So here’s the stuff I’ll miss when I go.

Shinto

Shinto is Japan’s home-grown polytheistic/animist belief system, which I would loosely describe as a cosmology representing nature and our place in it. In day-to-day life, Shinto manifests itself by marking places of beauty, celebrating life events, and throwing really cool festivals.

The iconic red Shinto gate is one of Japan’s best-known symbols. These shrines are so pervasive in Japanese culture that their bright red-orange color has its own kanji, 朱, translated as “vermillion” in English. Indeed, the ubiquitous presence of Shinto shrines fully makes up for the country’s otherwise ugly construction practices. Nothing spruces up a wall of concrete like a bright and cheery shrine where you least expect it. The arches themselves aren’t always beautiful — sometimes they’re made out of concrete or even metal tubes — but the very fact that they’re there means someone thought this place deserved to be commemorated, and that makes life just a little bit brighter. And shrines only get better with age: a shabby arch is just as cheering as one meticulously maintained.

And Shinto festivals are simply fabulous. The priestly costumes are out of this world. The festivals themselves usually consist of huge groups of people getting together to do something useless but entertaining, like carrying heavy shrines across town and back, or into a waterfall. Followed, of course, by drinking (see Non-Puritanism below).

Some (probably not many) may wonder why I haven’t mentioned Buddhism along with Shinto. Indeed, the boundaries between the two are essentially indistinguishable in Japan — many Buddhist temple complexes contain Shinto shrines and vice versa. But as it was wonderfully described to us by Johnnie Hillwalker in Kyoto, Buddhism deals with death, while Shinto deals with life. Buddhism is much more of an organized religion: centralized temples, cemeteries, services, chants; whereas Shinto is more about appreciating nature and and our place in it. And while I love Buddhist temples too, it’s the Shinto shrines I’m going to miss when we leave.

Effortlessly Healthy Food

Japanese people live forever, and they always seem to look about ¾ their actual age. Some of that is genetic, but it doesn’t hurt that it’s extremely easy to get good, healthy, locally-grown food in this country.

Traditional Japanese food is known for its tiny portions and intricate preparation. Just the other day, in fact, Steph’s adult English class threw a going-away party for us, which involved of one of these 和風 meals. It consisted mainly of small bits of fresh, mostly unprocessed ingredients — by which I mean not fried, or sweetened, or greased. There was raw fish and shrimp, broiled salted fish, delightfully presented veggies, a squid stuffed with rice. (I have to admit, the latter tasted alarmingly like cat food.) With this as a traditional meal, you can see how modern Japanese cuisine would still tend toward the small and simple.

We’ve got it doubly good where we are, because the food only has to travel a couple of miles from farm to plate. Every supermarket has a section devoted to local produce: mushrooms, carrots, corn, eggplants, onions, potatoes, and various leafy things. If you go to a local restaurant, your meal is likely to be made by hand from fresh ingredients (seasonal, of course), not from a package. Even Mos Burger, Japan’s home-grown McDonald’s equivalent, exhaustively lists the farms where all its vegetables are sourced.

When we moved to Japan, I immediately lost 15 pounds — 10 of them in the first month. And my weight has remained around the same since then (ignoring the spike caused by going back to America for three weeks!) with no particular effort. So while I don’t always like Japanese food, I will definitely miss the effortless healthfulness of it.

Non-Puritanism

It’s a cliché that living in a foreign country teaches you things about yourself that you never knew. We all grow up immersed in our native cultures, not noticing all the biases and assumptions that surround us every day. Viewing America from the other side of the world has really brought home the degree to which the country’s social mores are descended from the Puritanism of the original settlers. Even after the astonishing social progress of the 20th century, American values still show their conservative roots, which I would describe roughly as: the body is sinful (so nudity and various bodily functions are considered embarrassing or obscene), and anything pleasurable (sex, alcohol, drugs) should be banned whenever possible… or at least done behind closed doors and never mentioned in public. I’m a pretty socially liberal guy, but even so, these priorities always seemed “natural” to me, though of course I was always aware of other cultures who weren’t as uptight about certain things — for example France with sex, or Amsterdam with drugs.

If I had to distill all of America’s social norms into one basic pattern, it would be that everything is treated as a moral issue. If you offend me, you are a Bad Person. In Japan, on the other hand, things tend to be treated as issues of etiquette. If you offend me, you’re a Bad Public Citizen. Most cultural norms here seem to come down to how your actions affect the group: If you’re not hurting anybody, usually you won’t be bothered about it.

And I love it that way.

Take alcohol. Japan is just as buttoned down as America when it comes to drugs like marijuana or anything “harder,” but alcohol is a completely different story. By American standards, most Japanese men would be considered raging alcoholics. (In my experience, women tend to drink much less than their male counterparts.) But whereas in America drinking a lot would be considered a sign of moral depravity, or at least weak will, here it seems to function mostly as a tool for relaxation — a temporary release from the more formal day-to-day strictures of Japanese society. The lack of moral judgmentalism really hits home when you see how casually alcohol is discussed in the public sphere. A few weeks ago we were doing a taiko performance at a retirement home, when our good friend Mr. Bean, who was serving as MC of the event, happily announced to the crowd of wheelchair-bound octogenarians, “Sorry I’m a bit spacey today… I drank way too much last night!” And Steph regularly encounters elementary school classes where “Do you like beer?” is one of the lesson-plan dialogs for practicing English.

Then there’s nudity. Showing body parts is just not a particularly big deal. Public baths are a societal fixture; everyone has seen a million naked strangers by the time they’re old enough to even think about it. Parents bathe with their children at home. Japanese sporting events don’t have streakers, because nobody would care.

If anything, Japan goes a bit off the deep end when it comes to their love of one piece of anatomy: the rear end. Indeed, Japan’s “butt culture” is a head-scratcher. Store windows will have cartoon blobs of poo advertising products. NHK (that’s right, the PBS of Japan) created a cartoon character called oshiri kajiri mushi (”butt-biting bug”) who has his own catchy song. One of our friends in Noshiro has a plush poo-doll sitting on her living room bookshelf. Steph’s theory on the fascination with poo is that it comes from the traditional squat toilets — in which your poo greets you, up close and personal, when you’re done.

When I set out to write this, I didn’t intend to pen a big meandering philosophical treatise on Japanese vs. American culture! And poo. Nor do I mean to imply that America is repressive or not a good place to live. Every country has its hangups, and America and Japan certainly both have them in spades. But I have found Japan’s general lack of holier-than-thou moralizing to be refreshing. I’ll remember the feeling fondly.

Feb 15, 2009

For reference, the previous four earthquakes were:

• Iwate, July 24 2008
• Iwate/Miyagi, June 14 2008
• Niigata, July 16 2007
• Noto Peninsula, March 25 2007 (visiting Kyoto at the time)

Amazingly, I was watching the news when the earthquake happened, and an earthquake alert popped up on the television about 10 seconds before the earthquake actually arrived. The shaking was not heavy all the way over here in Noshiro, but it went on for over a minute. It felt like being on a boat, with a kind of constant vibration accompanied by big, slow swaying back and forth. I went outside and noticed all the powerlines swinging all over the place. Our landlord’s gardener was out there and didn’t seem to be noticing anything though!

More info

• Japan Meteorological Agency
• USGS
• Google Map

You can get an idea of the scale of this thing from this map from KPBS.

The amazing thing is that this map covers as much area as the entire prefecture that we live in in Japan.

It’s deja vu all over again. We lived in San Diego for four years before moving to Japan, and the fire pictures are taking us back to 2003 when some of the same areas burned at almost exactly the same dates, starting on October 26 and continuing for several days after.

Our thoughts are with our friends in San Diego, particularly John and Kathie who live directly between the north and south fires.

I was a bit confused when my co-teacher told me that the school was being closed because of wind. The weather outside didn’t seem so severe, and I’d been in much stronger winds in Noshiro before. My confusion escalated to alarm when I heard that the teachers were required to stay at school even though the students were sent home. Our school building is, let’s say, on the crumbly side and is currently undergoing extensive renovation. When I heard that something was dangerous enough to cancel class, but that the teachers had to stick it out, images of being buried alive in a pile of rubble flashed before my eyes.

Which is when I heard about the evacuees in the gym. And the pieces started to fall together… we weren’t bracing ourselves for wind after all. The Yoneshiro river which runs through town was full to the point of bursting, and things were starting to get wet. Things like entire rice fields and houses. I sat back and took it all in for a moment. Flood? Where was I when all this happened?

As school was technically closed for the day, I had to go out and forage for my lunch. My usually peaceful town was abustle with traffic. Restaurants were closed. Police had blockaded now-underwater river-adjacent streets. I’m told that snakes and frogs lined the retaining wall, fleeing from the swollen river as the water inched upwards. Isn’t that some kind of sign of the apocalypse?

Luckily, Noshiro and the Akita river area in general is built for this sort of thing, with wide flood plains. Nevertheless, over 25,000 people in Akita have had to evacuate their homes. Entire bridges are missing a little farther to the southeast. Let’s hope that typhoon season ends soon so we can all dry out a little.

My suggestion? The Hachimantai Plateau. It was a locale steeped in mystery: smack in the middle of Akita, but still inexplicably inaccessible, surrounded by mountains, with an alpine atmosphere juxtaposed with “evidence of volcanic activity”.

Tantalizing destination? Check.

We gathered together some intrepid friends and headed off by car into the heart of Akita. Once we reached the Hachimantai area, we had to ascend a punishing slope to get to the plateau. During the climb, my attention was equally split between the gorgeous mountain view and the temperature gauge of our car, which was stubbornly climbing upward as well. I’m not sure that name “Red Bullet” is appropriate any more; she certainly wasn’t faster than a speeding anything, and we had to give her a rest a few times on the way up.

Once at the top, you could truly get a sense of the mountainous spine which runs down the center of Japan. We found an alpine marsh, preparing to burst into bloom. Pockets of snow could still be seen on the mountain, and in the distance, we could see Japanese skiers who had flocked to a still-covered slope, and were enjoying the last bit of powder as they jumped off of snowy hillside ramps.

Several paths led to and around the summit, skirting past many of the partly frozen ponds that characterize the Hachimantai area. Elevated planks led us across still-barren meadows, soaking wet and dripping with the sound of snow melt. Stone paths led us through thickets of pine, and voluminous clouds added majesty to a scene still tinged with the breath of winter.

Ten minutes into the hike, the planks we had been happily traversing were completely covered in snow. Snow had been tiresome in March, but in mid-June, as heat and humidity begin to afflict the lower altitudes in Japan, discovering snow was like some uncanny summer hallucination. We all did our best to shuffle, slip and slide across to where the planks emerged again, including our friend Claire, who was dressed to the nines a very summery go-go dress and boots. We repeated this maneuver over and over again… plank-snow-plank-snow, working our way through the intermittently frozen landscape.

On our way out of the park mid-afternoon, we made a detour to visit a nature trail from which you could observe “volcanic phenomenon”. “Phenomenon” was a huge understatement. I’m not saying that there was red-hot lava flying through the air or anything; but if you stepped off the path, imminent death awaited you. There are not enough words in the English language to explain the smells which suffused the air. My nose couldn’t quite parse all the olfactory excitement. “Smelly” does not begin to cover the spectrum of the fumes which poured forth from this conduit to geothermal happiness.

We passed several bubbling mud pools, and steam periodically hissed from beneath the rocks at our feet. Holes in the soil beside the trail swore and spit, belching fumes from the belly of the earth. Here and there you could see where the path had been re-routed in deference to a newly-formed steaming pit. One of these bubbling cavities surfaced directly under a pole by the roadside, which had sunk several feet into the mire. We stumbled upon a mud volcano (the biggest one of it’s kind in Japan!), which looked downright quaint until we read that the pool was 25 feet deep and 85 degrees Celsius.

Signs warned not to touch the deceptively benign water running by our feet, as the pH was somewhere in the vicinity of 1.5. We skirted a small volcanic rim, and soberly noted a sign on the far side that had been subsumed by all the bubble and toil.

A hot springs resort occupied the real estate adjacent to these hellish pools. Thick and incredibly ugly black tubes snaked around the nearest spring, piping hotter than hot water to the baths. Guests emerged from the resort in kicky little white and green yukatas (little more than thin bathrobes), to stroll nonchalantly amongst the scalding and bubbling mud, before returning to their hot spring retreat. On a distant rock was a Christian cross, surveying the scene from on high… I’m not sure what was going on there. Make the corresponding parallels to fire and brimstone if you wish. It was a surreal scene on a lot of levels.

I am thrilled to live in a place where, even after a year of relentless investigation, there is still more exploration to be done. Surprise still lurks in the cracks and crevices of this odd back-country, a niche half-forgotten, half-ignored by those living in the bigger city, on the faster track.

It’s refreshingly cool this evening, a June Aberration. A radio tune I can’t quite hear winds through the street from some far off window, delicately drifting in and out of reach. Water rushes quietly under the street, hurrying to some unknown secret place.

I pass the elementary school field, which is abuzz during the day with children, my students, shouting ohstephaniesenseihello! ohstephaniesenseihello! At night it seems empty by comparison, until a chorus of frogs hums up out of the night, krrr-chickchick-ga-ga-ga! krrr-chickchick-ga-ga-ga! They’re proudly broadcasting their froggy tune, the welcome song of summer.

Tonight, there’s no snow, no strong wind, no steely flat clouds. No screaming children, no staring adults, no witty repartee. Just me and Japan, out for a stroll, sharing this perfect evening together.

Most kids pedal their way to school, as Noshiro is small enough to navigate entirely by bike. I pass every sort of plaid on my way to work… it’s kind of like Scotland and tartans, only here it’s kids and school-specific plaid uniforms. As I get within a few blocks of my school, I start to see my students. They’re always surprised to see me…. maybe adults are supposed to be in cars? They know I have one… perhaps they wonder why I’m slumming it with them? It’s an easy answer: one part California hippie fossil fuel consciousness and one part exercise.

I’ve never really been inspired to burn calories via bike. Perhaps it’s because I’ve lived in car-infested areas like Berkeley or San Diego or LA where you suck up more fumes than anything else. However, I just read the account of a woman, just out of college, who biked the Silk Road with a few friends in China. 5,000 kilometres in 4 months, riding through punishing mountainous terrain in Eastern China. This adventure has inspired me to rediscover Japan by bike. If only I had the vacation time, I would circumnavigate Hokkaido, complete the 88 temple pilgrimage in Shikoku, and do laps around Lake Biwa. For now, I’ve settled for rediscovering the countryside around me.

After 9 months here, I figured I pretty much knew everything there was to know about Noshiro. But there are those little streets between the arteries that still beg for exploration. I’ve found new temples and shrines in neighborhoods tucked away in the rural expanse. I’ve discovered beautiful tiny access roads that drift between the rice fields, which have all just been flooded with water for the upcoming planting season. I’ve biked to the next closest city, about 25 km to the east, following the serpentine Yoneshiro river. Along the river is an overgrown forgotten park full of blooming cherry trees and dilapidated playground equipment. Clusters of vertical polished stones indicate a small graveyard here or there.

In the middle of my ride, I stopped to talk to some older ladies to ask where I was, as I’m not sure where my town Noshiro ends and the next, Futatsui, begins. When I asked these women where I was, they said something like “Noshiro inaka desu yo!” and cackled, which roughly translates to “man, you’re in deep-country-side-boondocks-Noshiro!”

Farmers in their tractors pass me on the road, calling out to ask me if I’m tired or cold (no to both!). Farmers farther off in their fields bow slightly in my direction as I pass and do the same. I watch as everyone manicures their rice and vegetable fields, leveling the wet heavy muck, or patiently hoeing the dirt into rows for produce. The birds are out, grey herons and white egrets that stumble warily out of the river brush as I ride by.

I am falling in love with Tohoku all over again as green overtakes the countryside, and spring slowly manifests itself. And I can’t wait to see what happens next, what lies around the next curve.

Last weekend we made plans to party with my adult English class, but the weather was cold and the blossoms weren’t out yet. Tuesday, our English club at the high school was going to make a go of it after school, until two of the girls were caught shoplifting. After that incident it was considered in poor taste to go out and have fun, so the girls stayed after school to do English drills instead. I was invited to not one, but TWO tea ceremony/flower viewing parties last Thursday, but unfortunately, I caught the crud that’s been going around the high school, and I was incapacitated by a 24 hour flu.

So this weekend, with the trees in full bloom, we created our own sakura gameplan. Plan A was to wander through the park near our house, and try to get ourselves “pulled in” to an ongoing party. We arrived a bit late in the festivities, as everyone was winding things up just before sunset, but we did have some nice exchanges with these friendly construction workers, who fancied a good frolic on the swing set.

The rest of the weekend, we went chasing blooms. The most magnificent display was just to the north in Hachimori, which boasts an entire hillside covered in cherry trees. We also checked out two castle parks in the not so near Akita City, but these didn’t hold a candle to the parks closer to home.

On Monday, we were satisfied with the blossom element, but still searching out the party. We said screw it, plan B, we’re going to make our own party. So three of us, all English teachers from America, bravely trotted out to the park, plentiful goodies and alcoholic supplies underarm. No sooner did we all crack open a beer when we were swept into an adjacent party (see plan A).

We were invited to join a party of Izakaya owners and goers, which means they all frequent a particular pub ’n grub establishment in town. It also means they are very practiced at having a good time. This crew brought several dozen glass steins and a beer keg to the park! Festival food for the offering included someone’s tentacles, denuded shellfish, remarkably lifelike shrimp with all the appropriate appendages still attached. We ate hanami dango and sausages and grilled veggies. The party also included a long haired dachsund, who would run amok on the picnic blanket, spilling food and dragging food in his wake.

And now we’re off to Osaka to enjoy the rest of the long weekend. Happy Golden Week, y’all!