If you’re still looking for a romantic getaway, try Kansai. 

Go to www.yoshikawakuni.co.jp and choose “Product,” then “Dust.”  Or just browse through the product range.  It’s delightful.  I had a trash can in the restaurant washroom ask me the profound question in the title of this post. 

Yesterday we visited a customer whose company sits between a rusty Ferris wheel (kanransha) and lake Biwa.  It mostly went well, but it also showed how sensitive AFM measurements can be: we could tell whenever a truck outside the building started up its motor. 

On the way back to Osaka I finished Achebe’s “Things Fall Apart.”  I found it very readable and an interesting look at how an African society worked before European colonisation.  I didn’t feel like Achebe called for approval of Igbo society, but he does a good job of showing the finely tuned checks and balances that sustained it, even if some of those shocked me, such as the custom of throwing away twins.  That this society should fall apart and with it many of its members seems more understandable, and it also helps explain, at least to me, why after the end of colonial rule African countries are having such a hard time reverting to anything resembling stability.  The point Brenda makes in the Snow post comment about a culture in which the concepts of sin, guilt, and redemption don’t compute is one that occupies a lot of Shusaku Endo’s writing and lies at the core of cross-cultural communication and missionary work.  How often do we rely on cultural pre-suppositions to explain the gospel, on imagery and a world of ideas that is so alien it elicits nothing but baffled, pitying smiles?  It makes one wonder what kind of conversions come of that preaching, especially when it is combined with subtle bribery, be it intentional or unintentional.  The story also shows how most people react to change with resistance, no matter what kind of change it may be. 

In the evening I met up with Joël, who works in the Nara area.  We went for dinner in an izakaya opposite the yakitori place he knew, but which was full.  The food wasn’t bad, but the different dishes varied greatly.  I ordered black beer, after asking if they had any.  The longer I sat there and the more beer I’d had, the more signs boldly announcing their black beer I discovered.  We spent a nice evening catching up: girlfriends, experiencing Japan, different approaches to Japan, food, beer, tax declarations, and recent trips. 

Today our customer visit took us out to Kobe.  I spotted a building with the sign “La Vie En Soft” which to me would suit a toilet paper packaging better than what I assume is a love hotel.  We left the highway at the Fusehata interchange, which is worth a brief look from above just for its ramen noodle complexity, and had lunch at the Kamomeya (“seagull house”) restaurant which sported the ponderous trash can.  The restaurant advertised “Beef & Lobster,” which turned out to be beef and prawns, but good beef and prawns.  The beef in particular surprised me in its tenderness. 

The visit was my shortest ever.  The customer declared himself busy, we did him a quick favor, and returned.  I suppose we made a good impression, although I wonder if the time couldn’t have been spent to better effect.  I used the extra time at the hotel to write reports and business e-mails. 

At about ten past six I left and walked to the next subway station, Nishi-Nakajima-minamigata.  It must be one of the longest station names I’ve come across in Japan.  My goal was Shinsaibashi, where I met up with Naomi and her two friends with whom she’s touring Japan for four weeks.  We headed to Naomi’s friend Lionel’s Dragonfly Café, where the girls had croque monsieur and I convinced Lionel to make me a tomme pané.  He’s originally from Geneva and knows where to source some really good European food.  The girls had to catch a night bus to Tokyo, so we left at a reasonable hour and stopped at a conbini to get some snacks for the road.  I bought a shirodaifuku, a mochi ball with smooth red bean paste filling, and when I discovered the tatsuta-age chicken at the checkout I had some of that and shared it around, since I’d praised it before as one of the tasty Japanese foods. 

I finished Orson Scott Card’s introduction to “Speaker of the Dead” on the subway ride home and look forward to the book, even though I feel slightly dishonest at having told Janet’s mother I didn’t really read science fiction much anymore and then going out and buying two science fiction books in the Orlando airport.  At any rate, I much prefer a Mormon science fiction author over a Mormon president, so in that sense Tuesday had its other advantages. 

So, while I review my life should be, it occurs to me that Lent is upon us.  I thought about giving up alcohol again, but decided against it.  I’ll try something harder: giving up internet videos.  We’ll see if I can give up something that requires a much less conscious decision for participation… 

 

Before I begin, follow this link to listen to Bela Fleck while you read.  It’ll do you good. 

I took it a little too easy this morning because my train didn’t leave from Tokyo until 10:26.  I took it too easy until it sunk in that that was 10:26 from Tokyo station and I was nowhere near there.  Within a bit over half an hour I washed my head, shaved, got dressed, divided my belongings into what would be sent in my suitcase to my next hotel in Tokyo and the bare necessities I needed for my four-night trip to Kansai (two changes of underwear, a second shirt, and my nécessaire), packed everything, filled out the forms to send the suitcase on its way, paid for the shipment and headed out the door.  In under ten minutes I had hotfooted to the Shinjuku station, where I caught the 9:53 Chuo express to Tokyo.  I arrived on the Shinkansen platform nearly 15 minutes before the train left, with enough time to buy grilled fish sushi and a coke for the ride, but I couldn’t wait to air out a bit. 

One can’t help but think about fashion in Tokyo.  In a city with trains this crowded every wagon has at least one fashionista and a few early adopters.  It makes a person think of how often those clothes need to be cycled in order to keep up.  I know that we “need” to spend to keep the economy going – at least that seems to be the idea behind the stimulus package thing – but if spending is a meaningless accelerated spiral through acquisition and expurgation of ephemeral goodies, do we really want to keep that economy going?  Surely stewardship can’t mean breathlessly using everything up?  My problem is I have a hard time imagining an alternative and how it might work.  It might be cynical to base our economy on greed, but the cynic will point out that at least sin is a reliable human constant. 

I got a window seat and got to see Mt. Fuji a couple times.  I have yet to tire of that mountain.  Unlike our alpine peaks, unpolished urchins clamoring for attention, Fujisan exudes an air of calm and unruffled majesty. 

My partners picked me up at Kyoto station, from where we drove south to Doshisha University.  It seems like all the temples are north of the station, and south is the industrial zone and, very soon, the boonies.  So we got lost for a few hundred meters, but soon found our way again and ended up in a 17°C laboratory checking out atoms on graphite.  They’re ambitious and want to look at other stuff on graphite, which will require some nifty sample preparation for it to work, but they should now be able to operate our system with confidence. 

On the drive back to Shin-Osaka station, a good base for my operations in this area, we stopped at the first convenience store to buy warm drinks.  Shortly after leaving the conbini we passed a gas station and I realized that the symbiotic relationship between gas stations and convenience stores characteristic of the US and most of Europe has not evolved in Japan.  In Switzerland it exists because only at gas stations and a few other locations may a store be open 24/7; in the US it exists, I suppose, because people fill up often; in Japan, my guess is that lots in interesting locations are too small to be home to both at once. 

We drove through the town of Hirakata, which meant driving through a maze of narrow roads, swerving to avoid pedestrians, bikes, and oncoming cars.  The Japanese don’t seem to do bypasses or fat four-lane roads through the town center.  I’m not even sure Hirakata has a town center, even though by Swiss standards it’s a pretty big town. 

I recognized one of the groups being played on the radio, the Southern All Stars.  They have apparently still not disbanded, making them one of the most enduring bands in Japan.  The lead singer’s voice and the rich accompaniment are as distinctive as ever.  Wikipedia shows that they’ve been together for 30 years, and Ray Charles covered them. 

For the first time I can remember, I saw a Smart car in Japan.  And for some reason, that reminded me of the movie that I could have watched on the flight to Tokyo, “Stephan.”  Up to you to psychoanalyze. 

 

The weather.com forecast had predicted a 100% chance of precipitation, but not the correct form thereof.  With my curtains closed, I didn’t realize that the flakes were still falling until I glanced outside during breakfast.  It explained why my room had felt colder than the night before and why I’d heard little squeals and shrieks outside when I woke at 5:30 am.  With snow on the ground, boys will be boys, and girls will be girls, whether they’re styled to the tips of their hair or not. 

Snow kept falling on my way to church.  I finally got into the story part of “Things Fall Apart,” but at times regretted bringing along that book and my Bible, because they obstructed access to my camera.  Fortunately, the snow is a patient subject.  Drivers had to practice patience, pedestrians caution.  A bamboo shoot cracked and fell onto the path in front of me, tiled surfaces became slippery, and cars sprayed mush. 

The sermon this morning was on 1. Corinthians 3:16-20, mostly on 18-20.  Yes, 1. Corinthians again…  This passage talks about becoming a fool in order to become wise.  I find myself conflicted over that.  On the one hand it should be obvious that a broken, corrupt culture can only be battled with a completely different mindset, but on the other hand, even a broken culture may act as a channel for true wisdom in some cases.  While some truly wise things will be regarded by the cultural majority as foolish, certainly some true wisdom will also meet approval.  My point is that we can’t dismiss out of hand everything the world does as ultimately foolish, nor does the church always have a corner on true wisdom.  But even if I’m right, I know that there are too many cases where I err on the side of fitting in where I should risk apparent foolishness.  Part of my problem is not always being able to discern true wisdom; part of it is a lack of courage. 

Big fat wet flakes fell during the sermon, which I struggled to understand.  I’ll know my Japanese is good when i can understand a sermon.  After church, two boys and Tim rushed outside to toss a couple snowballs and build a snowman.  People were worried about getting home, and one lady hesitated to leave the parking lot because her windshield wipers wouldn’t work.  Judith had access to a van with 4-wheel drive and winter tires, so the three of us made it safely to Dohtonbori, an okonomiyaki place.  People were beginning to shovel snow off their sidewalks, but it kept on falling. 

On my way home I tried to find different items, and atop that list a ceramic manekineko.  After a long search I found some that doubled as piggy banks and on top of that looked cheap, so I ended up buying none.  The same store, Tokyu Hands, also carried male wigs that would have made me look like the KAT-TUN boys, but alas, they were too expensive for that kind of a one-off gag.  The theme of chocolate wove itself through my whole shopping experience because Valentine’s day is coming up and this most Japanese of Japanese holidays involves heavy chocolate trafficking.  I almost gave in and bought a Wonka chocolate, until I realized it was made in Australia. 

So I went home, bought some combini food on the way, and the only thing keeping me from bed is this blog.  I still owe you pictures, now even more, but I’m having a hard time uploading. 

 

Yesterday (Friday) external work only began after lunch for me, so before that I mainly went through e-mail. I had gotten up at 4:20 and figured there was no point in trying to go back to sleep after sleeping in the plane and catching a good few hours in bed as well.  That idea took its toll later that day, when it was all I could do to stay awake for my skype call with Janet.  Taking a cue from being that tired, I plopped into bed before 10 – but got up before 3.  I turned on the TV and watched part of a movie called Possession.  Ho hum.  I went back to sleep and got up after nine, which meant I’d missed the free breakfast. 

So I took my time, got ready to leave, and took things to mail and things to read along, but first I faxed a few pages back to work for a whopping 2’500 yen.  I had to get envelopes at the stationery store – the post office sells none – but the post office provides glue to stick the envelopes shut, because they come with no adhesive.  That done, I ate a salad-and-butaman lunch at a convenience store, then moved to the Starbucks across the corner for a Matcha latte and a read – beginning Chinua Achebe’s “Things Fall Apart,” or rather, the introduction to it.  I sat outside, on the premise that sunlight or at least daylight was good for me, but soon I got so cold I needed to move. 

I took the train to Harajuku, once again, and this time I have some photos to prove it.  I’ll put them up later, along with some other photos from this trip.  In the end I found the Design Festa gallery, which this time showed art of the type I don’t really care for: titles like “synchronicity” and “moratorium,” mostly collages that look like someone tried to incorporate as many different materials as possible and be intentionally sloppy in the belief that proliferation of bitty bits and not cleaning up error artifacts can stand in for creativity and conscious control of the artwork.  Obfuscation does not indicate genius.  It doesn’t indicate misunderstood genius, either: it usually indicates immaturity, or at least gives me that impression. 

The sock shop was closed for “renewal,” slated to open on the 15th, so I left again without accomplishing any shopping, but got back to the hotel in time to catch a small nap before another skype call to Janet just before she left to pick up her parents at the Basel airport.  I did a lot better this time, but I’m still feeling the jet lag quite a bit. 

I wonder what movies they’ll show tonight.