Handwoven leaf and bamboo decorations honouring Gunung Agung (the large mountain) in Bali.Monday, November 30, 2009
Weaving for the volcano
Handwoven leaf and bamboo decorations honouring Gunung Agung (the large mountain) in Bali.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
How to order a double-double in Singapore
Just ask for coffee, or rather kopi. If you want to get tea or coffee without milk or sugar you have to specify - the default is white and very sweet.
Apparently the national breakfast of Singapore is coffee and kaya toast - hot buttered toast spread with coconut jam. My packed eating schedule didn't allow me to have it for breakfast, but I tasted it as an afternoon snack all the same. Sweet, but delicious.
Apparently the national breakfast of Singapore is coffee and kaya toast - hot buttered toast spread with coconut jam. My packed eating schedule didn't allow me to have it for breakfast, but I tasted it as an afternoon snack all the same. Sweet, but delicious.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Omu raisu
Omuraisu, or omelet rice, from a mall food court in Kagoshima City, where I ate lunch with what appeared to be the entire teenage population.Omuraisu is total comfort food, fried rice with a thin egg omelet draped overtop. It's often served with curry, demiglace, or ketchup, but this version unusually has the okonomi toppings of brown sauce, mayo, bonito flakes and shreds of red pickled ginger.
Beside the "white diaspora", the other tourist group catered to in Bali is Japanese, and I was amused to see a sign outside a restaurant advertising "omu nasi"!
Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire
Photo: Detail of the A-bomb dome in Hiroshima.Probably an odd reading choice for South-East Asia, but I've always wanted to catch up on the classics I missed in my misspent youth...
After having read about the origins of Buddhism, it was interesting to turn to a book that deals so heavily with the development of Christianity, albeit in a way that was terribly controversial on publication in the 1780s.
The whole thing being a bit massive, this was an abridged version that only came to under 700 pages, but which had most of the first three volumes intact.
If being a tourist here in Bali makes me feel like a member of the idle rich, reading Decline and Fall while sitting on a patio drinking fresh papaya juice and local coffee felt incredibly decadent, as if I were one of those effete youths on Grand Tour so often described in novels about the decline and fall of the British empire.
I'm carrying on the classical theme with Ovid's Metamorphoses, which is a more obvious choice for transformative journeys...
Cooling off after the onsen
This is Daimon-san in the Ibusuki area of Kagoshima prefecture. Just behind the photographer is the onsen where I was buried in hot volcanic sand with the sound of the surf crashing only metres away.It was an amazing experience, the sand so hot that my hands and feet began instantly to pulse, as if I had four extra hearts. The combination of the heat and the weight were so relaxing I wanted to stay - but you can only remain for 15 minutes and even at that my skin got very slightly burnt.
Afterwards, to remove the yukata and clean off the sand, then soak naked in the onsen waters, before heading outside to drink an iced coffee and gaze happily at the mountain while the sea breeze cools you...bliss.
The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle
Photo: samurai armour in Matsuyama castle.This vast novel by Haruki Murakami was my companion for most of my time in Japan. I was on my third reading when I finally, reluctantly, gave it up in Kyoto in exchange for some new material.
It's fascinating, absorbing - and despite multiple readings I don't understand it enough to say much about it except you should read it too. It's probably bad to make comparisons but the obvious one in my mind is Gabriel Garcia-Marquez, for the sweeping breadth and for the way that political and domestic history are intertwined; and for the surrealism. But this is Japan, not South America, and the comparison only goes so far.
It's about a young man abandoned at the bottom of a well, about his marriage and the strange machinations of his wife's family; it's about the atrocities committed by Japan before and during WWII, and the terrible fates that awaited the individuals that carried out the orders from on high, as well. It's about strange connections between strangers and the cost of letting go of reality in order to be able to heal.
I think it's probably a lot about the "soul" of modern Japan, except that I feel too ignorant to really understand; but happily the ignorant can feast on the book anyway. Ah, I am going to read so much once I come back to settle somewhere with a bookshelf and a library card again...
It's fascinating, absorbing - and despite multiple readings I don't understand it enough to say much about it except you should read it too. It's probably bad to make comparisons but the obvious one in my mind is Gabriel Garcia-Marquez, for the sweeping breadth and for the way that political and domestic history are intertwined; and for the surrealism. But this is Japan, not South America, and the comparison only goes so far.
It's about a young man abandoned at the bottom of a well, about his marriage and the strange machinations of his wife's family; it's about the atrocities committed by Japan before and during WWII, and the terrible fates that awaited the individuals that carried out the orders from on high, as well. It's about strange connections between strangers and the cost of letting go of reality in order to be able to heal.
I think it's probably a lot about the "soul" of modern Japan, except that I feel too ignorant to really understand; but happily the ignorant can feast on the book anyway. Ah, I am going to read so much once I come back to settle somewhere with a bookshelf and a library card again...
Believe!
Boddhisattvas are all loving-kindness, but there are more forceful deities to help convert the masses. These fearsome statues are often placed at the entrance to temples to help instill a sense of urgency in the not-yet-devout.The kawaii never stops
Instructions for how to purify yourself before entering the grounds of a temple or shrine in Japan.Siddhatta vs. Siddhartha
Photo: Jizo at a Shinto shrine in downtown Kyoto.Before I left on my trip, one of my preparations was to stop at a used book store to let serendipity help me choose what to read at the beginning of my trip. Pulp Fiction on W. Broadway happened to have a good Asia non-fiction section, and the first of the books I ended up reading was Karen Armstrong's biography of Buddha (titled: Buddha).
I had already read her very interesting A History of Myth and listened to her TED talk on compassion, so I was looking forward to it. I ended up reading the whole thing in the first few jetlagged days, so that it was caught up in the early fog of arrival. Then I read it again more slowly midway through the trip (I read each book I bought at least twice before finally getting some new ones in Kyoto!).
I don't really know much about Buddhism, so rather than trying to offer a critique of the book I can just say that it really awakened my interest, making me want to read more fully about the history of Buddhism as it developed as a religion. It also made me want to explore more fully the gaps that lie between the official history and theology of a religion and the understanding that believers have; and the distance between how it's practiced by monks and by laypeople. Despite also not knowing much about Hinduism, I'd had the same feeling when I had the chance to take a religious studies class about it at university. The teacher strongly believed in the importance of studying practical Hinduism with equal weight, rather than sticking solely to the textual tradition, and I really absorbed that attitude. The little that I know from listening to people who practice Buddhism gives me a really different idea than what I took from Armstrong's version of Buddha's teachings.
Japan is the only Buddhist country I've visited so far, and it's a fascinating and unique one, given the deep and longlasting syncretism with native Shinto practice. That's a whole post (or lifetime of study) in itself, and even looking just at Buddhism in Japan shows such a huge variety of sects and beliefs in monastic practice, let alone about how most Japanese feel about or understand Buddhism. I am excited to travel soon to Vietnam and to see Buddhism in a totally different context (not without syncretism of its own, of course).
Something else that I found myself thinking of as I read this book, was another book I studied at university in a German lit class - Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha. (Armstrong's book is mostly based on the Pali canon and so she uses Pali spelling rather than Sanskrit, so I am making a distinction between Hesse's Siddhartha and Armstrong's Siddhatta). Leaving aside the whole problem of cultural imperialism and Hesse's appropriation of Indian tradition (and noting that Armstrong too is a Western interpreter of Eastern tradition), I remembered my visceral reaction to the book when I read it at 19. I HATED it. The contrast of noble Siddhartha with fleshy Kamala made my skin crawl. The whole thing just seemed like typical male self-indulgence - sure, subsist on the food that the women prepare and donate to you, and adopt their sons into your sanghas, but be sure to point out to them their inferiority, their hopeless trappedness in samsara BECAUSE YOUR CULTURAL LAWS WON'T ALLOW THEM TO ESCAPE IT.
While Armstrong's depiction of Buddha isn't quite as creepy as I remember Hesse's being, she does point out the misogyny in the Buddhist tradition, wherever it originally crept in. Women could only be admitted as nuns subservient to the monks and following an additional set of rules; and in a whole large branch of Buddhism today there are no nuns because it is now viewed as impossible to fulfill those conditions.
In her broader discussion of the Axial age in which both Hinduism and Buddhism developed, she points out that along with the new spirituality came a new and more crippling misogyny, which is something that tends to keep me from identifying with any religion I've ever heard of, however impressive some of it other aspects are. The question of why those two strands developed together near-simultaneously in discrete parts of the world is a fascinating one. I do find it hard to get past what seems to me like clear hypocrisy antithetical to a true state of enlightenment. But of course that's just my lesser feminine self speaking!
To complement the history, I also picked up a book on Buddhist practice by the Dalai Lama. Even though I'm not going to Tibet I thought it might help provide more context for mostly Buddhist South-East Asia. I can't say that I feel any closer to enlightenment, but it was certainly an interesting text to read and ponder.
All of it a bit moot of course, in Hindu Bali.
I had already read her very interesting A History of Myth and listened to her TED talk on compassion, so I was looking forward to it. I ended up reading the whole thing in the first few jetlagged days, so that it was caught up in the early fog of arrival. Then I read it again more slowly midway through the trip (I read each book I bought at least twice before finally getting some new ones in Kyoto!).
I don't really know much about Buddhism, so rather than trying to offer a critique of the book I can just say that it really awakened my interest, making me want to read more fully about the history of Buddhism as it developed as a religion. It also made me want to explore more fully the gaps that lie between the official history and theology of a religion and the understanding that believers have; and the distance between how it's practiced by monks and by laypeople. Despite also not knowing much about Hinduism, I'd had the same feeling when I had the chance to take a religious studies class about it at university. The teacher strongly believed in the importance of studying practical Hinduism with equal weight, rather than sticking solely to the textual tradition, and I really absorbed that attitude. The little that I know from listening to people who practice Buddhism gives me a really different idea than what I took from Armstrong's version of Buddha's teachings.
Japan is the only Buddhist country I've visited so far, and it's a fascinating and unique one, given the deep and longlasting syncretism with native Shinto practice. That's a whole post (or lifetime of study) in itself, and even looking just at Buddhism in Japan shows such a huge variety of sects and beliefs in monastic practice, let alone about how most Japanese feel about or understand Buddhism. I am excited to travel soon to Vietnam and to see Buddhism in a totally different context (not without syncretism of its own, of course).
Something else that I found myself thinking of as I read this book, was another book I studied at university in a German lit class - Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha. (Armstrong's book is mostly based on the Pali canon and so she uses Pali spelling rather than Sanskrit, so I am making a distinction between Hesse's Siddhartha and Armstrong's Siddhatta). Leaving aside the whole problem of cultural imperialism and Hesse's appropriation of Indian tradition (and noting that Armstrong too is a Western interpreter of Eastern tradition), I remembered my visceral reaction to the book when I read it at 19. I HATED it. The contrast of noble Siddhartha with fleshy Kamala made my skin crawl. The whole thing just seemed like typical male self-indulgence - sure, subsist on the food that the women prepare and donate to you, and adopt their sons into your sanghas, but be sure to point out to them their inferiority, their hopeless trappedness in samsara BECAUSE YOUR CULTURAL LAWS WON'T ALLOW THEM TO ESCAPE IT.
While Armstrong's depiction of Buddha isn't quite as creepy as I remember Hesse's being, she does point out the misogyny in the Buddhist tradition, wherever it originally crept in. Women could only be admitted as nuns subservient to the monks and following an additional set of rules; and in a whole large branch of Buddhism today there are no nuns because it is now viewed as impossible to fulfill those conditions.
In her broader discussion of the Axial age in which both Hinduism and Buddhism developed, she points out that along with the new spirituality came a new and more crippling misogyny, which is something that tends to keep me from identifying with any religion I've ever heard of, however impressive some of it other aspects are. The question of why those two strands developed together near-simultaneously in discrete parts of the world is a fascinating one. I do find it hard to get past what seems to me like clear hypocrisy antithetical to a true state of enlightenment. But of course that's just my lesser feminine self speaking!
To complement the history, I also picked up a book on Buddhist practice by the Dalai Lama. Even though I'm not going to Tibet I thought it might help provide more context for mostly Buddhist South-East Asia. I can't say that I feel any closer to enlightenment, but it was certainly an interesting text to read and ponder.
All of it a bit moot of course, in Hindu Bali.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Kouyou
Looking down at the red leaves near Fukushima City, Fukushima, on the way to the summit of Azuma-san.
Mochi
Though I'm far from Japan now, there are still lots of photos to catch up on. One of the many things I miss about Japan is the delicious mochi, which I tried to eat every day (and mostly succeeded).Mochi is both the Japanese sticky rice, and the sweets that are made from it. Mochi is usually made by cooking the rice, then pounding it into a paste and shaping it into cakes of various shapes and forms, but you can also have sweets that use the whole grains of rice. Mochi isn't necessarily sweet either. My first night on the
farm in Fukushima, we had nabe or hotpot, and one of the ingredients was sliced pieces of plain mochi, chewy and delicious.Pictured first is the kind of mochi most available in North America - daifuku. Unfortunately the packaged kinds do not compare to the fresh version, which you can often buy at temples. This one is from Ninna-ji in Kyoto. It's chestnut-flavoured mochi around an unusually smooth, pale red bean filling, and it was incredibly delicious. The mochi is chewy and soft, the filling firm, dry, and a little grainy, and the richer sweetness complements the plainer taste of the rice.
Sadly less available
outside of Japan are the many varieties of plain grilled mochi. The other two pictures are from Matsuyama, where my newfound friend and I had dessert sets after our lunch of traditional udon.Abekawa mochi is plain rice cake coated in kinako, toasted soybean flour. It has a vaguely peanutbuttery flavour that goes beautifully with the mochi. I really love this sweet.
Iso mochi is brushed with shoyu (soy sauce) and eaten with nori, which might not be your idea of dessert, but it's equally yummy.
There are many many more kinds of mochi, and I tried to eat all the ones that came my way, but I know there are still more left untried...oh well. There's always a reason for another trip!
Noh
My favourite from an exhibit of Noh masks that I saw in Kyoto. The way that I found out about the exhibit - I was browsing in a paper shop and an elderly woman approached me. In excellent English, she asked me if I was interested in Japanese culture, and when I said yes, offered to conduct me to an exhibit.So she walked me there, apologising for not walking fast enough (while moving at a good clip assisted by a cane, no less!), delivered me into the care of her friend who was working at the exhibit, and melted away almost before I could say thank you!
The masks were lovely as was the chance to wander peacefully through the small rooms, attended by various elderly people who hovered affectionately but nervously, too shy to try to talk to me even in Japanese but clearly wanting me to be taken care of!
It turned out that the docents had made some of the masks themselves, and that the sensei himself was present! So, not entirely sure what etiquette required of me, I bowed to him, and he waved me off tolerantly and disinterestedly. I left again to go on with my planned day, though not before I was offered tea, and sent on my way with a packet of postcards of the masks and an embroidered handkerchief, courtesy of the temple that offered the exhibition. More Japanese generosity, and a sense of the wealth of the ages being handed down, on and on and on.
Authenticity
One of the little things that amused me while in Japan was watching the look of intense irritation that would sometimes waft across the face of another white person when they caught sight of me. Here I was, having a perfect Japanese moment, the look seemed to say; and then along came this lone other foreigner and RUINED it. Since so often you are clearly the only outsider around, it is noticeable when you pass another of your kind, the dreaded foreign tourist.This is especially funny in Japan because no matter how many gaikokujin pass through the country, it is hard to imagine there ever being enough to even slightly dilute its essential Japaneseness. Plus, what did you think, other traveller, all these signs in English everywhere were erected for your personal benefit?
I mock, but alas I too am one of those travellers who dislikes thinking of herself as a tourist (though that is what she is). This search for authenticity (and getting to be an invisible observer) is the kind of concept Stuff White People Like was invented to make fun of, but in a way it's an almost necessary part of the desire to travel. We make the effort because we're captivated by some idea of the exotic Other Place, even if the ideal is just a white sandy beach. Then when you get there you have to deal with the fact that the beach is crowded with other holidaymakers, you get sunburnt, there are no bathrooms, and all the other little details that weren't covered in the brochure.
This fond delusion that I admit to cherishing, that as a traveller you can slip quietly into the background of a scene and be part of it without transforming it is of course an illusion for the most part. But one of the many delights of travelling in Japan is that no matter how touristy and built-up the site is, the number of domestic tourists by far outweighs the number of foreign ones. So even if you are having a dreadfully tacky tourist time, it's AUTHENTICALLY tacky. (Plus it's Japan so it's still aesthetically pleasing.)
If Japan let me nourish my delusions in peace, my first few days in South-East Asia were a shock to the system. The presence everywhere in Ubud of posters advertising "the "real" Bali!" were a bit of a hint that this authenticity was no more. If it's made it into scarequotes and onto tour descriptions, it might not be quite what it used to be.
Of course there is still "real" Bali, but it has to hide a little harder from the tourists to maintain itself. Plus, when you're aware that the presence of so many other tourists has already pushed it underground, how hard do you want to try to find it, and make it more vulnerable still?
So then what does the determined non-tourist do? Slip from travel mode into vacation mode and just enjoy the surface pleasures (in Bali there are many, many pleasures to be enjoyed, "real" or not)? Or try to find some non-toxic way to travel? I prefer the following, but short of living somewhere and properly learning about it, I'm not sure what it is. But I have a few months left to try and find out.
Photo: the author, inauthentically pretending to be Japanese at a ryokan in Fukuoka, Kyuushu.
Slurping, sniffing, and smoking
Japan has a deserved reputation for being a very polite country, with lots of rules to follow. But then Canada is supposed to be a nation of fairly polite people too, and a lot of the same rules apply. We tend to take off our shoes when visiting people's houses, even if the location isn't demarcated by a handy step (and we don't provide separate slippers for the bathroom). But anyhow basic polite behaviour is fairly similar.
There are customs that are more idiosyncratic though. People who have eaten a lot of meals with me know that one of my more annoying qualities is severe sensitivity to sound (well, just severe sensitivity really!). Slurping noises can ruin a whole meal for me if I'm in the wrong mood.
Asia is an excellent place to come to break myself of this overreaction. In Japan, not only is it perfectly ok to slurp, but actually when you're eating udon it's rude NOT to slurp. When a friend took us to a traditional udon shop on my trip to Japan in 2008, the owner was perfectly welcoming to the two gaikokujin, but made sure to impress on us that we had to slurp when we were served the noodles! Such is Japanese politeness though, that a friend once told me when he eats ramen in NYC, he looks around at the people around him. If they are mostly Japanese, he slurps, and if they are mostly not, he doesn't!
In fact my month in Japan was enough to win me over to slurping - when you're eating noodles in hot soup in a hurry it's completely functional, cooling each bite as you eat (and also keeping your shirt clear of broth splashes). Sniffing I wasn't really won over to. Apparently you are not supposed to blow your nose in public in Japan, as it draws too much attention to yourself, so instead you are stuck sniffing and sniffing until you are safely in a private place...
And smoking mores are different too. Tokyo has reminder signs everywhere about polite smoking behaviour - don't waft the smoke in people's faces, don't smoke right beside a non-smoking area etc. In most public places in the city it's forbidden to smoke outside. But it's still ok to smoke in restaurants and bars, and the chain cafes that offer both smoking and nonsmoking areas usually have a purely psychological barrier between the two - not too effective as a smoke barrier it turns out.
These are just some random examples but it makes me wonder what behaviours I accept as perfectly normal seem terrifically rude to others. The classic Foreigner-in-Japan example is probably wearing the bathroom slippers out of the bathroom - a solecism I thankfully avoided! I have enough Japanese friends that I felt pretty safe there. Now in South-East Asia, I'm on less certain ground, and I keep wondering what thing I unthinkingly do is someone else's sniffing noise...
There are customs that are more idiosyncratic though. People who have eaten a lot of meals with me know that one of my more annoying qualities is severe sensitivity to sound (well, just severe sensitivity really!). Slurping noises can ruin a whole meal for me if I'm in the wrong mood.
Asia is an excellent place to come to break myself of this overreaction. In Japan, not only is it perfectly ok to slurp, but actually when you're eating udon it's rude NOT to slurp. When a friend took us to a traditional udon shop on my trip to Japan in 2008, the owner was perfectly welcoming to the two gaikokujin, but made sure to impress on us that we had to slurp when we were served the noodles! Such is Japanese politeness though, that a friend once told me when he eats ramen in NYC, he looks around at the people around him. If they are mostly Japanese, he slurps, and if they are mostly not, he doesn't!
In fact my month in Japan was enough to win me over to slurping - when you're eating noodles in hot soup in a hurry it's completely functional, cooling each bite as you eat (and also keeping your shirt clear of broth splashes). Sniffing I wasn't really won over to. Apparently you are not supposed to blow your nose in public in Japan, as it draws too much attention to yourself, so instead you are stuck sniffing and sniffing until you are safely in a private place...
And smoking mores are different too. Tokyo has reminder signs everywhere about polite smoking behaviour - don't waft the smoke in people's faces, don't smoke right beside a non-smoking area etc. In most public places in the city it's forbidden to smoke outside. But it's still ok to smoke in restaurants and bars, and the chain cafes that offer both smoking and nonsmoking areas usually have a purely psychological barrier between the two - not too effective as a smoke barrier it turns out.
These are just some random examples but it makes me wonder what behaviours I accept as perfectly normal seem terrifically rude to others. The classic Foreigner-in-Japan example is probably wearing the bathroom slippers out of the bathroom - a solecism I thankfully avoided! I have enough Japanese friends that I felt pretty safe there. Now in South-East Asia, I'm on less certain ground, and I keep wondering what thing I unthinkingly do is someone else's sniffing noise...
Friday, November 13, 2009
Yes, transport?
I've spent not quite 24 hours in South-East Asia now, and my head is full of a blur of images moving about unpredictably like the motorbikes, and the heat.
I'm in Kuta, Bali, which is just as grotesquely geared to western tourists as my little sister warned me it was. Since I was forewarned, I have luckily been able to take it in stride and just enjoy the pageant of it all, as I am heading to Ubud tomorrow, about which I have much higher expectations.
One thing that surprises me so far is the ubiquity of the Hindu temples, which are tucked away everywhere in unexpected places (much as shrines and temples are in Japan, except that nowhere I went in Japan was so full of shops clearly marketed at outsiders only, so that the contrast here is more jarring). And especially I am touched by the small offerings that are set out and left on the ground, everywhere, little folded leaf baskets holding flowers, incense, little cookies for the gods.
I'm staying in what feels palatial after the cramped quarters in Tokyo - the ensuite bathroom is literally bigger than the room I was sleeping in there, and the large room also has a balcony which overlooks a shrine in the hotel courtyard, and coconut palms, all for less than $20 a night. The luxury feels especially strange when contrasted with the crowded streets full of hawkers.
You can't walk down the street without being constantly questioned, offered massages, hair and nail treatments, daytrips, and especially rides on the back of motorbikes. "Yes? Transport?" is ringing in my ears. It's quite something to casually peek into a foodcourt area and galvanise about 40 restaurant workers to leap to their feet and thrust menus at you - miss? are you hungry? (Of course I was just in Japan, where peeking into a business also causes all the workers to yell "Irrasshaimase!" at you, but it feels different somehow).
I'm finding the hawkers hard to deal with, not because they are terribly persistent. Just smiling, saying no thanks, and moving on works fine. It's more that I find it hard to deal with the reality that we live in a global system that requires some people to spend all day smiling ingratiatingly (or much worse) at often-rude foreigners in hopes of getting by, while other people like me can wander from luxury to luxury. I would really hate having to hawk my wares like that and so being on the receiving end makes me vicariously cringe.
Of course, global inequality is there whether or not I am walking down a street in Bali. But I don't have to like it.
As for the vicarious cringing, I will probably get used to the sales techniques pretty quickly (I did notice that Indonesians wandering into the food court get the same treatment). There will be a lot more of it as I travel around. But hopefully not inured to the real issues...
Tomorrow, north to Ubud and a completely different Bali experience.
I'm in Kuta, Bali, which is just as grotesquely geared to western tourists as my little sister warned me it was. Since I was forewarned, I have luckily been able to take it in stride and just enjoy the pageant of it all, as I am heading to Ubud tomorrow, about which I have much higher expectations.
One thing that surprises me so far is the ubiquity of the Hindu temples, which are tucked away everywhere in unexpected places (much as shrines and temples are in Japan, except that nowhere I went in Japan was so full of shops clearly marketed at outsiders only, so that the contrast here is more jarring). And especially I am touched by the small offerings that are set out and left on the ground, everywhere, little folded leaf baskets holding flowers, incense, little cookies for the gods.
I'm staying in what feels palatial after the cramped quarters in Tokyo - the ensuite bathroom is literally bigger than the room I was sleeping in there, and the large room also has a balcony which overlooks a shrine in the hotel courtyard, and coconut palms, all for less than $20 a night. The luxury feels especially strange when contrasted with the crowded streets full of hawkers.
You can't walk down the street without being constantly questioned, offered massages, hair and nail treatments, daytrips, and especially rides on the back of motorbikes. "Yes? Transport?" is ringing in my ears. It's quite something to casually peek into a foodcourt area and galvanise about 40 restaurant workers to leap to their feet and thrust menus at you - miss? are you hungry? (Of course I was just in Japan, where peeking into a business also causes all the workers to yell "Irrasshaimase!" at you, but it feels different somehow).
I'm finding the hawkers hard to deal with, not because they are terribly persistent. Just smiling, saying no thanks, and moving on works fine. It's more that I find it hard to deal with the reality that we live in a global system that requires some people to spend all day smiling ingratiatingly (or much worse) at often-rude foreigners in hopes of getting by, while other people like me can wander from luxury to luxury. I would really hate having to hawk my wares like that and so being on the receiving end makes me vicariously cringe.
Of course, global inequality is there whether or not I am walking down a street in Bali. But I don't have to like it.
As for the vicarious cringing, I will probably get used to the sales techniques pretty quickly (I did notice that Indonesians wandering into the food court get the same treatment). There will be a lot more of it as I travel around. But hopefully not inured to the real issues...
Tomorrow, north to Ubud and a completely different Bali experience.
Mata ne!
And so, after a fabulous month-and-a-bit in Japan, it was time to depart. Most reluctantly. I was fighting a bitter inner war with myself about whether I should live in Kyoto or Tokyo when I come back to Japan (or go apprentice myself as a farmer in Fukushima, of course) and it seemed inappropriate to decamp without fighting the decisive battle! However, I will be back in about five months, so it's "mata ne" instead of "sayonara"!I had a few last days in Tokyo to spend time on important issues like catching up on neglected soba-eating, as well as day trips to Nikko and Kamakura. I also found time to return to the excellent cafe operated out of this tiny van parked just off Omotesando, one of Tokyo's ritziest shopping streets. (Photo taken on my visit in early October. Please note the plants set out around the van. For anyone in Tokyo, to find the cafe head down Omotesando away from Meiji-jingu for a few blocks, and it will be in an alley on your left, just past that really fancy odd-shaped department store, tucked away behind Morgan de moi, and its hours are 10 to 6 I think).
Those who know how I love to be a regular will understand how much the following meant to me. When I went to get my latte, the owner (or at least the same woman who I've always seen working there) handed me a stamp card. Then she took it back and added a stamp saying, "for last time". Last time was a whole month ago, but she remembered me! I felt sad to not be able to fill out the stamp card until March - but it was a nice send-off from my all-too-brief stay in Japan. The littlest things can make me happy...
And on to South-East Asia - first stop, Bali!
Fushimi Inari
An endless flow of red torii gates at Fushimi Inari shrine.
This is the head shrine for about 40,000 others across Japan. If you see little fox statues just past the entrance torii, you know it's an inari shrine.
At Fushimi, just south of Kyoto, you can follow the gate-path all the way to the top of the mountain, with views out over the city and toward Osaka. I contemplated them with a kinako (toasted-soybean flour) ice cream in my hand.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Dogo Onsen
Japan's most famous onsen. The waters are naturally 43C, and sitting around after your bathe eating local mandarin oranges or delicious udon is the perfect thing to do.
In Matsuyama, Ehime Prefecture, Shikoku Island.
In Matsuyama, Ehime Prefecture, Shikoku Island.
Shitamachi
I've been staying in it, both times I was in Tokyo, but today I finally went to the museum about the Shitamachi in Ueno Park.
Shitamachi means "lower city" and refers to the original working-class quarters of the city, into which the people were squeezed in what was then the world's greatest population density, during the Edo period. It's opposed to the Yamanote, the mountain area, the high-class part of Tokyo where the shogun and the other upper classes lived.
Amid the glitzy high-tech building of Tokyo, something of the Shitamachi feeling survives in the areas around Ueno and Asakusa as well as in other less-developed areas of the city. Not much of the actual Shitamachi is really around anymore. As with most Japanese cities, what wasn't ravaged by the terrible fires that razed neighbourhoods over and over, was destroyed in the Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923. And what survived that was flattened during the three days of incendiary bombing in 1945 that are estimated to have killed 100,000 people in Tokyo alone.
So the Shitamachi museum was created to show what old Edo and Tokyo were like for the common people, since so little is left from that time. It's a small museum, and the upper floor exhibit has little information in English, though it's still fun to see the pictures of the popular actors and singers, and to play with the wooden toys from the period which you are allowed to touch. Everything in the museum was donated by local residents.
But what makes the museum really worth visiting is the first floor, which holds wooden buildings that were moved to the museum and carefully restored, fitted out in the style of the 1920s before the great earthquake, when most homes in the area resembled them. You can enter the buildings (taking off your shoes of course!), walk on the tatami floors, and touch anything in the rooms. There are English speaking guides willing (and eager) to walk you through and explain the details of what you find.
The first house is that of a merchant, a relatively wealthy resident. In this case he was a maker of hanao, the cloth straps that transform a piece of wood into a geta, or traditional Japanese slipper. The wooden part would be made somewhere else, with this kind of specialisation very typical for Japanese craftspeople. We could see the area where he sat working, the workshop beside it, and the front area where customers were received. No space was wasted even in the richer house - the steep stairs hid sliding door cupboards to use all possible storage space. The house also had a wooden basket suspended from poles. In case of fire, the few valuables would be tossed into it and it could then be easily carried by the fleeing residents...such was the regular occurrence of this threat.
Beside this was a tenement house area - well and clothes washing area shared for the tenement, and then the individual wooden homes. One small place had a tiny candy shop built into it, which would be a gathering place for neighbourhood children home from school. Another was a workshop where an artisan made copper kettles. Many of the people in tenement houses worked in the nearby merchant's workshops, but getting by was hard and so there were also lots of side businesses like the candy shop, often run by grannies to make ends meet. This is the best kind of museum since it is so easy to imagine real life for real people when inside it - and being able to touch their actual possessions made it all the more immediate.
But while most of the wooden homes are gone, you can still tell the Shitamachi from the Yamanote. One small wooden house squeezed between large concrete buildings still holds a workshop where day in and day out, a man sits painting chochin, the red or white lanterns that hang outside restaurants to advertise their specialisation. And the area is also home to most of Tokyo's estimated 30,000 homeless, mostly middle-aged men who usually disappear during the day and then emerge at night to rebuild their cardboard box homes in the covered shopping arcades. My first night in Tokyo I wandered just south of my hostel into one such, where everyone was just finding their spot for the night. I felt like I should leave right away - not for my safety, but because it felt like walking uninvited right into someone's living room.
Today in the rain there were many more of them sheltering in the areas around the station, and though they were ignored by passersby, at least they weren't being hassled. Ueno Park contains an actual tent city, with ropes and tarps separating homes, and lots of washing hanging up to dry. I saw one man last night in the downtown area near the government buildings, lying on a concrete slab and doing Sudoku, looking quite as if he were in his bedroom.
Another Shitamachi touch is the conversation the hotel manager is having right now with another guest, about how you have to be careful in these budget hostels (many older Japanese men seem to live here; at least one has been staying here for 5 years!). This one is ok, but at many of the others you have people starting fights, passing out from drink in the hallways...he also touched on his past as a gangster in LA. Shitamachi with a vengeance!
However I feel perfectly safe here, and indeed my major interaction with the long-term Japanese residents has been saying good morning and good night. Yesterday as I sat here typing, one of the older permanents guests walked by and randomly handed me a fruit cup! It may not live up to the cliches about Tokyo, but Taito-ku is a good place to be.
Photo: decaying lotuses in Ueno Park lake.
Amid the glitzy high-tech building of Tokyo, something of the Shitamachi feeling survives in the areas around Ueno and Asakusa as well as in other less-developed areas of the city. Not much of the actual Shitamachi is really around anymore. As with most Japanese cities, what wasn't ravaged by the terrible fires that razed neighbourhoods over and over, was destroyed in the Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923. And what survived that was flattened during the three days of incendiary bombing in 1945 that are estimated to have killed 100,000 people in Tokyo alone.
So the Shitamachi museum was created to show what old Edo and Tokyo were like for the common people, since so little is left from that time. It's a small museum, and the upper floor exhibit has little information in English, though it's still fun to see the pictures of the popular actors and singers, and to play with the wooden toys from the period which you are allowed to touch. Everything in the museum was donated by local residents.
But what makes the museum really worth visiting is the first floor, which holds wooden buildings that were moved to the museum and carefully restored, fitted out in the style of the 1920s before the great earthquake, when most homes in the area resembled them. You can enter the buildings (taking off your shoes of course!), walk on the tatami floors, and touch anything in the rooms. There are English speaking guides willing (and eager) to walk you through and explain the details of what you find.
The first house is that of a merchant, a relatively wealthy resident. In this case he was a maker of hanao, the cloth straps that transform a piece of wood into a geta, or traditional Japanese slipper. The wooden part would be made somewhere else, with this kind of specialisation very typical for Japanese craftspeople. We could see the area where he sat working, the workshop beside it, and the front area where customers were received. No space was wasted even in the richer house - the steep stairs hid sliding door cupboards to use all possible storage space. The house also had a wooden basket suspended from poles. In case of fire, the few valuables would be tossed into it and it could then be easily carried by the fleeing residents...such was the regular occurrence of this threat.
Beside this was a tenement house area - well and clothes washing area shared for the tenement, and then the individual wooden homes. One small place had a tiny candy shop built into it, which would be a gathering place for neighbourhood children home from school. Another was a workshop where an artisan made copper kettles. Many of the people in tenement houses worked in the nearby merchant's workshops, but getting by was hard and so there were also lots of side businesses like the candy shop, often run by grannies to make ends meet. This is the best kind of museum since it is so easy to imagine real life for real people when inside it - and being able to touch their actual possessions made it all the more immediate.
But while most of the wooden homes are gone, you can still tell the Shitamachi from the Yamanote. One small wooden house squeezed between large concrete buildings still holds a workshop where day in and day out, a man sits painting chochin, the red or white lanterns that hang outside restaurants to advertise their specialisation. And the area is also home to most of Tokyo's estimated 30,000 homeless, mostly middle-aged men who usually disappear during the day and then emerge at night to rebuild their cardboard box homes in the covered shopping arcades. My first night in Tokyo I wandered just south of my hostel into one such, where everyone was just finding their spot for the night. I felt like I should leave right away - not for my safety, but because it felt like walking uninvited right into someone's living room.
Today in the rain there were many more of them sheltering in the areas around the station, and though they were ignored by passersby, at least they weren't being hassled. Ueno Park contains an actual tent city, with ropes and tarps separating homes, and lots of washing hanging up to dry. I saw one man last night in the downtown area near the government buildings, lying on a concrete slab and doing Sudoku, looking quite as if he were in his bedroom.
Another Shitamachi touch is the conversation the hotel manager is having right now with another guest, about how you have to be careful in these budget hostels (many older Japanese men seem to live here; at least one has been staying here for 5 years!). This one is ok, but at many of the others you have people starting fights, passing out from drink in the hallways...he also touched on his past as a gangster in LA. Shitamachi with a vengeance!
However I feel perfectly safe here, and indeed my major interaction with the long-term Japanese residents has been saying good morning and good night. Yesterday as I sat here typing, one of the older permanents guests walked by and randomly handed me a fruit cup! It may not live up to the cliches about Tokyo, but Taito-ku is a good place to be.
Photo: decaying lotuses in Ueno Park lake.
Mikuji Number 29: Good Fortune
This is my Shinto fortune, which I drew today:
I got this fortune, the number written on a stick which I shook from an old wooden box, at the Shitamachi Museum in Ueno Park, Tokyo.
You have been living in obscurity like bog-wood, and have been suffering from many difficulties, by this time. Hereafter you will be in improvement of your fortune, and will be getting better in your life, in accordance with your time and place. Believe in God and Buddha.
Your illness can be cured. In case you are poor, it will be cured soon. When you are superior, it will take long time to.
It's hard to get arrangement of marriage. Try it at slow pace.
Every happy affair, such as building or moving house, will go well.
Good chance for having business, both in selling and buying.
Lost article can be found.
You will win in dispute, but you should treat your opponent kindly.
The person you wait for will come.
"The sky's been covered with cloud of grief for long time. But I feel very happy this morning, that it's turned into clear and we are now in joyful shine of the rising sun."
I got this fortune, the number written on a stick which I shook from an old wooden box, at the Shitamachi Museum in Ueno Park, Tokyo.
Sunday, November 08, 2009
Apo logie s
For the weird spacing. I get it to look all pretty in Preview and then the width changes and the text and photos display weirdly. Hopefully I'll figure it out by the end of the trip.
Crossing the street at Shibuya Station
A crazy flow of posts these days, in achronological spirit. Catching up on a few weeks' worth of photos.To go with the crazy flow, the required photo of the famous crossing at Shibuya Station in Tokyo.
First, a red light, an empty street. Trains come and go, cars zoom past, and the masses build.
And then, the lights change.
And all of a sudden, people are everywhere, crossing right through the middle of the street. People and people in a neverending flow, then suddenly yellow, the last few stragglers dashing across, and then emptiness again. Over and over again against a dark sky and towers of neon light.
Teatime on the farm
Pieces of Fukushima apple, and local black sticky rice cake with little gems of sweet potato hidden in it, covered in flakes of coconut. Served with roasted green tea (bancha) and best enjoyed on a tatami mat.
108
Is the number of sins in Buddhism. It's also the number of active volcanoes in Japan.The most active is Sakurajima, on its eponymous island across the bay from Kagoshima City. It's so active (with over 450 eruptions so far this year) that people's cars and balconies are covered in an ever-renewed layer of ash.
Sakurajima obligingly erupted in this huge cloud of ash just as we were poised here to take a picture. No lava - just ash. The last lava flow was decades ago. And the major eruption before that (in the Taisho Era, 1915) was so huge that it sent ash all the way to the Kamchatka Peninsula in Siberia!
Either way it's an impressive volcano. After taking this photo, we scurried away to the shelter of a soba restaurant to let the ash settle a little before taking the ferry back to the city. The volcanic soils nourish some especially excellent fruits and vegetables, apparently. Sakurajima is famous for tiny tiny mikans that only grow on the island, as well as enormous r
ound daikon radishes that can be purchased in many, varied, kawaii forms.Our lunch was delicious - cold hand-cut soba with a dipping sauce, tsukemono of the famous island daikon, and including a faintly green jelly for dessert that they told us was almond - but we are pretty sure was actually daikon!
Drying sweet potatoes on the farm
I was given a little packet of these to take away with me when I left. Dense, chewy, sweet and earthy. The taste of where they were grown.
Autumn Palate
Salty and sweet. Earthy and fermented. The bitterness of tea and the clarity of fresh fruit after a meal. These are the tastes of autumn in Japan.Seasoning tends, to my taste, more to the sweet and salty than I'd prefer, but always delicious. I do find myself missing sour and hot (though there's always the pucker of umeboshi (pickled plum) and the heat of shichimi (seven-spice powder) to bring those elements in.
The base note is of course the grain. Rice, slightly sticky and chewy, soft or with something of a bite to it. Or noodles, the same way. Thin buckwheat soba, fat wheat udon, or thin Chinese-derived ramen. Noodles in broth or noodles served cold with a sauce to dip them in, livened with wasabi heat and fresh chopped negi (Japanese leek). Thick rich ramen broth (yes ok there's pork in it), lighter fish and seaweed based dashi for soba and udon. Chewy strips of menma (bamboo shoot), sprouts, nori and more negi.
Then there are the toppings. Clean fish tastes in sushi and sashimi. Rich curry and crisp tempura. Salty or sour tsukemono (pickles) to complement each bite - ginger, daikon, eggplant, tiny red sprouts and astringent shiso leaf. More richness in the griddled delights of takoyaki and okonomiyaki, a mingling of all tastes and textures in one bite.
And how could I not mention the smoky smell
of the grill? Yakitori, yes, but the predominant autumn grill smell for me is mochi, especially everywhere in Kyoto. Sticky rice cooked and ground into a paste, then formed into little cakes, sometimes wrapped around a red bean filling, sometimes itself alone. Then skewered and placed over a real wood fire to take on a crisp outer coating, and to send out a smoky, toasty rice flavour dancing through the air crying out come, eat the mochi!And how I do - smothered in a rich and fruity miso sauce, so soft and chewy with that hint of burning like the leaf-smell, bright red against a blue blue sky.
Pictured: Top - Herb-flavoured onigiri from Fukushima; lunch on the train.
Below - Jambo (special grilled mochi) from Kagoshima, eaten in a little teahouse in the garden of the Shimadzu family, daimyo and leaders in the modernisation of the Meiji era. The thicker sauce on the left is miso and the one on the right is shoyu (soy sauce).
Friday, November 06, 2009
Honorable noodles
A picture of my delicious delicious lunch at O-men today. I might have to go back tomorrow...
Thursday, November 05, 2009
Ornithology
Gross generalisation exception to prove the rule:
Japanese cranes stand on two legs! And their "knees" bend backwards too. I've been watching them in various rivers in most of the cities that I've visited, and the crane behaviour is consistent. I don't know if it's to deal with the water flowing constantly in one way rather than the still lakes or wavy oceans I see them in in Canada. Or if they are just of biologically different descendence, since both the smaller white cranes and the larger blue/grey ones do this, even though the latter look much like the one-leg-standing cranes of Canada.
I suppose I could look it up, but supper calls louded than my thirst for knowledge...
Japanese cranes stand on two legs! And their "knees" bend backwards too. I've been watching them in various rivers in most of the cities that I've visited, and the crane behaviour is consistent. I don't know if it's to deal with the water flowing constantly in one way rather than the still lakes or wavy oceans I see them in in Canada. Or if they are just of biologically different descendence, since both the smaller white cranes and the larger blue/grey ones do this, even though the latter look much like the one-leg-standing cranes of Canada.
I suppose I could look it up, but supper calls louded than my thirst for knowledge...
Travel Essentials
I've had a few grumpy days lately - well, not all grumpy - but lacking the sort of 24-hour-a-day wideeyed wonder that I can usually sustain while travelling. This isn't that surprising I guess. I've now passed the limits of any vacation I've taken before, having been on the road for almost four weeks. (This isn't counting my time in Berlin and in NYC where I had an apartment - just living out of a suitcase travel). I'll have to learn the rhythms of travelling for a longer period, which probably include both more downtime each day, and also crafting a sense of purpose to my trip beyond just seeing the sights.
It's all making me think of travel essentials. First of all there are the basic necessities you need to carry with you. As you all know, travelling light is exactly what I am incapable of doing. But I'm hoping that these six months will teach me a lot about what is and isn't necessary and maybe I'll shed certain inessentials as I go. We are still talking about me here, and I like having a knitting project and book or two on hand, so I'll never be the true pilgrim pioneer, but doubtless there is a more streamlined way to be me and I'm looking forward to finding it.
Then there is the travel checklist, when things start to go minorly awry. This would be different for each person of course, but I have a little list of rules I remind myself of, which begins:
But the whole point about this trip is to think carefully about what I'm doing, so that's the puzzle I'm working on now.
I've been thinking about essentials in a different way, too. Despite my declared intention to see the world with my child mind, glancing over these posts and even thinking about ideas for posts that I haven't got around to writing yet, I see how much I am reacting to preconceived notions - or more convolutedly, to my imagined idea of what people's preconceived notions of Japan are. Too many layers! Also, I keep thinking that I can try to "explain" Japan to people, to try and show what life is like here.
This is crazy for a bunch of reasons. First of all, I don't know what I'm talking about, and half the people reading this blog know a lot more about Japan than I ever will. Plus, the internet is full of Westerners writing about their experiences in Japan, and the basic rules of life in Japan like how to use an onsen, or what slippers to wear when, are all described over and over again. So I don't need to do it here.
I've been thinking a lot about essentialism, the colonialist's instinct to label, package, and as a result, limit and silence a conquered people. It's so funny to think about the many things that have been written about Japan, since people tend to be quite opinionated on the topic. It's amusing to read on one hand that, say, Japan lacks creativity and innovation, and then on the other hand to read the fawning awe the West has for Japanese craft and design. There are so many such contradictions, and in the end gross generalisations will always be refuted by individuals who will not be so contained.
In writing about Japan, I've been wanting to overthrow some of the preconceptions Westerners have received about Japanese people, but in the end whenever you try to describe you generalise and you leave things out. And I know so little to begin with. It's nearly impossible not to compare things, or to generalise from observations, and of course you are always working on a basis of your own experience. But I want to try and avoid sweeping statements and explanations altogether, and just put together tiny fragments of experiences here, some kind of word collage of all the wonderful things I am seeing, hearing, smelling, touching, tasting.
Enough musing - I'm going out to respire l'air de Kyoto...
It's all making me think of travel essentials. First of all there are the basic necessities you need to carry with you. As you all know, travelling light is exactly what I am incapable of doing. But I'm hoping that these six months will teach me a lot about what is and isn't necessary and maybe I'll shed certain inessentials as I go. We are still talking about me here, and I like having a knitting project and book or two on hand, so I'll never be the true pilgrim pioneer, but doubtless there is a more streamlined way to be me and I'm looking forward to finding it.
Then there is the travel checklist, when things start to go minorly awry. This would be different for each person of course, but I have a little list of rules I remind myself of, which begins:
- When you realise you are grumpy, sit down and eat something.
- A shower is nearly as good as a night's sleep.
- You can't see everything, so don't try.
- Duck.
But the whole point about this trip is to think carefully about what I'm doing, so that's the puzzle I'm working on now.
I've been thinking about essentials in a different way, too. Despite my declared intention to see the world with my child mind, glancing over these posts and even thinking about ideas for posts that I haven't got around to writing yet, I see how much I am reacting to preconceived notions - or more convolutedly, to my imagined idea of what people's preconceived notions of Japan are. Too many layers! Also, I keep thinking that I can try to "explain" Japan to people, to try and show what life is like here.
This is crazy for a bunch of reasons. First of all, I don't know what I'm talking about, and half the people reading this blog know a lot more about Japan than I ever will. Plus, the internet is full of Westerners writing about their experiences in Japan, and the basic rules of life in Japan like how to use an onsen, or what slippers to wear when, are all described over and over again. So I don't need to do it here.
I've been thinking a lot about essentialism, the colonialist's instinct to label, package, and as a result, limit and silence a conquered people. It's so funny to think about the many things that have been written about Japan, since people tend to be quite opinionated on the topic. It's amusing to read on one hand that, say, Japan lacks creativity and innovation, and then on the other hand to read the fawning awe the West has for Japanese craft and design. There are so many such contradictions, and in the end gross generalisations will always be refuted by individuals who will not be so contained.
In writing about Japan, I've been wanting to overthrow some of the preconceptions Westerners have received about Japanese people, but in the end whenever you try to describe you generalise and you leave things out. And I know so little to begin with. It's nearly impossible not to compare things, or to generalise from observations, and of course you are always working on a basis of your own experience. But I want to try and avoid sweeping statements and explanations altogether, and just put together tiny fragments of experiences here, some kind of word collage of all the wonderful things I am seeing, hearing, smelling, touching, tasting.
Enough musing - I'm going out to respire l'air de Kyoto...
Desho!!
Today is Japanese linguistics post day, apparently. Anyway, something else I have noticed a lot since I've been in Japan, is the way that many people, especially women (at least that is what I have observed) have of giving themselves a little muttered encouragement. Everywhere I go, I hear people talking to themselves in a quiet undertone, saying "desho!"
If I translate correctly, this means more or less, "let's do it!" (or maybe even "let it be so!") I have heard people saying it when rushing around frantically trying to get a lot of work done, or even just in the act of sitting down on a bus while wearing a kimono (which is probably quite hard work too). Whatever it takes to get through the day...
If I translate correctly, this means more or less, "let's do it!" (or maybe even "let it be so!") I have heard people saying it when rushing around frantically trying to get a lot of work done, or even just in the act of sitting down on a bus while wearing a kimono (which is probably quite hard work too). Whatever it takes to get through the day...
Ano...
Since arriving in Japan, I have received many compliments on my Japanese language skills, mostly totally undeserved. In fact I'm pretty disappointed with my poor ability, considering I did study quite a bit before I left; yet I continue to impress people by saying only a few words!
This is largely because Japanese people are generally very polite and kind, and also pleased to see foreigners taking an interest in their language and culture, I think. A little bit of effort goes a long way.
However, I do have one secret weapon, which I am happy to share. It's my opinion that the most rewarding word to learn in any language, the one that will help you the most with the least effort, is to learn the word for "ummmm..."
Hear me out. First of all, um is an excellent filler while you scramble frantically in your head for the word you need. It reassures your interlocutor that more will eventually come, and may even make it look like you are thinking deeply before choosing the appriopriate statement (a philosopher!) rather than flailing frantically and hoping to not come up with a random Spanish phrase instead.
Secondly, it's a very colloquial phrase, so it reassures people that you have spoken this language with actual humans before, and that you are not expecting them to speak in your language instead.
Lastly, it gives you confidence for both the above reasons, lending you the strength to go on! It will be short and easy to pronounce, too, since after all it's used for the same reasons by native speakers when they're not sure what's coming out of their mouths next.
In Japanese, it's "ano", with even accent on both syllables, though the ooooooooooooooo can be drawn out while you think. Especially for women, whose polite speech verges heavily on the self-deprecating, it's useful to begin an utterance with it as a sort of apology for interrupting or for requesting something.
It is important to try to get the right intonation. In Spanish, um is "o sea" (also fun to say!). There was one graduate student in Spanish Lit I remember who, though a native speaker of English, spoke very good Spanish. But while she spoke fluently and inserted o sea at regular intervals, it was always in this flat monotone which made it seemed pointless - if it's obvious your ums are scripted the whole effect falls away!
This is of course my foreigner's take on the whole matter. But whatever its true use in colloquial Japanese, my regular use of ano definitely helps me get up the courage to talk to people, and so I am grateful! Ano, arigatou gozaimashita!
This is largely because Japanese people are generally very polite and kind, and also pleased to see foreigners taking an interest in their language and culture, I think. A little bit of effort goes a long way.
However, I do have one secret weapon, which I am happy to share. It's my opinion that the most rewarding word to learn in any language, the one that will help you the most with the least effort, is to learn the word for "ummmm..."
Hear me out. First of all, um is an excellent filler while you scramble frantically in your head for the word you need. It reassures your interlocutor that more will eventually come, and may even make it look like you are thinking deeply before choosing the appriopriate statement (a philosopher!) rather than flailing frantically and hoping to not come up with a random Spanish phrase instead.
Secondly, it's a very colloquial phrase, so it reassures people that you have spoken this language with actual humans before, and that you are not expecting them to speak in your language instead.
Lastly, it gives you confidence for both the above reasons, lending you the strength to go on! It will be short and easy to pronounce, too, since after all it's used for the same reasons by native speakers when they're not sure what's coming out of their mouths next.
In Japanese, it's "ano", with even accent on both syllables, though the ooooooooooooooo can be drawn out while you think. Especially for women, whose polite speech verges heavily on the self-deprecating, it's useful to begin an utterance with it as a sort of apology for interrupting or for requesting something.
It is important to try to get the right intonation. In Spanish, um is "o sea" (also fun to say!). There was one graduate student in Spanish Lit I remember who, though a native speaker of English, spoke very good Spanish. But while she spoke fluently and inserted o sea at regular intervals, it was always in this flat monotone which made it seemed pointless - if it's obvious your ums are scripted the whole effect falls away!
This is of course my foreigner's take on the whole matter. But whatever its true use in colloquial Japanese, my regular use of ano definitely helps me get up the courage to talk to people, and so I am grateful! Ano, arigatou gozaimashita!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)