On Christmas Day, having seen the Broadway musical Avenue Q at Tokyo International Forum, my partner and I walked to Asakusa to kill time before our turkey dinner reservation. Turkey is near-impossible to find in Japan, even at Christmas, so we were content with a 9:00pm seating. For a great post on Christmas in Japan and why KFC is so important, check out This Japanese Life.
Otherwise, enjoy the photos.
Photographs from the streets of Tokyo and Asakusa after the jump!
You might have noticed this blog has been silent recently. I just came back from Britain but didn’t want to publicise my absence. Back at work, I put together a presentation of some of my photos for the kids I teach, but often the reaction was not what I expected.
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I thought the Hollywood depiction of Scotland was sufficiently widespread (Braveheart, Highlander, Groundskeeper Willie) that children might recognise the national dress. Instead they looked at the photograph blankly and asked if he was a man or a woman. The teacher stepped forward and I presumed he was going to help me out. He then explained how, in Scotland, the men wear skirts.
The best suggestion regarding the bagpipes was that they were some kind of pistol. |
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This cow was confusing. Many kids (10/11 year-olds) just plain didn’t know what it was, not even in Japanese and with prompting from their homeroom teacher. |
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Most kids knew this was a type of owl (although not the English word for it), but many of them shouted out ‘ikemen!’
Ikemen means something like ‘cool face’ and refers to cute guys you wanna DO something to, but are too young or “too old” to understand what that might be. It’s like when your mum says Harrison Ford is “easy on the eyes.” Instead of praising their hot bodies, you try to focus on their exuberance. So why is an eagle owl an ‘ikemen’? I can only guess it’s something to do with the big eyes, but otherwise it’s a mystery. |
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One class started laughing when this photo came up. The Japanese teacher was puzzled too and asked what was strange about it. The reply? “It looks like Thomas The Tank Engine!” |
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Clockwise: peas, black pudding, clapshot (turnip and potato mash from Orkney), haggis and sausages. I had another slide showing the ingredients of haggis, but it was black pudding that intrigued classes the most.
In Japan, there’s no real concept of ‘pudding’ as a ‘heavy cake-like dessert’ let alone older definitions under which Yorkshire pudding and black pudding exist. What we have in Japan is purin, which refers only to a light custard dessert. To imagine this made of pigs’ blood is a delight to a certain type of child. |
When Nova went bankrupt, my partner and I managed to rescue an entire binliner of tiny packets of tissues with advertisements featuring the Nova bunny inside them. This was great as we’d been left without money to buy luxuries like toilet paper.
Packets of tissues with fliers advertising local businesses are often handed out around train stations and busy shopping streets in Japan. As a foreigner (specifically, a Caucasian otaku goth who has never seen daylight), I get ignored much of the time though. The people handing them out suddenly have to rummage around for more tissues or fliers. Or they dash across to a potential customer further away, hoping I’ll have walked on by the time they’re back in position. Of course, no one owes me free tissues, but I don’t owe them my business either. I remember their names.
Free samples are even harder to get. I’ve been refused everything from green tea to tiny packets of ramen. Doesn’t matter, just narrows down my choices when I choose from their competitors’ brands.
Conversely, I remember the advertisers who don’t look away when I walk past.
Yesterday, I was picking up some stuff in Seiyu (literally the Walmart of Japan), when a saleswoman smiled at me and — without my asking — handed me a free sample of lotion which I immediately stashed in my bag. As I got to the next escalator, a saleswoman from the same company attempted to hand me another one. I was amazed at their dedication and vowed to pay attention to whatever they were selling.
When I got home, I was able to look more closely at what they’d given me… Skin-whitening cream.
A post on What Japan Thinks dared to ask whether cherry blossoms are overrated.
My memory of cherry blossom in England is quite different from those created in Japan. I remember being in St. James Park and my parents asking me if the tree next to us was sakura, as they knew I was “into Japanese culture” (as we anime fans like to put it). It had the distinctive pale pink petals, but it didn’t seem special.
Fast-forward to one of my first trips to Japan, which coincided with spring. I was fascinated by the various photoshoots for advertisements that were going on around Ueno Park, with the photographers holding up big silver foil plates to reflect the light. More importantly, they were gathering up the petals so they could scatter them over the model and in front of the lens. Yes, I was fascinated by the lies being created as I watched. The blossoms didn’t make a big impact though.
Spring in Japan has a place usually occupied by summer in Western countries which follow the September-August school year. For many of us who attended school in these countries, long summer days are linked to nostalgia, saying goodbye to friends and growing up. In Japan, where the school year runs from April to March, the memories of ‘our last time together’ are centred around the beginning of spring. The fleeting nature of the blossoms combines with the bittersweet memories of school entrance and graduation ceremonies.
Sakura are a timebomb. All this time you’ve been walking past a perfectly nondescript tree then — suddenly — they explode into white-pink fluffiness. The sheer volume of petals changes the scenery entirely and makes Japan look like a new world. That brings us to why cherry blossom in Japan is better than in England. It’s all in the planning. Throughout the year, Japanese streets are lined with millions of ordinary-looking trees just waiting to hulk out and become something extraordinary. The effect of these trees en masse, unlike the handful of trees back in England, is amazing.
You might be able to tell what side of the argument I come down by now. There is certainly a dark side to cherry blossoms which comes in the form of hanami (holding a party underneath the trees). This often involves compulsory drinking, dealing with crowds and piles of rubbish, but should be considered separately from the beauty of sakura. Have a look at some more of my photos below (click to enlarge) or check out some blog posts I liked on the subject.
Blog posts:
Flower Power Hanami-Style at JapaneseCultureGoNow! (A more pop culture take on cherry blossoms)
Hanami in Yokohama at Going Loco in Yokohama (Cherry blossom amidst European-style architecture in Yokohama)
Inokashira Creepy at A Canadian’s Adventures in Tokyo (Cherry blossom lit up at night)
Ah, sakura season. You cross a bridge at twilight and pause halfway to see trees heaving with cherry blossoms trailing their branches in the water from beside the riverbank. Breathing in the night air, you quietly take a picture, marvelling at how lucky you were to chance upon such a night view…
Like hell it’s like that! No, it’s all piles of trash and people spreading their blue tarpaulins all over the park and impatient photographers tying to get the best shot.
When I took two of the photos below, I was surrounded by people with all kinds of camera, from basic to pro. Everyone had their finger on the button, waiting for the staff from the boathouse to row out to the centre of the lake and bring in two kids in a pedal-boat who’d lost track of time. You see, just ten minutes before, the entire area in Inokashira Park (Kichijouji) was filled with people riding paddle-powered plastic ducks around.
The minute they got those kids far enough out of the frame, all the cameras went off and we could take home our picture-perfect photo of a quiet lake in Japan, surrounded by sakura.
The cherry blossom forecasts say that the sakura will be in full bloom on April 3rd (Saturday). You might also enjoy my post on plum blossoms (and cultists), which have already bloomed this year.
About three years ago, I was working as an ALT in a junior high school. I was halfway through my school lunch in the staffroom when the science teacher, who also coached the tennis team, sat down beside me.
“Sensei,” he began, for he was speaking Japanese, “You don’t eat whale in the UK, do you?”
“No we don’t.”
He pointed at an empty compartment of my tray. “How was it?”
To our left, two younger, female teachers nodded their heads in unison and pushed their trays away with uneaten meat on it. Across the table, another teacher did the same. This was unprecedented, as Japanese teachers often try to set a good example by eating all their food, even if there are no children around to see it.
I returned my tray and chopsticks to the metal trolley and checked the lunch menu pinned to the teacher’s notice board. I vaguely remembered expecting some kind of fish that day. However, I saw a handful of stray fliers promoting today’s lunch first. It had the name of the animal in kanji and a guide for pronunciation written over the top. The text, loosely translated, read, “A whale is a large animal, so you can take a big serving!” It was accompanied by a cute anime-style picture of a smiling whale.
Apparently, they were expecting dissent.
I realised my mistake immediately. Even within sushi bars where you can find all kinds of semi-obscure kanji for fish, ‘whale’ is frequently written out phonetically. If presented solely with the kanji, it’s a reasonable bet (for a non-native speaker) that it’s a type of fish as it includes another kanji which means ‘fish’.
The reaction of the teachers in the junior high was markedly different from those teaching in many of my elementary schools. These teachers were clearly enjoying it and sighing about how it took them back to their school days. I actually have a great deal of sympathy for people whose childhood food is being restricted and declared morally wrong, but it’s interesting that a deliberate attempt to instill the same sense of nostalgia in the next generation is being made.
I went to view plum blossom in a light snowstorm today. While staring at the map near the park entrance, an older Japanese woman approached me.
“Do you speak Japanese?” she asked. “And which country are you from?”
Both are standard opening questions in Japan. Only a little, I told her. And I’m from Britain.
“Well, would you give me the pleasure of praying over there with me?” she continued in Japanese.
I have never been able to refuse middle-aged Japanese ladies. No one has.
We walked over to some filthy benches near a bank of vending machines. She laid down a Burberry handkerchief for me to sit on. “Burberry is from Britain!” she beamed. “Now, let’s pray. Close your eyes and keep repeating ‘Hallelujah’.”
I was born and raised in London. Whenever someone asks you to close your eyes and start praying, you expect their accomplice to appear seconds later armed with a knife.
“Close your eyes,” she insisted.
I pretended to comply and kept one eye open to watch for danger while I also listened for the sound of footsteps behind me. All I could hear were two teenagers in the background practicing baseball and traffic from the highway.
“Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah… Come on. It’s all in the tongue.”
I complied, thinking it was unfortunate that a cult had been founded in Japan that relied on the repetition of a word with multiple ‘L’ sounds.
“Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah…” I wondered when (and how) this would end.
“Repeat! Hallelujah Hallelululululululululululululu…” She entered a trance.
A white van pulled up next to an old park building across from us. A maintenance guy got out and continued about his day. Not an accomplice.
The woman started a prayer. I stopped, but she encouraged me to continue while she prayed over the chant. “Amen,” she said eventually.
“Amen.” I opened both eyes.
She told me the church she belongs to believes in full water baptism to unite the body and the soul. When pressed, she said that the church operated outside of the typical ‘Protestant’ and ‘Catholic’ denominations and if I went to the Tokyo branch, they would explain everything to me. I thanked her, took the leaflet she offered me and went to view the plum blossoms.
I consulted Wikipedia afterwards and discovered she belongs to a fairly well-known “new religious movement” (a neutral alternative to ‘cult’) founded by Murai Jun in 1941.
The plum blossoms were beautiful and gleaming with drops of melted snow. Enjoy the photographs!
I went to a friend’s house for Christmas dinner this year. With our powers combined, we had a feast of mashed potatoes, turkey, stuffing, fried okra, Ferererero Rocher and wasabi Kit-Kats.
Japanese kitchens are usually small and ill-equipped to deal with the demands of a Western Christmas dinner. Our own apartment has two gas rings, a fish broiler, a microwave, a toaster oven and a rice cooker, so we usually roast potatoes in the toaster oven. Some people cook vegetables in their rice cooker. These fairly common balancing acts demand fewer roast items and more creativity for big meals. Compromises must be made.
Turkey is a tough item to get, particularly since KFC have convinced the Japanese market that everyone overseas eats their brand of fried chicken for Christmas. Congratulations to my friend on her find. Meanwhile, fried okra is a traditional dish from the American South, which shows the range of experiences with Christmas we had. Compare that to my Ferrero Rocher, which nobody really likes except to pretend they’re at the ambassador’s reception. And then we have the wasabi Kit-Kat.
Whenever I try a new Kit-Kat, I’m always surprised by how it well imitates its chosen flavour and yet how good it is. In the case of the wasabi version, only the first part is true. To me, wasabi is hot, but it also has a distinct flavour that is unmistakably savory. I had one finger of it and desperately tried to appreciate the wasabi with the sweetness of white green chocolate, but I couldn’t. It doesn’t compare favourably with chili chocolate, which adds spiciness to chocolate without adding flavour. I handed the second finger to another friend, who thought it was okay, although couldn’t see herself eating them on a regular basis.
Thanks to my friends and everyone who reads this blog. Hope you had a merry Christmas and are looking forward to a fantastic New Year.
Recently, I was ill and suffering from a fever. My boss patted me on the shoulder and remarked that I’d actually lost weight, so you know it was bad.
As I’d taken a day off work, I was pretty much forced to go to the doctor. My company told me that the nearest one was a fifteen minute walk away and, while they didn’t take appointments, they would be expecting me.
As I got to the reception, I wondered what I was supposed to say. What I wanted to say was that my boss had told them I would be coming although I realised they didn’t do appointments and I was just getting over the flu. In the end, I managed to choke out, “I-internal medicine?” They immediately recognised that I was the foreigner they were looking for and confirmed that ‘my friend’ had rung ahead.
First of all, we had to sort out insurance. They looked at my documents and tried to decide if it would cover it or not. Then they took my ID card and wrote down the number. In less than five minutes I had my consultation.
The very first time I was ill in Japan, I worked for a massive eikaiwa (private English conversation school) who gave me a list of doctors who spoke English in Central Tokyo. I didn’t live in Central Tokyo at that time and remember being dragged through Ueno Park in order to make it to the clinic before it closed for lunch.
When I got there, I had to fill out a form and show them where my country was in an atlas. Then they shoved a 15 centimetre long stick up my nose to check for flu. I remember it well. For my first visit, I appreciated that they were used to dealing with foreigners since I had no idea of the system in place. The idea that you can just walk into any clinic you want and ask them to treat you based on their speciality still seems strange to me.
Another one I went to last year was The British Clinic in Ebisu. The doctor there is a genuine English doctor and the waiting room is filled with magazines about life in the British countryside. On the positive side, this clinic is brilliant if you have a complicated problem that you want handled with a good bedside manner. They also don’t over-prescribe. On the other hand, it’s expensive and they have a very British attitude towards colds. That is, take the day off work and deal with it.
So, anyway, I was at the nearest clinic to my home and they threatened to shove the 15 centimetre long stick up my nose again. They were very nice when I refused though and took my temperature and heartbeat instead. Afterwards, I paid and crossed the road to the pharmacist who asked me about my allergies and current medication (none) and I received three days worth of pills.
And that medicine? Remember that I’d lost weight because I’d eaten so little over the course of three days? Since I took it on an almost empty stomach, it gave me incredible hallucinations that night, with shining balls of light and spaceships flying past my bed. I finally understood what the deal was with the sixties.
