About four years ago I bought my first jinbei. The following year I bought my first pair of getta. In 2018 I wore a kimono for the first time and last summer I acquired a yukata. Recently I donned another piece of ubiquitous Japanese attire - the germ mask. This is undoubtedly more mundane than the other garments, but nonetheless an interesting experience. Wearing masks to protect against the spread of infectious disease came to Japan in 1919 with the outbreak of the Spanish Flu. Oddly, it was inspired by efforts in the US to control the pandemic. Following the second World War, their popularity grew as they evolved into a sort of symbol of social etiquette. By the 1990s masks were being widely used to combat the "national illness" of cedar pollinosis (hay fever). The SARS epidemic of 2003 cemented the mask as a permanent part of Japanese attire. In the West, traditionally it is only doctors and maybe nurses who wear paper surgical masks. So my first impression was, cool, I look like a surgeon. After about 30 minutes though I became aware of how the mask inhibits normal respiration, and I began thinking of the higher concentration of carbon dioxide I was probably inhaling. Of course there is a direct correlation between high levels of CO2 and drowsiness, sweating, high blood pressure and an increased heart rate. 5% of what humans exhale with each breath is water vapour. This usually dissipates in the atmosphere. However, a mask effectively blocks these particles, so the vapour begins to collect and the mask becomes moist. Not at all pleasant. A germ mask will stay in place if you don't speak. But any exercise of the vocal chords and the mask begins to move. Normal speech involves not just the movement of the mouth, but indeed the whole face. In no time my mask had slipped off my nose and was resting on my upper lip. Perhaps the problem is the size and verticality of the gaijin nose compared to the less pronounced Japanese nose. It is said that the eyes are the window to the soul. But the mouth is just as, if not more, expressive than the eyes, and certainly easier to read. When you put on a germ mask you acquire a certain anonymity. Just as bandits in the Old West used to wear bandanas over their face to conceal their identity, the mask has the same effect. With my fogged over eyeglasses (another annoying side effect) and mask I could disappear. Ha! I could go on a crime spree. From surgeon to outlaw.
I have my doubts about the effectiveness of germ masks. It seems reasonable to assume that a mask that is completely impermeable to microscopic germs would lead to suffocation. I think it is a largely symbolic gesture showing respect for and solidarity with your fellow citizens, which is not a bad thing. But all those beautiful Japanese faces covered up. Now that is a shame.
Four or five years ago I bought a tiny Japanese maple tree (momiji) at Toji Temple in Kyoto. It had a twisted trunk and just a handful of leaves. It was meant to be a bonsai. I pruned it periodically to encourage an attractive shape, but I allowed it to grow like any tree, giving it ever bigger pots.
Observing the autumn foliage of trees in Japan is called momijigari (紅葉狩り). This past autumn I decided to document the annual wardrobe change of my little momiji. Every morning from late October to late December I took a photo of it, capturing a splendid 65-day performance.
Katsuragawa is still, as if in deep thought. The golden fruit of the crabapple tree always looks like a celebration, champagne bubbles on bare limbs. The empty sound of the Hankyu as it passes over the bridge; too early for passengers. Sumi-e mountains stretch into the soft morning light. The smoke from Matsuo Taisha rises, a blue smudge over the sleepy green hills. The sun cuts through the clouds and briefly the brown river grass turns to gold.
When you connect the dots along life's path, it is a wonderfully strange journey. In June I conceived the idea to teach a two-part course on Japanese sake at the eikaiwa (conversation school) where I work. You might ask, "What does a gaijin know about nihonshu (sake)?" Well, I can answer, prior to this class, very little. But two weeks of serious research expanded my knowledge of the Japanese national beverage substantially. The class ran in October. The students seemed to enjoy the lessons and after the last class we made a field trip to Fushimi - the sake brewery district of Kyoto - and did some nihonshu tasting, applying our new knowledge. That was that. Or so I thought. In early November I received an e-mail from one of the students in my class. She wanted to organise an excursion to her family's sake brewery in Nishi-Akashi in Hyogo Prefecture. I said, yeah, great, I'm in!
So it was, recently, I found myself in Eigashima, asmall seaside district of Akashi city, some 2-hours south-west of Kyoto. This is well off any tourist map. Even Japanese people would probably give this town a miss, roll right past on their way to more famous locales.
Eigashima Brewerywas established in 1888 by Heikichi Urabe. Excellent local spring water and high-quality rice are essential to making good sake and this area has been famous for both since the Edo era (1603-1868). The company expanded, contracted and diversified over the years with the changing tastes of the Japanese people, and added whiskey and wine to its impressive portfolio. But the root of the business is nihonshu, for which it has won awards. It was a cool gray morning the day we visited, the view of Awaji Island and the famous Akashi-Kaikyo Bridge was totally obscured. We were guided through the 55,000m² beachfront complex by the brewery's gregarious toji (master brewer), Nakamura-san. He has the double and rare distinction of toji and master distiller, overseeing the production of both sake and whiskey. The beautiful Meiji era (1868-1912) buildings were not surprisingly quiet, as the traditional sake brewing calendar ends in autumn when the latest batch is bottled and delivered to market. This meant we got to taste sake that had only just arrived in shops and restaurants around the Kansai region. I'm still very much a novice when it comes to sake. But it is definitely something I am enjoying studying. Because…to know nihonshu is to know Japan.
Late summer. Yukata have been packed away, folded neatly into their tatogami (kimono wrapping paper). The orchestra of cicada have stopped rehearsing. The smell of sulphur from recently exploded fireworks has vanished, swallowed by air and time. Hamo (dagger-tooth pike conger eel), that quintessential Kyoto delicacy, has disappeared from restaurant menus. There is a shift, a quietness as autumn approaches. The suzumushi (bell cricket) have begun their song. But... a few final brush strokes to the summer tableau - tiny wildflowers, a cool mountain stream.
