Let’s face it, posts have been few and far between these last few months. The cause of this silence? I blame the Japanese… not the people, mind you, who have been exceedingly fun and kind and friendly, but the language, which has not yet exhibited any of these qualities to me.
I have a fascination this one question, and lately I’ve been asking everyone within earshot: What was your first job? Sometimes this leads to cryptic two-word answers for which you must invent your own back-story (take for example “cookie factory”). Other times you get more information than you were bargaining for (”I mowed lawns so I could buy my first set of bagpipes”).
Now this may surprise all of you (ok, none of you), but I am actually not all that interested in war. And I don’t mean starting them or watching them, but studying them and learning about them. Perhaps this lack of interest could be traced back to any number of uninspiring history teachers in my past. Or the fact that history class never really seemed to get past WWI, from an almost exclusively European standpoint. So when I was informed that I should check out the war memorials, the war bunkers, and the war museums during my upcoming trip to Okinawa, I politely nodded yes on the outside and then quickly jettisoned the notion of doing anything remotely related to WWII on my much needed vacation. I was going to see culture, dammit, and see a slice of paradise. Why ruin a good thing with something so depressing?
Some of us here in Akita have been quite startled over the past few days. Looking up, there’s blue, and looking down, no white. Scarves are no longer a do-or-die necessity. I’ve traded in my white polar bear jacket for something a little lighter. We’re definitely past the depth of winter, and I’m a little sad about it.
Thanks to my boss for forwarding me this New York Times article, incredibly focused on Noshiro and Akita!
In Japan, Rural Economies Wane as Cities Thrive
By MARTIN FACKLER
NOSHIRO, Japan — The only outward sign of conflict here is the red flags of protest, but this small logging city on Japan’s remote northern coast is seething.
A proliferation of national chain stores outside town has already forced the closing of about half of the city’s once teeming central shopping district. Now, many in this normally restrained rural community see the megamall being built nearby, by a company based near Tokyo, as the final nail in the coffin of their economy. read more
It doesn’t make Noshiro sound very nice, but the depiction of empty lots and shuttered stores is sadly true. We’ve learned to ignore these things and just accept that this is what a medium-size town looks like in Japan; all the similar-sized towns we have visited are in the same state. On the other hand, restaurants and nighttime hangouts seem immune to these problems, and Noshiro is blessed with many wonderful, warm and bustling eateries (and people!) that are probably the #1 thing we love about the town.
We have heard rumors of this new Supercenter that Aeon wants to build east of town. But generally, people don’t talk to us about these kinds of things, probably because of the language barrier. While it would be nice to have a huge mall nearby (we currently have to drive an hour to get certain groceries), I agree with the townspeople quoted in this article that it would probably be the last nail in the coffin for the downtown business district. There’s already a big department store right in the middle of town (JUSCO, you can see it in the picture above) which is probably responsible for shutting down most of the small stores on that street. Putting a bigger one outside of town might even kill that downtown JUSCO, which would be doubly terrible, leaving the main central shopping street almost completely useless.
Thanks again to John for forwarding that article to me. Amazing to see our very own “shopping street” (our name for it; the real name is ??, Yanagimachi, “willow town”) on the pages of the NYT.
I didn’t hear about the southern-California wildfires until my mom told me about them on the phone yesterday. Since then I’ve been riveted by the Flickr community’s photos that are constantly being uploaded by photographers all over the region.
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.
Pumpkins and Potatoes
I’ve been coaching a high school student for a speech contest (which she won, incidentally). She was really nervous the day before the contest. To calm her nerves, another teacher suggested that she imagine that everyone in the audience was a potato or a pumpkin. This advice, “Minna wa jagaimo”, is apparently de rigeur when trying to calm public speakers. I told my co-teacher that our old stand-by is to imagine everyone in the audience in their underwear. I don’t think this American version was translated for my student’s benefit.
The Big Chill
I’ve been doing mini-lessons on Halloween, explaining why we wear costumes, and why we make Jack O’Lanterns. During one of these lessons, I learned people go to haunted houses in Japan also, though it is a summer activity, because being scared cools the body. I can see a certain logic there, I suppose, but autumn will always be haunted house time for me.
Piping Hot
Many of the onsens around Akita are located in mountainous areas. These ups and downs can be really hazardous to negotiate in the winter with ice on the road. However, wintertime is exactly when you want to take a nice long dip on an onsen. The solution? Pipe onsen water under the roads to keep them ice free. Efficient and brilliant. Here’s a cross section of road with all the tubes for water:
Oishii, yo!
While driving through the ken, we stumbled onto a little pullout by the side of the road, which was absolutely brimming with trucks. We pulled over to see what the hubbub was about, and found people enthusiastically filling huge jugs with the water pouring out of a pipe from the mountain. Empty bottles were provided nearby for a small fee. People were hauling away this water by the truckload. Apparently this particular source of water was praised by some writer, and ever since, people have flocked to this spot. With assurances of “oishii, yo!”, I filled up one of my own bottles for a sample. I must not have a very sensitive palate, because I tasted nothing. Or perhaps that is the very embodiment of delicious water.
There’s a marathon coming up in the nearby town of Gojome. The list of prizes completely captures the feeling of small-town life. Here they are as described by Gojome JET Corey Newman:
50 people will receive a “Morning Market Pack,” which probably has all the daikon and mountain vegetables you could eat – a virtual countryside tabehoudai!
25 people will receive 720ml of sake made right here in town. Our mayor owns a sake company, and it’s pretty good stuff.
Finally, another 25 people will receive 2kg of rice.
These prizes define Gojome.
I just stumbled upon this wonderful article by Gene Weingarten in the Washington Post Magazine of April 8, 2007. In January, the paper organized a “stunt” with Joshua Bell, the world-famous violinist, to play for an hour at a D.C. subway station during morning rush hour. The results are heartbreaking (in a good way) and I think you will enjoy this article, especially if you are a musician of any sort.
“It was a strange feeling, that people were actually, ah . . .”
The word doesn’t come easily.
“. . . ignoring me.”
Bell is laughing. It’s at himself.
“At a music hall, I’ll get upset if someone coughs or if someone’s cellphone goes off. But here, my expectations quickly diminished. I started to appreciate any acknowledgment, even a slight glance up. I was oddly grateful when someone threw in a dollar instead of change.” This is from a man whose talents can command $1,000 a minute.
The weather’s been warming up, which means I can locomote by bike again! Biking to school is so much more enjoyable than driving. I pass all sorts of businesspeople, also on bikes, on the way to their jobs. We bow and smile and “Ohio gozaimasu” to each other. I see grandmas getting up to care for their property, shop owners tidying up, cats on the prowl.
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.