Not too long ago, there was a fairly substantial earthquake up in Iwate and Miyagi prefectures, which I found out about first through worried friends and relatives. While it was quite far from me and caused relatively little in the way of property damage or human casualties, it did provide me with the jumping-off point for exploring the sometimes-unnerving reality of living in a country where earthquakes are a regular occurrence and entire cities occasionally leveled by them. I am still, as I was then, mostly unconcerned about my own particular lifestyle being affected by these quakes, but two things have occurred lately that are enough to give me pause.
The first is an aftershock in the same area hit by the earthquake from a few months ago. While it didn’t take any lives, it’s somewhat unnerving because this aftershock was actually stronger than the initial earthquake, and (as the TV show I was watching so helpfully stressed) would cause rather complete and catastrophic damage to pretty much any building not up to modern earthquake-resistant building codes. So, imagine my surprise when I read an article the next day, which in its cheerfully alarmist fashion, pointed out that most school buildings in Osaka prefecture were built between the late 1940s and the early 1960s, and that city and prefectural school boards had been dragging their heels about fixing the problem since at least the Kobe earthquake thirteen and a half years ago. So, as it turns out, the school I work in is not safe in the event of a major earthquake. Great.
Luckily, said exposé, coupled with still lingering images from the Chinese earthquakes earlier this year (where school buildings simply collapsed on top of the schoolchildren inside), seems to have motivated cities all around Osaka to actually do something about it. This includes, as luck would have it, my school. Well, sort of.
Matsubara is not a very large city compared to the other cities of Osaka Prefecture, but it still has seven junior high schools, fifteen elementary schools, and a few nursery schools run by the city board of education. As you can imagine, this means that bringing all of these schools up to modern earthquake resistance standards is quite the arduous (and expensive) undertaking. And between a chronically under-funded budget and not wanting to play favorites with any of the schools, this means that each school gets to have a bit of it brought up to code at a time.
In my case, this means that one particular section of the main school building has been spending the summer break getting its concrete superstructure reinforced by metal rods, having concrete overhangs taken down from above the first-floor entrances, and having lots and lots of holes dug and/or drilled into it in order to accomplish this. So, in spite of my relatively quiet summer break, it has actually been punctuated at regular intervals by the sound of jackhammering. (I know it’s for a good purpose and all, but could they try keeping it down a bit?) They also removed sections of floor at ground level, in order to reinforce that too. The final stage involves attaching a large number of angled reinforcing columns to the outside of the building, which turns the school into what looks kind of like a gigantic Erector set (y’know… like Legos, but metal plates with screws and gears and such), In short, that particular part of the school is a gigantic mess right now, and I wonder whether they’ll actually finish it in time for classes to start up again (back at my college, they certainly never did, though Japan prides itself on punctuality so I don’t really know).
Of course, the reinforcement method, while effective and (relatively) inexpensive, also has the upshot of making the reinforced structure slightly… unappealing from a visual standpoint. Since it is a standard Japanese-style junior high school, that’s not necessarily going to detract from its original appearance, but it’s certainly quite apparent, especially considering that the rest of the school has yet to undergo this transformation. But then again, I suppose that all things considered, a safe building is much more appealing in terms of survival, no matter what its particular looks happen to be. Not that these reinforcements will do me much good. The first part of the main building they’re doing at my school houses the home ec, science, and computer classrooms, none of which have much in common with my current job. They will eventually progress to the rest of the building, but who knows where I’ll be working by the time they finish everything… it could take years.
So, with all that going on in the midst of my summer vacation, I’m rather hoping that things calm down at least a little bit before classes start again. And hoping and praying that we don’t get any major earthquakes in Osaka while I’m teaching. I just need to remember my mantra, “I like hot springs. I like hot springs. I like hot springs” As long as Japan has those, I can put up (mostly) with the worries that seismic instability’s other, more negative aspects create. Now, where’d I leave that safety helmet…?
13 August 2008
06 August 2008
Summer vacation?
August is just about here in Osaka, and with it, the students are now in the middle of their summer vacation. In fact, they have been since the middle of July. With it, is a conspicuous lack of classes, and what you’d think would be a conspicuous lack of students. But perhaps I should really be saying summer “vacation”, because, you see… the students are still here.
Summer vacation in Japan is not a time of unmitigated relaxation and fun-having the way that most of us Americans are used to. Instead, it seems that the Japanese philosophy is that through hard work, you can overcome such frivolous things as “fun” and “idleness.” During the summer break, club activities continue straight through, and Japanese students (who are basically all expected to belong to one club or another) are made to attend on days their club is in session, which is at least once a week. And if that weren’t bad enough, there are also several mandatory assembly days where the entire student body must come in to be harangued for several hours about not giving in to the temptations to have a good time, and being always studious and upright. (I wish I was exaggerating as much as you think I am.)
And that’s not all. One of the hallmarks of summer vacation for Japanese students is the homework. Not content with simply making kids come to school during what (to me) is a sacred time of relaxation and fun, teachers (at the behest of the Ministry of Education) also saddle them with large amounts of work for them to complete over the course of the break. On the one hand, I can see the logic in this: the academic year starts in April and ends in March, so the students will still be learning the same material when they get back, and this will help keep their skills sharp for their return. On the other hand, it does take away quite a bit from the supposedly “carefree” nature of summer, and there are plenty of students who wait until the very last week of vacation to do it all, thereby negating much of the value it’s intended to have.
Between the clubs, mandatory assembly days, and piles of homework, the summer break for Japanese students is a far cry from what most of us are familiar with. But what do the Japanese students think? When I told the kids that not only do American students have nearly twice as long for summer vacation, but they also have no homework, I got a range of reactions from disbelief to outright envy. Poor things. But believe it or not, their, their situation is actually better than Japanese children a generation ago had it: up until the early part of this decade, students had a mandatory half-day on Saturdays during the year, and even more school-related activity during summer “vacation”. Not that it gives them any less of a raw deal now, of course.
As for me, I’m still coming into the school pretty much every day, in spite of the lack of classes. Instead, my time is taken up by reading, studying Japanese, working on various English-related projects, and walking around, engaging students in conversation. (Sample conversation: “Hi, [name]. How are you?” “I’m fine, thank you, and you?” “I’m hot.” “Me too.”) Because of this, it’s not quite as boring as I expected it to be, though I certainly still have a bit more free time during my work hours than I’m quite sure what to do with. I do have some vacation time though, and as a matter of fact, I’ll be headed to Tokyo this weekend (or last weekend when you read this) to meet up with a friend and do some sightseeing. I’m looking forward to that, as well as having a justification to ride the Shinkansen there. After all, the journey is half the fun, right?
P.S. An update on my cicada situation – I believe I wrote in my article two weeks ago that cicadas were “entirely harmless” to humans. As it turns out, this is not the case. I found this out when I got beaned by one while riding my bike to school. They may not look like much, but those things pack a wallop, and they seem incapable of flying in a straight line. Luckily, I don’t think it left a mark. That’d be quite the bruise to explain…
Summer vacation in Japan is not a time of unmitigated relaxation and fun-having the way that most of us Americans are used to. Instead, it seems that the Japanese philosophy is that through hard work, you can overcome such frivolous things as “fun” and “idleness.” During the summer break, club activities continue straight through, and Japanese students (who are basically all expected to belong to one club or another) are made to attend on days their club is in session, which is at least once a week. And if that weren’t bad enough, there are also several mandatory assembly days where the entire student body must come in to be harangued for several hours about not giving in to the temptations to have a good time, and being always studious and upright. (I wish I was exaggerating as much as you think I am.)
And that’s not all. One of the hallmarks of summer vacation for Japanese students is the homework. Not content with simply making kids come to school during what (to me) is a sacred time of relaxation and fun, teachers (at the behest of the Ministry of Education) also saddle them with large amounts of work for them to complete over the course of the break. On the one hand, I can see the logic in this: the academic year starts in April and ends in March, so the students will still be learning the same material when they get back, and this will help keep their skills sharp for their return. On the other hand, it does take away quite a bit from the supposedly “carefree” nature of summer, and there are plenty of students who wait until the very last week of vacation to do it all, thereby negating much of the value it’s intended to have.
Between the clubs, mandatory assembly days, and piles of homework, the summer break for Japanese students is a far cry from what most of us are familiar with. But what do the Japanese students think? When I told the kids that not only do American students have nearly twice as long for summer vacation, but they also have no homework, I got a range of reactions from disbelief to outright envy. Poor things. But believe it or not, their, their situation is actually better than Japanese children a generation ago had it: up until the early part of this decade, students had a mandatory half-day on Saturdays during the year, and even more school-related activity during summer “vacation”. Not that it gives them any less of a raw deal now, of course.
As for me, I’m still coming into the school pretty much every day, in spite of the lack of classes. Instead, my time is taken up by reading, studying Japanese, working on various English-related projects, and walking around, engaging students in conversation. (Sample conversation: “Hi, [name]. How are you?” “I’m fine, thank you, and you?” “I’m hot.” “Me too.”) Because of this, it’s not quite as boring as I expected it to be, though I certainly still have a bit more free time during my work hours than I’m quite sure what to do with. I do have some vacation time though, and as a matter of fact, I’ll be headed to Tokyo this weekend (or last weekend when you read this) to meet up with a friend and do some sightseeing. I’m looking forward to that, as well as having a justification to ride the Shinkansen there. After all, the journey is half the fun, right?
P.S. An update on my cicada situation – I believe I wrote in my article two weeks ago that cicadas were “entirely harmless” to humans. As it turns out, this is not the case. I found this out when I got beaned by one while riding my bike to school. They may not look like much, but those things pack a wallop, and they seem incapable of flying in a straight line. Luckily, I don’t think it left a mark. That’d be quite the bruise to explain…
30 July 2008
Konbini country
Another week has gone by, and it’s still a lot hotter than I’d like it to be here in Osaka. You know you’re in for an absolutely scorching afternoon when you realize that your comfortably-cool air conditioning is set to the equivalent of 85 degrees Fahrenheit, and it’s easily pushing 100 outside. Apparently, August is supposed to be hotter; I guess I’ll find that out soon enough. But in the meantime, there is once place I can always count on to get me out of the heat and into a protective zone of comfort and familiarity. It’s open all day and night, is air-conditioned, and the friendly face at the counter will never tell me that I’ve worn out my welcome. This, of course, would be a convenience store.
Convenience stores in Japan (called konbini, in the Japanese way of simplifying all long words down to precisely 4 morae) are, in a word, ubiquitous. This country went from having close to none 30 or so years ago, to being pretty much saturated. It’s hard to walk more than a block in any direction around here, without encountering at least one, and as a matter of fact, there happens to be one in the builiding next to the one my apartment’s in. There’s practically one on every corner of a city… except that sometimes you’ll find one in between the ones on the corners, and perhaps another one at the same corner, peering back from across the street. I suppose that certainly makes them a convenience, when you barely even have to walk to get there. I’m equally impressed that they get enough business to warrant such tight placement; the population density of Japan’s cities probably accounts for some of that, but it’s still really weird to see in practice. The only thing I can compare it to is the ludicrously closely-spaced McDonald’s and Starbucks one might see in places like New York City, but the convenience stores here are usually also competing businesses, which somehow seem to thrive in spite of technically trying to outdo the other ones.
The other thing that really strikes me about Japanese convenience stores is that they completely dispense with the gas station. Perhaps it’s not as surprising as it might sound: gas stations in Japan are typically full-service affairs, with gasoline filler nozzles suspended from overhead, garage facilities on the premises, and a footprint that’s as small as possible to have them. The end result is that there’s simply no room to put the American style convenience store at most gas stations, and most people seem perfectly happy to separate out their fuel and konbini outings into separate trips.
As for the stores themselves, they are all (as far as I’ve seen) brightly lit, stocked with everything you could possibly need at 3 in the morning: food, stationery, grooming products, drinks, and even basic clothes when it comes to one particular chain. They’re popular during the daytime as well, featuring plenty of foodstuffs, catering to Japanese tastes. Not only do they have prepackaged lunches in a variety of styles (“konbini bento,” or “convenience store boxed lunch”), but they’ve also got lots of different bread-based items, from the sweet (danishes, donuts, chocolate “sandwiches”) to the savory and somewhat… odd-sounding (ham and egg buns, tuna-mayonnaise rolls, and the infamous curry donut). But that’s not all – you can also pay your bills at the convenience store (which I do), use its ATM (again, which I do), ship packages (again, I’ve done this), and in some places, purchase movie and concert tickets at special computerized kiosks. Essentially, Japanese convenience stores redefine what you expect out of a place that does, after all, have “convenience” as part of its name. One of the things you can’t get at the local 7-Eleven, though, is a Slurpee – apparently, they never caught on here. Lottery tickets are also generally sold at dedicated kiosks outside of other stores, so you won’t find them at a konbini either. At least in these cases, I don’t have any particular objections.
Now, as for beating the heat… while loitering in a convenience store is perhaps not the most productive way to spend one’s time, the air conditioning there is hard to beat, and the store clerk seems generally reluctant to encourage me to go elsewhere. This could just be official policy, or it could be that I’m a Scary Foreigner. Either way, I still try not to hang around too long… or thumb through the magazines, since they seem to let their customers do that without ever buying them. Go figure. But any rate, convenience stores are just another aspect of this country that I find especially appealing: after all, where else can you buy a decent quality boxed lunch, a pair of socks, a curry donut, and tickets to your favorite band’s concert – all at 4 in the morning?
Convenience stores in Japan (called konbini, in the Japanese way of simplifying all long words down to precisely 4 morae) are, in a word, ubiquitous. This country went from having close to none 30 or so years ago, to being pretty much saturated. It’s hard to walk more than a block in any direction around here, without encountering at least one, and as a matter of fact, there happens to be one in the builiding next to the one my apartment’s in. There’s practically one on every corner of a city… except that sometimes you’ll find one in between the ones on the corners, and perhaps another one at the same corner, peering back from across the street. I suppose that certainly makes them a convenience, when you barely even have to walk to get there. I’m equally impressed that they get enough business to warrant such tight placement; the population density of Japan’s cities probably accounts for some of that, but it’s still really weird to see in practice. The only thing I can compare it to is the ludicrously closely-spaced McDonald’s and Starbucks one might see in places like New York City, but the convenience stores here are usually also competing businesses, which somehow seem to thrive in spite of technically trying to outdo the other ones.
The other thing that really strikes me about Japanese convenience stores is that they completely dispense with the gas station. Perhaps it’s not as surprising as it might sound: gas stations in Japan are typically full-service affairs, with gasoline filler nozzles suspended from overhead, garage facilities on the premises, and a footprint that’s as small as possible to have them. The end result is that there’s simply no room to put the American style convenience store at most gas stations, and most people seem perfectly happy to separate out their fuel and konbini outings into separate trips.
As for the stores themselves, they are all (as far as I’ve seen) brightly lit, stocked with everything you could possibly need at 3 in the morning: food, stationery, grooming products, drinks, and even basic clothes when it comes to one particular chain. They’re popular during the daytime as well, featuring plenty of foodstuffs, catering to Japanese tastes. Not only do they have prepackaged lunches in a variety of styles (“konbini bento,” or “convenience store boxed lunch”), but they’ve also got lots of different bread-based items, from the sweet (danishes, donuts, chocolate “sandwiches”) to the savory and somewhat… odd-sounding (ham and egg buns, tuna-mayonnaise rolls, and the infamous curry donut). But that’s not all – you can also pay your bills at the convenience store (which I do), use its ATM (again, which I do), ship packages (again, I’ve done this), and in some places, purchase movie and concert tickets at special computerized kiosks. Essentially, Japanese convenience stores redefine what you expect out of a place that does, after all, have “convenience” as part of its name. One of the things you can’t get at the local 7-Eleven, though, is a Slurpee – apparently, they never caught on here. Lottery tickets are also generally sold at dedicated kiosks outside of other stores, so you won’t find them at a konbini either. At least in these cases, I don’t have any particular objections.
Now, as for beating the heat… while loitering in a convenience store is perhaps not the most productive way to spend one’s time, the air conditioning there is hard to beat, and the store clerk seems generally reluctant to encourage me to go elsewhere. This could just be official policy, or it could be that I’m a Scary Foreigner. Either way, I still try not to hang around too long… or thumb through the magazines, since they seem to let their customers do that without ever buying them. Go figure. But any rate, convenience stores are just another aspect of this country that I find especially appealing: after all, where else can you buy a decent quality boxed lunch, a pair of socks, a curry donut, and tickets to your favorite band’s concert – all at 4 in the morning?
23 July 2008
Encountering wildlife (part 1)
As the long, hot, and inescapably humid summer wears on here in Osaka, yet another traditional facet of summer in Japan has reared its alien head. Well, actually, not so much “it” as “they”. And by they, there must be at least a few million of them around here. I am talking, of course, about the cicadas.
Cicadas, a kind of bug famous for their long life cycle (and exceedingly short adult phase), are by no means unique to Japan, but since I hadn’t encountered that many up close when living in the North Country, it came as something of a shock to find that their population density in Japan rivals that of the humans. I found this out one morning last week, as I was jolted from my slumber by an eerie buzzing sound. going out onto the balcony of my apartment to see what was up, I was greeted by the near-deafening sound of lots and lots and lots of cicadas, all making their signature noise at once. Even after a week of getting used to it, it’s still quite disconcerting to hear when I’m just waking up and not yet able to remember just what that infernal racket is.
In spite of that, I do have to admit that I find the cicadas pretty cool. As bugs go, they’re a decent size, easy to spot, and entirely harmless to humans, which means that their song is regarded something along the lines of crickets chirping on a summer night back home. Only, much louder. But what the students at my school find the most entertaining by far is the shed skin they leave behind after molting. This outer layer of exoskeleton, which usually holds the shape of its former occupant quite well, appears to be an object of immense value to find during their outdoor activities. The reason, of course, is that they are an ideal size (and just “gross” enough) for chucking at one another. Plus, showing one to a female student seems to be an easy way to elicit an absolutely ear-splitting scream. (In the interest of fairness, however, I should note that some of the girls do this to each other, which makes it seem as though their horror and revulsion is something of a selective response.) Clearly, the empty shells alone provide hours of entertainment. And while I don’t know just how old this “game” is, there’s a reference to them in the Tale of Genj (though it has less to do with cicada shell-throwing than it does with a lady shedding her outer robe to escape the overly-amorous main character). Personally, I think maybe the story would be better if it had some cicada shell-chucking, but maybe that’s just me.
Aside from gathering the discarded shells, however, another popular pastime in Japan is cicada-catching. This involves going out with your net and collecting as many cicadas as you can, in order to… be the best collector, I suppose. Bug catching as a whole is a popular hobby for children in Japan, no doubt due to the island’s plentiful supply of oversized and/or weird-looking insects and arachnids to find. (Mothra is a stretch, but not by quite as much as you’d think.) At any rate, it’s easy to see where the idea for games like Pokemon came from: it’s just a natural extension of what’s already a popular pastime for Japanese children. Minus the wandering around for months without parental supervision, anyway.
Of course, with the bug population being what it is, there’s plenty of things that get by through eating them, and perhaps the most numerous that I’ve seen are the bats. Now, I know that there are bats in Northern New York, as we’ve had a few in our attic over the years (a fact my mother can certainly vouch for), but I never really saw them in action until I came here. At twilight, you can see them, circling, swooping, and flapping their leathery wings over the many rice paddies in the area. The first time I saw them, I thought they were just a flock of large-ish birds, but once I saw them up close, I realized that not only were they bats, but there were an awful lot of them. If I were a more squeamish person, this would probably lead to nightmares and such, but as long as they don’t bother me, I’m fine with it. After all, they keep the mosquito population down, and in a country whose chief grain product is farmed in fields full of standing water, this is important. (I suppose that this would also be the place to mention that I’m looking forward to a certain movie about a certain bat-themed individual, but unfortunately, it won’t come out here for another three weeks.)
But while bugs and the things that eat them are all well and good, there are far more (and arguably more famous) creatures that can be touched upon… hopefully I’ll get to those in another article. Until then, I’ll be trying not to wake up in a panic from the cicadas’ song.
Cicadas, a kind of bug famous for their long life cycle (and exceedingly short adult phase), are by no means unique to Japan, but since I hadn’t encountered that many up close when living in the North Country, it came as something of a shock to find that their population density in Japan rivals that of the humans. I found this out one morning last week, as I was jolted from my slumber by an eerie buzzing sound. going out onto the balcony of my apartment to see what was up, I was greeted by the near-deafening sound of lots and lots and lots of cicadas, all making their signature noise at once. Even after a week of getting used to it, it’s still quite disconcerting to hear when I’m just waking up and not yet able to remember just what that infernal racket is.
In spite of that, I do have to admit that I find the cicadas pretty cool. As bugs go, they’re a decent size, easy to spot, and entirely harmless to humans, which means that their song is regarded something along the lines of crickets chirping on a summer night back home. Only, much louder. But what the students at my school find the most entertaining by far is the shed skin they leave behind after molting. This outer layer of exoskeleton, which usually holds the shape of its former occupant quite well, appears to be an object of immense value to find during their outdoor activities. The reason, of course, is that they are an ideal size (and just “gross” enough) for chucking at one another. Plus, showing one to a female student seems to be an easy way to elicit an absolutely ear-splitting scream. (In the interest of fairness, however, I should note that some of the girls do this to each other, which makes it seem as though their horror and revulsion is something of a selective response.) Clearly, the empty shells alone provide hours of entertainment. And while I don’t know just how old this “game” is, there’s a reference to them in the Tale of Genj (though it has less to do with cicada shell-throwing than it does with a lady shedding her outer robe to escape the overly-amorous main character). Personally, I think maybe the story would be better if it had some cicada shell-chucking, but maybe that’s just me.
Aside from gathering the discarded shells, however, another popular pastime in Japan is cicada-catching. This involves going out with your net and collecting as many cicadas as you can, in order to… be the best collector, I suppose. Bug catching as a whole is a popular hobby for children in Japan, no doubt due to the island’s plentiful supply of oversized and/or weird-looking insects and arachnids to find. (Mothra is a stretch, but not by quite as much as you’d think.) At any rate, it’s easy to see where the idea for games like Pokemon came from: it’s just a natural extension of what’s already a popular pastime for Japanese children. Minus the wandering around for months without parental supervision, anyway.
Of course, with the bug population being what it is, there’s plenty of things that get by through eating them, and perhaps the most numerous that I’ve seen are the bats. Now, I know that there are bats in Northern New York, as we’ve had a few in our attic over the years (a fact my mother can certainly vouch for), but I never really saw them in action until I came here. At twilight, you can see them, circling, swooping, and flapping their leathery wings over the many rice paddies in the area. The first time I saw them, I thought they were just a flock of large-ish birds, but once I saw them up close, I realized that not only were they bats, but there were an awful lot of them. If I were a more squeamish person, this would probably lead to nightmares and such, but as long as they don’t bother me, I’m fine with it. After all, they keep the mosquito population down, and in a country whose chief grain product is farmed in fields full of standing water, this is important. (I suppose that this would also be the place to mention that I’m looking forward to a certain movie about a certain bat-themed individual, but unfortunately, it won’t come out here for another three weeks.)
But while bugs and the things that eat them are all well and good, there are far more (and arguably more famous) creatures that can be touched upon… hopefully I’ll get to those in another article. Until then, I’ll be trying not to wake up in a panic from the cicadas’ song.
16 July 2008
Sweating the summer festival season
It’s that time of year again, here in Japan: as I mentioned a few weeks before, the month of June is the rainy season… but once that ends, comes the Japanese summer. And, just as I mentioned then, I have gone from trying to get my clothes dry in the face of nonstop rain, to trying to keep myself from resembling a gigantic fountain of sweat. To say that I find this unpleasant simply does injustice to the more-or-less constant moist feeling that is currently driving me up the wall. And then there’s the heat itself.
Maybe I’m biased, since I grew up in a temperate zone with the further moderating influence of the Saint Lawrence River, but summer in Japan can be really, excruciatingly, HOT. It’s not so bad in places farther north, like Hokkaido, but Osaka is one of the hottest places in Japan… and I’m in it. The heat is made worse by the everyday fact of 100% humidity, which ensures that sweat does not evaporate and people look not so much like human beings, but melting popsicles that somehow manage not to shrink as they do so. This is my first summer in Japan, so the experience of this level of torment is brand new to me… and I’m coming to terms with the sinking realization that I’ll be dealing with it again next year as well if I choose to stay on. That’s quite the sobering thought.
In spite of this, I am also in good spirits, because July in particular (less so August) is the month when all the big summer festivals are held. These are hard to describe in full without actually being there. Japanese festivals as a whole are generally centered around religious practices at a Shinto shrine or Buddhist temple, but religion in Japan being what it is (Shinto, Buddhism, and Christianity aren’t so much separate entities here as they are one big, amorphous mass that people freely engage in as appropriate to the occasion), the atmosphere is not so much solemn contemplation as it is an excuse to have a carnival party. I am not in any way opposed to this, mind you.
The first prerequisite to a proper Japanese festival is to festoon the area with paper lanterns. There’s probably a very good reason for this that dates back at least a few centuries, but as far as I’m concerned, they look cool. The second is the food: Japanese festival food is usually quite varied, but you’ll usually find some manner of meat-on-a-stick, fried potatoes, fried chicken, corn-on-a-stick, candied banana-on-a-stick, candy apples, noodles-on-a-stick, taiyaki (waffle-y things filled with sweet stuff and shaped like a fish), shaved ice, ice cream, and pretty much any other kind of Japanese food that’s capable of being carried with a single hand. I have sampled pretty much all of these things (not all at once), and can confirm that they are every bit as satisfying (and indigestion-inducing) as Fair food back home. And as with Fair food, you have to buy some of it; it’s just part of the experience.
The third necessity is carnival games. These are generally not too different from their Western counterparts, other than that they tend to be much simpler and less mechanized. Nevertheless, they are every bit as fiendishly difficult, and probably rigged in some way. (One of the popular expressions for them is kodomo-damashi, or “cheating the kids”. At least they’re honest, here.) Perhaps the most time-honored activity is the goldfish-scooping game: you get a “net” made of thin paper, and have to try and get a goldfish from the tank without it ripping. I have judged this to be nigh on impossible. Another is the kujibiki, or “lot drawing”, where you pull on a rope that is hypothetically attached to a prize, or more commonly, to a worthless trinket. I’ve heard tell that the really good prizes aren’t actually connected to any of the ropes you can pull, and in my experience that’s probably true. I really should stop wasting my money on these things…
But perhaps the most important part of a Japanese festival is the traditional clothing. Most of the time, people in Japan walk around in regular Western clothing, same as most places in the industrialized world. Kimonos are a rare sight indeed, and unless the wearer frequently engages in a culturally-significant activity that requires one, he or she will likely rent for the one or two special occasions per year that require it (much the same as formalwear in the US). This is hardly surprising, since a properly made silk men’s kimono with all its accoutrements can cost well over $1000, and women’s models several times that much. Even the cheaper variants would set you back more than a discount suit. But summer festivals are special because people get to break out their yukata.
Written with characters that give it the meaning “bathrobe”, the yukata is a lightweight, usually cotton kimono that’s especially appropriate for the summer months. Being comfortable, relatively inexpensive and easy to come by, they make popular attire for the occasion of a summer festival, paired with wooden clog sandals called geta. Seeing people dressed that way really makes me want to do likewise, but sadly, I don’t have one. This is something I will have to correct, once I can scrounge up enough pocket money.
Of course, I’ve really only scratched the surface here, which seems to be a recurring theme in these columns. I apologize for that, but it’s really something you have to experience firsthand to get in full. Festivals happen in every season, and each one has its own particular character (though they’re all relentlessly upbeat). So I consider myself lucky that I have one festival down in my area for this month, and two to go…
Maybe I’m biased, since I grew up in a temperate zone with the further moderating influence of the Saint Lawrence River, but summer in Japan can be really, excruciatingly, HOT. It’s not so bad in places farther north, like Hokkaido, but Osaka is one of the hottest places in Japan… and I’m in it. The heat is made worse by the everyday fact of 100% humidity, which ensures that sweat does not evaporate and people look not so much like human beings, but melting popsicles that somehow manage not to shrink as they do so. This is my first summer in Japan, so the experience of this level of torment is brand new to me… and I’m coming to terms with the sinking realization that I’ll be dealing with it again next year as well if I choose to stay on. That’s quite the sobering thought.
In spite of this, I am also in good spirits, because July in particular (less so August) is the month when all the big summer festivals are held. These are hard to describe in full without actually being there. Japanese festivals as a whole are generally centered around religious practices at a Shinto shrine or Buddhist temple, but religion in Japan being what it is (Shinto, Buddhism, and Christianity aren’t so much separate entities here as they are one big, amorphous mass that people freely engage in as appropriate to the occasion), the atmosphere is not so much solemn contemplation as it is an excuse to have a carnival party. I am not in any way opposed to this, mind you.
The first prerequisite to a proper Japanese festival is to festoon the area with paper lanterns. There’s probably a very good reason for this that dates back at least a few centuries, but as far as I’m concerned, they look cool. The second is the food: Japanese festival food is usually quite varied, but you’ll usually find some manner of meat-on-a-stick, fried potatoes, fried chicken, corn-on-a-stick, candied banana-on-a-stick, candy apples, noodles-on-a-stick, taiyaki (waffle-y things filled with sweet stuff and shaped like a fish), shaved ice, ice cream, and pretty much any other kind of Japanese food that’s capable of being carried with a single hand. I have sampled pretty much all of these things (not all at once), and can confirm that they are every bit as satisfying (and indigestion-inducing) as Fair food back home. And as with Fair food, you have to buy some of it; it’s just part of the experience.
The third necessity is carnival games. These are generally not too different from their Western counterparts, other than that they tend to be much simpler and less mechanized. Nevertheless, they are every bit as fiendishly difficult, and probably rigged in some way. (One of the popular expressions for them is kodomo-damashi, or “cheating the kids”. At least they’re honest, here.) Perhaps the most time-honored activity is the goldfish-scooping game: you get a “net” made of thin paper, and have to try and get a goldfish from the tank without it ripping. I have judged this to be nigh on impossible. Another is the kujibiki, or “lot drawing”, where you pull on a rope that is hypothetically attached to a prize, or more commonly, to a worthless trinket. I’ve heard tell that the really good prizes aren’t actually connected to any of the ropes you can pull, and in my experience that’s probably true. I really should stop wasting my money on these things…
But perhaps the most important part of a Japanese festival is the traditional clothing. Most of the time, people in Japan walk around in regular Western clothing, same as most places in the industrialized world. Kimonos are a rare sight indeed, and unless the wearer frequently engages in a culturally-significant activity that requires one, he or she will likely rent for the one or two special occasions per year that require it (much the same as formalwear in the US). This is hardly surprising, since a properly made silk men’s kimono with all its accoutrements can cost well over $1000, and women’s models several times that much. Even the cheaper variants would set you back more than a discount suit. But summer festivals are special because people get to break out their yukata.
Written with characters that give it the meaning “bathrobe”, the yukata is a lightweight, usually cotton kimono that’s especially appropriate for the summer months. Being comfortable, relatively inexpensive and easy to come by, they make popular attire for the occasion of a summer festival, paired with wooden clog sandals called geta. Seeing people dressed that way really makes me want to do likewise, but sadly, I don’t have one. This is something I will have to correct, once I can scrounge up enough pocket money.
Of course, I’ve really only scratched the surface here, which seems to be a recurring theme in these columns. I apologize for that, but it’s really something you have to experience firsthand to get in full. Festivals happen in every season, and each one has its own particular character (though they’re all relentlessly upbeat). So I consider myself lucky that I have one festival down in my area for this month, and two to go…
09 July 2008
Real ramen
For me, one of the pleasures of living in Japan is being able to try out all sorts of food that is hard to obtain in the US. This is actually a far cry from how I used to be: I already mentioned my disastrous first experience with green tea (it didn’t agree with me), but much the same can be said of my encounters with many different kinds of fish, shellfish, mollusks, and, well… I guess you can see that I was never too fond of seafood. But since I’ve come to Japan, I’ve broadened my horizons substantially. What I once dreaded with a kind of loathing, doesn’t really bother me; sometimes (as is especially the case with green tea), it’s something I’ve learned to savor. And yet, there’s something even more basic, which I find myself coming back to, and with which many of you are probably already familiar. I am talking, of course, about Ramen.
In the US, there is basically only one “kind” of ramen: the instand kind. Found in packets in supermarkets, they sport a limited variety of “flavors” (all of which seem to taste quite similar). I first encountered it some time during my childhood, and (reluctantly) made a regular meal of it during my college years. It’s popular not so much for being healthy (it’s not), or for how it tastes (not so good), but the fact that it can be purchased in bulk for cents per package. But for ramen in Japan, this couldn’t be farther from the truth. True ramen is best served fresh.
There’s nothing quite like walking around the streets of Osaka and coming upon a ramen shop. Ramen in Japan is generally served at specialist establishments, ranging from high-class restaurants to streetside, standing-only noodle stalls. Either way, the ingredients are fresh, and nothing is freeze-dried, pre-fried, or otherwise altered. Instead, what you have are the basic ingredients of a good, authentic ramen dish, which come in various configurations. For starters, you have a base broth that comes in a variety of flavors: the most basic is salt, but soy sauce, miso, and pork bone flavors are also found pretty much anywhere. The pork bone in particular is a heavy broth, formed by boiling pork bones for hours until the mixture becomes cloudy. (It’s not exactly good for you, but it tastes really, really good).
After that, you have the ramen noodles: a distinctive yellow color, they are dredged in boiling water only briefly before being added to the soup. Then you have a variety of vegetables, which vary depending on the season and the whim of the establishment, topped off by a few slices of barbequed pork (char siu). The result is something that really ought to be tasted firsthand to be appreciated, but as I think you can tell from this description, I’m quite fond of it.
What might surprise you even more, though, is that ramen didn’t start out as a Japanese food. In fact, it is still considered Chinese food in most parts of Japan, and is often referred to as “Chinese soba” (soba are buckwheat noodles), rather than the more Chinese-esque “ramen” (which means either “lo mein” or “pulled noodles”, depending on who you ask). As the story goes, the dish was originally brought over by Chinese who came to make a living in Japan, or by former Japanese soldiers repatriated after the War, with either group, in any case, going on to found a multitude of noodle shops based on the dish. Simply change up the ingredients a tad so as to suit Japanese tastes, and you have the ramen that is known in Japan today, every bit a Japanese original as it is a Chinese import. (As I understand it, Japanese-style ramen is generally considered Japanese food in China.) And it’s really hard to understate how much it pervades Japan now, where it seems like you’re bound to run into a ramen shop (or failing that, at least someplace that serves ramen among other things) without going more than a mile or so away. Whether it’s the attractive price, the convenience, or simply the taste that brings in customers, ramen shops really are everywhere.
Of course, I don’t mean to give you the impression that instant ramen doesn’t exist in Japan. It certainly does; in fact, it was invented here. The credit (or scorn) belongs to Momofuku Ando, a Taiwanese immigrant to Japan, who founded the Nissin Foods Corporation. In 1958, after much experimentation, he hit upon a way of flash-frying noodles to make them readily available for consumption in a “just-add-water” model. It didn’t take long for the noodles, as a major convenience food, to catch on, and soon after there were scores of imitators (perhaps most well-known to American consumers is Maruchan ramen). Thus began the path to the instant ramen so well known in American supermarkets.
In spite of this similarity, though, there are many different variations on instant noodles in Japan. They are getting closer to resembling fresh ramen in spirit, as well: usually it involves a prepackaged Styrofoam container where you just remove the lid, add water, and mix in the other ingredients when the package instructs you to do so. These instant varieties have also worked their way into the cultural fabric of Japanese society, and are readily used in fiction as a staple food of people who can’t cook, or haven’t been paid yet for the month (truth in television, as I can definitely attest). Even so, there really is no substitute for the real thing.
Real ramen, of course, is one of the many things I will miss when I eventually come back to the US. Having experienced the genuine article firsthand, it’s hard to go back to the instant kind without being reminded of something wholly superior. Nevertheless, should you ever find yourself in Japan, I definitely recommend that you check out a ramen shop and try authentic ramen for yourself. It’ll make a believer out of you. As for me, I can make a hobby of sampling the regional varieties, which seem to be more numerous than regions in Japan. This isn’t necessarily a problem, but there are just so many choices… it makes me want to try them all.
In the US, there is basically only one “kind” of ramen: the instand kind. Found in packets in supermarkets, they sport a limited variety of “flavors” (all of which seem to taste quite similar). I first encountered it some time during my childhood, and (reluctantly) made a regular meal of it during my college years. It’s popular not so much for being healthy (it’s not), or for how it tastes (not so good), but the fact that it can be purchased in bulk for cents per package. But for ramen in Japan, this couldn’t be farther from the truth. True ramen is best served fresh.
There’s nothing quite like walking around the streets of Osaka and coming upon a ramen shop. Ramen in Japan is generally served at specialist establishments, ranging from high-class restaurants to streetside, standing-only noodle stalls. Either way, the ingredients are fresh, and nothing is freeze-dried, pre-fried, or otherwise altered. Instead, what you have are the basic ingredients of a good, authentic ramen dish, which come in various configurations. For starters, you have a base broth that comes in a variety of flavors: the most basic is salt, but soy sauce, miso, and pork bone flavors are also found pretty much anywhere. The pork bone in particular is a heavy broth, formed by boiling pork bones for hours until the mixture becomes cloudy. (It’s not exactly good for you, but it tastes really, really good).
After that, you have the ramen noodles: a distinctive yellow color, they are dredged in boiling water only briefly before being added to the soup. Then you have a variety of vegetables, which vary depending on the season and the whim of the establishment, topped off by a few slices of barbequed pork (char siu). The result is something that really ought to be tasted firsthand to be appreciated, but as I think you can tell from this description, I’m quite fond of it.
What might surprise you even more, though, is that ramen didn’t start out as a Japanese food. In fact, it is still considered Chinese food in most parts of Japan, and is often referred to as “Chinese soba” (soba are buckwheat noodles), rather than the more Chinese-esque “ramen” (which means either “lo mein” or “pulled noodles”, depending on who you ask). As the story goes, the dish was originally brought over by Chinese who came to make a living in Japan, or by former Japanese soldiers repatriated after the War, with either group, in any case, going on to found a multitude of noodle shops based on the dish. Simply change up the ingredients a tad so as to suit Japanese tastes, and you have the ramen that is known in Japan today, every bit a Japanese original as it is a Chinese import. (As I understand it, Japanese-style ramen is generally considered Japanese food in China.) And it’s really hard to understate how much it pervades Japan now, where it seems like you’re bound to run into a ramen shop (or failing that, at least someplace that serves ramen among other things) without going more than a mile or so away. Whether it’s the attractive price, the convenience, or simply the taste that brings in customers, ramen shops really are everywhere.
Of course, I don’t mean to give you the impression that instant ramen doesn’t exist in Japan. It certainly does; in fact, it was invented here. The credit (or scorn) belongs to Momofuku Ando, a Taiwanese immigrant to Japan, who founded the Nissin Foods Corporation. In 1958, after much experimentation, he hit upon a way of flash-frying noodles to make them readily available for consumption in a “just-add-water” model. It didn’t take long for the noodles, as a major convenience food, to catch on, and soon after there were scores of imitators (perhaps most well-known to American consumers is Maruchan ramen). Thus began the path to the instant ramen so well known in American supermarkets.
In spite of this similarity, though, there are many different variations on instant noodles in Japan. They are getting closer to resembling fresh ramen in spirit, as well: usually it involves a prepackaged Styrofoam container where you just remove the lid, add water, and mix in the other ingredients when the package instructs you to do so. These instant varieties have also worked their way into the cultural fabric of Japanese society, and are readily used in fiction as a staple food of people who can’t cook, or haven’t been paid yet for the month (truth in television, as I can definitely attest). Even so, there really is no substitute for the real thing.
Real ramen, of course, is one of the many things I will miss when I eventually come back to the US. Having experienced the genuine article firsthand, it’s hard to go back to the instant kind without being reminded of something wholly superior. Nevertheless, should you ever find yourself in Japan, I definitely recommend that you check out a ramen shop and try authentic ramen for yourself. It’ll make a believer out of you. As for me, I can make a hobby of sampling the regional varieties, which seem to be more numerous than regions in Japan. This isn’t necessarily a problem, but there are just so many choices… it makes me want to try them all.
02 July 2008
Obama for Obama
Living in a foreign country does strange things to your perception of time. Not only does each place have its own particular pace of life, but the calendar looks completely different as well. For me, the academic year started back in April and the last major vacation time was the “Golden Week” holiday at the beginning of May. So, I was quite surprised to discover that the Fourth of July is almost here.
As you can imagine, Independence Day isn’t really a holiday in Japan. But since I am an American, I would be remiss if I let the Fourth go by without something topical, so today I’m going to talk about the upcoming elections back home. Well, sort of. I am keenly aware that politics is an especially thorny issue: it’s one of the “holy trinity” of subjects – along with religion and sports – that ought not to be brought up in polite company, lest it devolve into fisticuffs (or worse). But in spite of being out of the country, it’s a topic I can rarely avoid.
As an American living in Japan, I frequently get asked about the upcoming U.S. presidential election. U.S. policy toward Japan has changed little in the past few decades, regardless of the Administration in the White House. However, the person who is elected to the U.S. presidency can set the tone for the world economy, and the stance towards countries like North Korea, China, and Taiwan, has the potential to impact Japan greatly. Because of this, even among mere acquaintances, there is a keen interest in which candidate I support. In response, I’ve done my best to explain both my views and those of my compatriots, in spite of my severe deficit of working political vocabulary in Japanese. (Surprisingly enough, gestures do seem to work in communicating this sort of thing, if you’re inventive.)
It’s a particular challenge to convey the attitudes of my fellow countrymen towards the Democratic candidate, Illinois Senator Barack Obama, since he tends to inspire a passionate, emotional response either for or against him. His most ardent supporters have done major grassroots organizing for him without even being invited to do so, treat him rather like a rock star, hold parties during his speeches, and so on. I may be able to get the basics of both candidates’ policies across in Japanese, but charisma is something that’s tough to translate into words at the best of times, let alone when you’re doing so for a foreign audience.
I can’t really blame the people around me for not grasping the emotional aspect of the election, though. Japan, being a separate country, is detached from the Presidential race and the passions it has inspired both for and against each candidate back home. But even so, there is one place that is unabashedly and wholeheartedly supporting Barack Obama. In fact, it’s not a stretch to say that they absolutely adore him. And it isn’t hard to see why, seeing as how the place I’m referring to is also called Obama.
Obama (meaning “little beach”), a city of 32,000, is two hundred fifty miles northwest of Tokyo. (In train terms, that’s about four hours northeast of me, with three transfers minimum.) It has a long and storied past: situated on the Sea of Japan, it has been around for at least the entire length of Japanese recorded history, and was the entry point of much Continental Asian culture, including Buddhism and the Chinese writing system. The religion, language and culture that first arrived in Obama spread throughout the country, forming the basis of the first centralized Japanese government during the Heian period some 1200 years ago. Its preponderance of ancient temples and heavy Chinese influence have also earned it the nickname of “Nara by the sea”, after the more famous inland city. The city of Obama was also a regional center of government, first as the capital of Wakasa Province, and later as the seat of the Obama Fiefdom during the Edo period. So, the city is actually pretty well-known in Japan already. But then, two years ago, they began an association with an American bearing an all-too-familiar name.
Barack Obama himself is not connected in any way to Japan. His father was born in Kenya, and while he spent parts of his childhood in Hawaii and Indonesia, that’s as close as he got. But when he came to Japan as a US Senator, he encountered a customs official from Obama the city, and noted it in a TV interview. Word reached town, and the mayor’s office sent him a pair of the town’s famous lacquered chopsticks and a letter of support. Then, Obama the politician announced his candidacy for US President, and what started as an amusing linguistic accident turned into a case of full-blown Obama Fever.
During the state primary elections earlier this year, local business owners in Obama started organizing impromptu “let’s-root-for-Obama” parties on the dates of contests, and “Go Obama” posters, “I Love Obama” t-shirts, and even snacks bearing the Senator’s likeness became ubiquitous there. Senator Obama, for his part, seems to be keeping a sense of humor about the situation, though his actions have only further fanned the flames. Once he found out about the craze, he sent them a thank-you letter, even calling them a “nice town” in an interview. This recognition had the predictable result of making the place even crazier about him.
Now that Obama the politician has become one of the two main opponents in the US national elections, I can only imagine that the city’s Obamania will grow to even more ridiculous levels. But you do have to wonder: sure, they’re treating him like a hometown candidate and the city’s Favorite Son, but not only is the shared name just a coincidence, the residents of Obama won’t be voting in the US election (being Japanese citizens, and all). This makes the whole thing patently absurd, and yet the enthusiasm is infectious. You can bet that if he wins, the city will be downright proud of “their” President. And that’s why there’s at least one place here in Japan whose inhabitants can safely say they’ve thrown their entire support behind Barack Obama in ’08.
(In fairness to the other presidential candidate, there simply aren’t any Japanese cities whose names sound even remotely similar to “McCain”. Sorry, Senator…)
As you can imagine, Independence Day isn’t really a holiday in Japan. But since I am an American, I would be remiss if I let the Fourth go by without something topical, so today I’m going to talk about the upcoming elections back home. Well, sort of. I am keenly aware that politics is an especially thorny issue: it’s one of the “holy trinity” of subjects – along with religion and sports – that ought not to be brought up in polite company, lest it devolve into fisticuffs (or worse). But in spite of being out of the country, it’s a topic I can rarely avoid.
As an American living in Japan, I frequently get asked about the upcoming U.S. presidential election. U.S. policy toward Japan has changed little in the past few decades, regardless of the Administration in the White House. However, the person who is elected to the U.S. presidency can set the tone for the world economy, and the stance towards countries like North Korea, China, and Taiwan, has the potential to impact Japan greatly. Because of this, even among mere acquaintances, there is a keen interest in which candidate I support. In response, I’ve done my best to explain both my views and those of my compatriots, in spite of my severe deficit of working political vocabulary in Japanese. (Surprisingly enough, gestures do seem to work in communicating this sort of thing, if you’re inventive.)
It’s a particular challenge to convey the attitudes of my fellow countrymen towards the Democratic candidate, Illinois Senator Barack Obama, since he tends to inspire a passionate, emotional response either for or against him. His most ardent supporters have done major grassroots organizing for him without even being invited to do so, treat him rather like a rock star, hold parties during his speeches, and so on. I may be able to get the basics of both candidates’ policies across in Japanese, but charisma is something that’s tough to translate into words at the best of times, let alone when you’re doing so for a foreign audience.
I can’t really blame the people around me for not grasping the emotional aspect of the election, though. Japan, being a separate country, is detached from the Presidential race and the passions it has inspired both for and against each candidate back home. But even so, there is one place that is unabashedly and wholeheartedly supporting Barack Obama. In fact, it’s not a stretch to say that they absolutely adore him. And it isn’t hard to see why, seeing as how the place I’m referring to is also called Obama.
Obama (meaning “little beach”), a city of 32,000, is two hundred fifty miles northwest of Tokyo. (In train terms, that’s about four hours northeast of me, with three transfers minimum.) It has a long and storied past: situated on the Sea of Japan, it has been around for at least the entire length of Japanese recorded history, and was the entry point of much Continental Asian culture, including Buddhism and the Chinese writing system. The religion, language and culture that first arrived in Obama spread throughout the country, forming the basis of the first centralized Japanese government during the Heian period some 1200 years ago. Its preponderance of ancient temples and heavy Chinese influence have also earned it the nickname of “Nara by the sea”, after the more famous inland city. The city of Obama was also a regional center of government, first as the capital of Wakasa Province, and later as the seat of the Obama Fiefdom during the Edo period. So, the city is actually pretty well-known in Japan already. But then, two years ago, they began an association with an American bearing an all-too-familiar name.
Barack Obama himself is not connected in any way to Japan. His father was born in Kenya, and while he spent parts of his childhood in Hawaii and Indonesia, that’s as close as he got. But when he came to Japan as a US Senator, he encountered a customs official from Obama the city, and noted it in a TV interview. Word reached town, and the mayor’s office sent him a pair of the town’s famous lacquered chopsticks and a letter of support. Then, Obama the politician announced his candidacy for US President, and what started as an amusing linguistic accident turned into a case of full-blown Obama Fever.
During the state primary elections earlier this year, local business owners in Obama started organizing impromptu “let’s-root-for-Obama” parties on the dates of contests, and “Go Obama” posters, “I Love Obama” t-shirts, and even snacks bearing the Senator’s likeness became ubiquitous there. Senator Obama, for his part, seems to be keeping a sense of humor about the situation, though his actions have only further fanned the flames. Once he found out about the craze, he sent them a thank-you letter, even calling them a “nice town” in an interview. This recognition had the predictable result of making the place even crazier about him.
Now that Obama the politician has become one of the two main opponents in the US national elections, I can only imagine that the city’s Obamania will grow to even more ridiculous levels. But you do have to wonder: sure, they’re treating him like a hometown candidate and the city’s Favorite Son, but not only is the shared name just a coincidence, the residents of Obama won’t be voting in the US election (being Japanese citizens, and all). This makes the whole thing patently absurd, and yet the enthusiasm is infectious. You can bet that if he wins, the city will be downright proud of “their” President. And that’s why there’s at least one place here in Japan whose inhabitants can safely say they’ve thrown their entire support behind Barack Obama in ’08.
(In fairness to the other presidential candidate, there simply aren’t any Japanese cities whose names sound even remotely similar to “McCain”. Sorry, Senator…)
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