Ryokan-sama's Hermitage and Poetry

Recently I've been reading John Stevens's Zen Poetry of Ryokan. Ryokan was born 251 years ago in Echigo Province, as Niigata was then known. A couple of years ago I visited his birthplace, Izumozaki, as well as the nearby hermitage Gogo-an, where he spent the latter part of his life. The late novelist Yasunari Kawabata as well as the renowned author of books on Zen Buddhism, Daisetz Suzuki, have said that one who wishes to understand the Japanese psyche can do no better than read Ryokan-sama. The following poem is one of my many favorites:

My hut lies in the middle of a dense forest;

Every year the green ivy grows longer.

No news of the affairs of men,

Only the occasional song of a woodcutter.

The sun shines and I mend my robe;

When the moon comes out I read Buddhist poems.

I've nothing to report, my friends.

If you want to find the meaning, stop chasing after

so many things.

Japanese Primary School English Education

English will be a mandatory school subject for 5th and 6th graders in Japanese elementary schools starting April, 2011 (year 23 of the current imperial era). To assist homeroom teachers of these grades, the Ministry of Education has published the two-volume textbook series English Note. While not perfect, the books are far better than nothing for most teachers, who are not specialists in teaching or speaking the language, and the texts' arrival at schools was eagerly anticipated by educators in Niigata earlier this year. But now comes word from the Ministry of Education that the texts will likely be discontinued the year English becomes a required subject. Why this about-face? In the words of members of the Finance Ministry working group studying this and other Ministry of Education outlays, the texts are muda (無駄) or "an utter waste", quite harsh and direct language for Japanese. If you are concerned about the fate of English Note, you can contact the ministry at the following:www.mext.go.jp.

A Traditional Japanese Boat

In 2001 I had the good fortune to meet master wooden boat builder Douglas Brooks, a friend of a then Japanese teacher colleague of mine. Mr. Brooks was in Japan to build replicas of Japanese wooden boats thanks to a grant from the Japan Foundation, and he had come to Niigata Prefecture to learn the art of taraibune (たらい舟；tub-boat) construction. At that time six fishing villages on Niigata's offshore island of Sado were the only communities in which the once-common boat was still in regular use, and the sole remaining craftsman on the island was in poor health. Mr Brooks spent weeks on Sado learning the art from its only practitioner, and at the end of his stay he visited the junior high school at which I and his friend taught at the time. Mr. Brooks had managed to bring a taraibune with him, and what a treat it was to see the beautiful craft up close!

A Japanese Miscellany: Otafuku (お多福)

The balloon-faced mask painted a spectral white with ruby lips and depressed nose is called otafuku (お多福）. As her name indicates, she is a symbol of good fortune, literally meaning "lots of luck". She dates from the Muromachi era (1336-1573), when chubbiness in women was indicative of wealth, as indeed it was until well into the 20th century. Traditionally otafuku masks were worn by dancers at festivals, and nowadays the masks are occasionally seen in commercial establishments. In modern-day Kyoto new building sites are blessed in the name of otafuku prior to construction.

The SL Aso Boy

Twelve years ago my wife and I traveled to the main southern island of Kyushu. I was something of a Japan Rail fanatic at the time, and I wanted to ride the length of Japan on the country's rail network, which is operated by the regional Japan Rail companies. Thus it was that we flew from Tokyo to Fukuoka in November of 1997 and rode the JR Kyushu Tsubame Express as well as the steam locomotive SL Aso Boy. JR is one of the better ways to see the country, and for tourists, the JR Pass is the cheapest mode of inter-prefectural travel.

The Tsurigane, or 'Hanging Temple Bell'

The massive hanging bell struck by a pendent wooden mallet at Japanese temples is called the tsurigane. The oldest tsurigane was cast in 733, during the Nara Era, and is to be found at World Heritage Site Todaiji, in present day Nara prefecture.

Thanks, Japan Rail East

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Don and I were exhausted after our longer and harder than expected cycle trip to Kitakatta (see previous posts). So, after ramen and sightseeing, we made our way to the station, purchased tickets, and waited for the down train to arrive- rather than cycle back. Meanwhile, Don packed his bike into a carrier, while I simply removed my front wheel and begged the station master to let me through the gate- which he promptly did. The regional Japan Rail companies, offshoots of the former nationalized Japan Rail, do not charge passengers extra fare for such items as skis, snowboards, or bikes, provided the items are properly stowed. But as my experience shows, JR staff, whom I have invariably found to be kind and helpful, will sometimes waive the rules. Don't, however, attempt to take even a collapsible bike with you on a crowded commuter train.

Miscellaneous Kitakata Sights

Kitakata, Fukushima, has preserved more of its architectural heritage than most Japanese cities. Like Otaru, Hokkaido, the city relies heavily on tourist traffic, and tourists have plenty of reason to visit this picturesque little city.

Kitakata Sights

In addition to ramen, Kitakata is famous for its kura, or traditional barn-like storehouses. Kura were formerly used by wealthier Japanese to protect their valuables from the ravages of fire and other disasters. They were also built by traders to store merchandise. Today many of these structures have been converted into galleries, cafes, and museums. I took photos of these and other quaint buildings while cycling around the city centre.

Ramen!

Kitakata boasts over 200 ramen shops, but in Don's mind there might as well be only one: Katsuan. So it was to Katsuan that we went. Just up the street a hungry crowd queued for its 15 minutes of ramen fame- at the busier establishments diners are encouraged to slurp and skeedaddle. But when we entered Katsuan there was only one other diner (though several yet-to-be-cleared tables attested that business was brisk). I ordered miso (fermented soy-bean paste) ramen, while Don ordered shoyu ramen with extra pork. Incidentally, one of my favorite Japanese movies is the late Itami Juzo's "Tampopo", an entertaining film about the struggles and ultimate success of a ramen shop owner.

Kitakata- Finally

After 65 km, most of it uphill, the road signs announced we were entering the precincts of our destination, Kitakata. As we rolled into town, I took a picture of Jizo, patron of travelers. Kitakata is a lovely town of about 55,000 and, with over 200 Chinese noodle shops, it is Japan's per capita ramen capital.

On the Way Down

We saw some beautiful, as well as not so beautiful (in the form of a defunct middle school- always a sad sight, for it indicates a dying community) scenery on our way down the mountain and into Kitakatta, Fukushima.

Respite

After the steep climb and before beginning the steeper descent, we needed the fresh spring water laid on for thirsty travelers beside the road.

Higher and Higher

Before crossing over into Fukushima prefecture, Don and I offered a prayer to the border gods for a smooth crossing. Our karma was perhaps compromised, for shortly thereafter the gradient soon became incredibly steep. Don found that a three-speed lacked sufficient gearing for such mountainous terrain; I myself nearly had to walk my Cinelli road bike up the steepest sections of road.

From Kanose into the Mountains

After leaving Kanose, Niigata prefecture, Don and I cycled up the Agano River valley in the direction of neighboring Fukushima prefecture. Farmers were out harvesting this year's rice crop and tying the stalks into sheaves. The autumn bloomer "cosmos" (秋桜; akizakura, or "autumn cherry") lined the road and lent the passage a delicate beauty.

Tsugawa to Kanose

From the station we headed out of Tsugawa along Route 459, bound for nearby Kanose. The latter was formerly home to the Showa Chemical Company's Niigata plant, which became notorious in the mid 1960s as the source of Japan's second outbreak of methyl mercury poisoning, known as Minamata disease. Showa has since left the area, and today Kanose is little more than a peaceful village nestled between the Agano River on one side and low mountains on the other. It is also home to the bizarre Kanose Art Museum, closed when we passed through at 8 am.

A Recent Cycling Trip

On a recent Sunday Don Speden and I loaded our bikes into his van and traveled to Tsugawa, a town not far from the Niigata-Fukushima prefectural border. Tsugawa is home to the popular fox festival, held in May of every year. The fox is the town's mascot, and the two paper mache foxes at the entrance to the new station building were made by local schoolchildren.

The Oft-maligned Tetrapod

The innocent tetrapod, the only bulwark between Japanese coastal communities and destruction by winter storm or typhoon, receives the brunt of much anti-concrete criticism from western visitors and long-term residents alike. Yes, too much of Japan's cities and countryside has been paved. Yes, there are roads and bridges to nowhere. Yes, dams obstruct the natural flow of rivers whose waters could have been otherwise controlled or diverted during the monsoon season (there are many hydroelectric dams, though, and surely they are a cleaner energy source than fossil fuels). But as for the tetrapod, most of the armchair environmentalists so critical of them are profoundly ignorant: they have never spent a typhoon season or winter on the country's vulnerable coast. The serviceable tetrapod does not deserve to be the poster-child of the country's concrete excesses. For ten years I have lived only five minutes from the Sea of Japan in Niigata. Every summer and winter, especially during the latter season, the waters of the sea are lashed into a frothing fury. Were it not for the walls of tetrapods, the foreshore, with its public motorways and private properties, would be washed away. Hadrian needed his wall; the Chinese required theirs. The Japanese, who inhabit one of the world's most disaster-prone countries, deserve to protect it as they see fit.