bogs (irrigated by pure Alpine streams). There is a wasabi store where you can buy ANYTHING wasabi related (gift shops here are 99% about food). And, there is even a wasabi ice-cream stand. It appears I’ve fallen into a rut of sorts: here’s the photo of the cone which, btw, was quite good , with a nice bit of zest to it.





But in spite of all the wasabi thises and thats, my favorite moment was not while in pursuit of the horseradish in this wasabi paradise. Without doubt, my very favorite moment of the day was when I biked on narrow random paths and came across a family tending its rice field. It is planting time now. Three generations were working diligently to speed up the process. Note the youngest member’s hard contribution. Watching them go about the work, knowing that they never had an audience and were enjoying one now, seeing the little one smile and smile as the wind blew her hair about was quite lovely.

MATSUMOTOOOOOOH, MATSUMOTOOOOOOH


So ‘sings’ the station announcer in a welcoming way when you get off in this town. I went there in the afternoon because it is supposed to charm: smaller than Nagano, it too, is a gateway to the mountains and it has several streets of old merchant houses that are pleasant enough to stroll through. It also is a castle town and the Japanese do love their old castles. And, since they are quite into ranking things, I should note that this particular castle is within the top four in the country. Reason enough to enjoy it? Not really.


What makes for a successful visit to these places, I wonder? Perhaps you warm to places where you are able to identify some essential local trait, spirit, character and you encounter it while there. Perhaps you feel drawn to a spot because you meet someone who lives there and for a second you imagine what it must be like to be located there for the better part of your life. Or, maybe you just have to be in the right frame and my frame was somehow deficient this day.



TOGAKUSHI FOOD (or, if the shoe, NOT THE HORSE SHOE, fits, wear it)

I went back to Gotoku Tei for dinner. How can one do better than this basement joint in the “ladies of the night” building, with the wonderfully fresh ingredients and the terrific cook to watch all evening long?



THE LADIES ISSUE: Readers may think that I exaggerate about the ‘ladies of the night’ thing and that I have no basis for drawing my rather inflammatory conclusions. Okay, doubting junipers, just for you, I am including a few photos of what one may find on one of the floors of the shabby old building. Having seen some of these ladies, let me assure you, they are not here to give tutorials in LSAT test taking.



SOY BEAN CHUTNEY: At Gotoku Tei all is calm and I am again in my little counter seat, staring at the cook who moves so skillfully between his grilled fish and pickles with soy bean chutney. [A digression: I bought a jar of this in the mountain village yesterday. Why? Because there was a line and people were buying at a fast pace and it reminded me of my early years in Poland when you would rush to any line that was forming in a store and only then ask what was being thrown onto the empty shelves. Usually it would be toilet paper. People always lined up for extra toilet paper supplies. Here, I did ask those around me what it is that I was buying but no one had the English to explain it adequately. I encountered this ‘relish’ again at the wasabi farm where you could buy a snack of long pickles which you would then dip in a little paper container of this stuff. I was almost going to buy a bright green pickle for munching purposes, but then I saw someone picking through the pickles with their hand, testing this one’s firmness, then that one’s and somehow the taste for it disappeared. I know that they are all washing their hands constantly here, but still, I imagined many hands had picked through the pickle pot and that was rather unsettling.) Now, sure enough, the soy spread is here again, at Gotoku Tei.

AVOIDING DELICACIES: I ordered a different set of dishes on this night– these were under heading of “Togakushi meal” (though the photos make at least one look similar, they are in fact quite different in both taste and presentation). Togakushi is the region I visited yesterday and I would not have even hesitated to pick this menu (being rather a fan of the region) except that the area is known for its fine horsemeat and I worried that a plate of it would be among the parade of eleven dishes that I’d eventually have to work my way through. If forced by circumstances, I could swallow even this ‘delicacy,’ but they would have to be rather extreme circumstances and I would not enjoy it.


You can imagine my attempt at formulating the “is there horsemeat?” question (which I felt compelled to ask before taking the plunge into Togakushi food). In spite of my best efforts at demonstrating what I was referring to, the waitress drew a blank. Luckily my hero chef came to the rescue and said in almost perfect English “Togakushi meal no meat.” I am on a fish roll here!


Again, it was all abundantly delicious, although I did not realize that in this particular grilled fish plate, the crustaceans are supposed to be ingested whole – shells and all. They are grilled to a crisp and I saw patrons crunching away at the entirety. I don’t know about that… (Included are food photos for the reader who lobbied for them. Your loyalty will be rewarded!)

JAPAN

FIRST, ANSWERS TO READER Q’S:

Yes, more food photos are forthcoming! Yes, you saw a sailor suit in the photo of the girl riding the train to school. Older kids wear uniforms; sailor suits for girls are quite common. Yes, yes, yes, I am talking to myself a lot each day.

HOW EARLY IS EARLY?

Today (Sunday), by 3 a.m. I am awake and ready to go. Only the world is lagging behind. I patiently wait until I can catch the 6:30 am local rickety bus up into the mountains.

Here’s the issue: it’s Sunday. Nothing, not the hotel coffee shop, nor even Starbucks open before 7. How desperate do I have to be to enter into the one place that has opened its golden doors to the world (i.e. McDonald’s)? Pretty desperate. I’m not there yet. Who needs food and coffee in the morning anyway? I’ll get something in the mountains.

WEATHER ISSUES

It was to be a day of questionable weather resolutions. Maybe some sun, maybe some clouds, maybe some sprinkle, maybe not. The typical report that tells you absolutely nothing. But it doesn’t take great meteorological training to recognize that the day has a bite to it and that there are ominous clouds in the distance, hanging over the mountains. What to do? Rain on mountain hikes can take away any elements of fun.

I decide to venture forth anyway. When you’re all clothed in warm layers, you begin to believe that no bad weather can get through to you. Still, as the bus begins its slow climb up the hills I worry. I am already feeling a bit nippy and I haven’t even left the bus. All my extra sweaters slowly make their way from my Gap plastic bag* onto me. And still the bus climbs and the air gets nippier. I begin to see patches of snow outside. I start to study the schedule for a return bus back. Like one that would leave within minutes.


*I have to mention here how foolish one feels hiking with a plastic Gap bag swinging from the side. Japanese people are all about EQUIPMENT. Backpacks, side packs, outerwear, binoculars, fancy cameras (and I mean FANCY) –I saw them all today – me, with my versatile can-go-from-evening-at –a-nice-place to hike-in-the-woods black purse and yes, the Gap bag. I know, the fashion conscious among you are cringing at the moment.

The bus chug chuggs up the hills and I see nothing but dark gray skies. Am I even in the mountains? What mountains?

AT THE END OF THE ROAD THERE’S A GOLDEN [WEEK]

[Proper lyric identification will reward you with fore-vision as to where this is heading. A digression: when I was a teen I used to look to these (and other similarly situated) lyrics in search of great personal inspiration. Others read Kafka and Shakespeare, I listened to a recording from Carousel. Telling, isn’t it?]


I get off the bus. It is cold. This is a challenge! Even if I wanted to return, buses don’t run that often and there is no shelter nor any place open that would keep me warm. It is, after all, Sunday morning. All wise people are asleep. Foolish hardy souls are out in search of who knows what. (Actually I do know what, at least for some of them: a handful are out and about for bird watching purposes.)

For me, it’s time to institute a BRISK WALK, there’s no other way to feel warm.

My first hike is to a mountain shrine, nestled deep in a forest of redwoods (really: they are tall, they are red). The path is almost empty. There is slushy snow here and there.


I’m climbing now, getting closer, and suddenly (yes, I mean it, quite suddenly) the gray clouds break up and the sky clears (it remains clear for the rest of the day) and the small shrine appears against the backdrop of tall rugged peaks bathed in a faint morning sunshine. The sight is breathtakingly beautiful.

ANOTHER STELLAR MOMENT


Another trail that I then pick up, takes me through a forest where Japanese skunk cabbage plants are blooming (one of the first of the ‘Alpine blooms’ of the season I gather). After a delightful meander through this wet-from-the-melted-snow woodsy area, the trail ends in an Alpine meadow. That is wonderful enough. But to create an ABSOLUTELY STELLAR MOMENT for me, you’d have to then also have, at a bare minimum, a little family-run café there, with some treats and very good coffee (after all, I have now been hiking for some 3 hours and I have yet to have my morning coffee and breakfast), all set against the backdrop of magnificent mountains. EUREKA: there it is!


This may well be near the top of the top morning coffee moments. The place is small – maybe 5 tables? The entire family is fussing about. The two boys get treats, the dad, upon learning that I am willing to spend the extra 20 Yen (that would some 20 cents) for the “no chemical” coffee, is grinding some beans for me. The mother explains in halting English that the cookies are soba cookies (that would be buckwheat: this is Japan’s soba region). I am in heaven.

ANOTHER SUPREMELY STELLAR MOMENT

My third trail takes me through a mixed forest of bamboo and pine. [All thee trails are basically empty. Even though it’s no longer early and it is the big vacation week, I’ve learned that people basically stick to the shrines in their walks.] My goal is a lake that I have noted on a map.




And here comes the moment of moments: I emerge from the thicket and it’s all there: the still lake, the high mountains in a subtle spring sun, and an occasional blooming sakura to make it completely Japanese. I collapse on the grass and just gaze and gaze. It takes more than an hour to get me up and going again. Who would want to leave a moment like that?

A LESS STELLAR MOMENT

It can’t all be great, after all. Stellar moments have to be off-set by less stellar ones because otherwise how can you tell which are stellar and which are just common, everyday type experiences?


Today, the less stellar is the hike to the village. The hike itself is fine. In fact, in a clearing, I come across a group of Japanese women playing wooden flutes. One of them speaks decent English and as I pause, she explains that they are rehearsing in this way for some gig or other. [The one who spoke to me was actually completely blind. I wondered how on earth she’d made it up there. This path is quite rugged and steep. Even I had trouble with the tree roots and odd stones and places where it was flooded from melting snows. Is it the Japanese perseverance in the face of obstacles?]

But as I emerge in the village, I know that bliss is somewhere back there in the paths and Alpine meadows. The place is packed with day trippers. To sit down somewhere for a snack would require waiting and no one is going to have patience for this one person who can’t read a single menu item anywhere. I settle for soba ice cream (soba this, soba that) and people-watching from the curb.

FOOD, IN DESPERATE SEARCH OF FOOD

Perhaps that overstates the case. I was not exactly desperate. But after a good 7+ hours of mountain hiking, I was ready for something more substantial than soba thises and thats. Time to return to Nagano.

I ask someone at the hotel for a dining suggestion. My Lonely Planet is directing me to Italian places and Japanese places that had gone out of business (nice 2004 update!). I want something local and small-scale (meaning, can we keep the cost down PLEASE).


I got the perfect thing (though cheap is not an adjective that can be applied to any Japanese meal, so let’s just say it was comparatively modest in price). In the basement of a building that I do believe housed places where young women entertained older men, there is a spot called Gotoku Tei (I wouldn’t have found it, but one of the young women escorted me to it).

I sit at the counter and watch the young chef, accompanied by a harried apprentice, slice, dice, plate and prepare foods for the handful of customers. I order the “seasonal menu” (so it says in English, explaining nothing else except that it will have 11 little plates of food – as opposed to the bigger or lighter menus which would have one or two more or less). I wont describe it: how boring for the reader to listen to the list of fishes and soups and artful veggies (yes, wonderful veggie tempura and also the crisp raw ferns from the forest which are absolutely delicious—L’Etoile back in Madison, occasionally serves them, but in very limited quantities. Here, they are bright green in their freshness), and to end it all, the soba noodles, swimming in a soy-based broth. A good way to end a Sunday in the mountains.

JAPAN

A SLOW LEARNER CATCHES ON


 
I finally understood why I am seeing so many little children everywhere (especially in Matsushima), but not any big children. For a while I worried that big children had left Japan in pursuit of academic excellence elsewhere. But no, of course they’re here! I saw a train-load in the wee hours of this morning as I caught my little commuter train out of Matsushima. They’re in school right now (including Saturdays). They do not have a Golden Week off. Their parents may have a Golden Week, their little sisters and brothers who are not yet in school have it as well, but bigger kids are in great halls of learning from early in the morning until late into the day. (I’ve included a photo here of a none-too-happy soul riding the train this morning to her school, and a somewhat happier bunch returning home in Nagano.)


GIFT GIVING

Every time I pass through a train station I have a chance to see yet another display (usually more than one) of prettily-wrapped boxes of sweet treats. The Japanese are such gift givers! Wherever they go they take with them a small gift. Sweets rank high on the list of possible presents and on the train many will be carrying bags with boxes of goodies for the person they are going to visit.

I brought some of these treats back to Madison last time I returned from Japan, but somehow I think they got lost in translation. Even for me, back home, I wondered what the charm of sesame paste confections or green tea cakes was, whereas in Japan I thought both were exquisite. (Green tea anything is done well here: my green tea snack from this afternoon is pictured here on the left; it is NOT suspended in the air, I am just an artful balancer of cones.)


SNEEZERS BUT NOT HONKERS

I learned recently that it is impolite to blow your nose in public and so I am glad I do not have the sniffles (though delicate sniffling –meaning blowing in rather than out if you have a cold—is acceptable).

On the other hand, I have never heard so many people sneeze so constantly and so loudly as I have here. It’s as if Japan has one big allergy taking hold.

And, so long as I am on this indelicate topic of germs and nasal passages, I do wonder if people here who wear masks in public (and there are a number who do so) are protecting us from them or themselves from the rest of the unsanitary world.


A DIGRESSION ON VISITING SHRINES AND TEMPLES


Readers may be wondering by now: a week in Japan and no shrines under my belt? (Most likely not a single person reading this is wondering any such thing, but it is at least a theoretical possibility****.) The short answer is that yes, indeed, I have visited shrines, temples, Buddhas, Jizo statues (that’s the one a step down from Buddha; Jizo is thought to be a protector of small children, hence he is often sporting a bright red bib and cap – note photo).

However, this blog is not a travel journal. “I saw this and I did that” are not words I would typically use here. If I listed every temple that I entered, or Buddha that I passed in Japan I’d be down to a readership of one—me.

It’s hard sometimes to imagine what may be of general interest (and therefore blog-worthy), but I do know that me visiting shrines and temples is NOT of general interest.


THE COLORS OF NAGANO


Okay, I may be biased, but this town SINGS with color! It’s population is slightly larger than that of Madison (it has about 350,000), just to put it in perspective. It feels at once more urban and yet it has a small-city informality to it. But that isn’t the magic of the place. Its unique loveliness is much helped by the flowers that line the main street. And I don’t mean just hanging baskets or a flower box here and there. Each block has a singular color scheme and flower combination, and the boxes are at times three rows deep in from the curb. Yes, yes, they hit the right person here: flowers definitely are going to win me over. But isn’t it the most clever idea? It positively adds bounce to your step as you walk past rows and rows of blooming bins, boxes and baskets. [The sample of photos doesn’t fully do it justice, but it’s a start.]


RELIGIOUS SYMBOLS OF PURITY AND FORTUNE


Now that the truth is out and I have admitted to visiting shrines, I do want to say a few words on that. I am always surprised by the following:

- That your shoes are exactly where you left them after you are done with the visit inside. True, there aren’t many people in this world who would be tempted by a used shoe, but I can imagine that pranksters would find it amusing to shuffle them around a bit. In Japan in general, you can leave something in a public place and expect it to be there when you return three months later (okay, poetic license here).

- That a Japanese person may both ring the gong to get the attention of the gods in a shrine and cross him or herself in a Christian church. Any other small acts of religious worship? Bring them on, they’ll find acceptance here! Most Japanese do not subscribe to religious exclusivity. Two, three religions? it’s all good. Is it a devout nation? Not according to the books. Most people adhere to these symbolic gestures and let it go at that.

- But oh, there are so many symbols! Just visiting Nagano’s famous Zenkoji temple allowed me to witness people washing their hands and rinsing their mouths at a trough of sorts in front of the temple (to purify the body before entering a sacred place), persons standing in front of billowing incense smoke and rubbing themselves with it, older couples going up to a Buddha statue and massaging the diety’s head and body so that maybe a bit of the good fortune would spill over – on and on, acts of hope, acknowledgements of human frailty and imperfection. But so many of them! Did I mention picking out fortunes in front of a shrine? You read it and either take it home, or, if you don’t like it, you tie it to a special place outside the temple and someone else can worry a bout it. So many symbols! Feel-good acts to help you along with the day.


****Even if I was not able to enter the mind of the average reader with that one, I may still be able to anticipate questions running through reader minds. Here’s a list of some probable ones, along with my answers:

Q: How come you didn’t blog about eating dinner tonight?
A: Because I cheated and jumped the ocean over to China. I have to say that eating Chinese food in Japan is always an eye-opening event which allows me to understand how big our American appetites really are. In a Chinese restaurant here, you can size your own portion. Let me assure you that if you pick the one meant for 1 – 2 people, you’ll walk away hungry. I never have the guts to order the next size up, for 2 – 3 people, but I do compensate by ordering another plate of something, and then going over to the convenience store next door for some munchies to take back to the hotel room. And many will attest to the fact that I am not especially a ravenous eater.

Q: Why don’t you ever write about the things that are not working in Japan? You seem almost to be a Japan-ophile.
A: Is that a word? I am not a fan of publicly criticizing other countries unless I have experienced some deeply-felt aggravation on my own. I carry the weight of many years of listening to travelers to Poland list small grievances of being a tourist there and little of the joy of experiencing a different culture. I’ve always wanted to kick them in places where it hurts. Moreover, I wont mention something about Japan that I myself have not encountered. For example, I know that men grope women in crowded trains and subways here. I know, because I have read about this countless times. Trains and subways have gone so far as to create separate “women only” cars so that women passengers don’t have to tolerate this indecency. But I wont put that into the blog because it has never happened to me.

Q: You just put it in the blog.
A: Oh.

Q: Have you ever sat in a bar like in Lost in Translation and experienced a feeling of profound displacement?
A: Not on this trip; though I must admit that the thought has crossed my mind tonight, as I have a coupon for a free drink on the top floor of this hotel. I haven’t decided between wanting to get some sleep because I want to get going early tomorrow, or being the stereotypical Pole who never passes up a free anything.

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).