Monday, December 15, 2008

Homecoming - Thanksgiving in Japan (Part 4)


We started our long get-away on Black Friday. The moment you turn around and start moving in the other direction is when any trip starts feeling too short - and this one felt really short. We were flying out of Narita Saturday afternoon, so Friday was almost all trains. To really get to know Japan, you have to move by train: the markings on the platforms, the Kiosk stands, the butt rooms, and the tachigui (stand and eat) soba shops. The Japanese spend so much time at train stations that they've put their shopping, smoking, and eating right there; and they've marked out the spaces so they know what areas belong to whom, at least for the next fifteen minutes. And on this day, we waited with them.

Our hotel that night was near the Ginza, so we took the Shinkansen back to Tokyo Station. There we met Uncle Keisuke, my father's older brother, and they talked some family business. I am not exactly clear on all the family business, but my father's mood seemed different after that meeting. In Kumamoto, he was very upbeat and easy; after he seemed more circumspect. We had some coffee and tea, and said our good byes, and stepped into the Tokyo lights to find dinner.

Saturday broke cool and sunny. Donna and I got up early to gather breakfast and walk around the Tsukiji area. Donna first wanted to stop at the Buddhist shrine near the Tsukiji station. As we wandered, we came upon a few old houses mixed with the office buildings and shops. These were old, copper-clad structures with a heavy patina; outside the house, were live chickens in tidy pens sitting right on the street. The shrine itself had a striking "Indian" versus Japanese (or even Asian) feel, and it piqued our curiosity. Inside the smell of the incense was sharp and strong.

Tsukiji is the famous raw fish market, and though Donna is not a fan of sushi, the markets just behind the trading hall were a fascinating collage of the strangest food textures, colors, and scents. Cuttlefish, flattened and dried were sold in little bundles. Small crabs were tied in into fist-sized packs with colorful twine. Bright, tangerine-red octopus tentacles were laid out with the sucker-sides up. Others vendors offered grilled yaki-tori, odd-looking root vegetables, and beautifully wrapped fruit.


On the way back we found a curious bakery tucked into what seemed like someone's basement. The smell of sweet-cakes drew us in, and we bought some azuki-bean manju for breakfast.

We spent the rest of the morning walking around the Ginza, shopping. Donna wanted to find a good stationery store, and as we stood outside the Mitsukoshi, waiting for the stores to open, a remarkably friendly and helpful Japanese woman over-heard us and volunteered to walked us to the Ito-Ya shop just down the street. This stretch of the Ginza also included the Ginza Apple Store, Tiffany's, and the Ginza Matsuya. Before heading to Narita, we decided to get our bentos in Mitsukoshi's food basement, where we would have a better, albeit more expensive, selection. Donna was happy to find a salad bar and "real bread".

It was amazing to watch the queues in Mitsukoshi, too - there was some kind of Vermont Teddy Bear event on the main level, and the lines curled around, between, and under the escalators. There was even a queue in the bread shop for folks who wanted their loaves sliced. As I waited for Donna to buy a small baguette, people pushed past me to get in line, until I realize what was going on. They seemed to be in such a hurry to get in that line. And on the way out, with all our shopping bundles, an another decided to make me a lead blocker: she put her hand on my side and pushed me into and through the crowd of teddy-bear fans. As I turned to see who was pushing, I could not have been more surprised to find an old, tiny woman in formal kimono. I guess I was in her way.

It seemed a shame to leave on such a beautiful day, but we made our way back to the hotel. On the way, Donna was stopped by an Australian couple needing English directions to Tsukiji. We pointed them in the right direction, but Donna reminded me that if we were Japanese, we would have walked them down there ourselves. We got to the hotel, gathered our luggage, and called a cab to take us to - the train station. And by now it felt like we were pulling the weight of the trip with us. We were tired of waiting, tired of trains, and just plain tired.

We ate our bento lunches on the Narita Express, and arrived at the airport in short order. Security in Japan was another odd exercise in mistaken practice - shoes do not need to be removed, but apparently, tiny, blunt-tipped, yarn scissors do.

EPILOGUE

I took this trip, of course, to spend time with my folks, and to search with them for a sense of their place, their past, and their home. I realize now that if I had grown up in a place with 400-year old castles, ancient festivals, and ceramists with a fourteen generations-long legacy, I might feel different about the places where I spent my childhood.

I grew up in suburbia, that generic sprawl that's anywhere and nowhere at the same time, but the myths of my boyhood were things like westerns. My father appears to have grown up on the set of his own samurai movie. He looked out on the island where Musashi dueled with Kojiro, he walked in castles and shrines visited by the shoguns and damiyo, and on New Years Day he visited the Imperial Palace and caught a glimpse of the Emperor.

Though I feel closer to the stories, I am still in the audience. More than nostalgia, I think my father's boyhood was grounded by this culture, and the myths were tangible. Japan has found a way to keep that alive; like raising chickens on the streets of Tokyo or saluting a train as it leaves the station, these things continue. I could never go home the way he did, because I don't have a place like that. I'm thankful I got to go home with him.

Saturday, December 06, 2008

Homecoming - Thanksgiving in Japan (Part 3)


Our Thanksgiving Day trip involved more trains; we were headed almost directly south from Fukuoka to the heart of Kyushu and the city of Kumamoto. Kumamoto is a well known "castle town", though the various castle structures were repeatedly destroyed and rebuilt in feudal times. The current reconstruction of the main towers dates to the 1960s, and is considered one of the best castle sites in Japan. In just the last few years, the castle celebrated a 400 year anniversary, and last December, the castle's "Inner Palace" was restored and opened for tours.

We met Mrs. and Dr. Uchino, my father's former research fellow, at the train station, and we found them to be typical Japanese hosts: energetic, warm, and gracious. Lots of bows were exchanged. We were lead into a misty rain, to cars that took us to a large hotel very near the castle. On the second level of the hotel were private dining rooms with great views of the main towers. Here we had a traditional kaiseki meal, a series of small, precious courses, meticulously prepared and presented: samples of raw fish, delicate soups, and a local rice cooked with chestnuts and served with pickles on the side. Certainly one of the most memorable Thanksgiving meals that I will ever have.

After lunch, we took a tour of the castle. We entered the outer walls past a smaller tower; the walls are famously tall, curved, and capped with rooflets to ward off rival warriors. The entry road is a kind of "maze" designed to confuse attackers, and give defenders more time to rain down destruction. No destruction for us, though there was a heavy mist, which we fought off with our colorful umbrellas; through the gatehouse and under the Inner Palace, where spotlights illuminated the heavy timbers, fresh-hewn for the reconstruction and textured like hammered copper.

Turning the corner, and walking up a ramp, we arrived at the main courtyard, where the scale and elevation of the place became apparent. We could look out to the horizon and the peaks of the surrounding buildings, but in the heart of the yard was a giant, old ginko tree. Behind the tree, a crowd of Japanese queued for the ritual storage of umbrellas and shoes. In the US, you'd never get your stuff back, even if you could find it; here, the folks carefully collapsed and stored their rain gear in large racks, and then removed and bagged their shoes before entering the Inner Palace. Guards and attendants very politely corrected my bad American manners when I stashed my shoes on an empty shelf, and did not carry them inside - I retrieved my shoes and they smiled, bowed, smiled again, and allowed me to enter.

All this silent politeness left me wondering: how did these people ever get up the nerve to attack each other. I soon found out inside, as the sparse crowd from the courtyard funneled into the confines of the hallways of the Palace (though we were all in our stocking feet, we were not allowed on the tatami). Every photo-op became a pushing session as digital cameras, on arms out-stretched, shot to every doorway and display case, and the rush of the crowd became a current that carried the tour forward. Here was a method and a madness at work, and if you did not go with the flow, say you wanted to peak out an odd corner window, you had to fight. Yes, we were the invaders, unaware of the unstated social contracts that allowed an army of photo-seekers to inhabit tight, tourist spaces - and I was pushed just about the whole way through the Palace.

Still, it was not nearly as bad as grocery shopping at the Berkeley Bowl.

Putting my shoes on, I made my way to the relative safety and space of the courtyard once again, and we began our descent back to the parking lot, to cars, and back to the trains. These were on the local Kyushu lines, but the trains were very nice. Our return tickets allowed us to sit in a private booth, with facing seats and a very sizable table with folding leaves.

During these train rides, my father told us of his connection to Kyushu and also of the famous samurai swordsman Miyamoto Musashi, who is legend in this area. Musashi spent his mid-life years in Kokura, and his last days in a cave near Kumamoto. Musashi's famous duel with Sasaki Kojiro took place on Ganryu Island, in the strait between Kyushu and Honshu - just west of the Kanmon Railway Tunnel.

Thus, our Thanksgiving Day was a thoroughly personal and Japanese affair. Arriving back at Hakata Station, we found a shop free of tobacco smoke and had some curry-rice for dinner.

[read Part 4]

Friday, December 05, 2008

Homecoming - Thanksgiving in Japan (Part 2)

[read Part 1] - [see more pictures]

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]

Thursday, December 04, 2008

Homecoming - Thanksgiving in Japan (Part 1)


Nearly seventy years ago, my grandfather moved his family from Tokyo to Kokura, near the city of Fukuoka, on the southern island of Kyushu. He was working as an administrator for the Japanese Government Railways, and had some responsibility for building the Kanmon Railway Tunnel that connected Kyushu to the main island of Honshu. So, my father spent his grade-school years in Kita-kyushu (northern Kyushu), and held some remarkably clear memories of the area.

About ten years back, Donna and I had seen a show of Japanese ceramics at the Art Complex in Donna's home town of Duxbury, MA. Last July we returned to Duxbury to visit Donna's mother, and took a drive to the Art Complex. There was a small feature on Japanese ceramist Kozuru Gen, who keeps homes in Topsfield, MA, and Fukuoka. We got an extra copy of the older show catalog and sent it on to my folks.

When my parents asked if Donna and I would be interested in travelling with them to Japan over Thanksgiving Break, I mentioned our interest in pottery. So they suggested a trip to ceramic towns of northern Kyushu, and we readily agreed.

We set Fukuoka as our primary destination. Fukuoka is the south-western terminous of the Shinkansen (Hakata Station), and from there we could take day trips to the smaller surrounding towns. But we spent our first two nights in Japan in the Shinagawa section of Tokyo, in order to recover from the flight and attempt to adjust our internal clocks.

Shinagawa is the "next stop" on the Shinkansen from Tokyo Station. It's not nearly as crazy-busy as Tokyo, and so a little easier to deal with. Monday was "Labor Thnksgiving Day" in Japan, which involves no turkey, football, or shopping whatsoever; the city was relatively quiet in any case. We used the day to take a walk around the Imperial Palace and to catch-up with my Uncle Shinpei's family (mother's youngest brother) at dinner. His eldest son, Eijin, is almost exactly my age, so I was surprised to be re-intorduced to his sons, Tomo and Kazu, who are now both in college. My cousin Bujin also brought his son Yujin, who is in the second grade - softening the "age hit" a little.

We planned our departure from Shinagawa for about 10AM to avoid the big morning rush, but the platform was still strikingly crowded when we left. The bullet trains that left Shinagawa every five or ten minutes were full. It was amazing to watch the coordinated work of the folks at the stations to keep everything rolling. My father gave me the play-by-play of the actions of the assistant station master as he bowed to the approaching engine, and went thruough a ritual check of the train; all learned from his own father, who started his railway career as a station master.

And the Japanese sure know who to queue - folks line up, get out, get in, and the trains just keep moving. To emphasize this, there seems to be a an irritating lack of seating in all the staions; you are not supposed to sit, you are supposed to stand and wait at the area carefully marked for each car as indicated on your ticket.

It takes less than a half hour to leave Tokyo proper, and the urban fabric falls away suddenly. Look down to check your guide book, look up, and you are in an area of manicured farms and patchwork fields filling the flatlands to the moutains nearby, all flashing past at 300kph. On the trains, the conductors and the young ladies pushing the bento carts bow before entering and after leaving each car.

We transferred from the Tokaido Shinkansen (the Tokyo-Kyoto main line) to the Sanyo Shinkansen at Shin-osaka. It's a perfect place to sell bento and sandwiches, but for whatever reason, all the stalls sold basically the same lunch. I suspect that there is some kind of concessions license in the stations; I cannot otherwise account for the lack of decent choices. Soon, we arrived in Fukuoka Station, and quickly found our hotel.

[read Part 2]