Pot Without Season

Posted on 26/02/2015 by Luke

The local elections are approaching, and this can only mean one thing: megaphones. It seems that in Japan, the person who can shout the loudest and for the longest time is most likely to receive the most votes during a successful election campaign. I’ve come to know this because, for the past three days, I have been rudely awakened by the sound of a man shouting ‘hello’ and repeating his own name over and over again.

Today, the man has decided to park his election truck outside my apartment. For ten minutes, he offers no information regarding his policy, no broken promises, or any reason to vote for him, other than his own name. Someone once told me that the reason for this shouting is to annoy younger voters, causing them to hate politics. Japan, with a larger number of elderly voters than young ones, makes me think that there might be some truth in these words.

With a splitting headache, I decide the best thing to do today is to head to a park and relax, away from the shouting and the megaphones. I take my bicycle and cycle through Asakusa toward Ueno Park. Somehow, on Kappabashi Street, the man who was outside my house just twenty minutes previously has decided to park directly on my route to Ueno. It’s as though he’s following me, tormenting me. I need to escape this noise.

Japan is often described as a country of four definite seasons, or so a popular guidebook tells me. However, this doesn’t seem to be the case. This week has seen a day of snow, a day so full of rain that even an umbrella couldn’t protect me, and today, a day that is unusually warm. So warm, in fact, that as I enter Ueno Park, a wash of green leaves surrounds me, and standing out among the sea of green is a single tree adorned with white and pink blossoms.

Cherry blossom season isn’t scheduled to begin for another month, yet one tree seems to have been confused by the recent strange weather, blossoming a month early. When I was told that every year, Japanese people go to the park or the river and take part in a festival known as ‘hanami’ (literally translating to mean ‘flower viewing’), I couldn’t really understand the appeal. Now, I am beginning to recognise the evanescent beauty of these flowers and the reasoning behind this spring festival.

I stand admiring the cherry blossom tree for a while before deciding that it’s warm enough for me to do one of my favourite things—exploring. I head in the direction of Kita Ward, a Tokyo ward without the annoying election campaign. Nishigahara is the area in this city that stands out for me. I spot a huge torii gate and a distant shrine, so I decide to investigate.

Nanasha Shrine was constructed to safeguard crucial documents related to the Age of Gods, recounting the mythology of how Japan was formed. Regrettably, in 1793, a fire engulfed these documents, conveniently erasing all evidence suggesting that Japan was created by mystical deities. Even a sign written in Japanese at the shrine’s entrance acknowledges the uncertainty, stating, ‘We can’t even be certain if the mythology is true, as the most important documents ever written were lost to fire.’

I continue exploring the Nishigahara area and stumble upon a vast park. Takinogawa Park boasts rock climbing facilities, an abundance of children playing football, and a dried-up pond that supposedly features a waterfall; the only element missing is the water. The park also showcases a very intriguing statue at its entrance, which, at first, I mistook for a misshaped tree.

Hidden on a side path, there’s an ornamental display containing a rather old-looking piece of pottery. The pot is from the Yayoi period—an Iron Age era that began around 300 BC and lasted approximately six hundred years. These lightly decorated pots were the first in Japan to be made using a potter’s wheel; before this, all pots in Japan were crafted by hand.

I’m not sure why such a pot is on display in this small park in Nishigahara, or why it isn’t resting somewhere in a museum—protected from rain, theft, and stray footballs. Regardless, it does look rather nice. Even though it serves as an overlooked reminder of Yayoi Pottery and a memory of a distant past, I somehow enjoy its presence.

A nearby sign states, ‘It may suggest that there was a place of ancient life in you,’ albeit, the sign is nowhere near the pot. Presumably, the sign is referring to the pottery, although this is simply my guess; I can see nothing else near the sign that could possibly relate to an ancient life in me. I note down the text on the sign before deciding that I’ve had enough of parks for one day. I turn around and cycle back in the direction of Asakusa.

On my way home, I make a brief stop for a sandwich outside Oku Station. Across from the station, I notice the strangest named hair salon I’ve seen in a while. Presumably, for the low cost of ¥1500, I can have my brains cut out. Even with my terrific megaphonic headache, the thought of my brains being severed by scissors is far too much to deal with right now.

Brains intact, I arrive in Asakusa and find myself cycling down Orange Street. Despite taking this route many times this month, I hadn’t previously noticed that this street is lined on either side with bright, colorful Christmas trees. Perhaps they are a recent addition to Orange Street, but I will never know for sure. It feels to me that in Tokyo, all of the seasons have become blurred into one giant mess of time. I don’t even know whether today is Christmas Day, the middle of spring, or 300 BC.

The Age of the Gods

Posted on 11/02/2015 by Luke

Today is National Foundation Day, the day that Emperor Jimmu was declared the very first Emperor of Japan, 2675 years ago. This marked a transitional period in the country’s history, ending what was known then as the Age of the Gods. It is often believed that before the accession of Emperor Jimmu, Japan was founded in an entirely different way.

It was once widely believed that the universe was engulfed in a chaos of sorts. The sound of particles moving around in a ball of confusion somehow created light. This light sat above the universe for a long time. Eventually, the particles began to fall, creating a blanket of clouds. From the clouds, five gods known collectively by the name Kotoamatsukami appeared from seemingly nowhere.

The five gods decided to cast four single droplets of water onto the oceans that formed on the planet below. Miraculously, these four drops materialised into huge land masses that are recognised today as the four main islands of the archipelago known as Japan.

I take to the Sumida River to look at the sunshine and the clouds and think about the formation of the universe. The story of Japanese creation seems to completely exclude the genesis of all the other landmasses on the planet, but oddly, the theory is still believed today by some Japanese people. With no celebrations at all taking place, I decide to follow the path of the river in a new direction and end up in the area of Hashiba.

Hashiba is somewhat unusual. The first thing that strikes me is that there are no maps, no places of interest, and no tourists. Just plenty of graffiti. It always surprises me to see graffiti in Japan, something I had almost forgotten existed until today. The Hashiba area is connected to the river and was once used as a ferry terminal. A floating bridge existed here too, some time ago. Before that, this area was covered in overgrown fields.

An older Japanese person I met with told me that he remembers coming here as a child to catch dragonflies and play in the long grass. The only sense of nature here now is the piles of dirt mixed with rubble, forgotten about and never removed.

In this area, watching over the mounds of trash and the graffiti, sit election posters for the Komeito Political Party. The party was founded by members of the Nichiren sect of Buddhism and therefore does the unpopular act of mixing both politics with religion. I am not sure anyone is here to help Hashiba, though—a place that seems incredibly run down and feels almost absent of potential change.

I decide to remain positive, to try to discover the good things about the area. Mixed amongst the negativity sits Hogenji Temple—a rather beautiful place with an old well, many stone statues, and a cemetery. For whatever reason, the grounds of the temple are filled with the sound of a loud chainsaw, disturbing the silence and further adding to my gloom-ridden impression of the area.

Desperately trying to find a redeeming factor, I continue to explore. I wander around for a while until I eventually find a sign written in English. The sign is provided by the Tokyo Metropolitan Board of Education, which is usually a good indication that something important might be here. Finally, a point of interest. Finally, something to see.

What looks like another temple turns out to be a tomb. The tomb comes complete with its own nature in the form of beautiful trees and a huge aviary. As if deliberately trying to add to the contrast, the tomb also includes a basketball court.

I discover that this is the final resting place of Ando Toya, a famous Confucian scholar. He was known for his time spent studying the Chinese language and teaching it to the people of Japan. He once said about the Chinese language, “It sounds like the chirping of birds. I can write, but when I open my mouth, I truly cannot speak.” This doesn’t quite explain the need for a basketball court here, but it does perhaps explain the aviary.

I stand in the grounds of Ando Toya’s tomb, staring in silence at the birds for almost a full hour.

The beautiful sparrows chirp in their hundreds. The echoing of those words spoken by Ando Toya flows around my head. It makes me wonder if the birds are secretly trying to communicate with me in Chinese. Maybe they are.

A Mime to Kill (With Beans)

Posted on 02/02/2015 by Luke

The snow came and went faster than a fleeting thought on a cold February morning. Despite the chill, a very famous festival is set to take place across Japan in two days’ time, known as Setsubun. The festival involves throwing roasted beans at demons and marks the penultimate day of winter, according to the Japanese lunar calendar. However, it doesn’t feel like spring is coming anytime soon; outside, it is cold, and patches of frozen white snow cover the city of Tokyo. Perhaps it will stay this way for another two months, or perhaps the unpredictability of Japanese weather will strike again.

The bean-throwing festival will be taking place at most of the temples and shrines in Japan. However, I have decided not to attend. Instead, a group of performing artists, some of whom have been featured in my previous posts, and a couple of whom I have randomly become friends with, are celebrating Setsubun in a very different way—with comedy, clowns, and plenty of balloons.

I arrive just as the event starts. It begins with a man dressed as a ninja performing tricks. He jumps over chairs, stacks some chairs, balances on chairs (his performance very much focused on seating), before being randomly attacked by a man wearing a sheep costume. The sheep man throws a single bean at the ninja; he overreacts in a classic comedy style before falling over and playing dead for the remainder of the proceedings. The sheep man has a costume made up entirely of balloons, the handiwork of my balloon artist friend, no doubt.

After the ninja fight, two demons emerge. One is dressed in white, presumably to represent good, and the other is dressed in black. The demon in black wears a target on his back, seems far too happy for an evil spirit, and appears to be enjoying standing around on his high stilts, smiling at everyone.

Suddenly, the attention shifts to a group of clowns standing on a balcony above a pachinko parlour. They start shouting in Japanese using megaphones. After exchanges are made between the clowns and demons that I can’t quite comprehend, people in the audience begin to laugh, a lot. An elderly woman on a bicycle with an impossible number of shopping bags sighs as she tries to weave through the crowds. I might just add, this whole festival is taking place on a busy shopping street and is perhaps causing a little too much chaos for some of the locals who just want to get to where they need to be.

After the shouting, all hell breaks loose. Paper bags are dropped from the sky by clowns in their thousands. Children and adults alike scramble to collect them from the floor. I raise my arm and catch one in mid-air. Everyone is rushing around, trying to salvage one of the decorated paper pouches. People are crashing into each other, forgetting about the safety of others. Regardless of the carnage, it’s actually a lot of fun.

The pouch I caught predictably contains roasted beans. After a while, everyone goes silent before a chant occurs. Following the chant, people start pouring beans into their hands and throwing them as hard as they can at the demon. His smile is quickly wiped from his face by roasted beans.

As I run out of beans, a little girl walks over to me and smiles. She takes my hand and pours beans into my palm. “Quickly! Throw!” she says before giggling off and returning to her parents. Eventually, everyone runs out of ammunition, and the event draws to a close. As people start to leave, the floor becomes a hunting ground for hungry pigeons. A man with a megaphone starts shouting at the birds, and they eventually fly away. The last thing that happens is all of the performers, clowns, demons, and mimes begin to clean the streets.

Something about seeing a mime hard at work sweeping the streets fills me with a sense of disappointment. It kind of spoils the character and takes away from the magic. I offer to help sweep using one of the many brushes, but I am shooed away, just like the pigeons.

I still have some of the afternoon to kill, so I head over to Senso-ji. It is the weekend, and there is usually something taking place around the temple. Sure enough, I find a street market, the usual man with his performing monkey doing some tricks, and strangely, for the first time ever, the temples and shrines in the complex are each holding some sort of service. I head into the main hall of Senso-ji Temple, and although it is very difficult to get close enough, I manage to sneak a quick photograph before being told once again to move on.

With nothing much else to do, and Asakusa now mostly quiet, I head home to eat some demon-killing beans.

A Handful of Salt

Posted on 12/01/2015 by Luke

Sometimes in Japan (and the same can be said for life in general), I have absolutely no idea what is going on. Today, a red carpet has been placed in the middle of a busy road. Not only does this carpet obstruct many motorists who drive down here every day, but it actually stretches the entire length of Kappabashi Street – and Kappabashi Street is a very long street indeed. Is the head of state making a surprise visit? Is some type of awards ceremony about to take place, perhaps? Or is there no reason at all for this vermilion impediment? Only time can provide the answer.

For the last few months, I have been trying my hand at a little private English conversation practice with just one student—a 71-year-old Japanese man who has lived in Asakusa all his life. With a keen interest in food and Japanese history, he has provided me with an endless source of knowledge about post-war Japan and the changing attitudes amongst Japanese people. I enjoy teaching him, and our conversations often cover an array of topics, such as Bonseki, China Syndrome, and foods I’ve never heard of before in my life. Today, we are heading out to try such a food.

He drives us across Tokyo to Yotsuya. On the way, he starts a conversation with the dashboard of his Toyota, instantly reminding me of something from a science-fiction movie. In Yotsuya, we visit a shop called Ariakeya. The shop specialises in selling just one dish—a Japanese delight known as ‘tsukudani’.

If I were to ask anyone to name three foods associated with Japan, tsukudani probably wouldn’t even get a mention; and, if I’m completely honest, I had never heard of it until last week. Tsukudani most commonly involves seaweed, meat, or fish (often pond fish) that has been simmered in soy sauce and mirin. It can be eaten up to a year after it is made. Many years ago, this was a staple food in Japan, but due to its high salt content, it has become somewhat less popular, with concerns about salt being bad for health and such.

The woman in the shop is very pleasant and can speak excellent English; she has even prepared an English menu for me in anticipation of my arrival. I am offered samples of various dishes before settling on my favourite, Maguro—cubes of tuna. Soft, but surprisingly chewy at the same time, the outside is extremely salty but very sweet. The middle offers a dryness that you would expect from marinated cubes of cooked tuna. Overall, the fish is pleasantly moreish.

As we leave the shop, I notice a small tray of salt outside the entrance to a restaurant, guarded by a shisa—an Okinawan dragon. Curious about the purpose of this salt display, I ask my student. In his usual enthusiastic way, he explains to me that many years ago, the Emperor of China lived in a Palace so big that the only way he could get anywhere fast was to ride around on the back of a bull. Inside the Palace, the Emperor had three thousand women, each in separate rooms. Every night, the Emperor would tour the Palace on the back of his faithful bull and decide which woman he would spend the night with.

The women knew that the Emperor rode around on a male cow; I mean, everyone knew, it was hardly a secret. The women were all desperate to marry the Emperor, for the wealth and status they would receive if such a ceremony occurred. Finally being freed from their solitary rooms in the Palace was often considered a secondary incentive. Somehow, the women discovered that the bull liked eating salt, so every night, they would place saucers of salt outside their rooms. The bull would smell the salt, stop to eat, and hopefully, the Emperor would choose that room to spend the night. Somehow, this tradition of salt piles outside of rooms came over to Japan, and salt is now placed outside many restaurants. Bulls represent customers, or so the custom goes. The story made me wonder if the idiom ‘Like a bull in a china shop’ took any of its origin from the same story, but before I have time to ask, we are back in Asakusa, and I have a red carpet to inspect.

Back at Kappabashi Street, some women are singing in front of a man that I think is supposed to be a clown. Eventually, though, answers come, and the reason for the whole street being closed off becomes apparent.

A kappa (or at least a man dressed as one) follows the red carpet, walking the length of Kappabashi Street. The kappa stops intermittently to wave at the passing crowd, walking alongside an old woman carrying a scroll, and has a big red heart painted on its back. I have no idea why. No idea about any of this.

Back at home, I dine on my neatly wrapped packet of tuna cubes, which cost ¥432. Tsukudani is usually enjoyed with rice, but I will snack on this salty-sweet tuna as it is. Unfortunately, this type of food is not too pleasing on the eye; it might look like something you would serve to a domestic animal or a bull, but its taste suggests that this might be a bit of a waste. The tuna is, in fact, delicious and perhaps one of the best foods I have tried in months. The only problem, again, is the high salt content, but that shouldn’t put you off trying it at least once.

I seldom place links to other websites, but I genuinely enjoyed the food from Ariakeya, and they were very nice to me, so here is their shop:

http://www.ariakeya.com/

Wheel of Misfortune

Posted on 09/01/2015 by Luke

Today is the day that I finish my pilgrimage. One temple, one shrine, and the final two gods. I start off in the direction of Uguisudani. My previous attempt to find Motomishima Shrine here was marred by the fact that this area is a massive red-light district and couldn’t possibly be the location of a sacred shrine. Once again, as I stumble through alleyways of neon, I see no signs of a god; just prostitutes leaving hotels with presumably married Japanese men.

Eventually, I leave the area to find wireless Internet, stolen as always from a nearby Seven Eleven. I punch the name of the shrine into my GPS and am redirected to the same area I had previously wandered. It is an unusual location for a shrine, an area littered with over seventy love hotels, but somehow I find it sandwiched between Hotel Exe and Hotel Foxy.

Motomishima Shrine is home to Jurojin, the god of longevity. This deity is always accompanied by a wild deer, believed to symbolise long life. It is said that Jurojin shares the same body as another of the Seven Gods of Fortune, Fukurokuju, which, if you ask me, is a rather unfortunate fate.

It is fair to say that to reach this shrine, I had to jump through hoops. Inside, I walk through a hoop to reach the stone steps that lead to the god. Here, I pay my respects with a deep bow before taking my fortune for the last time this month, at a cost of ¥200. With all these fortune readings, it’s a surprise that I have any money left. Not to worry, though—I have a frog in my wallet, so all is well.

“Whoever caught this fortune, please read. Further increases the happiness if familiar, money will come to the body when you strive daily and today. We are been obtained by loss. Performing without effort for others is within the range of possibility, always! Rather than hit the thing with the one person that you are waiting for, poor is a small problem, this time. You do not have to worry only for those who carried out jointly because the immediate profit will go up with your results. If you move a large bowl, results should come out.

“Whatever you do for other people, always take action for things in the future. Make yourself aware. Concentrate at the entrance; are you aware of the limits of their fitness? Also, the energy from long illness in the future will see recovery gradually. Concentration will add enhancement, especially to enhance the energy. No effort should not be in vain. Come back to be sure of the joy of tomorrow.”

Confused as to what all this means, I leave the red-light district and head over to Hoshoji Temple.

Bishamonten stands guard here, carrying a scroll. Traditionally, he is the god of warriors and war, depicted with a spear and dressed in armour. However, the statue here deviates from the expected representation. Unfortunately, it is the only photograph I have of this temple, and I am certain I am in the right place. There are no signs of other statues of gods here, leaving me with no idea about the identity of this scroll-wielding warrior—most likely Shonin or someone else. No English signs, nothing else to guide me.

With all this good fortune flowing through my veins and having completed the pilgrimage of the Seven Gods of Fortune, one would expect that I’d actually receive some fortune. In reality, the opposite has occurred. Over the last few days, I have felt like a ghost, floating through life, completely devoid of any sense of belonging. Perhaps this is just a phase. A changing of the tides could erase all that I feel at this moment, and hopefully, that will happen. Maybe I should just move a large bowl. Right now, though, I am tired of walking around temples and shrines; it fills me with this strange empty feeling that is difficult to explain.

I wander back to Asakusa and am instantly drawn in by the flashing lights of a strange vending machine.

The machine costs just ¥100 and offers a chance to win excellent prizes. It’s called ‘Pocket Lifter,’ and presumably, it lifts money from my pocket by tricking me into thinking I can win one of the luxury prizes. Hidden behind its polished glass front are some trading cards, two Louis Vuitton purses, and tickets to Hanayashiki Amusement Park—the oldest amusement park in Japan. Despite seeing this park every day in Asakusa, I have yet to make the visit. However, Hanayashiki might have to wait a little while longer, as I am still somewhat traumatised by my recent visit to Tokyo Disneyland.

The machine says, ‘One-two-three-four-GET!’ Winning is as easy as counting. One of the Louis Vuitton purses can be won and sold for ¥8000 at a nearby shop, conveniently listed next to the prize—a gambling loophole once again exposed. Above the prizes, a wheel with bright flashing lights beckons, ‘Let’s Challenge!!’ How could I possibly resist? Keenly, I insert a ¥100 coin. ‘Thank you,’ the machine says as it swallows my money. The wheel spins and lands on the number one. The prize shelf moves up a fraction of an inch, then nothing happens. For a limited time only, I can get three tries for my money. I repeat the button-pressing process twice, and disappointment reoccurs twice more. No prizes, no amusement, no amusement park—just more bad fortune. Thanks, pilgrimage.

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