There is no question in my mind that we are not in the States. It is New Year’s Eve and every last trace of Christmas is gone. Well, at least from Japanese houses and stores. The Americans are lagging behind. The Japanese are now focused on the New Year, and decorations of evergreen boughs, dried grasses, and oranges adorn the entrances of homes and shops. 2009 will be the Year of the Ox, and everywhere you look there are cows (someone decided cows are cuter than oxen)—cards, stuffed animals, Starbucks coffee mugs, cell phone charms, ceramic figurines.
The past week has been a flurry of activity in the neighborhood, as it is tradition to do a thorough cleaning of the home at the end of the year. All the work is to be completed by December 31—no one is supposed to do work on January 1. Windows have been washed, futons have been aired, rugs have been beaten, floors have been waxed, closets have been purged. Many houses have even gotten a new coat of paint (I think there must have been a group discount one street up from us…seems like every other house was repainted).
For the next few days we will stay away from shrines and temples, since many Japanese flock there during the first three days of January to pray for good fortune in the coming year (several MILLION visit Tokyo’s Meiji Shrine alone). They turn in last year’s good luck charms at special booths erected at the shrines and purchase new ones to guard against misfortune. It is supposed to be a time of happiness and joy, free of stress and anger.
One Japanese tradition that I know would never work in the U.S. is the sending of New Year’s cards. They serve the same purpose as our Christmas cards…to inform friends and family about the events of the past year and to extend best wishes for the coming year. However, no matter when they are deposited in the mailbox, New Year’s cards are saved and sorted by the post office, and ALL are delivered on New Year’s Day (the envelopes or postcards are marked with a special symbol signifying they are New Year’s cards). I just can’t picture the USPS successfully stockpiling that much mail for days or weeks, then delivering it all to the correct addresses on a single day.
We have no big plans for New Year’s Eve or Day. Tonight we will go over to Jim’s coworker’s house for games and food. It will be strange not to have Dick Clark help us usher in the New Year from Times Square (since we are 14 hours ahead of New York). Tomorrow I’ll finish cleaning the house in preparation for Jenny’s arrival on Saturday. I know—if I’d followed Japanese traditions, the house would already be clean, and I could put my feet up!
Monday, December 22--'Tis the Season
In a country where only 1% of the population is Christian, I haven’t really been expecting a Christmas season like back home. However, I’m happy to report that the Japanese have fully embraced the festive spirit of the holiday season, if not its religious background.
Not having Thanksgiving to mark an acceptable beginning to the holiday season, stores started decorating right after Halloween. Signs appeared wishing shoppers an enthusiastic “Happy Merry Christmas” and carols drifted from the sound system (not once did I hear “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer”). Christmas trees of every imaginable color were erected in mall lobbies—I can kind of understand a white tree (think snow-covered), but neon pink and black? That just screams, “Ho, ho, ho,” and I’m not talking about Santa’s laugh! I have seen a few “thrones” where Santa would normally sit and listen to children’s wishes while parents take photos, but they are always vacant. I know they do have mall Santas in Japan, because the newscaster on the radio said they were being required to attend Santa classes to learn how to hold children on their knees properly to prevent injury. (If this country has a motto, it is definitely “Safety First.”)
Breaking News: Americans have not cornered the market on tacky outdoor decorations. Clark Griswold would be proud of the Japanese. I learned from my students that families usually decorate the house when the children are young, but once they have grown up and moved away from home, the decorating usually stops. This seems to be true of most of the decorated houses in our neighborhood…younger children live there. The exception is the holiday-loving neighbor across the street, whose youngest child is in his mid-20s! Up and down the streets, lights hang from eaves, drape over bushes, and drip from balconies. The Japanese are especially fond of pre-formed lighted displays, from Santa in his sleigh being pulled across the side of the house by a single reindeer, to “Merry Xmas” wired to the front gate. Apparently yards are too small to properly display the animated, pre-lit white deer that have become all the rage in the past few years, yet somehow they have found room for inflatable lawn ornaments. Each evening, the compressor is turned on, and blow-up Santas and snowmen rise from the ground like ghosts from a horror movie graveyard.
The most pervasive symbol of the Christmas season in Japan is Colonel Sanders. Huh? What does Colonel Sanders have to do with Christmas? It seems that Kentucky Fried Chicken is the meal of choice for Christmas Day. To remind customers to place their orders early, every store (at least one in every town) dresses its Colonel Sanders statue (yes, every store has one) in a red Santa suit and places a banner behind him that reads “Have a Kentucky Christmas.” I bet the Colonel never imagined his 11 herbs and spices would come to embody the spirit of Christmas in a nation of Buddhists and Shintoists.
Not having Thanksgiving to mark an acceptable beginning to the holiday season, stores started decorating right after Halloween. Signs appeared wishing shoppers an enthusiastic “Happy Merry Christmas” and carols drifted from the sound system (not once did I hear “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer”). Christmas trees of every imaginable color were erected in mall lobbies—I can kind of understand a white tree (think snow-covered), but neon pink and black? That just screams, “Ho, ho, ho,” and I’m not talking about Santa’s laugh! I have seen a few “thrones” where Santa would normally sit and listen to children’s wishes while parents take photos, but they are always vacant. I know they do have mall Santas in Japan, because the newscaster on the radio said they were being required to attend Santa classes to learn how to hold children on their knees properly to prevent injury. (If this country has a motto, it is definitely “Safety First.”)
Breaking News: Americans have not cornered the market on tacky outdoor decorations. Clark Griswold would be proud of the Japanese. I learned from my students that families usually decorate the house when the children are young, but once they have grown up and moved away from home, the decorating usually stops. This seems to be true of most of the decorated houses in our neighborhood…younger children live there. The exception is the holiday-loving neighbor across the street, whose youngest child is in his mid-20s! Up and down the streets, lights hang from eaves, drape over bushes, and drip from balconies. The Japanese are especially fond of pre-formed lighted displays, from Santa in his sleigh being pulled across the side of the house by a single reindeer, to “Merry Xmas” wired to the front gate. Apparently yards are too small to properly display the animated, pre-lit white deer that have become all the rage in the past few years, yet somehow they have found room for inflatable lawn ornaments. Each evening, the compressor is turned on, and blow-up Santas and snowmen rise from the ground like ghosts from a horror movie graveyard.
The most pervasive symbol of the Christmas season in Japan is Colonel Sanders. Huh? What does Colonel Sanders have to do with Christmas? It seems that Kentucky Fried Chicken is the meal of choice for Christmas Day. To remind customers to place their orders early, every store (at least one in every town) dresses its Colonel Sanders statue (yes, every store has one) in a red Santa suit and places a banner behind him that reads “Have a Kentucky Christmas.” I bet the Colonel never imagined his 11 herbs and spices would come to embody the spirit of Christmas in a nation of Buddhists and Shintoists.
Saturday, December 20--Return to Kamakura
We made our second sight-seeing trip to Kamakura today, to explore a few more of the famous landmarks. We transferred from the main JR line to the smaller Enoden train, which kind of feels like riding on the electric train set in someone’s basement. It rambles along on a single track, literally inches from people’s back doors. At Hase station, we got off and followed the signs to Hase-Dera Temple, which is one of the more beautiful ones we’ve seen. The various halls of the temple are situated on a hillside, and climbing to each one gives an ever-expanding view of Kamakura Beach (there is an observation platform with picnic tables at the top, where you can enjoy lunch if you can avoid the diving seahawks). The grounds are beautifully maintained, even in winter, and I can only imagine how stunning they must be when the trees and flowers are blooming. The main attraction at the temple is the 30 foot statue of Kannon, which is usually translated in English as “the Buddhist Goddess of Mercy,” even though it is technically neither male or female. The statue, which was supposedly carved from half of a camphor tree in 721, has eleven heads surrounding the main one, each with a different expression, meaning the deity listens to the wishes of all types of people. The statue is entirely covered in gold leaf--applied in 1342! The age of some of these Japanese cultural treasures really reinforces just how young the United States is, and what a short amount of time our country’s history spans.
After wandering the temple grounds, and eyeballing the various mysterious snacks offered in the gift shop, we walked a bit further up the street to finally see what everyone has been talking about since we arrived in July—the Great Buddha. Known as Daibutsu, this enormous bronze statue of Buddha is the second largest in Japan. It was cast in 1252 to replace the wooden image of 1243 that was damaged by a storm. Over the years, three temple halls were built to protect statue, but each one was destroyed by storms…a fourth temple was washed away by a tidal wave in 1498. Finally, they gave up the idea of a shelter, and the Buddha now sits serenely outside in the open air. Earthquakes have also been troublesome to the statue--in the Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923, the base was destroyed. The most recent repairs in 1960-61 strengthened Buddha’s neck and allow the statue to now move freely on its base in case of another severe earthquake. The 44 foot, 93 ton statue is hollow inside, and it is said that homeless and gamblers once lived inside. Now, for ¥20, tourists can go inside Buddha’s belly and look all the way up through his neck to his head.
We chose a great day for sight-seeing, and the clear blue sky made a fantastic back-drop for our photos of the temple and of Buddha. We understand now why so many people talk about these two locations in Kamakura, and we’ll definitely add them to our list of places to take visitors (and I KNOW we are going to have visitors—ya’ll promised).
After wandering the temple grounds, and eyeballing the various mysterious snacks offered in the gift shop, we walked a bit further up the street to finally see what everyone has been talking about since we arrived in July—the Great Buddha. Known as Daibutsu, this enormous bronze statue of Buddha is the second largest in Japan. It was cast in 1252 to replace the wooden image of 1243 that was damaged by a storm. Over the years, three temple halls were built to protect statue, but each one was destroyed by storms…a fourth temple was washed away by a tidal wave in 1498. Finally, they gave up the idea of a shelter, and the Buddha now sits serenely outside in the open air. Earthquakes have also been troublesome to the statue--in the Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923, the base was destroyed. The most recent repairs in 1960-61 strengthened Buddha’s neck and allow the statue to now move freely on its base in case of another severe earthquake. The 44 foot, 93 ton statue is hollow inside, and it is said that homeless and gamblers once lived inside. Now, for ¥20, tourists can go inside Buddha’s belly and look all the way up through his neck to his head.
We chose a great day for sight-seeing, and the clear blue sky made a fantastic back-drop for our photos of the temple and of Buddha. We understand now why so many people talk about these two locations in Kamakura, and we’ll definitely add them to our list of places to take visitors (and I KNOW we are going to have visitors—ya’ll promised).
Monday, December 8--Rainy Days and Mondays
It rains a lot here. Or maybe I just notice it more since I walk more than I drive. I go by train to most of my teaching jobs, which means a 15 minute walk to the train station, rain or shine. December is actually one of the driest months of the year, as far as rain accumulation. I believe May and June are the rainy season—before then I will have to get a “real” umbrella. The compact variety that Americans prefer just doesn’t cut it here. The diameter of a Totes purse-size model makes it suitable for nothing more than the typical American rain experience--a quick dash across the Walmart parking lot. Here in Japan, if the wind is not blowing, it might serve to keep my head and shoulders dry, but everything south of that suffers from a combination of raindrops from the heavens and big splats falling from the edge of the umbrella. We won’t even talk about the chillingly soggy results of a strong breeze—or the struggle to keep the surprisingly flimsy umbrella from turning inside out. (Working on the theory that you get what you pay for, on our last trip to the outlet mall before leaving the U.S. I chose the $20 compact purse-size umbrella over the old-fashioned suitcase-size $7.99 model, assuming for that price it would withstand at least a Category 2 hurricane. What a waste of $12.)
The Japanese take the rain in stride. If rain breaks forth from a sky that was cloudless and blue just moments before, umbrellas (the sturdy Mary Poppins type) miraculously appear, as it seems no citizen leaves home without one. If one happens to be caught without an umbrella, every store from the high-end boutique to the corner convenience mart sells them. When the skies open up, sidewalks immediately become a sea of bobbing umbrellas. From above, I imagine it looks like the health class videos of red blood cells streaming through your veins—moving with purpose and direction, speedier individuals brushing past slower ones, with some groups occasionally branching off from the main stream to pursue a different path. The Japanese are very aware of the space their umbrellas take up, and they raise, lower, dip, and turn them fluidly to avoid colliding with other umbrellas or pedestrians. I am willing to bet that no Japanese hospital has treated a patient for an eye injury sustained from a poke by a stranger’s umbrella.
With all those drippy umbrellas, you’d think that any public place would be a soggy, slippery mess. In reality, the only place that ever shows the ravages of a rainy day is the train. If they don’t already have a permanent umbrella stand outside the front door, most stores and restaurants roll out an umbrella station as soon as the first drops fall. This station might be a large rack where patrons deposit their umbrellas before entering and pick them up when leaving. (I know! This would never work in the U.S.—someone would come by and pilfer the whole lot of them to sell later on eBay.) Other stations are stocked with a supply of long, slender plastic bags—slip the wet umbrella inside the bag and carry it with you. Both you and the store remain dry. The community center where I meet one of my students on Monday nights takes the prize for the most high-tech umbrella station—it has an electric dryer that blows off all the excess water in a matter of seconds, allowing you to skip the plastic bags and carry your dry umbrella with you. Unfortunately, it is designed for sturdy, Mary Poppins style umbrellas, not my Totes compact purse-size $20 model.
The Japanese take the rain in stride. If rain breaks forth from a sky that was cloudless and blue just moments before, umbrellas (the sturdy Mary Poppins type) miraculously appear, as it seems no citizen leaves home without one. If one happens to be caught without an umbrella, every store from the high-end boutique to the corner convenience mart sells them. When the skies open up, sidewalks immediately become a sea of bobbing umbrellas. From above, I imagine it looks like the health class videos of red blood cells streaming through your veins—moving with purpose and direction, speedier individuals brushing past slower ones, with some groups occasionally branching off from the main stream to pursue a different path. The Japanese are very aware of the space their umbrellas take up, and they raise, lower, dip, and turn them fluidly to avoid colliding with other umbrellas or pedestrians. I am willing to bet that no Japanese hospital has treated a patient for an eye injury sustained from a poke by a stranger’s umbrella.
With all those drippy umbrellas, you’d think that any public place would be a soggy, slippery mess. In reality, the only place that ever shows the ravages of a rainy day is the train. If they don’t already have a permanent umbrella stand outside the front door, most stores and restaurants roll out an umbrella station as soon as the first drops fall. This station might be a large rack where patrons deposit their umbrellas before entering and pick them up when leaving. (I know! This would never work in the U.S.—someone would come by and pilfer the whole lot of them to sell later on eBay.) Other stations are stocked with a supply of long, slender plastic bags—slip the wet umbrella inside the bag and carry it with you. Both you and the store remain dry. The community center where I meet one of my students on Monday nights takes the prize for the most high-tech umbrella station—it has an electric dryer that blows off all the excess water in a matter of seconds, allowing you to skip the plastic bags and carry your dry umbrella with you. Unfortunately, it is designed for sturdy, Mary Poppins style umbrellas, not my Totes compact purse-size $20 model.
Saturday, December 6--Gone to the Dogs
When I die, I want to come back as a dog in Japan, preferably something small like a miniature daschund or a Yorkie. I have never seen a population as a whole more devoted to their dogs. I knew the Japanese cared about their pets, just by observing the rituals of the neighbors’ daily dog-walking routines. After each walk, the lady across the street lovingly wipes her dog’s paws before he goes back into the house. While taking out the trash, I have seen countless pooches dressed in sweaters on chilly days. I even saw a golden retriever in full rain gear, including yellow slicker, matching hat, and boots, although quite frankly he did look extremely embarrassed. But I did not understand the true depth of the Japanese people’s devotion to man’s best friend until we went to Grandberry Mall this weekend.
First of all, the mall (an outdoor type, like many of the outlet malls back home) was teeming with dogs of every size shape and color. It reminded me of a car show on four legs—the owners cruising around, showing off their pride and joy, hoping to see and be seen. When we stopped for coffee at Starbuck’s, we had to wade through a swarm of Yorkies, reminiscent of a (well-groomed) biker gang congregating at the local bar. Dogs were sitting in chairs at many tables, and those who found themselves without a seat had warm, cozy blankets to cushion the hard ground. Many of the pooches were dressed better than we were, in skirts with matching sweaters or designer jeans and leather jackets.
If the only dog accessory shopping you have ever done is at PetSmart, boy, are you missing out. Grandberry Mall had several stores catering to four-legged customers, but the most impressive by far was Joker (see photos in A Dog’s Life album). The first thing we noticed when we walked in was the wall of glass on the left which looked into the nurseries. I guess it’s hard to sell $2300 puppies if they are behind bars in individual cages—they had to up the cute factor. Each nursery held about half a dozen puppies, some napping in cribs while others were romping around on the floor with the nanny, chasing toys under the table, trying to climb up the dresser, or learning how to sit for treats. After oohing and ahhing over the babies, we ventured through aisles and aisles of doggy clothing, ranging from traditional kimonos to ultra-modern rhinestone-studded evening wear—there were even 50s-style poodle skirts! And since it would be a shame to take an outfit home only to find it didn’t fit, or looked better on the rack, there was a fitting room so furry customers could try on potential purchases. (And yes, there was a line of canines waiting to eye their new outfits in the three-way mirror.)
After acquainting ourselves with the latest in doggy fashion, we moved toward the back of the store, passing the beauty salon (groomer) and health spa along the way. Once we had forged through the aisles of every imaginable dog toy, we came upon the most magnificent display of cakes, cookies, and pastries we had seen since coming to Japan. Never one to pass up a cookie, Jim was starting to seriously contemplate his many options when we realized they were not meant for human consumption. But if Fido were having a birthday party, there was a perfectly frosted layer cake just waiting to be inscribed with his name.
People say “it’s a dog’s life” when times are tough or they are faced with an unpleasant task. Obviously the person who invented that phrase hasn’t lived a day in the life of a Japanese dog.
First of all, the mall (an outdoor type, like many of the outlet malls back home) was teeming with dogs of every size shape and color. It reminded me of a car show on four legs—the owners cruising around, showing off their pride and joy, hoping to see and be seen. When we stopped for coffee at Starbuck’s, we had to wade through a swarm of Yorkies, reminiscent of a (well-groomed) biker gang congregating at the local bar. Dogs were sitting in chairs at many tables, and those who found themselves without a seat had warm, cozy blankets to cushion the hard ground. Many of the pooches were dressed better than we were, in skirts with matching sweaters or designer jeans and leather jackets.
If the only dog accessory shopping you have ever done is at PetSmart, boy, are you missing out. Grandberry Mall had several stores catering to four-legged customers, but the most impressive by far was Joker (see photos in A Dog’s Life album). The first thing we noticed when we walked in was the wall of glass on the left which looked into the nurseries. I guess it’s hard to sell $2300 puppies if they are behind bars in individual cages—they had to up the cute factor. Each nursery held about half a dozen puppies, some napping in cribs while others were romping around on the floor with the nanny, chasing toys under the table, trying to climb up the dresser, or learning how to sit for treats. After oohing and ahhing over the babies, we ventured through aisles and aisles of doggy clothing, ranging from traditional kimonos to ultra-modern rhinestone-studded evening wear—there were even 50s-style poodle skirts! And since it would be a shame to take an outfit home only to find it didn’t fit, or looked better on the rack, there was a fitting room so furry customers could try on potential purchases. (And yes, there was a line of canines waiting to eye their new outfits in the three-way mirror.)
After acquainting ourselves with the latest in doggy fashion, we moved toward the back of the store, passing the beauty salon (groomer) and health spa along the way. Once we had forged through the aisles of every imaginable dog toy, we came upon the most magnificent display of cakes, cookies, and pastries we had seen since coming to Japan. Never one to pass up a cookie, Jim was starting to seriously contemplate his many options when we realized they were not meant for human consumption. But if Fido were having a birthday party, there was a perfectly frosted layer cake just waiting to be inscribed with his name.
People say “it’s a dog’s life” when times are tough or they are faced with an unpleasant task. Obviously the person who invented that phrase hasn’t lived a day in the life of a Japanese dog.
Tuesday, December 2--Victory!
I’m happy to report that I survived my first solo trip to my teaching job in Honatsugi. I feel like a gladiator who has slain the lion. Who knew one successful bus ride could inspire such a feeling of power? I found the correct bus stop at the train station, and almost got off at the right stop. Actually, I disembarked one stop early (about a block away from the factory—I could see the sign up ahead) just for a chance to stretch my legs after being on the train for an hour and a half. The return ride to the station was uneventful—after nervously looking out the windows for landmarks leading up to my stop, I found out that the train station is the end of the line. This means I don’t really have to pay much attention during the ride. When everyone else starts shuffling their belongings, that is my cue to dig out my 170 yen and prepare to exit. Pretty soon, I’m going to look like a pro at this bus thing!
Monday, December 1--The Strangeness of Fall
Fall, and the whole leaf-changing experience, are far different here than what I expected. Since the weather in Japan is quite similar to that of the Washington, D.C. area, I expected to see a blaze of fall colors on the hillsides beginning in mid- to late-October, just like at home. I guess I didn’t take into account the different flora, but even the familiar trees, like the Japanese maple, are on a different schedule here. A few trees turned golden and dropped their leaves last month. The maples are just now starting to turn, though, as are the ginkgos. There is a really strange tree behind our house…a few random leaves have turned yellow and dropped off, but the rest of the tree appears to be in full summer foliage. I guess there are a lot more types of evergreens in Japan than I’ve encountered anywhere else.
I swear there are leaf elves that come out at night to sweep up the fallen leaves. When you walk around, you will rarely see a leaf on the ground. I will occasionally see a neighbor out cleaning off her driveway, but who is clearing all the leaves off of the streets and out of the parks? When Jim and I drove out of the neighborhood early Saturday morning, there were scores of bags of leaves piled along the sides of the road—bags that were not there the night before. I’m telling you—elves. Part of me expects to look up one day and see one clinging to the trunk of a tree, reaching out to snatch the falling leaves out of mid-air before they even have a chance to hit the ground.
I swear there are leaf elves that come out at night to sweep up the fallen leaves. When you walk around, you will rarely see a leaf on the ground. I will occasionally see a neighbor out cleaning off her driveway, but who is clearing all the leaves off of the streets and out of the parks? When Jim and I drove out of the neighborhood early Saturday morning, there were scores of bags of leaves piled along the sides of the road—bags that were not there the night before. I’m telling you—elves. Part of me expects to look up one day and see one clinging to the trunk of a tree, reaching out to snatch the falling leaves out of mid-air before they even have a chance to hit the ground.
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