Tea on the Water

Matsue is often called Mizu-no-Miyako (水の都: City of Water) not only for its place nestled between the 5th and 7th largest lakes in Japan as well four different onsen and border along the Sea of Japan, but especially for the castle canals. Many Edo period castle canals have since been filled in or reduced to only their inner moat, but Matsue retains both inner and outer moats. Many of the streets around the city have been designs around working with the moats to protect the castle and may attacks difficult for intruding armies. Those streets are still the same as well, and though they never needed to prevent an army from advancing an attack, I suppose they are helpful for preventing vehicles from speeding too fast through town.

Pretty typical Matsue scene at Shiomi Nawate, a preserved historic street along the north moat, where the Horikawa Sightseeing Boat always passes. These are some of my favorite pine trees in the world, though this photo doesn’t do them justice.

Another thing that hasn’t changed much since the Edo era is the local people’s love of tea, especially the tea ceremony. Lord Fumai‘s influence remains very present, and not in a gimmicky way. While the Grand Tea Ceremony (大茶会) on the Matsue Castle grounds on the first weekend of October is nationally famous, there are other tea ceremonies and tea events that welcome hundreds of guests throughout the year.

This spring, in a style very fitting for the city of water and tea, there was a floating tea house set up at the northwest corner of the castle mount, called this Ohoribata Chaseki (お堀端茶席, a little clumsy to translate but something like “Tea on the Moat” at its simplest and “A Tea Ceremony on the Banks of the Horikawa” at its most pretentious.)

Held over the course of two spring weekends, anyone could stop in and buy a ￥1000 ticket. It just so happened to be an Omotesenke style ceremony, the style I practice, so I brought my tea-tools to be prepared. This was not necessary, as it was set up for any guest to relax and enjoy themselves, with all the utensils provided and handy explanation from a master as the host prepared the tea. During large public ceremonies that anyone can attend without any previous tea knowledge, usually the host only prepares the first one or two cups of tea while others prepare the rest of the tea in the back so as to speed up the process a bit. In a more private ceremony, the host would prepare the tea for everyone. Another difference is that in a private ceremony the guests would pass along the sweets and come forward to take the tea themselves, but in a public ceremony not everyone knows how to do this, so everything is brought directly to the guests. Therefore, a public ceremony requires a lot more manpower backstage–usually this is a very tiny space, but set apart so as to be non-intrusive to the ceremony.

We started with wagashi right away as we enjoyed the shade and coolness at the water’s edge. This was the first was someone uncomfortably warm days, but the atmosphere inside the tea room was perfect.

As the host wordlessly prepared the tea, another tea master explained the ceremony, decor, and tools to the guests in a way that both practitioners and laypeople could appreciate.

Tea ceremony and the Horikawa Sightseeing Boat. It could only get more Matsue-like if there was En-musubi tied in or something.

After the abbreviated ceremony, we were invited to observe the tools.

The chawan (tea bowl) is Rakuzan pottery. Along with Fujina and Sodeshi, this is one of the three representative styles of Matsue pottery, and it was a favorite of Lord Fumai’s. This particular bowl was made by the father of the current head of the Rakuzan school.

The natsume (tea caddy) is Yakumo-nuri, a local style of lacquerware. One of the characteristics of Yakumo-nuri is that the pattern gets brighter as the piece ages. The chashaku (tea scoop) is also local craftsmanship, and it was made from wood that was removed from the castle during renovations several years ago. Hence, the individual name of this chashaku is “Chidori” (plover) because Matsue Castle is nicknamed Chidori-jo (Plover Castle). For other styles of chashaku, the host can choose from a selection of gomei seasonal names, so a single chashaku can have multiple names. This special type of chashaku, however, doesn’t change identities with the seasons.

They say that the shape of the tea remaining in the tea caddy says a lot about how steady–or unsteady–the hand of the host was.

The ceremony felt very brief, but it was gratifying that the master explaining the ceremony could tell I practice the ceremony–and lucky that he didn’t notice me forget a few bows during the sped-up process, oops! Though this ceremony wasn’t hosted by my school, naturally, everyone knew my Omotesenke teacher by name. There were many other tea events going on that weekend, including a longer, reservation-only ceremony at Gesshouji Temple (where Lord Fumai is buried) that included a meal, but I had other things to do. Nonetheless, my things to do put me on the same route as a few of the ladies who attended the same ceremony I did and who were off to enjoy the ceremony at Gesshouji, and it was fun to enjoy the weather, the spring flowers, and general talk of tea on the way.

 

Road Signs and Romanization

When it comes to expressing it in writing, Japanese is a bit of a funny language. For instance, if you don’t know the kanji compound for some word, like 学校 (“school”), you can get away with writing it phonetically as がっこう. This doesn’t look entirely correct, but it’ll get your point across. In all technicality ガッコウ in phonetic katakana would say the same thing, though it’d look pretty odd to write “school” like this in most circumstances.

With various ways of expressing Japanese sounds in romanized writing systems, you run into the same mess of relatively correct but different ways of writing the same word. For example, with the above example, my first inclination is to write it as gakkou, but others chose not to use the u as it would look more like it’s supposed to say oh-uu than a longer oh, so instead they’d write gakkō or gakkô. But if you’re too lazy to insert the special character, you would probably get away with gakko, though this looks really odd to my eyes. You could say they’re all correct because there is no one, single, “correct” way to write the language in a written form is wasn’t designed to be expressed in.

Sure, we have a few formalized systems with various merits and demerits, and when users are mindful, they typically stick to a single style. For example, in US academic writing I think you’ll usually find Hepburn, whereas Kunrei-shiki is commonly accepted here at elementary schools, but I still run into elementary schools teaching the very odd-looking Nihon-siki. Yeah, that -siki is not a typo. That’s why I very occasionally see it written that I live next to Lake Sinji, not Lake Shinji. (The Izumo dialect does tend to have more of a si sound than a shi sound, though!)

Then again, is it Lake Shinji, or is it Lake Shinji-ko, or just Shinjiko?

For any given proper noun in Japan, you can probably find it written in multiple ways across official and unofficial websites, maps, post offices and tourism guides. The central government–as well as local governments around the country–have recognized that this is a problem, and have started a national effort to fix the messy-looking mismatched expressions and awkward English expressions… or at least fix the awkward English, anyway. Matsue, given its managable size and array of tourism facilities and designation as one of Japan’s three International Cities of Culture and Tourism, was among the first areas to have focus groups to assess the locals terms. I was one of the native English speakers asked to comment on this. At first I didn’t quite grasp the scale of the project when I was given a long Excel document to review, but it was a big enough deal that I had an appearance on national morning news while I was walking around with a focus group one winter morning and looking at odd signs. Though I didn’t see it this news segment, maybe it was the part when I was saying “No! Don’t call it Matsue-jo Castle, just call it Matsue Castle!”

Thankfully I think “Matsue Castle” will remain the standard instead of adding “castle” behind the full Japanese name, which would give you something like “Matsue Castle Castle.” This is like saying “Mt. Fujiyama” when you could just say “Mt. Fuji”. However, it starts to get more difficult when the name seems completely different after chopping off some of the Japanese. No one seems to find “Gesshō-ji Temple” very weird even though it is “Gessho Temple Temple” but “Gesshō Temple” would sound very odd, perhaps even unrecognizable. Even if strict standards were enforced, I’ll bet people would say all kinds of different things in English conversation anyway, though of course there is a difference between how locals know something and how visitors passing through from other countries would know something. It’s a big sticky mess, and there are thousands and thousands and thousands of road signs to try to make consistent.

Some things are pretty well set, though. Like how sushi and samurai are now international words, we’re at least going to try to change all these strange “spa” signs to say to “onsen.” Got that everyone? While “hot springs” would technically be correct, we all should start using the word “onsen” for Japanese-style hot spring baths! Onsen! ONSEN!!

The assessment stage was followed by a couple meetings to discuss–sometimes a little heatedly–the finer points of using hyphens and what to leave in Japanese, what to translate, and how to translate it, and even if you leave it in Japanese how to express it in Japanese without getting something weird like Shinjikooohashi.

The daunting project–given how, when you start looking for them, errors and inconsistencies are everywhere–reminded me the giant Fudoki project of 8th century Japan, which endeavored to record all the basic geographical, biological, economic and cultural characteristics of each province of ancient Japan. For part of that project, they had to assign names to geographical features, and the names had to fit strict linguistic requirements. It required years to travel, gather data, make judgement calls, and make everything consistent. I think it’s the consistency that is most daunting, considering how many people of different linguistic habits must collaborate on such a mammoth project!

Despite the years of hours and hours of collective effort, most of the Fudoki are now lost, and of the five remaining ones, only the Izumo-no-Kuni Fudoki remains mostly intact. Therefore, we know a lot more about 8th century Izumo in more detail than we know about 8th century life in the rest of Japan, and it was so detailed it can even be applied to modern day taxonomy studies. The Shimane Museum of Ancient Izumo has a really outstanding exhibit based on the information recorded in the Izumo Fudoki, as well as how the Fudoki project was conducted. Being such a history nerd/geek/dork/otaku/what-have-you, I’ve visited many, many museums and exhibits of Asian history across a few different countries, and this is one of the ones that left the deepest impression on me. I’m not just saying that out of San’in region pride, either.

Cutting back to modern day, eventually a set of standards for road signs was printed. If you can read Japanese and you’re really curious about it, you can find it here. It seems to be more so a set of flexible guidelines than strict rules, though. Flexiblity is good, but I feel that if they’re going to make a push for it now, now’s the time to enforce a little strictness… assuming we could all agree on whatever to call a street an avenue or a road.

Whatever. Come to Japan and enjoy the onsen, everyone.

 

The Flavors of Unnan in Ice Cream Form

I’m sometimes asked if I’ve tried any crazy ice cream flavors found throughout Japan. Well… no, not that weird. Or at least, I don’t find them weird enough to write home about.

Let’s make it clear that Japan is not usually as weird as the Internet would have you think it is. Plus, the “weird” food that Japanese people are actually crazy and excited about don’t seem to be quite as much of a focal point on the English speaking side of things. Allow me to fix that by having you see Youka Medama Oyaji from spooky Sakaiminato. Go. Look. They’re awesome.

Anyway, I cannot deny that there is a trend throughout the country of taking the local speciality–be it a fish or fruit or ramen–and presenting it in ice cream form, often for the sort of cringe-worthy results you’d expect to find at a US state fair, with each fried food stand trying to out do the others with a deep-frying some new combination of mega-calories. I don’t think many people choose to eat these ice creams for the sake of eating them, but rather for the sake of being able to say they’ve eaten them.

I’m not innocent of trying some strange things just to have the experience–I’ve probably had chocolate with everything but bugs, only because I haven’t had the opportunity yet. But when it comes to the specialities each region of Japan is so proud of, I figure I’d rather try them with my lunch, and just enjoy my ice cream as ice cream.

Then every so often you wind up finding an interesting spin on ice cream that really can just stand to be its own flavor without the fear-factor appeal. I’ve mentioned the soba-flavored ice cream before, but that was nice enough that I’d totally order it again just for the sake of having a refreshing little ice cream. It turns out I had two more ice creams that day, too. We were feeling adventurous and there is always room for more ice cream.

To quote myself from the soba entry:

I tried this at a new Michi-no-Eki (a fancy style of road stations or rest stops throughout Japan, many of which are sights in and of themselves) in Unnan, located south of Izumo and Matsue (together with Okuizumo and Yasugi, these five cities/towns make up what is commonly know as the “Izumo region”). This Michi-no-Eki is called Tatara-ichibanchi and has a special focus on introducing local mythology (especially the Yamata-no-Orochi 8-headed giant serpent, which resided in Unnan), with the help of Shimane’s volunteer tourism ambassador, the scowling Yoshida-kun (whose day job happens to be attempting to take over the world). (Recall that Yoshida-kun and company have also volunteered their villianous services in telling Lafcadio Hearn‘s “Kwaidan” ghost stories.)

We left the soba restaurant for the Tatalover counter. In addition to spicy ramen and soy milk soup with mochi, they also had two kinds of soft serve: Orochi-no-Tsume and Otamahan.

If you’ve been following this blog for a long time, “Orochi” should sound familiar, but in case it doesn’t, you can start reading the legend of the Yamata-no-Orochi 8-headed serpent, or cut straight to how Unnan was the beast’s hometown. Orochi-no-Tsume–that is, “Claws of Orochi”–are a kind of chili pepper grown in Unnan. They are about three times longer than the more commonly known Taka-no-Tsume (“Claws of the Hawk”), so they are not quite as spicy and it’s easier to enjoy the sweetness of chili peppers–provided you’re okay with the afterbite. You can read more and see more pictures here and here.

Click for source

As for Otamahan, does the term Tamago-kake Gohan mean anything to you?

This is known as Japanese soul food, and although I don’t claim to know food culture from around the world in as much depth, it’s hard to think of another culture that so thoroughly enjoys raw eggs. Completely raw, not just runny. Besides being a folk cure for hangover and other ailments or serving as dipping sauce for sukiyaki hot pot, there is something wonderfully comforting about a simple, tasty bowl of Tamago-kake Gohan (sometimes abbreiviated TKG, like US PBJ). Literally, it’s cooked rice with egg added to it. I had heard of it and had raw egg here and there–I don’t really mind it–and had heard how big of a thing it is in Unnan, but one of my deepest impressions of the dish was when I was traveling with my naginata group to the Western Japan youth competition (I was tagging along to root them on!), and along the way we stopped for lunch at a Michi-no-Eki. One of the mom’s of the group was preparing this dish for her 3-year-old, and asked me if I ever had it, and then started gushing about the comforts of this particular kind of soul food, abruptly stopping herself wondering I would find the idea too gross. When I indicated I was fine, she offered me a taste. It was pretty much what I expected.

This is Otamahan style, click for source.

The following morning we all had teishoku breakfast together (teishoku is a set meal with multiple little dishes already planned by the host), and it included a raw egg for this dish. The thing about TKG is that you can’t use just any eggs, you have to be sure they’re really fresh, reliably tasty eggs (the local source of the eggs is a big part of Otamahan, which we’ll return to). After cracking that egg open in the dish provided and pouring it on to your rice, you add some soy sauce–this is essential–and stir it all together, and enjoy. Then again, you could mix the egg with soy sauce first, or you could add the directly on top of the rice, you could dig a well in the rice for the egg, or you could even use some cold rice… it’s really up to taste and habit. Some spins on the dish will include seaweed or green onions or whatever strikes their fancy.

Confident in my egg-cracking skills, I added my egg directly to the rice and only added a little bit of soy sauce so as not to drown out the flavor of the yolk. Sitting across a few different tables, the mom I had been talking with before asked her 7-year-old if I was trying the TKG, and she loudly announced that I was. This drew other’s attention to my breakfast and my first attempt at making this seemingly simply dish.

“There’s a lot of egg white left in your shells, Buri-san… you sure you got enough in your rice?”
“Did you add soy sauce? It looks like you need more soy sauce.”
“Is it good? Of course it’s good. Doesn’t it make you just feel so comforted and happy and satisfied?”

Well… it’s no PBJ. It’s just another aspect of normal life in Japan that tastes very Japanese. So sure, it’s good. While I’m happy with it if that’s what’s on the menu, I wouldn’t go out of my way to make it myself. I’d be happier with some Orochi-no-Tsume, thanks.

And now, back to Unnan.

Obviously, Unnan is not the only place that appreciates some nice, fresh TKG with just the right proportion of all of the ingredients. But perhaps not every small town takes as much pride in their local TKG place, Unnan Otamahan Cafe.

Click for source and more photos

It’s a place everyone knows, but like most well-known restaurants displaying local character everywhere from Unnan to bustling business districts of Tokyo, they tend to take holidays on the more inopportune of days. Thus, also my friends in Unnan have thought taking me there many times, the timing never quite lines up right. I’ve nonetheless heard plenty about this neighborhood hangout. Although they offer a fuller menu now, the heart of the shop its TKG, and the beauty is in its simplicity–koshihikari rice from Izumo, Tanabe-no-Tamago brand eggs from free-range chickens in Okuiizumo, and star of the establishment, preservative and additive-free soy sauce specifically created for TKG, sold elsewhere under the Otamahan brandname (with scowling Shimane ambassador Yoshida-kun making appearances and comments on some labels).

Now, back to the ice cream.

The Orochi-no-Tsume ice cream was sweet and had the flavor of chili peppers, and just as you start to think “this isn’t so spicy” you get hit with the aftertaste. I mean that in a good way, so long as you enjoy spice.

As for the Otamahan, it’s not made with raw eggs or rice, but rather the ice cream is flavored with the Otamahan soy sauce. It’s drizzled with caramel on top.

It wasn’t bad, but my friends and I agreed that we preferred the Orochi-no-Tsume. There was one other soft-serve ice cream flavor available at another counter that day that I think was more of an eggy flavor, but I didn’t get around to trying it–yet, I suppose.

Well, that fun. Now I want to go find some ramune or black sesame flavored soft serve. There is a wonderful world of perfectly normal Japanese ice cream flavors beyond green tea!

 

The Kojiki a.t.b.b. – Fatal and Fateful Trials – Part 4

Continued from Part 3










Continued in Part 5

 

Writing Process Blog Tour

Bonnie at Thirsty for Tea has graciously included me in the Writing Process Blog Tour going around. She is a passionate cook and tea enthusiast with an eye for aesthetics, very creative taste and ideas, and enviable handiwork. She covers everything from types of tea and how to attain and prepare them, sweets and snacks to go with tea, as well as tea-related crafts. I always feel so uplifted after reading her pretty posts. Please check her out, and thank you to everyone who visited from her page!

Here are my answers on my writing process:

1) What am I working on?
While I try to keep a steady mix of stories according to the categories listed on the side bar, the Kojiki manga requires the most work. The story I’m currently working on, “Fatal and Fateful Trials“, is probably going to be the longest of all the stories I intend to post here. Then again, we’ll just have to see how long the Kuniyuzuri myth proves to be since there will be so many San’in spots to introduce with it.

2) How does my work differ from others of its genre?
While there are a lot of Japan blogs that seek to display life in Japan or explain many aspects of Japanese culture or introduce interesting places, there aren’t many San’in region blogs. Such an injustice! That, and, well… manga. I have messy manga mixed in my posts.

3) Why do I write what I do?
In choosing content, I try to post things that I’ve found interesting about life the region. I post it either because others might find it informative, or it’s a way of telling people what I’m up to because in this day and age it’s much easier to say “go read my blog!” instead of writing detailed letters to multiple people on the cool stuff I’m up to and see here. Ideally, I’d like to increase awareness of the region, and I’d like to give readers a sense of the local culture. That often requires explaining many wider aspects of Japanese culture. Instead of just saying “there was a legend about an eight-headed serpent around here and that’s why we have good sake” I find it much more interesting to elaborate. That, and writing in comic form is fun.

4) How does your writing process work?
This differs depending on the content. To break it down by category:

Buri-chan Anecdotes: I have a life. Amusing stuff happens, and I later scribble it down. Depending on how relevant it is, this might be the prelude to some lengthy explanation of some aspect of Japanese culture, from language to etiquette to nerdy historical references.

Famous Persons: If it’s a name that comes up a lot here, they’re probably worth explaining in the blog so I can just refer back to them as necessary. I start with general knowledge I’ve picked up from living and working here, and then I fill in the blanks with some research. Sometimes I include nicer quality comics written for a multilingual newsletter my office releases every few months for international tourists and residents.

Folk Tales: I pick up a few at places like Izumo Kanbe-no-Sato where you can listen to professional story tellers, but I mostly get them from a couple of books with collections of San’in region tales. Quite often there are similar stories from other parts of Japan, but one of the fun parts is seeing the little differences and how people have shaped them to fit the local geography and culture.

Ghost Stories: I haven’t been doing enough of these, but these are typically inspired by the works of Lafcadio Hearn and Mizuki Shigeru, whose works on local and wider ghostly folklore are very apparent in the region. So much so that when I’m guiding people around Matsue for fun, I usually tend to interject the tour with comments about the human sacrifices and monsters spoken of in each place.

Historical Anecdotes: I tend to pick up a lot of historical anecdotes about Matsue through my work, but I am a history nerd so I tend to store a lot of trivial facts in my brain very easily. In order to make them understandable, I usually have to flesh them out with some book research and double-checked facts. Sometimes my print-quality comics wind up in this section, too.

Local Anecdotes: This is rather easy, it just requires being active in the region and noticing interesting stuff. A lot of my entries tend to fall in this category.

Mythology: This is the backbone of my content. I start with research–numerous sources in both Japanese and English, but usually Japanese–and write my own interpretations of the Kojiki (and Izumo Fudoki!) myths based on the consistencies (or more interestingly, inconsistencies) of my collection of sources. Then I make an outline of the manga, and for the art I start with a pencil sketch, then inking, then shading/scanning/fixing/shading/typesetting the panels for each part. This is a process I have gotten lazier and lazier with as I’ve gotten busier and busier with life among the region. After each story, I write a few entries to introduce the spots in the San’in region that correlate with the myths–if there wasn’t so much correlation, I wouldn’t bother telling the stories, after all!

Upcoming Blogs on the Writing Process Blog Tour:

Yurihama Blog is maintained by Sarah, a fellow San’in region Coordinator for International Relations. She is based in this small Tottori town, home to one of my favorite legends in Japan about a heavenly maiden having a stay in Japan. During Sara’s stay in Japan, she’s been writing entries in both English and Japanese about local Yurihama topics, including culture, cuisine, and news about what’s going in the international side of things at the local level. I admire how clear and specific she is in her entries and the perimeters she works within. I enjoy how she has a good eye for vignettes of the city, and as someone working in international relations, it’s helpful to see projects going on in other places. I tend to talk more about Shimane in my blog, so go read her blog and give Tottori some love, too!

The Japans is a blog about daily life in Japan by Belgian national Haruko (pen name). Having been a Japan fanatic for a long time, she felt the need for a blog that showed the simple reality of day-to-day life in Japan, rather than focusing on ‘weird Japan’ or on travel stories, as many other blogs already do. Based on her experiences living in Toyota City for a year, she tries to give her honest and nuanced impressions of life in Japan, with a dash of humor and self-relativation mixed in. I have always appreciated her style and clarity in her descriptions, as well as her treatment of daily Japanese life. Her subject matter is about the things that, in my opinion, Japan wouldn’t feel like Japan without.

Ruth, who keeps the Thai Village blog, grew up in Salokbaht in central Thailand where she learned to value the simple things in life. Later she went to school in Chiangmai before moving to the UK. After graduating she returned to Thailand and taught at Payap University and then the British Council in Bangkok. Recently she started combining photography and writing in the form of Haiga. In her work she seeks to cut through the stereotypical images of Thailand and provide a glimpse of something more real. She has one book of poetry published called ‘The Peacock Room’ which was short-listed for the Jerwood Aldeburgh First Collection Prize 2007. She is currently working on a novel ‘The Yoke Thay Artist of Chiangmai’ which explores the life of a female marionette artist in the mid-16th century under the reign of one of the few queens of Lanna.

 

The Maidens in the Rice Paddy

Rice does not only have an important place at the dinner table (and at breakfast, and in the lunch box), but it is deeply engrained in Japanese culture at large. For centuries the communal management of rice paddies and prioritization of rice for agricultural land use are good starting points–back when a larger percentage of the population was made up of farmers, most people forged cooperation in their communities to make the most of natural resources, which likely contributed to the group-oriented spirit of cooperation still found today in other sectors. Since different paddies often shared the same water system, neighbors coordinated their planting efforts, often planting on the same day, so it’s easy to see how this labor-intensive activity would grow into a big happy get-together.

Sure, agricultural cooperation is important in several cultures, but rice has political and religious weight in Japan as well (before TPP and the like even became an issue). The emperor is often thought of as harvest deity, and back in the four-tiered class system of the Edo era, farmers were honored with the second highest rung on the social ladder (though that wasn’t reflected in riches) because of their valuable service in producing sustenance for the population. The samurai class was on top (but again, riches didn’t always reflect this), and according to their rank, they were paid in rice as opposed to cash.

Speaking of samurai and farmers, remember the scene at the end of the Akira Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai when Shino and the other village ladies are all dressed up and singing in the mud? Sure, it’s great to celebrate that they were no longer terrorized by bandits so they could plant their rice in peace, but the song is not in celebration. That song is to entertain, and thereby invigorate the rice!

Every so often you hear people say not to waste rice, because seven lucky gods (or more) rest on each grain. Maybe the custom isn’t that specific, but there is some idea that there are deities lurking inside the young rice seedlings, and that entertaining them with song brings out their full potential. There are countless Shinto customs associated with rice (“rice” is almost interchangeable in anything having to do with “harvest”), so it’s not unsurprising that the planting of the rice is a pretty big deal. Since traditionally the whole neighborhood gathered and helped out, it’s a pretty festive deal, too.

Today, there are not as many farmers by profession, and therefore not as many villages centering their social lives on a common crop, but people still eat rice–lots and lots of rice–and the rituals go on, such as the festive Otaue (paddy-planting) ritual–in some places, such as Iruma, this is known by the more flowery title Hanataue.

However, to make them festive, sometimes you have to bring in a little outside amateur help. That’s where I got to come in!

Last year I joined a fellow CIR and an ALT, as well as some visiting students from Tokyo and a large group of Chinese women, in the Iruma neighborhood on the mountainous outskirts of Unnan. We, as well as a handful of local young women, were playing the role of the Saotome (the young maidens) who perform back-bending labor while the young men stand around in frilly pink hats singing songs with the little kids. However, the people who do the most work are probably the old men having to fix all of our poorly planted seedlings behind us! It takes even more people than that to actualize this annual event, and on that note, I’d like to extend a huge thank-you to Matthew McDonough for all these great photos!! Thank you, Matthew!

The event started with the musical procession up to the rice paddy, and the Shinto priest’s ceremony to pray for a successful harvest.

There had been one practice for the event beforehand, with the men and children practicing their rhythmic song and the ladies practicing working in unison. We had this sort of game plan to work with:

This is the one photo on this entry that I took, seeing as I was sort of preoccupied. Everything else is credit to Matthew McDonough.

However, while the men and children all looked and sounded great, chanting to the beat of bamboo continually struck by the lead chanter…

…I can’t say we ladies started out quite as coordinated.

We didn’t have as many words to learn ourselves, but there were a couple parts of the song when the lead chanter would sing (in thick, thick Izumo dialect): “How about giving your backs a break?” and we would respond (likewise in Izumo dialect), “Sounds good to me!” After a brief stretch, he’d continue and we’d put our backs back into it. As we went on, I think we all got a lot better at coordinating our movements.

For everyone one of the Saotome, I wouldn’t be surprised if there were at least two retirees with fancy cameras.

After finishing one half of the paddy, we went back for another dip to plant the other half, and the old men kept the rice seedlings coming.

When the planting and singing was finished, we Saotome washed the mud off in the mountain stream nearby, which I’m sure would have been much more quaint and picturesque if it weren’t so crowded with photographers asking us to look their way. It seems there is a big photo contest every year for the event, and I can imagine the competition is pretty stiff! After they all go home, however, the core group who organized the event, as well as all the singers and planters and re-planters who took part, all cleaned up, changed, and gathered for a little feast. Before going home, we were given rice from that paddy which had been planted in the previous year’s Hanataue ritual. I hope the rice I planted last year will prove to be just as tasty! Grow up big and strong this year, too, little seedlings!

 

Aisatsu: Daily Greetings

The very first time I came to Japan, I got to attend a high school for a week as soon as I arrived. One of my very first impressions I had been the sheer volumes of greetings I could anticipate in a very short trip through the hallway. Ohayou gozaimasu! Ohayo, Buri-chan! Osu!! However they worded a “good morning” I was bowing to each one of them, and when people asked me what I thought of the school, one of the things I said was that I felt I was getting a good ab workout with all the constant bowing, as if it’s aisatsu-undo (greeting exercise).

This goes beyond the halls of a school where people are excited to see an exchange student. It get carried into the work place or out onto the street, out among simple acquaintances and strangers. There are so many set aisatsu that people probably aren’t even aware of how many times they say a single phrase and in how many places. Besides something like konnichiwa, there are the more difficult to translate otsukaresama desu and yoroshiku onegaishimasu everywhere. I had studied Japanese for a few years before that high school experience, but I was still so befuddled why a girl in the club I tried out was saying otsukaresama desu! over and over–even though I insisted I wasn’t tired! You find this phrases is just said signifying the end of a work day or task. You could translate it is as anything from “thanks for your hard work” to the more literal “you seem so tired” or to the more liberal literal translation “Oh you, the great tired one!” I sometimes giggle about this last one my head but probably would just confuse people if I said aloud. Oh, and yoroshiku onegaishimasu? It’s very difficult to translate something like “please (treat me) well” but it works almost everywhere in all kinds of relationships and circumstances.

Before you eat, you proclaim that you will humbly partake.
When you finish eating, you orally express that it was a feast.
When you arrive at your destination, you tell the driver or passengers in your car how tired they must be.

And I’ve gotten so used to this now that it feels very wrong to be other countries have nothing to say sometimes. There must be some predetermined words I need to say at various times of day, and I’ve just forgotten them or something, right? Right!?! Where are my handy aisatsu words??

Aisatsu are part of what make up social harmony, and a fellow American and I have talked about how much importance we see placed on being able to make proper aisatsu. It’s enforced in schools, and one time when I was watching something on the news in which they were interviewing the neighbors of some high school girls who committed a ghastly crime, the things they chose to focus on really stuck out to me: they were chanto aisatsu dekiru ko—“kids who can say proper greetings.” This is not simply a matter of being friendly, it’s a matter of being trustworthy, decent people!

In the interest of being a decent, trustworthy, and friendly person with a foreign-looking face, I make sure to smile at people who I make eye contact with, and more often than not they beat me to the verbalized greeting. Of course, there are plenty of people (especially elementary school kids) who like to address me with the English word they know best, and but most of my interactions are in Japanese, and I like seeing how joyful the old ladies appear after they trade konnichiwa~s on the street.

On this particular walk home one day I passed a lady in the neighborhood who I didn’t recognize, but given the setting, she said Okaerinasai–“Welcome home”–to me, which made me well up with joy too. I was invited back simply as another member of the neighborhood.

There is also an older gentleman in a suit who I usually pass by on my way to naginata lessons, and he typically says a good old otsukaresama desu in recognition of the end of the work day, from one working professional to another. If I’ve been gone for a few weeks, he says “Welcome home” instead.

One of my other favorite people to pass by is a smiley young mother who I always see chatting away with her son as they bike to kindergarten, but when we pass by each other, she always makes eye contact and very cheerfully says, Ohayo gozaimasu! I’ll bet there are many other people who look forward to passing by her, too.

In all of my formal culture training activities (kimono, naginata, and especially the tea ceremony), there is increased formality in how and when to say greetings, but we make say because they are important. However cynical you might be about asking “how are you?” or something, at least in Japanese etiquette, aisatsu establish a bond, call your attention to the people around you, and create a space in time to be acutely appreciative of your meetings and relationships with others, as each time you meet will only come once.

And that’s the end of this entry. Otsukaresama desu.

 

“Zen Questions”

This is a folk tale as told by an old lady from Kurayoshi, Tottori, who was born in the late Meiji era. Let’s keep in mind that the content was passed among common people for the sake of entertainment, not for accurate discussion of Buddhist cosmology.

This is a story that happened a long, long time ago. At that time, in the district of Wada, there was a temple called Jokoji, and they had a new head priest come in. The head priest at Tentokuji Temple in Tottori heard about this, and said, “I heard they just got a good new head priest out there at Jokoji Temple. I would like try him out with a few Zen questions.” He sent out a messenger saying such.

The head priest at Jokoji Temple was very distraught to hear this news. “Well, I’ve got myself in quite a pickle,” he sighed heavily. “I just came here for the money, I can’t answer any questions about Zen!” The upcoming visit made him very stressed.

At that time, it turns out Jokoji Temple was fairly popular with the religious pilgrims, so it was frequented by many visitors. As was common with many popular temples, there were business ventures based around these visitors and pilgrims. One such venture was a little manju (sweet dumpling) shop owned by a man named Chochibei. Based on a suggestion from his daughter when they were having trouble getting the right ratio of filling and dumpling, they specialized in selling very, very large manju for a cheap 2 cents, and there were always people lined up to get these giant manjuu.

Since his business was at the temple, Chochibei saw the new head priest everyday, and noticed he was in low spirits. “What’s the matter, Mr. Priest? You don’t look like you’re feelin’ so well lately.”

“I’m not sick or anything, not to worry.”

“Yeah, but I’ve rentin’ this space to sell manju for the past month or so, an’ in that time I’ve noticed a change. I really think you should see a doctor or somethin’.”

“Thanks, but a doctor wouldn’t find anything wrong with me.”

Still, Chochibei asked a third time if anything was wrong, and finally the head priest opened up to him. “You see, Mr. Chochibei, the head priest from Tentokuji Temple is going to visit on the 16th day of the 3rd month to quiz me, but I won’t be able to answer his questions.”

“A quiz? If it’s anything like a mathematics quiz that’s nothing t’ worry about. Two plus two is four, you know?”

“Well, something like that…”

“Hmm. If it’s troubling you that much, then just leave it t’ me! I’ll take your place when he comes!”

The 16th day of the 3rd month soon arrived, and the head priest of Tentokuji Temple arrived with a procession of monks. At that time Chochibei was out selling his manju, shouting loudly, “Two cents! Two cents! One giant manju, two cents!”

The head priest of Jokoji Temple was listening and sighed, wondering if it would really be alright to leave this task to a manjuu salesman. Before he could change his mind (not that he’d have had any better option), Chochibei dashed in and started changing his clothes, saying, “Alright! Let him come at me with those questions! I’ll any of ’em!” Now dressed as a head priest and hardly recognizable, he entered the hall just as the head priest of Tentokuji Temple did. The visiting priest bowed, and Chochibei decided to mirror him to try to look the part.

They were then seated in front of each other, silently. The visiting priest then raised his arms over his head like a large ring.

What? The head priest of Tentokuji wants my giant manju? Alright then! I usually sell them for two cents, but since he’s in charge of a loaded temple, I can charge him a little more, thought Chochibei, who then held up three fingers.

In response, the head priest held up two fingers.

Tryin’ to haggle with me since he already heard the price was two, huh? Tough! I just raised the price! he thought, and then pulled down his eyelid and stuck his tongue out at him.

The head priest then held out one outstretched hand, as if indicating the number five.

Chochibei was pleased. That’s more like it. He’ll take five manju at that price! He answered with a nod and approving grunt.

The head priest of Tentokuji Temple smiled, and nodded his head. “Very good, very good indeed.” He then stood and turned to leave.

“Wait a moment, Mr. Priest! We’ll prepare a feast for you right away, so please stay.”

“No, no need. I am already quite satisfied,” he continued to smile as he made his exit. “I can see that Jokoji Temple has a very good new head priest.”

On his way back, the head priest was still commenting to himself about what a good priest he had met. His followers eagerly asked him what they had discussed. “First, I started by asking him about the Earth,” he explained, “and he answered with the Three Realms. So I asked him Japan*’s place in all this, and he said that it is in Divine Eye. I asked if he was sure it wasn’t among five worlds**, and he was sure. So I was satisfied with that.” The other monks were all impressed by the depth of such answers.

Chochibei, on the other hand, was asked by the real head priest of Jokoji Temple what the other head priest had asked about. “Oh, that?” he replied. “Seems he just wanted to buy my manju. I said I’d charge him 3 cents, but he wanted ’em for 2 cents. He came around after I made a face at him and said he’d buy five of ’em. We didn’t talk about anything but manju.”

“Oh, I see. Well, alright then.”

In the end, despite the lack of mutual interpretation of the episode, everyone was quite satisfied.

—-
Note: This story has puns!
*”Japan” is Nihon or Nippon, which is synonymous with “two (fingers)”
**”five worlds” (as I’ve translated it for simplicity’s sake) is gokai, which is synonymous with “mistake.”
With regard to the terminology, I’ve gone with Three Realms as opposed to the Trisāhasramahāsāhasralokadhātu it was referring to in Japanese, and Divine Eye as opposed to just “eye” so as the capture the spirit of the story. Again, this is just a fun folk tale.

Modern day Jokoji Temple (click for source)

 

The Kojiki a.t.b.b. – Fatal and Fateful Trials – Part 3

Continued from Part 2





Let’s not forget what that beast was like.


Not to be confused with Yomi… or maybe it is. Depends on what interpretation you’re reading.




Continued in Part 4

 

A mother’s love beyond and within the grave

Maybe a ghost story doesn’t seem like appropriate content for Mother’s Day, but many people love to point to this story as one of Lafcadio Hearn‘s favorites, seeing as he was seperated from his mother at a very young age.

Of the cemetery Dai-Oji, which is in the street called Nakabaramachi, this story is told-

In Nakabaramachi there is an ameya, or little shop in which midzu-ame is sold—the amber-tinted syrup, made of malt, which is given to children when milk cannot be obtained for them. Every night at a late hour there came to that shop a very pale woman, all in white, to buy one rin worth of midzu-ame. The ame-seller wondered that she was so thin and pale, and often questioned her kindly; but she answered nothing. At last one night he followed her, out of curiosity. She went to the cemetery; and he became afraid and returned.

The next night the woman came again, but bought no midzu-ame, and only beckoned to the man to go with her. He followed her, with friends, into the cemetery. She walked to a certain tomb, and there disappeared; and they heard, under the ground, the crying of a child. Opening the tomb, they saw within it the corpse of the woman who nightly visited the ameya, with a living infant, laughing to see the lantern light, and beside the infant a little cup of midzu-ame. For the mother had been prematurely buried; the child was born in the tomb, and the ghost of the mother had thus provided for it—love being stronger than death.

(“The Chief City of the Province of the Gods”, from Lafcadio Hearn’s “Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan,” 1894.)

When I went on Matsue’s Ghost Tour, it wrapped up here at Dai-oji temple, nestled into a neighborhood not far from where I live. The temple has a history as long as the city itself, and it used to be connected to the outer castle moat by waterway, so the samurai living closer to the castle would visit the temple by boat.

On a cheerful, sunny day, the temple sits quietly among the houses, humble and easily unnoticed.

It seems the temple used to be a little more overgrown, providing more places for ghosts to hide. I’m not sure how old these photos are, though.

Click for source

There’s a part of me that wishes it were still covered like that, but it makes me wonder what it was like when Lafcadio Hearn lived here over a century ago. There is a street nearby to the temple (the street I think he was referring to within the Nakabaramachi district) with a lot of Showa era buildings and old family businesses so it’s somewhat easy to imagine a midzu-ame vendor around there, but even that wouldn’t be old enough to be accurate to the time Hearn lived here, or even the time this story supposedly took place! It seems there are similar stories to this one that take place in other parts of Japan as well, so it makes me wonder how much claim this temple really has or not to being the source. Whatever the case, this story of motherly love rather than ghastly haunting has staying power, and I don’t really think the details detract from it.