I'm Krazy for Kimonos!

On Saturday, June 2nd, Matt and I (along with our friend Jason) were invited to the Ogino family's house to dabble in the art of okonomiyaki-making and to get the chance to wear traditional Japanese dress. Spending the entire day with the Ogino's was a wonderful experience for us, one that words alone cannot illustrate. Thus, here are some pictures from our Saturday extravaganza!

This is our somewhat botched attempt at making our own okonomiyaki. While it looks like a sloppy mess, this is one of the most delicious (and easy) dishes we've tasted in Japan. The Ogino's are also farmers and the vegetables on the right-hand side of this picture come from their greenhouses. They were, to say the least, out of this world!

Matt and his okonomiyaki creation (before he completed devoured it). Itadakimasu!

After our amazing (and overly-filling) lunch, it was time to put on the kimono! What an intricate process. Ogino-san took me into a tiny front room where I had to first put up my hair. Then, she handed me a small smock to put on. This tied twice around my torso and came to about my waist. The sleeves were pink silk and long, like a crane's wings. Then came the beautiful, royal blue, silk kimono. Dropping down into piles at the bottoms of my feet, the kimono seemed a gigantic mass of fabric; however, as Ogino-san began to wrap the soft fabric around my body, the excess silk slowly rose to the tops of my feet. Then, wrapping yet another piece of pink cloth around the kimono (to hold the fold in place), she brought out the obi (the large silk cloth that goes around the front of the kimono) and started to wrap that around me. Needless to say, after about 15 or 20 minutes of being wrapped in various fabrics and ties, I felt slightly mummified. But looking in the mirror, I also felt something else: I felt myself being transformed into an older, regal Japan. It is an experience that I am sure I will never again have in my life (at least not in the same way).

Matt, too, was dressed in a man's yukata and soon, after he and Jason were decked out in their summer wear, we proceeded into the small tatami room on the other side of the house, to participate in the traditional Japanese art of tea ceremony.

Not only were we served wonderful maccha (special powdered green tea specific to tea ceremony) and sugary sweets, but Ogino-san attempted to teach all three of us the ritual involved in tea ceremony. While we all struggled with little parts of the ceremony, it was truly special to be a part of such an old and traditional Japanese cultural practice.

It was a beautiful, late-spring day, and we asked the Ogino's if we could take some pictures outside in their yard. After snapping a few shots, Ogino-san informed us that there was a short-cut to a small shrine behind their house. So, walking slowly, quietly, and carefully, we made our way to the shrine.

The shrine was a beautiful backdrop for our Japanese garments.

In the sunlight, my kimono and the guys' yukatas gleamed.

Matt and me
Finally, our "fairy tale" was at an end. As we slowly walked back toward the house, I knew I would remember this day and this experience for the rest of my life. And just looking back at these pictures now I know this will be true.

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.

Mountains, Music, and March, Oh My!

The past few months, from the middle of January to the beginning of March, were slightly uneventful for me and Matt. After hosting the Matysiks and our friend Sean and having to go through the heartache of them leaving us behind in Japan, homesickness and frustration at our schools and situation pummeled us in the face. I, especially, felt sad and lonely and extremely isolated, and this, along with being exhausted from traveling for so many weeks on end, caused me to come home from school every day, lounge on our tiny, ridiculous blue couch and just sit. Matt, on the other hand, began to write music again and after a few weeks of feeling homesick and dismayed, I gradually got out of my funk and started to feel like doing things again.

This change really occurred when our friends, Beth and Thomas, spontaneously invited us to go mountain climbing with them one Saturday. It was a long-weekend (though I had to attend the Yamanashi Prefectural Speech Contests on that Sunday) and so we decided that it was time to get out of the house, to stop watching LOST on our computer, and to actually breathe some fresh air. So, we got up early on Saturday morning, packed our backpacks for the colder weather, made a brief stop at the 7-11 for “power” snacks and water, and then drove to get Beth and Thomas. We were on our way by 9am.

After a few glitches—we couldn’t find the right mountain and ended up in some really bizarre locale on another peak—we made it to the parking lot, where we debarked from the tiny K-car and began our ascent. Boy, mountain climbing for me just doesn’t get easier—physically, that is. I did feel more positive this time and tried not to think about the difficulties each step made for my aching legs. We took short breaks here and there, admiring scenery (though it was a cloudy, dreary day) or having a quick snack of chocolate or peanuts, and eventually hit the point where snow and ice were abundant. Trying to walk up a steep switchback while not a) slipping on the ice, b) falling through an unexpected sinkhole, or c) getting your shoes completely soaked from all the snow was a great (and at times unwelcome) challenge. Since we were constantly moving, I didn’t feel too cold, though I could see my breath and reached for my gloves to add some warmth to my reddening fingers. But overall, it was just the constant movement, the never-ending climbing, that wore me out and made me hope and pray that there would be another, easier way, to get down this god-forsaken mountain.

Reaching the gate to the temple, I felt so relieved! In 200 meters more lay the promise of a warm meal (we had had nothing to eat besides snacks the whole way up), warm shelter, and beautiful temple structures. Well, there were certainly beautiful buildings at the top of the mountain, but no food or warming huts to be found. So, feeling slightly dismayed and just having stepped into an enormous (hidden) puddle of freezing cold water, I was not feeling prepared for the information we would soon find out—we had to go down the mountain the same way we came up! Thinking about all the icy switchbacks and constant pounding of my feet on the cold ground made my stomach drop to my knees. We were all cold, hungry, thirsty and tired and none of us wanted to endure another two hours climb down the 2000 meter tall mountain. But, what could we do? So, mustering up our strength and bundling up for the cold again, we began our descent.

Climbing up a mountain is by no means an easy feat, but it is the descent that breaks your spirit and requires the most physical strength you have. Bracing yourself, locking your knees and trying to manoveour around patches of sheer, slippery ice is no easy task and with each step I felt my knees aching and the arches of my feet becoming more and more painfully tense. I slipped numerous times, once skinning my shin with a nice “ice” burn, and I also stepped on a jagged rock that shot lighting bolts of pain up my calf and into my knee. At one point, my legs, having worked so hard all day, began to shake uncontrollably—had I not been so tired and cranky I may have found the whole experience mildly amusing. But I was tired and cranky and the last thing I wanted were shaky legs attempting to hold me upright as I descended. I felt like crying and, at one point, a few tears were shed when Matt and I were out of reach from Beth and Thomas.

Eventually, Thomas and Matt went on head of us, and Beth and I made the rest of the trip down together. We passed a small shrine, indicating that we were close to our starting point, but, what did we find there? Small stone steps leading down to the cedar forest. After bracing yourself and putting all the pressure on your knees while going down steep paths, the last thing your body (and mind) feels like doing is walking down a bunch of steps. Taking this opportunity to let our frustrations shine through, we deemed these stairs (unlike the steps to Nirvana at Kuonji Temple) the Stairway to Hell—and believe me, it was hell to get down them. But, after the stairs gave way to a more even pathway, we knew we were almost done—our mountain climbing was nearing a joyous end! Just before passing through the torii symbolizing our accomplishment in climbing that day, we passed a family who were praying at a small shrine. Their voices chanting prayers to some unknown deity was really the perfect ending to our adventurous day. I no longer felt angry at the mountain and all her obstacles; rather, I felt a sense of serenity and calm pass through my body and so, when we met up with Thomas and Matt at the bottom, I was able to look upon this day with a sense of great accomplishment and excitement. And, while I was most certainly sore and bruised for days after, it was that chanting that kept things in perspective and gave me the ability to move beyond my “funk” and to start enjoying Japan once again.

A week after our mountain excursion, Matt played his first solo gig at a benefit concert in Kofu. Our friend Courtney put on this benefit for her mother, whose house burned down and whose pets were killed in the blaze. The benefit, called “Yennies for Kenney’s,” was to raise money to help her mother start all over again. All the JETs and other foreigners in Yamanashi brought their spare change (and then some) as the entrance fee to the concert, and Phil, Matt, Jon Smith, and Kim all played covers and original music to help support this event.

When Jason Hill and I arrived, Phil was just about to start his 15-20 minute set. We dumped all our change into the huge bucket, found Matt and listened to Phil play. Then it was Matt’s turn. Getting out the video camera and asking Jason to take still pictures, we listened to his set, cheering him on the whole time! The sound quality in The Vault was far from superior and it also didn’t help that people were already drunk and talking as loudly as possible. But regardless, Matt did an astounding job—playing three covers and two originals. His set was as follows: “Two Headed Boy” by Neutral Milk Hotel, self-composed songs “Autumn Leaves” and “Western Man,” “Things Behind the Sun” by Nick Drake, and “Casimir Palaski Day” by Sufjan Stevens. I was so immensely proud of him for harnessing the confidence to play alone and to sing out—something I have been telling him to do for nearly five years now. And so, when we finished his set, I gave him a huge hug and told him how proud I really was.

The rest of the night went well. Jon Smith played jazz piano and Kim did his own, “unique” concert (all original compositions with highly questionable lyrics—but comical nonetheless). We enjoyed talking to some other people, catching up with other ALTs who we haven’t seen in some time,, and then called it a night, heading back to our apartment with Jason in tow.

And during this time, Matt and I had our last classes of this 2006-2007 school year. For me, it was both exciting and a little sad to be saying goodbye to these students (who I still see at school but will not teach again). Certain classes were amazing and had really great kids in them; others were more challenging and won’t really be missed all that much. But it was just boggling that the year was over and that, come next month, I would be seeing new faces in each class and trying to adapt to new levels of English and new class dynamics. So, on the last day of each class, I had the students pose for a picture with me—so I will always remember them and my experience teaching here.

The first two weeks of March were, in all honesty, extremely boring at school (without classes to teach or projects to work on). Many days I would just sit at my desk, wondering what to do with myself and my 8 hour day. Matt was in the same predicament too. We’d study Japanese, read the news online, email people, and other such mundane things, but after sitting for four hours doing such things, our minds were fried and our patience at the limit. There were many nights when we came home frustrated, irritable, and cranky and these were not some of our finest moments in Japan. But, with only two weeks remaining before my mom, dad and sister will visit us, and having a few holiday days off from school, things seem more manageable and we are much happier. We’ve also been watching many movies, the best we’ve seen recently being The Departed and The Devil and Daniel Johnston. And spring is also coming quickly: the plum blossoms have arrived and sakura should be here any day now. We have plans to visit Ogino-san’s (our Japanese friend) home next Sunday and I will hopefully be able to wear his wife’s kimono and take pictures with Matt and the sakura. So things are brightening up from January and hopefully, as the months march on, as we start a new school year, as the days become warmer, we will begin to feel more like ourselves—like we did in the fall—and will be able to enjoy Japan before we leave her for a long and undetermined time.

Let's Enjoy Sumo Together!

Saturday, January 8th found me, Matt and our friend Sean (who was visiting us for 9 days) at the entrance to the Sumo arena in Tokyo. We purchased cheap “day-of” tickets and were ecstatic to be a part of the day’s competition. The stadium, small and intimate—with the first floor littered with small “box seats” comprised of tatami mats, low tables, and burgundy pillows and the second tier with regular stadium seating—was not yet alive with the hundreds of spectators cheering on their favorite wrestlers. A large, wooden roof-like structure canopied the clay ring, where amateur wrestlers were currently having their bouts.

We decided to take a few pictures of these “big” guys and then find a good seat (since our tickets were unreserved seating in the top-most row of the arena). Before finding a seat, however, we asked one wrestler to pose for a picture. Matt thinks (and I would have to concur) that Sean and I look slightly terrified to be standing next to such an iconic Japanese figure (though the wrestler was, in all honesty, a very pleasant man). Finding a seat, and leaving our jackets there to hold our place, we ventured down to the souveneir shop to peruse the “sumo” trinkets. Each of us bought a deck of “sumo” cards and Sean got a few other things for his family members. Then, feeling the pangs of hunger slowly creeping into our stomachs, we got popcorn, soda and other refreshments and then climbed the steep steps back up to our tiny seats, where we awaited the grand festivities.

Watching the actual (televised) competition was amazing! Everything is so ritualistic (as is to be expected from a Japanese sport) and the crowds were so into the action. The ceremony preceding the competition (where all the sumos who will compete come out in their decorative skirts and do the opening ritual) was amazing—the colors and demeanors of the wrestlers were so astonishing and regal. The lower division went first and then it was time for the top division and the “big guns.” Kotooshu, a wrestler from Bulgaria, was most certainly a crowd favorite, as was the Mongolian Asasyoryu, who holds the title of the Yokozuma (the highest rank for a sumo wrestler). His opening ritual was beautiful and poetic, which may seem ironic for the fact that he weighs a whopping 148 kilograms (about 326 pounds).

Matt, Sean and I found ourselves cheering for certain players, tallying who defeated who, and trying to bet who would win each match. Though we were at the stadium for around 6-7 hours, the action captivated us and the time we spent watching sumo felt astronomically less than the reality. After the final bout, we watched the bow dance, performed by a lower sumo, snapped a few photos, and then joined the masses leaving the stadium.

We spent a good deal of time, waiting in line for the trains, but it was incredibly worth it! If anyone were to come to Japan during sumo season, I would highly recommend that they go and be a part of that magnificent sport and atmosphere. There are definitely times when I forget that I am in a foreign country—times when Japan just seems like any other place I have lived in—but on that Saturday, sitting in the sumo stadium, listening to the chants and yells from excited fans, I knew I was not in Wisconsin any longer—and I was excited about that.

A Winter's Tale: The Matysiks Visit Japan, Part 7--The Last Day

Our last day with the Matysiks was spent all over the Tokyo area. We visited Kamakura, saw the Pacific Ocean, wandered around various shrines, ate lunch in Chinatown in Yokohama, and then walked around Tokyo some more before heading out to dinner and topping it all off at the Golden Gai area. Here are some pictures capturing what our last day together was like.

Me and Matt standing on the beach. We are on the other side of the world, looking across the vast sea at everyone we love!

In Kamakura, there is one of the largest Buddha statues in Japan--called the Daibutsu. It used to be encased in a shrine but, during a horrible storm and tidal wave, the shrine around the Daibutsu was washed away. And the Buddha has, since then, been exposed to the elements and has been poking its head out above the trees planted in the shrine's gardens.

As we headed back towards the train station, we wandered down a side street and stumbled upon a small shrine. We walked around the beautiful grounds, complete with statues (clothed for the cold winter nights) and bamboo forests.

Kamakura and the Pacific Ocean--what a gorgeous morning!

For lunch, we decided to head to Yokohama, where Japan's largest Chinatown is located. We walked around the neighborhood, got a delicious Chinese lunch, and pondered the racist depictions all around us.


After returning to Tokyo, we were exhausted, so we spent a little time at our hotel in Shinjuku. But, before long, the neon lights clicked on and we were out again, roaming the city's streets.


We ventured over to Harajuku, where we ate dinner at one of our favorite restaurants in Tokyo, Fujimama's. We had a wonderful (more Western) meal and enjoyed our last dinnertime conversation.


But, before Greg, Michelle and Allison left Japan, we needed to get them a crepe from one of the crepe shops lining the Harajuku streets. So, after a delicious snack, we headed back to the Golden Gai area, where we found another little bar to sit in and, after a few drinks and some conversation with the bartender, ventured back to our hotel and the Matysiks spent their last night in Tokyo.


And so concludes our winter's tale with the Matysiks. They left for American on January 5th, catching glimpses of Japan before they climbed into the skies and back across the Pacific Ocean to home. Matt and I cried at Narita airport after they left, knowing that it would be a while until we'd see them again. But, once the tears dried and we got some lunch, we were ready to begin our next adventure: hosting our friend, Sean, for 9 days. But that is another story for another time.