I’ve got two weeks to catch up on in less than two hours, but I’ll try.  I now see I’ll fail, so I’ll divide these long posts into sections. 

February 7: Customer visit in Kobe, preceded by purchasing a train ticket for the next day and trying to pay by credit card, which took at least ten minutes of the poor clerk having to call the authorisation office, consult with a colleague, and work out how to type in some mystic code. 

February 8: Customer visit in Kanagawa prefecture, after a bullet train ride to Tokyo, where I spotted a Rolls Royce Phantom in the parking garage.  Whoever thought that crossing a tin lunchbox with a turtle butt spelled luxury just because it was extra big, was wrong.  On the drive home from the customer we saw Mount Fuji silhouetted against the setting sun. 

The turtle butt’s a meter behind the little car. 

February 9: Saturday, so I took the subway to Tokyo Midtown to see if the two drains in one of the indoor pools still drained in the opposite direction.  They did, but that was hard to capture on film.  I spent a lot of time reading there, just because it’s a well-designed building that makes a person want to stay there.  It’s got natural lighting streaming down into its covered courts, sometimes with fountains or water streaming across glass panels.  It is easy to navigate and not too big, with all sections looking clearly different and yet part of a whole.  It offers plenty of space to sit, rest, and be with friends.  Walking through it, looking at it, I couldn’t help but think that this would be a great way to have an urban community (of course, Bertrand Goldberg beat me to that thought by a few decades), though I think it would be too expensive for most people living in apartments and those who could afford such living quarters would probably prefer the picket-fence at equivalent price.  But I find the idea of what would almost amount to a village community almost romantically appealing. 

Ground floor view.  Of course, this is all shopping space. 

View from the second floor. 

After hanging out at the Midtown, I headed to Asakusa for my ritual shopping stop, though this time I had only one item to buy: the maneki-neko, which here I finally found.  One shop sold nothing but different variations on maneki-neko, though most of them lacked aesthetic appeal or just plain looked cheap.  I was also tempted by a couple extra-obese miniature sumo statuettes, but resisted, mostly because I couldn’t think of a suitable recipient. 

The kaminari gate and the Nakamise shopping street. 

February 10: I went to church at Honda again.  This time, the service was translated, with Sally doing the honors and bravely struggling to simultaneously translate while the preacher went on without pause.  Of course, Dan Iverson was preaching, and I understand his Japanese better than that of any of the native Japanese speakers, so this might have been the Sunday when I least needed translation, but I was still glad for it.  Before the sermon, the Sunday school kids recited a few verses they’d learned by heart, along with hand motions. 

Sunday School memory verse recitation.   

We had a communal lunch, at which I was again told that my Japanese pronounciation is beautiful, which makes me try to change the topic, because I think all it is is my lack of American accent.  After lunch I joined the sumodon group of young adults, of whom I must be one of the oldest, for some singing, listening to Megan share how she came to believe in Jesus, and a bilingual game of mafia.  After the games we headed to a kaitenzushi place where I ate 9 plates of “sushi” (the egg tart counted as one) for only 945 yen.  One of the guys managed 20 plates… 

Pointing out the Mafia.

Deep in thought. 

The Mafia.

Cell phone surprise. 

Mount Fuji behind the power lines.  The mountain is about 130 kilometers distant. 

February 11: I headed down to Kanazawa in Kanagawa prefecture (not the Kanazawa where I studied Japanese) to meet up with Olivier Rumley, with whom I’d studied Japanese (in the other Kanazawa), and his family.  I’d met Björn for breakfast that day, so speaking French with Olivier meant four languages in two days.  There were moments when I felt it and couldn’t think of words in the right language.  Etsuko first made us a nabé lunch which we ate while Léon slept.  After lunch Etsuko herself took a nap and Olivier and I went for a walk around the neighborhood.  Behind their house the hill rises steeply and becomes forested.  A short walk through the woods took us to the shrine at the top and a view over residential Kanazawa on the one side and the curious composition of temple, port, and amusement park on the other. 

Residential Japan.

We walked down the hill, across a spur, and ended up on the Shomyo temple grounds.  A group of men were working on the renovation of the bridge, even though it was a national holiday.  I guess constitutions don’t count for Buddhists and businessmen.  We saw a few fathers playing ball with their sons on a nearby plot of land and the sunny weather and the day off did bring a number of people out, but not in droves.  The temple remained an oasis of quiet, albeit an unsightly one with all the construction. 

Detail of the Shomyo-ji temple.

Temple camouflage. 

Little mannikins of good fortune. 

Back home, everyone was awake, and after reading Léon one of his favorite stories we headed out for coffee and cake.  After the coffee, I tagged along with the Rumleys to the shopping center, where I was delighted to find Ginga Kogen beer, and the drugstore, where I bought a “dorainoozusupuree” for my next flight.  I’ll think of some reward for the first person to figure that one out, which reminds me that the photo challenge a while back remains unsolved.  Pikku sent in correct answers for almost all photos, as the only participant so far.  The book’s still waiting for you! 

Léon loves the story of the Ouchie that gets thrown around. 

Léon’s smile betrays his nearly boundless energy. 

No wonder the Japanese think he’s cute. 

I still stand in puzzlement before this bicycle. 

When I returned from the Rumleys, I went to a traditional Japanese restaurant for dinner, where I discovered two things: I like Yuzu sour, and fish guts pickled in salt taste just like what you’d expect. 

 

And again I rose early, to pack, even though flying west I should attempt the opposite, packing until late into the evening and rising as late as possible. Instead, after four and a half hours of sleep I rose at 4 am and packed with such efficiency I had time to mindlessly zap through early morning Japanese news and some odd channel that seemed to be explaining math. I checked out at 6am, noticing again on the way down that except for the push buttons all number eight indicators in the elevators had been flipped left to right before being mounted. I guess front and back looked and felt the same on all but the push buttons and whoever mounted the elevator thought the mirrored eight looked better.

With my train only leaving at 6:44 I had enough time to get breakfast somewhere, but the only places open at that time were McDonald’s and Matsuya, a rice bowl shop. Matsuya requires buying a ticket at a machine and looked a little too cramped for me and my suitcase (and a little too full with fashionable young girls) so I got myself a McGriddle (makkugoridoru) and registered quite some surprise at how tasty it was. It looks fake and probably is, but that can be said of a number of delightful things. The funny bit about eating at McDonalds at the crack of dawn was the amount of sleepers on the benches and the employees coming up and gradually waking them up because “customers were coming.” I don’t remember a lot of customers coming beyond myself.

I did feel like I’d betrayed some honor code of international travel by eating breakfast at burger chains for two consecutive days (I’d eaten at Wendy’s the day before, in part because it was right below the hotel and I got 10% off as a guest).

Still way too early, I walked over to the train station past the unlit Christmas decoration, looking anemic and weak in the shadowless twilight. On the platform I had enough time to take a few pictures of the ads I mentioned previously and the station itself.

I am a cupboard.

I am a fruitcase.

Form follows function.

I read on in “Travels with my Aunt” and found another less than flattering but funny quote concerning Switzerland: “Switzerland is only bearable covered with snow.” I wonder if Graham Greene had some sort of chip on his shoulder when it came to Switzerland, although Greene in the preface to “The Third Man” credits Orson Welles with the cuckoo clock line.

At the check-in I had to wait for a few minutes until they opened the counter, and although I’d stood in line where the TV screens had indicated economy check-in it switched once the employees arrived and set everyone moving across to the other check-in. I stayed, figuring that even if for some reason they wouldn’t accept my silver-actually-already-gold card they’d at least be lenient and check me in anyway because the line wasn’t long. They did accept my card, though, and it showed up in the system as a Senator, which allowed me to get a lounge invitation. I first headed to the United lounge, where the same lady that had shown me out in July now explained to me the benefits of this lounge and the ANA lounge further down the terminal wing. I’m sure she didn’t recognize me, but it did give me some satisfaction.

Boarding also went faster when I pointed out the magic letters SEN on my boarding pass and lead to extra smiles and expressions of gratitude, but not to an upgrade, even though the plane wasn’t entirely full. I didn’t mind much, though: I had a bulkhead seat, a free seat next to me, and was one of the first on the plane with plenty of space and time to pack away my carry-ons. After I’d settled in I suddenly remembered the advice about warning the flight attendants about my children’s menu, so I told the one closest to me, who, after I alleviated her concerns and confirmed that I did actually want one, broke into a big smile. In other words, the bait works – add “I’m the guy with the children’s menu” to your pick-up line collection. Chicks dig it. I’m not keen on applying our pink-shirted friend’s manual to flight attendants so I don’t know if takes you any farther than a smile (which, in my book, is worth a lot).
The captain came on with a rolling r like a 1950s diesel, informing us of our route and telling us we’d start eastward and then turn rrrright and head north toward Russia. That only works with a 270° angle, and I was interested in seeing that on the flight map, but they only showed the downward camera and then NHK news. I don’t understand why NHK news is mandatory. No other program – not even simple flight information – can be chosen during that show, and it’s not subtitled.

Once the entertainment system did come on, I took advantage of it and watched “You kill me” (meh), two Simpsons episodes, “No Reservations” (not too bad, hits some right notes, ends with a plot hole you could drive a truck through), “Ecoute le temps” (atmospheric but odd), and “The Unforgiven” (brutal, honest, and sparse).

It turned out that the guy on the same row as I was a Swiss photographer living and working in Japan, taking pictures mostly for newspaper reports but also working on a photo book on the Chinese internal migrants.  He still works with analog cameras and said he wouldn’t change unless some day someone makes him an offer he really wants but places the condition of digital photography on it.  His reasons for not switching are the haptic quality of film and photos along with the uncertainty about the longevity of digital media.  He showed me his compact but dense Leica which is still all manual – I love its look and feel but still prefer my bulkier and more automatic digital SLR.  It saves me time.  If you want to see his pictures you can log in as a guest on LookatOnline and enter “japan” or “china” as a search word.  Most of the photos in those categories are his (Andreas Seibert).

When we had landed and got ready to disembark another flight attendant noticed that my camera bag had an Anpanman address label on it, which made her smile.  It’s the second time in a few days that the label had that effect on a Japanese woman.  In other words, wear your Anpanman proudly.  Chicks dig it.

As usual, the plane arrived just at the hour so that I just missed the :04 train, so with a lot of time on my hands I called my Mom so she’d know I was in.  Then I bought mivella and fizzy water and a “Silserli” with “Bündnerfleisch.”  It was good to be home.  I stayed surprisingly awake for only having dozed briefly on the plane; it was not until Frick that I started dozing a bit, but by the time I arrived in Basel I was awake again.  When I got up onto the overpass I saw that even here Christmas decoration was already going up.  Maybe the only reason I’d thought it happened later was that I’d been away most of last November.

There you have it.  My possibly final blog for the year.  Let me therefore conclude with two profound predictions for 2008: we will see more black and eggshell-to-tan combinations and an increase in colored tights.  But that ain’t gonna change a thing.

Here are a few more photos.

Me in a Toyoko Inn mirror.

Tea plantations from the shinkansen window.

Tea plantations, again.

Fields and dormitories.

The only silk a man can safely wear – even in pink.  

Silky softness.

Yesterday, as usual, I was late in doing homework, but at least I had prepared my speech.  The assignment was to explain a photograph using phrases we had just learned (more specifically, noun-modifying verbal phrases).  In the textbook example we had a high school reunion picture explained.  Japanese grammar makes the sentences turn out like this: “Glasses is-wearing Mr. Nakamura-of-back is-standing man Mr. Tanaka is.” 

In absence of family photos on my work computer I used pictures from my visit to Kanazawa, which went like this:

The Kotoji lantern and the Kotoji lantern bridge in front of the Kasumigaike pond and the Uchihashitei tea house.

People come to take pictures…

…or to have theirs taken. 

Because the Kotoji lantern is so famous, it’s hard to get a picture of it without people on it. 

Sometimes you get the feeling that bridge is a catwalk! 

But you can also find quieter places.  These two are looking at the Kasumigaike pond…

…where a distant relative of the Loch Ness monster glides through the water.  Well, okay…

…it’s really a carp like this one.  The carp flock to you…

…but other animals run away. It isn’t only the fauna, though, that make the Kenrokuen beautiful…

…it’s also flora like this pine romantically growing over this stream. 

Whether from far away…

…or from close up…

…or reflected in the water, these pines are an aesthetic delight. 

The people in charge of the park take it very seriously, and it’s thanks to them that you won’t find weeds or grass where there ought not be any. 

No weeds.

No weeds.

Still no weeds.  (Of course, all the moss is intentional.) 

Water runs through almost every part of Kenrokuen, sometimes leisurely…

…sometimes rushing…

…sometimes rippling. 

Add to that the play of the wind in the trees and you’ve got all the makings for a peaceful park that heals the heart, don’t you think? 

I felt a bit like back in high school when I used color overheads to mask not having prepared well for a presentation on Martinique and Guadeloupe, and getting away with a positive review.  Unlike that time, though, I was talking about a place I love this time, so at least I had nice pictures and sincerity to make up for a lack of preparation. 

Two others presented, the Singaporean girl on her collie and the Vietnamese girl with the cute voice on a picture of her and five friends from university.  That presentation caused quite a stir because all her friends were young and attractive like her, so now half the guys are suddenly interested in going to Vietnam.  (In fairness, the Hawaiian had already been interested in going to Vietnam beforehand.)  The collie photo earned more excitement from the female half of the class, especially the Taiwanese girl with the big smile, who then showed me and the Cambodian girl photos of her dachshund wearing some red coat. 

For lunch the Hawaiian guy and I went to a Chinese restaurant that served some excellent niku-man.  He had to leave for work pretty soon, and I headed back to the school to do homework and chat with a guy from China who told of an Uyghur guy who was arrested in Uzbekistan by the Chinese police for having taken on Canadian citizenship while abroad. 

I had agreed with a friend, Mai, to meet for dinner, and called her after dozing and doing nearly all my homework.  Her work ended up going much later than anticipated, so I headed out to Shinjuku and hung out at Tower Records for a while, where I listened to CDs by the Link Quartet and Jabberloop (unfortunate choice of CD cover) and saw a crowd of people get excited over a live performance by ザ50回転ズ.  I quite enjoy their music but I have little patience for the goofy Japanese comedian antics.  The Link Quartet site seems to be lingering in limbo, but I found the Hammondbeat site that also runs a live365 radio with some funky hammond stuff. 

I headed out to Kichijoji, where we were to meet, and by that time it was closer to nine o’clock.  Mai had just boarded the train out from Tokyo, and I’d called my Hawaiian classmate in the meantime, because he lives in Kichijoji.  We went to a chain Izakaya and ordered the regular fare of cold tofu, shrimp sushi, gyoza, salad, and “steak.”  “Steak” means little grilled bits of meat, not one big grilled hunk.  The salad was an interesting combination of avocado, bacon, egg, and lettuce.  By the time we were done, it was after eleven, and Mai’s friend Miki was getting ready to leave the office.  Yes, Friday nights in Japan are something else. 

We checked the train schedule, and after discovering that I’d have to get on an 11:36 train and change four times to get home my classmate offered to put me up at his place.  I accepted, and so we went to the bar aptly named “alcoholics” for a drink to wait for Miki.  She hadn’t eaten, so we walked around looking for a place that was still open and finally found the Shirokiya, which is open until 5am.  At 2am I was fading badly; I think the only reason I can remember Miki’s account of having helped an NGO in Cambodia is because I spent so much effort to neither yawn nor nod off. 

My classmate’s apartment is barely bigger than my dorm room, and his having a futon under his bed sofa for guests in that small a room made me think I should look for a futon for my apartment when I’m back in Switzerland.  A double bed is nice, but not everyone appreciates sharing one.  And if he can stash a futon somewhere, then surely I can. 

It was almost like the sleepovers of yore.  Our conversation stumbled on, both of us lying down in the dark, until we both expired.  I had a few waking moments but only really regained consciousness around 10am.  We walked around the Inokashira park together and talked with a woman that belongs to a group of nature watchers who are concerned about the introduction of external wildlife in the park and the declining water quality.  Before we parted ways, we went to the Village/Vanguard homemade burger diner, where the Mississippi mud burger hit the spot. 

Back home, I ate the gold kiwi I’d bought (thanks to the good people at HortResearch) and took a nap.  At dinner, they showed the Asian Cup game Japan versus Australia.  Although the second half was entertaining, its highlights happened within a six-minute period: Aloisi scored a messy goal to put Australia up, Takahara scored a messy goal to equalize, and an Australian was sent off for hitting an opponent in the face.  At the end, Japan was closer to winning, but they couldn’t get the ball in. 

Oh, yes.  I wore the same T-shirt as before and got some more reactions.  A classmate asked if I liked Hello Kitty.  Not really, I said.  A girl stared at me in the Shinjuku station.  When Mai saw it, she laughed.  Miki said she was going to say it was cute, until she saw what it said and laughed.  The cashier at the Village/Vanguard laughed and said, “Kore wa omoshiroi desu ne” – “That’s funny, isn’t it.”  And an elderly guy on a bike going the other way gave me a dark look and said “Guddo rakku (good luck)” in a loud voice.  I wish I could’ve asked him for some elaboration, because I didn’t understand what he was getting at.  Any ideas?