Marie Mutsuki Mockett

It's not enough to admire cherry blossoms in Japan; you have to ingest them too.



From the sublime, a Kyoto style lunch with a sakura blossom in my soup . . .



to the ridiculous, a sakura shaped and flavor infused danish . . .

I ate them both. I had to. But not at the same time.

This past trip to Japan was in many ways about: hanami, Edo, food (of course) and sake. Unable to let go of these obsessions, I recently attended Sakagura's annual Hanami Sake Tasting. Sakagura is a (perhaps the) sake bar in New York, located in the basement of a building on the East Side in a neighborhood populated with small, authentic Japanese eateries.



I liked the sugidama hanging in the entry, all green, signaling fresh sakes!



The event was advertised as a "hanami" festival. I hadn't expected that the decor would include so many real cherry blossoms, but sure enough, these flowers and all the others were real.



There were at least 50 sakes to try. I lost count of how many I drank. There was also food--which was quite good--but the focus was definitely on the drinking. I really liked some of the sakes I had that were made in Niigata and also in Akita



The gentleman in this photo works for "Sake Story," which distributes from Atlanta. He was very friendly and also good at explaining what everyone was drinking.

All in all, it was a fine event and a great way to try many sakes all at the same time, and to develop a sense for what you like and why. The next tasting looks like it will take place in the fall. I'll try to go if I can. In the meantime, this is a nice place to get some sake and some snacks if you are in New York and missing your sake fix.

Inspired by the comments over at Japundit regarding my "real natto" post, I decided this morning to try out a natto bagel.



I have to admit, it was really, really good. And really filling.

I expect one of you cafes in Tokyo to start putting this on your menu for "morning set."

I'd been to rice vinegar factory Mitsukan a few years before during a visit to the Handa matsuri, but was pleased to take a more leisurely tour on my recent trip. Handa is my mother's hometown, and a place filled with memories for me. The minute I switch to the Taketoyo train, which takes me from Nagoya down the Chita Peninsula, I immediately relax, because I am "going home" in a way. Whenever I buy Mitsukan products in America, I note the "Handa, Aichi" label on the bottle and smile inwardly, thinking of the place and the people crafting the vinegar I use for cooking.



The location of the company is incredibly picturesque--right on the river, and with the old warehouses still preserved. It's no wonder the company grounds have been used for backdrops to historical films. I love these old, low Meiji buidings, painted dark like this to keep insects away. Note that the buildings have many windows. This is because rice vinegar, Mitsukan's main product, is made here, and the temperature regulated during the summer via all these windows.

The company has been through a few changes since I last visited, including the purchase of Holland House and a rebranding of "Mitsukan" to "Mizkan." The rebranding doesn't change the name really, but I assume it was part of an effort to get foreigners to stop saying "Mi-TSU-kan" and to start pronouncing it "MITS-kan." Come to think of it, I often spell my middle name as "Mutsky" so people won't say "Mu-TSU-ki."



One thing that hasn't changed much is the logo. I was told on a tour that the logo was developed to symbolize the successful making of vinegar; three levels of flavor--taste, smell and acidity must be balanced for a round flavor.

In all of this reorganization, Mitsukan also has made the effort to explain its role in history and to tie its success to that 21st century global phenom: sushi.



Sushi, after all, requires good vinegar!



The above graph demonstrates how vinegar consumption during the Edo period skyrocketed as nigiri-sushi (what we in the west commonly just call sushi) became popular as street food. According to family lore, Matazaemon Nakano (get a load of that feudal name) first had the idea of making vinegar out of discarded sake lees; the Nakano family also made sake. This would have been back in 1804. To give you some sense of how business works in Japan, Mitsukan is still owned by the Nakano family!

There was even a reproduction of an Edo period sushi stand to demonstrate how people would have sold and purchased the food to go.



The actual vinegar making facilities can't be photographed. And I was so intent of tasting the vinegars that I was allowed to drink, that I forgot to photograph the charming man who gave a talk and showed us a little film. Needless to say, much of the company's focus seems to be on demonstrating how healthy vinegar is for the body, how it can release calcium from the bones of meat, how it relieves fatigue and lowers cholesterol. No wonder, then, that vinegar drinks are part of the line of products available--at least in Japan.



After visiting the sake factory, we wandered over to Nakano, which still makes sake and is run by a different brother in the Nakano family. Unlike Ichizawa Hanpu, the Nakano family outwardly still seems to be intact.

This is a lovely and historic neighborhood with pretty gardens and old-fashioned construction. I loved the atmosphere.





While the actual Nakano sake is no longer made in this facility, the tour does explain very nicely how sake is produced.

This photo demonstrates how rice is polished down from its natural brown state, to become white. "Daiginjo sakes" receives its honorary designation because anywhere from 50 to 70 percent of the exterior of each grain is polished away. The "waste" is used to make crackers or noodles--so waste is not an entirely appropriate term!



We had a nice tasting, which left me toasted. The day before, Gordon and I had really enjoyed Nakano's Daiginjo, and so were very happy to leave the tour with several bottles, two of which made it home to New York. I know one of these will be enjoyed with some special people.



Historically, businesses that dealt in sake hung a "ball" made out of cedar called a sugidama in the entrance to their shop. A green or fresh ball indicated that new sake had been released. The one in this photo is not green at all, as you can see! (It's hanging over our heads, in the window).

Note: In more recent news, Mitsukan has just acquired more brands, beefing up its North American presence.

I was intrigued by the little stopper that comes with Starbucks drinks in Japan. It's basically a little stirrer, with a wide area on top that fits the sipping hole, like a second lid. This is very practical. It means that no hot liquid will jump out of your cup and scald your legs or hand. Can't we get some of these little things in the US?

As you might have noticed, I spend a lot of time thinking and photographing what I eat in Japan. This is because food is very good in Japan; Japan is truly one of the great food cultures of the world. Even a Japanese person who has been in the US for twenty years and can't imagine going back to the homeland for fear of engaging in unwelcome social norms and pressures will wax nostalgically about the food. The only other thing such a person will might as much are onsen (hot spring baths). But that's another subject.



One of the first things I spotted in Japan was this poster of a "Gourmet Fest(ival)" for wild vegetables. See? The seasonality of food is so important there is a fest(ival)! I wrote last year of the experience of picking fuki no to and later tsukushi. If you find yourself lucky enough to be in the mountains during the spring, then you don't need a fest(ival), but can pick your own vegetables.



In Himeji, I spotted this farmer's cart laden with sansai. I immediately ran over to take a photo and wanted very much to buy everything she had for sale. I assume that she was a she. I never saw her. And I doubt that the enthusiastic gaijin taking photos was going to prompt her to come out to see me. Or perhaps everything was for sale on an honor system. This is still done in Japan.



I was initially most excited by the bamboo shoots for sale. Look at them! How big and fresh and appetizing! You may remember that I have something of a passion for fresh bamboo shoots. Characters in my novel eat said shoots early on in the book; seeing the shoots for sale here made me think about Rumi and Satomi.



She was also selling tsukushi. If you don't remember why this "wild weed" is so important to me, here's a refresher.



If I'd been staying a ryokan that night, I might have picked up a few things and handed them to the cook. But instead, we had to let all those nice, appetizing vegetables go. Isao, however, had arranged for us to visit a supermarket. And as you can see, there were plenty of seasonal foods for sale there too--all nicely wrapped in plastic, as food is in Japan.





If those ferns look familiar, it's because Isao included them in his Himeji hanami bento.

At some point, I mean to write a longer article on the subject of wild vegetables. I'll just conclude by saying that my mother heads out to the hills of California every spring to search for these vegetables, many of which are available but not appreciated in the States. Now, to give you a sense of our values and how much my mother loves me, she actually Fed Exed me a package of her harvest so I could enjoy the flavors. So it was that I made my first batch of tempura with wild ferns. I seem to have misplaced my photos; here then are some from California when my mother made her tempura with wild vegetables.







Lest you think my mother loves me more than I love her, know that I have been known to Fed-ex a package of ramps and fiddle-heads from New York to California (she promptly went on to try to plant the ramps in her garden). The ramps have started showing up in our local farmer's market in New York, and I tried out our favorite (and easy) miso recipe on them. I'll post the information for preparing ramps a-la-Japonaise another time.

Fiddleheads are due out next month. I'll be back from Japan by then and imagine that another Fed-Ex package will soon be hurtling its way across the US to a kitchen in California.

And that is how much we love to eat.

Knowing how I love natto, friends arranged for me to eat the real thing.

It comes wrapped in straw, like this. Open up the straw bundle (which is held together by a piece of string I didn't photograph, so intent was I on unpuzzling the package) and out pops a dollop of natto.



It was really, really good and lacked the smell that some find so offensive from packaged natto. (Thank you Isao).

Comments on Japundit.

In Tokyo, we had a fabulous lunch with a number of family members. Because I was still so tired from travel (and from hanami overload), I didn't have the energy to talk as much as I would have liked. This just means I have to go back to Japan and take more time with people! Present at the lunch were childhood friends, and one cousin I hadn't seen in 27 years. That is too long.

Gordon and my Uncle had an interesting conversation about baseball during which I was forced to confess my difficulty with watching sporting events (They aren't like books! There is no plot! Someone will actually lose!). The two of them, however, understood each other immediately and I know that a visit to the Hanshin Tigers is somewhere in the future.

These photos are probably only of interest to family and friends. I promise to follow up with something less personal soon.

Please enjoy the trajectory of pop song "Age Age Every Night," (no, that is not "age age" but "a-geh ageh") made popular by mysterious popstar DJ Ozma--he of the blonde afro and sunglasses (I'm not making this up).



It started as a Korean song . . .



and became a hit for Ozma in Japanese with the most interesting English interjections . . .



who went on to authorize a Dance Master Video so you too can get all the correct moves, including the "serious" and "smile" expressions at the right time . . . (Not having tried the dance out myself, I cannot say if you too will sparkle and glitter, as does DJ Ozma at the end. But I'm quite sure you too can wink.)



before the song went on to be a challenging tune on Taiko Drummaster . . .



and a cult favorite in the, uh, world.

Once upon a time, train stations in Japan clicked and clattered. It was common to give your ticket to a ticket man who clipped a hole in your paper ticket. While waiting for the next passenger, the ticket man rattled his hole puncher rhythmically. Icoca, Suica, Pasmo and other automated systems have mostly rendered the ticket man obsolete.





But one meticulous person took some of those spent tickets and put together a mosaic. I think I saw these creations somewhere in Osaka--I just can't remember if it was at Kix, or some other station (I was jet-lagged). A rather creative use of old tickets, I think.



Top photo via.

I really, really wanted one of these insanely expensive hairpins that I saw in Kyoto. If I were getting married, I might have justified the purchase.

I'm pretty sure TPTB meant "No graffiti." But the most appropriate English phrase in Japan is often rewritten to become what a Japanese person feels would be the correct expression, if only English were spoken as it is supposed to be. Or so a certain translator tells me.

(Photo taken at Himeji.)

I written before of the fascinating "in-group-magic-spell" that bag company Ichizawa Hanpu casts on certain Japanese people, and how the original business has experienced a wrinkle in its recent history. To recap, Ichizawa Hanpu originally made sails, then adopted its nearly indestructible sailing cloth to make such utilitarian bags as the Showa era milk carriers, before giving these practical items up for fashionable handbags. Even on this trip to Japan, a cousin I hadn't seen in 27 years exclaimed, "Oh! You have an Ichizawa Hanpu bag! How cool!"

Except, it's not enough to have an Ichizawa Hanpu bag anymore. Now you must have a Shinzaburo Hanpu bag. You see, Mr. Shinzaburo Hanpu was the bag designer behind Ichizaburo Hanpu for many years, though he suffered the misfortune of being the "third son" in the family hierarchy. Tradition triumphed over talent, and when Ichizawa Hanpu's family patriarch died, the company passed into the hands of first brother, who cannot design a handbag. There was a revolt. Designers quit and closed ranks with Mr. Shinzaburo Hanpu, who had the temerity to open a store practically right next door.



Of course, I had to go and see what the fuss was all about. The stores are indeed right next to each other. In the photo above, Shinzaburo Hanpu is in the foreground. In the background, you see a similar vertical white sign with black lettering; that is Ichizawa Hanpu.



Shinzaburo Hanpu was a flurry of people. It was hot inside. I was frustrated. I wanted a bag with a zipper, but only one model had a zipper. The atmosphere was competitive. I had to hang on to handbags I was thinking about "in case" I decided I wanted them or run the risk of seeing it fly into someone else's arms. This was worse than the Hermes sample sale. This was like the Hermes sample sale in the middle of Tokyo rush hour where no one bumps into anyone else and I was self consciously trying to avoid bumping into anyone, lest I look enormous and clumsy, all while still trying to get my damned bag. I was glad that Gordon was tall and I could find him by looking up at the ceiling. I ended up getting a massive tote bag with feet. Most of the bags were too small. "We don't need big bags in Japan," Isao explained. This did not help my self esteem.



Down the street at Ichizawa Hanpu, the scene was much quieter. I felt sad. I was sorry for the bags, for the salesgirls inside and the security guard stationed outside (why was he there?). When I recounted my experience to a few older relatives, they said: "Yes, the brothers should get along. Siblings should be friends." Yeah, and sometimes following tradition like a hardliner isn't the best idea.

These tracks used to transport boats between the end of the Biwako Canal and Kyoto's water system. Now it is a nice place for walking and is lined by cherry trees.



From a little distance, you can see how the tracks are elevated.

It is nice to see people dressed up in kimono for flower viewing.






Of course, there is also always the sakura viewing dog in appropriate garb.

Our hanami excursion actually started at Daigoji, a temple of the Shingon sect, which houses a famous garden often considered one of the three most beautiful in Japan. The garden was built for Hideoyoshi, who held a cherry blossom viewing party here in 1598. Photos of the garden are not permitted, but I've managed to swipe one from the wonderful internet (though you should also look at these photos of one traveler's Saigoku Pilgrimage).



Obviously, this garden photo was taken in the summer, and not the spring.

On a side note, a taxi driver we met not long after visiting Daigoji informed us that Hideyoshi was known to have tacky taste, and that the garden at Daigoji wasn't really that beautiful. He advised us to go to Ginkakuji.



In addition to its famous garden, Daigoji is aslo known for its wooden pagoda, built in 951.



This old tree was truly in mankai, or full bloom. It seemed almost to be reaching out to us, a fact that is somewhat lost in this photograph.



To help support its many branches, a careful network of supporting beams has been erected under the tree. This is not an uncommon sight in Japan.



It is moving to see how much care can go into supporting a living thing that is neither human (nor pet dog). It also has the effect of reminding you that trees are very much alive.



I took this photo because it seemed as though a tidal wave of blossoms was about to take over the rooftop.



I was constantly trying to take the perfect rooftop-meets-blossom photo. But I am not a great photographer. Still, this gives you some sense of contrasting colors and textures.





These trees strike dramatic shapes, as though the branches are in mid-pose, like a girl tossing her hair. I also thought of that scene in the Wizard of Oz were the apple trees hurl their fruit at Dorothy. I also though of massive tarantulas, or a priest's horsetail whip. It's all a little bit eerie, though beautiful.



The real Hana Yori Dango.





After a while, the cherry trees start to drive you a little bit crazy.



Happy hanami goers dressed in carefully selected colors for the season.

(You can click on any of these photos to see a slightly enlarged version.)

I may have to buy this Steve Madden shoe, just on principle. Is it ugly? I don't know. Anyway, doesn't anything go with black? Couldn't I pull this shoe off if I wore all black? I mean, I can't imagine that the Steve Madden shoe will be "legally" on the market for too much longer, if Balenciaga has anything to say about it, which makes me want the shoe all the more.

> Et tu, Iceland?

>Of women and their mating dance in New York, Keith Gessen says:

I think the guys behave badly, but I'm not sure they're bad guys. I think part of it is that women see that something might be done with them. It's an ancient mistake, or an ancient gift, that women give to men, where they give them the benefit of trying to straighten themselves out.

Well, now, that's sort of interesting.

It is not the PC attitude one who has graduated from a top notch co-ed university is supposed to take, but I don't know that he is wrong. My own observations would be anecdotal, but certainly this bargain--"I will support your gift through my patience and ability to endure suffering and at the cost of developing any talent I might have had but don't really need"--exists across industries wherein the competitive and elite New York dating scene takes place.

"Giving my gift" is not a Faustian bargain I would make. Let me rephrase that. It is not THE Faustian bargain I would make. Ah, but when I was in my twenties, I was tempted to steer the story differently. Beware, writer girls in your twenties. There are benefits to getting older, no matter what anyone tells you. Even today, there are moments when I feel inclined to throw in the towel . . . and know that no one would judge me, a girl, too harshly.

>Ken Hirai may have married a man. Good for him. But will he speak out?



A song by Hirai Ken that I love. It's about being friends . . . but the video is beautiful and surprising if you watch to the end, which you Japanimation fans must. Only in Japan, I say. I still tear up.

These hotaru ika are so called because they supposedly glow in the dark (hotaru means firefly). I couldn't get anyone to tell me which part of the hotaru ika glowed and certainly they weren't glowing while dead and on a plate. But nearly every meal I had last week included hotaru ika.





I ate these little squid nearly every way possible: as sushi, baked, steamed. Several times they were served with bamboo shoots, which are also "in season" in that they are young and fresh and very tasty right now.



Later, I found this photo which answered my question as to which part of the squid actually glows. It would be something to see these in the sea.

Anyone else enjoying foods of the season?

Check out the comments at Japundit, which include advice on how to go and see the squid in the ocean; you need to find a nice fisherman in Toyama. If I can find a way to do this next year, I'd love to.

Gion is very pretty in the spring.

Can you tell which of the following are real maiko (apprentice geisha) and which are fake?

I mentioned that Isao took a nap while Gordon and I climbed Himeji. There was a good reason for this. While we were trying to sleep off our jetlag, Isao was up till 3 AM Friday night making lunch.



We came down from the castle to find a picnic. I should mention that we also came down from the castle to find an enormous aluminum balloon reflecting light so it would be easy to find "base camp," as the dining area under the sakura trees had become flooded with people. Unfortunately, I forgot to take a photo of the balloon. But here is the picnic spread. As you can see, Isao provided Gordon with an assortment of drinks, including cup-sake decorated with cherry blossoms.



The note on the box reads: "Welcome to Himeji." I have saved it.



Inside are wild ferns, egg, fishcake and the most incredible seasoned fish, made at Isao's family restaurant. It was hard for me not to hog the fish. There were also bamboo shoots, which are in season now in Japan because it is spring.



Here is a close-up of the bamboo shoots.



Isao also hand-made these rice balls. Half are salmon and the other half have Gordon's beloved pickles. Isao included a similar bento for our bullet train ride up to Tokyo. The food was all beyond delicious and I felt incredibly spoiled to eat something so wonderful in such a lofty setting. Hanami at Himeji? Honestly. That's beyond poetic. I told Isao I had intended just to go buy some bento and he scolded me saying that I was not allowed to buy such things in his presence.

After this lunch, we had to teach Isao the Eglish phrase: "You have outdone yourself." He agreed with us that he had. It is no wonder he came down with a cold after we left.

My good friend Isao put together an actual soundtrack for cherry blossom viewing. He left me with a CD of carefully selected songs in NYC. Once I arrived in Japan, the soundtrack accompanied us as we looked at the blossoms in Kyoto and Himeji. Here are two of my favorites, both "oldies but goodies" released in the past few years.



This song is by Kobukuro, considered an "indie" group. The video is kind of meh, but the sentiment--that cherry blossoms bring back memories of school--make sense since the new school year starts with cherry blossoms (get the symbolism?). I am a sucker for this sentimental song, though you elite musicians will probably hate it. Check out the lyrics and translation.



Here's Ketsumeishi with their hip-hop/rap song. This video is even blander than the one above, but the tree is beautiful and the falling petals give you some sense of what it is like to constantly be surrounded by confetti. You'll need to spend a minute getting through the intro before the music starts. Lyrics and translation.

It's safe to say that I completely "get" the sakura thing now that I've seen it. Yes, the cherry trees in the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens are very pretty, and yes I'm sure the ones in Washington DC are nice. In Japan, though, the trees are everywhere. Your eye simply hops from one patch of pink to another, clear up into the mountains where the original, wild mountain cherries are blooming. There is a steady stream of pink confetti which, on a clear day, acts like a prism, refracting light so everything glitters. Everyone stops to admire the beauty--kids who ask, "Is this what mankai (full bloom) looks like?", men in suits snapping photos on overpasses, couples, teenagers . . . everyone. Aside from the obvious fact that there isn't some sort of hang up that admiring a beautiful tree might be seen as something prissy . . . sakura mankai is also associated with a great opportunity to eat and drink. And drink. And drink.

Pop stars release songs about cherry trees, food invariably includes cherry blossoms. Clothing is covered with cherry blossoms. Train stations are decorated with fake pink petals. And why not? The eruption of flowers is stunning and I understand now why people keep using terms like "tidal wave" and "froth" and "clouds" to try to get the point across.



The Sunday after arriving in Japan, we went to Himeji castle, often considered the most beautiful of all castles. It also was not destroyed during the war and therefore retains original lines and building material. Fortunately for us, Himeji was enjoying mankai, or full bloom.



Isao and Nono had researched all the classic spots from which to take the best photos of Himeji with blossoms. One even required us to go through the Children's Zoo. Once we arrived at each spot, we found that other more serious photographers were already there.



Himeji, blossoms and moat.



So, obviously you can see who was in charge of photos that day.



While Isao and Nono watched over base camp (an activity which included a nap for reasons which will become clear in a moment), Gordon and I climbed to the top of the castle. Midway up, we were able to see the uppermost part of the structure clearly.



Before going to Japan, a professional photographer friend of Gordon's said that he liked to take pictures in Japan because: "The Japanese have taken care of contrast for you. To get good composition, all you have to do is point and shoot."



Part way up to the top, Gordon took a photo from a window. You can see the sea of pink below. The cluster around the castle was quite thick, but the pink color blurred all the way from the castle grounds to the hills beyond.



Another photo from the very top, with one of the dolphins "guarding" the castle against fire on the edge of an eave.



Back down at the base.

On the heels of a fairy tale (and by extension beauty) being less an object and more of a feeling . . . Here are a few more photos of my night walk up to Kiyomizudera which Isao and Nono had gallantly researched and planned.

"We have a surprise," they kept telling Gordon who, after 48 hours of walking around in a country that spoke no English, was understandably wondering why we couldn't all just rest for a little bit or at least find a new copy of the International Herald Tribune. All became clear as we embraced the lights and the trees.



I'm a terrible, lazy photographer and all these shots required that I brace the camera on something stable (because I still don't have a tripod). Composition was therefore limited to what I could photograph while bracing myself on a lantern or fence.



View from the top of the temple, looking out at the city, with Kyoto Tower in view.



Sakura flush against the poles that keep Kiyomizudera propped up on the hillside. As I took these photos from the (very steep) stone steps leading down the hill, a guard kept yelling me to keep moving because it was 1. very dark and 2. I might slip and fall. He meant well, but it was a good moment to smile kindly and pretend I couldn't understand any Japanese.



So you understand what you are looking at, here is the side of the temple in the daylight.

I was enthralled by the packaging of these coffee drinks and their accessibility. As usual, we have no parallel in the States. This photo was taken in some random conbini (mini-mart).




But the lawsuit begun by Starbucks to get rid of such copycat brands as "Mt. Rainier" coffee in Japan, has still obviously had little effect on the choices available to consumers.

Haruki Murakami discusses his love of running and its influence on his writing.

"I started running immediately after I finished writing 'A Wild Sheep Chase' (in 1982). In writing that, I felt it is a hazardous undertaking to write a full-length novel. The motive for running is my thinking that I should take exercise to keep my health strong."

Amen to that. Writers do need to exercise to keep the mind sharp. But the real revelation to me in this article was the following:

Hayao Kawai, a noted psychoanalyst who died last year at age 79, is the sole intellectual with whom Murakami has repeatedly held talks. "When I talked using the word 'stories,' it was only Kawai-sensei who could correctly understand that meaning," Murakami reminisced.

For Murakami, writing stories is to fall deep into his soul. "Stories are very beneficial but very dangerous at the same time. Kawai-sensei really understood this. He was not a mere researcher. He had the excellence of a man who crosses a battlefield because he actually examined patients."

My own copy of Dr. Kawai's English language book "Dreams, Myths and Fairy Tales in Japan" is dog-eared, underlined, well worn and well loved. For me, it's like a secret passport straight to the Japanese heart for anyone who takes the time to read it. Frankly, it's a good read for anyone wanting to understand more of the world, and wanting to eschew such stereotypes as, "All those Japanese look like little robots to me," as a western person recently confided to me atop a Tokyo skyscraper.



One of Kawai's insightful claims is that the Japanese psyche is primarily feminine, and not the swashbuckling masculine and heroic ego of the west (God, you can say that again. 12 hours on a plane from Narita to LA and there I am in the Red Carpet Club watching some woman with her shoe-clad feet propped up on a table one might use for eating, yacking away on the phone, while nearby, a couple watch a DVD on their laptop with the sound turned up high, with no regard for how this noise might impact others. I almost took photos for a cultural compare and contrast, then decided I was tired and ornery. But seriously, this "Look at me!" and "It's my right!" gets so nauseating after a while.)

Most Westerners are confounded by Japanese fairy tales, says Kawai. The stories seem incomplete to them, to go nowhere. This, he suggests, is the result of treating the tale as an object in itself, "separate from the subjective feelings in the reader's mind." (The Japanese Psyche p. 22) Referring to "The Bush Warbler's Home," a story well known to the Japanese, Kawai explains that Westerners who find the story incomplete need to understand the feeling of awaré (softly despairing sorrow) which a Japanese would feel for the female figure who disappears in silence.

In this story a young man in high spirits is walking in the mountains when he suddenly sees a mansion he has never seen before. Then a beautiful woman appears and asks him to watch the house while she goes out. He must not, however, go into the other rooms. Unable to contain his curiosity, he goes into the rooms lavishly provided, and is delighted with what he finds. In the last room he looks at three beautiful eggs and accidentally drops them. With that, three birds hatch and fly away. The woman returns, saddened. Telling him he has caused her to lose her three daughters, she turns into a bush warbler and disappears. The man finds himself again standing in the middle of the meadow without a trace of the mansion to be seen. Kawai points out that although he stands in the same place, he has experienced another world.

The woman who disappears sorrowfully

Isn't this an aesthetic that sounds familiar to some of you out there? And, yes, I realize that it isn't fashionable anymore to view anything through the lens of Jungian psychoanalysis, which has its limits, but the observation and analysis itself are fascinating, and you'd have to be an idiot not to notice that western fairy tales and Japanese fairy tales are, derrrr, different.

At any rate, if I were ever in the lucky position to have a conversation with Murakami about anything, I know exactly what I would want to talk about, and it would be Dr. Hayao Kawai and his writings.

In other news, the cell phone novel "Red Thread" is being given the star treatment in Japan. It's being turned into a TV series and a movie, with the film concluding the plot set up. News outlets are claiming that this is an unprecedented way to plan and tell a story in visual media, though certainly my beloved Hana Yori Dango is finishing up its storytelling via a film. After having lazily abandoned the novel midway through, I've picked it up again.

I used to think it was impossible to get fat in Japan. The food is is naturally healthy for you, and portions are small.










Now I know that this is not true. It is possible to get too much food, even of the healthy kind, and to be horrified that you have gained weight! I say this as someone who always manages to get off the plane bloated. I felt even heavier than usual. "All I do is eat," said my grandfather. It was true. All we did was eat. This is natural, since a good part of the trip was dedicated to introducing Gordon to family members who, in turn, celebrated with us via food. After about a week of this feasting, I was free to cut back and eat only what I wanted and that, along with walking and walking and walking in Tokyo, has made me feel much better.

If there is one fashion item for which I have a weakness, it is the light coat. This is an impractical item. Weather in New York, as far as I can see, is either inhumanely cold (and goes on for too long) or deathly hot, with only a few weeks devoted to sensible weather, by which I mean the thermometer stays between 65 and 75 degrees. It goes to show you how stubborn I am that I won't adjust to the weather and instead expect my environment to conform to the Northern California climate in which I grew up.

Anyway, I had to tell myself NOT to buy any light coats in Japan because I have enough as it is, and few chances to wear them.





I did, however, buy what I think is just about the most incredible zip up ever. I have a feeling I will be living in this garment. It's made by an independent designer named Gold Blood, and while I can't find a photo of what I bought exactly (and I'm way to disgustingly jet-lagged to allow my puffy self near a camera at present), these two shots give you some idea of the detailing that went into what I purchased. The massive collar has a sweatshirt stuffed inside. My own zip up comes with some leather detailing and some kind of strap on the back that makes the whole thing look like it might actually be a parachute.

QCT

The store is located above. If you are freaked out by the drop down menus, just know that the first one in the upper left hand corner lists a bunch of designers. Pull down to the name that intrigues you, and hit the dark grey button down two rows and see what comes up.

My cousin tried to convince me not to go to Harajuku, which he thinks is too touristy, much in the same way that New Yorkers eschew Soho now in favor of Nolita or the East Village. But I'm glad I did go because I wouldn't have come home with this treasure (though I had to hand carry it--the damned thing is big and impractical and my suitcase was full of . . . other stuff).

I had meant to blog in Japan, but various circumstances made this difficult. Business hotels come equipped with a LAN cable, which makes connecting to the internet easy. But much of the time I was with friends or in the countryside, and the internet was not so easy to access. If you are out of the main cities in Japan, you are still very far away.

I'll try to catch up over the next few days. I'm currently feeling very tired, but also very enriched. My previous New York life feels enormously far away--both emotionally and mentally and I imagine I won't adjust back until next month, considering that I'll be heading to Japan again soon.

I used to think that the Starbucks tumbler in the middle of this photo was a flight of fancy. Yes, of course Japan is full of cherry blossoms in the spring and yes of course the sky is a shade of blue. But the contrast couldn't possibly be this extreme.



And then I saw this.

While in Kyoto, friends and I hiked up to Kiyomizudera at night, with the whole place lit by lanterns, and trees illuminated by floodlights. I'm still very tired and jet-lagged, and feeling incompetent in either language, so I'm not going to do a very good job of describing the experience, except to say that it was nothing short of ecstatic.

The base of the hill was full of people camping out beneath cherry trees. Some were already drunk and some were just waiting until morning, staking their claim until friends arrived with picnic baskets. It was a raucous and festive place. But as we climbed up to the actual shrine, the mood changed--less earthy and more ethereal.



This famous old tree is actually three trees fused into one. Photos can't do it justice. At one point, it was apparently ailing, but special tree doctors have revived it and hope to keep it going for a good many more years.



With so many people climbing up to the top of the temple in the dark, it's hard not to get high on the energy. Everything was dark blue, and frothy pink. I've never seen anything like this.



A portal to another world? Just past this temple doorway was a deep canyon, filled with illuminated cherry blossoms.



And finally, the massive Kiyomizudera complex built into a hillside, floating on a sea of pink.

Not the most interesting flight path. As a result, I wasn't glued to the window, avoiding sleep. We didn't fly into Narita this time, but to Osaka, which meant that there was a good chance of spotting Mt. Fuji, provided there wasn't too much cloud cover. About an hour before landing, this was the view from the plane. Sorry if my English is screwy. Still somewhat tired and feeling stuck in between two languages and incompetent at both.

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Try and count the number of passes made by the team in white.