Moo Rah Rah Rain

Ominesan
With shrines and such...





The tea bowls, three or four hundred years old, were sound and healthy, and they called up no morbid thoughts. Life seemed to stretch taut over them, however, in a way that was almost sensual.

Seeing his father and Fumiko's mother in the bowls, Kikuji felt that they had raised two beautiful ghosts and placed them side by side.

-Yasunari Kawabata, from his novel Thousand Cranes

Ghost Mountain
Camping trip at the base Ominasan



I've been keeping consistent company, believe it or not. I wouldn't say that I've found a set group of friends but I've certainly got a few people with whom I can always spend time. Last weekend a group of us decided to go camping. Nature and I get along well enough so I decided it could be a great experience.

That morning I woke up and took a bus to the Hirakata City Train Station. The night before I had gotten Animal Collective's new album, Strawberry Jam, from iTunes. That's really the only way I can get reasonably priced music over here. In any case I've been listening to the album non-stop and I think it's significant that the first time I heard it I was on a bus to Japan on my way to go camping. Not sure why, though...

Back on track: when I got to the station and onto the train, I realized that the people I was camping with were like...campers. These guys had big backpacks and thromorests and waterproof shoes and sleeping bags and white gas and camping stoves and bandannas--although at least had one of those, too. In any case the plans had changed and we were to hike up a mountain by the name of Ominesan.

I was fine with this--I was excited, actually. I wasn't exactly prepared to hike up the largest mountain on the southern side of this island, but that's to be expected. I've learned to take things as they come around here. It was an hour train ride, an hour bus ride, and an hour walk to the base of Ominesan. We found a campsite and put up some crude form of a tent to keep out water. We stayed up, roasted marshmellows for a Japanese kid who couldn't pronounce "smores," and talked until we got tired. Then we packed under the tarp and tried to sleep.

That night it rained and rained. I'm not sure I've mentioned this but it's rained almost every day since I've been here. It's usually not a bad thing--I love the sound and smell of rain when I'm in a good mood. But that night I had no sleeping bag and just a big blue tarp strung above me. Luckily that day we had bought full rain suits in preparation--you can see me wearing one in the picture above. By the time I woke up I was exhausted. That's a strange sentence, I know. In any case my back was giving me problems even before that night and by the time we were frying up hot dogs and noodles that morning it was clear to me that I wasn't going to make it up Ominesan.


Here's what I missed out on--beautiful, huh? There's more pictures from the top of the mountain throughout the post, courtesy of my buddy Andrew Levine.

I have a history with mountains here in Japan. When I can here two years ago we traveled a long way to see Mt. Fuji but the fog was so thick we couldn't even see it's base. That's been a subject of a lot of my writing in the states, believe it or not. Then, when I passed Fuji a few weeks ago on the Shinkansen, I forgot to even look out the window. I still have never seen Mt. Fuji. I have a poem about it I may post one of these days, when I'm feeling bold. Mountains always seem to get the better of me, leave me deflated, leave me sitting alone in thought.

So by the time we stepped onto the mountain trail I had to tell the guys I wasn't going up--my back was killing me and I was tired and scared and angry, a little, at my weakness. Was it
weakness?

Out of the club :(

They went up the mountain and I stayed at the base. It was raining again and I had to take the next bus home--in four hours. I was determined, however, to enjoy this place. The bus had taken us quite a ways into the mountain range and the town we were in was tucked right in the middle of a valley. Here's a view from the top of the mountain, taken by my buddy Andrew Levine--who took most of these pictures. You can see the town there surrounded by wood. You can tell it was quite the hike for the guys--well over 10 Kilometers, I think.




So there I was alone. The more I walked the more I began to feel a sense of relief. It was raining heavily at that point, and the sound was gorgeous. All of a sudden I was absolutely elated and being left on my own. I crossed the street and charged headlong into the forest, not knowing exactly where I was going. I ran until I found a stream. The rain was coming in sheets now--but it was so warm and the sound of the rushing water was exhilarating so I just keep on hiking--up and down rocks, though the woods, until I found this tiny wooden hut built for hikers. It was just big enough to keep the water out. I dropped my bag off there so I could run in the rain without it.


It's a strange feeling to enjoy being rained on. A light shower or something, that's different, but to be caught in a downpour which you never want to end--that's rare. My thousand yen rain suit worked perfectly--I splashed through puddles and trudged down streams until the sun came out and I had been in the forest for hours. Forgive me for getting stuck on the beauty of these landscapes but the view after this rain was astonishing. I was standing on this suspension bridge above the stream and I could see ahead of me tier upon forested tier of mountains. A thick fog hung above the mountains in white. The fog shuttered and swayed when the wind blew hard enough. I remember admiring the view until the dragonflies around my head brought me back to reality. That's when I decided to sit down and write.


I'm determined to see this place before I leave--maybe in the Fall, with Ryo or Andrea...

After writing for a while I decided to clean up at the local Onsen. An Onsen is a natural hot spring converted into a public bath. So I trudged in and sat in sulfury water with shriveled, naked Japanese men. The Onsen was perfect in the mist that lingered after the rain. I took the next bus/train combo I could catch and went home alone. Here's me outside the Onsen--I had gone the day before with the guys:



And May I Say, Not in a Shy Way...
Karaoke

I was alone that night, kind of. We had Monday off in honor of Respect for the Aged day but by the time I got back everyone was asleep or out or on a mountain. I decided to take the night on my own. I biked to this tiny Chinese place which I frequent (ironic, huh?) and ordered some food. After that, and a chat with the owner, I was going to go home and sleep.

On the way home, though, I saw a blue sign atop which sat a spinning red light. I read that it was a Karaoke bar and I decided I had to see what it was like. I looked in and the place was no bigger than my room here--about ten by fifteen feet. The only costumers were about 8 older men--in their 50's, I'd wager, and one woman. There was woman behind the counter, too. It was too awkward to leave at that point so I had a seat and just watched them sing for a while.

After about twenty minutes one of the men approached me and pointed out to me an American song I didn't recognize. I got to talking to him about music and I mentioned Frank Sinatra--who most Japanese seem to know. At that point he was determined to convince me to sing My Way. It's one of my favorite songs, and one of my few favorite Karaoke songs, so maybe I pushed him in that direction. In any case there I was, standing in a tiny room singing My Way in as loud and American a voice I could manage. I got a standing ovation. They wouldn't let me leave without singing another, so of course I picked Hey Jude. They sang along but mostly just to the "na na na na Hey Jude's."

Wow, this post kind of got away from me. I guess I've failed at the whole "short and sweet" thing. In any case I've neglected to write all week and it's Friday again so maybe I'll be writing again soon. I plan on doing various poetry and fiction work this weekend--maybe I'll post some. Tonight, though, I'm meeting with my Japanese buddy Ryo--the two of us met a few years back on my first trip. We have a date with a batting cage, if I remember correctly...

Thanks for reading.

Modern World

Early September
Settling in...


Me and a friend shopping for cell phone charms at "Kiddy Land." Unfortunate name, huh?

I'm doing a disservice in waiting so long to post a new entry. So much happens in an hour, a day, a week that by the time I write everything is so very generalized. In Japan, I've found, meaning comes to me through things minute--a man smoking heavily in the park, the florescent glow of a liquor storefront, the twelfth evening with rain in fourteen evenings-- so this broad approach to blogging may not work. In time I'll start posting shorter entries with greater frequency. I think that's the way to go.

We Built Another World
Himeji Castle



Himeji Castle was built in 1333 and even today may be one of the most striking military structures ever conceived. Four days ago one of my new friends grabbed me in the hallway to tell me he had just that day learned about the place and he was just that day going to visit. His hurried pace down the hallway and wave over the shoulder was enough to convince me--I ditched class that day and took a train to the Hyogo prefecture.




The general conceit of a castle is that there are so many walls--so many doors and halls and twisting corridors--that it takes well over and hour to travel the distance normally covered in a few minutes. Himeji, built on a hill, has "the keep" as its centerpiece. After walking through each rampart, up each flight of stairs, past every single wrought iron door, we found ourselves in the topmost floor of the keep. As tourists it took us well over an hour. It was hard not to imagine that as soldiers--bearing swords and armor, avoiding boiling water and flaming arrows, it would certainly have taken much longer. But I'm a nerdy guy and I imagine things like that...often. The reality is that Himeji was never successfully sieged. In fact I was told that after the Meiji period about a hundred men holed up inside the castle walls and no conceivable amount of force or energy could get them out. The Japanese Government, at a loss, eventually had to cut supply lines and just wait for concession on the part of the few resilient soldiers.

Great picture taken by Andrea. My camera broke so I borrow some of her pictures from time to time in the blog. Some are mine, some are hers. I honestly usually don't remember whose are whose.


Himeji, like so many other historic sites of Japan, surprised me. Once again, amidst miles and miles of malls and restaurants, this hulking ghost of Japanese past just looms. I'm not sure I could call it out of place. It fits surprisingly well, all things considered. But I can't help but be reminded of this perfect balance Japan is trying so desperately to strike between two contradictory forces: the first involves traditionalism, modesty, and nationalistic independence while the second concerns itself with Western modernity, industrialism, and adaptability. I'm not sure the balance is even possible. Jun'ichiro Tanizaki--the brilliant author of the words posted in the previous post--doesn't think so either. If you get a chance, try to check out his essay, In Praise of Shadows. It's about essential Japanese aesthetics and how they mesh, or don't, with Western technology. It's more interesting than I make it sound, I assure you.

On a lighter note, this little guy was chillin' outside Himeji castle:


That's right, it's a prairie dog in people clothes. I dunno if this is a Japanese thing or just the adorable pet of a crazy man. At this point neither would surprise me.

Eating, Drinking, Being Merry

The lure of the Izukaya--or traditional Japanese bar/restaurant--has yet to wane. I still find myself wandering to these places for dinner--sitting on tiny pillows and tatami, sometimes alone, conversing in terrible Japanese with the owner and customers. Here's a picture of the usual aftermath:


Besides that I've eaten sushi at the rotating-plate place a few times. Andrew, the dude in this picture, eats about twenty plates every time.



I bought a cell phone, I bought a bike, I bought my school books. Now that all the big spending is out of the way I'll try to stick closer to my budget. Hope it works out. As for my studies, I take Spoken Japanese five days a week and study every night. Once and a while I'll understand completely a string of Japanese words--it surprises me every time. In literature we just finished our first novel--The Key by the afore mentioned Mr. Tanikzaki. In film we've watched two movies, Swallowtail by Shunji Iwaii and a movie called Gohatto by...some dude I forgot. Gohatto had Beat Takeshi in it, and he's always a bizarre treat.

Thanks for reading and I'll keep 'em short and sweet from now on, when I can. Comment away and drop me lines via email!

-cwa

coreywaite@gmail.com

Inkwash Alcove

Early September, Himeji Castle

And yet, when we gaze into the darkness that gathers behind the crossbeam, around the flower vase, beneath the shelves, though we know perfectly well it is mere shadow, we are overcome with the feeling that in this small corner of the atmosphere there reigns complete and utter silence; that here in the darkness immutable tranquility holds sway. The "mysterious Orient" of which Westerners speak probably refers to the uncanny silence of these dark places. And even we as children would feel and inexpressible chill as we peered into the depths of an alcove to which the sunlight had never penetrated. Where lies the key to this mystery? Ultimately it is the magic of shadows. Were the shadows to be banished from its corners, the alcove would in that instant revert to mere void.

Excerpt from In Praise of Shadows by Jun'ichiro Tanizaki

Chicken Liver

Sept. 03
Trip to Kyoto, Shinhaibashi Osaka, and first meeting with Ryo

It's hard to create. At every turn, there's a reason not to. So writing these entries, while it's not been a chore, has been a challenge. I'm not sure what pushes me forward—forces me to build. Whatever it is, I'm grateful. Here's a Tonuki:

Two days ago we visited Kyoto, one of the oldest cities in the world. The University decided to match each group of international kids with the same number of Japanese students. Incidentally (luckily?) every participating Japanese student was a girl. So there were ten international students (swedes, brits, amurkins, etc) and ten Japanese girls, and the oldest city in Japan.

Kyoto is on top of a hill. We walked while I butchered Japanese and gave it to a sweet girl named Yoko. Maybe her name wasn't Yoko—I may have forgotten. In any case, at the top of the hill, my new friend Rusty made a poignant comment. He said: “This is wonderful. It's perfect, but a little sad. It's like the Zoo. I'm happy to see the animals, but I'm sad they are all in cages.” The cages in Kyoto are two fold; the first is capital. Each temple has managed to come up with an entrance fee of sorts. Ichi or ni-hyaku yen, depending. Secondly, the place is swamped with people. A lot of Korean, Chinese, American and European tourists, plus a few scuttling monks, signing autographs with thick Japanese brushes in black-dark ink.

But of course, nothing could steal the wonder from a place like Kyoto. It's not just the temples—ancient, towering, magnificent etc.—its the twisted squall of forest surrounding the place. In one of the most crowded countries in the world the wood remains intact, crowded about religious relics which still, in their own right, endure. I like that.

That night we all went to a traditional Japanese restaurant/bar. This place specialized in Yakitori—various pieces of Chicken on a stick. Two dainty Japanese girls picked our dishes—chicken liver, heart, lung, skin etc. on a stick. I was embarrassed, but I had to push most of it away after one bite. As polite as I could, and in my best Japanese, I told them: “This is very difficult.” I think they understood my position quite well. At least I hope.

The next day we went into downtown Osaka. Hirikata City, where I live, is about an hour and 7 dollars transit away from downtown Osaka. Osaka is a lot like Chicago—big marble buildings, crowds, wind. Andrea and I split off from the group, mostly Swedes, to branch off and make mistakes of our own. We ate curry, rode a Farris wheel, and played the new Mario Kart—an arcade driver. There's this incredible ally-way which traverses Osaka like an artery; it's called Shinsaibashi Suji. There are shops, arcades, and restaurants on every side, plus the usual throng of Japanese. After walking that for a while, Andrea and I took the train back home, missed our stop, and learned some Japanese trying to get back home. That night we went back to the same restaurant/bar with my roommate, Tom. Before we went to sleep, Tom and I watched the first episode of Firefly on my laptop and ate candy. That was great, too.

Today was a little more relaxed. After some orientation nonsense I met my old friend Ryo and he showed us around Hirikata City. He lives about ten minutes away on foot. I met Ryo two years ago in Osaka, during my last trip to Japan. He's as brilliant and kind as ever, always willing to show a few Gaijin some local advantages. We ate with friends at a rotating sushi bar, packed nine people tight in a six person booth, eating two-piece Nigiri for a dollar a plate. I had eight plates and left room for more, but I'm on a budget of course.

Most people here are staying for a year while I'm only at Kansai Gaidai for a semester. I don't mind, though; the longer I stay in Japan the more I realize this isn't the end. Japan and I have a long way to go.

Thanks for reading.