Homecoming - Thanksgiving in Japan (Part 2)

[read Part 1] - [see more pictures]

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The next morning, we hired a car and set out for Karatsu. Our driver, Katsutaro Katafuchi, drove us past the Fukuoka Dome, over the Aratsu Bridge, and into the Kyushu countryside. In about half an hour, we could see the city across Karatsu Bay, framed with a long crescent beach. Soon, we were driving through a thick forest of small pine trees that acts as a barrier to the beach, and we pulled up in front of the Kunchi Museum.

The Kunchi Festival happens in in early November, so we just missed it. The festival involves the dragging of about a dozen different paper-mache Hikiyama "carts" with various characters on them. Now, this is actually much cooler than that sounds - the carts are really big (seven meters tall), really old (some date to the early 1800s), and really heavy (as much as two tons). The Hikiyama are remarkably well-kept and just beautiful.

From what I understand, the festival is used to ward off harsh winters. We sat and watched a short video of the parade, which we used to substitute for watching the Macy's Parade - a Japanese Thanksgiving indeed.

Across the street is a small Shinto shrine, which also plays a part in the Kunchi Festival, but was empty during our visit, save for a small girl and her family. The girl was dressed in a traditional kimono, and seemed to be the center of some ceremony at the shrine.

Katafuchi-san then drove us to the Nakazato Taroeman Kiln. The studio itself is a picture-perfect collection of Japanese structures connected by koi ponds, gardens, and walkways. This is likely the most best-known kiln in the area, the family has been making ceramics for fourteen generations. The commercial pieces in the main showroom here were priced rather high (over a hundred dollars for a small tea cup). But we were directed through the main showroom, over a wooden bridge, and into a more intimate and museum-like showroom with some very high-priced artisan pieces. A tea bowl that I liked very much was over $15,000. I was truly smitten by the artwork, but I just did not have the yen.

Next, we drove into the hills behind Karatsu trying to find the Ryuta-gama Kiln. This kiln was established by the youngest son of the most recent Nakazato patriarch. Luckily, Katafuchi-san had GPS. The hills rose sharply from town, and the narrow valleys were cut with beautifully terraced fields. A rough, grey stone with chiseled letters and a set of large, over-turned pots marked the entrance to the kiln. Just off the driveway was the wood shed, which was stacked with precisely sized and bundled fuel wood.

A steep drive lead down to a series of warehouses and outdoor work areas. There, Taki Nakazato sat shaving down some bamboo pieces with hand tools. All around him were piles of ceramic pieces, in various stages of production, tagged with post-it notes. At one end of the warehouse, pieces of charcoal were carefully laid out on a tatami mat. Hanging along side were shovels and other tools.

We followed a stone-lined water channel further down the hill, and stepped over a small stone bridge and entered the potters' shed. Here we found Sensei Takashi Nakazato sitting at his wheel. He was in the far corner with views out to the fruit trees and the stepped gardens beyond; classical music played through large stereo speakers in the loft space behind us. My parents were speaking to him in Japanese and I could not follow their conversation, but he was shaping the bottoms of some soba noodle cups and had finished a line of about ten pieces.

In a tray at his feet were some cheap-looking kitchen utensils - pie crust wheels and pizza cutters. He explained that he used these to incise the patterns in the surfaces of the soba cups. His English was quite good. From time to time, his assistant would come in and move some things around. Near the door was a drying rack with shaped and glazed pieces that were being prepared for the kiln, and to one side there was a small door to a smaller room where pieces were kept for slow drying.

After talking and picture-taking, we asked about buying, and we were lead to a white building up the hill from the potter's shed. In contrast to the Taroemon, this showroom was open, with large windows on each side with views the fields, the stream, and the persimmon trees. A colored glass panel split the center wall. Ceramics were laid out in front of the windows on tatami.

After making our purchases, we were able to take a quick look at the ovens, which were not lit. There was a large, two-chambered "beehive" oven up front, fixed with heavy cut stones, and a series of three climbing "tunnel" ovens just behind. They were all dug into the earth, and paths and tools were scattered around. The bricks for the ovens had a similar honey yellow color as the clay. Tucked against the walls and along the walkways were large trays and palettes of fired pieces - a variety of colors and shapes and all remarkably beautiful.

Our next stop was lunch, and Katafuchi-san rather insisted that we try the local noodle dish "chanpon". Not as thin as ramen, but not as think as udon, chanpon is served in a milky sweet soup as opposed to the typical clear, savory broth. Our lunch was taken at Imari Chanpon, and the extra large bowls included fish, shrimp, squid, scallop, fish cake (kamaboko), and lots of veggies. It was very very tasty, ate very much like a stew and was just as filling.

A short drive from Imari took us to the village of Okawachi-yama. About 400 years ago years ago, Korean workers were kept captive here in order to provide the local Nabeshima clan with fine placewares. The village is a little time warp: narrow, stone streets are cut into the sharp hills, which are packed tight with kilns, studios, and showrooms. We slipped into a few back rooms where young apprentices quietly, carefully applied glaze to cups and bowls - the foggy light through the windows focused their steady gazes despite the astonishing views to the valley beyond. We stepped out and crossed a tiled bridge to inspect the ovens on the other side; a small river ran below, bounded by steep, mossy masonry walls and emptied past the Korean cemetery - the last resting place of the potters and artisans who lived and worked here for these past centuries. We happened to catch the village in nearly full autumnal polychromy; it was just gorgeous.

The next stop was in Arita at the Kakiemon Kiln. This is perhaps the best-known shop in the area, providing it's signature "persimmon" (kaki) red glaze on the best white porcelain. The showroom was immaculate, with pieces displayed under glass; small, formal conference nooks were stashed in the corners. Past the showroom was a larger museum building that held fantastic, large, antique pieces. And past that we came upon a collection of old thatched-roof buildings that, we assumed, made up the studio. The buildings were connected by stone and green gardens; a little ancient village.

After Kakiemon, with the day running out on us, we ran through a series of showrooms and museums in Arita. I must admit my brain could not handle much more input, and I lost track of the stuff we saw - Imperial place-settings, the room where the Emperor stayed, more Imperial dishes, a shop with some really cool plates, etc.

We stopped off at Dazaifu Tenman-gu, a Shinto shrine dedicated to the spirit of learning, before heading home. It was dark and a bit cold by the time we arrived. We walked over three bridges representing the past (don't look back), the present (stomp your feet), and the future. Then, feeling tired, something got lost in translation cause I could have sworn the driver said this was all sponsored by Kirin beer, there was a little chapel-like area and everything - but I'm sure I got it wrong.

Just outside the temple, there was a small mochi stand where an older man and woman were heating sweet-bean dumplings. We bought a few, steaming hot, and jumped back in the cab to eat them and warm up. They were really good.

Then somehow, the discussion came back around to dinner, and Katafuchi-san began listing his favorite local tempura places. We ended up at Daruma Tempura, somewhere in Fukuoka. It was a dive, and my faith in Katafuchi-san faded. First, we had to decipher a vending machine to get meal tickets. Next we were directed to a very grungy booth; crumbs clung to the plates set in front of us. We set our tickets out, and a young man ran from the kitchen with a basket of food: crispy-fried, foot-long shrimps. Once we had a few bites, we knew the place was good, but the atmosphere was lacking in the extreme. Hey, an hour ago we were looking at Imperial tea cups.

[read Part 3]