A Weekend in May

This weekend’s events epitomised what I longed for most from my time here in Japan: An invigorated life, if only temporary, through which I find a sense place and a purpose.

Bojan stayed the night at my place because our last train home terminated at Ikebukuro and he was far from home. We casually strolled into the night talking about a whole host of things, stopping by at the many combini on route to home for snacks and towel (mine disappeared from the clothesline). We made it back and I overwhelmed Bojan with my hospitality by just simply setting up a comfy place for him to have well-earned rest. It was a good old primary school sleep over set up. I guess mum taught me well.

Something that I didn’t expect out of my experience here in Japan was to acquire such strong mateships (an Australian coloqial term meaning the embodiment of equality, loyalty and friendship). Bojan is a crazy bastard but a genius in his own way; these go hand in hand. We are loyal and open to each other which has often lead to heated disagreements but most importantly, there is always an unwavering understanding. What my father told me once was that a solid relationship is based on correlating core values. He is right and Bojan and I share many.

So after a Friday evening of beers and pseudo-intellectual banter about Japan and other things with the Danish crew, we rose to continue with a planned frenzy of a weekend.  Bojan left to go to a meeting in which he was already half an hour late but “never mind” as he always unwittingly says. I needed to get to the Kengo Kumas Office to hopefully finish off an occasionally stagnate two and a half months of work in the practice. I have become good friends with my colleague Abe san and understood that me completing the work would help her concentrate on her new project. Also, the job wasn’t finished despite it carrying on much further than it should have, so I felt completing it was a the dignified thing to do. In the end, we were both happy to see the project finally finish up. We exhibited the final model for others in the office to gawk at and we received some inspiring comments. As most projects are based at the university, to be placed in the office was a rare opportunity to be exposed to one of the world’s best international architectural practices. I knew it would involve a little selling of my soul, but in my early years I still need to pay my dues and learn as much as I can. More importantly, the experiences lead me to deconstruct my purpose for being there. We all encompass the opportunity to define ourselves however access and the will to carry this out is dependent on many chaotic factors: place, time, health, mental capacity, heritage etc. This chaos can be positively geared and exploited, more so if one participates rather than spectates. I subscribe to this. At the present, my passion for many things is leading me from one opportunity to the next with great purpose and curiosity. In this process, surrounding myself with the right people and giving back to them is quintessential to building a constantly stimulating environment. Of course I feel lost and deflated at times, but being critical and asking the difficult question pulls me back into line. Case in point: I have hardly left my room this week after the latest weekend, not due to tiredness, but due to interrogating what’s important.

I left the office in a flurry. I dashed onto the Ginza line to head to Askakusa where the Sanja Matsuri Festival was taking place. I rose from the depths of the subway to find Nakmise Street and surrounding areas alive with festive spirit.  The Sanja Matsuri (three shrine festival) is held in honor of Hinokuma Hamanari, Hinokuma Takenari and Hajino Nakatomo, the three men who established and founded Senso-ji Temple. The festival is coursed over three days in the third weekend in May. Its prominent parades revolve around three mikoshi (three portable shrines referenced in the festival's name), as well as traditional music and dancing. We were here Saturday in which approximately 100 mikoshi from the 44 Asakusa districts are carried by the district members. Bojan and I trailed behind a mikoshi party taking pictures and just simply enjoying the moment. An Aussie guy married to a local was part of the carrying parade and he handed his jersey to Bojan and he jumped in. Then a kind local guy handed me a jersey and I jumped in as well. So we bobbed up and down, stepped side to side, chanted and helped carry this two ton mikoshi through the Asakusa backstreets. What a moment. What a privilege. At the end we were gifted with a bento and beer for our voluntary participation. Again it was just wonderful to participate, rather than spectate even if my agenda wasn’t totally parallel with the locals in a religious sense.

We called it a night and it was onto the next event. I rushed back to the university to grab pick up a few things and called my other great mate Cezar. We met each other on my first full day in Japan and the rest they say is history. He is one the most profoundly intelligent people I have ever met. It is always a pleasure to bounce ideas, thoughts and opinions at him because the response will be wise and underpinned by his acute philosophical pedigree…or completely hilarious in the driest of manner. It seems he will be leaving Japan within a month or so and I am not looking forward to his departure in any way. We live in the same dorm and therefore have shared countless hours of doing whatever: eating, drinking, talking, burping, laughing, gaming, debating, hypothesizing, reminiscing and so on and so forth. Consequently, a deep void will be left when he leaves but I am sure a lifelong bond will remain. Our paths will cross again.

Cezar was asleep when I called after he had a comparatively uninspiring experience at the festival earlier in the afternoon. We were both due to go to a friend’s house party out west, and I was doubtful of his participation based on his dreary state over the phone and it already being 10pm. But like a true champ he hauled himself out of his afternoon slumber and agreed to meet me at Sasazuka Station.  We had agreed to stay only until the last train or at worst to take a taxi at a reasonable hour because I had a hiking trip planned the next morning and Cezar doesn’t cope too well with all-nighters, who does really? We strolled through the quaint and labyrinthine Sasazuka streets, enjoying the challenge of listening out for that ‘party’ sound. We eventually found it and made our way inside a well-appointed three storey modern Tokyo home. Julia, our Austrian friend, lives here with a couple of local guys and so the crowd was an even mix of locals and imports. The kitchen, dining and lounge areas were full and the atmosphere was warm, intimate and very social. These healthy characteristics meant that we would inevitably stick it out the whole night. For five or so hours I mingled, drank, snacked and chatted until I snoozed on the balcony until the sun rose. I was due at Shinjuku, with my hiking gear and ready to go at 6:30am. This was rough. Cezar and I left in the full light of day and made our way back home so I could gather myself and head off. Cezar thought I was going to die and rightly so. Nonetheless, like a true crazy person I dashed off and made it to the bus just in time feeling rather ok. I chatted to my seating buddy Bret an English teacher from California for about an hour and then I invested in a couple hours sleep on the bus until we got to our destination at the base of Mount Amagi.

This day trip was orgainsed by the Tokyo Gaijins group who offer a range of events for both foreigners and locals wanting to work in their English. This was my first time to join an event and I was quite impressed. It was very well organised, attracted a good mix of people and the cost was reasonable. Mt. Amagi is a dormant volcano on the Izu peninsula further south of Hakodate in the Shizuoka Prefecture. . The day was overcast so views of Fuji were minimal, but at least it was cool and dry. The hills here are covered in Japanese maple and beech, with rhododendron and heather combining in a variety of colours that are best seen at the end of May. My agenda for the trip was to meet some new people, try out some new gear and get the legs moving in preparation for my Karakoram Himalayan adventure in July/August. These “blind” activities are definitely something I have been more inclined to participate in as being a foreigner; however I plan to echo this attitude when I return home. It really is a great way to meet people and break your routine. After today’s effort I definitely need to strengthen my conditioning but I am confident I will be ready to hit the high mountains in a couple months’ time. At the end of the day after walking and talking for 6 hours we were all completely spent and most slept on the bus back to Shinjuku. I said my farewells, rode the Yamonote line to Otuska and finally made it back to my bed at 10 and crashed. Quite the 48 hours.

As I said in the beginning, the success and of this abroad experience so far to me has been dependent on finding a sense of place. Life for many revolves around three particular qauntitave environments / geographies of work, home and the re-occurrence in between. What binds these environments is the qualitative sense of friendship and one’s own pursuit. When you begin a new life somewhere, whether it is in another country or the next suburb, you have to seek out and nurture these qauntitave and qualitative factors in order to maintain a sustained sense of place and purpose. I feel I have achieved this to a certain extent and it is going to be hard to let it go.

 

 

Kyoto Hanami . Day 3

After a civil evening the night before that concluded in the early hours of the morning, I awoke to journey to Shugaku-in Imperial Villa located in the Eastern Suburbs of Kyoto. I had my 9am tour booked and permission papers in hand, but a rare blunder connecting trains put me well behind schedule. So much so that by the time I had stepped off the local two carriage diesel locomotive close to the villa, I conceded to joining the 10 am tour which wasn’t a problem. Phew. (I can just hear mum now “you never leave yourself enough time…”)

The Shugaku-in is a series of detached outbuildings of mainly teahouses, unlike Katsura, it is not focused around a large villa structure. Conversely, the 133 acre grounds are divided into separate gardens:  Lower Garden, Middle Garden and Upper Garden. These gardens are individually isolated by agricultural land incorporated into the overall property. The pathways between the gardens slice through the agricultural land where workers still to this day plough away to grow rice and various vegetables. The evident self-sufficiency of Shugaku-in spoke the bygone attitude and self-supporting lifestyle of all Japanese life up until the late 18^th century.

 The journey over the whole site is long and vast, coincided by the distant views over East Kyoto and beyond.  I was surprised by the large group of visitors, and I pondered their motive for visiting. Some where city slickers with $10,000 Leica rangefinders and others were adorable elderly folk aghast by the gardens beauty. I was as stimulated observing people’s interest as I was by the Villa itself.

The Villa was built by Emperor Go-Mizunoo, beginning in 1655, for his later years of retirement (he retired in the Sento Imperial Palace before relocating here); he wandered with gentle purpose through and amid his gardens, gazing, painting, reading, writing, eating and sleeping day in and day out. A lifestyle in which unfortunately seems so distant to many.

After the leisurely tour was over, I made my way back to the station on via the banks of the canal that winds itself through the quiet neighborhood. The densely packed houses were decorated with various evidence of domestic life. As I walked past a hoarders shop, I stopped to inspect a few things a little closer and the stocky woman came out to rearrange her collection. She greeted with me a big smile and a “Ohayou gozaimasu” (good morning) full of gusto. It was an enthusiastic acknowledgement of my existence and a portrayal of the warm soul she embodies.

I walked further along the canal turning left onto the main road and was drawn into a decrepit arcade in which I didn’t notice earlier. I was arrested by a trash and treasure shop (my favourite kind) in which had a box of old LP’s sitting out the front. Oh boy. Long story short I walked out with 3 kilos of records ranging from classic musical numbers to live shamisen recordings. I was a happy man, as was the shop keeper. Before boarding on the train I grabbed some bread from the bakery and sat down to have a coffee and accompanying sweet at an iconic Japanese coffee house; elderly owners, low timber joinery showing years of wear, a potent existence of cigarette smoke and an almost tangible sense of reflective thought weeping from the scattered customers with their heads down in loneliness. I made a concerted effort to influence my state of glee upon the kind lady owner who responded with a refreshing smile and enthusiastic “arigatou gozaimasu” as I appreciated the deliciousness of their creations.

My next point of call was the Sento Imperial Palace which is located within the grounds of the Kyoto Imperial Palace

I was enjoying my baguette while crossing a bridge on the way to the Villa, my head was down and then out of nowhere an enormous Falcon swooped down, blinding my field of vision with its wing span and attempted to steal my lunch. I slurred out a few choice four letter words and the locals around screamed in fear, ducked and ran. I was lucky to keep my thumb because those feet of theirs are capable of killing smaller birds as I witnessed at a Falconry exhibition. So after counting my blessings, I subsequently lamented the fact that I couldn’t finish my roll which was now decorating the footpath awaiting the falcon’s victorious swoop. Well played good sir. Nonetheless, after strolling through the Imperial palace bushes and murdering a chocolate pastry as quick as possible, I comfortably made my 1pm appointment.

Sento Imperial Palace is a 22 acre garden which was formally the grounds for retired emperors (Daijo, Go-Mizunoo). Through the main gate exists an expansive forecourt to the main entrance of the triple gabled carriage house. At this point you are still outside the main compound and you then stroll to the right through a small bamboo grove and through an opening in an impossibly thick white lime rendered wall. You are met with the charming Yushin-tei thatched roof teahouse and the gardens primary feature of two large connecting ponds. The pond’s allure is delivered by its picturesque islands and assortment of bridges, most notably, a stone bridge with wisteria trellis (built 1895). At the southern end of the pond is Seika-tei: an understated shingle-roofed teahouse rendered in a vermillion colored clay. The Approach to Seika-tei is via the expansive “ocean shore” of rounded stones given to the Emperor as a gift. It was said the generosity of the benefactor was reciprocated with a sack of rice for each stone.

The guided tour concluded with the charismatic leader ending with a song, exhibiting his rather honey laden set of pipes. By this time I was quite “Imperial templed” out so to speak.

Dejan had decided he had enough and headed back to Tokyo that morning, so it was just Bojan and I to hang out for the evening. We decided to head back to Maruyama park to engage in some hanami season eating and drinking activities. After a romantic stroll stuffing our faces with various meats from the food stalls and kicking back in the alfresco dining area, we decided we would capitalise on Bojan’s established presence at the Gael Irish pub. It was a joyfully eventful evening involving (in order) good conversation, pretzels, beer, Pastis’, Irish purebreds, tackling, broken teeth, taxis, confusion, walking, witnessing, more beers, and a long stroll home.

I was looking forward to seeing my little sister the next morning.

Sapporo Snow Festival...and debauchery

While on the bus ride into Sapporo, I witnessed for the first time a proper winter. Layers of thick white snow covered everything. As many visitors to Australia endure heavy rains and piercingly dry heat, things we natives just deal with, the Sapporians live with powdery snow for as much as five months of the year. When it first snowed in Tokyo I genuinely was not sure how to combat it; what clothes? ride or train it? Until I asked my Scandinavian buddy C, whom just lives through it bicycle, normal shoes and all. 

After changing from the bus to the metro, we stepped out onto the street for the first time and where all surprised at the extremity of the snow and ice on the local roads and pathways. Locals where dressed accordingly with layers of duck down, snow boots, beanies, and thick gloves. The small children looked like puffed up ottomans that any moment would suffocate within a fluff and nylon abyss. We searched for our backpackers Ino’s Place. As we took our first few breaths of the open air we broadcast our appreciation for the crisp and clear air Alas, we found the humble looking Ino’s place and ventured inside with our bulky luggage. A kind lady welcomed us, whom I can only assume was Ino herself, I hello to a fellow Aussie on the road named Dale and then we made our way upstairs to the 10 share room. I was thoroughly impressed by the Ino’s fit out. Everything was well made, clean, and generously sized. The downstairs sitting and living area was well appointed with all sorts of pamphlets, cd’s, movies, books, things for sale, meals tables, couches and computers. What struck me the most was the elaborate array of acrobatic party trick paraphernalia for sale. Juggling pins, balls, spirally things, twisted do-ops, bits and bobs, blunt machetes and other stuff. I couldn’t quite work it all out to be honest. 

We chilled out for a bit, had a shower, and headed out for what we planned to be our one and only big night considering it was Saturday. After exiting the Tozai subway from Odori station, darkness had already begun to fall and the Sapporo snow festival in Odori Park was buzzing with life. The Sapporo Festival runs from Feb 6 to Feb 12, and this year was its 63^rd installment. Thousands, including ourselves braved the -7 degree temperatures to see what all the fuss is about. The sculptures ranged from big to enormous and from architectural icons to anime characters. The highlights for me were the Taj Mahal ice sculpture and the Brazilian meat stall…not an ice sculpture but a warm hearty meal. After we had seen enough, we headed towards the Suskino ice carving area. We stopped at an alfresco ice bar, drank hot wine, got cold again from not moving and quickly moved on. The ice carvings where skillfully created although the final one with frozen fish included seemed rather odd. I took photos nonetheless.  After wandering around outside for quite some time our next plan was to participate in the favorite past-time of Sapporians, drinking beer. We were not sure where to go but we stumbled across a bar on the corner of Lilac Street. As we approached, the door opened immediately and rather arrestingly, a middle aged Australian guy abandoned his conversation with others and invited us in, sat us down, quickly fixed us up with drinks and proceeded to talk to his odd looking mates. I was baffled, it came across as though he had no authoritative association with the bar but was broadcasting his identity as ‘I am a tragic alcoholic and foreign regular here, please come in fellow foreigners.’ He then barged over and assumed correctly that we were after a destination for a good night out later on. He handed us a map with basically all the places that Lonely Planet has recognised. At this point I didn’t want to take any ‘nightlife’ advice from this fella but there was no alternative. A lonesome New Caledonian named Aoyan then came over and introduced himself and we talked crap for a while about Japan and snowboarding. He was a really nice dude. The vibe was great and beers kept flowing, suddenly a random plate of nachos arrived along with a Brazilian guy. I didn’t catch his name as I was concentrating on other things. The conversation was loud and coarse; its subject quickly turned towards the plan for the evening. The Brazilian guy had been here a few years and offered to take us somewhere…

As we finished up, we hit the white streets primed to continue the partying. We were led to a place alarmingly named ‘Booty’. I feared the worst. However as it turned out Booty is great place with a comfortable and somewhat refined lounge upstairs and intimate dance area downstairs. We all had a fun and debaucherous night drinking tequila and beer, dancing and yelling. At one point a guy passed out and locked himself in the unisex cubicle so I clambered over and awoke him to let myself and the line of busting party goers liberate themselves. A large group of cheerful American’s became great company as the night warred on into the wee hours. When we had laid down our last moves on the d-floor a tick past 5am, we stumbled out to grab some cheeky gyouza near by and then grabbed a cab back to Ino’s place.