Wednesday, July 5, 2017

Hotaru, matsuri and umeshu

the story of the firefly festival and drinking homemade 22 year old umeshu - plum wine

What is the Omotenashi?
Omotenashi defines Japanese hospitality. But its meaning goes way deeper than the way of providing hospitality. The noun means “to entertain guests wholeheartedly”.


Many cultures value hospitality and Japan is no different. Not surprisingly they even have a word for it -- omotenashi.  But to the Japanese, omotenashi goes deeper than just hospitality, however, it means "to entertain guests wholeheartedly."  I was fortunate that I got to experience omotenashi first hand, and not just once either, but on many occasions.

During the weekend host family stay, I was treated as an honored guest.  I was shown many natural treasures including the many beautiful mountains of Gunma Prefecture.  I toured temple complexes, Shinto shrines, historical homes, and the UNESCO world heritage site at Tomioko Silk Mill.  I was treated to lavish meals including soba, sushi, and a fine kaiseki dining experience.   I got to experience an onsen, or natural hot spring, at an exquisite modern style resort hotel.  When I left, I was laden with treats, food and spirits. I felt that they truly embodied the spirit of omotenashi and am grateful for the experiences they shared with me.

On a different occasion, I got to experience a more humble form of omotenashi; by visiting a small local firefly watching festival, or matsuri.  This was up in the hills outside of Ashikaga and we were driven up there late one evening.  When I heard that we were being taken 'firefly watching,' I admit I didn't expect much, but when we arrived I saw immediately how mistaken I was.  Although it was a very humble affair, it was a totally authentic experience.  There were no tourists in evidence.  It was a festival for locals by locals.  From the ad hoc parking arrangements, to the local women cooking and serving snacks to the selling of local produce and rustic delicacies, it was entirely unpretentious.  We were served yakitori, noodles and green tea and sat on folding chairs under tents.  We bought our tickets from friendly women of the local auxilliary club and proceeded into the darkness of the forest trail.  All around us were parents and young children, local teenagers, old couples strolling through the darkness on a warm summer evening.  The darkness was only punctured by the soft incandescence of huge fireflies, followed by ooohs and aaaahs from the rapt crowd.

Later, we were invited to the home of our guide and he plied us with samples from his cellar of home made umeshu, plum wine.  Carefully bottled from local plums, some of the stock had aged 20 years or more.  We also sampled an number of other home made delicacies; a sour plum jam and honey from the beehives.  This simple act of sharing the bounty of nature that had been cultivated by patient and loving hands, to me is the epitome of omotenashi.  It fills ones heart with gratitude and a sense of belonging and togetherness that is hard to come by in today's frenetic world of consumerism and commodification.  It was a welcome respite and a sweet memory to cherish for years to come.

Shinto, Shrines and natural treasures

saw a wedding at Meiji shrine in Tokyo saw parents bringing newborn babies to the shrine in Gunma people are born Shinto and die Buddhist saw shrines to Tokugawa in Nikko and Ueno Park - enshrining civic political leaership Orihime Shine was build by industry leaders as a shine to the weaver goddess, supporting Ashikaga's textile industry shines exist in places of scenic natural beauty and solemn wonder Nagusa Haruna Falls Kegon Falls Mount Miyogi these sites were sacred before they were religious divination (Omikuji fortune telling) Asakusa Shrine my fortune - daikichi luck = super good http://travelience.com/faq2/what-does-daikichimean-in-omikuji-a-fortune-telling/ Buddhist temples associated with graveyards and funerals

Transportation

Observations on driving in Japan drive on the left difficult, expensive to be a driver cautious and courteous drivers narrow cars, narrower streets parking?? K cars Japanese auto makers have separate fleets for export and domestic Tokyo subway clean, efficient and on time the Oeda line uses an electromagnetic motivator to traverse extreme grades, we saw a smaller example at AIT complex

Industry and craft

labor intensive factory Tomioka Silk Mill robots, mechanization Subaru factory Fujiwatani Lace factory artisanal crafting wagashiya Noh mask craftsman Coco Farms winery
sake brewers, tea growers, matcha



What is the meaning of Shokunin?
“The Japanese word shokunin is defined by both Japanese and Japanese-English dictionaries as 'craftsman' or 'artisan,' but such a literal description does not fully express the deeper meaning. ... It means craftsmanship, however it is much more than that

What is the meaning of monozukuri?
The literal meaning of Monozukuri is 'production'. 'Mono' is the thing which is made and 'Zukuri' means the act of making but Monozukuri implies more than simply making things. It can be best compared to the word 'craftsmanship' in English.


Climbing Mount Ryogai






Orihime Shine is visible in the distance, halfway up the near slope.  Mt. Ryogai is perhaps one of the more distance peaks.


One the first day in Japan, while exploring the city and environs on foot, we visited the first of many shrines. Often located at the top of rather steep hills, reaching them required some effort, especially given that the weather was often mushiatsui desu. (Muggy or humid). We scaled two nearby hills in quick succession to reach the Boys Shrine and the (much smaller) Girl's Shrine. As we scaled the third high hill that housed the Orihime Shrine, we had the option on the itinerary of continuing further along the mountain ridge to reach the peak of Mount Ryogai. However as we examined the signs, it was difficult to tell exactly how far it was or how long it would take. The map was separated into stages and it seemed like it could be 90 minutes to the summit or more than 8 kilometers. Although I don't doubt we could have done it, it was approaching noon and the sun was blazing, so we decided not to, deferring it to a later unspecified time. Climbing Mount Ryogai became something of a mantra after that. It was referenced many more times. Stories were told of previous delegations that had made the trip and some of the mishaps that befell them, especially with regard to infamous shortcuts. The phrase Climbing Mount Ryogai could be a stand in for a sort of cautionary tale. A warning to avoid underestimating the difficulty and demands of an environment you are unfamiliar with. For me the phrase took on another meaning. The mountain I was climbing was called Japan. Would I be able to reach the peak in just two weeks? Would I come to know Japan in such a short time? Is there even a metaphorical peak that could be obtained if one had the time and patience? (It was mentioned more than once that there was nothing much to see at the summit except the view, uncharacteristically not even a shrine or ruins). Does Japan have a summit that could be scaled, much less conquered? I doubted this at the time and I still do. At the start of this journey I vowed to approach it with openness, reverence and respect. And although the journey was well begun, I do not feel that I have in any way accomplished or completed Japan. It is not a box to be ticked or something to be checked off as Done. I could return yearly for the rest of my life and never cease to be amazed and awe struck, to learn new things, to have new experiences and to garner new insights about a land, its people, its culture and its customs. On that day, whether we had made the 8 kilometer trip to the peak or not, I felt that I would always be climbing Mount Ryogai, that it would never be attained, never completed and that the journey to know Japan would go on for as long as I was willing to make the effort. 446 words

Winning at Zen

Zazen and man caves

Kyūdō, Japanese archery
http://www.ikyf.org/mental_attitude.html

Tea ceremony, ikebana and calligraphy

Mai Mai Murasaki

Kata (型 or 形 literally: "form"), a Japanese word, are detailed choreographed patterns of movements practiced either solo or in pairs. The term form is used for the corresponding concept in non-Japanese martial arts in general.[1]  Kata are used in many traditional Japanese arts such as theatre forms like kabuki and schools of tea ceremony (chado), but are most commonly known for the presence in the martial arts.

The do of reverse parking?

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Early one morning, we departed for a session of zazen, seated meditation, at the Jorinji Zen Buddhist temple.  We received some instruction in the practice of zazen, including the use of the 'encouragement stick' to clarify one's focus.  The monk spoke no English however, which obscured some of the finer points a bit.  We sat several sessions of increasing duration in silence, counting our breaths, trying to slow and control our breathing.  Zen at the beginner level could be said to be mainly about breathing.  It is difficult however not to become distracted by one's own thoughts during a meditation session.  The smallest things intrude and disrupt the sense of peaceful serenity that one is trying to achieve.  After the session we had a dharma talk in which the monk tried to explain the more advanced aspects of Zen, but it largely boiled down to repeated variations on the theme that 'everything is connected.'  Later he took us on a tour of his 'man cave' and showed us his home theater system and newly installed Bose speakers.

We had a number of opportunities to explore facets of Zen during our stay in Japan.  Zen is a practice that infuses many of Japan's traditions and activities.  During a visit to the girl's high school, we were introduced to the traditional practices of kadō, sadō and shodō.  Dō is the Japanese term for Way or a Way, deriving from the Chinese word Dao.  Zen is considered to be a synthesis of traditional Buddhism which began in India with the Chinese practice of Daoism.  A Way is like a path or practice that leads one toward satori, or Enlightenment.  By engaging in a practice that requires mindfulness (or mindlessness), repetition, stillness and reflection one can begin to achieve the state of mind associated with becoming enlightened.  Japan has incorporated Zen into many traditional arts and produced many different Ways.

The Japanese Way of tea is called sadō (or chadō).  It is a specified practice of ritualized movements and articles associated with the act of preparing and drinking tea.  We had the opportunity to see it in a formal setting at the school, but also experienced it in much more relaxed settings at both the Matsumura House museum and the home of the Noh mask craftsman.  The tea ceremony is a quintessentially Japanese activity, although like so much of Japanese culture, has its roots in China.  I had even partaken of a tea ceremony before departing for Japan at the Japan House, a cultural center on the campus of UIUC.  We also experienced kadō, the Japanese art of flower arranging, also known as ikebana. This practice also features mindfulness, deliberation and artfulness to create an expression of peace, balance and composition in a collection of flowers and plants placed in a bowl or vase.  The result is a point of contemplation on nature, beauty and impermanence.  Lastly, we put our hand to Japanese calligraphy, or shodō.  With ink and brush, one attempts to artistically depict a kanji character, in essence a one word poem.  Again the point of the practice is to attain a state of mid conducive to enlightenment by achieving a certain kind of perfection in the artfulness of the work.  These formal ways require much study and preparation and I felt that my attempts were clumsy at best.


On another day we were introduced to yet another kind of Way, more physical than the previous three; Japanese archery or kyūdō.  One is presented with a target and engages in a prescribed set of  meticulous moves to place the arrow on the target.  A Westerner would immediately assume that the goal it to hit the bulleye and the highest score wins.  In fact, hitting the target is of only tangential importance to the practice.  In fact, you could hit the target and have very poor form.  Like other kinds of Way, it is more about achieving a state of mindfullness and through repeated attempts hone your movements toward a kind of contemplative perfection.  Yet I was still pleased that on my first attempt I was able to hit the target close to the center.  The mistake of keeping score however became immediately clear, since my mind became clouded and I became so distracted by my early success that all of my subsequent shots were much worse.

Like many other martial arts, kyūdō relies on what is called a kata, or form of movements.  These can be practiced over and over to create a sort of muscle memory.  This is why athletes and dancers practice there movements in very repetitious cycles.  I found an interesting example of a kata in a very unexpected place, the video game arcade that we visited some evenings.  One of the students enjoyed playing 'rhythm games' such as the venerable dance, dance revolution.  A more recent example of which is Maimai murasaki. I had the opportunity to watch several Japanese teenagers playing this game at an almost superhuman level of proficiently such that even on the hardest levels they were able to achieve perfect scores, they hands exactly mirroring the blazingly fast cues on the screen.  I also watched a pair of boys play in 'sync' mode, their movements perfectly synchronized simultaneously across two adjacent machines.  It is hard to watch this and not think of a modern equivalent of a martial art or a Way; one in which the perfection of the form and execution is monitored by the machine and immediately scored. One wonders what the state of mind of the players is at that moment.  Are they attaining some kind of mindfulness?  Is this yet another way to enlightenment?

1. Welcome to The Japans

"Is this the Japans?" "Have I made it to the Japans?"  I remember this line uttered by the amazed English navigator, John Blackthorne, the main character of James Clavell's novel, Shogun.  Although I eventually read the book, my first encounter with the work was the 1980 CBS television miniseries of the same name starring Richard Chamberlain as pilot Blackthorne.  As a young boy steeped on boy's adventure stories, this had everything one could want; Portuguese pirates, samurai, beautiful maidens, plotting Jesuits, ninjas, warlords, battles, betrayals and triumphs.  It is a terrific story and enshrined Japan in my imagination.

In a surprising turn, the director of the CBS miniseries decided to maintain Clavell's insistence on using extensive conversations in Japanese (rendered in the novel by italicized romaji) without subtitles or translations.  The idea was that Blackthorne was an alien in the land and did not speak the language.  His gradual understanding and the effort it took was a key point in the development of the story, as was his relationship with his interpreter and teacher.  Having rewatched the series recently, I was struck by just how much effort they put into making the dialogues clear without ever offering direct translations.  The viewer had to infer meaning from a gradually increasing set of expressions. It is a testament to the pacing of the story that this never felt pedantic or burdensome.  If it was occasionally frustrating, that was exactly how Blackthorne was feeling.

My chief concern before embarking on my own trip was the issue of language.  How much would I need to know?  Would we have a translator with us at all times, or would we have to manage on our own?  My early investigations indicated that even thought Japanese children are taught some English in school, few adults speak it (or will admit that they speak it) outside of Tokyo.  Even then, since their education is mainly focused on reading and writing, it may be difficult to communicate.  I began my studies with Rosetta Stone, the online language teaching tool.  I spent many hours working through the lessons and practicing speaking using my computer and a microphone.  However, in one glaring omission, I was allowed to select from three options how the text would be displayed, hiragana/katakana only, hiragana/katakana and kanji, or romaji (the roman alphabet phonetic renderings that Clavell used).  In the interests of expediency, I selected romaji, which I later realized was a big mistake. 

No one in Japan uses romaji routinely.  It does appear on signs occasionally, but is of little use when trying to communicate with native speakers.  In fact, our language classes were all taught using hiragana and katakana, the two syllabaries (not alphabets per se) that are used in Japan to spell out words phonetically.  Kanji, a much more complex logographic system, has many more than 1,500 distinct word pictograms and usually presents a significant obstacle to foreigners becoming literate in Japanese.  However, by spelling out words phonetically it is possible to be make oneself understood and reading signs or documents becomes at least somewhat possible, since many include at least a bit of hiragana in addition to kanji.

Blackthorne's remark about reaching the Japans reverberated in my memory shortly after I arrived.  When entering customs in Narita airport I was presented with signs that said (in English) Welcome to Japan.  Westerners often think of Japan in the singular; a single island, a single nation, a single language, a single history.  Even the flag with its iconic red spot in a field of white present an image of a stark singularity, a unified totality.  There is a Japanese term that captures this idea succinctly; shimaguni - island nation. But is it really? Or is that just a simplification?

In causal conversation, one of the instructors at AIT mentioned "the Japanese archipelago" instead of simply saying Japan.  I knew already that Japan was actually made up of four principal islands: Honshu, the main island, Kyushu to the west, Shikoko to the south and Hokkaido to the north.  However, if you don't live there it is easy to forget this and think instead of only one island called Japan.  (We do the same thing with Hawaii). But things are not even that simple. Okinawa is part of another set of islands located to the southwest.  When I inquired further, about how many islands there were in Japan altogether, I was told that there were probably several hundred inhabited ones and many more small rocks. (A quick Google search yielded that there are around 430 inhabited islands out of a total of 6,852 making up the Japanese nation.  Archipelago indeed!) 

Armed with this knowledge, it should be obvious that it is important to consider Japan not a single monolithic entity, but rather as a diverse and intricate multitude.  One should explore with a sense of openness to possibility and jettison any preconceived notions about what Japan is. One should not search for the simplifying abstractions.  (This was a principal aim of an entire branch of writing about japan that sought to idetify a single essential trait or characteristic, the nihonjinron that Sugimoto rightly rejects.)  If I am prepared to see all of the variations and complexities that make up the society, culture, history, language, demographics and geography of what we call Japan, I may be rewarded with a subtle, deep, rich and varied experience.  I will endeavour to keep this at the forefront of my mind as I proceed along my journey.  Welcome to The Japans! 

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