Sunday, 6/9/02
Greetings once again! Am I really leaving in just six weeks? The temperatures have been up in the low 90s for several days now, and we’ve heard (on the evening news and from friends) that these are fairly normal temperatures for July and August. Just two weeks ago, we took the large comforters off the beds and aired them out and stored them. This week, we took the single blanket off each bed. We’re down to just the sheets now. Cary is going home in a week, and he may miss the entire rainy season if he’s lucky. Apparently it lasts about a month, so I am thinking of ways to keep Morgan occupied. She now has a new pet: a praying mantis. Morgan diligently goes outside each morning to look for the special young leaves that this one likes to eat. I seriously doubt that I can handle getting her a stag beetle (you know the one: giant, black, with big “horns”), like many other kids have as pets.

Cary went to Kyoto on Monday while I was teaching (I took Morgan to class with me) and visited Ryoan-ji and Ninna-ji temples, and came home loaded up with beautiful handmade paper and fine teas. We have a great book called “Old Kyoto”; it lists all the shops where they still make and sell things (ink blocks, papers, lanterns, baskets, brooms, calligraphy brushes, hair ornaments) in the old style. He went again on Sunday, when the weather was particularly fine and I had work to do at home. We have gained a measure of independence, now that we can understand the train schedules and fares, and my basic Japanese is good enough to get us around. When all else fails, pantomime or draw pictures: that’s how I found out where the left luggage area was in the Hiroshima train station. (The word is ko-i-n rok-kaa, “coin locker.”) This week I re-read Kazuo Ishiguro’s “An Artist of the Floating World,” about an old-style artist who has to create propaganda art for the Imperial Army, then finds himself out of work and in disgrace in postwar Japan. I’d read it about five years ago, but this time it meant much more to me. I also read his newest book, “When We Were Orphans.” He’s really a fine writer. He isn’t well known in the west, though he should be: he wrote “The Remains of the Day.”

I have finished making almost all of the minidisks I need for the remainder of my class, with the only real mystery being what to do with music in the 1990s. It has been a real struggle to get each set of notes all prepared and typed up; it’s something I planned to do before I came but I just didn’t get around to it. I also couldn’t have anticipated what the lectures would need to be like. There’s so much English-as-a-Second-Language work that I do here, and my lecture notes would have been inappropriate if I’d done them at home. I have to explain every metaphor, every joke, every cultural reference, and every challenging word that I can and still cover some musical territory. [Try explaining the colorful metaphors in Moose Jackson’s “Big Ten Inch” record…] Somehow, we got through rhythm and blues and early rock’n’roll this week. I can play a grand total of a dozen cuts from any one genre in a lecture time. For the record, I used “Rock Around the Clock,” “Bo Diddley,” “Johnny B. Goode,” “Mystery Train,” “Peggy Sue,” “Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On,” “Devoted to You,” “Tutti Frutti,” “Blueberry Hill,” “Earth Angel,” “Why Do Fools Fall in Love,” and “Yakety Yak” for the classic rock’n’roll lecture. Next week it’s the girl groups, the Beach Boys, “Louie Louie,” and The Beatles.

Because the weather has continued to be so gorgeous, we decided on the spur of the moment to head off to Nara on Tuesday. We were at Horyu-ji temple outside of Nara within an hour and half of leaving our apartment. Horyu-ji is the oldest temple in all of Japan, and it was about 90 degrees, dusty, and humid. Two temple attendants were spraying the dusty ground with a hose in a high arc of water; Morgan looked at me with a mischievous expression on her face, and in an instant she was running through the sprinkling water, laughing. The two temple attendants looked shocked at first but started laughing too. The temple has the oldest wooden structures in the world, and a very fine tall pagoda. The places where you wash your hands and mouth had water coming out of elaborate dragon- or phoenix- or other-shaped containers, rather than bamboo tubes as at the shrines we’ve been to. As was the case on our other visit to Nara, the place was simply crawling with school kids, shuffling numbly past each Important Cultural Asset while scanning their internet access/cell phones (“keitai”). It reminded me strongly of home: we work so hard to stamp Culture onto junior high school and high school students who basically couldn’t care less. There were a few breaks in the crowds, though, and we thoroughly enjoyed Horyu-ji’s dazzling collection of T’ang era pieces. I kept trying not to say “Look, Morgan! It’s another 1200-year-old sculpture of the Buddha!” To my amazement, she asked me about his life, and actually wanted to know in detail why he would give up his life of luxury to seek enlightenment. “What is enlightenment, Mom?” (gulp) We also talked about bodhisattvas, and about what it means to help others. I had my hands full keeping my didactic tendencies to a level appropriate for a first-grader. We also visited the Hall of Dreams after running the Gantlet of Knickknacks.

At the National Museum in Nara, we all burned out on scrolls before we got too far, but we thoroughly enjoyed the sculptures. Every year at this time, the contents of the treasure house at Todai-ji temple are taken to the museum for public viewing. The exhibit has the unfortunate name of “Ultimate Todai-ji.” We were feeling very lucky, of course, to see these very special objects from such a magnificent temple. The school groups weren’t in evidence in the museum, and it was a relief to be able to stand in one place and actually absorb some of the sense of an object without being jostled or asked to practice English. I was deeply touched by the wooden carvings of some of the temple priests; their carved clothing looked like the thickest, richest draped silk. Morgan and I were delighted by the ancient carved performance masks (gigaku and bugaku), making guesses about the nature of each character based on expression, wrinkles, facial hair, size of nose and eyes, etc. One awe-inspiring 20-foot tall sculpture was there because its location in Todai-ji temple was being renovated – it hadn’t been removed from the temple in 1200 years.

We finished our visit to Nara by stopping at Kofuku-ji temple, which has the second largest pagoda in Japan (just a few centimeters shorter than one in Kyoto). What a pleasure to be there. The fellow who did a calligraphy piece in Morgan’s special souvenir book there was charmed by her and performed several magic tricks, just for fun. These souvenir books are really lovely: you go to a special location at any temple or shrine and they stamp your book and do a stunning work of calligraphy for a couple of dollars. Each one is remarkably different from the others, and reflects so much about the place, and the person who did the work. I’ve kept track of each place we’ve had this done. Invariably, this has been a positive experience for us, as I get a chance to practice my Japanese small talk, sit down with the person (usually a priest or apprentice), and make a human connection in the peace and quiet of a temple or shrine. That chance to connect on a human level is one of my favorite parts of visiting temples and shrines.

World Cup Madness has descended on Japan. Kobe Wing Stadium was the host of the Wednesday game between Tunisia and Russia, but it didn’t affect us here in West Kobe. You really notice the huge numbers of foreigners downtown, though. We have watched a couple of the games on television, and even though I enjoyed playing soccer in high school (as an incompetent goalie), I am mystified by its huge international appeal. Japan’s considerable (and somewhat justifiable) paranoia about hooligans (“fuurigan”) has the police and shopkeepers on edge: many shops and restaurants near the stadiums have been boarded up and all white men in groups are under suspicion. Japan is co-hosting the World Cup with South Korea, a problematic cooperative effort to say the least. So far, though, it’s going extremely well, and there is some hope of future cultural cooperation between the two bitterly-estranged nations. It is challenging to get things done while matches are being held, because all television sets are tuned to the games (in restaurants, in shops, etc.) and everyone is watching and talking about the games. World Cup news is on the front page of the paper each day, and occupies at least fifty percent of the nightly news broadcast. I want a t-shirt for Morgan that says “fuurigan.”

On Wednesday morning our shakuhachi-playing friend Robin Eve picked us up at our apartment and took us to visit his performing partner, Miwa-san, who lives in the hills of Kobe. She is a gracious and irrepressible older woman whose fine musicianship and warm kindness impressed all three of us. She played the koto and sang while Robin played shakuhachi (they perform and tour together with several other musicians), and later played the shamisen as well. They played many of my favorites (ones like “Rokudan,” which every ethnomusicologist in America hears/plays in their first “survey of world music” class). She allowed me to ask questions, and luckily she enunciated very clearly so I was able to understand large portions of her answers without having to ask Robin to translate too much. She even brought out an enormous bass koto with 17 strings for Cary to look at and play! About halfway through the visit I realized that we hadn’t brought a gift. I was mortified. It was the first time I’ve forgotten, I think. After an hour and a half of music and conversation, she brought out tea and scones and rum cake and fresh fruit, obviously having gone to a great deal of trouble to prepare for our visit. I gave her my meishi (business card), which obligated her to give me hers, and that meant I had her address. We immediately went to Sogo, the huge department store at the end of the subway line, and ordered a “significant” package of sweets to be elegantly wrapped and delivered to her home on the same day. What a relief to know that one can save face quickly and easily like that! I still make mistakes, though.

On Wednesday evening I went to a party for the Kobe Shodai worker’s union, held in the cafeteria. There was a ton of beautifully-displayed drinks and fresh foods: sushi, sashimi, sake, wine, beer, juice, a few scattered Western-style foods, and trays of fresh fruit. Later, trays of desserts were brought out (mostly mousses and cakes). What a feast! Because the size of the union has diminished in recent years, there were fewer people than they expected, and the approximately 40 adults couldn’t possibly finish everything. So the servers brought out plastic trays and bags, and invited everyone to bring food home! I brought home a tray of sushi/sashimi and a tray of desserts for Cary, along with a large bottle of fresh (unpasteurized) sake. The best part of the party, though, was the conversations. I had to make a speech, but chickened out and did it in Slow English, being careful to mention Japan’s World Cup draw the day before (cheers all round). Afterward, the university president came up to me and quietly said something like “I think you understand more Japanese than you let on. You say you don’t speak Japanese, but you do. I have heard you speaking Japanese.” I leaned close to him and said, “Now you know my secret,” which caused him to beam a smile at me. Leaning closer, he whispered (while indicating the other faculty in the room) “And they pretend that they don’t speak English, but they really do.” Later I enjoyed several lively conversations with faculty I hadn’t met before (and unfortunately can’t remember their names), and had fun talking with Yoko, Myles, Brian, and others. More human connections…I will find it difficult to leave here next month!

Toshiko Akiyoshi, the famous jazz piano player who became well-known in America, gave a solo concert at Kobe’s “Satin Doll” club on Thursday night. Cary went with Yoko and also with Ron Mason, a jazz guitarist who teaches English for his day job. Apparently they sat less than ten feet away from Akiyoshi, so they had a great vantage point for watching and listening. Kobe seems to have so many wonderful clubs with every kind of music; you could easily go out every night and see something new.

We spent Friday and Saturday at the Buddhist retreat area of Koya-san, a mountainous region a couple of hours south of Osaka on the Wakayama peninsula. I mentioned my interest to Micheal Hishikawa a month ago, and he and his wife decided that they would like to see it as well, so all six of us went first thing Friday morning (their older daughter stayed home, but their younger daughter Sayuri-chan came along). When you go to Koya-san, you stay in a small monastery; there are seventy of them there offering lodging (“shukubo”). Ours (Sanbo-in) was quite nice, slightly worn around the edges, and quiet; we could hear a small waterfall outside our window, which looked out onto a hillside with rhododendrons. Sanbo-in was resplendent in stunning painted paneled walls, and its hondo or place of worship was full of gold everywhere: lanterns hanging from every inch of the ceiling, gold altar, thousands of small gold statues. Micheal had chosen that place because it is well-known for its shomyo chanting (some places use recorded chanting for morning prayers!). On our way there we transferred trains several times, ending up on an impossibly steep cable car that inched its way directly up the side of a mountain. I don’t think I’ve ever been on such a steep railway: straight uphill!

We spent the afternoon at Kongobu-ji, the “mother temple” of the Shingon sect of Buddhism. Shingon Buddhism, by the way, has ten million followers. What a place. It has Japan’s largest rock garden (hundreds of square feet), very old buildings, fine thatching on the structures, and original furniture in the kitchen that looked just like the Arts and Crafts-era furnishings of home. The painted wall panels of historical scenes and seasonal events were extraordinary in the details and the richness of color. We also went over to the inner sanctuary (the “Garan” compound), which was virtually deserted. Micheal and Angela said they felt like they’d gone through a time warp to several hundred years in the past. No announcements, no people pushing and shoving, no busloads of schoolkids shuffling around; just us, monks, and temple attendants. It was a Friday, of course; the crowds wouldn’t appear until Saturday, but we were lucky, again, to be in the right place at the right time. It was especially interesting to compare the Shingon “culture” of Buddhism with Tendai, which we had witnessed in Ohara near Kyoto last week. It struck all of us as being remarkably similar to Tibetan Buddhism, not just in the polychrome paintings of deities, but also in the particular appearances of mandalas, stupas, statuary, and (especially) shomyo chanting. Having been much more familiar with Tibetan chanting, as soon as I listened to Shingon shomyo, I felt right at home. From the bridge above the pond nearby, we could see hordes of giant carp coming right toward us with their mouths open above water: dozens of large O’s.

We visited the Reihokan museum (“You take pictures, we take the film right out of your camera!”), which was built entirely of fragrant cedar. It smelled very much like the northwest. I was fascinated by two copper temple bells; each was about four feet tall. They were built three hundred years apart (the oldest having been built 900 years ago), yet I couldn’t discern a single difference between them. I kept walking back and forth, back and forth, looking for a detail that would differentiate them. We were also very impressed by a remarkable example of the Shingon founder Kukai’s calligraphy; normally my brain shuts down anywhere within eight feet of a scroll, but I was really drawn to this one. It exuded confidence, years of training, perfect form, and tremendous power. No wonder he was considered a master calligrapher as well as the inventor of the kana writing system, among other achievements.

We joined the Hishikawas for dinner in the special tatami-floor dining room. They (and Cary) remained in their yukata, but I couldn’t fathom kneeling for the entire time. Dinner was very interesting: special regional tofu, sake, rice, vegetable tempura, and multiple unknowns. It was really entertaining to try all the different things! All these shukubo serve vegetarian dinners only, but Morgan and Sayuri-chan were ceremoniously presented with hamburgers, laden with sauce. After a little negotiating, some vegetable tempura was brought for her too. The guests in the dining room next to ours were watching both the Hanshin Tigers game AND the Tokyo Giants game at full volume, switching back and forth, so it was considerably more lively than we expected. Later I went back downstairs in my yukata and was reading Ishiguro’s new book. I was startled by a large spider that spent the next hour watching me from five feet in front of my chair. I kept looking up every page or so to make sure it was still there, but at one point I got lost in the book and didn’t look for ten pages…at which point it was gone. I thought perhaps it was best to leave the room but right at that moment the monks began their evening prayers. It was gorgeous to listen to, especially in the quiet of the evening. Their voices are warm and well-practiced, and I just closed my book and listened (keeping one eye out for the large spider). Later, one of the head monks walked past and, seeing me, came over to find out what I was reading. I was able to explain that Ishiguro was a Japanese-English man living in England, who writes in English, but my Japanese simply isn’t good enough to explain the plot. We had a few minutes of very enjoyable small talk, then off he went when my Japanese skills started to run out.

At 5:15 in the morning, I was woken up by the sound of a small gong being struck, then I heard an ominous click as what was unmistakably a loudspeaker turned on. A loud voice announced that it was time to get up and be ready for morning prayers at 6 am. Another announcement came at 5:55, saying that we should come to the hondo, so off we went, leaving Morgan deeply asleep (but with clothes and instructions from the night before to go visit Angela-san and Sayuri-chan in the room next door when she woke up). We kneeled on the tatami floor (it was pretty chilly in there), and they began the morning service, complete with gorgeous shomyo chanting. At the first stroke of the inverted kettle gong, I noticed a movement next to the fellow on the left (they all had their backs turned to the guests), and another large spider came zipping out of the gong as quickly as its legs could carry it. It must have spent a peaceful night in there until just that moment! It hesitated, then started back toward the gong, but the next gong stroke sent it scuttling across the tatami in an instant. It was incredibly funny (but I managed to keep a straight face). I should explain: by “large” I mean about 4 inches across including legs. These don’t compare in size with the dinner-plate sized, bird-catching monsters of Indonesia, but they’re startling enough if you’re unprepared.

We spent the morning in Okuno-in, the huge cemetery where everyone who is anyone in Japan has at least part of their remains stored, including locks of hair or memorial tablets or whatever. Almost every “big name” in Japanese history is memorialized there. Two things struck me as most interesting: some of the gravestones have letterboxes for visitors to put their business cards, just to let the deceased know who shown up. Also, many large Japanese corporations have corporate memorial sites, including one for Nissan employees (with two statues of mechanics with a steering wheel and a plate that says “Turbo X” at their feet) and one for the UCC coffee company (with two large granite coffee cups). I loved going through the cemetery; it is filled with soaring cyptomeria pines, smells wonderful, and you can hear the sounds of the small bells worn by the Buddhist pilgrims as they walk among the headstones. In the central temple there, we saw thousands of lanterns (including one well-tended lantern that had been lit continuously for a thousand years). Two monks were chanting beautifully there; I was very impressed with the resonance of their voices until I saw the discreetly-hidden loudspeakers broadcasting their chanting. I was elated to see a hanging flat stone gong (two feet across) near the pilgrims’ rest house; we tried it out with the hammers suspended from the frame, and it had several clear, ringing tones.

I spent Sunday evening at an Irish stepdance class taught by Niall O’Leary, an Irishman currently living in New York City. Half a dozen Japanese women and one Japanese man (mostly in their 30s and 40s) were there, with varying degrees of experience. Never having done stepdancing in my life (only set dancing), I found it to be most challenging. To my colleagues at Evergreen, good luck wrapping up the school year. To everyone else, enjoy the beginning of summer.

Cheers, Sean