Somen noodles put this small island on the map-sort of

Consider it blasphemy for the Japanese to have their soul crop, rice, step out of the lime light. For just a moment, rice's estranged second cousin, somen, needs a few praises to be sung.

In Shodoshima, a small island stranded without much awareness in the Seto Inland Sea, sandwiched between southern Hyogo and Shikoku, is not known for much. The majority of tourism comes from within Japan. and perhaps locals prefer it that way. With a panorama of ocean views and a sleepy, small town feel, Shodoshima may want to keep the subtle charms of the island to themselves.

Yet, a noodle known for a taste as simple as the island it comes from, has even foreigners wondering how these thin, surprisingly scrumptious starches are made. The answer is with complete care and an old fashioned know-how. When visiting a somen factory, the building itself is not a factory at all, but a small barn-like house that can give a start to finish tour in under an hour.

Ingredients are first mixed and processed into a pasta paste that are then elongated several times by different machines. Once as thin as shoestring, they are hung on huge racks and must be separated by hand.
Large wooden chopsticks are used to simply sift through the somen so that each strand of soon-to-be noodle wont stick to itself when set outside to dry. After about two hours of drying, the noodles are put on a machine where they are then cut into a shorter length where they can be packaged and sold.
Shodoshima may not have the waves of Miyazaki, the presence of big city Osaka, or Ise's pearls, but they do have noodles--and tasty ones at that.

On being foreign

In America, being foreign is status quo. Most, if not all, people hold their original roots overseas. In an idyllic, utopian sense, this is what America stands for—a free nation where people of any ethnicity can come and make a new home.

However, there are others who find home oppressive and foreignness liberating. They seek unknown lands and the urge to feel like an outsider trailblazing new paths. Their quest to become foreign themselves is nothing new. Because of the globalization of industries and ever-expanding educational systems, it has become easier than ever to live abroad. And with the current instability of the economy, especially in the US, it is a common alternative for adventurous Americans who would like to try a new lifestyle.

According to a recent Gallup poll, 700 million adults, or roughly 16% of the world’s population would like to permanently move to another country. Top destinations include Europe, America, Canada and Singapore. Yet, if all of us who can afford this international transition actually takes the leap, that leaves only the least desired destinations as a place where one can truly live as a foreigner. Thus, to get a strong sense of what it means to be foreign, you have to go to Africa, the Middle East, or parts of Asia where foreigners are few and far between.

Japan is a country where being foreign is a place marker for your role in society. In such a hugely populated, homogenous culture with a set of societal standards and rules that are staunchly obeyed by the Japanese people, foreigners maintain jobs and social status of a foreign class. Most expatriates living in Japan are working in English education, translation, or for a foreign corporation. It is more than difficult to assimilate as a foreigner when one will never be fully accepted as part of the native class; however, perhaps the challenge is what makes this lifestyle worth living.

In terms of language, Japanese is one of the harder languages to master if your linguistic base is in English or another Germanic/Latin based language. With characters rather than letters and a grammatical structure almost polar opposite from English, it takes nearly a decade to have fluent conversational skills and literacy. That fact alone separates the leavers from the lifers.

Communication is essential for those looking to be successful in a career or just handle daily life like choosing which brands to buy at the grocery store. If you’re without basic communication for an extended period of time, you start to feel stunted and your scope of understanding the culture is as obsolete as your ability to make a dinner reservation. Icons and butchered English can become commonplace for your communication standard, but after a while, one wishes for more.

However, there are some freeing aspects of a far removal from a functional member of society. Similar to a baby and their fresh view of the world, expatriates see everything about this country as an adventure and a challenge to overcome. Those who seek such a lifestyle often feel invigorated with daily minutia that was once boring. Life is exciting and with constant change brings new eyes for old and a sense of accomplishment at even the simplest of tasks.

By social standards, Japan is a law-biding country where people think of the greater good of the group rather than individual success. Citizens are conditioned to believe that their contribution to society must be equal and on par with everyone else’s. Any American-bred expat would consider this an assault on personal freedom; therefore, a balance must be made by foreigners attempting to respect and ultimately assimilate to a Japanese way of life while maintaining a personal identity that may have only been useful in a past life.

Again, on the other side, expatriates may enjoy this anomie and loss of self-identity. In Freud’s theory of melancholia, he explains that people often seek difficulty to harness a pain in which they feel is pleasurable. Similar to exile, expatriates want to live a life they are forced into. Yet, the reality of their situation is that it is by choice, and in today’s ever-growing globalized world, it is a popular choice at that.

full circle

Fishermen cast out their reels with red sensors attached to the end of the twine. Ahead and below is a bottomless night ocean. The red sensors beam with a stream of determination only to land like a floating buoy above water. Ahead a purple light streams from the illuminated monstrosity of the suspension bridge. It's true grandeur is diminished with the absence of daylight, but the little pegs of colored light outlining the bridge still can remind me of how small I and the fellow night fishermen are in comparison. The light from the bridge dusts the dark sea with a fuzzy blanket of color. Behind it, the island hillside is lit up with little specks of soft, yellow light like a Christmas tree. Passing ships chug along with little will, but simple goal in reaching the nearby port.

Standing here, at the edge of this dock, I once felt I had reached the end of the world. Nothing was around and everything was out of place. Again, standing in the same place, I've come full circle, but this time everything can be placed. The name of the island across the bay, the fishermen eager for their meager seafood dinner, the jogging path I chose from the first day I arrived.

Bait plinks into the ocean water with poise. Swift swishes of the thin twine whirr by my ear near enough to nip me. What is this melancholy now? Something usual, prescribed by Freud or perhaps all expatriates who feast on a sordid lot of unfamiliarity? I still feel like a stranger, but in the dark, I don't stand out as much.

It could be the transition of things--yet again. A general questioning of life and where it leads. But, instead of asking myself in a crossroad moment of confusion, "Where am I?", I'm better off asking myself, "Where haven't I been?"

So I stand alone, as solitary a soul as when I was first born, comfortable in the brazen darkness that could shroud the little lights along the bridge. Yet, instead the darkness makes them seem brighter, and each one uniquely part of the beautiful string they've created along the bridge. I've explored this coast, only to arrive where I began, and know the place anew. Still, it feels as if it's a secret--me and this ocean's edge. Fishing rods whip again like a sharp chill, but with a soft finish on an ocean mass that looks like jello mold. No one can find me here-- among these night fishermen.

kujira

The first taste of whale. An oily meat. Darker than expected and with little flavor other than a slight tang and chewy texture.

The southernmost prefecture of Shikoku, Kochi, is a hot spot for whale culture. In saying, "whale culture," it is a bit ambiguous, because it is an amalgam of cuisine and cuteness. There are whale icons everywhere and many boat tours take tourists out for whale watching excursions. However, whale is also featured on almost every menu in the city. Is this a sad game of sadistic irony Japan is playing on these massive mammals of the ocean deep? Or is it such a strong bond that every essence of the whale needs to be loved. Of course, the rest of the world would disagree with the latter. But, the Japanese feature whale like an exoticism of a culture past that shouldn't be sent to sea.

the Tokyo Complex

Every great metropolitan city has it's loyal fans. There are those of us who flock to big city living for a chance at a fast-paced style in place that is like an open oyster with many pearls. From fashion to fame, best rated restaurants and international savoir faire, these caliber cities are the mecca of all one could want from life. In it's populated streets and overcrowded transportation, people feel a convenience they couldn't find elsewhere. Big cities have an acclaim, a limelight that never dims if you harness it's energy.

So, what would behoove a worldly, cosmopolitan city-goer to think that there was anywhere else in the world left to see, since of course, where they are has it all. Cities such as New York, Sao Paulo, Hong Kong, Paris and Singapore command an inherent allegiance because of its stature as a culturally diverse beacon of the world's best offerings. Often with such exaltation and air of sophistication comes equal antagonism.

Many often feel that this metropolitan rat race is too hefty of a price to pay for a seeming lap of luxury. The convenience found in global cuisine and high powered jobs are more than willing to be traded for a more subdued lifestyle that adorns smaller cities with less international street cred.

Tokyo is one of the biggest cities in the world and with it comes those who believe Japan offers nothing greater beyond the boundaries of the Tokyo wards. Yet, take a believer out of his prized patch of Japanese city allure and allow him to see the other 46 prefectures. Temples aplenty, abounding natural hot springs, mountainous land and a local ocean breeze.

Venturing over to Kansai, Tokyo devotees see a simpler style of life, but lacking nonetheless in big cities and cultural energy. With Osaka, Kyoto and Kobe, city life can be divided around the area and each seen with a different appeal. Osaka brings the grit, Kyoto the tradition and Kobe the class. In between are smaller cities that are easily accessible by train and each have a distinct feel and a warmth about the people that is often lost amongst the clutter of a big city.

Of course, the razzle dazzle of the big city can charm you with a weekend away, but for practical living, perhaps venturing to the less likely cities will provide a different appeal that will allow a more relaxed lifestyle and a chance to see a side of Japan that is just that--Japanese.

A Sakura Spring

Winter's cold has broken with the first buds of the cherry blossoms. The air is still crisply cool, but just warm enough to host some of the most beautiful natural scenery Japan has to offer. Sakura, or cherry blossoms, glaze tree tops with a beautiful pink and white floral frosting.

The blossoms themselves brighten the sky and canopy walkways with angelic haze that seems to draw sunlight into each petal and enliven trees from the winter's discontent.

When there is a seasonal activity in Japan, people flock to parks and recreational areas and remind us all of how populated this country really is. Considering sakura season is a short and sweet two or three weeks, the famous viewing areas are always the most crowded.

Venturing out of the larger cities and into local areas wont fend off much of a crowd. If there is a cherry blossom tree around, chances are there is a hanami party under it.

Hanami is a simple picnic party in honor of the coming of spring and a chance to view sakura while they're in full bloom. At first, the buds perk open with a virginal white color and as they mature, their color changes to a soft pink.

In Hyogo prefecture, one of the best places for sakura viewing is Akashi park. This park has 1,200 cherry blossom trees, most of which surround the pond in the middle of the park. There are smaller spots tucked away with just a few trees, but the lining of the pond as all the trees hug the edge of the water, is the prime spot for hanami.

In admiring all things sweet and cute, Japan is fortunate to have sakura sprinkle the subtle start of Spring around the country. Sakura season is an embodiment of the classical romantic idea of Spring and it shows in the tired faces of businessmen who have taken respite in a bottle of sake and the company of their co-workers. And in the families and friends who prepare delicious bentos to be shared and savored in the softened sun.

It's a wonderful time of year in Japan and sakura is an excellent adornment for the turn of the Spring season. If only it weren't so long until the same time next year.

been blocked: a lamentation

I hate the false sense of power the Internet holds over people's relationships. What sort of stance are you taking when you block someone or take them off of your chat list? Does it reassure you that some sort of defiance has been taken to sever ties? And the freaking Facebook--it's such narcissism to think that everyone needs to know what you're thinking or exactly how you feel at a particular moment. Are our own lives that uninteresting, and are we that unfulfilled with what we're actually doing that we need to report on it endlessly through a steady stream of social networking for some public validation? I guess this lamentation in itself is a self-indulgent proclamation on a social networking platform. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em?

Dementia for Disney

What's up with the Japanese and Disney? People of all ages are more than eager to go to Tokyo Disneyland and Disney Sea. They love the characters, the rides, the cheesy themed hotels, and especially the parade. On select holidays such as Christmas or Halloween, there is always some kind of special event featuring Disney characters doing even more inanely childish things.

Nonetheless, Japanese adults flock to the Disney amusement park not for their children, but for themselves. They come back with photos and tales of how they almost got to meet Donald Duck as if it was some international (human) celebrity, not just an underpaid part-time employee on his weekend shift.

There must be some sort of psychological reasoning behind why there is such enchantment and motivation behind visiting Disneyland, aside from the movies and characters that even American adults tire of before reaching puberty.

Of course, Japan is a culture that loves all things cute. Things, animals or people can be covered in fur, miniaturized, doe-eyed, or have an inviting color composition that would look good hanging from any accessory. The cutesy factor is prevalent in any icon of Japanese culture, which certainly diminishes the hardened, often cold exterior of the Japanese people. It is hard to strike up a conversation with a stranger and often uninviting. Yet, with a sweet, little Snoopy, Mickey Mouse or Tottoro dangling from your cellphone, it makes a certain social sterility bearable--at least on the exterior.

Still, the question goes unanswered as to why Disney is king. I guess American children grew up with it, and because of it's global prevalence, children from other countries are accustomed to the same fairy tales and characters. Even so, why not let loose a childhood reverence for a dressed up mouse with batty eyelashes? Perhaps comprehending the reality of Disneyland isn't necessary for Japanese, and it could be rightfully so. Maybe growing out of a Disney phase is unnecessary, and those Americans who are collectors or fanatics shouldn't be judged as a stunted member of adult society. Maybe Japanese have it right and it should just be a wonderful weekend away completely void of any notion of reality. It could be for a sense of sanity or a fresh breath of freedom from staunch societal shackles that Japanese adults would wish for such a sensation.

Even still, Disney could represent one overarching metaphor for the suppression of emotion. Only in a place of non-sensical fantasy can Japanese feel a zeal for life. That, or there is a pervasive obsession with American culture, thus the most iconic of American characters, would be revered as a mecca of all things wonderful--a chance to get just a little bit closer to the real thing. If only there were answers to such questions in life.

Uncommon Ramen

In Japan, there is an endless possibility for noodles. They can be eaten at any temperature or texture, accompanied with varieties of meat or fish, seasoned with the strongest or weakest of taste, and featured thick or thin. Any way you like your noodles, there is probably a way to eat it.

Borrowed from Chinese cuisine, ramen is a bestseller in shops and stalls nation-wide. It has been adopted with a clean broth usually made from chicken or fish stock. The noodles themselves are the feature accompanied with a garnish of vegetable and meat, typically pork and green onions. Although the diversity of noodles spread across the board, ramen is traditionally this. However, in those places few and far between, ramen is revamped and made with an uncommon savor.

Keeping in line with Japanese culinary perfection, tomato ramen stands strongly at the top. It is relatively unknown since it diverts from that classical ramen taste; yet, what it stands for is innovation in a bowl of noodles completely overlooked.

Ichiryutei, a local ramen shop in Akashi, hosts tomato ramen among a row of other, now seemingly boring ramen choices. In its bold attempt to combine a tomato soup taste with cheese atop, it is reminiscent of a Campbell's soup, but better. Considering tomato-based broths are relatively uncommon, especially for noodles, only foreigners would understand the warm satisfaction in a good bowl of tomato soup. Especially on a rainy day.

Perhaps its a longing for a comfort food unfound in a strange, foreign land that prefers clear chicken broth for its ramen. Or it could be the Tabasco that is recommended for a little extra kick, or the continuous selection of Beatles music featured in the shop. In any case, tomato ramen is in a noodle class all itself and adds an extra category of an already extensive--yet possibly not innovative--noodle array. Itadakimasu!

Checking out the other side of The Cove

Recent acclaim for Oscar-award winning documentary, The Cove, has unveiled a small Japanese fishing town to be a mechanism of dolphin slaughter. Japan is essentially the only nation that kills and consumes dolphins. Every year, nearly 23,000 dolphins die by the hand of Japanese fisherman in Taiji, Japan. Because of the shock value felt by oceanographic associations and animal rights activists around the world, this issue is seen as a national concern, one which was understood by the heroic efforts of a film crew and dolphin enthusiasts alike who risked arrest to bring the truth to light.

Of course, Americans will see this horrifyingly inhumane treatment of dolphins as a cause for concern. The film shows raw, clandestine surveillance footage of what really happens behind the “No Trespassing” sign of this Wakayama prefecture’s seaside cove. However, the aim of the American activists in making this film was to tug at the heart strings of Americans in theatres across the nation as they watch sweet, innocent dolphins being savagely slaughtered by a race of people relatively unknown to the American majority.

If the filmmakers could demonstrate a deeper understanding of the Japanese culture, one that would present both the traditional side and global opposition, the film could be more effective. Instead, watching ocean water run red with dolphin blood by way of guerrilla camera tactics simply instigates an emotional response, one of moral contempt.

The Japanese feel Westerners are imposing their own standards and values on the Japanese, which could be considered a sort of ethnocentrism. America is no stranger to the ways of propagating ethnocentric behavior around the world. Nonetheless, out of respect to the Japanese and credibility to the facts and filmmakers themselves, one would think that this issue of defining culturally universal values would be addressed. Alas, it was not.

Negotiating and compromising on a factual basis, especially when crossing cross-cultural borders, is the best approach to making a documentary film that should highlight a real issue of global proportion. Filming angry Japanese fishermen from a rural town when a camera crew of foreigners has no intention of civilized conversation or at least a few simple linguistic formalities of the language will of course enrage those who are trying to defend a practice that is globally attacked. This doesn’t make the Japanese fishermen of Taiji victims, but it naturally puts them on the defense.

On the same token, if humans watch anything die, especially in a somewhat unknown land and by people who are unidentifiable to most Americans because they are foreign, it will make us feel something.

So, Japanese would like to know, where is the line drawn? What is the difference between the hundreds of thousands of cows and chickens slaughtered in unkempt, often governmentally protected factories where working conditions are unsafe, laborers are underpaid and oftentimes working illegally as immigrants and the mass-production of meat works for the sole purpose of consumption. Why is it OK, or at least not globally challenged, that Americans kill so many animals? What is the criterion?

The film argued that the self-awareness of dolphins made them a unique mammal, one that can understand physical pain and pleasure more so than other animals. Such self-awareness comes in the form of the intelligence of dolphins to take their own lives under a state of depression from stress of performing in dolphin shows.

Nonetheless, this parallel of the dolphin's self-awareness to that of a human attempted to reason that dolphins are emotional beings. Be that as it may, most animals can feel pain when they are kept in captivity or killed. In the film; however, a self-awareness for an animal with a potentially keen sense of self turned into a sort of American self-righteousness for saving that particular animal. This view conveniently assumes that our own lives are the most precious and valuable form of life on this earth, and from that criteria, we can easily put price tags on all other forms of life in a hierarchical manner.

The argument could be made that dolphins don’t mass-breed in captivity, and are not being farmed or raised in herds for the specific purpose of being eaten. They’re being hunted. And any wild animal hunter either for food or game, should have restrictions so as to protect biodiversity and the homeostasis of the environment.

The purpose of the film was to try and get Japan to stop killing dolphins. It could be argued that the filmmakers and activists weren’t bluntly attacking Japanese society all together, just this “tradition” in which they deemed unknown to the majority of Japanese.

Yet, if Japanese tradition was honestly analyzed, it should have been stated that whale was one of the principle staples of protein during World War II, when the country was in a bleak state of turmoil and, as an island nation, they used the resources they could to survive. Due to dire need, Japanese used every part of the whale, including oils and certain tendons of the mammal as a substitute for rubber or plastic in various manufactured goods such as athletic equipment.

Japanese tend to reserve confrontation as a last resort. By attacking and exposing this ritual dolphin killing doesn’t make the Japanese want to stand up for themselves. It makes them retreat back within and attempt to smooth things out without public debate. This may seem cowardly to the American people, but then again, it’s a clash of culture which seems to be conveniently overlooked to prove some sort of arbitrary point that the Japanese are either ashamed or clueless about the goings on in their society with regard to dolphins.

Most Japanese may not have known about Taiji’s yearly dolphin slaughters, but they certainly knew about the Japanese habit of whaling, whether it was understood by living it or reading about the makeshift survival attempts of the people during times of war. The film seems to blur the distinction between the incident they were trying to document in Taiji and problems that could occur with whaling and sustainability.

Japanese are not blameless in this matter. Their politicians are just as corrupt as those of the Western world, considering how the Japanese bought votes from impoverished countries such as Dominica and St. Kitts to vie for whaling support at international whaling conferences where the majority of participants are opposed to Japanese habits of whaling. However, this doesn’t make Japan any more corrupt of a country than any other.

The film certainly caught the attention as a suspenseful and heart-wrenching story about the inhumanity performed on our mammalian friends of the sea, which it was dually rewarded for in the Academy Awards. However, if the objective of the filmmakers and activists were to stop slaughtering dolphins, they picked the worst strategy, mainly because they decided negate any opportunity to express both sides to a degree that would make Japanese at least seem somewhat intelligible.

Moralizing documentaries such as this one are ultimately just a piece of entertainment for the viewer which offers moral justice to each, and of course, we would be more than willing to pay for that rush of moral superiority. It’s hard to find an audience, or win an award for that matter, with a documentary that is objective and not moralizing since there is no feel-good sense of premature accomplishment.

Yet, we should feel responsible for understanding a situation fully before judging it based off of one film that takes a moral high-ground to chastise a nation of people who are otherwise uninvolved with dolphin hunting. If the filmmakers could exhibit the sensibility and sensitivity to the culture they were scrutinizing, then it would have deserved more than just an Oscar.

Onsen Kinosaki

Although crispy tinges of winter air passed, the sun warmed a Sunday the way it should. It was bright and cheery when we arrived in Kinosaki. A breath of fresh air urged me to the onsen, to feel as relaxed as the quaint town around me.

Known for crab, Kinosaki boasts boatfuls of fresh crustacean on a daily basis. Often, it is the best culinary souvenir from this quiet north Hyogo town.

Lush mountain ridges encapsulate the small seaside village, and it is as peaceful from the top of the ropeway as it is around town. Light pockets of scattered sun spots made it easy to enjoy the surroundings. A steam strolled through the streets as leisurely as our nonchalance.

Making onsen tamago was easy. We just bought a mesh sack of raw eggs and put them in onsen water for about 10minutes. After, we clipped the top of the egg and enjoyed the deliciously half-cooked egg straight from the shell.

It could be the rose-colored glasses I've been looking through these days, or the fact it was my twenty-fifth birthday, or just a growing affinity for a culture that once seemed callously unknown; but, Kinosaki seemed a destination of uncharted happiness. It was a haven of relaxation, but in a quaint way. Ryokans lined the narrow streets following a shallow river with adorably small bridges. Old English lamp posts like the one you would imagine in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe marked every few feet with even more charm. And the peacefulness of absolute tranquility was the purpose of this town's existence--at least for me.

Actually eating the crab was much better than taking photos of it in the street. Yakiniku and crab nabe were in order for the feast of champions after realizing that was the only option for the evening. I guess closing shops and restaurants at 7pm was natural for a cozy town such as Kinosaki. Everyone was lounging like sedated frogs by the hot onsen pools or privately in their ryokan.
Before the train ride home, a foul-tempered foot bath attempted to warm our feet as the rest of us was drenched with a heavy rain and wind. I held on to the sunlit Sunday the day prior and remembered how beautiful that day would always seem--as a memento of perfection in the simplest of ways.
But, the weather was no mention because the company was so great. That's what I'll truly remember.

Sleeping is giving in

Working hard or hardly working? The latter can't be said for the Japanese.

Beginning in junior high, a Japanese student's life is set into hyperdrive. They maintain a rigorous course load of regular academic classes as well as begin attending juku, or cram school, which is just an extended time for studying. From sun up to sun down, students are working tirelessly on maintaining the highest marks, so that they can then prepare for entrance exams into high school, and then university and finally get dumped into a job which will set the marathon pace for the rest of their career.

The word "work" is synonymous with life. In Japan, the only true acceptance into society, especially as a man, is to be deemed a hard worker for a company you stick with forever. Wall Street investment bankers and on-call cardiologists can't even compare to the overtime hours that are implemented in factories and engineering facilities across Japan.

In fact, this type of after hour quality control in factories is often done in 24-hour shifts conducted by middle management employees who aren't compensated for the overtime. These sessions claim to be "voluntary"; however, in Japanese working culture, that is the circuitous way of telling the employee that they will single-handedly sabotage the success of the company if they don't participate in this unpaid extra routine performance.

Amid all this overtime and underpayment, is there ever an inkling to question why? It seems unlikely considering the lack of success the Japanese government has had on setting legal limits for overtime work. During the 1970's, overtime work became the norm and many salarymen weren't necessarily arguing for a much deserved paid vacation.

For recent college grads, the first few years at a company are crucial in solidifying a position as an employee. Thus, many new hires are thrusted into an abominable 60-hour/week base and take it upon themselves as duty to continue to do more, even without compensation. In the Japanese workplace, longer is better. And also more respectful. If management is seen leaving before lower level employees, they feel ashamed by their lack of responsibility and leadership. Similarly, the rest of the staff feel obliged to wait until management leaves so that they can be seen as diligent and hardworking.

However, if the job is done, can't all employees feel good about the 9+ hours they've already put into the day and go home knowing it was a job well done? Apparently not because as opposed to most western countries that follow a pattern of linear hierarchy in job roles, Japanese companies work as a hybrid and function more like a soccer team, kicking work back and forth across the field until finally reaching the goal. It seems counterintuitive to do so, yet only if the system itself is questioned, which it rarely is.

After the '70s, the prevalence of overtime work took such a toll on Japanese that a word for the excessively overworked was coined. Karoshi, or death from too much work, was spreading throughout companies in Japan and even today is still a significant problem.

This is not metaphorical speak. Several reports of Toyota engineers since 2006 have died from working over 80 hours of overtime each month. One chief engineer was pushing 114 hours of overtime per month with bi-monthly international travel. He was found dead of heart failure in his home the day before he was supposed to fly back to the US to launch a new line of Camrys. Toyota's reputation has been tarnished by reports of other employees literally dropping dead during work from immense fatigue and heart failure.

If the work itself wont kill Japanese, they will sadly take matters into their own hands. According to government figures released in June 2009, nearly 2,300 Japanese had committed suicide that year due to work-related issues of fatigue.

With labor laws as ambiguous as they were 40 years ago, its a shame that companies who pride themselves on such a team effort couldn't learn from the loss of players past. It is not in the nature of any human being to have to suffer through life. Regardless of how much you love your job, it's more important to love yourself.

A sentou experience

Sometimes it amazes me how easily I become infatuated with things. Usually, obsessions range from fat, furry animals to TV shows and whichever food I've chosen to be my favorite for the next few months. As humans are habit forming, we tend to enjoy what we know. And if what we know pleases us to no end, then why should there be an end at all?

My most recent infatuation has been in the vein of Japanese relaxation style. Sentous or public baths aren't the eerie American-style public baths you would never visit, but only hear stories about the married men who do, leading some sort of double life, frolicking to abandoned parks to partake in clandestine gay sex. Public baths in Japan are of a completely different nature, and one that represents a pinnacle of Japanese modern and ancient culture.


Each sentou features a variety of different whirlpool baths, some even include underwater electric currents that massage your body from the inside. It feels as if there is some source trying to suck out your organs, but if you just let go, it's relaxing.

There are outdoor pools, sauna and steam rooms as well as gambanyoku, a hot rock bed in which you lay on to soothe back aches. Most sentou come equipped with beer vending machines, which complete the ultimate relaxation in a 40C pool. Showers are aplenty as well as wrinkly naked women with untrimmed bush. It's rather amazing how long their hair can grow--like the whiskers of an old sensei.

In either case, sentous have enlivened my exercise regime as the relaxing finish to longer and longer runs. The sentou near Marine Pia, Taihenoyu, also boasts an excellent view of the Akashi Kaikyo Bridge and the Bay.

Ironical art of a new generation

The exterior of a museum is judged like a book's cover is to the story inside. It sets a tone to otherwise encompass the body of artwork within the museum's walls. In the recent move from Expo Park to Nakanoshima, The National Museum of Art in Osaka celebrated its centrality in this often overlooked, grungier little sister city to Tokyo. Kansai expats and natives alike respect the gritty nature of a city internationally untold, and profess bold attempts to culturally enliven areas of Osaka, in a particularly modern way.

Japanese society certainly adheres to its traditions of ancient form, and of course, use its rich identity of archaic culture to inspire a generation of modernity. The current exhibition at The National Museum of Art celebrates 28 different Japanese modern and contemporary artists who use figurative painting to express a seismic shift in Japanese contemporary art that sets these artists in a category liberated from the context of western art history.

With this coexisting juxtaposition between an ancient culture still so vibrant in today's time along with a reach for modernity that often struggles to step out from the shadows of western influence, Japanese contemporary artists are asserting an ironical attitude about Japanese life. From modern sources of inspiration such as manga, picture books and the overwhelming imagery seen in Japanese advertising and daily life, these artists have come together to purport an enlivened expression of Japan from unique perspectives and uncommon attitudes of art.

A few highlights from the show:

Kato Izumi Untitled

Embryo-like figures are the recurring image of Kato's paintings as well as sculptures. He calls upon a womb-like existence, or fundamental component of human nature. He often has the shape of the embryo image extend its limbs into some sort of stem or bud, representative of a close connection between humans and nature and the cyclical behavior of living beings. What's interesting about his style is he uses his fingers instead of a paintbrush, which only compliments the functionality he's trying to capture in the connectedness of human existence. He is as connected to his art as his own fingers are his tools for construction.

His use of color is deliberate and more vibrant hues are used to emphasize the head and sex organs, an attempt to explain that humans are both instinctive and intuitive. Through our own self-reflection, we may see ourselves as an extension of what we touch, much like Kato's connection to his own art.

O JUN OCHIRUCO

The title translates into "the foreigner" and shows the flesh tone as washed out as the background. In a sense of distorted reality being upside down, many foreigners feel turned around in Japanese society. Yet, the person depicted looks Japanese herself, and in traditional school uniform, so perhaps its attributing the alienation and often sterile environment many Japanese feel within their own society, especially those of the budding youth. Aside from this particular piece, O JUN has a highly sexualized style that is depicted ironically in these soft strokes of oil paint, almost melting back into the canvas, as if some secret of the human condition is revealed to an otherwise droid-like sexual environment. However, adhering to the theme of ironic transitions, this perversity of O JUN's art isn't expressed as overtly as a western painter where society is completely inclined to such imagery. O JUN trumps the normal values of a Japanese life and challenges its very existence. It could be that this secret of human sexuality isn't a secret after all and thus the irony ensues.

Aida Makoto Blender

The sheer enormity (290 x 210.5 cm) of this image, painted in acrylic is certainly important to the piece. Aida has the mind of an otaku who has been more than influenced by the vulgarity and rawness of manga and Japanese comics. With such a strong infusion of the absurd, it is again in an ironical light that he composes this painting with the design to look like a real photograph. Inside this oversized blender is hundreds of nude women bodies, contorted and writhing with confusion. Toward the bottom, the blade had the better of them, and many of their heads and limbs are shown slushing around in blood. It is a thoughtless concept--this kind of tortured woman, trapped in a life similar to her female counterparts and struggling to make it to the top. The symbolism may have been apparent, but the execution was jarring and of course evocative--kind of like a car crash, you can't help but stare.

Kusama Yayoi Girls

One of the more veteran artists featured in the collection, Kusama has been completely influenced by western art and earlier modern movements such as Art Brut, Pop art and abstract expressionism. Nonetheless, her biggest inspiration has been her own insanity. Now living in a mental ward under her own will, Kusama continues to paint in what seems to be a surrealist style fused with a hyperbolic sense of feminism. Her most prominent feature is polka dots, which she attributes to hallucinations she had as a young woman. She would often construct paintings and installations with ideas she conceived during these bouts of mental illness. In a true surrealist sense, Kusama toys with this idea of infinity, much like Dali and Miro. In these sinuous lines that extend up like flowers and then follow the shape of a female face, the image continues into infinity, much like the aforementioned pattern of polka dots. As the image of the woman in the painting extends into that of another woman and so on, she also begins to lose her sense of direction, which would mirror her inability to delineate between reality and fantasy.

Nara Yoshitomo The Little Judge

Nara is a playful artist who is in the forefront of the Japanese Pop art movement, which started in the 1990's. He has gained a cult following around the world for his demurely designed children and animals that are often paired with unusually aggressive objects such as knives or other weapons. With influence from the crass collision of manga, graffiti and punk rock, Nara's confident yet cartoonish drawings are a sign of the darkness within the light. In a similar vein of the Children of the Corn, these children possess a potential evil, but what's ironic about Nara's work is that his children aren't self inflicting this poisonous violence, they're merely trying to protect their innocence from the rest of the world's negative space.

As each artist extends themselves to the public, a new meaning of modern is unveiled. This dichotomy of old world versus new happened so long ago for western artists (think Impressionism) that there is no longer this grappling of transition. For Japanese contemporaries, there is a louder cry for unadulterated Japanese culture--the one we know today and the one the rest of the world has to visit Osaka to find out.

blister

My runs get longer as my days here get shorter. Each morning, around the same marker on the road, I start to have these overwhelming images of myself at the airport in the US. I picture myself frightened of all the westerners, and a child-like urgency to find my mother in the mess my mind has made of reality at that point. Running clears my head and helps me figure my next steps. I have so many blisters on my feet now as my mileage increase. But, I've started to think in kilometers instead and I think a new pair of shoes is needed.

A thousand steps to spiritual

When I first heard we were headed to a shrine with a thousand stairs, I imagined the scene from The Simpsons where Homer eats extremely hot chili and goes on some sort of psychedelic trip where he ends up in the desert and climbs to the top of a pyramid-esque platform to talk to a fox formed god.

Of course, the true trek to Konpira-san was nothing of the American animated sort, but something had to beset my imagination for the duration of the two hours car ride to Kagawa prefecture.
After heaving up a few patches of steep concrete stairs, the small souvenir shops that accompanied the climb began to thin out, and ahead lied only more stairs dampened by the drizzle of an ongoing light rain.
My surrogate Japanese grandmother said if I could barrel up the last patch of steps in less than a minute, I was promised good marriage by the fate of Konpira. I didn't even hesitate to assume complete gullibility while she took her time behind me, laughing all the way. My knees were so wobbly they were laughing from the exhaustion of the many flights. I was happy to see even the fog-filled view of the forestry below. And behind me was Konpira-jynja, which even in a biting cold and dreary afternoon, seemed to glow with a presence of greatness. Or maybe it was just having to travel so far to get here, it felt so welcoming and warm.

There was a mixed level karate class practicing in the forum of the shrine's gravel ground. We stood and waited, watching the martial experts of men, women and children alike do warm up exercises in the pitter-patter pings of sporadic rain drops. As gaijin, special permission for our admittance into the shrine was requested and fortunately granted. We sat in a waiting area and warmed ourselves until our group was called into the shrine where the Buddhist priest chanted unknown words of good fortune for the year and blessed us over the head with a special sheathes of leaves attached to a bamboo pole. We then drank from a saucer a thimble full of sake and walked back across a wooden walkway to where our shoes were waiting for us.

We then got to choose our fortunes and I chose one somewhat in the middle. The short scroll told me that my health would be in pristine condition this year, but my business and money would be lacking in growth. In the realm of love, I would need to open my heart more to a man, but of course, all of this was haphazardly translated by granny and her husband, so I caught some significant bits and pieces, enough to make me believe in a fortune at all.

The descent was actually more difficult than the first attempt. My laughing knees remembered the strain from an hour past and had trouble keeping a straight face as I tried not to slip on accumulated rain that had started to amass in larger puddled as the day dripped on.

Udon for breakfast and lunch sandwiched our summit to Konpira-san. I was gastronomically and spiritually satisfied. If only I could've kept my feet warm enough not to catch a cold. I guess my fortune may have predicted the opposite after all.

Turning Japanese

I made my first bold attempt at traditional Japanese cooking.

Here was the menu:

niku jaga (thin beef mixed with potatoes and carrots and onions in a sauce base of sugar, soy sauce, bonito soup [fish flakes] and sweet sake)

dashi maki (eggs rolled thinly over and over mixed with the bonito soup--like a sushi roll)

miso soup (from scratch--tofu, dried seaweed and green onions)

daikon salada (white japanese radish sliced thin mixed with tuna--served cold)

gohan (steamed rice)

Everything was simple and delicious, much like the majority of Japanese cuisine. But, I had a sense of pride for understanding how to do it. And how to find the ingredients without really being able to read any of the labels. I was guided by a few helpful women who have generously cooked for me before, and encouraged me to try. I felt a sort of duty to perfection because that's how most Japanese make their food--even foreign foods. The French bakery is as authentically French as possible. The Italian restaurant attempts native flavors. And presentation is flawless.

In my makeshift kitchen with only one burner top, I was able to win the stomach of my dinner guest, who said it was better than his mother's. I think the trick was the thinly sliced, small shaved pieces of beef. It was proportionally balanced.

There is a Japanese word I've come to love--kaia. It means from the heart. Cooking definitely takes quality, fresh ingredients, but if it's made from the heart, with a sort of passion for who you're cooking for, it will undoubtedly taste better. And so it did.

Jonestown, Japan

As a country western society often thinks of as mysterious and replete with oriental wonder, Japan is certainly that. Japanese culture has an ancient appeal to countries that are only at a toddler state in terms of longevity as a nation. A rich history unique to western civilization offers years of cultural influence that can be safely adopted into a familiar society. These types of influences can include anything from cuisine, art, or traditional activities that act as the amuse bouche to an upper-middle class cultural education.

However, as the western world espouses foreign culture, the culture itself loses its authenticity as being foreignly unique. Wasn't this the appeal in the first place? So we can invite friends over and show them our washitsu-style rooms while serving them sushi and admiring the silk kimono we had imported for no real functional use whatsoever. Appreciating cultural influences within our own cultural comfort zones makes it easier for us to conceptualize a lifestyle without actually living it. Even so, there are plenty of foreigners who come to Japan and recognize the real way of living. For some, this may not be as enticing as your collection of woodblock prints or backyard rock garden.

The whole of Japanese society functions like a machine--a machine that is programmed to one channel and every component matches and is coated with an impeccable metal armor. The acronym "5s" stands for five Japanese words: seiri, seiton seiso, seiketsu, and shitsuke. This is the guts of the working machine. It signifies order, systematization, cleanliness, purity and commitment. Although Japanese have a reputation for being hard working and diligent in every aspect of life, their mechanical efforts is a guise for a real lack of efficiency mainly because machines can't think for themselves.

Japanese society prides the team effort. Everyone works and honors such a system because they are fearful of disrupting a harmonious balance and therefore being seen as the outcasts who fucked it up for everyone. Even from early influence such as primary school, children are made to dress the same, wear the same hairstyle and color (girls aren't allowed to wear makeup), and even sport the same backpack. Individuality is not prevalent or rewarded in any course of Japanese life, and educating the society's youth is an undoubtably reliable way to ensure that this method of cultural uniformity sticks.

Perhaps motivated by fear, Japanese have a general instinct, or lack thereof, that all things should be the same. It eliminates confusion, mishap and any need to explain oneself. People are completely capable of staying in an isolated bubble their entire lives while simultaneously being a productive member of society.

So, this begs the question of what kind of society? A homogenous society with the mission of hard work and amity over the belief that their community offers the best possible life? It almost sounds as if a cult could be forming, or if the entire country itself is in on it.

In the 1970's a socialist utopia formed in the French Guyana known as Jonestown, named after it's leader, Jim Jones. After creating an extremely popular following among people in the US, Jones decided to expand his group known as the Peoples Temple into an entire self-sustaining society under the pretense of an agricultural project.

Many of the Jonestown members were prosperous and lived a life they knew to be happy and free. They performed honest work, they lived off the land and everyone was equal. The members of Jonestown were mostly minorities or recovering addicts who sought solace in a religious place where they wouldn't be judged by the cowering hands of their oppressive society. They saw Jim Jones as a father figure, one who filled them with purpose.

As the largest mass suicide in history, Jonestown took the lives of 909 people. There is much controversy over whether these people died of their own free will or were coerced into taking their own lives and those of their children. Either way, the sheer devastation in numbers was enough to shock the world into recognizing the power of cult mentality and how it can claim lives of innocent people who didn't have enough independence to improve their own lives.

Japan is ironically cursed in the same way the victims of Jonestown were. The people of Jonestown pursued the truth in equality--one in which America could seemingly not provide them. So, they take the untrodden golden brick road to a utopia that ends in an untimely death. Similarly, Japanese people are the longest living race of humans in the world, yet they also have the highest suicide rate of any country to date. Could this mechanical 5s system delude individual thinking to a mob mentality no different from a cult? Sure, the society functions with poise and global positioning as an economic leader, but it is an insignificant claim in comparison to a life of true happiness.

Kitsune

In the form of a fox, a woman takes hold of a human man. Like a Siren, she lures him with her tempting ways and her songs of seduction. Her sultry tail trailing behind, like an extension of her prowess and female force. The unassuming man follows and succumbs to pleasures of a paramount degree. He is left confused and feeling foolish, but desirous of more. Behind her roughly passionate ways is a softer romance only found in the illusion of the fox-figured woman. She charms and hauls his heart with care. Sayonara, innocent man. You've learned the ways of the woman now.

The way of the sword as a way to preserve history

"A warrior has no confusion in his mind--this is true emptiness."

- Miyamoto Musashi

When death was the only outcome, a man had to fight not only with his sword, but with his mind. He fought for his life and with the preparedness that it was either him or the other. Mighty by strength and humbled by spirit, victory requires an inner resolution that can not be taught, but only felt by one's own integrity. A samurai. A warrior. A college student.

Literally translated as "the way of the sword", kendo is a traditional sport that embodies real practices of samurai sword fighting in what is now a popularized sport for many Japanese as well as audiences worldwide. In 9th century BC, the Bushi or samurai class formed in ancient Japan and the first prototype of a Japanese sword was created. As the weapon of choice, swordsmanship naturally became an area that must be mastered by the Bushi class, so schools known as kenjutsu (literally meaning the art of the sword) were founded by master swordsmen. At first, learning to use a sword was a matter of pure survival and self-defense. But, as the Bushi moved into more peaceful times, Zen Buddhism began to influence the mindset of the masters to teach not only technique, but also mental and emotional acuity when fighting.

With the demise of the Shogunate government, the Bushi class also became extinct as was the right to bear a sword. However, to compete on a global military scale, Japan therefore reexamined the practice of kenjutsu as a means of self-defense, but established a new base of rules and teaching, which became known as kendo.

Today, high school and university club teams exist across Japan and appeal to both men and women. Abroad, the sport is mainly practiced in North America and Europe and competitions are held on national levels. Often categorized as Japanese fencing, the manner of kendo is similar, but in theory it is deeply rooted in the conventions of classical samurai battle.

In observing a kendo club practice, it is evident the true values in preserving such an ancient sport. Each drill is done with deliberation and diligence, and with unparalleled uniformity. It's as if the minds of each student is trained to understand their peers better than they understand themselves. They are focused even on simple actions of preparation such as putting on the protective face screen, which is done in unison and with poise. For most sports that center around the individual efforts of the player, kendo still encompasses the movements of the whole, much like the way every member of a basketball team should look up the court and anticipate the moves of their teammates. Similar to Japanese society, the team effort raises stock in the individual attempt at self-betterment, like a finely tuned cog in the wheel.

Harnessing spiritual strength is largely why kendo is still practiced today. After World War II, kendo was publicly banned by the Allies because it was seen on an international front as contributing to the ruthlessness of Japanese soldiers and adhering to uncouth traditional methods of warfare. It wasn't until 1957 when kendo enthusiasts joined together to revive the sport as a practice to balance mind and body and improve Japanese society. Kendo players hold courtesy and honor to a high esteem and with each thrash of the bamboo swords, they command an intensity to ones inner character. The sport trains the body for physical perfection, much like other martial arts. But, without the long-lasting interest of kendo as a club, perhaps the spirit of the ancient samurai would be lost and along with it a piece of Japanese history.

Teaching kendo today is a way to promote the sincerity and pure goodness of a community and country who's traditions are often sifted out as an unconventional modernity pours in. For those who understand the way of the sword in turn understand a way of preserving history and the spirit that is held with it. And so a symbol of death now safeguards a promotion of peace and prosperity in hopes that Japanese culture can retain it's rich history of the samurai way.

Soul food from the streets

A hot dog stand in New York City is often overlooked as just being a quick fix. A momentary indulgence in a sauerkraut laden culinary landmark of American fast food. And the taco trucks strategically parked in the financial district for the Los Angeles lunch crowd are not sought out for anything other than cheap, convenient eats. So, the American image of street food may not have a paramount reputation for taste or quality. However, in traveling to Taipei, it's easy for any American to delight in some of the finer Taiwanese cuisine straight from the streets.

Food stalls and outdoor markets are located in dozens of central areas of Taipei as well as neighborhoods bordering the city. They boast a variety of foods, all of which are cooked fresh and made with local ingredients. Considering much is made-to-order and always to go, the portions are small and can be savored for as long as it takes you to get to the next vendor.

Stinky tofu (tso-dofu) is a common contender for spotlight in Taiwanese night markets. It is fermented tofu basted and grilled in a sweet teriyaki-like sauce and can be nicely coupled with pickled vegetables (or kimuchi).

Who knew fried chicken could be better than it is in the South? Americans pride themselves on knowing fried foods more so than any other nation, but the fried chicken found in Taipei blows any southern-bred chef out of the water. The chicken breast is flattened and fried twice over; once before requesting your order and once after. Spicy seasoning is optional and highly recommended. The meat is tender and juicy, and the batter is light and crisp with a crunch of pure satisfaction. Choosing this night market splendor might make it more difficult to save room for the other savories yet to come.

What fills the belly will also fulfill all other senses. Aside from what you actually eat, the bustle of the night markets are visually ingested in gulps. There is enough concentrated commotion to make the night market the evening's final destination. From locals to tourists to anchored expats, they line the streets sometimes for several miles and keep shops open until nearly 2am.

The variety of foods, the sensory overload of Taiwanese people and sordid smells swirling like ribbons in a baton competition shroud any sort of pride for the NY hot dog stand and brother stall of salted pretzels. What makes Taipei street food such a cultural prize is that it is symbolic of the liveliness of the city itself. The small portions and simple dishes mimic the humble hearts of the Taiwanese people. The food prepared per order is a mark of an honest culture. As the streets fill with people, the lights glisten from below the awnings of the stalls and the steam strolls thickly into the night air, there is a presence of the real soul of Taipei--one with distinct taste.