Don't You Wonder Sometimes Bout Sound and Vision?

I came across an old Rolling Stone interview this week from 1974, where William S. Burroughs interviews David Bowie. I’m actually surprised I’ve never seen it before, with such an odd yet amazingly appropriate meeting of creative minds.

My brother is more into the beat writers than myself, though I have read Burroughs and Kerouac and the like. I’ve always enjoyed what I have read; the writing is brutally frank and the style terribly liberating. But I’ve never idolized them the way many people do. In truth, I’ve been on a bit of a Bowie kick lately, and my interest in reading the article was to see what he (the true recipient of a little of my idolization) had to say. Because despite Lodger and Low being on a constant loop on my iPod this week, there are times I actually prefer listening to Bowie talk about his music and the process then I do actually listening to it.

(Ok, that’s a flat lie, but needless to say the man is witty. He gives a great interview.)

If you have any interest in either man (or even if you don’t) I highly recommend reading it. Burroughs is older, caustically dry in humor and a little embittered; Bowie is younger with a bit of youthful arrogance sprinkled with his natural tendency for charm and theatrics. There’s actually an amazing chemistry to it - the two men seem to really connect and then feed off each other’s energy. It’s less an interview and more like being witness to a really great conversation.

And while perusing the conversation, they made mention of the cut-up technique. I then vaguely remembered that Burroughs popularized the literary technique, and that Bowie used the method for writing some of his lyrics, and songs on albums like Hunky Dory and Diamond Dogs comes to mind.

But the thought made me giggle.

The cut-up technique, or cutting up text or texts, throwing them into a fishbowl, and then drawing them out, makes me think of every creative writing class I’ve taken in my life. And there have been quite a few. One specific poetry class my senior year sticks out clearly in my mind, but not for particularly good reasons. I laugh because the result of the technique was usually horrendous and, to me, always seemed artsy for the sake of being artsy.

But in a wave of nostalgia, I tried my hand once again at the cut-up technique. The outcome will never see the light of day. I laugh uncontrollably every time I read over the horrible self-indulgence.

The Third Mind or Life on Mars? it is not.

So I think it's well established I’m not a beat poet. But I think I already knew this, because unlike my brother, I don’t want to seclude myself in a cabin in Muir Woods and write. I’m perfectly happy secluding myself in my tiny apartment in Nagoya to much the same effect.

But if you want to read a truly fascinating exchange, click the link below. The nostalgia alone might make it worth it.

http://www.teenagewildlife.com/Appearances/Press/1974/0228/rsinterview/

"With a Side of Kanji, Please"

I did something absolutely mortifying today.

I take private Japanese lessons every Thursday morning, and this morning was no different then usual. My typical Thursday schedule consists of me rising around 9, showering, downing a cup of coffee, reviewing a few last minute notes, and then shuffling off to a 20 minute subway ride in the hopes of showing up at the Higashi Betsuin Women's Center by 11. I am usual not fully aware at first, but having to think in another language wakes you up quicker than you can imagine. So I breezed in at 10:55 this morning, and finally feeling the effects of my caffeine intake, started to excitedly talk to my teacher about my plans tonight. But my verbal barrage took a turn towards the worse as my own stupidity quickly reared its head, and my teacher reacted to it.

The conversation alone can convey my faux pas. So, for the mixed reasons of a better explanation as well as for entertainment value, here is the conversation. Translated and transcribed, to the best my memory serves.

(Kate walks in to see Keiko sitting at a table.)

Keiko: Long time no see! How are you?

Kate: Great, thanks. How about you?

Ke: Great. So do you have to work today?

Ka: No, actually. Tonight my students and I are going out for dinner.

Ke: In Kanie?

Ka: No, Takaoka. I'm going to Kanayama first, then Takaoka for dinner at 7. (Kate pauses, an uncertain look on her face.) An end of the year party!

(Keiko does a slight double take, then gives her a confused glance.)

Ka: (repeats uncertainly) End of the year party...? (looks frantically through her dictionary)

Did I say it wrong?

Ke: No, no. Usually they're in December. Between Christmas and New Year's.

Ka: Oh its November. What's today then?

(Keiko keeps the confused look on her face.)

Ke: Today is a holiday.

Ka: (genuinely curious) Really? What?

(Keiko blanches slightly in surprise, as if it had been obvious)

Ke: Kate, today is Thanksgiving.

(Kate gives a long pause)

Ka: Oh.

END SCENE

Keiko then went on to laugh, saying that she had went to a Thanksgiving party the night before, while I was clearly looking forward to Japanese traditions. She went further to say that today, she was the American and I was Japanese.

I laughed too. I just find it sad that my Japanese teacher had to remind me that today was Thanksgiving.

Oops.

It's not like I didn't know of its approach either. All week, people asked me about the holiday, and if I was going to eat turkey on Thursday. ( And to which I replied, while I would love to, how in the world would I prepare it? This is my cooking area:

I can't bake cookies, let alone a whole turkey.)

So even thought I knew it was coming, talked of it all week, on the day of, for some inexplicable reason, it completely slipped my mind. I feel like a horrible American.

One would think the thought of the food alone would keep it foremost in my thoughts. How I salivate over the thought of the Thanksgiving treats today. And one look at my "oven" is proof enough how much I miss baked goods. And while I do miss the food from home, I am fine subsisting on what I do. In fact, it makes me appreciate it more. So if I find really great food like that from home, the scarcity makes the taste that much better.

For when I find a really great cheese in a country severely deprived of fermented milk-based food products, I gratefully shell out the high price and relish it that much more when I finally eat it. And when, on a whim, I decide to pay 500 yen for that tiny bunch of grapes, the wait alone makes the grapes that much better. And ethnic foods, like Mexican and Indian, the kinds I took for granted in their abundance, become special places to find and eat at. (One in particular, Mugal Palace, has become almost a weekly pilgrimage spot. Besides making me a bit of a connoisseur of Indian food for all the items I have tried, it is hands down the best Indian food I've ever had in my life.)

But in truth, and as expected, I now live on a highly Japanese diet. To what I'm sure would be

my mother's chagrin, I haven't had pasta or hard bread in months. I eat rice all the time, and various stir fry are the main dishes I consume.

I even eat salad with chopsticks.

In fact, I have even discovered some food items I will sorely miss when I leave Japan. The fried gyoza found in the food stores are out of this world. Asahi makes this yogurt granola bar that not only is amazingly delicious, but has become my weekly Wednesday afternoon snack. There is a spicy tofu and rice dish at my local convenience store that I cannot live without. And in a country of crab flavored potato chips, I have fallen in love with Azuki Pepsi. And it actually tastes like Azuki paste, or sweet bean paste, a staple of most Japanese desserts.

Which is another odd item I have grown to love.

But eating out is truly the height of my diet in Japan. The food is not necessarily expensive, or well seasoned, but its comforting and filling without being overwhelming. Scrumptious is really the only appropriate word. And izukaya food is designed to be communal, so the whole atmosphere is as social as the food is delicious. From the grilled meats and nabe pots to tabasaki to salads with unnecessary corn. I enjoy it all.

(And deciphering the menus at such establishments is always an added treat, because there are usually several characters none of us can read. Believe me, jokes like "the Kanji salad" or "I'll take the tomato, garlic, and Kanji" seriously never gets old.)

But all that aside, at my end of the year/secret Thanksgiving dinner tonight, though I was surrounded by the Japanese foods I have come to love, I was dreaming of pumpkin pie and cranberry sauce. Mulling over mashed potatoes. Fantasizing about stuffing. Pondering the delights of hot biscuits.

And desperately wishing I had an oven.

Of Hopefuls and Heroines

I've had quite a full week.

Over the course of this week, the final stages of the massive redecoration of my apartment went into full effect. But because of the long hours spent moving furniture and meticulously sewing tablecloths (and oh how I wish I was kidding), its left me time to watch lots of ridiculously trashy television. TV of the kind I have not watched since I was in college, and my roommate and I would sit on the couch on a Sunday afternoon and marathon America's Next Top Model while we pretended to do homework and recovered from the weekend.

While finding my mindless reality TV online was not difficult, watching it actually brought back to mind many things I had forgotten. Like the fact that the second season of Project Runway was surprisingly great, both with the drama and the clothes produced, so much so the current incarnation is a poor substitute. I remembered that Tyra taught me that there is a difference between smiling and smiling with my eyes, and the seriousness with which she imparted this lesson. And lastly, how ridiculously stupid some people on these shows can be.

Now most of my reality show viewing, limited as it was, was really reserved for Project Runway (high on drama queens, low on the stupid people), but Top Model was ripe with stupid comments. And I think the pinnacle was from the beginning of season 11 (I refuse to call them cycles), which I never saw the first time around.

In the audition process we meet Susan, a recent grad from Harvard University, lamenting how her ivy league education was detrimental to her being taken seriously as a model. Besides the fact that her comment was extremely condescending, I would have told her not to worry about her brains getting in the way of anything. Because after talking about her university, and the fact that she majored in English Lit, Tyra then innocuously asked her to name her favorite literary heroine in English literature.

The girl could not name a single one.

I mean, are you kidding me? Not only could it give Tyra, god bless her, a chance to act superior by talking about Jane Eyre and White Fang (umm...heroine?), but I actually find it extremely sad the girl could not name one! Leaving aside the fact it was her major for four years, and at the risk of sounding like a unrelenting feminist, you can't think of a single strong woman in literature since the invention of the English language?

Are you crazy?

Mind you, the males generally have it better in literature. For awhile in my teens I had a mixed literary crush/hero worship for Edmund Dantes because he was just that deliciously bad ass. But despite the role that most women were placed into in classic literature, I could still name an innumerable amount of awesome ladies that I admired almost as much as the Count.

The aforementioned Jane Eyre. Elizabeth Bennet had wit and sense in spades. I always felt Miranda from the Tempest had a certain strength. Hester Prynne, Lucy Honeychurch, Isabel Archer. Jo March was, personally, my ideal as a young girl. Still is, in fact.

So I find it extremely disheartening that this girl could not name a single literary lady. There are so many to choose from! Make a sister proud.

But speaking of awesome ladies, and literary heroines, I also reread Northanger Abbey this week. I am quite the self proclaimed Austenite, but Northanger Abbey has always been low on my favorites list. But reading it with fresh eyes, I had a lot more patience for, and in fact finally found the charm, in Catherine, the heroine's, naiveté.

This truly surprised me.

I know it was written as a satire of the Gothic novels of the time period, but a few years ago I found her annoyingly gullible. But her artless observations and judgement of the world actually make her unknowingly witty, and I finally found the humor in it. And this realization gave me a new appreciation for the love interest of the novel, Henry Tilney. He was constant in affection, amazingly clever, and found delight and admiration for Catherine's good nature along with me. This, coupled with Jane Austen's proto-feminisist comments as an omniscient narrator have made me reassess its position on my favorite Austen list.

But its interesting that I get so mad about stupid girls on American TV, read Austen's criticisms of patriarchy and delight, and yet can exist happily in Japan. I think its part of being a foreigner, clearly labeled as such, and the exclusion from society as a whole also affords me a sort of freedom from the restrictions of said society.

I do not exaggerate when I say that, in terms of women's rights, its 1964 here. I could write a dissertation on the parallels, but suffice it to say that this is a country where women have a taste of education and are in the workforce, but men still hold all the power. For most of them, their only drive in their early 20s (and truly, what many see as their only option) is to get married and have children. A valid choice if it is just that, but here females are pressured to the extent that women over 25 are referred to disdainfully as "Christmas Cake," or past their prime and unmarriagable.

I wish I was making this up.

There is a younger generation, women in university or just out, yearning for something more than what they see set out before them. And as a Western woman, they confide in me, sharing with me the desire to keep working when they marry. To do more with their life then just find a man to support them.

If ever there was a country in serious need of some bra burning, Japan is it.

So what can I do? Bite back the bile I feel at the inequality and continue to encourage those who do want more to just take it. But Japan is still a country where, in 2009, there are certain jobs only men can apply for. Where there are true office ladies, low level paper-pushing positions with no chance of promotion, who are sometimes forcefully phased out of their jobs at the age of 27 to make room for a 21 year old girl. Where being a flight attendant is seen by most girls as a dream career, international and unattainable. A society where they are expected to giggle and wink and be just the right mix of cute and subservient, while never contradicting the men around them. A country where husbands are out drinking till late every night, but dinner is still expected to be ready and waiting on the table when they stumble home.

But I don't parcel the blame to the men, its the society as a whole. And there are some accomplished women, and many good men. But the system is flawed, and no where near what it's like back home. Its quite jarring at times, and turns me into the angry feminist I never set out to be. And suddenly silly posts about reality TV turn into something more.

So I leave someone more capable to conclude it then I. Miss Jane Austen said it best in Northanger Abbey, and though speaking of Regency England, I find it frighteningly applicable to Japan today. It is the facetious assessment of the qualities good in a women. So please enjoy the wit of Jane, the kind of which I could never supply.

She was heartily ashamed of her ignorance. A misplaced shame. Where people wish to attach, they should always be ignorant. To come with a well-informed mind is to come with an inability of administering to the vanity of others, which a sensible person would always wish to avoid. A woman especially, if she have the misfortune of knowing anything, should conceal it as well as she can. The advantages of natural folly in a beautiful girl have been already set forth by the capital pen of a sister author; and to her treatment of the subject I will only add, in justice to men, that though to the larger and more trifling part of the sex, imbecility in females is a great enhancement of their personal charms, there is a portion of them too reasonable and too well informed themselves to desire anything more in woman than ignorance.

Famous Words to Live By

Everyone makes mistakes ~ Big Bird

Words I have taken to heart and tried to live by since I was a little girl and watching Seasme Street like it was a religious experience. In fact, I still think fondly back to those days, and a certain nostalgia fills me every time I come across old Sesame Street videos on youtube.

Its a funny thing. Most people my age treat Sesame Street with an almost reverence. It was such a perfect and undeniable part of our childhood, that it can't help but put everyone in a good mood whenever it's brought up. And it's funny to go back now and look at some of the skits. There is a certain element to them that I think is sometimes actually better appreciated as adults.

But times change, and there are a few things I mourn from the old Sesame Street. The fact that Elmo has eclipsed Grover in popularity, because I think we all know who the superior muppet is. (You know he was the best waiter around and where there is life, there is hope.) The fact that Cookie Monster doesn't eat just cookies anymore. (Now its a "sometimes food.") But for all the changes, for all the flaws, Sesame Street will continue to be something that I can't help but love.

And since today marks the 40th anniversery of Sesame Street, I just wanted to do a little honor to the show I fondly remember. So in celebration, I would like to present my all time favorite of the Waiter Grover series, and then my favorite song on Sesame Street.

(And you know I wasn't the only one who had that same rubber ducky.)

And Things that Go Bump in the Night

I’m pretty nostalgic for home this week, and its all because of Halloween.

Halloween is probably one of my absolute favorite holidays, and one that is, unfortunately, not widely celebrated in Japan. It seems like something they would absolutely love here, seeing as costumes are mandatory, but it is one western activity they have not appropriated. Yes, I have been wearing a costume to work all week, and teaching Japanese kids the joys of free candy, but its not quite the same aura of the macabre and atmosphere of celebration as home. And I find myself missing it.

So I’ve been trying to get into the holiday spirit, so to say, by planning a costume for Saturday night, listening to creepy The Decembrists’s songs, and skimming entertainment and pop culture blogs for news of the season.

But during my internet travels, I’ve run across an innumerable amount of articles about how vampires are the new “cool” thing. Seriously, every entertainment or news site has something written about it like it’s a brand new cultural phenomenon. Maybe its because it’s the close to beginning of the new TV season, maybe its because (apparently) the new twilight movie is coming out late fall, or maybe its because Halloween is literally right around the corner. Either way, the popularity of several franchises with a premise surrounding vampires have gotten all the media and entertainment blogs buzzing, trying to dissect the fascination, as if such a thing is new.

I almost want to ask where the hell they’ve been.

Now as someone who was a not so secret fan of the late 90s cult favorite, Buffy the Vampire the Slayer, I know that the vampire premise is fascinating, and the supernatural gave the writers license to explore real life issues in a fun and entertaining way. And while I found Twilight inanely stupid (I have to agree with my Aunt’s comments that the movie didn’t have enough blood or killing; I also found the lead more creepy stalker than romantic hero), the insane popularity just speaks to the interest that the genre holds.

But I repeat, this is not new.

Since Bram Stoker first put his pen to paper, Vampire stories have become its own genre in Western Literature. Bram shook up Victorian sensibilities by humanizing and, in fact, sexualizing the Vampire mythos, but that same interpretation has been a facet of fiction since then. And after Anne Rice, the mythology has evolved the vampire into, literally, a human with fangs. Someone who is inherently human, but uninhibited by the trappings of morality or self control.

So of course its appealing.

But who am I to really dissect why? I will never understand the appeal of the neutered, sparkly vampires of Twilight. But I do know that Buffy will always have a special place in my DVD collection. And that once I actually gave in to several instigators and watched it, True Blood has become one of my new favorite shows. (It truly is, as Alan Ball the creator, described it, “popcorn TV for smart people.”) So my attempt is not to explain, but merely balk at the media outlets surprise at the fact that vampires are cool.

I thought that was a well established fact?

So my musings turned into haphazard research, in which I discovered several interesting facts about vampires. So in honor of Halloween (and because I seriously love lists), I would like to share my findings, which I have comprised into a tiny list entitled:

Things You (Probably) Didn’t Know About Vampires

1. The original vampires of folklore were not the pale, gaunt, sinisterly attractive creatures of modern times. In traditional tales, vampires are described as bloated creatures with ruddy or purplish skin, with blood seeping from their mouth and nose. Very sexy.

2. Every language has its own word for it, but our word Vampire comes from the German Vampir, which in turn was adopted from the Serbian word вампир/vampir.

3. Indeed, as with the word, every culture all over the world for the last millennia has some form of vampire myth. Though our popular modern interpretation originates from the 18th century Southeastern European tradition, there are myths from every country throughout time. For example:

- The Persians were the first civilization to have tales of blood drinking demons, as depicted on ancient pottery shards.
- Ancient Babylonians believed in the Lilitu, a demon who lived on the blood of babies. (This is actually where Lilith of Hebrew folklore originates, but she was less picky about whose blood she subsisted on.)
- The Greeks and Romans believed in the empusae, a demonic bronze footed creature. She would transform into a young woman and seduce men, drinking their blood as they slept.
- In the Hindi tradition, India has the vetala, ghouls that inhabit corpses, drink blood, and constantly outwit their captors.
- In West Africa, the Ashani people believe in the asanbosom, vampiric creatures with iron teeth and claws that attack from above.
- In the Philippines, there are tales of the mandurugo, or “blood sucker.” It takes the form of an attractive girl by day, developing wings and a long, hollow threadlike tongue at night. Kind of like a really killer mosquito.
- In Chinese folklore, there is the Jiang Shi, reanimated corpses that hop around, killing people to absorb their life essences. They are created when an animal leaps over a corpse.

4. No matter the country, Vampires have OCD. In most folk beliefs, if they come across small grains, they have to impulsively count each and every one. In Europe, this meant poppy seeds or millet, in China and India it was sacks of rice.

5. According to legend, the most foolproof method for finding a vampire’s grave is leading a virgin boy through a graveyard on a virgin stallion. The horse would balk at the grave.

6. Vampire hunting societies still exist, though largely for social reasons. ( Of course, I am hard pressed to imagine what those reasons may be.)

7. The most recently recorded case of suspected vampirism in America was in 1892 in Exeter, Rhode Island. When 19-year-old Mercy Brown died, her father removed her from her tomb two months after death, cut out her heart, and burned it.

8. One of the most recent highly publicized cases of vampire activity was in 1970 in London, England. Two young men claimed a vampire lived in Highgate cemetery, and spurned a massive hunt by amateur “vampire hunters.” (Though perhaps they were all there for the social reasons.)

9. It is believed by some that belief in Vampires come from the attempts by pre-industrial societies to explain the natural, but them to seemingly unnatural, process of decomposition. Corpses swell with gas, and blood can ooze from the mouth. This makes them appear “plump” and “well-fed,” and as if they were in fact feasting upon blood. The skin and gums retract, making it appear as if their teeth, hair, and nails “grew.” And when a corpse was staked, the release of the previous mentioned gases could cause a groan-like sound, as if the “creature” was dying.

10. No folkloric tradition ever expressly states that vampires are either immortal or harmed by sunlight. Both suppositions are purely based on subsequent vampire literature.

11. The modern incarnation of the vampire as an aristocrat is believed to actually be a socio-political criticism of the Ancien Régime. A count alone in his castle, only emerging to feed on his peasantry, is symbolic of the parasitic nature of the old European ruling class. In 1979, filmmaker Werner Herzog took this political interpretation one step further, by having the young estate agent become the next vampire after Dracula. In other words, the capitalist bourgeois is the next parasitic class after the demise of the peerage system. (Now imagine him explaining all this in an esoteric rant with his self-possessed tone and surprisingly lilting accent. The thought makes me giggle.)

12. The charismatic and sophisticated aristocratic vampire did not actually begin with Bram Stoker. Though Dracula spawned the modern literary genre, the first vampire with these characteristics appeared in 1819 in a book called The Vampyre by John Polidori. Polidori was the personal physician of Lord Byron, and his vampire, Lord Ruthven, was based on his illustrious patient.

13. Varney the Vampire, a Victorian penny dreadful published in 1847 (so called because it was both inexpensive and grisly in content), solidified many tropes of vampire mythology we have today. He had fangs which left two puncture wounds, hypnotic powers, and superhuman strength. But most importantly, he was the first example of the archetype of the “sympathetic vampire.” In other words, a vampire who detests his condition; a victim of fate who is nonetheless a slave to it. It was the first instance of the tragic anti-hero that the vampire is today.

14. Dracula is a major character in more movies than any other character but Sherlock Holmes.

I lay full blame at the feet of Joseph Campbell for the compilation of the above list, as well as inspiring my interest in connecting worldwide folklore and tracing the mythos of an archetype through literature. But what can I say? Vampires are cool. Everyone is saying so nowadays. And researching them was a hell of a lot of fun. I just hope you enjoyed reading this even half as much as I enjoyed researching it.

Happy Halloween :)

Out with the Old, in with the New

So summer is officially over.



You will take a glance at the date I am posting this and think I am slightly insane for seemingly declaring the obvious. But if you have not lived in Japan before, you will not understand my reluctance to declare summer over. Because up until the two weeks ago, it was still disgustingly sticky and hot.



I laugh at anyone who wants to declare Japan a four season country. I know four seasons- I lived it for 18 years in New Jersey. It is characterized by temperate seasons with reasonable highs in July/August, reasonable lows in January, with a moderate decline and fall of temperature in between. The best I could classify the weather here is as two very distinct seasons of oppressive heat and a bitter chill with nice little transitional periods of temperate weather that bleed into each other. Because best I can tell, Summer here lasted from the first week of May till about October 4.



Especially in Nagoya.



Tajimi, located about 40 minutes by train outside the city in Gifu, besides being famous for ceramics, also has the dubious distinction of being known as the hottest place in Japan. So much so that national news services descend every summer to document it. This just illustrates the heat of the Chubu region in which I reside. And its not the heat that characterized the summer, but the amazing humidity. Humidity with a strength I had never experienced before. I had trouble breathing at times it was so heavy on my skin. Climbing stairs outside had me gasping like I was 70. I never didn’t sweat. I think I lost about 10 pounds from sweating alone.



A charming picture.



But as the first chill finally rolls into Nagoya, and I can finally wear more than a tank top at night again, I find myself reminiscing about the summer. It was hot, yes, but when I stopped complaining like a cranky old woman, there was lots to enjoy. So thinking back, I’ve composed a list of the things I will miss about my first summer in Japan.



1. BBQs
BBQs in Japan are vastly different from the hot dog and hamburger fests that I’m used to. Yes, there is the coolers of beer and soda, inane conversations about the heat, and sparklers, but there are fundamental differences. Like the traditional smashing of the watermelon, which involves blindfolds, a bat, a version of hot or cold, and then consuming smashed up watermelon bits. Or the way Japanese woman do everything possible to stay OUT of the sun, even resorting to sun visors reminiscent of Darth Vader‘s mask, huge floppy hats, and dark black arm guards that cover the whole arm and look amazingly stifling. Odd to me indeed, but the biggest, and most delightful difference, being the food itself.



It’s an array of grilled meats and vegetables that knock any hot dog out of the water. Steamed and grilled on a large charcoal pit, spices and sauces thrown over the entire heap, its like the ultimate stir fry. Then there’s the seafood, and the grilled rice balls, and everything else amazing you can think of. Men stoke huge grill pits with fans as they constantly switch the large assortment of grilled pork and beef with the sliced and sautéed vegetables.



Its an explosion of goodness in your mouth.



After my first one, I left very full and very happy. And despite the heat, I lounged by the lake in Shonai Ryokuchi Park with a beer in my hand, very content.



2. Fireworks



America has fireworks. They are pretty, light up the sky, give you a little thrill. A nice excuse to lay out a picnic blanket with friends and watch the night sky.



But nothing, I repeat NOTHING compares to the fireworks that Japan has.



The best fireworks displays I have seen back in the states compare only to the small fireworks displays in Japan. The big ones, the ones put on in the port of major cities, are fireworks displays the likes I have never seen before. Performances so long that the fireworks need to take an intermission. And the bright colors pack the sky throughout the entire show in a way that is only comparable to the actual finale of ones back home. And the finale? Its nearly overwhelming how awesome it is.



But the entire atmosphere of the event is worth it, even if it weren’t for the dazzling displays. Fireworks are seasonal, not privy to one holiday, so most weekends you will find a fireworks festival of some kind going on. Whether it be in a big city or a small town, the firework festivals has all the usual trappings of festivals in Japan, with the phenomenal food and traditional games. But these events have an extra special touch to it, for a majority of people attend dressed in yukata, or traditional summer kimono. Brightly colored garments with prints that range from the traditional to cutesy (I saw a fair share of Hello Kitty and leopard print ones), everyone walks around in them, a sea of color and texture, some girls with their hair styled just for the festival.



It is that nice extra element that makes the firework festivals just that more special.



3. Relaxing Outdoor Activities



Japan is a highly industrialized country, there is no denying that fact. Most greenery in cities are relegated to parks, and most suburbs look so much like the city that they bleed unnoticeably into each other. But Japan is also a country of beautiful mountains and breathtaking vistas, so when you can make your way out to get to it, they are absolutely worth it.



Being burned out on city life for such a reason, I decided to spend my summer vacation camping in the Japanese Alps. And as someone who is a professed lover of city life, I was amusingly surprised by the grand desire I had to see the mountains. But stressed from work and the heat, I was ready for a change of scenery. So, backpack in hand, I took the first train to Nagano and then a two hour bus ride out to Kamikochi, one of Japan’s national parks.



And as soon as we got there, I knew the trip was absolutely worth it.



Not only are the Japanese Alps snow and cloud capped peaks in breathtakingly rich greens, but the trails are still wild and fairly untouched. The air is clear and crisp, and the mountain streams that cut through are refreshingly cold and so amazingly blue it would not be out of place in the Caribbean. I spent a week of hiking and mountain climbing and attempting to wade in the freezing cold mountain water. We would walk all day, and then wander back to out tent and trade stories and grilled meat over our camp fire. And when I say walk all day, I actually mean it. One day we left our campsite at 10 am and didn’t come back till about 6 pm. I think we walked about 13 miles that day, but the mountains were so beautiful I never noticed the distance.



When we finally left Nagano, all the stress I almost didn’t know I had was melted away, and I was left feeling refreshed. It was so peaceful and rejuvenating that I cant even inject any snark into this section. All I know is that I cant wait for next summer to explore the rest of the mountains.

4. Beer Garden



The nomihodai, or all you can drink, is a popular concept in Japan. Bars do it very frequently, mostly because even though the Japanese are heavy drinkers, they don’t consume large quantities. But the gist of a nomihodai is what you would expect: all you can drink in a certain period of time for a set price.



The beer gardens take this to the next level. Set up on the roofs of large buildings all around Nagoya, it is really the only “outdoor seating” in Japan. But 30 stories up, its worth the view. You take the elevator up to the roof, play a flat rate of about 3000 yen, and get two or three hours of nomihodai (all you can drink) and tabehodai (all you can eat). You get lead to a table with a small grill for grilling your own meat, and after plopping down you bags, then proceed to the beer taps and buffet. You can get all you want of most Japanese beers (hence the name), and the buffet has every kind of rice and yakisoba and fried food you could want. There is also large sections for yakiniku of raw meat and vegetables, which you load up onto your plate and take back to your table. You then grill it yourself and enjoy fresh grilled meat and veggies dripping with sauce and still hot from the burner.



And if this sounds like something only for salary men and drunk gaijin, you are sadly mistaken. Despite being centered around drinking, I have seen so many families with children and elders at these things. They come as group and watch their parents drink, all while enjoying the large amounts of food or the cheesy entertainment of third rate JPOP wannabes.



But sitting on the rooftop in the sticky Nagoya heat, smoke from the small grills wafting around, a chilly mug of Asahi in my hand, and infectious JPOP blaring from the speakers, it’s the only place to be on a summer night in Japan.

6. Fans



I have to hand it to Japan. Keeping hand fans en vogue is one of the brightest ideas I’ve come across in the stifling heat. Though the thought to me evokes images of wraparound porches in the bayou, or ladies in Baptist churches with big hats, every man, woman and child in Japan uses a fan in the heat. In fact, most companies hand them out with advertisements on it, much in the way that they hand out tissues during allergy season (the Japanese are nothing if not excellent at marketing). And where at first I found it odd, I eventually became a full convert by the practicality of it.



Though its not necessarily something I will miss, fans are something I was very grateful to have this past season. It saved my hair, my makeup, and honestly, my sanity this summer. Sitting on long train rides in the high temperatures, or waiting in crowded areas, it relieved the heat in a way I thought nothing else could.



And for that I think I will for the rest of my life use hand fans.



So that is my final salute to Japan’s summer. The heat and the high cost of electricity from running my ac all the time may be gone, but the memories remain. And as with everything, hindsight only offers the good memories, as the bad ones fall away. So as we go full swing into fall, there are many things I will miss about Summer in the land of the rising sun.

But the humidity will definitely not be one of them.

And sorry I could not travel both and be one traveler

Yesterday was my friend Amelia’s 24th birthday.

Amelia is laid back almost to a fault, her effortless humor and even keel personality making her a someone you always want around. So I knew before hand, her birthday would be celebratory, but easy going. And because she had never been so close to a beach in the summer, despite having a birthday in August, she chose to spend her birthday at the beach. So yesterday, we traveled to Utsumi for a day on the shore.

We left Nagoya station late morning, loaded down with coolers, towels, and a general sense of quiet contentment. The train was full at first, with people and our own buzzing excitement, but as the railroad car drove along and people filtered out, only are voices were left. We stayed on the line till the very last stop, a long, winding trip through mountains; the sticky heat kept outside as we crisscrossed quiet towns dotted along the way. As the tracks petered out, we climbed out of Utsumi Station and, after a few mumbled directions in broken Japanese, headed towards the beach.

And the day ended up being all we had wanted; and really, all we expected. In other words, it was quite perfect.

The water was calm and low and warm; as crystal clear and reflective as the peerless blue sky. The sand itself was fine and white, and it slipped between our toes like cool powder. We lay down sheets and towels and heaped on the beach like a sprawling mass of cloth and bags. We lazily relaxed on the beach all day, languidly drinking and eating; a constant stream of food instead of a respectable meal. We laughed loudly with short bursts of impromptu singing, taking breaks here and there to sprint towards the cool water and splash around in it like children. We jumped on tubes and threw beach balls, while some of us covertly stalked the others with 100 yen store water guns. (And in truth, the hunt was always better than the actual attack, for the stream it produced was tiny at best, but the playful fear of an unexpected raid much more gratifying.)

When the sun turned down and set over the ocean, the orange ball low in the sky, I stood in the surf of the calm twilight sea with Caitlin and watched the others enjoy the slowly emptying beach. A few still half heartedly swimming, a few digging in the sand for no other reason than to do it, and everyone else sitting sun warmed and eased on the towels.

And as the sky turned inky, we reluctantly left the deserted beach and found a Tiki Bar a little up the shoreline. It was small with gaudy decorations evocative of tropical islands, but the drinks were cool and the food delicious and we whiled away the rest of the night there. We deciphered the menu, the English words masked in katakana, the foreign sounds rolling off our tongue as we tried to make them fit the words we knew them to be. We tried to play a drinking game to which I’m still not sure the rules, or when you had to drink, and it turned into all of us trying to come up with as many adjectives for each letter of the alphabet as we could. (It’s hard to play, Caitlin later said, when you do it with people with a good vocabulary.)

Tired, relaxed, our sun reddened cheeks turned redder by the alcohol, we finally head towards Utsumi station after ten. It was only after we arrived at the station that we discovered that the last train left at 10:39.

We got there at 10:44, five minutes too late.

Utsumi is one horse town, to borrow a homegrown colloquialism. We saw very few people in the town during the day, and no one at night. Everything was dark and shut down; a sleepy town closed down for the night. Plopping down in the middle of the darkened and empty train station, despite half formed ideas, we all knew there was no way to get back to Nagoya that evening. Someone suggested a bar to kill a few hours, someone else brought finding a hotel. And, well, because I was calm and content, 23 years old, and on vacation, we all collectively decided to sleep on the beach.

There was something reminiscent of home as I pulled on the orange hoodie I fortunately packed on a whim and sauntered down to the cool sand of the beach at night. A few chuckled at the obscene color, and I realized they had never seen the delightful color scheme of my alma mater before, so I joked along with them. There was grumbling about the situation as we sprawled out once again on the beach, but this time with a very different humor.

And a little time later, as we laughed nearly manically at something not all that funny, I realized it was the half-crazed laughter of spontaneity and ridiculous situations, as well as trying to make the best of it.

Wiping the tears from my eyes as my sides started to hurt, Doug said with quiet humor, “Who would have thought a year ago I’d have to be sleeping on a beach in Japan for the night.”

As I rolled onto my back and looked up at the stars, I echoed the sentiment in my head. The idea resonated, for who would have thought I would be in this situation, even a year ago? Which lead me to wonder where will I be on this day next year, and the one after that? Staring up at the endless constellations blinking flirtatiously back at me, life seemed vast and limitless in that one moment. The opportunities I have, and the ones that I create, shape my life. And the life I live, the adventures and events I then choose for myself, leave me with no regrets. These thoughts settled in my mind as I wrapped myself up in my towel and drifted off to sleep.

At 5:17 this morning, I woke up on the beach as the first light crept into the sky. Shannon was already stirring, cardboard she had found to sleep on already being carted towards the trash. (I poked fun at her for sleeping on it. She told me, with no lack of humor, she did it to really get the homeless person experience.) The rest of us rose, bleary eyed and silent, and telepathically decided to head out in time for the first train. Our silence was a great contrast to the noise of the day and night before.

As we trekked back the station, a route we were unfortunately becoming very familiar with, we somehow settled into pairs several yards apart. Amelia herself ended up next to me as we walked noiselessly along the road. The sky was the grey of early morning, and it diffused on the shops and houses still closed up. Despite the sour mood of everyone for having to have slept about 4 hours on the beach , I felt a small bit of optimism creep into my mind. The kind I relish, but others tell me can be quite annoying. Smiling slightly, I turned to Amelia.

“So, how was the birthday?”

Amelia greeted me with a smirk and a raised eyebrow which spoke volumes in and of itself.

And knowing Amelia, I thought that was all I was going to get. But after a brief moment, she laughed.

“Well I’ve never slept on the beach before,” she replied tartly. “So as far as new experiences go, it was a definite success.”

The smile that had been threatening fully erupted on my face, as I joined her in her easy laughter.

“As far as new experiences…” I repeated. “And later, it will make a hell of a story.”

She flashed another wry smile, as if that would make it all worth it.

We slipped back into quiet as we reached the road leading to the train station, the first trains of the morning already waiting on the tracks to take us back to Nagoya.

And no matter where I am next year, no matter when I end up in the future, I know I’m lucky for where I’ve been. For the choices I make. Because no matter what I do, I know I’ll always have one hell of story.