Faulhabers from Afar

Seasonal changes are important all over the world, but Japan is one country where the culture truly embraces the shifting seasons in many noticeable ways. As spring drew near, Julie and I happily anticipated a visit from the Faulhaber family. While they would only be here for a brief stay, they, of all our guests, were undoubtedly the most seasonally fortunate.

After a happy meeting (it had been months since we had last seen friends or family) at Narita airport, Julie and I led her family to the Keisei train that would take us into Tokyo. As Julie and I have learned, riding the train in to the city is a perfect opportunity to catch up with visitors, and this trip was no different. I had a chance to speak with Anne about our experiences here as well as learn about the goings-on back home.

Our arrival at Shinjuku station was well-timed for interesting sight-seeing. While the novelty of this electric-city has somewhat worn off for Julie and me, seeing the immense buildings covered in neon light, the shifting crowds of people, and listening to the cacophony of it all, it was hard to remain unimpressed. During our stay in Tokyo, the city was amazingly crowded, perhaps due to the proximity of that week to Golden Week--a national holiday in Japan. Whatever the reasons, walking down the streets in Tokyo was like making one's way through a restless crowd at a rock concert.
After checking into our hotel and settling down for a good night's rest, we were ready to begin our tour of Tokyo in the morning.

One of the best things to do on one's first morning in Tokyo is to check out the Tsukiji fish market near the Ginza section of the city. Tsukiji is an immense whole-sale seafood market in Tokyo--one of the (if not THE) largest whole-sale markets in all of Asia. It is best to arrive early in order to see the market in action, to observe men driving cartons of fresh fish, octopus, squid, shrimp, and a myriad of other watery-delectables on filthy, noisy gas-propelled carts, with one hand on a steering wheel the size of a 88 and the other hand busily managing a charred cigarette. Questionable food standards in one's own country can send people running to lawyers, while in a foreign land they becoming largely ignorable and even exotic. Maybe the well-placed tobacco ashes are just the spice the dish needed in the first place!

Inside Tsukiji market there are tight columns and rows that weave through the warehouse with floors covered in water, ice, fish scum and blood. Brightly colored octopus tentacles with purple-white suction cups float in blue barrels, next to Styrofoam containers of still-living fish, lobsters, crabs and shrimp. Frozen and thawing Giant Tuna, each the size of a cocker-spaniel, lay on wooden tables waiting to be treated for sale. In metal canisters, eel lay piled in bloody water and fishermen in black smocks decapitated wriggling fish and gutted them with swift, skilled flicks of their knives. The immense size of the market is stunning and awesome. Japan consumes a massive proportion of Asia (and the world's) fish population and after a visit to Tsukiji, it's not difficult to believe. Nevertheless, we opted to embrace our minuscule, yet meaningful, role in this gigantic market machine and try some of Tsukji's world-famous sushi for ourselves.

Personally, I tend to roll my eyes whenever someone likens the act of eating to art. Food is a necessity, and it's inaccurate (to say the least) to view it as an aesthetic experience. How can one retain the necessary "disinterested-ness" with which we must approach art while merely satiating a daily physiological ache? At any rate, the closest my culinary experience has ever come to artwork is undoubtedly the ingestion of Japan's delicious sushi.

As I have discovered upon my visits to good sushi restaurants, a great sushi chef does not simply have the best materials at hand, but rather understands the exact composition of what he is setting in front of the customer. He (I've regrettably never seen a female sushi chef) knows how to perfectly balance and harmonize the essential ingredients in a piece of sushi. The tuna must be cut just right--sized up and flavored with wasabi--but not too much! When you've had good sushi, really good sushi, you know it immediately. All the disparate elements--rice, fish, wasabi, soy sauce--do not compete for the attention of your taste-buds, but rather enhance the overall experience.

After making good memories in Tsukiji, the five of us headed towards Kabuki-za theater. Unfortunately, the theater was closed, so we made our way to the old-world Tokyo markets of Asakusa.

Asakusa was once the entertainment district of Meiji-era Tokyo, a role that Shinjuku has since accepted, but only in Asakusa can one imagine what the city must have been like at the turn of the last century. We arrived and posed for pictures under the giant red lantern declaring "Ichiban Mon" (literally, Number One Gate) and made our way down the famous Nakamise-dori shopping street. Stopping at shops along the way, we eventually came to Sensoji-temple, a temple complex with a large pagoda, massive roof, and lots of character.

Seeing as it was springtime in Tokyo, we thought it necessary to visit Ueno park to view the world-famous cherry blossoms that line the paths there. After arriving by subway, we walked into the park to observe the festive cultural appreciation for nature (albeit a contained, closely controlled and monitored nature) that the Japanese are famous for. Beneath each side of the main path, lined with gorgeous cherry trees in splendid full bloom, hundreds of people sat on blue tarps, laughing, drinking and socializing. The Japanese are proud of their cherry blossoms and rightfully so. Until coming to Japan, I had never seen such a beautiful and common phenomenon like the cycle of cherry-trees that meets those qualifications and compares with their splendor.


One of the spots we thought it very important to show the Faulhabers was the Great Buddha at Kamakura. Kamakura was briefly a capital of Japan during the 14th century and thus has many temples and shrines and spots of interest, but the most interesting of these is by far the Great Buddha statue. Seeing the Buddha statue first-hand gives credence to the claim that one must observe an artwork with one's own eyes to really approach the essence of a piece of art. I had seen many reproductions of the Buddha in my time (and have even reproduced them here), but to be near it, to share space with it, to have the freedom to choose my own angels from which to stand and trace it, unrestricted, with my own eyes--this was the experience that convinced me of it's importance to human history and art.

The Buddha was originally built with a surrounding temple structure, but a tsunami washed it all away, leaving the Buddha to fend for itself and endure the fickle climate of eastern Japan. Had the temple remained, from all those centuries ago, we would not have had the opportunity to appreciate this statue surrounded by beautiful cherry blossoms in the year 2007. As it was, all of us were impressed--even Julie and me, on our second visit. The balance of the features on the Buddha's face, the perfectly serene expression, the humility of his posture and the rolls of fat betraying a bent-back and curved belly, the optimism of the statue, the idealism contained in the thought--and represented by the structure--that man can attain true happiness through selflessness and cooperation; all of this was contagious, and like all good artwork, something had been communicated: the art-appreciator comes to know the artist despite the centuries of daily hardship, suffering, and war that separate them.

One of the last excursions we made before the Faulhaber's had to return to the States was our day trip to Matsumoto castle.


During the late sixteenth century, Japan was still an island composed of warring states: various territories governed by warlords that battled each other for resources and control. It was amidst this historical background that the construction of Matsumoto castle began in 1592. While all of Japan's unique and beautiful castles date from this period, all but three are reconstructions of the originals that were either destroyed in battle, by accidental fire, or by intentional fire-bombing by the Allies during World War II. The dark and brooding Matsumoto castle is one of the originals remaining in Japan, and, seated majestically but ominously above a large moat, we are very lucky that it survived the ravages of time. One day, perhpas even great Metropolises like Tokyo, London and New York will lay in ruins, as their metal and lumber are scrapped for new cities and new empires. Perhaps we, too, amidst the desert of our own wasteland, will be worthy of Ozymandias' call from Shelly's ironic poem: "Look on my works, Ye Mighty, and Despair!"

Possibly in order to calm these heavy thoughts, we dined on Matsumoto's famous soba noodles in a favorite restaurant near the station. Of all the many meals I will miss in Japan, soba ranks near the top. The Faulhabers had requested that we feed them well and I can't help but believe that we more than obliged them--although it wasn't too hard, when one considers the fantastic food that exists, just waiting to be stumbled upon, in nearly every corner of Japan.

The next day, after a long, but enjoyable, bus ride to Narita airport, during which Carly taught me the secrets of the Rubik's Cube, we said a tearful goodbye to the family that had treated us very well while visiting the country in which we have lived and acted as guides for so long now. With only a few months left, we will see all our friends and family again shortly, but we will not forget the wonderful time we had this spring, amidst the beauty and grace of Japan.