Today we took part in a favorite Japanese springtime ritual—the hanami party. As you know, Japan is famous for its sakura, or cherry blossoms, and the natives are as anxious for their appearance as American kids are for Santa Claus. As winter turns to spring, people eagerly await the forecasters' most up-to-date predictions about the blossoms’ peak so they can plan their cherry blossom viewing (hanami) parties. I’m not sure whether the blossoms themselves are the big draw (although around each tree you will see dozens of cell phones raised high in the air to capture an obligatory photo of the fragile blooms) or whether it’s the chance to be outdoors in the sunshine and the fresh air, drinking sake with your friends, after a long, cold winter.
The party we attended was hosted by the staff and students at JMSDF, and though the sun was bright and the air was fresh, there was still a winter nip in the breeze. In fact, it has been so cool the past couple of weeks that only a handful of brave blossoms had opened on the cherry trees at the school. Nevertheless, the festivities went on as planned. There were speeches and toasts as we enjoyed a picnic lunch of curry, tempura, sausages, and fruit. Afterwards, there were games for young and old alike. I noticed that as the children played musical chairs, not a single Japanese kid pouted or cried or threw a fit if he didn’t get a seat, even if he technically got there first and an American brat pushed him off. Times like that make me feel embarrassed about our country’s increasingly bad manners and poor sportsmanship. (I realize that I am painting all Americans with the same brush here, and that not everyone acts this way, but after living eight months in a country where courtesy and respect are so prevalent, misbehavior becomes glaringly obvious. Anytime we have witnessed a scene here, an American has been at the center of it.)
Turns out the Japanese have found a way to improve upon the classic American church-hall game, BINGO. Rather than fussing with special daubers or plastic chips to cover the numbers, the Japanese have BINGO punch cards. Each number is perforated on three sides, so when it is called, the player can poke the numbered flap through to the back side. No mess, no chips to keep track of, and players can be mobile during the game (which was played for about 20 minutes on the same card—this lowers the cost for supplies and provides ample opportunities for winners). As mentioned above, the Japanese are unfailingly courteous, so when a player needs just one more number for BINGO, he shouts, “Reach,” to let the other participants know they are about to lose. Unfortunately, a “reach” does not guarantee a BINGO, and after ten minutes of needing I-20, the game ended with me one number away from a spectacular assortment of prizes.
Monday, February 2--Thar She Blows
When Jim left for the States two weeks ago, he parked his car at work and caught the shuttle to the airport. On Friday, I decided his car was probably due for a little exercise, so I swapped my car for his when I was on base running errands. (Okay, that was only part of my motivation—my car needed gas, and I didn’t feel like standing in the pouring rain to fill it up.) The plan was to drive Jim’s car around over the weekend, and swap back today.
When I walked out of the house this morning to get in Jim’s car, I found it was covered roof to wheels in a uniform layer of very fine dust. Immediately I thought, “Crap, now I have to wash his car before he gets home.” As I started the engine, my brain started flipping through possible origins of this strange dust. The very first idea that came to me was volcanic ash—since I have absolutely zero experience with volcanic ash, it must have been some flashback to the lessons about Pompeii I taught to my third graders—but just as quickly I decided that if I announced that theory out loud, people would think I’d lost my mind. So, the wanna-be CSI in me started examining alternative explanations. It couldn’t be ash from a wood fire because a) it was too uniform in size and coverage, and b) I don’t think anyone in Japan burns wood. Diagonally across the street, a house is being repainted, but even if they are sanding the exterior (which they are not), the entire house is shrouded in a protective net that would prevent dust from floating through the neighborhood. So what could it be??
At Jim’s office, I parked his dusty car, and unlocked my dusty car. Huh? My car was covered in the same dust as his. As a matter of fact, so were all the other cars in the lot. Definitely rules out a wood fire or the painters as culprits. Okay, so what about dried salt spray from the ocean? The base is right on a peninsula, and there was a very stiff onshore breeze (gale) yesterday causing good-sized waves to pound against the shore. My car was parked on base all weekend, and I drove Jim’s car over for a few hours yesterday, so it could have gotten covered as well. That must be it. Except I had used the wipers to clean Jim’s windshield on the way home last night, and it was sparkling clean when I parked the car in the driveway. So, that theory was blown, too.
Fresh out of ideas, I let the mystery drop, filled up my car with gas, and turned up the radio for the ride home. I half-listened to one song before it was time for the news, and I tried to pay attention so I could hear just how badly the dollar was doing against the yen today. Imagine my surprise when the newscaster announced the minor eruption this morning of Mt. Asama, a volcano about 90 miles northwest of Tokyo. The eruption caused no damage, but spewed a cloud of ash into the atmosphere to be carried southeast by the prevailing winds—directly over our town. AHA!!! I am not crazy! My first hunch was correct—but how in the world did I know what volcanic ash looked like? The third grade lessons on Pompeii weren’t that specific…
When I walked out of the house this morning to get in Jim’s car, I found it was covered roof to wheels in a uniform layer of very fine dust. Immediately I thought, “Crap, now I have to wash his car before he gets home.” As I started the engine, my brain started flipping through possible origins of this strange dust. The very first idea that came to me was volcanic ash—since I have absolutely zero experience with volcanic ash, it must have been some flashback to the lessons about Pompeii I taught to my third graders—but just as quickly I decided that if I announced that theory out loud, people would think I’d lost my mind. So, the wanna-be CSI in me started examining alternative explanations. It couldn’t be ash from a wood fire because a) it was too uniform in size and coverage, and b) I don’t think anyone in Japan burns wood. Diagonally across the street, a house is being repainted, but even if they are sanding the exterior (which they are not), the entire house is shrouded in a protective net that would prevent dust from floating through the neighborhood. So what could it be??
At Jim’s office, I parked his dusty car, and unlocked my dusty car. Huh? My car was covered in the same dust as his. As a matter of fact, so were all the other cars in the lot. Definitely rules out a wood fire or the painters as culprits. Okay, so what about dried salt spray from the ocean? The base is right on a peninsula, and there was a very stiff onshore breeze (gale) yesterday causing good-sized waves to pound against the shore. My car was parked on base all weekend, and I drove Jim’s car over for a few hours yesterday, so it could have gotten covered as well. That must be it. Except I had used the wipers to clean Jim’s windshield on the way home last night, and it was sparkling clean when I parked the car in the driveway. So, that theory was blown, too.
Fresh out of ideas, I let the mystery drop, filled up my car with gas, and turned up the radio for the ride home. I half-listened to one song before it was time for the news, and I tried to pay attention so I could hear just how badly the dollar was doing against the yen today. Imagine my surprise when the newscaster announced the minor eruption this morning of Mt. Asama, a volcano about 90 miles northwest of Tokyo. The eruption caused no damage, but spewed a cloud of ash into the atmosphere to be carried southeast by the prevailing winds—directly over our town. AHA!!! I am not crazy! My first hunch was correct—but how in the world did I know what volcanic ash looked like? The third grade lessons on Pompeii weren’t that specific…
Tuesday, January 13--Dress Like a Local
I now understand why kimonos have fallen out of favor as daily attire for Japanese women. It takes way too long to get dressed, and I’m not convinced it is something you could do by yourself. Jenny and I got to dress in kimonos today during a class offered by the base. The instructor brought all of the paraphernalia we would need and basically dressed us like we were children.First we had to take off our shoes and socks and put on special socks that reminded me of camels’ hooves. They were split at the toe into two sections, like mittens for your feet—your big toe goes in one section and the other four toes go in the larger part. Then the instructor did up the hook and eye closures in the back to keep the socks on our feet (they are not knit like normal socks, so they do not conform to your foot).
Next came the “underwear” layer, which was a plain, muslin-colored kimono. Even though the very edge of the neckline is all that will be seen of this layer, it must be properly arranged because you’ll never get to it to fix it once you start adding other layers. All layers of the kimono must be lapped the same direction, left over right (they lap it right over left when they dress your body for your funeral). The back of the kimono must also be pulled away from the nape of the neck. This part of the anatomy is considered sexy, and since it is just about the only skin visible when wearing a kimono, it’s important not to overlook this detail. Once it was all arranged just so, the underwear layer was tied tightly at the waist with a plain cord.
The instructor then dressed us in the actual kimono, and explained that the fabric, colors, and decorations are all indicators of the importance of the occasion and the wearer’s status. Remarkably, there was a kimono long enough for me in the teacher’s collection, and she carefully arranged it to land just at my ankles. She used another plain cord tied at my waist to hold everything in place.
The obi came next, and covered the cord holding the kimono together. A shaped board was stuffed into the front of the obi to make our profile appear as flat as possible—the ideal Japanese figure has no bust and no hips. The obi is also symbolic, showing wealth by its color and pattern, and marital status by the way it is tied. Married women only wear a simple box-style knot, but single women have more elegant choices like bows and butterflies (I got to have a bow today since we were dressing to look elegant for photos). The knot of the obi is in the back, making this the part of getting dressed I’m not sure you could manage alone. In fact, many single women these days book an appointment at a kimono shop to get assistance if they are planning to wear a kimono for a special occasion. A silk scarf gets tied over top of the obi, and a silk cord is added on top of that. The nice thing about all of these accessories is that none has to color- coordinate with the kimono—you could get dressed in the dark and no one would complain that your colors don’t match. Once everything was all wrapped and tied, it was difficult to take a deep breath, much less bend over.
The final touch was a pair of slippery, ill-fitting, wedge-heeled flip flops, which explains why the women I’ve seen around town in traditional dress move so awkwardly. I was a little disappointed to find out the instructor was not going to put our hair up in a traditional style for the photos, but nevertheless I tottered over to have my picture taken, posing gamely with an antique-looking fan and umbrella. It was fun to dress up in the local style, and now that I know what is involved, I have a greater appreciation for the graceful beauty of a Japanese woman in a kimono.
Sunday, Janurary 11--The National Sport of Japan
There’s no better way to spend a Sunday afternoon than watching thousands of pounds of human flesh flying around a dirt ring. Courtesy of yet another ITT tour, we attended the opening day of the Winter Grand Sumo Tournament in Tokyo today.
Outside the stadium, banners bearing the names of the wrestlers were flapping in the breeze and fans without tickets were lined up to watch the big guys arrive for their matches. Inside the arena, we found that the seats were arranged on two levels, facing the north, south, east and west sides of the dohyo, or ring. The upper level seats, where we were sitting, are the cheap seats and resemble theater seats. The box seats on the lower level go for about $100 each, and are actually cushions on the floor, clustered in groups of four per box. While sitting on the floor for nine hours holds no appeal for me, it does apparently come with benefits--the price of a floor seat includes a bento (box lunch) and souvenirs. Hanging from the rafters above the second floor seats are portraits of the champions of the past 32 sumo tournaments.
All of the action takes place in the dohyo, which is situated on a raised platform, and is bordered by rice bags. The object of the sport is to either force an opponent past the rice bag boundary or make him touch the ground with some part of his body other than the soles of his feet, using one of the 82 official techniques recognized by the sumo association. Sumo is a full-contact sport, and involves pushing, shoving, and even the occasional slap as each wrestler tries to get a hold on the other’s belt (found out if the belt comes off and the wrestler is left standing in his birthday suit, he automatically loses the match). The matches frequently last only a few seconds, especially if one wrestler sidesteps a charging opponent—the laws of physics mean its difficult to stop the momentum of an object of such considerable mass, and the aggressor simply falls on his face.
A wrestler moves up through the ranks of sumo by consistently winning matches. While promotions are often difficult to achieve, demotions can occur with only one losing tournament. The lower-ranked wrestlers face off early in the day, and more important matches are scheduled for the afternoon. These matches draw the largest crowds, as well as television coverage. As a result, some of the wrestlers have numerous sponsors, which boosts the financial reward for the winner of that wrestler’s match.
Sumo is known as the national sport of Japan, but is somewhat less popular today than in the past. One reason for this is the increasing domination of foreign wrestlers—the Japanese have fewer local wrestlers to cheer for. Currently there are only two yokozuna (highest ranking wrestlers) and they are both Mongolian. Some of the more prominent wrestlers have also been behaving badly, with scandals ranging from inappropriate comments to the media to drug use to the beating death of a lower-ranked wrestler by his higher-ranking stablemates. Sumo is a very ritualistic sport, with a long history of honor, respect, and obedience among its wrestlers. Recent scandals are very offensive to long-standing fans of the sport. In spite of all this, the stadium was sold out today.
The Winter Grand Sumo Tournament will continue for another fourteen days, and the wrestler with the best record at the end of that time will be the champion. Since we don’t get Japanese TV at the house, I’ll have to keep up with the results in the newspaper. There are five more Grand Sumo Tournaments during the year, with the next one in Tokyo scheduled for May. By the time we buy our tickets for that one, I will have a favorite wrestler and will be able to cheer his name right along with his Japanese fans.
Outside the stadium, banners bearing the names of the wrestlers were flapping in the breeze and fans without tickets were lined up to watch the big guys arrive for their matches. Inside the arena, we found that the seats were arranged on two levels, facing the north, south, east and west sides of the dohyo, or ring. The upper level seats, where we were sitting, are the cheap seats and resemble theater seats. The box seats on the lower level go for about $100 each, and are actually cushions on the floor, clustered in groups of four per box. While sitting on the floor for nine hours holds no appeal for me, it does apparently come with benefits--the price of a floor seat includes a bento (box lunch) and souvenirs. Hanging from the rafters above the second floor seats are portraits of the champions of the past 32 sumo tournaments.
All of the action takes place in the dohyo, which is situated on a raised platform, and is bordered by rice bags. The object of the sport is to either force an opponent past the rice bag boundary or make him touch the ground with some part of his body other than the soles of his feet, using one of the 82 official techniques recognized by the sumo association. Sumo is a full-contact sport, and involves pushing, shoving, and even the occasional slap as each wrestler tries to get a hold on the other’s belt (found out if the belt comes off and the wrestler is left standing in his birthday suit, he automatically loses the match). The matches frequently last only a few seconds, especially if one wrestler sidesteps a charging opponent—the laws of physics mean its difficult to stop the momentum of an object of such considerable mass, and the aggressor simply falls on his face.
A wrestler moves up through the ranks of sumo by consistently winning matches. While promotions are often difficult to achieve, demotions can occur with only one losing tournament. The lower-ranked wrestlers face off early in the day, and more important matches are scheduled for the afternoon. These matches draw the largest crowds, as well as television coverage. As a result, some of the wrestlers have numerous sponsors, which boosts the financial reward for the winner of that wrestler’s match.
Sumo is known as the national sport of Japan, but is somewhat less popular today than in the past. One reason for this is the increasing domination of foreign wrestlers—the Japanese have fewer local wrestlers to cheer for. Currently there are only two yokozuna (highest ranking wrestlers) and they are both Mongolian. Some of the more prominent wrestlers have also been behaving badly, with scandals ranging from inappropriate comments to the media to drug use to the beating death of a lower-ranked wrestler by his higher-ranking stablemates. Sumo is a very ritualistic sport, with a long history of honor, respect, and obedience among its wrestlers. Recent scandals are very offensive to long-standing fans of the sport. In spite of all this, the stadium was sold out today.
The Winter Grand Sumo Tournament will continue for another fourteen days, and the wrestler with the best record at the end of that time will be the champion. Since we don’t get Japanese TV at the house, I’ll have to keep up with the results in the newspaper. There are five more Grand Sumo Tournaments during the year, with the next one in Tokyo scheduled for May. By the time we buy our tickets for that one, I will have a favorite wrestler and will be able to cheer his name right along with his Japanese fans.
Saturday, January 10--Chillin' Monkeys and Chilly Castles
We got up at oh-dark-thirty this morning to make it on time to the pick-up location for our trip to Nagano (site of the 1998 Winter Olympics). Factoring in rest stops, the bus ride to the prefecture northwest of Tokyo was scheduled to take about five hours. Heavy traffic and snow squalls slowed us down, though, so it was nearly 11:30 when we reached our first stop, Jigokudani Monkey Park.
Jigokudani is located in the mountains of central Japan, and because its elevation is 850 m, there is snow cover for nearly one-third of the year. Fresh snow was falling today, adding to the twelve inches or so that were already on the ground. We had a 1.6 km (1 mile) walk from the bus parking area to the park entrance, which took us well over half an hour, partly because of the snowy and somewhat treacherous path, but mostly because we paused so often to take in the beauty and peaceful silence of the snow-blanketed landscape.
Near the park’s entrance we began to see steam rising from numerous vents and hot springs, which helped to give the area its name, “Hell Valley.” Wild snow monkeys (Japanese macaques) live in the surrounding forest, living on the abundant leaves and fruits found there. In the winter, however, they have difficulty finding enough food, and come to the valley to forage. Their visits are encouraged by park rangers who provide regular feedings of grain throughout the winter. The monkeys come out of the woods each morning, and spend the day in the park, eating and relaxing in the hot springs, then return to the woods in the late afternoon to bed down for the night. They walk unobstructed through the grounds of the park, paying absolutely no attention to the humans who have come to watch them bathing in the onsen. Visitors are warned not to bring any food into the park, not to try to touch the monkeys, and not to make eye contact with the monkeys (this is seen as a challenge to the social hierarchy, and the monkeys will attack), but are otherwise free to mingle freely with the macaques. As you can imagine, being so close to wild monkeys, especially monkeys bathing in a hot spring in the middle of a beautiful, snow-covered valley, turns everyone into a photographer, and it’s sometimes hard to get a clear shot of the monkeys without capturing someone else’s camera lens in the background. You can see what I mean if you check out the park’s live cam—a photo is taken every hour from the park’s opening at 0800 until its close at 1600. In the menu on the left side of the page, click on the numbers in the far left column to see today’s hourly photos—the numbers in the right-hand column are yesterday’s photos.
After communing with the monkeys, we returned to the bus to travel across the prefecture to Matsumoto Castle. Because we were behind schedule, we didn’t have as much time as we would have liked at this 400-year-old national treasure. Most structures of the castle, including the residences, are gone, but the tenshu (donjon, or main fortified, tower) has been preserved. From the outside, it looks to be five stories tall, but the hidden third floor actually gives it six stories on the inside. We were required to remove our boots and don ill-fitting slippers before entering the frigid tower to explore all six floors. Signs in English pointed out various features of the tower, all designed to help warriors protect the castle from enemy attacks. Windows were specially constructed depending on the type of weapon to be used at that location, be it stones, arrows, or firearms. Wide hallways allowed samurai in full armor to run throughout the tower, but I am baffled by the staircases they used to get from one floor to another. They are the narrowest and steepest stairs I have ever tried to climb. Combine the trip hazard of the slippers we were wearing with low-hung solid wood beams and the polished, slicker-than-ice bamboo handrails we had to hold while juggling cameras and bags containing our boots, and you have a recipe for a good old American lawsuit. I don’t know how armor-clad samurai navigated these stairways with any speed at all—if I’d been defending the castle, the enemy would have time to swim the moat, tear down the gates, and burn the whole place to the ground before I got from the staging room on the second floor to the stone-dropping windows of the first floor.
As luck would have it, we were able to close out our evening at the castle just as the warriors did in times of peace; standing in moon-viewing wing of the tower, watching the full moon rise over the mountains to the east.
Jigokudani is located in the mountains of central Japan, and because its elevation is 850 m, there is snow cover for nearly one-third of the year. Fresh snow was falling today, adding to the twelve inches or so that were already on the ground. We had a 1.6 km (1 mile) walk from the bus parking area to the park entrance, which took us well over half an hour, partly because of the snowy and somewhat treacherous path, but mostly because we paused so often to take in the beauty and peaceful silence of the snow-blanketed landscape.
Near the park’s entrance we began to see steam rising from numerous vents and hot springs, which helped to give the area its name, “Hell Valley.” Wild snow monkeys (Japanese macaques) live in the surrounding forest, living on the abundant leaves and fruits found there. In the winter, however, they have difficulty finding enough food, and come to the valley to forage. Their visits are encouraged by park rangers who provide regular feedings of grain throughout the winter. The monkeys come out of the woods each morning, and spend the day in the park, eating and relaxing in the hot springs, then return to the woods in the late afternoon to bed down for the night. They walk unobstructed through the grounds of the park, paying absolutely no attention to the humans who have come to watch them bathing in the onsen. Visitors are warned not to bring any food into the park, not to try to touch the monkeys, and not to make eye contact with the monkeys (this is seen as a challenge to the social hierarchy, and the monkeys will attack), but are otherwise free to mingle freely with the macaques. As you can imagine, being so close to wild monkeys, especially monkeys bathing in a hot spring in the middle of a beautiful, snow-covered valley, turns everyone into a photographer, and it’s sometimes hard to get a clear shot of the monkeys without capturing someone else’s camera lens in the background. You can see what I mean if you check out the park’s live cam—a photo is taken every hour from the park’s opening at 0800 until its close at 1600. In the menu on the left side of the page, click on the numbers in the far left column to see today’s hourly photos—the numbers in the right-hand column are yesterday’s photos.
After communing with the monkeys, we returned to the bus to travel across the prefecture to Matsumoto Castle. Because we were behind schedule, we didn’t have as much time as we would have liked at this 400-year-old national treasure. Most structures of the castle, including the residences, are gone, but the tenshu (donjon, or main fortified, tower) has been preserved. From the outside, it looks to be five stories tall, but the hidden third floor actually gives it six stories on the inside. We were required to remove our boots and don ill-fitting slippers before entering the frigid tower to explore all six floors. Signs in English pointed out various features of the tower, all designed to help warriors protect the castle from enemy attacks. Windows were specially constructed depending on the type of weapon to be used at that location, be it stones, arrows, or firearms. Wide hallways allowed samurai in full armor to run throughout the tower, but I am baffled by the staircases they used to get from one floor to another. They are the narrowest and steepest stairs I have ever tried to climb. Combine the trip hazard of the slippers we were wearing with low-hung solid wood beams and the polished, slicker-than-ice bamboo handrails we had to hold while juggling cameras and bags containing our boots, and you have a recipe for a good old American lawsuit. I don’t know how armor-clad samurai navigated these stairways with any speed at all—if I’d been defending the castle, the enemy would have time to swim the moat, tear down the gates, and burn the whole place to the ground before I got from the staging room on the second floor to the stone-dropping windows of the first floor.
As luck would have it, we were able to close out our evening at the castle just as the warriors did in times of peace; standing in moon-viewing wing of the tower, watching the full moon rise over the mountains to the east.
Friday, January 9--Rain on Our Parade
We couldn’t have picked an uglier day to go to Tokyo Disney. A big Disney fan, Jenny really wanted to go to the theme park while she was here. Since the park often sells out (they limit the number of guests they admit each day) and you could be turned away at the gate if you wait to buy tickets when you arrive, we purchased tickets in advance to guarantee we would be able to get in. The drawback to purchasing advance tickets is that you are locked into visiting on that specific day or forfeiting your tickets. So even though today was cloudy, cold, and rainy, we gamely bundled up and headed to the Magic Kingdom (which is located right on Tokyo Bay, so the sea breeze did nothing to improve our comfort level).
Now, I admit that it has been a LONG time since I’ve been to Disney (we went to Disney World in Florida before EPCOT was built), and my opinion of the park may have been influenced by my size and perspective all those years ago, but Tokyo Disney is very little. There are very few rides for adults…I don’t know about kids’ rides because we didn’t venture through that section of the park. The good news about the weather…lines for rides were very short! Guess what, Mom? I made it through the whole “Haunted House” without crying (maybe it was less scary narrated in Japanese?), and not once did I get down into the floor of the boat when we went through “Pirates of the Caribbean” (even though I did yelp when the cannonball hit the water right next to me). The one ride I truly wanted to experience in Japan’s version of Disney, “It’s a Small World,” was closed for renovations. I don’t know how to explain why I wanted to go on that ride…I guess it’s the idea of being halfway around the world and finding something familiar from home. Proof that it is indeed a small world.
We did witness something at Tokyo Disney that I am fairly certain would never happen in the U.S. parks. Any time there was a break in the rain, an army would emerge to remove all traces of the bad weather. Squeegee-wielding maintenance workers chased all of the puddles from the sidewalks, while jovial, poncho-clad employees dried every slat of every bench with chamois cloths. Since many of the benches were under rain-laden trees, I truly expected to see individual leaves being dried as well. Inevitably, the rain would start again, and the army would retreat from whence it came, but as soon as there was another break, the troops began their assault anew.
We had intended to stay and close the park (at the very family-friendly hour of 7 p.m.) but by four o’clock we were numb with cold and soggy to the bone, and had really run out of things to do, so we gave up and headed back to the train station. We did miss the electric light parade, or whatever they call it these days, but for all I know it would have been cancelled anyway lest Mickey and Minnie be electrocuted in the rain.
Now, I admit that it has been a LONG time since I’ve been to Disney (we went to Disney World in Florida before EPCOT was built), and my opinion of the park may have been influenced by my size and perspective all those years ago, but Tokyo Disney is very little. There are very few rides for adults…I don’t know about kids’ rides because we didn’t venture through that section of the park. The good news about the weather…lines for rides were very short! Guess what, Mom? I made it through the whole “Haunted House” without crying (maybe it was less scary narrated in Japanese?), and not once did I get down into the floor of the boat when we went through “Pirates of the Caribbean” (even though I did yelp when the cannonball hit the water right next to me). The one ride I truly wanted to experience in Japan’s version of Disney, “It’s a Small World,” was closed for renovations. I don’t know how to explain why I wanted to go on that ride…I guess it’s the idea of being halfway around the world and finding something familiar from home. Proof that it is indeed a small world.
We did witness something at Tokyo Disney that I am fairly certain would never happen in the U.S. parks. Any time there was a break in the rain, an army would emerge to remove all traces of the bad weather. Squeegee-wielding maintenance workers chased all of the puddles from the sidewalks, while jovial, poncho-clad employees dried every slat of every bench with chamois cloths. Since many of the benches were under rain-laden trees, I truly expected to see individual leaves being dried as well. Inevitably, the rain would start again, and the army would retreat from whence it came, but as soon as there was another break, the troops began their assault anew.
We had intended to stay and close the park (at the very family-friendly hour of 7 p.m.) but by four o’clock we were numb with cold and soggy to the bone, and had really run out of things to do, so we gave up and headed back to the train station. We did miss the electric light parade, or whatever they call it these days, but for all I know it would have been cancelled anyway lest Mickey and Minnie be electrocuted in the rain.
Wednesday, January 7--Seven Gods of Kamakura
Another sight-seeing tour to Kamakura today. I signed Jenny and myself up for a free tour offered by Fleet and Family Services on base. I figured it would entail visits to the tourist “hotspots” Jim and I had already seen, including Hachimangu Shrine and the Great Buddha (Daibutsu), but thought it would be good to have an experienced Japanese guide to explain things we had overlooked on our previous visit. Turns out this is a monthly tour, with an ever-changing itinerary. Because it is the beginning of the New Year, our guide informed us that today’s tour would be a pilgrimage to the Seven Gods of Good Fortune. Hopefully by visiting all seven gods at their respective shrines and temples around Kamakura, we will guarantee ourselves a year full of good fortune. I, for one, will take all the help I can get.
Ebisu, the god of fishermen, is also known as the god of prosperous commerce among merchants.
Jurōjin is the god of longevity.
Bishamon, the god of war, conquers evildoers with his spear.
Benten is the only female deity of the seven, and bestows eloquence and wisdom.
Daikoku, the god of wealth, has a large bag of treasures slung over his left shoulder.
Fukurokuju is the god of wealth and longevity (I guess he’s there in case Jurōjin and Daikoku can’t get the job done).
Hotei is the god of contentment and happiness, and everyone wants to rub his bare belly.
To prove (to ourselves? to friends? to family? to the gods?) that we had indeed visited all seven, we each purchased a shikishi board specifically designed for this pilgrimage (¥500) at the first shrine. We then had a monk at each stop stamp the board with his shrine or temple’s seal and write the date next to it in calligraphy (¥300 each). By the end of the tour, we both had a board suitable for framing (the stamps and calligraphy are beautiful) that can be displayed for the rest of the year. (Apparently any good fortune you get from making this pilgrimage expires at the end of the year, and you’ll have to do the whole thing over again next January.) So our free tour ended up costing Jenny and me each about $50 when we added up train fares to three stops in Kamakura, shrine admission fees, and stamp charges. I’m not too upset though—we were told that the money will be returned to us many times over this year now that we’ve paid homage to the Seven Gods of Good Fortune. I picked up a potential new English student on the tour…is that the beginning of my good fortune??
Ebisu, the god of fishermen, is also known as the god of prosperous commerce among merchants.
Jurōjin is the god of longevity.
Bishamon, the god of war, conquers evildoers with his spear.
Benten is the only female deity of the seven, and bestows eloquence and wisdom.
Daikoku, the god of wealth, has a large bag of treasures slung over his left shoulder.
Fukurokuju is the god of wealth and longevity (I guess he’s there in case Jurōjin and Daikoku can’t get the job done).
Hotei is the god of contentment and happiness, and everyone wants to rub his bare belly.
To prove (to ourselves? to friends? to family? to the gods?) that we had indeed visited all seven, we each purchased a shikishi board specifically designed for this pilgrimage (¥500) at the first shrine. We then had a monk at each stop stamp the board with his shrine or temple’s seal and write the date next to it in calligraphy (¥300 each). By the end of the tour, we both had a board suitable for framing (the stamps and calligraphy are beautiful) that can be displayed for the rest of the year. (Apparently any good fortune you get from making this pilgrimage expires at the end of the year, and you’ll have to do the whole thing over again next January.) So our free tour ended up costing Jenny and me each about $50 when we added up train fares to three stops in Kamakura, shrine admission fees, and stamp charges. I’m not too upset though—we were told that the money will be returned to us many times over this year now that we’ve paid homage to the Seven Gods of Good Fortune. I picked up a potential new English student on the tour…is that the beginning of my good fortune??
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