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.