In September when I returned to Kyoto my friends gave me a 5 kilo bag of rice as a sort of house-warming gift for my new pad in Katsura. I was happy to get this. But at the same time I thought, 5 kilos? This will last me a year! I just made my last bowl of rice from this large bag. Japan's annual per capita rice consumption is more than 61 kilos. I don't think I'll hit that mark, but I am surprised how much rice I eat. Like any Japanese household it has become a staple for me. A day without at least one bowl of rice is rare.
I've had a few interesting/funny one-off jobs since I moved to Japan. I did a voice recording in English which may or may not be used in a hotel elevator somewhere in Japan: "First floor. Second floor. Third floor. Parking Garage..." I played Santa Claus for a Kindergarten in Minami-ku. But the most interesting, most fun job I've had by far was playing a small part in the new music video Friday by Japanese singer-songwriter Marie Ueda (above). How did I get this gig you may ask. My German modeling agent in Osaka, of course. True. I got an e-mail from him in early December asking me if I was free to do a music video the day after Christmas. He didn't tell me anything except wear a white shirt, dark trousers and boots if you have them. He took me to the studio in Osaka where we met the director and the rest of the crew shooting the video. My agent speaks perfect Japanese. I obviously do not. So he stuck around for a while to translate and make sure everything was okay. Then he left. I couldn't help but to think of Bill Murray in Lost in Translation when he is doing the whiskey commercial: "For relaxing times, make it Suntory time." At one point, following the second or third take of one scene, the director said to me, "More languid, please." I had to scramble to think what that meant. I imagine it is always sort of strange and funny to act in front of a green-screen with no background or set to orientate you. It is even more strange and funny in Japanese. Because I was not privy to the concept for the video and my role in each scene could only be communicated in very simple English, I mostly had no idea what was going on. I graciously did what they asked me to do, and graciously did it again when they asked me to do it again. Everyone, including Miss Ueda, who ended up styling my look in the video, were perfectly friendly and very patient. I could not have spent a more amusing and enjoyable 4 hours the day after Christmas. For more info. on Marie Ueda and her new album はなしはそれからだ (Stories from the Body) which is released February 25th visit her website: http://uedamarie.com/index.html
Your average Japanese person will avoid speaking English if at all possible. It is the anxiety of making mistakes and sounding foolish that keeps them quiet. They will stand on a train rather than sit next to a Westerner for fear that person might engage them in an English conversation. This is commonly known as the "Eigo complex". Then there is the older gentleman that suddenly asked to sit down at my table in a teishoku restaurant in Osaka. In broken English he told me he doesn't speak English but he loves the language. He studied it in Junior High School, but was a poor student. He wanted to try learning it again. I told him I worked as an Eigo Kyoshi (teacher) at an eikaiwa nearby. This excited him. He wanted to come with me. I explained that the school was only for children. Disappointed he left. But not before thanking me and paying for my lunch.
In 1606 a cocksure samurai named Asaoka Heibei gave a demonstration of his kyudo (archery) prowess at Sanjusangendo Temple shooting 100 arrows in rapid succession the length of the temple veranda (120 meters/394 feet) hitting the target 51 times. This was the beginning of the annual archery competition known as Toshiya. The early competitions were something like an archery marathon including the Oyakazu event in which archers would shoot on average 10,000 arrows over a 24-hour period. This extreme archery competition was replaced in the late 19th Century by a more civilized version called O-mata Taikai (Festival of the Great Target). Now some 2,000 archers from all over Japan come to Sanjusangendo to shoot two arrows in two minutes at a target 60 meters (197 feet) away.
The timing of the event coincides with the Japanese national holiday Seijin no Hi (Coming of Age Day) which celebrates the passing from teenager to adult (20). For whatever reason, the participants in O-mato Taikai are predominantly female. I must say, it is an impressive sight to see hundreds and hundreds of young women dressed in gorgeous kimonos shooting arrows across a courtyard. Like so many Japanese festivals O-mato Taikai is a magnificent spectacle. Colorful bunting hung from the eaves of the ancient temple and food vendors filled the east veranda with their equally vibrant booths. The west veranda, where the competition is held, had great medieval-style tents erected with red and white striped panels.
This is not your Olympic archery competition with high-tech graphite and aluminum recurve bows, sights and other doodads. These are beautiful wooden long bows, the same as what Heibei-san would have used in the 17th Century, requiring genuine agility and excellent vision. The female archers, dressed in kimonos and traditional hakama (a sort of pleated skirt worn over the kimono just below the bust line) bow before stepping onto the low wooden platform in their white tabi socks. Their movement is fluid and graceful, like a ballet dancer or master of t'ai chi. Watching is something like being a spectator at a tennis match or golf tournament. The crowd is hushed. Except for the odd "Ohhh. Sugoi." when an archer has hit the target, there is no applause or reaction from the audience. You can literally hear the arrows whiz by and thunk in the 75 cm target, or clatter across the gravel when the archer loses their concentration. I was surprised at the speed with which the arrows travel. It is not difficult to watch it fly from the archer's bow to the target. Only in Japan could a deadly weapon be turned into something of grace and beauty.
New Year's in the States is a fairly debauched affair - champagne, fireworks and kissing total strangers. In Japan it is a much more sober and spiritual event heavy with ritual and ancient traditions. My New Year's Eve was a clueless and random meander around Yasaka Shrine and its neighboring temples in southern Higashiyama. Without any guidance I could never hope to fully participate in Omisoka (New Year's Eve). I followed the crowd, made observations, and then, like a monkey, did what they did without understanding the whys or wherefores. Ganjitsu (New Year's Day) was, like so many New Year's Days in the past, a massive hangover - too much sake, too much beer. I watched the snow fall from my bed and didn't really move. Sometimes one needs a hangover to remember how good one normally feels.
I generally greet the day after a severe hangover with a renewed determination to live life more fully, to get things done, as well as to stop drinking. It is a sort of penance for wasting the previous 24 hours. I woke at dawn and witnessed a pretty spectacular sunrise, the pink, orange and yellow caressing the blanket of snow that covered Katsura. Everything looks better in the snow. The streets and buildings with which you are so familiar are suddenly different, as if you are seeing them for the first time. There is a freshness to the world, everything is softened, everything is quieted. I dressed and ate breakfast quickly. I stopped at the neighborhood shrine (Gosha-jinja) and said a prayer for the New Year then headed to the Katsura River. The morning light played on the snow-covered mountains in the distance and the deep burgundy of the Hankyu train looked particularly handsome against this backdrop as it traversed the bridge over the river. I was alone except for a few joggers and one or two shutterbugs like myself.
The mountains grew closer as I made my way up the river. Before long I was on the edge of Arashiyama. Then I saw the gate for Matsunoo Taisha. Funny and fitting that after my rough New Year's Day I would find myself at the shrine favored by sake brewers. I was soon drinking a cup of kinpaku (gold-flecked) sake from a masu
(square-shaped wooden cup). It smelt of fresh cypress. Near the center of the shrine a great fire was burning. I was transfixed by the flames and smoke and heat. Fire is a purifying element in many religions. Shinto is no exception. This fire was not only a way to keep warm on this cold winter day, it was a receptacle for wishes past and present. Apparently any talismans from the previous year must be burned in the New Year. The people gathered around the blaze were tossing omikuji (printed paper fortunes), ema (wooden plaques upon which wishes are written), hamaya (decorative arrows), and sake cups into the flames. Then with hands pressed in prayer they made a slight bow. This was a remarkable and moving ritual, to see even small children throwing their beautiful, brand new hamaya into the fire.
I left Matsunoo Taisha and wandered the narrow roads hugging the mountains. It wasn't long before I came across another shrine, then a temple. The mountainside seemed to be dotted with them. At Suzumushi-dera I was ushered into a large washitsu
(traditional Japanese room) packed with people sitting at low tables arranged end to end in long parallel rows. A thin zabuton (cushion), a cup of ocha and a paper-wrapped sweet were waiting for me. A charismatic gentleman in a somber kimono was speaking to the crowd. What have I got myself into now? And how do I bow gracefully out? The shoji door slid shut behind me. There was no escape. Being the only gaijin in the room I desperately tried to be invisible. I can't remember feeling quite so out of place. At the conclusion, 30 minutes later, I slithered out.
I made my way back to Matsunoo Taisha for some lunch. The path leading up to the shrine had been taken over by food vendors and various booths offering carnival-like games. I went from stall to stall sampling the wonderful New Year's fare. I was told the Japanese New Year celebration is not to be missed. Though I was lost and confused much of the time the sheer spectacle of these ancient customs kind of makes Times Square in New York look like a barroom brawl.
