tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32841051438983960222024-03-05T14:49:13.831+09:00Becky's Kanoya BlogOriginally written as email letters to my family and friends, this blog chronicles my experiences living in Kanoya, a small town in southern Japan, and working as an ALT (Assistant Language Teacher)in the JET Programme from September 2007-August 2010. The actual dates I wrote these are written on the top of the post; ignore what the blog says about all the entries coming from March 2010.Rebecca Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16751163568561321683noreply@blogger.comBlogger83125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3284105143898396022.post-51705208783398210022010-05-26T20:25:00.000+09:002010-05-26T20:26:40.212+09:00Three Things to Do With a Giant Jar of Honey<strong>May 26, 2010</strong><br /><br /> I’m talking about the good kind of honey. Not the supermarket, squeeze-through-a-plastic-bottle kind. This is the honey you found at a farmer’s market or at a Co-op and splurged on. A rich, thick, delectable honey. Pure sweetness spun into liquid gold. It sticks to your spoon and sticks to the top of your mouth and makes you think of summer fields. <br /><br /> The problem was that they weren’t selling it in tiny little jelly jars. The only size available would, if empty, hold a month’s worth of coffee. So, you have your honey; now what? But fear not. A little creativity and that giant jar of honey will empty faster than you would believe. I humbly offer these tips. <br /><br /><strong>1. Dip strawberries into it.</strong><br /><br /> Admit it: you’ve been eyeballing those small, bright red strawberries they sell at that same Farmer’s Market, haven’t you? Well, go ahead and buy a pack. For an extra kick of sweetness, set out a small bowl of honey and dip them in. The honey is sweeter than sugar, and will wrap around the fruit like a glaze. It’s a simple, light, yet delicious summer dessert. <br /><br /><strong>2. Add it to your coffee.</strong><br /><br /> Want to make plain old coffee exotic? Add a teaspoon of cinnamon to your coffee grounds, and, after brewing, add honey instead of sugar. The unexpected blend of flavors will jolt you awake. It’s a good way to make your coffee special without spending extra money.<br /><br /><strong>3. Make French Toast.</strong><br /><br /> Get some thick slices of homemade bread and dip it in a mixture of egg, milk, vanilla, sugar, and cinnamon. Fry the bread in butter until brown. Add strawberries and honey instead of maple syrup. Good bread, cinnamon, honey, and strawberries swirl around for homey-spicy-sweet-tart palette of taste. I recommend eating it on an early summer evening while listening to Ella Fitzgerald.Rebecca Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16751163568561321683noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3284105143898396022.post-88801837919660455832010-05-26T20:03:00.009+09:002010-05-26T20:22:55.301+09:00Golden Week: Hiroshima<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-yAff4Z2yQjTUtoAYFhgm8mPzL1dfkVDK11EYdjN0uGJzeVRQBkOchUpkszlW-V1m26RhHGl1-wEiSrfJ_BKz1VnbgN1QKdzNxdvGcU-_UC0ynvkTtfCDpbXV_3NNVo8u1NhTUBzkF4XK/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+358.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-yAff4Z2yQjTUtoAYFhgm8mPzL1dfkVDK11EYdjN0uGJzeVRQBkOchUpkszlW-V1m26RhHGl1-wEiSrfJ_BKz1VnbgN1QKdzNxdvGcU-_UC0ynvkTtfCDpbXV_3NNVo8u1NhTUBzkF4XK/s400/Golden+Week+2010+358.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475533686566960226" /></a><br /><br /><em>May 22, 2010</em><br /><br /> Hiroshima was our last stop. We arrived by ferry on May 4th and took a street car to the center of the city. Thus far, all my cities have been obscure, but I’m sure the name Hiroshima rings a bell. The iconic Atom Bomb Dome, stripped bare and mangled, sits at the beginnings of Peace Park; follow all those paper cranes until you come to the Peace Museum detailing the horrors of the end of World War II.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPAdPL5pQmGrwSslTeHjUepPCOVbLEWAjobWt_MSq3vybRgpHL_fdwf8O3mBdZNIMTSGuBgTAmROafot9iHST8Og_jHmlxDS9L-JaglAZJNTZ_0WGrNVf9RBByF_agY8Vl92x07p2XbGSX/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+379.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPAdPL5pQmGrwSslTeHjUepPCOVbLEWAjobWt_MSq3vybRgpHL_fdwf8O3mBdZNIMTSGuBgTAmROafot9iHST8Og_jHmlxDS9L-JaglAZJNTZ_0WGrNVf9RBByF_agY8Vl92x07p2XbGSX/s200/Golden+Week+2010+379.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475534339190314898" /></a> <em>Hiroshima Castle</em><br /><br /> But neither Masako nor I were in any mood to visit the Peace Park or the Peace Museum. Masako had been traumatized by the museum, and I, having seen it once before, wanted to see other aspects of the city. So, instead, we went to Hiroshima Castle and Shukkei Park.<br /><br /> Hiroshima Castle is, naturally, a reconstruction; it was already a wreck before the Atomic Bomb dropped and finished it off. One interesting thing I noticed was that there were ruins of former military headquarters all over the grounds of the castle. In fact, one sign said that Hiroshima Castle hosted “the partially underground strategic command control room and the communication room of the Chugoku Regional Military Headquarters” during World War II. I couldn’t help but wonder if this was one of the reasons Hiroshima was targeted for the atomic bomb. This same sign also mentioned that students from the Hijiyama Girls’ High School were working in this same communication room, and they were the first ones to report the news of Hiroshima’s destruction to the rest of Japan.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw79YpVrCi52e8bkClRH03K_0yMMJeYqG9ynG_Vvgy8332KHx_qtH6oFiiJVXaFyrIYVFOm9gZpDkSkHOROIvWeeR002_XPR_w1REUotPf8fbeOWGpgisOAi02S7w2DBy0KpCr9b6s3VIx/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+377.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw79YpVrCi52e8bkClRH03K_0yMMJeYqG9ynG_Vvgy8332KHx_qtH6oFiiJVXaFyrIYVFOm9gZpDkSkHOROIvWeeR002_XPR_w1REUotPf8fbeOWGpgisOAi02S7w2DBy0KpCr9b6s3VIx/s200/Golden+Week+2010+377.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475534665296464098" /></a> <em>Ruins of Old Military Headquarters</em><br /><br /> Today the castle is beautiful. There are green lawns and green trees and green-blue water in the moat. The “Carp Castle” Hiroshima Castle is sometimes called, and indeed, it lived up to its name. Carp swam in the moats and carp flags blew in the wind at a shrine in the castle grounds. Inside the castle, there was good English signs, and I found out interesting things about the Lord of Hiroshima Castle.* I have to say, it was my favorite castle of the trip.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbcoXYSYk4G2k4_l0qBX_7Y-t2COh82jnXbxOaKSiVXAlfAYGAJAG_zWTQSN2aJkdz_xw9cF1E8rZwP-a7LRsfaHoZnPSli7q2ZysrIJPUH3JA-dWzcsnezo3c6k0c4zxu8u6xA8nB5726/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+390.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbcoXYSYk4G2k4_l0qBX_7Y-t2COh82jnXbxOaKSiVXAlfAYGAJAG_zWTQSN2aJkdz_xw9cF1E8rZwP-a7LRsfaHoZnPSli7q2ZysrIJPUH3JA-dWzcsnezo3c6k0c4zxu8u6xA8nB5726/s200/Golden+Week+2010+390.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475535119849694818" /></a> <em>Shukkei Garden</em><br /><br /> Shukkei Garden is no one’s prize-winning garden, but it was fun and, because it happened to be Green Day, we got in free. And really, how can you not love a garden where turtles swim so close you can reach your fingers into the water and stroke their smooth shells? There were several small islands and stone bridges and huge Peony flowers shaded by artful red umbrellas. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMcT7X2lwwh4ubdx2EybV83t24wkGHKjphMtpDAnRw-2e89Xg96_L_LO6N9nY6ThJjfXh12iMfp6MMnB-aPbd2wsHj_-apk5nuEwNpGw4AWh7s0Ky_VrYRdi_i-CwIPG6Tx_AKrBA2C4y3/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+383.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMcT7X2lwwh4ubdx2EybV83t24wkGHKjphMtpDAnRw-2e89Xg96_L_LO6N9nY6ThJjfXh12iMfp6MMnB-aPbd2wsHj_-apk5nuEwNpGw4AWh7s0Ky_VrYRdi_i-CwIPG6Tx_AKrBA2C4y3/s200/Golden+Week+2010+383.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475535601531972354" /></a> <em>Turtles at Shukkei</em><br /><br />But the best part was when we stopped for a snack. Masako bought a cone of soft serve ice cream and discovered that she had gotten two cones instead of one—when she bit into the paper wrapper of the second one. She had to gnaw the edges of the first cone while pulling out the paper of the second, all the while I laughed and cruelly snapped photos.<br /><br /><br /> The specialty food of Hiroshima is okonomiyaki—a kind of savory pancake. Usually it’s a mixture of batter, cabbage, and meat, but in Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki, or Hiroshima-yaki, they make each layer separately and add yakisoba noodles to boot. I still remembered the first time I came to Hiroshima, as an exchange student, in March of 2005. We came to the station at noon, and the smoke of okonomiyaki filled our nostrils. But time was short, and the counters were crowded. So, we went to another restaurant and passed on our one chance to eat Hiroshima-yaki. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYJgmMr85O3c4iK_mW6oPI-GkPX4S-6LoieZUmZtOhjfZZxo-h7sJtyLaoLli6DxjeE6hPwxYpbPFO3AO1oALrYthdvWKUNtOqWZzu_-Ul3yTf52N1Oy4ysRMHf536PgBdipt1uE09yM7J/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+402.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYJgmMr85O3c4iK_mW6oPI-GkPX4S-6LoieZUmZtOhjfZZxo-h7sJtyLaoLli6DxjeE6hPwxYpbPFO3AO1oALrYthdvWKUNtOqWZzu_-Ul3yTf52N1Oy4ysRMHf536PgBdipt1uE09yM7J/s200/Golden+Week+2010+402.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475536327954658914" /></a> <em>Okonomiyaki: Phase 1</em><br /><br /> I have regretted that moment ever since.<br /><br /> This time, I was bound and determined to eat Hiroshima-yaki, so Masako and I hunted down a place called Okonomiyaki Mura (Village). It was actually a building with three stories crammed with cheap-looking okonomiyaki stands, none all the different than the rest. Masako and I finally decided on one run by an old man with baseball posters. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB3nLDBfaom3Ho5b-5YVUU0D9EaJqZkFjzD4BepZI8-UGXR5tkwKRC28lLNUL79OQ1ZJpODsWSAm8zH2v-IlrRExhVEc1EB8BEUS8v9IZtYBX9Jdg3CGa46KTq2FDU-IAyJy0vjZOXFbVz/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+410.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB3nLDBfaom3Ho5b-5YVUU0D9EaJqZkFjzD4BepZI8-UGXR5tkwKRC28lLNUL79OQ1ZJpODsWSAm8zH2v-IlrRExhVEc1EB8BEUS8v9IZtYBX9Jdg3CGa46KTq2FDU-IAyJy0vjZOXFbVz/s200/Golden+Week+2010+410.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475536818225844690" /></a> <em>Okonomiyaki: Phase 2</em><br /><br /> Watching the okonomiyaki cook is half the fun, so I took plenty of pictures and hastily scribbled notes (which, after three weeks, no longer make sense). Here’s the gist of it: first the man ladled a thin amount of batter, like a crepe, onto the sizzling iron counter. He piled cabbage, bean sprouts, green onions, tempura bits, and pork onto the crepe, also sprinkling seasoning, and added oil to the grill. Then he flipped the whole thing over, so that the pancake was on top and the pork was directly under the heat. The pancake acted as a lid, he explained, and steamed the vegetables. The vegetables steamed for some time. In the meantime, he put yakisoba noodles (cold ramen) on the counter and fried it up with salt and oil. The pancake went down the yakisoba. The last ingredient was an egg, which he scrambled into a yellow circle. When the okonomiyaki was arranged, pancake-side first, on the plate, he cut it into four pieces with his spatulas, painted on okonomiyaki sauce, and topped it all off with bits of seaweed.<br /><br /> So, now I had my Hiroshima-yaki. My purpose in this vacation was complete. I could go home a happy woman.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP0RtY6Ye9Cktg-cbXpfPXssk013De9WQ-FrxQEWv6OAINPboMpZ1VgqJBjHW6-BInlW6ECi1vNpTyFkkEJcOD4h22jjwDsJgC7BPh1MUX4qnI80LoxWn0BHQ28N0A77aMwFDVMPMMRS6f/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+408.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP0RtY6Ye9Cktg-cbXpfPXssk013De9WQ-FrxQEWv6OAINPboMpZ1VgqJBjHW6-BInlW6ECi1vNpTyFkkEJcOD4h22jjwDsJgC7BPh1MUX4qnI80LoxWn0BHQ28N0A77aMwFDVMPMMRS6f/s200/Golden+Week+2010+408.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475537173530665202" /></a> <em>Okonomiyaki: Final Result</em><br /><br />* The Lord of Hiroshima: I was trying to find out the family crest of the Lord of Hiroshima, when, lo and behold, I discovered it was the exact same motif as Lord of Choshu (Yamaguchi): a bar and three dots. The Lord’s name was Mori—again, sounding familiar of Choshu. Well, it turned out that Mori Terumoto was the Lord of Choshu—and Hiroshima—and about 5 other Domains. (Makes sense; Yamaguchi and Hiroshima are neighbor prefectures.) However, Mori lost in the crucial battle of Sekigahara in 1600 to the Tokugawa family and their allies. As a result, he lost all but two Domains, and had to give up Hiroshima to the Fukushima and later Asano families. Which sort of explains why Choshu hated the Tokugawas enough to overthrow their entire 250 long reign as Shoguns by the year 1868. Oh, the hostility that battle caused. Another loser of Sekigahara, Satsuma (Kagoshima) also helped topple the Shogunate.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1ZfohFFr6G94K7kit76AVBFKXKG-ywQ-qk9z1NvpmijJaLRYDZxQxsUWktNibl27uiaEYZEl9z0F9FXHQIsPnYjf3rSTvCAiUfKYqyf2uJhANwrHYIWCxNjYpX8awcaYV1cF7gwBe2obC/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+368.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1ZfohFFr6G94K7kit76AVBFKXKG-ywQ-qk9z1NvpmijJaLRYDZxQxsUWktNibl27uiaEYZEl9z0F9FXHQIsPnYjf3rSTvCAiUfKYqyf2uJhANwrHYIWCxNjYpX8awcaYV1cF7gwBe2obC/s320/Golden+Week+2010+368.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475537509225967074" /></a>Rebecca Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16751163568561321683noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3284105143898396022.post-23254361792450663642010-05-26T19:29:00.014+09:002010-05-26T20:24:52.270+09:00Golden Week: Matsuyama, Day 2<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6KIe3CxpqLs831Sc3AGUoWK0rgFff4o4qbYQubbjxVxO-hNG5HM_i92T8RmIC0EYx7VqsyxEotDaZ4VJZ469jT_JCG0QYdOVMFrnNTy3DCmvTMFhpZTEw6PMF8cgi0kGN0DRVC3GHofY2/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+273.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6KIe3CxpqLs831Sc3AGUoWK0rgFff4o4qbYQubbjxVxO-hNG5HM_i92T8RmIC0EYx7VqsyxEotDaZ4VJZ469jT_JCG0QYdOVMFrnNTy3DCmvTMFhpZTEw6PMF8cgi0kGN0DRVC3GHofY2/s320/Golden+Week+2010+273.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475532129475782530" /></a><br /><br /><STRONG>May 22, 2010</STRONG> <br /><br />Masako really liked the business hotel. For her, sleeping on a bed was a treat. We were both too tired to play crossword puzzles, and to be honest, I was getting a little bored of them anyway, so we just went to bed early. We’d already decided to be down for breakfast by 7:00 the next morning and leave the hotel shortly thereafter. After all, the early bird gets the worm, and the early tourist avoids the crowds.<br /> <br />Somewhat. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoPOSnY8zIpExhsuqyGwp_7fHnaAj62fs_HtVRogzOwHXTJmLYtiIXlHcdK77MMnYrgQaL5HkaqFmfxkllPS4TuLBk-ysgyyUOH_vpiTbPY_fMnQ2aKS26yS5cL_pw-n7d_rsdxKZUuZIY/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+262.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoPOSnY8zIpExhsuqyGwp_7fHnaAj62fs_HtVRogzOwHXTJmLYtiIXlHcdK77MMnYrgQaL5HkaqFmfxkllPS4TuLBk-ysgyyUOH_vpiTbPY_fMnQ2aKS26yS5cL_pw-n7d_rsdxKZUuZIY/s200/Golden+Week+2010+262.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475530749716202786" /></a> <em>Dogo Onsen</em><br /><br />On Monday, May 3rd, just before 8:00 AM, Masako and I arrived at the historic Dogo Onsen, an old public bath house, whose special waters had its own shrine (I kid you not) just down the lane. The sun was beginning to stroke the blue-green tiles of the roof, and there was already a line coming out the door. <br /><br />Fortunately, the line was only for the people wanting the deluxe bath, with tea and a yukata (bath robe) after it. Masako and I opted for the $4 regular option. Even so, we still had to wait in line for 15 minutes to use the showers. Women sat there washing their hair, rinsing, sudsy-ing, and rinsing again. I was getting annoyed. When it was my turn, I was done in about 5 minutes. (I did not wash my hair, by the way.) <br /><br /><A href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEharVDpT_CdJrXL-bA3IK5-he5Q6xU_TPRWk2VZg3jbJkc5mZeaJRlqedQds-Gpi67ocGh6vzfqsy2cVsXaeWpz5IFbxTnwGgo7A3fy7jaW376GEhRaAhBBqb5MS7aZC72fzrmr9KHiyPBT/s1600/Postcards+and+Translation+006.JPG"><IMG style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 133px; CURSOR: hand" id=BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475525868485089314 border=0 alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEharVDpT_CdJrXL-bA3IK5-he5Q6xU_TPRWk2VZg3jbJkc5mZeaJRlqedQds-Gpi67ocGh6vzfqsy2cVsXaeWpz5IFbxTnwGgo7A3fy7jaW376GEhRaAhBBqb5MS7aZC72fzrmr9KHiyPBT/s200/Postcards+and+Translation+006.JPG"></A> <EM>Matsuyama Bathhouse</EM> <br /><br />Although the bath house seemed fairly large from the outside, the bath itself was small. The women gathered around the edges, making it difficult to find an opening to step in. The water wasn’t too hot, and there was a white fountain in the center that poured streams of water soothingly on my neck and back. On the back wall, there was some kind of picture on the ceramic tiles, but as I didn’t have my glasses, I had to go right up to it and squint. <br /><br /><OBJECT id=BLOG_video-85085e6c4e5665d1 class=BLOG_video_class width=320 height=266 contentId="85085e6c4e5665d1"></OBJECT><EM>Botchan Clock</EM> <em>Botchan Clock</em><br /><br />Stepping out of the bath at about 15 minutes ‘til 9:00, the line into Dogo Onsen was even longer, making a maze-like formation on the side, the kind you see at amusement parks just outside the big coaster. Crowded as it had been, we were lucky we had got there early. At 9:00, the Botchan Clock played whimsical music, and characters from Natsume Soseki’s famous novel popped out and bobbed back and forth to the song. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHLhxqM1cvxn_qxU9ncTjZ6RWV7_iYh2n1oGzJg_loXLs6VvikqE9kPXWJTKBSH6o4kJRsuwlfWomJLuUmRmTeHiI6jLrSp2WybQGXfJ8pygcU88GFoB8bQc5VasjqLHxsf4jka8tesvce/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+277.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHLhxqM1cvxn_qxU9ncTjZ6RWV7_iYh2n1oGzJg_loXLs6VvikqE9kPXWJTKBSH6o4kJRsuwlfWomJLuUmRmTeHiI6jLrSp2WybQGXfJ8pygcU88GFoB8bQc5VasjqLHxsf4jka8tesvce/s200/Golden+Week+2010+277.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475526345357321746" /></a> <em>Ishite Jizo</em><br /><br />Our next stop was Ishite, one of the weirdest Buddhist temples I have ever been to. It seemed like people took architectural elements from all the different sects and threw them randomly together. There were several small Jizo statues for children who died in infanthood; an elephant statue and a temple that had a needle pointing up; and round Christmas-looking ornaments hanging near red-haired, blue-skinned warrior gods painted on a wall. I didn’t really know what to make of it. Neither did Masako, though her family’s not Buddhist either. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSeySNlZ-xuPcKKaUDj9CIRsXlvRRGPlyuYdRis1iRCmbSOS4H0WJ4YQj2xL4N5B0yU46NzyGQW-aGY1hkqZ5nFRE7rUmwTi37FYGknWrUwEAnjoxRVWNJebJEhI4B8piZ69TwsCOKQM2s/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+289.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSeySNlZ-xuPcKKaUDj9CIRsXlvRRGPlyuYdRis1iRCmbSOS4H0WJ4YQj2xL4N5B0yU46NzyGQW-aGY1hkqZ5nFRE7rUmwTi37FYGknWrUwEAnjoxRVWNJebJEhI4B8piZ69TwsCOKQM2s/s200/Golden+Week+2010+289.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475528180744078082" /></a> <em>Buddhist Caves</em><br /><br />There were also some caves, or cement tunnels if you like, which I found by following white-clad pilgrims to what looked like a door into a hill. I climbed right on in, and Masako bravely followed, despite not really liking caves. It was cool and pitch dark in there. I could make out white pictures of something on the wall and gray looking shapes, but it wasn’t until I snapped my picture, letting off an explosion of light, that I could see the old statues adorned with red cloth, just tossed near the wall in a jumble. As we made our way through the cave, I used my camera’s flash to see what was going on around me. <br /><br />Then, we went to the treasure house. I normally don’t like these things, because I can never understand what all the weird random artifacts actually are. But this time, I had Masako to explain it to me. The Major Treasure of the Temple and the reason for its name was—drum roll please—a small gray pebble about the size of your thumb and forefinger joined together to make a circle. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0RE4e1EIdTf1eVsv9352wpmmmmilPB45P9HcspwpBLz2vJDnVmsGkemliyZknk3KtpqOrYjhXb5OgWBVk7uHpyc1qegSAzv5kbka3AYlz6FHIq8pPUW2yEFsVrB3Lh2gM48H513wJRFkH/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+296.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0RE4e1EIdTf1eVsv9352wpmmmmilPB45P9HcspwpBLz2vJDnVmsGkemliyZknk3KtpqOrYjhXb5OgWBVk7uHpyc1qegSAzv5kbka3AYlz6FHIq8pPUW2yEFsVrB3Lh2gM48H513wJRFkH/s200/Golden+Week+2010+296.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475528679760536354" /></a> <em>The Treasure of the Rock</em><br /><br />But it’s not just any pebble; of course, there’s a story behind it. Once a very miserly rich man was cruel to a famous monk who happened to be passing through. He threw a bowl at him, and it cracked into three pieces. Later, his three sons died. Repentant, the rich man decided to go on a pilgrimage all around Shikoku to find the monk. This became the basis for the Pilgrimage of 88 Temples, which still goes on to this day. The rich man died without ever meeting the monk in person, though he may have met him in a dream. Years later, the small son of a nobleman held something in his hand and would not let it go. When he finally opened his hand, they saw a small rock with the rich man’s name miraculously written on it. If you squint at the rock, you can still the characters etched into the stone. The temple took charge of this treasure, gradually earning it the name “Ishi-te” or “Rock Hand” Temple.<br /><br /> After visiting a shrine where scholars gave thanks for solutions to tricky math problems and also checking out the aforementioned shrine to the water of Dogo Onsen (which did make my skin feel nice and refreshed), Masako and I caught lunch. We had Tai Meshi, a specialty of the area. Tai is a kind of fish, in this case cut into sashimi and spread over rice. There was also a bowl of yama imo and soy sauce to pour over the fish for flavor. Yama imo—how do I explain this one? The name literally means “Mountain potato,” but the only time I’ve ever seen it is when it’s been grated into a kind of slimy white goop. For some reason, though, I like it, and I rather enjoyed my Tai Meshi as well. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnD2Y18gPbvvnJFI_YbMI845c-0ZnXD6oGt43C1LvOldrfAtH1v6v7FFzOI-FfthMpQfyClUDlyHpEJ3XQo38ytgn2N16DxRKl32LF7BTuXfDeiUrHtoqH4PK13pBAvtoZ0VKo2g4aEwgn/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+313.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnD2Y18gPbvvnJFI_YbMI845c-0ZnXD6oGt43C1LvOldrfAtH1v6v7FFzOI-FfthMpQfyClUDlyHpEJ3XQo38ytgn2N16DxRKl32LF7BTuXfDeiUrHtoqH4PK13pBAvtoZ0VKo2g4aEwgn/s200/Golden+Week+2010+313.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475529047145418562" /></a> <em>Tai Meshi</em><br /><br />Now, so far, I think I’ve been very good about not boring you with a long tirade on some obscure historical figure you don’t really care about. But as we come to the Shiki Memorial Museum, I ask your indulgence just one more time. Because the life of this man really moved me. <br /><br />Masaoka Shiki was born into the Meiji* era, and in many ways, he was a quintessential man of the times. He enjoyed the new fad sport of baseball, even becoming the one to coin the Japanese word for it, “yakyu.” He was a journalist and went across the seas to cover the Sino-Japanese War. He took a hard look at classical Japanese poetry and made great reforms to the haiku in particular, challenging poets to drop time-worn clichés and create new kinds of verse. He became friends with some of the greatest literary minds of the era, including Natsume Soseki (“Botchan,” I Am a Cat”) and Mori Ogai (“Gan”), and opened a salon of burgeoning poets. And he was dying. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipqtuCsNbhjY3re6MHJ-79I9CxE6vXXf7fdzu2gNxjrcgjrp7hFR9NP-WpQSpcwElYaCcHd2Um0UvBKev1LCLP2oGb-V_W8svFV73d-WrleGlpjJSmHetA_dB8GwHSkWQ9oLp7xqKLK127/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+348.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipqtuCsNbhjY3re6MHJ-79I9CxE6vXXf7fdzu2gNxjrcgjrp7hFR9NP-WpQSpcwElYaCcHd2Um0UvBKev1LCLP2oGb-V_W8svFV73d-WrleGlpjJSmHetA_dB8GwHSkWQ9oLp7xqKLK127/s200/Golden+Week+2010+348.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475529398226141410" /></a> <em>Masaoka Shiki</em><br /><br />When he was 21 years old, he spit blood for the first time. That image became his pen name. Shiki is a song bird with a red mouth, a symbol of his illness. This sickness continued until his death in his 40s. So can you imagine spending 20 years knowing your life is slowly spinning away? Can you imagine struggling to be involved in an exciting, tumultuous era of reform, while wracked with pain, immobilized at times? Often, the thought haunts me. If I were to live for only a short time, would I ever be known for anything? And if I, at 21, the pinnacle of youth, discovered that life was ending, would I give up or make the most of what I had? <br /><br />All right. That’s all I will push on you. Now back to frivolous stuff. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLYNgsKcBHEDAYzgz0bLYkS4Oz3VOx4f-Hlq0ZQOZCX0bOluEwkHVqmthqhzYtf4hXH5qSrUjehQdynZxeu1ilG4UupvTPDEQaF8wsNSuA0VkfYUQlLlKuOUBam2QOgbSdzbdsBozNb-BC/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+326.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLYNgsKcBHEDAYzgz0bLYkS4Oz3VOx4f-Hlq0ZQOZCX0bOluEwkHVqmthqhzYtf4hXH5qSrUjehQdynZxeu1ilG4UupvTPDEQaF8wsNSuA0VkfYUQlLlKuOUBam2QOgbSdzbdsBozNb-BC/s200/Golden+Week+2010+326.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475529776760999762" /></a> <em>Botchan Dango and Taruto</em><br /><br />Masako and I did more sightseeing in the afternoon. We stopped at an old school that marked the first major effort of Matsushima to educate boys in the modern era, which was ironically sat inside an operational public high school (with high school students practicing baseball only a few feet away). We also saw the house Natsume Soseki and Masaoka Shiki shared as roommates, which eventually became Shiki’s salon. Between these two historical buildings, we sipped water at our hotel lobby and ate Botchan dango (three colored balls on a toothpick, with the texture of Playdough, that was surprisingly good) and “Taruto” (what looked like a slice of roll cake with a chestnut inside).<br /><br />* The Meiji era: from 1868-1912. The era when Japan became modernized. Two important wars were fought at the time. The Sino-Japanese War, wherein Japan and China fought over Korea, ended with a decisive Japanese victory and a signal that Japan was no longer a backwater country. Later, in the Russo-Japanese War, Japan gained a victory over Russia, the first time in modern history that an Asian country defeated a “European” country, causing the West some degree of shock.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWG9m5VKgKQhW19x9ygGtTSGH8OA_MT8RWRPz6bz6pM731pxJxX-69eXuDwPRd6IKSg9DkhNizK6NuH90i4AR9-jYy3ddXaqXi6dWxZ-hyUsOmI90uddsU5Qo_VYTn8PW4e97pfqqLXFzD/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+304.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWG9m5VKgKQhW19x9ygGtTSGH8OA_MT8RWRPz6bz6pM731pxJxX-69eXuDwPRd6IKSg9DkhNizK6NuH90i4AR9-jYy3ddXaqXi6dWxZ-hyUsOmI90uddsU5Qo_VYTn8PW4e97pfqqLXFzD/s320/Golden+Week+2010+304.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475530398311280994" /></a>Rebecca Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16751163568561321683noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3284105143898396022.post-69990586303073142892010-05-26T19:06:00.005+09:002010-05-26T19:27:38.766+09:00Golden Week: Matsuyama, Day 1<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAG16IKpusVm2fFkslDkmeJWGZAIkZ-_rQSREZNlQ41tSf2qrOSrC1ZBLwN_qwcPJD8QNr_7rhsl-SqMJCWNiZnzPCuFxq03aPVRNZjnTc7HdTRkbkpaZWBKFZuGXprNcROWWRqUGSv0qW/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+245.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAG16IKpusVm2fFkslDkmeJWGZAIkZ-_rQSREZNlQ41tSf2qrOSrC1ZBLwN_qwcPJD8QNr_7rhsl-SqMJCWNiZnzPCuFxq03aPVRNZjnTc7HdTRkbkpaZWBKFZuGXprNcROWWRqUGSv0qW/s320/Golden+Week+2010+245.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475522802013714722" /></a><br /><br /><STRONG>May 22, 2010</STRONG> <br /><br />The next morning, bright and early, Masako and I crossed the Seto Inland Sea and entered the island of Shikoku. Our train made a satisfying noise as it swooped over the long, steel laced bridge. Shikoku, the last of the four main islands of Japan, is definitely the most rural. I could tell because when we came to Matsuyama, the largest city on the whole island, the station didn’t even have automatic ticket machines; we had to hand our tickets to the people working there. <br /><br />(Incidentally, Shikoku means “Four Kingdoms.” There are four prefectures there. I had been to three—Tokushima, Kochi, and Kagawa—in summer of 2008. Ehime was the last one.) <br /><br /><OBJECT id=BLOG_video-5ed0955e7ed6369c class=BLOG_video_class width=320 height=266 contentId="5ed0955e7ed6369c"></OBJECT> <em>Riding on the Seto Inland Bridge</em><br /><br />Ehime Prefecture, where Matsuyama City is located, is best known for oranges. But I didn’t want oranges for lunch, so we (and by we, I mean Masako) asked the receptionist at our hotel what was good to eat and where we could eat it. She mentioned Go-shiki Somen, or 5-colored noodles, and also Tai Meshi, Tai being a kind of fish. The restaurant she pointed out had curtains of straw in alternating colors, mimicking the appearance of the somen noodles. Our noodles, however, were primarily white, with a dash of green, pink, and yellow. (What was the fifth color, I wonder?) Even so, the cold somen was delicious, and there was a piece of Tai fish and orange-flavored Inari-zushi (sushi wrapped in sweet tofu). <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj62QAI6d1obESRzz0XNHodj58BFM26v0zfxwiQpdgXwVM_vaFpKN88aFO9l4L9Vd_KT_KM-BtcbD9BL8_JA2DausJ_FJz2y1f2ipklZbsVg0_p8ZnO9eYXbbJfcKgDShpeicrhH8A4CPZK/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+172.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj62QAI6d1obESRzz0XNHodj58BFM26v0zfxwiQpdgXwVM_vaFpKN88aFO9l4L9Vd_KT_KM-BtcbD9BL8_JA2DausJ_FJz2y1f2ipklZbsVg0_p8ZnO9eYXbbJfcKgDShpeicrhH8A4CPZK/s200/Golden+Week+2010+172.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475521611691202290" /></a> <em>(Supposedly) 5-Colored Noodles</em><br /><br />By now, we were well into Golden Week and it showed. Crowds were everywhere. We had to stand in line just to buy a ticket for the lift that took us up the hill, where Matsuyama Castle was. And when we got there, we were greeted with this announcement: the castle was full, and they weren’t letting people in at this time. Masako and I chilled with some shaved ice (mine had pieces of orange and gelatin at the bottom) and enjoyed the amazing view of the old castle, the city, and the bay. <br /><br /><OBJECT id=BLOG_video-7d2bdb87b494711 class=BLOG_video_class width=320 height=266 contentId="7d2bdb87b494711"></OBJECT> <em>Matsuyama Vista</em><br /><br />Once we finally did get in, we battled more crowds. People, people everywhere, ruining the experience. It was kind of sad because Matsuyama Castle was an original castle, not a reconstructed one, and had lots of English signs, neat tidbits of history, and some cool artifacts. While reviewing my pictures, I stumbled upon a tea caddy with the Tokugawa crest on it (signifying the close relationship between Lord Matsudaira of Matsuyama and the Shogun) and old graffiti of a samurai’s head. But when I think back to the castle, all I can actually recollect is lines of people shuffling around the displays and waiting to go up and down all those steep, dark, narrow staircases.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisyirNP4klHdksmFmwYs22Ub9TufNjqwpfJzYKVy5yxOjJiQs31iS5G6rZlAueXexO3yDd5h_7Pdgqa0GpOwC_P8Ptul2IBZltrScpLBLKsJi9VDIvJZ2Pz-gnLRmJT94c9Rrku9HAnF9x/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+228.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisyirNP4klHdksmFmwYs22Ub9TufNjqwpfJzYKVy5yxOjJiQs31iS5G6rZlAueXexO3yDd5h_7Pdgqa0GpOwC_P8Ptul2IBZltrScpLBLKsJi9VDIvJZ2Pz-gnLRmJT94c9Rrku9HAnF9x/s320/Golden+Week+2010+228.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475522216607833186" /></a>Rebecca Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16751163568561321683noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3284105143898396022.post-38177725201794538762010-05-26T18:52:00.008+09:002010-05-26T20:47:16.259+09:00Golden Week: Kurashiki<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKffZkon_5xRSCo3F45Pf4jGPgQShS6D49lWHTS9YZPcEjVz4u3rjsPfHzVUUJ1et1irWIz_6BBHlPnCwLljWvqIfitPBYHgXeYHFGR3JvX3DAa_2uKLc6Qym5ZKUMZzmUchWBJAW405pa/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+071.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKffZkon_5xRSCo3F45Pf4jGPgQShS6D49lWHTS9YZPcEjVz4u3rjsPfHzVUUJ1et1irWIz_6BBHlPnCwLljWvqIfitPBYHgXeYHFGR3JvX3DAa_2uKLc6Qym5ZKUMZzmUchWBJAW405pa/s400/Golden+Week+2010+071.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475517352091441234" /></a><br /><br /><strong>May 22, 2010</strong><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-R5euOQhsx06HFVongJjNNi3wUWdhFkE-dG9NHWMtMi6Jj7HDqDjkIcU3uov6O1WqsJzRt9kslvuAI1lg_FyhYvJT0ddu8T-R6sIUfyoUcv7_lKZhaoq8bN3GSO7RapGFHckd6DRfbmeY/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+070.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-R5euOQhsx06HFVongJjNNi3wUWdhFkE-dG9NHWMtMi6Jj7HDqDjkIcU3uov6O1WqsJzRt9kslvuAI1lg_FyhYvJT0ddu8T-R6sIUfyoUcv7_lKZhaoq8bN3GSO7RapGFHckd6DRfbmeY/s200/Golden+Week+2010+070.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475515961204832530" /></a> <em>Me In Front of Ohara Museum</em><br /><br /> On May 1st, a Saturday, we visited Kurashiki, a small city a half hour away from Okayama. Fat carp swam in green canals, ivy grew on brick buildings, and vendors spread jewelry over black fabric on the road in the sun. Masako and I went from museum to museum. In the Ohara Museum, the classic Roman build, hid a maze of room, up and down, stuffed with classic Western paintings. Across from that, a very old and traditional house had been bedecked in models of space men and lantern-eyed cats, with a whole dragon’s erupting from the top window. A small private museum housed scarred statues of warriors and crows. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzMEI-Ynwp-11cKtTdMwXJJJMSYcTqUzY5hko1LPUlTEe38CRHT063c6e8FNTZHnYXnUosVulx4_C6BZiqUWcpTMOhnhUQaEXcMoHLrSutmH3RfImcpSUKBvgnOVdS2yvRJTSbnwjG5VKW/s1600/Postcards+and+Translation+013.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 120px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzMEI-Ynwp-11cKtTdMwXJJJMSYcTqUzY5hko1LPUlTEe38CRHT063c6e8FNTZHnYXnUosVulx4_C6BZiqUWcpTMOhnhUQaEXcMoHLrSutmH3RfImcpSUKBvgnOVdS2yvRJTSbnwjG5VKW/s200/Postcards+and+Translation+013.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475517703770675426" /></a> <em>Kojima's Painting</em><br /><br /> At the Kojima Museum, Masako and I discussed what it meant for art to truly be Japanese. Mr. Kojima was born in the late Meiji era, a time when Japan was borrowing liberally from the West while still trying to maintain their own Japanese soul. One of the main works of Mr. Kojima was a large Impressionistic painting in soft pastels of a Japanese woman in a kimono surrounded by flowers in full bloom. Masako and I both agreed: we didn’t like it. It just didn’t seem Japanese. The flowers exploded every which way, crowding out the empty space, and losing some the simplicity and austerity of the Japanese heart. Another work, done in a realistic “Western style” showed a mother with a child asleep at her breast and a young girl near her sharing a quiet moment in the dark of a water mill. We both loved this painting. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnb7I8RKG3axPagZLIvxotEIBYYqIiKPy2bA74GnnpsmMqDKwngRRXw_0RIz0qis0jSOD4PhhZ5ecomHxzZTV5VMeFj4a1zqRRzrGdp38qR_P5TgJJzAtSXrt9GPskqfDNdLoJg5Edi6AB/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+132.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnb7I8RKG3axPagZLIvxotEIBYYqIiKPy2bA74GnnpsmMqDKwngRRXw_0RIz0qis0jSOD4PhhZ5ecomHxzZTV5VMeFj4a1zqRRzrGdp38qR_P5TgJJzAtSXrt9GPskqfDNdLoJg5Edi6AB/s200/Golden+Week+2010+132.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475516304600467746" /></a><br /><em>Tea at a Pottery Shop</em><br /><br /> The day slipped into afternoon. We had frothy green tea and snacks in a pottery shop. Our table was an old stone well with a sheet of glass covering the top. When I looked down, I could see weeds poking out of the cracks and darkness. Around us, sweet-smelling pink orchids brushed against the shelves and shelves of brown bowls and cups. Just above were several beautiful photographs of humming birds, one bird perched on a branch of pink plum blossoms, another hovering above a lucid spear. The shop owner, while whipping up our tea, told us he took the pictures and explained how he arranged the props, lured the birds with honey, and waited hours and hours just to get that one perfect picture.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs9d0hu-Pax-7UZrBnwkVTHIbCJfHp4JnkZWMDadpjgmqnRYg_P_uz8wpEACCmPSOX2Kuo0n0hHE3BdkyK0no0JSBdaU9bYS9AHLPDsDGI4X4F-KVWjNROZZ0gb5DlWvKaTWBIaGJuavwk/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+138.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs9d0hu-Pax-7UZrBnwkVTHIbCJfHp4JnkZWMDadpjgmqnRYg_P_uz8wpEACCmPSOX2Kuo0n0hHE3BdkyK0no0JSBdaU9bYS9AHLPDsDGI4X4F-KVWjNROZZ0gb5DlWvKaTWBIaGJuavwk/s200/Golden+Week+2010+138.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475516716428303410" /></a> <em>Shrine at Twilight</em><br /><br /> The afternoon slipped to twilight. We visited a shrine. At top, a strong wing blew my hair, and we could see all of Kurashiki displayed below us. But I was more fascinated with the way the sinking sun’s golden rays sifted through the purple blossoms dangling from a Wisteria vine.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk_z-waRzO3vAN8wOgQwVg-yYR9xVhnbv7UZA69jXRYLDEntD4dXTJopvCHGy6XSRC56anlt-qC6NSw26vuKWLUF38T0Iheowhh1c3OLxvKC30w8wEkqvWCk_9Av_Midal0N90REOXYilI/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+152.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk_z-waRzO3vAN8wOgQwVg-yYR9xVhnbv7UZA69jXRYLDEntD4dXTJopvCHGy6XSRC56anlt-qC6NSw26vuKWLUF38T0Iheowhh1c3OLxvKC30w8wEkqvWCk_9Av_Midal0N90REOXYilI/s320/Golden+Week+2010+152.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475543842244177602" /></a>Rebecca Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16751163568561321683noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3284105143898396022.post-18335056510325250482010-05-26T17:59:00.009+09:002010-05-26T18:51:25.586+09:00Golden Week: Okayama<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7i2g8uAM7nd6DVD_zRYH8NYvePTvVTrsc9FuQ_jcnQXBPUxih_XRK_zq3aL6-H-UIFqVJU9lGM-nk4KZtqJJnw-1EKwNJloxSAzmAQTAJC02KG-aMiV8Mk4qaQNZxYBOV3_m5QQFlxqGU/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+010.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7i2g8uAM7nd6DVD_zRYH8NYvePTvVTrsc9FuQ_jcnQXBPUxih_XRK_zq3aL6-H-UIFqVJU9lGM-nk4KZtqJJnw-1EKwNJloxSAzmAQTAJC02KG-aMiV8Mk4qaQNZxYBOV3_m5QQFlxqGU/s400/Golden+Week+2010+010.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475513703616117042" /></a><br /><br /><strong>May 22, 2010</strong><br /><br /> For seven days the weather was perfect. Golden warm, sunny, with blue skies and a light breeze. Now, I consider a seven days without rain in Japan a small miracle. That those seven days just happened to align with Golden Week was something like divine intervention—or perhaps good karma after my disastrous Yokohama trip. <br /><br /> On April 29th, I rode the bullet train up to Okayama with Masako. Masako is a friend who volunteers as a guide at San Gan’en, the main tourist attraction in Kagoshima City. Her English is excellent. After a half hour or so, I completely gave up trying to speak Japanese. My bumbling attempts seemed pathetic next to her very polished English. I asked if she knew what the specialty food of Okayama was. Kibidango, she said. She was planning to take some home to her kids as a souvenir.<br /><br /> Okayama, as it turned out, has many specialty foods. Muscat grapes and giant peaches were famous, too. I asked someone how big these giant peaches grew, and he held up his hands to indicate the size of a small pumpkin. Incidentally, this probably explains why the legend of Momotaro, the Peach Boy, hails from this area.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6H_X2p0si_dsl08g3o5rt4T5j-bCMfRkLWNpccWZ0baSIiXKDLBla0TS4oet8i-mD9H0i1Eti7VtQymt20gIS2ZHy5T42rb9nvTfI-Nis03EKNjm2aMW7be3i2brEdtQ5Gk66V26YqvuZ/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+007.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6H_X2p0si_dsl08g3o5rt4T5j-bCMfRkLWNpccWZ0baSIiXKDLBla0TS4oet8i-mD9H0i1Eti7VtQymt20gIS2ZHy5T42rb9nvTfI-Nis03EKNjm2aMW7be3i2brEdtQ5Gk66V26YqvuZ/s200/Golden+Week+2010+007.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475509687037114098" /></a> <em>A Statue of Momotaro and Friends</em><br /><br /> Long ago, an old man saw a huge peach floating down a river. He brought it home to his wife to eat for supper, when, lo and behold, the peach split and out popped a healthy baby boy. The childless old couple adopted him and named him Momotaro. (“Momo” means peach in Japanese.) When Momotaro grew up, he decided to seek his fortune. Along the way, he met a dog, a pheasant, and a monkey, and gained their valuable services by sharing some kibidango with them. Together they traveled to Oni Island and defeated the demon that lived there. (“Oni” means demon in Japanese.) The four companions shared the demon’s treasure hoard, and they all lived happily ever after.<br /><br /> The statue of Momotaro just outside Okayama Station was a little smaller than I expected, but cute nonetheless. The station itself was a maze of small shops: places selling honey water and fresh waffles and all the kibidango you could hope for. (No giant peaches though; they were out of season.) But toward the back of the station, where our hotel was, it was surprisingly quiet. As soon as we stepped outside, the crowds melted away.<br /><br /> That first night, Masako and I spread our futons on the tatami mat floor and did crossword puzzles from a book Masako had bought. This became a tradition all the while we were in Okayama. These puzzles were both easy for me and hard at the same time. For instance, I knew the name for a prehistoric flying dinosaur, but can anyone spell the word “pterodactyl” off the top of their head with 100 % confidence? <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGLTlVT4VbLrzz8Tz3UC-lHP03PxqBowBB9z9dLNL_CVtJOTwptJl02Cw9GaELKWEekhUQQRNRf48-RZAPsO-klemiMYUoLQ0F8i4u4tHLI7kK5HREZMWXUA_SmtSVN8v1zwnLTaycuXri/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+042.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGLTlVT4VbLrzz8Tz3UC-lHP03PxqBowBB9z9dLNL_CVtJOTwptJl02Cw9GaELKWEekhUQQRNRf48-RZAPsO-klemiMYUoLQ0F8i4u4tHLI7kK5HREZMWXUA_SmtSVN8v1zwnLTaycuXri/s200/Golden+Week+2010+042.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475511518490594738" /></a> <em>Goraku-En</em><br /><br /> The main tourist attraction in Okayama was Goraku-en, a garden ranked as one of the three most beautiful in all of Japan. I’ve said it before, but honestly, I don’t understand the ranking system. There so are many beautiful gardens in Japan. Why did this one deserve a medal?<br /><br /> Masako and I came to Goraku-en bright and early the next morning. I remember the long, sweeping green lawns, much like the quad at my college, and the clever use of “borrowed” scenery: Okayama Castle, which appeared pleasingly miniature in the background. An old rest house was uniquely designed with a stream splitting the building in half; people sitting on the floor could dip their toes into the water. There were small rice fields gone fallow, tea bushes, and cages filled with peacocks. And there were flowers, too.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikSRYngVDJeOsaO4tWhGgLWTKVLe2fHewTGUV8oMBu9G-u098fjQPk956xQ3BG-RAqpBRAitsy3JzSD_SqUtB8xaIzN8gN_lTWozE51mJJrq6BqFnK8AyqBqFpR_6_jz-ijxBwdU-jzwXp/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+036.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikSRYngVDJeOsaO4tWhGgLWTKVLe2fHewTGUV8oMBu9G-u098fjQPk956xQ3BG-RAqpBRAitsy3JzSD_SqUtB8xaIzN8gN_lTWozE51mJJrq6BqFnK8AyqBqFpR_6_jz-ijxBwdU-jzwXp/s200/Golden+Week+2010+036.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475512011575153410" /></a> <em><em>Peach Soft Serve and Wisteria</em></em><br /><br /> I swear, every time I go on vacation in Japan, I become obsessed with some flower or another. The first time I went to Kyoto (in 2005), I marveled at the Irises. I was inspired by Cherry Blossoms in Yamaguchi and enchanted by the Hydrangeas in Hokkaido. This time, it was Wisteria. Purple and sometimes white flowers that hung like bunches of grapes from the vines. The straw roof of a tea shop in Goraku-en was wreathed in Wisteria. I ate peach soft serve ice cream just underneath them, while Masako sat in the sun and sipped green tea.<br /> <br /> After visiting a few small museums near the garden, Masako and I made our way to Okayama Castle. We crossed a bridge over a river, and the castle grew bigger and bigger. Okayama Castle has the nickname of U-jo or “Crow Castle,” so named for its black color. The name is also a deliberate contrast to the white “Heron Castle” of Himeji. Unlike Himeji Castle, U-jo is a reconstruction; I liked it nonetheless. Black castles are cool!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkm9HCpM2WzcSbFQX4EYcoFefUGnJ80wcsqlKTlt2JztxLLvOi1rNJb4GJmY7k9mK2rn4qY7U9aUDDLwBMGRplPYlJ6QCq4Idn4dI-T0uFHPEV8WF-zopgkdmjTEcwflK8WZymRsFSWhqS/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+049.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkm9HCpM2WzcSbFQX4EYcoFefUGnJ80wcsqlKTlt2JztxLLvOi1rNJb4GJmY7k9mK2rn4qY7U9aUDDLwBMGRplPYlJ6QCq4Idn4dI-T0uFHPEV8WF-zopgkdmjTEcwflK8WZymRsFSWhqS/s200/Golden+Week+2010+049.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475512721909566482" /></a> <em>Okayama Castle</em><br /><br /> Coincidently, U-jo was hosting an exhibition on my favorite historical era: the Bakumatsu*. It was called “Aizu, Choshu… and Okayama.” But I have to say that the exhibition contained precious little on Okayama, and I already knew about Choshu (Yamaguchi) and Aizu, having visited them before. Even more disappointingly, the signs were mostly in Japanese and no pictures were allowed. However, I did snap an illegal photo of the one English sign that actually explained Okayama’s role in this turbulent era.<br /><br /> Basically, the lord of Okayama was actually the brother (or at least half-brother) of the last Shogun in Japan, Tokugawa Yoshinobu. This, as you might imagine, made them enemies of Choshu. There was also one local hero who made great political gains in Aizu—which came to naught when Aizu was conquered by Choshu. Eventually, however, this man became governor of Okayama.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh4RlU-s0Jj_Plt3t_nGOCeh2IA8-Lft18H7oxDnWGcZy9bTA5P1zCq789U3nMQcEWMrBhOBQ9Jwqa8E6TnC3jzVPoOVGvsYp3BCo5B9gH81QwD1npOFPCHgGIwOghseNPtqq4FKCM3kDw/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+160.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh4RlU-s0Jj_Plt3t_nGOCeh2IA8-Lft18H7oxDnWGcZy9bTA5P1zCq789U3nMQcEWMrBhOBQ9Jwqa8E6TnC3jzVPoOVGvsYp3BCo5B9gH81QwD1npOFPCHgGIwOghseNPtqq4FKCM3kDw/s200/Golden+Week+2010+160.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475513196012364354" /></a> <em>Kibidango and Waffles</em><br /><br /> Masako and I visited another museum, but by 2:00 we had run out of things to see. So, we spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around the clean, pretty town and did some shopping. Masako bought cups of clear gelatin with fruit in it. I bought kibidango in peach, Muscat, and yuzu (citrone) flavors. We shared our feast for dessert that evening.<br /><br />*Bakumatsu: the time from approximately 1853-1868, wherein an alliance between Choshu (Yamaguchi) and Satsuma (Kagoshima) succeeded in toppling the Tokugawa Shogunate. Plenty more detail in my blog. Just follow the link. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaY1QRjatrdE5um_CgDPcCvWwPi6-EHQOBGuO3q4VNyD5swxegjK9_clSMpdS0VycEis7zhGyzOogdjmmdP-5KjmqtvJl6fCwQHs5TxRAbset7stZ0PNDwVHZtoxEejhDhbRlCIBefr7lO/s1600/Golden+Week+2010+025.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaY1QRjatrdE5um_CgDPcCvWwPi6-EHQOBGuO3q4VNyD5swxegjK9_clSMpdS0VycEis7zhGyzOogdjmmdP-5KjmqtvJl6fCwQHs5TxRAbset7stZ0PNDwVHZtoxEejhDhbRlCIBefr7lO/s320/Golden+Week+2010+025.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475513901624684130" /></a>Rebecca Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16751163568561321683noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3284105143898396022.post-40337060901886009982010-05-06T16:07:00.007+09:002010-05-06T21:15:53.956+09:00Translation: Katsura Kogoro: Chapter 1, Part 5<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC9Ja30Lx-KXf-nt2PJLpDzWzqvGYyY5VuZLk3-tRRDynEXWPx2iY-HV6zNAxFHzTbKny7_fOvqtvoptSEoBsepiBXlFHB6TIW440UghrywT4wm2aAKGwAfeBlCRhwWYKPJ3CfR6qrcMcw/s1600/Postcards+and+Translation+017.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC9Ja30Lx-KXf-nt2PJLpDzWzqvGYyY5VuZLk3-tRRDynEXWPx2iY-HV6zNAxFHzTbKny7_fOvqtvoptSEoBsepiBXlFHB6TIW440UghrywT4wm2aAKGwAfeBlCRhwWYKPJ3CfR6qrcMcw/s400/Postcards+and+Translation+017.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468051218594423842" /></a><br /><br /><em>Hagi Stories: Katsura Kogoro</em>. By: Issaki, Taro. This book was given to me by Osaki Yoko, a kind lady at Hagi Museum.<br /><br /><strong>Chapter 1: From Hagi to Kyoto</strong><br /><br />Page 13-14<br /><br /><strong>The Joi Policy</strong><br /><br /> In June 1858, the Shogunate approved the main part of the Japan-America Treaty of Amity and Commerce (The Harris Treaty), which dealt with the issue of free trade. This was done, again, without receiving Imperial permission, and Emperor Komei, a fierce hater of foreigners and a die-hard believer in the principal of Joi (“Expel the Barbarians!”), was indignant. A deep fissure appeared between the warriors of the Shogunate and the nobles of the Imperial Court.<br /><br /> Wishing to mediate between the Shogunate and the Court, Choshu samurai Nagai Uta put forward his “Policy of Expansion Across the Seas” in March 1861, backed by the support of Choshu Domain. Although it recognized “open country” as an established fact, nevertheless, Nagai’s policy was favorably received by both the Shogunate and the Court.<br /><br /> The students of the Shoka Sonjuku School, however, in following their teacher Shoin’s beliefs, thought that Choshu should instead unite around a policy of Sonno Joi (“Revere the Emperor!” “Expel the Barabarians!”). This soon developed into a violent political movement. The believers in Sonno Joi insisted upon a Japan centered around the Emperor, which resisted foreign pressure and took action to push back foreign intrusion.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7xL-3_N2GCKjmTdYWFq-ybyxGWxsUaQfc9t5XfTYvK1AMug6NcLeXbX1IC0BL43YGBatwUryxN4kMiU1ezZEXxMaPLedXgQ2nCdPCuoDODURZqzEZiViuBdLfydPRIkhl1NA23NPLf4wH/s1600/Postcards+and+Translation+030.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7xL-3_N2GCKjmTdYWFq-ybyxGWxsUaQfc9t5XfTYvK1AMug6NcLeXbX1IC0BL43YGBatwUryxN4kMiU1ezZEXxMaPLedXgQ2nCdPCuoDODURZqzEZiViuBdLfydPRIkhl1NA23NPLf4wH/s400/Postcards+and+Translation+030.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468051586711478722" /></a><br /><br /> The Imperial Court rallied; they disdained the proposed mediation they had initially agreed to. Choshu retracted its proposal, and Nagai, who had so incurred the Emperor’s wrath, was forced to commit suicide.<br /><br /> On July 6, 1862, in order to decide which policy Choshu should adopt hereafter, Lord Mori invited lower-ranked samurai to his Kyoto mansion in the Kawahara District and held a strategy meeting. Kogoro, who was by now a diplomat to the Court and to other domains, attended this meeting, as did Sufu Masanosuke and Nakamura Kuro. As a result, Choshu decided to completely rescind upon Nagai’s policy and instead dedicate themselves to obeying the Emperor’s will and doing all in their power to expel the barbarians.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy6Qxztyxl83ZzUVpjq4IyPA9QpAi7E7Vuzovn5V4sA_M5dR6syXI71SIP4xbplQzd5zM374ugcd5HueJLRGm_VDb1wIYPlYdcesaPVYt8fbmuXZDbD1TYL6JEEUeVhJlUYi01dHYrdgE4/s1600/Postcards+and+Translation+031.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy6Qxztyxl83ZzUVpjq4IyPA9QpAi7E7Vuzovn5V4sA_M5dR6syXI71SIP4xbplQzd5zM374ugcd5HueJLRGm_VDb1wIYPlYdcesaPVYt8fbmuXZDbD1TYL6JEEUeVhJlUYi01dHYrdgE4/s400/Postcards+and+Translation+031.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468052014585477458" /></a>Rebecca Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16751163568561321683noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3284105143898396022.post-30973589218596926162010-05-06T15:57:00.006+09:002010-05-06T21:15:10.852+09:00Translation: Katsura Kogoro: Chapter 1, Part 4<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH8tb8Urh38FU3uuvLfjqfzSdi_xICXBpWKk-99Vr0feyYfn1jjUNWIHrcweVugem0pAR8uXU5pTiXY9801fyq6x__rpsEU4eQMlKd7OARJh3Z6SJg_gdZUAQvr066cBmJ985ce3YGqIWM/s1600/Postcards+and+Translation+017.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH8tb8Urh38FU3uuvLfjqfzSdi_xICXBpWKk-99Vr0feyYfn1jjUNWIHrcweVugem0pAR8uXU5pTiXY9801fyq6x__rpsEU4eQMlKd7OARJh3Z6SJg_gdZUAQvr066cBmJ985ce3YGqIWM/s400/Postcards+and+Translation+017.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468048278809564818" /></a><br /><br /><em>Hagi Stories: Katsura Kogoro</em>. By: Issaki, Taro. This book was given to me by Osaki Yoko, a kind lady at Hagi Museum.<br /><br /><strong>Chapter 1: From Hagi to Kyoto</strong><br /><br />Page 11-12<br /><br /><strong>Studying the West</strong><br /><br /> Kogoro, having experienced the disturbance caused by the black ships, was in shock. The feeling of crisis pierced him through and through. Although he regarded and hated the West as an enemy, Kogoro decided against vainly trumpeting the exclusion of foriegners. First, he went in search of a teacher.<br /><br /> Egawa Taro of Nirayama was the top-ranked official in Western gunnery. Kogoro became his disciple, and at one point, the two went to inspect the defenses along the coasts of Musashi, Izu, and Sagami—all near Edo. In addition, Kogoro studied ship-building under Nakashima Saburonosuke, an officer of the old Uraga police station. In both thought and action, Kogoro was rapidly becoming a man of the times.<br /><br /> Another man who studied the West all the while he resented their tyrannical attitude was Kogoro’s old friend, Yoshida Shoin.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-kHTtndKyTGD_PbpoWKCQkOBXtEkUfWVASNQDhrSzCfG0onOEaot5mxXL4GO56vlTBcseypI11WFRlT-GKm9AEItiXicVWcJwPuh8swYjh8p-8-9uPAL7lfzVmE8f6pKCbeevSQcH3zBR/s1600/Postcards+and+Translation+028.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-kHTtndKyTGD_PbpoWKCQkOBXtEkUfWVASNQDhrSzCfG0onOEaot5mxXL4GO56vlTBcseypI11WFRlT-GKm9AEItiXicVWcJwPuh8swYjh8p-8-9uPAL7lfzVmE8f6pKCbeevSQcH3zBR/s400/Postcards+and+Translation+028.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468048546770948674" /></a><br /><br /> Shoin confided his secret plans to board a Russian warship at Nagasaki to Kogoro and gained his approval. Eventually, Shoin would attempt to board an American warship at Izu Shimoda in March 1854—and failed. He was shipped back to Hagi and imprisoned for trying to break the law against foreign travel. Although still under house arrest, Shoin built and presided over the famed Shoka Sonjuku School, where he guided the ideas of many young men in the neighborhood.<br /><br /> But due to his loud criticism of the Shoguate’s “open country” policy, Shoin became a victim of the Ansei Purge* He was kept in Tenmacho Prison, and on October 27, 1859 he was executed. He was 30 years old.<br /><br /> Kogoro, along with another one of Shoin’s disciples, Ito Shunsuke (later to become Ito Hirobumi, Japan’s first prime minister), brought back Shoin’s remains and buried him at Senju Kotsuka Field.<br /><br />* Ansei Purge: So named for the year of Ansei (ironically, “peaceful government”), this purge involved the imprisoning, execution, or censure of those who spoke against the Shogunate. It was a policy of Ii Naosuke and came to an end abruptly with his assassination, thereby setting a rather troubling precedent of dealing with contraversal politicians. Victims of the purge also included Saigo Takamori and oddly enough, Tokugawa Yoshinobu, who would go on to be the last Shogun.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9i3NedxQ2G21P-VlcCZD3_KY7sZqHBmb3ftaPfrM65M0nrFEqWQ73NA3w0nsBYsTIOqetHLdpq4TWzxhu-NCAUU5J3rwIS0J1CecYfGcfPh-gVBANaRO7QHl9ezKdmIRXorERobxTI3mp/s1600/Postcards+and+Translation+029.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9i3NedxQ2G21P-VlcCZD3_KY7sZqHBmb3ftaPfrM65M0nrFEqWQ73NA3w0nsBYsTIOqetHLdpq4TWzxhu-NCAUU5J3rwIS0J1CecYfGcfPh-gVBANaRO7QHl9ezKdmIRXorERobxTI3mp/s400/Postcards+and+Translation+029.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468049527860016258" /></a>Rebecca Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16751163568561321683noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3284105143898396022.post-53591446245847612982010-05-06T15:48:00.007+09:002010-05-06T21:14:11.450+09:00Translation: Katsura Kogoro: Chapter 1, Part 3<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3iB_G6a9m_FIYqmPeulFaMZASPARnCJWMDn6rN82DKTR6l5q-_i_87Wg8Wh_OSAioH6EZvG15jnskb9hnqn5ZitnGJJXeCrhs7QXynF9WR9zt0snY9iumqZKhKklHOJiR9YHWN2I3lC7T/s1600/Postcards+and+Translation+017.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3iB_G6a9m_FIYqmPeulFaMZASPARnCJWMDn6rN82DKTR6l5q-_i_87Wg8Wh_OSAioH6EZvG15jnskb9hnqn5ZitnGJJXeCrhs7QXynF9WR9zt0snY9iumqZKhKklHOJiR9YHWN2I3lC7T/s400/Postcards+and+Translation+017.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468045930513509762" /></a><br /><br /><em>Hagi Stories: Katsura Kogoro</em>. By: Issaki, Taro. This book was given to me by Osaki Yoko, a kind lady at Hagi Museum.<br /><br /><br /><strong>Chapter 1: From Hagi to Kyoto</strong><br /><br />Page 8-10<br /><br /><strong>The Arrival of Perry’s Ships</strong><br /><br /> As a young boy, Kogoro appeared sickly, despite having a good physical build.<br /><br /> Kogoro studied at the “Merinkan” school under Yoshida Shoin, who was three years his senior. In later years, Kogoro and Shoin would build a relationship beyond student and master and become good friends and kindred spirits.<br /><br /> In September 1852, Saito Shintaro, the eldest son of famed Edo fencing instructor Saito Yakuro, visited Hagi, the castle city of Choshu, where Kogoro lived. An opportunity arose for five students to visit Edo and study martial arts there. Although Kogoro was not one of the selected five, he did receive permission to “study abroad” in Edo on his own expense.<br /><br /> And so, tagging along, Kogoro reached #3 Koji-Machi, Edo, address of Saito Yakuro’s dojo and military training hall, and he crawled underneath the gate. Upon entering the dojo, it wasn’t long before Kogoro displayed such talent that he quickly climbed ranks to the top of the class.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsDzTEe2u_Mb1SUzwtpqZ996oJRk3XRjtdkSRX5yD3Geoi9EUHRd07EIkc9IES5SD9qtalaOv9cjpyHfwBTDcGTTjQv1eHWzBppiUCc_QX1t9HkMbVZ-bI0-hk-D6CFT5hMqeMpZqRXy0M/s1600/Postcards+and+Translation+024.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsDzTEe2u_Mb1SUzwtpqZ996oJRk3XRjtdkSRX5yD3Geoi9EUHRd07EIkc9IES5SD9qtalaOv9cjpyHfwBTDcGTTjQv1eHWzBppiUCc_QX1t9HkMbVZ-bI0-hk-D6CFT5hMqeMpZqRXy0M/s400/Postcards+and+Translation+024.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468046325684746818" /></a><br /><br /> While in Edo Kogoro also conversed with young people from different feudal domains all over the country. This would have an important influence on Kogoro’s activities later in life.<br /><br /> In June 1853, a fleet of “black ships,” under the command of Commodore Matthew Perry, could be seen off the coast of Uragawa. Perry had come to urge the Shogun to open Japan to trade, and his method was to use his warships to exert high pressure.<br /><br /> Kogoro, 21 at the time, was still in Edo, and he got to witness this unprecedented crisis unfold in real time.<br /><br /> On June 4, 1853, he wrote in his diary: “Now I hear rumors of a black ship called Tallamesh*.” The next day he wrote: “Gradually, the rumors have become widespread. It was my wish to go to Uraga by the hour of the dog (7:00-9:00 PM) and witness this appearance for myself, but some other business suddenly came up, and I was unable to go.” On June 9th, Kogoro was added to the line of soldiers under Lord of Choshu Mori Yoshichika (later Mori Takachika), charged with guarding the Omori Coast. Kogoro faithfully discharged his duty.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzdD4d9yNPudF83KGN6aOcBIT4sd9nBDINCW4iOiQGMPnbUbJWDAhG557MVkorxtuXJg0_WxTOimcMrHKh_-C-MrZW-KJH4TwdGJF5w_Yk6KwjxPcCQit_40dXyONcFwGSD5_H9665WLQv/s1600/Postcards+and+Translation+025.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzdD4d9yNPudF83KGN6aOcBIT4sd9nBDINCW4iOiQGMPnbUbJWDAhG557MVkorxtuXJg0_WxTOimcMrHKh_-C-MrZW-KJH4TwdGJF5w_Yk6KwjxPcCQit_40dXyONcFwGSD5_H9665WLQv/s400/Postcards+and+Translation+025.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468046869048422210" /></a><br /><br /> On June 13, Perry left Japan, having obtained the Shogun’s promise to respond to America’s demands in a year’s time. One year later, Perry did indeed return. The Shogunate, folding under pressure, signed the Japan-America Treaty of Amity and Friendship (also known as the Yokohama Treaty) in March of 1854.<br /><br />*The spelling of this word, as well as the spelling of many foreign names written in Japanese, should be taken with a grain of salt.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDczJLSa8erlMaVMOTaJx8SvlfgOWPCSutfdSiq3qVinsXbX5iIUzT2LTKRHeNwGZzrgkeaT7-KNJs5ukxDfzCcWqUN6LbVsyto4GflOPVlIrhBLDJSSfH03JEOLRj34B0g9vQZ5bBPvfi/s1600/Postcards+and+Translation+026.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDczJLSa8erlMaVMOTaJx8SvlfgOWPCSutfdSiq3qVinsXbX5iIUzT2LTKRHeNwGZzrgkeaT7-KNJs5ukxDfzCcWqUN6LbVsyto4GflOPVlIrhBLDJSSfH03JEOLRj34B0g9vQZ5bBPvfi/s400/Postcards+and+Translation+026.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468047212017906642" /></a>Rebecca Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16751163568561321683noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3284105143898396022.post-18393661333695243232010-05-06T15:42:00.005+09:002010-05-06T21:13:20.061+09:00Translation: Katsura Kogoro: Chapter 1, Part 2<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1LWAQfEpt9iNkBEeZtu-0E61k-GcFS0n1Ac7CMjLMv05k7GJY9cPFHCYDzgfziE3OPgZDFZFkhh5CkDaXrHL6eTC4Kozgz72rInP0g1gxI2L9r9LmmGP1WndOw6n6rehhxzbaXFnpsRDK/s1600/Postcards+and+Translation+017.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1LWAQfEpt9iNkBEeZtu-0E61k-GcFS0n1Ac7CMjLMv05k7GJY9cPFHCYDzgfziE3OPgZDFZFkhh5CkDaXrHL6eTC4Kozgz72rInP0g1gxI2L9r9LmmGP1WndOw6n6rehhxzbaXFnpsRDK/s400/Postcards+and+Translation+017.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468044242192807218" /></a><br /><br /><em>Hagi Stories: Katsura Kogoro</em>. By: Issaki, Taro. This book was given to me by Osaki Yoko, a kind lady at Hagi Museum.<br /><br /><strong>Chapter 1: From Hagi to Kyoto</strong><br /><br />Page 6-7<br /><br /><strong>Born in Edoya Quarters</strong><br /><br /> Today, Kido Takayoshi is famed as one of the “Three Great Men” of the Meiji Restoration, along with Saigo Takamori and Okubo Toshimichi, both of Satsuma. His family home in the Kokkaku block of the Edoya Quarters still exists. A stone monument stands before the gate, announcing “Place of Kido Takayoshi’s Birth.” <br /><br /> On June 26, 1833, Kido Takayoshi (not yet his name) was born to a physician in the samurai class named Wada Masakage and his second wife Seiko. They named their child Kogoro. Although Kogoro’s father received a stipend of only 20 koku, he also practiced medicine on private citizens and owned and rented real estate, so it seems the family was quite prosperous.<br /><br /> Wada Masakage was already 52 years old when Kogoro was born. He already had a daughter, Suteko, from his first wife, and Suteko’s husband had already been adopted as the family heir. So, Kogoro was instead adopted into the Katsura family when he was eight.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqRm_4N4zJPD3EkW48Pf9BrQasEHom2oSOXHR96WfXe2JWuN8bmqXFvcLp5sLlImChNnupVE7KQXi0DZ3NKSIVuc1Bvbb3UFN_7weEONwbXrq2x5h7UqH54GYyT1TgO5tGDhovSKnejcX_/s1600/Postcards+and+Translation+022.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqRm_4N4zJPD3EkW48Pf9BrQasEHom2oSOXHR96WfXe2JWuN8bmqXFvcLp5sLlImChNnupVE7KQXi0DZ3NKSIVuc1Bvbb3UFN_7weEONwbXrq2x5h7UqH54GYyT1TgO5tGDhovSKnejcX_/s400/Postcards+and+Translation+022.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468044578386931074" /></a><br /><br /> The Katsura family was a member of the “Calvary” Unit (also known as the Yakugumi or Ogumi). In reality, it was this class that took charge of most of the practical affairs of government, and many became of them close associates of the Lord of Choshu. <br /><br />The Katsura family’s stipend was originally 150 koku, but due to the late nature of Kogoro’s adoption (which took place as Katsura Koroheiei was on his deathbed), it was cut to 90 koku*.<br /><br /> Thus, Katsura Kogoro was born.<br /><br /> The year following his adoption, Kogoro’s adopted mother also passed away, and so Kogoro, now head of the Katsura family, went back to his old home where he was brought up by the Wadas.<br /><br />* Adoption: It was fairly common practice to adopt sons from other families as heirs, but apparently adopting one right before dying was not a good thing. In the old days this was forbidden, but later they simply added a fine.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkJ3akip81tURn0s_mUAxt95md7Qgz4jm3TNXabYC6gu42qUkiSSMvm-cBE-CZU0B6WEJVcnCDmqaXnz2-H_n2NuaOQwN-CT8d39ogmYUYKINpxBs39HrdcgALbxnvfoa_SbP06c6T-rzb/s1600/Postcards+and+Translation+023.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkJ3akip81tURn0s_mUAxt95md7Qgz4jm3TNXabYC6gu42qUkiSSMvm-cBE-CZU0B6WEJVcnCDmqaXnz2-H_n2NuaOQwN-CT8d39ogmYUYKINpxBs39HrdcgALbxnvfoa_SbP06c6T-rzb/s400/Postcards+and+Translation+023.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468045078833334386" /></a>Rebecca Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16751163568561321683noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3284105143898396022.post-18600414280330108092010-05-06T15:35:00.005+09:002010-05-06T21:12:30.206+09:00Translation: Katsura Kogoro: Chapter 1, Part 1<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_IYIDI2SFgR5GIS4SeOkQNX22dMAbUaKr0PeTOUpCJqH58etSIxXtWdS54WBajxeFWInqSuCCmomOe_z_hdI1U7AJkZmw-CgJ6v3tiaYPWb4d0nT4_KNid2OcRh3wSA_rDvZJXaAldc2B/s1600/Postcards+and+Translation+017.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_IYIDI2SFgR5GIS4SeOkQNX22dMAbUaKr0PeTOUpCJqH58etSIxXtWdS54WBajxeFWInqSuCCmomOe_z_hdI1U7AJkZmw-CgJ6v3tiaYPWb4d0nT4_KNid2OcRh3wSA_rDvZJXaAldc2B/s400/Postcards+and+Translation+017.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468042449069832898" /></a><br /><br /><em>Hagi Stories: Katsura Kogoro</em>. By: Issaki, Taro. This book was given to me by Osaki Yoko, a kind lady at Hagi Museum.<br /><br /><br /><strong>Chapter 1: From Hagi to Kyoto</strong><br /><br />Page 4-5<br /><br /><strong>Hagi’s Lower Castle District</strong><br /><br /> During the Edo era, the military base of the 369,000 koku* Choshu Domain was constructed above the delta in an area known as Joka, or the Lower Castle District. In this northeastern region, the figure of the Shizuki Mountain thrusts out of the Sea of Japan, like an overturned rice bowl. At the foot of the mountain, the 5-tiered castle once towered over the land below, but at the start of the Meiji era, the castle was torn down, along with the residence of the Mori family, lords of Choshu. Today, only the stone walls remain.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSSthdGhVeFdZ0XR91irelmgqLNN3MfDTOayCHSSFenS6DAbg0CBuQ2chJEMUCDhjPE8VtF8gAs2hHN6pdOTMNHXDTy-Ny_aZSh0dg0Fax1bkkL6Xur8P2YqdrKXtC7W0n4vUJmZVVjCQW/s1600/Postcards+and+Translation+019.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSSthdGhVeFdZ0XR91irelmgqLNN3MfDTOayCHSSFenS6DAbg0CBuQ2chJEMUCDhjPE8VtF8gAs2hHN6pdOTMNHXDTy-Ny_aZSh0dg0Fax1bkkL6Xur8P2YqdrKXtC7W0n4vUJmZVVjCQW/s400/Postcards+and+Translation+019.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468043088234032178" /></a><br /><br /> From the castle, separated by the moat, the Horiuchi (also known as Sannomaru) Quarters stretch out. At one time, the shining eaves of the Mori family mansions and the mansions of all its most important ministers stood together in a line, a boundary. With the clay walls and stone bases still intact, the atmosphere remains even today, a designated important historical district.<br /><br /> But if you cross the moat at the east, you come to the Lower Castle District with its checkerboard streets, the district where Choshu’s rich merchants and samurai once lived.<br /><br /> Onari Street, the road used by the Mori Lords, runs east to west. Across this street, three parallel roads stretch out. Their respective quarters are named for the powerful merchant houses that lived there: Kikuya Quarters, Iseya Quarters, and Edoya Quarters. Looking at old maps from the Bakumatsu era, you’ll find these three streets, like sinews, connect to the backbone of society: about 30 houses of Choshu’s samurai families, their eaves lined together in a neat row.<br /><br />*Koku: Literally stone, it is a unit for measuring rice and an indication of wealth<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb4x5TwQ_VFoI-Lf2iq7m9ARAPK2lzh0c_AKDNZVLGzuQ7CTqxoSA-EhorCnq5dTo1qFJnXSe5rYK4qHEprHhWq1qS4pbKRT_OKjtl_2Hgz1xHH4g5fZjVHqEm1VNHvie5BuIVpAQl8Ycr/s1600/Postcards+and+Translation+020.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb4x5TwQ_VFoI-Lf2iq7m9ARAPK2lzh0c_AKDNZVLGzuQ7CTqxoSA-EhorCnq5dTo1qFJnXSe5rYK4qHEprHhWq1qS4pbKRT_OKjtl_2Hgz1xHH4g5fZjVHqEm1VNHvie5BuIVpAQl8Ycr/s400/Postcards+and+Translation+020.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468043465386592770" /></a>Rebecca Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16751163568561321683noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3284105143898396022.post-87870477827477789492010-05-06T15:25:00.007+09:002010-05-06T21:11:34.508+09:00Translation: Katsura Kogoro: Preface<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi23Ox_WwEaFVCWReVsdA-VGDLo1IOLjDN5A536hhimqQXibnsWtyMTZo9nvoXcTvzD5ZcWC7a4f3txmFLjboEC0sH-SLVNX2Q_T_7ssg1MbfzviFnk1EVgcOkwkCEuq2ngMQwSjBnOh1ji/s1600/Postcards+and+Translation+017.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi23Ox_WwEaFVCWReVsdA-VGDLo1IOLjDN5A536hhimqQXibnsWtyMTZo9nvoXcTvzD5ZcWC7a4f3txmFLjboEC0sH-SLVNX2Q_T_7ssg1MbfzviFnk1EVgcOkwkCEuq2ngMQwSjBnOh1ji/s400/Postcards+and+Translation+017.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468041681665708930" /></a><br /><br /><em>Hagi Stories: Katsura Kogoro</em>. By: Issaki, Taro. This book was given to me by Osaki Yoko, a kind lady at Hagi Museum.<br /><br />Page 3<br /><br /><strong>Preface</strong><br /><br /> During the Bakumatsu, when Choshu Domain was facing a crisis, Katsura Kogoro lied about his identity and for 10 months remained hidden deep in the mountains of Tajima (in the north of present-day Hyogo Prefecture). The people of Tajima, with their long history of rescuing the defeated, took Kogoro in with great generosity. Before long, Kogoro’s name, changed now to Kido Takayoshi, would become known all over Japan as one of the prominent Genkun* of the Meiji Restoration. The people of Tajima who had helped Kogoro would take pride in their role in history. Even today, the stone memorials to Kogoro scattered throughout the Tajima region are proof of this affection.<br /><br /> Particularily notable are the words “Place of Resurrection,” carved into a stone monument which stands on the ruins of the store Kogoro ran in the lower castle district of Izushi. These words are not so unusual. Kogoro unabashedly fled from an impending crisis and was ridiculed as “Runaway Kogoro.” Yet he would return to accomplish many great things. In this way, he was indeed “resurrected.”<br /><br /> I think that it’s necessary for today’s politicians to have, in the same vein as Kogoro, this “shrewdness” coupled with good intentions. For example, in the case of “No wars” or “Don’t get involved in wars.” The Genkun exhibited their shrewness by crawling under the pandemonium that engulfed Japan. If, during the times they faced defeat, they had listened to impressive-sounding words, Japan would have run amok and ended up in ruin. Listening to speeches of current politicians, it seems that either shrewdness is combined with bad intentions or only a very small impression is made, and this is a terrible thing. <br /><br /> Now, of all times, I think Japan’s politicians should study and learn from Kogoro’s shrewdness, and with this in mind, I wrote this small booklet. Although the main feature of this book is Chapter 3: “Hiding in Tajima,” it is not possible to understand Kogoro’s career with this alone, so I have also included events before and after. I have also undertaken a critical biography about Kogoro/ Kido Takayoshi separate from this with plans to publish it some time next year. If you read both together, you will have a better understanding of the person.<br /><br /> I would like to offer my most humble thanks to Ms.Horikawa Taeko of Izushi Construction Public Corporation and Mr. Toritani Ryujiro of Kiosaki Onsen Tsutaya, both of whom were particularly helpful to me at the time I was collecting data.<br /><br />* Genkun: a dignified, revered person who lived a (relatively) long time and gained some amount of power; an elder statesman.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPCp95wf4JLrJHuT7-R4bsDCwuDPffDPcdxtUUAXsme4UCgnd3SdY0dP0Ubxd7XTmrEuHmBAubykDJ9y5I5eeqzvT6_WJSvyOuTBxkeq76B8a8UGETgHtVmAOOlLYA4coLRh1jTSsrMK2O/s1600/Postcards+and+Translation+018.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPCp95wf4JLrJHuT7-R4bsDCwuDPffDPcdxtUUAXsme4UCgnd3SdY0dP0Ubxd7XTmrEuHmBAubykDJ9y5I5eeqzvT6_WJSvyOuTBxkeq76B8a8UGETgHtVmAOOlLYA4coLRh1jTSsrMK2O/s400/Postcards+and+Translation+018.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468041378680449522" /></a>Rebecca Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16751163568561321683noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3284105143898396022.post-61015783105001119582010-05-06T15:10:00.006+09:002010-05-06T15:24:49.279+09:00Translation: Thomas Glover and the Satsuma Exchange Students<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVKs8mbIFe72F6VCZ4HjGDeVMnPcBgS-UH8p9xvoY4lbd7GMBtvUnVRXUo33t0rYEwF4SR9xEB4Rs0HHhpA_Co7PrtZuitG94IY3G-hLt_YViXNaepqbiT9WoqVRsQMYBS4bMRhWjKw-em/s1600/Statues.bmp"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVKs8mbIFe72F6VCZ4HjGDeVMnPcBgS-UH8p9xvoY4lbd7GMBtvUnVRXUo33t0rYEwF4SR9xEB4Rs0HHhpA_Co7PrtZuitG94IY3G-hLt_YViXNaepqbiT9WoqVRsQMYBS4bMRhWjKw-em/s400/Statues.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468037866418014226" /></a><br /><br />From: <em>Illustrated Browser: Bakumatsu and Meiji Restoration</em>. By: Takano, Kiyoshi. Kabushiki Compay, Satsuma Branch, Printed in Japan 2005.<br /><br />Page 142<br /><br /><strong>Thomas Glover and the Satsuma Exchange Students</strong><br /><br /> <em>After the Satsuma England War of 1863, which ended in a draw, deep bonds of friendship sprang up between Satsuma Domain and England. One of the ways their relationship grew was through the Satsuma exchange students, many of whom would take on important roles in maintaining the country after the Meiji Restoration.</em><br /><br /><strong>The Fruits of an Illegal Journey</strong><br /><br /> Tokugawa policy forbade overseas travel for the Japanese populace, but in March of 1865, seventeen Satsuma samurai secretly departed Japan from Hashimaura (an island in Satsuma) and studied abroad in England. Thomas Glover, a British merchant living in Nagasaki, interceded on Satsuma’s behalf and made arrangements.<br /><br /> In July of 1863, during the Satsuma-England War, Godai Tomoatsu and Terashima Chuzaburo voluntarily became prisoners of England. They were released but remained hidden in Nagasaki, where they met Thomas Glover. It was here, through Glover’s exhortations, that the epoch-making idea of sending samurai to study abroad was born. <br /><br /> Twelve students of the prestigious Satsuma “Kaiseijo” school were chosen, along with another five high-ranking samurai, for a total of seventeen. On January 20, 1865, they left Kagoshima City proper (under the pretext of a business trip to Koshikijima Island) and headed for Hashimaura in Kukino. To avoid recognition from the Tokugawa government, they changed their names. In the open seas of Hashima, they boarded a merchant vessel owned by Glover and headed for Hong Kong, on route to London. They were introduced to British Consul Gower, who, thanks to Glover’s arrangements, welcomed them to his side.<br /><br /> These are some of the accomplishments of the Satsuma exchange students:<br /><br /> •<strong>Machida Hisanari</strong> During his sojourn in England, Machida attended several exhibitions and gained valuable experience. He later served in the Ministry of Internal Affairs and founded a historical museum.<br />•<strong>Asakusa Moriaki</strong> Asakusa studied mining and restored the abandoned Ikuno Mine in Tajima.<br />•<strong>Sameshima Hisanobu </strong> From England, Sameshima crossed the ocean to America, where he studied international relations. After the Meiji restoration, he worked at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs as Envoi and was the vice ambassador to Spain, Portugal, and other countries.<br />•<strong>Yoshida Kiyonari </strong> Yoshida studied economics in America, and upon his return home, he took on the heavy responsibility of obtaining foreign loans for the Ministry of Finance.<br />•<strong>Mori Arinori</strong> Mori studied in America and became the first Japanese Ambassador-in-Residence for the United States. He also served in the Ministry of Education.<br /><br />Page 143<br /><br /><strong>Other Exhange Students from Influential Domains</strong><br /><br /><strong>Behind the Surface of Joi</strong><br /><br /> Despite the ban on foreign travel, Glover’s intercessions made it possible for seventeen Satsuma samurai to travel to England. But Satsuma was not the first domain to send out exchange students. Beating them to the punch was none other than the domain responsible for spear-heading the Sonno Joi (“Revere the Emperor!” “Expel the Barbarians!”) Movement: Choshu.<br /><br /> On May 5, 1863, in accordance to the principal of Joi (“Expel the Barbarians!”), Choshu bombarded foreign ships with cannon fire in the Shimonoseki Straights. That day, they were victorious. The next day, however, the tides turned…<br /><br /> But by this time, due to intercessions from the Jardin-Mattheson Company, Choshu had already sent out five students to study abroad in England, including Inoue Kaori and future Prime Minister Ito Hirobumi. (This battle in Shimonoseki would prompt Ito and Inoue to return from England, in order to help Choshu negotiate the terms of surrender.) <br /><br /> Although Choshu was carrying out “Joi” on the surface, they also had the foresight to send exchange students to England right behind the Shogun’s back!<br /><br /><strong>The Number of Exchange Students, by Domain</strong><br />Satsuma: 26<br />Choshu: 11<br />Fukuoka: 7<br />Sendai and Kaga: 3 each<br />Aizu, Sakura, and Fukui: 2 each<br />Tokushima, Higo, Saga, and Kurume: 1 each<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRE88a65h_lzrbh-1Y0CjSXiPREcz_ZU9DaAYMoKOEDsSimslCcwqtcYKRc9nIgtOKC-9T9VSh9hIs9oIhc0D551hjqyicjS82Z0XsFFMBDTDf9QSK5dboL-FEZUc7_uiyZoE5w3LP78wX/s1600/Postcards+and+Translation+033.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRE88a65h_lzrbh-1Y0CjSXiPREcz_ZU9DaAYMoKOEDsSimslCcwqtcYKRc9nIgtOKC-9T9VSh9hIs9oIhc0D551hjqyicjS82Z0XsFFMBDTDf9QSK5dboL-FEZUc7_uiyZoE5w3LP78wX/s400/Postcards+and+Translation+033.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468038720856501874" /></a>Rebecca Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16751163568561321683noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3284105143898396022.post-11991318573177081512010-04-27T18:45:00.000+09:002010-04-27T18:46:13.450+09:00Tea<strong>April 27, 2010</strong><br /><br /> Yesterday, when I came to Kanoya Nogyo, I was told that the students were picking tea leaves from 2nd-4th period and would I care to join them? Unfortunately, I hadn’t brought my camera, so you’ll just have to listen to my description unaided.<br /><br /> It was a warm, blue-sky day. The tea bushes were like row and rows of unruly hedges. Eager stems stretched out from their bushes and overcrowded the slim space between rows. I waded in, waist-deep in verdant leaves. One of the students explained that when you pulled up a stem, you had to look for one, two, three leaves, and then at the third, you broke off the tip of the stem. When I pulled it, it snapped like a pea pod—very satisfying. I plucked off three-leaved stems of tea for roughly ten minutes, before I had to go back and teach a class.<br /><br /> I learned later that the students would pick tea by hand for less than half a day and after that, the farm hands would bring in a machine to harvest the rest. The leaves would be transported to a factory where they would be roasted. The final product is the plastic bottle of 100% Seishun (Youth) brand tea that they sell at some convenience stores, with the ridiculously cute cartoon characters of a boy and girl in Nogyo uniforms. I’ve drank it before. It’s delicious.Rebecca Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16751163568561321683noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3284105143898396022.post-31149890494654507022010-04-11T13:36:00.002+09:002010-04-11T13:41:24.983+09:00English Camp at KAPIC<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisERuiZeLknHIeNCLSK7nJXIddTb9h5MHUXLw0mK5WrFcb4-C6GZxGnz5R0O3SRYlLbQ3M0B5fbHwQONfvgmRGDcvMWbXCzbNhEgvmIZWZq1nLl9tNW3HITkEIZBAZgy31f0zZgO3yI4EC/s1600/Misc+2+074.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisERuiZeLknHIeNCLSK7nJXIddTb9h5MHUXLw0mK5WrFcb4-C6GZxGnz5R0O3SRYlLbQ3M0B5fbHwQONfvgmRGDcvMWbXCzbNhEgvmIZWZq1nLl9tNW3HITkEIZBAZgy31f0zZgO3yI4EC/s400/Misc+2+074.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458734862579526658" /></a><br /><br /><strong>April 11, 2010</strong><br /><br /> The day of my farewell party, March 26th, was also the first official day of spring break—for the students. Teachers are still required to come to work. For ALTs, this usually means sitting at our desk trying to keep ourselves amused for seven hours a day, while all the “real” teachers scramble around preparing for the new school year. This time, however, Matt and I volunteered at an English camp to take place at the Kanoya Asia Pacific International Center, otherwise known as KAPIC. <br /><br /> Ah, KAPIC, that magical oasis near the lake, with its pastel-colored Asian museum and its confusing passage of stairs. I had done a summer camp here once before with Shibushi Junior High School, but this camp was more generally geared to any interested junior high or high school student. The director of the camp was named Sakura. She told us ALTs that she was the only one allowed to speak Japanese to the students. The rest of us, no matter the level, had to feign ignorance. <br /><br /> Of course, it’s always ideal for us to speak to the students in English as much as possible. But in my case, it proved to be difficult. Matt and I were paired up to look after a group of six 13 year old girls: Nanami, Chiaki, Haruka, Azumi, Mayu, and Yui. These girls had only been exposed to one year of English, so their level was pretty low. The task Matt and I were given: help the students that research a foreign country and present that information in English at the end of camp. We had three days.<br /><br /> This sounds simple, but let me put it this way. The first day, after the students chose a country (France), they had to research the continent, bordering countries, and boarding oceans; the size and how it compared to Japan’s; the population and how it compared to Japan’s; and the capital. Look at those words again: location, continent, bordering, population, compare, and capital. Not exactly English 101.<br /><br /> Matt and I decided to split the girls into pairs and have each pair research a different topic. That wasn’t too difficult, as our classroom was set up with wireless internet and tons of laptops which the ALTs brought. What was harder was getting the pairs to share that information with the wider group. In the end, we confiscated a whiteboard. Each pair wrote the information and gave a mini-presentation while everyone else took notes.<br /><br /> This was extremely effective, but it took all afternoon and it wasn’t even the main part of the presentation. We still had to get the students to choose a different topic to research, write out a speech, make a poster, and practice saying their presentation. We had two full days left and an hour on Friday morning.<br /><br /> I must also add that, besides those basic requirements, there were no guidelines set out by the camp. I think they wanted to give the students freedom to express their creativity and a democratic work ethic. A Western-style learning environment. All well and good, but Matt and I were dealing with students who could barely answer, “What do you like?” We decided, in an unspoken way, that we were going to have to take charge of the group.<br /><br /> This was not the case for everyone. There were four groups of 4-6 students with 2 supervising ALTs per group. Some of those ALTs seemed to do very little work. One group, in particular, had most of the high school students, and those students simply plunged into their topics. While our group was struggling to read out “The population of France is sixty-five million, four hundred forty-seven thousand, three hundred seventy four people,” their group was making posters for the history of American cinema.<br /><br /> We didn’t care. We worked at our own pace. The next morning, Matt and I spent the first half hour presenting a list of topics for the pairs and having each pair choose one. Then the girls got to work.<br /><br /> Oh, there was drama indeed.<br /><br /> First of all, there was a problem with one of the pairs. Nanami, a bright, flighty, outgoing girl, had been paired with Chiaki, a slow, diligent, reserved girl, and needless to say, their styles clashed. Matt and I split them up and gave them each a different topic. We had been warned that Chiaki was at an extremely low English level. Her topic was the French language and fortunately we had a French-Japanese language book. But her entire method of working was to write “(English word) is (French word).” That was all she did the entire first day. <br /><br /> Nanami, on the other hand, finished most of her work that first day and still had enough time to get her heart broken. Matt and I saw her suddenly become depressed and start crying. We didn’t know what was going on. We weren’t allowed to speak Japanese. Fortunately, some of the other ALTs comforted her and she cheered up by the next day, though she still spent an inordinant amount of time making eyes at that boy.<br /><br /> In the meantime, Yui, who had been up all night, felt sick and had to lie down. Her partner, Mayu went with her, so they were out half the afternoon. Then, the next morning, Haruka and Azumi, who had drawn an absolutely beautiful poster, were told by Sakura that their speech was too short. They had to research new information and translate it into English—an hour before the deadline for finishing their speeches. Rather than push back the deadline, we separated the pairs and helped each girl with their speech. <br /><br /> It was at this time that I learned the loophole to the “no Japanese” rule. We weren’t supposed to speak Japanese. No one ever said we couldn’t understand Japanese. Azumi wrote down the information she wanted to say, and I translated it for her into simple English.<br /><br /> On the afternoon of the third day, after a trip to KAPIC’s Asian museum, we took the girls outside and had them practice their speech. Matt and I decided we’d begin the presentation by having all the girls say “Bonjour” and end with “Au Revoir.” I made them stand on “stage” (a slight hill) and practice, over and over again. I also went to each girl individually and coached them through their speeches, tirelessly correcting their pronunciation.<br /> <br /> In the morning of the fourth day, in the hour or so before the presentation, we stood the girls on the stage (the real stage), hung the posters on the whiteboard, and went through about three dress rehearsals. There was no doubt about it—our group was prepared.<br /><br /> Unfortunately preparation was not one of the criteria being judged.<br /> <br /> They threw this at us literally right before we had to get on stage. That is, Sakura mentioned there would be a contest on the first day, but she did not say how we were being judged. The categories, it turned out, included content, memorization, and creativity. They were not in our favor.<br /><br /> But you know what? I didn’t care. Yeah, we didn’t have much content. Yeah, we hadn’t memorized our speeches at. Yeah, we didn’t have costumes or props or do a dance like the Austrian group did. But our girls gave a solid performance. They pointed to their posters when and where they were supposed to, they made eye contact with the audience, and they spoke fluidly. And by the way, did I mention, we were the FIRST group to get on stage. I was proud of our girls. We came in fourth, but it was a close fourth. I bought the girls soda from the vending machine as a reward.<br /><br /> Matt and I talked about it in the car afterwards. Winning, we both agreed, had never been the point. The point had been for the students to learn English and feel the confidence that came with it. Through our constant supervising, explaining, correcting, and cheering, we had accomplished this. Chiaki, who had hunched into herself at the start of the camp, was beaming by the end of it.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja-YNmfA00txH61ckLNimmBFt6AY-Pqq2gixd_U4sp7IwZFrO82H1RS4hZQ-L7w5tpCVM3Ltf9LLi3MFc2KMrMl_Bv_0jOTplK3NGmgLi9Er0_-j8TUGtzANV6Mzz6oHjMYUNSJqQ7bzl7/s1600/Me+and+Matt.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja-YNmfA00txH61ckLNimmBFt6AY-Pqq2gixd_U4sp7IwZFrO82H1RS4hZQ-L7w5tpCVM3Ltf9LLi3MFc2KMrMl_Bv_0jOTplK3NGmgLi9Er0_-j8TUGtzANV6Mzz6oHjMYUNSJqQ7bzl7/s320/Me+and+Matt.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458734974221479154" /></a> <em>A picture of me and Matt that Haruka drew.</em>Rebecca Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16751163568561321683noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3284105143898396022.post-42693266435262567932010-04-11T11:10:00.010+09:002010-04-11T11:31:21.040+09:00Office Sobetsukai (Sniff, Sniff)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwCyNou3X_7ON4-TCAtsLoA6MKQcBuOrLWdSl1w2TdRkYqLL7sPll9sAoqw2c7k2wNDPtk3Flr5ZCxEmlFmRBT6qHR8l3BdXEnPRHjWlKwF8CL4OHuSGybdnnPpOF09CoCdn7MP6ov3jWs/s1600/Office+Sobetsu+Kai+087.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwCyNou3X_7ON4-TCAtsLoA6MKQcBuOrLWdSl1w2TdRkYqLL7sPll9sAoqw2c7k2wNDPtk3Flr5ZCxEmlFmRBT6qHR8l3BdXEnPRHjWlKwF8CL4OHuSGybdnnPpOF09CoCdn7MP6ov3jWs/s400/Office+Sobetsu+Kai+087.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458701644625275730" /></a><br /><br /><strong>April 11, 2010</strong><br /><br /> The sakura, the famous Japanese cherry blossoms, reached their zenith a couple weeks ago, and now green leaves are shooting from the branches, as the petals drop slowly, slowly down. The individual petals coast the gentle breeze like a surfer riding waves; when a stronger gust shakes the branches, they scatter like confetti. I’m a little sad about the departure of the sakura. It might very well be the last time I see them bloom in Japan.<br /><br /> The Japanese school year came to an end March 25th. At the same time the students plotted ways of neglecting their spring homework, the teachers were in a frenzy. After almost a month of waiting, the secret list of transferees had come out. I spent the last three days of classes going from school to school to find out which teachers were leaving and saying my last farewells. Some departures were expected, others came like a bolt from the blue. <br /><br /> All in all, I had four sobetsukais—or farewell parties—spanning from Friday to Friday. But the last party was by far the most poignant. On March 26th, I went to my office’s sobetsukai—my own farewell party.<br /><br /> For the last two years and eight months, my official place of work has been the Osumi Board of Education, which ALTs simply refer to as the office. We gathered there on Fridays and during student vacations. Our supervisor, Shibahara-sensei, takes care of us. He makes our schedule, fills out our paperwork, gives us information, logs our vacation days, and so on. And everyone in the office looks out for us during times of crisis: when we get sick, when we get in car accidents, when I lost my keys in the rain and people from the office had to climb up my balcony so I could get inside my apartment…<br /><br /> But due to a change in the system, none of us three ALTs will go to the office as of April 1st. Instead we will each have a base school in Kanoya: Kanyoa High School, Kanoya Kogyo (Technical) High School, Kanoya Nogyo (Agricultural) High School. (Mine is Nogyo.) In a way, it makes sense. We ALTs do nothing in the office but take up space and talk each other’s heads off. That doesn’t change my feelings, though. I like the office. I like these people and the close relationship we’ve built up over time.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6RF7cj6_qHC1Dt-bM8CKRjFw7O7hI2b5dHgBswxfjGsmrS-lM9X7ErkZMos6mHU3Av3vj_1yJVBipuplwY3V7OIHTmbtWLmsI6vB1pcjD20KpA-i195tEoiSb0pHcl8Eko_YyUQ7aagqH/s1600/Office+Sobetsu+Kai+040.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6RF7cj6_qHC1Dt-bM8CKRjFw7O7hI2b5dHgBswxfjGsmrS-lM9X7ErkZMos6mHU3Av3vj_1yJVBipuplwY3V7OIHTmbtWLmsI6vB1pcjD20KpA-i195tEoiSb0pHcl8Eko_YyUQ7aagqH/s200/Office+Sobetsu+Kai+040.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458698963771259618" /></a><br /><br /> Our farewell party was held at Sennari, a traditional Japanese restaurant, shoved down the end of a narrow street. The ever cheerful Ikeda-sensei stood in the parking lot and guided our car (or should I say Matt’s car) into the parking lot. Inside the restaurant, there was a large fish tank and an arrangement of flowers.<br /><br /> We weren’t allowed into our party’s room right away. According to sobetsukai ritual, the guests of honor must enter last, while everyone else applauds them. It occurred to me that this was probably the only time I was going to have this kind of special treatment. If some of the people in my schools throw me a farewell party come July, it will probably be an informal gathering only. What does it matter? When I’m part of these official parties, I actually feel included as a valued worker, rather than just the random foreigner hastily remembered at the last minute. It’s strange. We ALTs are about as useful as lumps of coal in the office, yet they always make it appoint to include us in these things. <br /><br /> As I walked into the room and took my seat under my banner, I realized for the first time how many people were leaving the office. Those leaving outnumbered those staying. The turnover rate for the office was so high. At two years and eight months, I had been there longer than all but one other departing person. (Yoshida-sensei, the youngest person in the office, beat me; he was here three years.)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKnsimjflbZL47QUUk0GQn98zyOVAdz3h6_ANEylvh6a6pA5MwxeOHC895WBRz9tmoJDf_ynzjxIjYCwkU0FbFWkcfgEfGIQXDs15jy6cMccwLKrqKS2eiCooC9Yqf2lg6RVZk6ZdUYwAQ/s1600/Office+Sobetsu+Kai+005.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKnsimjflbZL47QUUk0GQn98zyOVAdz3h6_ANEylvh6a6pA5MwxeOHC895WBRz9tmoJDf_ynzjxIjYCwkU0FbFWkcfgEfGIQXDs15jy6cMccwLKrqKS2eiCooC9Yqf2lg6RVZk6ZdUYwAQ/s200/Office+Sobetsu+Kai+005.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458699413396129170" /></a><br /><br /> Although trays of artfully decorated appetizers, sashimi, and tempura were sitting right on the table in front of us, no one could eat until the speeches were done. Akune-sensei, the “big boss” of the Osumi Board of Education, was the representative for those who were departing, and he made a long but intimate speech. Individually, he praised us. For me, he said that I took care of the other ALTs, and my heart glowed a little. Once, Akune-sensei got choked up and had to stop for a few minutes to recover. I felt like I was going to cry, too.<br /><br /> After speeches, we poured our drinks and toasted. “Kampai!” As at all enkais, the food on our tray was only the beginning. Course after course came: sushi, tonkatsu (fried pork cutlets), suimono (a clear soup) with a sakura floating in it, and chawan mushi (steamed egg custard). Alcohol began to flow. I don’t drink straight alcohol, so I had expected to be hitting the cola and ulong tea, but to my surprise, they had brought chuhais to the party, a kind of wine cooler with a shochu (potato spirits) base.<br /><br /> Midway through, there was another round of speeches, with all the departing people giving their own. I was the first of the ALTs called, and I reminisced about the past and expressed my gratitude. Although I spoke emotionally, inwardly, I felt calm. Even so, my face must have expressed some of my sadness, because Andie, next to give her speech, broke down and started tearing up. This surprised me, because Andie struck me as being fairly tough. Later, she blamed me. Seeing other people cry made her want to cry and the atmosphere here was so emotional. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKffUaiSEhwRHwcWXLCHi4n6Yo4ZicjySCrFiDpQ2wHrF6vXzA-kvanOYOc8PRXQbWqMNdoZI2IK9DfDA4ClkzENeT8E2a8P4FwQNINRPJ8E_Q1CsiQ3rarezbhA-r_Xpv2o_l5RQXLf_U/s1600/Office+Sobetsu+Kai+025.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKffUaiSEhwRHwcWXLCHi4n6Yo4ZicjySCrFiDpQ2wHrF6vXzA-kvanOYOc8PRXQbWqMNdoZI2IK9DfDA4ClkzENeT8E2a8P4FwQNINRPJ8E_Q1CsiQ3rarezbhA-r_Xpv2o_l5RQXLf_U/s200/Office+Sobetsu+Kai+025.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458699812284717346" /></a><br /><br /> Matt gave his speech last and ended with a touch of aplomb. At the very end, he thanked Shibahara-sensei personally and gave him a gift of his very favorite beer, Heinkein. Shibahara-sensei raised the bottle high and said that he didn’t intend to share. After the speeches were finished, Andie gave Shibahara-sensei her own present. It was a very nice black bag, a little smaller than a suitcase. Her teachers had suggested it, as a very useful item for travel. It turned out to be a very good suggestion. Shibahara-sensei’s face creased with joy, and then he started crying. He turned away from us, but I could see his back shaking.<br /><br /> Now, I hadn’t bought a present for Shibahara-sensei yet, and I was beginning to wonder how the heck I was going to compete with these presents. But I got an idea, as the party wound down. For once, I had remembered to bring my camera to the party, snatching it up before I ran out the door. And even though Matt is a semi-professional photographer and Andie is Japan’s own personal paparazzi, I had oddly been the one snapping pictures all night. I decided to make my photographs my farewell present to Shibahara-sensei and everyone else.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPwxliDnY2eUwJIDsJ1xEJZP1uOV5RG_eA1G3VN93zyh4bVcxAunuEn-abEbDLaz4AdKVJLc9iyhouVYscr24w4j6ZZ7nIUFf5AIgHmBE38lyYdSsyldWzZLsRAdvPnwDLXHPSkUtozLuW/s1600/Office+Sobetsu+Kai+050.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPwxliDnY2eUwJIDsJ1xEJZP1uOV5RG_eA1G3VN93zyh4bVcxAunuEn-abEbDLaz4AdKVJLc9iyhouVYscr24w4j6ZZ7nIUFf5AIgHmBE38lyYdSsyldWzZLsRAdvPnwDLXHPSkUtozLuW/s200/Office+Sobetsu+Kai+050.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458700052489166098" /></a><br /><br /> The formal party at Sennari came to an end around 9:30, with more short speeches and three rounds of “Bonzais!” But the night was young, and Akune-sensei was hosting a nijikai—or after party—at his house, as he was wont to do. A bus waiting at the restaurant parking lot shuttled us all to Akune-sensei’s house. More food waited for us there. Huge platters of sushi, bamboo salad, edemame and peanuts, and drinks, drinks galore, sat on the tatami mat floor. We thanked the women who had prepared the food excessively and had another toast.<br /><br /> For the next hour or so I buzzed around, making small talk, taking pictures, and trying to shove a little more food into my already full stomach—out of politeness, of course! By 11:00 or so, I decided to take my leave, hitching a ride with Matt. As we left, the women were just starting to bring out bowls of ramen—just in case there was the faintest possibility that we weren’t all completely stuffed.<br /><br /> Over the weekend, I made copies of my photos for everyone in the office and a special scrapbook for Shibahara-sensei. I gave it to him Monday morning. By then, he wasn’t drunk, so he didn’t cry. But several people in the office were delighted and thanked me warmly. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyvuPfLvMRBH2n-5sGLiPwShVbsEVg7xKveJsTj8x-cRLi_eQP_W_PpgA91442F9LJcxTrwLnjthv1C1huUhHRcXt3C87o2PM6zDqa1dD_HkmR-NnsHegIJsIl8M6Oo2FoQ0q8xYbnBhxC/s1600/Office+Sobetsu+Kai+066.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyvuPfLvMRBH2n-5sGLiPwShVbsEVg7xKveJsTj8x-cRLi_eQP_W_PpgA91442F9LJcxTrwLnjthv1C1huUhHRcXt3C87o2PM6zDqa1dD_HkmR-NnsHegIJsIl8M6Oo2FoQ0q8xYbnBhxC/s320/Office+Sobetsu+Kai+066.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458700307179949106" /></a>Rebecca Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16751163568561321683noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3284105143898396022.post-32958247404221021572010-04-10T12:55:00.012+09:002010-04-10T13:28:17.048+09:00Yokohama and Kamakura<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT6Nym0BfBWz4jX5cDQjNIke9CROu8FFZgnjNgELK9q9zj7xYjUc4U9lyYbWFY0wnA2eOZ2I8GT9GZe7gXUeKVv60u-6kB6NziGDd9jy6Eq9p3n_5fydZmpbvpRKl2GWHrp-xEwFjN4WZI/s1600/Yokohama+and+Kamakura+097.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT6Nym0BfBWz4jX5cDQjNIke9CROu8FFZgnjNgELK9q9zj7xYjUc4U9lyYbWFY0wnA2eOZ2I8GT9GZe7gXUeKVv60u-6kB6NziGDd9jy6Eq9p3n_5fydZmpbvpRKl2GWHrp-xEwFjN4WZI/s400/Yokohama+and+Kamakura+097.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458359474662002034" /></a><br /><br /><strong>March 5, 2010</strong><br /><br /> This morning I was half-woken by a thunderstorm. I say half-woken, because despite the bright flashes of lightning and the sound of thunder, my body physically refused to get out of bed and open my eyes for more a few seconds. On the other hand, I couldn’t very well sleep through it. Not when I could feel the thunder crash upon me like a tsunami and rumble through the apartment like an earthquake. <br /><br /> This storm, by the way, has nothing to do with the real topic of my newsletter, which is my trip to Yokohama. But it seems appropriate symbolically, given that my sightseeing activities ended up being—dare I say it—stormy.<br /><br /> Not that it started off with any particular trouble. The first day of my trip—Saturday, February 27th—was nothing more than travel: a two hour bus ride to the airport, a two hour plane ride to Haneda airport, a half an hour bus ride to Yokohama station, another half an hour walking in a slow daze with my black duffle bag hanging off my shoulder and my guidebook open my hand while streams of people swept by me. You know, the usual. I got to my hotel at 4:30 and spent the rest of the night reading.<br /><br /> The next day was Sunday, and the only full day I had for sightseeing. So naturally, it was raining. I sighed, wrapped my stuff in plastic bags, and headed out the door. Now, my hotel room was a very nice temperature: warm, but not overheated. Not so when I stepped outside. It was freezing, and I had foolishly left my gloves in the hotel room. Rather than go back for them, I pressed on for the station, thinking the weather would get warmer as the morning grew later.<br /><br /> That was a mistake.<br /><br /> I came to Kamakura Station around 9:00. Kamakura is a small, but historically significant city only a half hour from Yokohama. It was established as the base for Minamoto Yoritomo in 1180, and the government he set up later became known as the Kamakura Shogunate, the name of the age the Kamakura era. What Kamakura is really famous for, though, is the Big Buddha. I decided to see this first.<br /> <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBWvCeS-kjNb_54nTsvJBKc0tZgS9qVV5viW1-DnoT7xkzaisG9E8P832w2ANwRiXcIeyigsFAOd_BJAe4ohrsh3Gw6s3L5daB-nq8kxM1IEa8vgJelYGXQgZV2MEnSbOyYnCbeKDMnB6Y/s1600/Yokohama+and+Kamakura+009.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBWvCeS-kjNb_54nTsvJBKc0tZgS9qVV5viW1-DnoT7xkzaisG9E8P832w2ANwRiXcIeyigsFAOd_BJAe4ohrsh3Gw6s3L5daB-nq8kxM1IEa8vgJelYGXQgZV2MEnSbOyYnCbeKDMnB6Y/s320/Yokohama+and+Kamakura+009.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458355776065944434" /></a><br /><br /> I wasn’t disappointed by the Big Buddha. Unlike the one in Nara, it did not crouch in a dimly-lit hall, but rather sat, starkly, among the cloistered pines and distant hills. There was also no fanfare leading up to the Big Buddha. I paid for my ticket… and there it was. And this is what made it so impressive. Like a mountain or a river, it needed nothing. It simply was.<br /><br /> Although my guidebook warned me that crowds swarmed the Big Buddha on weekends, I only saw a few people here and there. This might have been due to my timing—it was still early in the morning—but personally, I think the rain was keeping people away. It was pounding steadily on my umbrella, forming puddles in the ground. Try as I might to step carefully, my shoes splashed and the hem of my pants became wet. Rain alone I might have been all right with. Possibly. But unlike in Kagoshima the rain did not wrap me in a warm blanket of humidity. It was cold. My hand holding the umbrella slowly froze and none of the many souvenir stands were selling any gloves.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifQ6hNu4h0tRk260rpockoyFg5ydtvkJ7YYx2EAfdtmkZi9t1dvHFCti0WqRxMHXNMvZWlFwKhvCFPS8Yv1iH2fp2pssgTnzR_m9oa7ZNPRPOuG4xANrYMdR5fFy5N-2Hso3MBXpRuP0kt/s1600/Yokohama+and+Kamakura+024.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifQ6hNu4h0tRk260rpockoyFg5ydtvkJ7YYx2EAfdtmkZi9t1dvHFCti0WqRxMHXNMvZWlFwKhvCFPS8Yv1iH2fp2pssgTnzR_m9oa7ZNPRPOuG4xANrYMdR5fFy5N-2Hso3MBXpRuP0kt/s320/Yokohama+and+Kamakura+024.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458356576973520770" /></a><br /><br /> I am of the opinion that the best way to explore a city is on foot or by bicycle, wherein you can really get a feel of the physically geography of the area. My original plan had been to walk the hiking course from the Big Buddha to the north Kamakura Station, a good 90 minutes, stopping along the way to explore small shrines and temples along the way. Half an hour of standing in the rain and those plans went out the window.<br /><br /> Instead I took the train to Engaku Temple and later rode the bus to Tsurugaoka Hachiman Shrine. Both had interesting histories, the former having a faint connection to Kublai Khan’s failed invasion of Japan and the latter being founded by Minamoto Yoritomo himself. Unfortunately, none of these things came across in the places themselves. The temple was a temple and the shrine was a shrine, beautiful in their own way, but similar to dozens I’ve seen across Japan.<br /><br /> In the meantime, I was getting wetter and wetter. Shrines and temples are open buildings for the most part, and all the benches were waterlogged. I bought a hot lemon tea from one of the vending machines and briefly used that to warm my hands. It occurred to me that I was not really enjoying Kamakura. And so my plans shifted again. I’d just go back to Yokohama. There was a museum I wanted to see, and it wasn’t open Mondays (my only other sightseeing day). I’d go there.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg56YHHy7utxc2l58VoaU1rYVmr1BHpSWe47zX-kC87OfZ2OmJH5aEzd5syzI4SoEPyS4jBlgkMZR60QlTc7OqOvHxCdLozC5IbAGgCRMapcyqhWhn5c-mkaRSg_qaDl2sEef5sBNEJekEO/s1600/Yokohama+and+Kamakura+082.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg56YHHy7utxc2l58VoaU1rYVmr1BHpSWe47zX-kC87OfZ2OmJH5aEzd5syzI4SoEPyS4jBlgkMZR60QlTc7OqOvHxCdLozC5IbAGgCRMapcyqhWhn5c-mkaRSg_qaDl2sEef5sBNEJekEO/s320/Yokohama+and+Kamakura+082.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458357040190506066" /></a><br /><br /> By the time, I made it to the train platform again, the rain had stopped and flits of sunshine could be seen between the clouds. Figures.<br /><br /> As I sat on the heated train benches, I kept noticing the kanji for “tsunami alert” sliding across the message board, between announcements of upcoming destinations. Due to this alert certain train lines were being suspended. In fact, as I discovered upon reaching Yokohama Station, my train line was being suspended. This was not only the train that went to the museum, but the same line that took me to my hotel.<br /><br /> Why were the trains being suspended? Was the area closed off, too? Was I in danger? There were no English messages. Everyone in the station seemed to be going along their business as usual. But, really, what did that mean? Did people really stop what they were doing just because a disaster might hit? I imagined people hurrying here and there, caught up in their lives, right up until the moment an enormous wave blotted them out. It was easy enough to imagine. I was as wrapped up in my own life as anyone else; despite my worries, I mostly just wanted to get to my museum as quickly as possible. <br /><br /> Eventually, I found out the subway was still in operation, and a few minutes later I walked up to the Yokohama Archives of History. A museum my guidebook mentioned had good English signs. A museum which I hoped would mention Yokohama’s role in the Bakumatsu era, my favorite time period in history. A museum which was closed until April for remodeling purposes.<br /> <br /> I was floored. I had cut short my trip to Kamakura for this museum, and it was closed!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7iclPa2Bfg2MCVz-nn2ttrWEjebZCthSVNhMd-7njZLHBJVlQS_Me8vm5D8UvzILFowN8JJR9A2mqqLwkbIx_-D1aVn-FUI_6xoyGad-ca4XQy0Lcvags-NRtiREPdjMj08EbHR1fKvxT/s1600/Yokohama+and+Kamakura+116.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7iclPa2Bfg2MCVz-nn2ttrWEjebZCthSVNhMd-7njZLHBJVlQS_Me8vm5D8UvzILFowN8JJR9A2mqqLwkbIx_-D1aVn-FUI_6xoyGad-ca4XQy0Lcvags-NRtiREPdjMj08EbHR1fKvxT/s320/Yokohama+and+Kamakura+116.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458357807936913746" /></a><br /><br /> I drowned my sorrows in the Silk Museum, and then decided to check out a few smaller museums in the hour or so I had left. The lady at the counter told me the three individual exhibitions were 200 yen each, but it was 500 yen for a combination ticket. So I bought the combination ticket and went to check out the displays. <br /><br /> Two of the exhibits had no English signage whatsoever. If it were an art museum, it wouldn’t have mattered. It was not an art museum. It was the Museum of Urban Development and a special exhibit about—I’m not even sure—a Westerner and piping in the city? Now, yes, I can read Japanese, but I’m not proficient enough to read something as highly specialized as that. At this point, I was pretty pissed off. The lady might have warned me that there was no English before I bought the ticket. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t tell I was a foreigner. I wrote an angry note (in Japanese) and stuck it in their questionnaire box on my way out.<br /><br /> By the time I went back to my hotel, I was practically in tears, I was in such a bad mood. Nothing had gone as planned. I had dealt with cold rain, a confusion of tsunami warnings, and now these stupid museums blocking me off from the information I craved. This was my one full sightseeing day and it was a complete waste. An expensive waste. It cost money to come to Yokohama: between transportation, lodging, and meals, it came to a total of just over 100,000 yen (1,000 dollars). And for what!<br /><br /> “The seminar had better be good or I’ll have thrown away my money for nothing,” I grumbled through my teeth.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7rGjtol-_QHCI3N3qwI-t4gw4cy3CBaB0fnXBJF-VrC9jmTrZQ6lAHcN_3CYEB4IOOflCG1v91f4NJEFVbS_cLVFdptstOo3PmVHHiBfh9NrRZrFBl3OtkyXqqohwK1w8y2FwYkjChU0K/s1600/Yokohama+and+Kamakura+158.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 212px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7rGjtol-_QHCI3N3qwI-t4gw4cy3CBaB0fnXBJF-VrC9jmTrZQ6lAHcN_3CYEB4IOOflCG1v91f4NJEFVbS_cLVFdptstOo3PmVHHiBfh9NrRZrFBl3OtkyXqqohwK1w8y2FwYkjChU0K/s320/Yokohama+and+Kamakura+158.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458358232947675922" /></a><br /><br /> I did eventually calm down and visit the famous large “Chu ka gai” or Chinatown, which was only a few feet from my hotel. While I had no particular interest in it, the bright, gilded facades eventually distracted me from my misery.<br /><br /> That night I tried to watch the Olympic figure skating gala, but the “tsunami alert” kept flashing prominently in the corner of the T.V. screen. I switched off the T.V. and looked out the window. My hotel was only a 15 minute walk from Yokohama Port. If a tsunami came, what would happen? I imagined a wall of water barreling down the streets. I was on the sixth story. I was high enough to survive a tsunami. Right? Or would the water pressure cause the building to collapse? What if the water came pouring through the building, filling my room like a fish tank, until I couldn’t breathe? <br /><br /> Such morbid imaginings did nothing to ease my anxiety.<br /><br /> Needless to say, a tsunami did not hit and I survived the night quite easily. I spent Monday morning walking along Yamashita Park and checking out the old foreigner district, whose lush houses were open to the public. I had wanted to check out a museum which had artifacts related to the black ships, but, of course, it too was closed. Because it was Monday. <br /><br /> I had a navy blue suit jacket under my coat and wore tight, slightly high-heeled black shoes instead of my comfy white tennis. Formal business wear. The shoes pinched at the toes and did nothing to cushion against the hard concrete. After a morning of walking up and down the town, blisters had formed between my toes, and I limped my way to the seminar. Stupid cheap shoes. I cursed my own stinginess.<br /><br /> Seminar for Returning JETs: Annex Room. So said the sign at the Pacifico Yokohama when I arrived at around noon. The top of the building crested into white waves. It was almost the same color as the overcast sky. There was a heavy fog.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7AtH4bEGE5Elw_vd34VLKwJCvIOgc59yZ5bo5P02yWumETKx_zEFAS_nWsSewhQWjSI_4mPccLABqwhNV7shmyQBL4FSi_iWQuK70U3a5HiRul2p90s6pOMbWMoln-Z7PYfLW7OikAExJ/s1600/Yokohama+and+Kamakura+233.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7AtH4bEGE5Elw_vd34VLKwJCvIOgc59yZ5bo5P02yWumETKx_zEFAS_nWsSewhQWjSI_4mPccLABqwhNV7shmyQBL4FSi_iWQuK70U3a5HiRul2p90s6pOMbWMoln-Z7PYfLW7OikAExJ/s320/Yokohama+and+Kamakura+233.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458358691276599314" /></a><br /><br /> At the risk of being anti-climatic, I am not going to go into detail about the seminar, which took place from March 1st until March 3rd. We checked-in, received our materials, chatted with people we knew, sat at the tables, and took notes as speaker after speaker bombarded us with information. There was information on Reverse Culture Shock, Resumes, and Grad School. There were sessions on specific careers: journalist, translator, teacher; there were Q and A panels; there was a job fair which was mostly grad schools and volunteer organizations. Start preparing now, they said. Network, they said. Join the JET Alumni Association, they said again and again.<br /><br /> It was a business seminar. Like any other business seminar, I suppose.<br /><br /> But for some reason, I enjoyed it. True, the sheer amount of information overwhelmed me in the beginning and exhausted me in the end. But I was grateful to have it. It was not all as vague and obvious as I made it sound either; there were websites and email addresses attached. Moreover, it was good to hear from people who started off like me, having no idea what to do, and ended up with interesting careers. I reflected a little during the seminar and I will keep reflecting later on.<br /><br /> But now, my dear patient reader, who has stuck with me through this long and tedious email, I would like to mention one last thing before I wrap up. The food. You did not think I would forget such an important facet, did you?<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggUfNRomU_HBxcixDy5YYpAd2JBw2tn5O1er448S7g03XHPGZueKccW9lphf-XCcAjSFATmVqtnEn1IyotrnnMPN10TDKge7NbB5iuZ2iFmPpkOUD1-MIhEMMrQvctDgbz0R7bdtmvB1NU/s1600/Yokohama+and+Kamakura+098.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggUfNRomU_HBxcixDy5YYpAd2JBw2tn5O1er448S7g03XHPGZueKccW9lphf-XCcAjSFATmVqtnEn1IyotrnnMPN10TDKge7NbB5iuZ2iFmPpkOUD1-MIhEMMrQvctDgbz0R7bdtmvB1NU/s320/Yokohama+and+Kamakura+098.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458359224785086434" /></a><br /><br /> In Kamakura, I stopped at a small eclectic restaurant called “Umitsuki” or “Seamoon.” As I was browsing through menu, I laughed out loud. What I had thought was a simple picture of a maguro donburi (tuna sashimi rice bowl) was in fact red slices of basashi lying over rice. Basashi: raw horse meat. A specialty of Kumamoto, just one prefecture up. I did not order the basashi, by the way, opting instead for a safer vegetable and clam noodle dish, but I did use the basashi to launch into a conversation with the restaurant staff. It turned out the restaurant owner was originally from Kumamoto. The cook went to college nearby, too, in Miyazaki. The things you learn.<br /><br /> Most prefectures in Japan have their own special food. Kumamoto has basashi. Kagoshima has kurobuta (black pork) and shochu (potato-based liquor). Hokkaido has… every food known to man. But what Yokohama’s specialty food item was, I never found out. I was too busy gleefully stuffing myself with foreign food.<br /><br /> They had a Subway in the building next door to the Pacifico Yokohama. I have never seen a Subway in Japan. They had Krispy Kreme and Cold Stone! Their Italian restaurants served lasagna and gnocchi. But best of all, on the fifth floor of the World Porters building they had the most delicious Mexican food I have ever found in Japan. Japan’s concept of Mexican food is limited to tacos. That’s it. But this restaurant served pork enchiladas and chicken taquitos and mango margaritas. They had a salsa bar with homemade salsas, not that canned stuff or that vaguely spicy red sauce made with Chinese peppers that I found at a different “Mexican” restaurant. The food was so delicious. It tasted like an actual Mexican restaurant I would find at home. I was so happy.<br /><br /> Yeah, I know, you-who-can-eat-Mexican-food-anytime-you-want are laughing your heads off at me. Go ahead and laugh. I’ll laugh right back at your Japanese restaurants with their so-called sushi and their lack of soba.<br /><br /> On Wednesday, March 3rd, the conference came to a close around noon, and after grabbing lunch and some souvenirs, I went back home. Besides getting lost in Yokohama Station and taking a half an hour to get to the bus stop across the street (which, in my defense, was actually the main highway), my return trip was problem free. I got home at 10:00 PM, dropped my stuff on the floor, and curled up on my bed in a tired heap.<br /><br /> Three days later, I have yet to fully recover. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAwo4TmDT-120ezzmCYNJLxIq9k2loF-6baXh8iKxoi0l0S79nV_tZbkxusB9dDIUkcET0QPb6ZesL9K5WVbGmwu0OyjvIBOyYv0q5EMdRrSCZ081ebL1_m-AnP_EEHqlO4KPBDpt7vteR/s1600/Yokohama+and+Kamakura+184.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAwo4TmDT-120ezzmCYNJLxIq9k2loF-6baXh8iKxoi0l0S79nV_tZbkxusB9dDIUkcET0QPb6ZesL9K5WVbGmwu0OyjvIBOyYv0q5EMdRrSCZ081ebL1_m-AnP_EEHqlO4KPBDpt7vteR/s200/Yokohama+and+Kamakura+184.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458359862670445746" /></a>Rebecca Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16751163568561321683noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3284105143898396022.post-83256998304713308812010-04-10T00:46:00.002+09:002010-04-10T00:51:27.290+09:00Setsubun<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK5X4V0oJsywaYk1Nx2betV1fFrwaChPw9O5slOim7RLo7LHwUlmEoiVKxqB7MXn_4QD141HINbCHw9sUZUbfGZuY1Mjakw1KO2_5Y1dkwMvVVGT8awbOl458sgy7eKk8po6xKkOcuAYo_/s1600/Misc+090.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK5X4V0oJsywaYk1Nx2betV1fFrwaChPw9O5slOim7RLo7LHwUlmEoiVKxqB7MXn_4QD141HINbCHw9sUZUbfGZuY1Mjakw1KO2_5Y1dkwMvVVGT8awbOl458sgy7eKk8po6xKkOcuAYo_/s400/Misc+090.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458165335316287218" /></a><br /><br /><strong>February 3, 2010</strong><br /> <br />Happy Setsubun!<br /> <br />It's February 3rd here in Japan and that means it's the day of the bean throwing festival. I consider Setsubun the equivalent of St. Patrick's Day, given that you don't get a day off from school or work and I almost always forget about the holiday until it's literally the day of. Today, I was reminded just after fourth period when my teacher commented to a student that she was being strict with him, "like an oni," and the student responded by pretending to throw beans at her.<br /> <br />Supposedly families, especially ones with young children, celebrate Setsubun by throwing beans and saying, "Oni wa soto, fuku wa uchi," which translates into "Demons begone! Happiness arise!" if you're being poetic, or, more plainly, "Bad luck outside, good luck inside." I have no idea who sweeps up the beans when all is said and done, because I've never seen that part celebrated. The most I've seen are a lot of teasing about who's an oni. Oh, and I got some peanuts today, which apparently qualify as beans. Heck, for all I know, they might technically be beans. Does anyone know the classification of peanuts? I know, thanks to an insanely old trivia robot, that a peanut is neither a pea nor a nut.<br /> <br />Setsubun is also celebrated by eating gia-normous rolls of sushi. I usually skip this part along with the beans, but today I didn't feel like cooking, so I picked up a log of deep-fried shrimp sushi. There's some sort of lucky direction you're supposed to eat it in, but I didn't bother to find out which one. <br /> <br />I am happy about Setsubun for two reasons. The first has to do with what the word Setsubun means. "Setsu" comes from the word "kisestu" and means season. "Bun" means split. The splitting of the seaons, which means, that winter is sort of unofficially at an end and spring is on it's way. Granted the first time I "celebrated" Setsubun (by receiving beans) I was in Nagoya and it snowed the next day. But I can feel signs of spring coming. The ume (plum) blossoms are starting to bloom, little and white and sweetly scented. I love ume, what I consider the first sign of spring. There are other little signs, too. My energy has been going up, and I've been more efficient and motivated. It's still cold, and yet the cold isn't really bothering me anymore. Once I've adapted to one season, it's a sure sign the next one is on its way. I'm happy, because I love spring. I love the weather, the flowers, and how inexplicitly genki I become.<br /> <br />The second reason I'm happy has nothing whatsoever to do with Setsubun. I just got the results from my JLPT, that ridiculously difficult test I've been studying for for the last two years. And guess what? I PASSED! I squeaked by with a 63%. (Passing is 60%) I got 76% on kanji and vocab, 61% on listening, and 58% on the doubly weighted reading and grammer. Level 2 means, and I quote, "The examinee has mastered grammar to a relatively high level, knows around 1,000 kanji and 6,000 words, and has the ability to converse, read, and write about matters of a general nature." Come to think of it, that sounds rather bland. A more concrete example: today I listened to a Japanese teacher (that is a teacher of Japanese) explain the meaning of an old, obscure Japanese quote in Japanese and I understood it, without asking an English teacher for translation or cracking open a single dictionary. <br /> <br />Sorry to brag so much, but I'm just in such a good mood. I think I'll celebrate by eating strawberry-flavored mochi ice cream. <br /> <br />Have a nice Setsubun!Rebecca Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16751163568561321683noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3284105143898396022.post-22948290738080132082010-04-10T00:33:00.005+09:002010-04-10T09:56:09.851+09:00Translation: Saigo Nanshu Memorial Musuem<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCYmSI3CEIYGCiMlQ8ULedpxv53h6O8cmpkWgQBVTc-Wl1sHU2ea6y9RSrhqnEN7Y07Yzm1UOXoOKgDNFsquzlAh9uyEjeFZM2Fu9PQXy83uJ2I0rET0vbO2l8arAPbrc5RXKsEqqEb0yx/s1600/Misc+008.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCYmSI3CEIYGCiMlQ8ULedpxv53h6O8cmpkWgQBVTc-Wl1sHU2ea6y9RSrhqnEN7Y07Yzm1UOXoOKgDNFsquzlAh9uyEjeFZM2Fu9PQXy83uJ2I0rET0vbO2l8arAPbrc5RXKsEqqEb0yx/s400/Misc+008.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458166412606966114" /></a><br /><br />(A pamphlet I was asked to translate from the Saigo Nanshu Memorial Museum. The director “highly evaluated” my work.)<br /><br /><strong>Welcome to the Saigo Nanshu Memorial Museum</strong><br /><br />(Building Guide)<br /><br /> The Saigo Nanshu Memorial Museum took life as an enterprise in 1977, marking the 100 year anniversary of Saigo’s death. It was made possible through the private donations of over 200,000 individuals who wished to honor the Elder Nanshu, officially known as Saigo Takamori*. After completion, ownership of the museum was transferred to Kagoshima City in 1978, with management entrusted to the Foundation for the Saigo Nanshu Memorial Museum Committee.<br /><br /><strong>* Please note:</strong> All names are written in the Japanese style, with family name first and personal name last.<br /><br /><strong>Route: Museum and Shrine </strong>(Estimated time: 30-60 minutes) <br />(From the front of the parking lot) Museum-Graveyard-Nanshu Shrine and Epitaph for Fallen Soldiers<br /><br /><strong>Parking (free)</strong> Up to 10 buses and 50 mid-sized cars<br /><br /><strong>Architectural Outline</strong> Main building. Total area: 550 m². Basement: 75 m² (furnace, storage). First floor: 264 m² (office, display). Second floor: 211 m² (display). Equipped with air conditioning. Annex Building. Area: 230 m². 30 desks, 120 chairs, 2000 books. Can be used for display or research.<br /><br /><strong>Museum Hours</strong> 9AM-5PM (tour takes 15 minutes at a quick pace, 60 minutes at a leisurely pace) <br /> <br /><strong>Holidays</strong> Monday (should Monday fall on a national holiday, the museum will be closed on the following business day) New Year (Dec. 29th-Jan. 1st)<br /><br /><strong>Admission</strong> Adult: 100 yen. Child (Elementary and Junior High): 50 yen. 20% discount for groups of 30 or more.<br /><br /><strong>Address</strong>: 2-1 Kamitatsuo (Nanshu Park), Kagoshima City, 892-0851<br /><strong>Telephone</strong>: 099-247-1100 <strong>FAX</strong>: 099-247-1100<br /><br /><strong>By Route Bus</strong>, get off at Tateba; from there, a 7 minute walk<br /><strong>By City View Bus</strong>, get off at Nanshu Park Entrance (Nanshu Koen Iriguchi); from there a 6 minute walk.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd3CMsHVMdGUlG1v0_USFlmVjaQ8Lk8IxshtF2XJD4lnDBRoU9GBwbbzmTSIymQ5vXXxS1t98xh57xEM_QrWCle9GD3zjXsuGWBQVzpCflUgc3lYzUGDcSwWEkqYMU_F3V8W9Ox1Fn1ADD/s1600/Misc+2+097.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd3CMsHVMdGUlG1v0_USFlmVjaQ8Lk8IxshtF2XJD4lnDBRoU9GBwbbzmTSIymQ5vXXxS1t98xh57xEM_QrWCle9GD3zjXsuGWBQVzpCflUgc3lYzUGDcSwWEkqYMU_F3V8W9Ox1Fn1ADD/s400/Misc+2+097.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458305259031137346" /></a><br /><br /><strong>[Display Contents] [1st floor]</strong> There are 10 dioramas in this museum.<br /><br /><strong>Entrance</strong> Original bronze statue of the Elder Nanshu (Saigo) in dialogue with Elder Suge “Fallen Cow” Gagyu.<br /><br /><strong>Lobby</strong> Portrait (1889, by Italian artist Kiyosone)<br /><br /> <strong>1. Timeline of Saigo’s Life</strong> Saigo was born on January 23, 1823 and died at Shiroyama on September 24, 1877. He attained the rank of Shosanmi posthumously in 1889.<br /><br /> <strong>2. Diorama </strong> The Town of Great Men. Many leaders of the Meiji Restoration came out of the Shitakajiya district, one after the other. They included the Saigo brothers, Okubo Toshimichi, Yoshii Tomozane, Iji Chishoji, Shinohara Kunimoto, Murata Shinpachi, Oyama Iwao, Togo Heihachiro, and Yamamoto Gonnohyo’e.<br /><br /> <strong>3. The Young Saigo </strong> From age 21-25, Saigo studied Zen under the instruction of his teacher, Musan. He was also educated in a neighborhood school, called a Goju. <br /><br /> The Goju was an independent school system unique to Satsuma (Kagoshima). The students in the Goju were ranked from highest to lowest: Head of Nise (older students)- Nise - Head of Chigo (younger students) - Older Chigo - Younger Chigo. The Goju also functioned as a warrior group where young men voluntarily trained their bodies and minds, the older students teaching the younger students and the Head of Nise supervising all. The textbooks were <em>Satsuma Government Educational Reader</em>, <em>Kagoshima Domain Reader</em>, and <em>Four Books and Five Classics</em>.<br /> <br /><strong>4. Diorama </strong> Saigo was selected as Head of Nise for Shitakajiya Goju when he was 19 years old. In this small district of about 70 houses, many future leaders of the restoration grew up under the guidance and influence of Saigo. Their education included an exercise regiment of running up mountains to build leg strength, a balance of diligent study and vigorous martial arts, and the cultivation of loyalty and filial piety, according to the aims of the Goju schooling system.<br /><br /><strong>5. Annual Character-Building Events of the Goju</strong> (Dates according to the old lunar calendar.) May 28th—Sogo Don’s Umbrella Burning Festival. June 23rd—Visit to Jisshin Temple (Takeda Shrine). July 18th—Visit to Shingaku Temple (Hiramatsu Shrine). September 14th—Visit to Myoen Temple (Tokushige Shrine). December 14th—Reading of the Tale of the Akogi Warriors, known in the West as the 47 Ronin—a group of samurai who severed ties with their home to avenge their fallen master. Licensing of Jigen-ryu-style swordsmanship. The Jigen-ryu Bokuto, which involved training with wooden swords in the sea at New Year.<br /><br /> <strong>6. Diorama </strong> When he was 17, Saigo became a clerk in the government office which was responsible for collecting taxes (paid in rice) from the farmers. But Saigo, a man of deep compassion and justice, sympathized with the farmers and often broke off his own small salary to help the sick, the poor, and the suffering. He wrote up reports of the unfair dealings he saw and sent them to his superiors.<br /><br /> <strong>7. The Great Accomplishments of Shimazu Nariakira</strong> Shimazu Nariakira was the 28th Lord of Satsuma Domain and a great influence on Saigo’s life. He was responsible for buying the Shohei-maru, a modern ship from England; he created the Hi-no-maru design used on the Japanese flag; and he encouraged Satsuma kiriko, or cut glass.<br /><br /> <strong>8. Diorama</strong> At the age of 26, Saigo was discovered by Shimazu Nariakira and became a gardener in Edo (Tokyo). (At the time all lords were required to keep a separate residence at Edo and visit every other year.) Nariakira took Saigo under his wing. He gave Saigo the important task of monitoring events and meeting some the most prominent people in the entire country. Before long Saigo inherited Nariakira’s will to reform the government, and this would lead him to accomplish some of the greatest deeds of the revolution.<br /><br /> <strong>9. Diorama</strong> During the Ansei Purge (a time when people who stood against the government were silenced, imprisoned, or executed), the monk Gessho of Kiyomizu Temple in Kyoto was pursued by the Shogunate. Gessho begged Saigo’s help, and Saigo offered him the protection of Satsuma. But after the death of Nariakira, Satsuma feared the Shogunate and banished Gessho to Hyuga. Saigo, loyal to the end, decided to die alongside the monk. One winter’s day they flung their bodies into the frigid waters of Kinko Bay. (Saigo was 30 at the time, Gessho was 44.) Gessho died, but Saigo was resuscitated. <br /> <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfBvlpAmulpYJrB_frm5IZEURm4LgfPr0ckMqoJkHzxNbv9nO5lQ3AmBiEW1e87KmQIdhJ0GVTMXPjKdNYtqG7j9AMr66h797UOTYVpG8ljpy65gTdA1FL_w5fvKUjzyMIjkyWvZhHrXhL/s1600/Misc+2+098.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfBvlpAmulpYJrB_frm5IZEURm4LgfPr0ckMqoJkHzxNbv9nO5lQ3AmBiEW1e87KmQIdhJ0GVTMXPjKdNYtqG7j9AMr66h797UOTYVpG8ljpy65gTdA1FL_w5fvKUjzyMIjkyWvZhHrXhL/s400/Misc+2+098.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458305691254936546" /></a><br /><br /> <strong>10. Resurrected Saigo</strong> After he was revived, Saigo changed his name to Kikuchi Gengo. For the next three years, from 1859-1862, he hid away on the island of Amami Oshima in the village of Tatsugo. A stone monument dedicated to Saigo in Rutakuchi (in Amami Oshima). A tray used by Saigo. A stone monument dedicated to Gessho.<br /><br /> <strong>11. Banished Again</strong> In February 1862, Saigo was recalled back to the mainland. He immediately became busy in national affairs, which stirred up the anger of the new lord of Satsuma Domain, Shimazu Hisamitsu. As a result, Saigo was banished to the distant islands of Tokunoshima and later Okinoera Bujima (Wadomari), where he was imprisoned for a year and a half.<br /><br /> <strong>12. Diorama</strong> Saigo spent a total of 5 years on the Amami islands, from the age of 31 to 36. For the first three years after entering the water with Gessho, he remained hidden in Tatsugo village to escape the eyes of the Shogunate. After that, he was imprisoned in Tokunoshima and Okinoera Bujima for provoking Hisamitsu’s wrath. He endured this without complaint. In the midst of his suffering, Saigo forged his temper and grew in spirit.<br /><br /> <strong>13. The Satcho Alliance </strong>In 1866, after Saigo was brought back from the islands yet again, there was a secret agreement between former rivals Satsuma Domain and Choshu Domain (Yamaguchi Prefecture), made possible through the efforts of Sakamoto Ryoma. With Satsuma and Choshu now united under the slogan of Tobaku (“Overthrow the Shogunate!”), they received a secret Imperial edict in 1867, lending legitimacy to their cause. People who played active roles in the Satcho Alliance were Saigo Takamori, Komatsu Tatewaki, Kido Takayoshi, Sakamoto Ryoma, and Nakaoka Shintaro.<br /><br /> <strong>14. Diorama </strong> Although the last Shogun, Tokugawa Yoshinobu, had abdicated at the end of 1867, the supporters of the Shogunate continued to wage war in his name. In January 1868 their 15,000 man army advanced to Kyoto and met Saigo’s 5,000 man army at Toba Fushimi, where they opened fire. The supporters of the Shogunate were defeated. Hoisting an Imperial banner overhead, Saigo, as Eastern Expeditionary High Command, left Kyoto on February 14th and marched his army to Edo to attack the Shogun’s stronghold and decisively end the war. <br /><br /><strong> 15. Diorama </strong> The date for the Imperial Army’s all-out offensive was fixed for March 15, 1868, and had such an attack taken place, the chaos within Edo would have been like poking a beehive with a stick. The army governor of Edo, Katsu Yasuyoshi (also known as Katsu Kaishu), saw the impending crisis clearly and requested a meeting with Saigo Takamori. With good will and sincerity, two great men met and talked out an agreement. In the end, Saigo ordered the offensive to be canceled. On April 11th Edo Castle was taken without bloodshed, sparing millions of people in Edo the fires of war. <br /><br /><strong>Television Room </strong> Broadcasting the life of “Saigo Takamori.” Time needed: 30 minutes. “Saigo and Okubo,” presented by the Prefecture Scholarship Association, 20 minutes.<br /><br /><strong>[2nd Floor]</strong><br /><br /> <strong>16. The Proverbs of Elder Nanshu</strong> Shonai Domain (the Tsuruoka region of Yamagata Prefecture) had continued their assault on behalf of the defeated Shogunate, but by October 1868, they admitted defeat and surrendered to Saigo, now head of the Northern Expeditionary Attack Force. Rather than punish Shonai Domain, Saigo treated them with kindness and leniency. In later years a close friendship would develop between them. When Saigo was branded a traitor, the people of former Shonai defended him and in 1889 published The Proverbs of Elder Nanshu, which spread the knowledge of Saigo’s great character throughout the country.<br /><br /> <strong>17. Saigo as Sangi</strong> In 1869, at the request of Shimazu Tadayoshi, the last lord of Satsuma Domain, Kagoshima was reformed into an assembly government. <br /><br /> In 1871, Saigo achieved the high rank of Sangi and took with it corresponding duties on the national stage. From then until his resignation in October 1873, Saigo actively endorsed many important policies, including the abolishment of domains and the establishment of prefectures, reform within the Imperial Palace, a new educational system, the establishment of a national bank, the creation of a universal conscription army, the inauguration of the railroads, the adoption of the solar calendar, and so on. From May to July of 1872, he escorted the Meiji Emperor on a tour throughout western Japan and Kyushu as Commander in Chief of the Imperial Guards. In June 1873, in addition to Sangi, he took on the role of General of Japan’s first national army.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDXvKN6PTbCyzX40-nQcrAp6K8-Q-rCu2w-gnNxFYM93HMXEcXrfOQHyQBV2j_A52PH112nMGrL5ktEOj88_xCrtAtPBp0y-9m5s5EaLo0bpEhEfe3HDQnbc9QGVJI2qqMevzF9QfL_mP6/s1600/Misc+2+099.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDXvKN6PTbCyzX40-nQcrAp6K8-Q-rCu2w-gnNxFYM93HMXEcXrfOQHyQBV2j_A52PH112nMGrL5ktEOj88_xCrtAtPBp0y-9m5s5EaLo0bpEhEfe3HDQnbc9QGVJI2qqMevzF9QfL_mP6/s400/Misc+2+099.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458305698109528386" /></a><br /><br /> <strong>18. Saigo’s Korean Envoy</strong> Korea rejected a treaty with new Meiji government. Between this and its oppression of Japanese settlers, animosity towards Korea was building and a debate broke out over whether or not to go to war. Saigo suppressed the sect that favored using military force. In 1873, he proposed instead that he be sent to Korea as an ambassador. Although the Cabinet meeting initially supported Saigo’s Korean envoy, opposition from Okubo and Iwakura ultimately caused this proposal to be rejected.<br /> <br /> <strong>19. Diorama </strong> In the fall of 1873, Saigo retired from his position as Sangi and returned home. Before long, he had established a society to reclaim the land along the Yoshino plateau and Terayama region. Wielding a hoe to break the ground, Saigo and his students returned to a life of being partners with nature.<br /><br /> <strong>20. Saigo’s Private Schools</strong> When Saigo retired, many in the government also left their posts to follow him back to Kagoshima. Bearing these men in mind, Saigo founded a system of private schools in June 1874, which included a rifle corps, a cannon corps, and basic education for young pupils. Shinohara Kunimoto and Murata Shinpachi were supervisors.<br /><br /> <strong>21. The Seinan War Begins</strong> The national government began to ship weapons and munitions out of Kagoshima. At this time, a spy revealed that there was a scheme in play to assassinate Saigo. Hearing this, Saigo’s students went off in a rage, which eventually progressed to a full-scale war against the government. At the time of their departure for Tokyo, there were 13,000 men in Satsuma’s army, but cooperative armies from Miyazaki, Kumamoto, Oita, and Fukuoka comprised another 7,000 men, and a supplement of recruits added another 10,000 men, for a total of 30,000 men. Roughly 6,800 of these men would die during the course of the war. The government army was 60,000 men strong, and they would absorb 6,971 casualties by the end of it.<br /><br /> <strong>22. Diorama</strong> On September 24, 1877, the morning of the Imperial Army’s general offensive, Saigo left his cave, and his army took their position at the mouth of Iwasaki Valley in Shiroyama. As he was making his way to the front line of the Satsuma army, Saigo was hit by a bullet from the Imperial Army and sat where he fell. He prayed to the Emperor in the far-off east and turned Beppu Shinsuke. “Shin, it is time,” he said to Beppu and ordered his friend to strike off his head. Although officially Saigo and the Satsuma army were called traitors, the Emperor and the people did not in their hearts think of Saigo as an enemy.<br /><br /> <strong>23. Seinan War</strong> Miniature battleground of the Satsuma Army. Rough sketch (with omissions) of the Seinan War. Chronology of the war.<br /><br /> <strong>24. Pictures of the Seinan War</strong> 19 pictures (Artist: Osa Hidehiko)<br /><br /> <strong>25. Seinan War</strong> Brocade picture. Articles of the deceased. Saigo bill. Military notebook of a Kagoshima soldier who fought against Saigo’s troops.<br /><br /> <strong>26. The Spirit of Nanshu</strong> Hanging scrolls written in Saigo’s own hand. 10 scrolls. Saigo Takanaga’s (Takamori’s) letter. Murata Sansuke’s Letter of Appointment.<br /><br /> <strong>27. Articles of the Deceased</strong> Kamoshimo (old ceremonial dress) bearing Saigo’s family crest with cotton crested haori (half jacket). Shinohara Kunimoto’s military uniform. Saigo bill. <br /><br /> <strong>28. Articles and Letters of the Deceased</strong> Saigo’s leggings and underclothes. Letters of Oyama Tsunayoshi and Kirino Toshiaki. Letters of Okubo Toshimichi.<br /><br /> <strong>29. Satsuma Biwa (Lute)</strong> “Shiroyama,” composed by Katsu Kaishu. A flag draped in black belonging to Yokoyama Yasutake (Nanshu original writing). The Satsuma blade of Yamanoda Kazusuke, who cut down many Shinsengumi, a band of samurai in Kyoto who supported the Shogunate. Yamanoda’s diary. Naminohira, the old sword of the commander of Satsuma Army. <br /><br /> <strong>30. Photographic Record of the Seinan War </strong> (1st and 2nd floor transom) 122 pictures. Taken by Ueno Hikoma.<br /><br /> <strong> Nanshu Elegy</strong><br /><br /> “With false accusations hung upon him like laundry on a line, he died, at the mercy of the games of children.” —Katsu Kaishu<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhByljmzHwrBwg7OJV26_uZtpjI3-yFBjA6PFjJ6ftAMkMiARCAIIhFnVcSRDzH6HW0I5l_DQEDG6HAwO0ZUQ2fmRvIJdnueVUiQM_8-2X7oeGXHJAu6TBDanCXi1sp_GvyP-ev3aVIQMvL/s1600/Misc+2+100.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhByljmzHwrBwg7OJV26_uZtpjI3-yFBjA6PFjJ6ftAMkMiARCAIIhFnVcSRDzH6HW0I5l_DQEDG6HAwO0ZUQ2fmRvIJdnueVUiQM_8-2X7oeGXHJAu6TBDanCXi1sp_GvyP-ev3aVIQMvL/s400/Misc+2+100.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458305706095233762" /></a>Rebecca Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16751163568561321683noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3284105143898396022.post-33419805404071845192010-04-10T00:23:00.004+09:002010-04-10T00:33:26.736+09:00Translation: Okubo Toshimichi<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGgqMNfwz2MfJOs1Huk22fSG3KvNaI-ScQ8G-27Tgm1_tNuNxzxFF6_Su7V2KMAU02bILzvWxkBGhRSkD2y4HVK6MJSfy1JOoFdcvnVvwN_qX5CtKRsQK_OwD5Zdew9tT10Idn13vgVSQb/s1600/Okubo.bmp"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGgqMNfwz2MfJOs1Huk22fSG3KvNaI-ScQ8G-27Tgm1_tNuNxzxFF6_Su7V2KMAU02bILzvWxkBGhRSkD2y4HVK6MJSfy1JOoFdcvnVvwN_qX5CtKRsQK_OwD5Zdew9tT10Idn13vgVSQb/s400/Okubo.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458160392545021842" /></a><br /><br />(From the Museum of the Meiji Restoration, in Kagoshima City)<br /><br /><strong>The Tragedy of Okubo Toshimichi</strong><br /><br /> The Meiji era deepened and history treated Okubo coldly. In Kagoshima, he was censured as the man who drove Saigo to his death during the Seinan War (1877). The image of Okubo’s character hardened into that of a cool-headed realist, a man who mulled things over dispassionately, made a decision, and carried that out that decision to the end, regardless of human consequence.<br /><br /> But in a national crisis like the Bakumatsu (the ten year collapse of the Tokugawa Shogunate), it was necessary to make and implement decisions in a composed manner. Okubo’s firm-to-the-extent-of-heartless posture steered Japan through the Meiji era and put it on course to be an independent nation, unyielding to the pressure of foreign countries. <br /><br /> In the 11th year of Meiji (1878), Okubo was assassinated by a band of disgruntled samurai. After his death, a different side of his character came to light. People had imagined that a man who had sat in the seat of power for so long had accumulated quite a bit of money. Actually, he had 75 yen in cash (in current value, approximately 1 million yen) and a total debt of 8,000 yen (100-140 million yen). He assumed these debts under his own name to supplement a shortage of government funds. This shows Okubo to be a man who threw away his own self-interests and sacrificed everything he had for the nation.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbPM0jJ6KgE4bHPzFq68OFFhisbGTjx5SswEUXDiOOtS2VsViVAHPd2mAKkc9e8SAPgr9bu9dt1R11zxUSoPlv0OGnVh47D2Habzqb3XhGC4OxMQli0CPu2kTdRYVxiHXdP91bdhPULoHb/s1600/Museum+translations+007.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbPM0jJ6KgE4bHPzFq68OFFhisbGTjx5SswEUXDiOOtS2VsViVAHPd2mAKkc9e8SAPgr9bu9dt1R11zxUSoPlv0OGnVh47D2Habzqb3XhGC4OxMQli0CPu2kTdRYVxiHXdP91bdhPULoHb/s400/Museum+translations+007.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458159840006399090" /></a><br /><br /><strong>When He Learned of his Friend’s Death</strong><br /><br /> From the days of their youth, Saigo and Okubo grew up together, strong-willed and like-minded. But when they reached middle age, their opinions split and finally, in the Seinan War, they were forced to become enemies. Okubo was a man who hid his regrets and always exhibited a calm exterior, but when he learned of his friend’s death, his true feelings were laid bare. His younger sister Mineko related the confusion that seized Okubo upon hearing of Saigo’s demise:<br /><br /> “My big brother, whose stature was so tall, walked in circles under the lintel between the sitting room and the hallway. He was impatient, refusing to sit, and he smacked his head with his hand, a great many tears filling his eyes.” We can imagine at this time that memories of his old childhood friend were circulating in his mind.<br /><br /> Later, Okubo would make this request to Shigeno Yasutsugu, a historian living in the same town: “I wish to write the inscription upon Kichinosuke’s (Saigo’s) tombstone.”<br /><br /><strong>A Warm Affection and Respect for his Wife</strong><br /><br /> The face of Okubo as a family man is not well-known to the public. Although considered “cold-hearted” and “unfeeling,” a different portrait of Okubo can been seen through a small number of materials and family accounts.<br /><br /> While Okubo was away Edo and Kyoto trying to bring about the Meiji Restoration, his wife, Masuko, protected the house in Kagoshima, along with their children and her husband’s parents and sister. Although they were separated by a great distance, Toshimichi was forever thinking of his wife and the great labors she performed. He always began letters addressed to his house with “My Dear Home” (his affectionate name for Masuko), and even when he sent letters to his younger sister, the first name he wrote on the paper was “Masu.” * This shows the respect he had towards his wife, as well as his thoughtful consideration of her. <br /><br /> When he traveled to America as part of the Iwakura Delegation, he attached this line of a song to the end of a letter to his wife: “Wherever I go, my thoughts surround you. My wife, who beats at the loom, as the dusk of the autumn sky deepens to black.” <br /><br />* It has been speculated that by doing this, he gave his wife permission to look over his sister’s letter and be sure he wasn’t speaking ill of her behind her back. This also, in a sense, set her up as head of the household, as it gave her the authority to oversee items that came into the house.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXRhcOtR48Q7Vw1Mi_TbH0ZEj6uB7F_rlaByg9vG8Iuzw6KpBd0K_AxNFzf6tkv-MdjgGSUnI1XtW61Jtt5xg0xG3Nxd8nEHEG-yT8rq9_WRwqxFZjgyi-CCcLVjWFUvKzHkz1wXDJDXMk/s1600/Museum+translations+008.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXRhcOtR48Q7Vw1Mi_TbH0ZEj6uB7F_rlaByg9vG8Iuzw6KpBd0K_AxNFzf6tkv-MdjgGSUnI1XtW61Jtt5xg0xG3Nxd8nEHEG-yT8rq9_WRwqxFZjgyi-CCcLVjWFUvKzHkz1wXDJDXMk/s400/Museum+translations+008.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458159842126504034" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Isei Seimei</strong><br /><br /> Okubo often wrote out the calligraphy for “Isei Seimei,” or “Pure Ruler.” The words mean “Politicians must first examine their own character and have integrity and righteousness,” and they express Okubo’s desire and lifelong aim.<br /><br /><strong>The Accomplishments of Okubo Toshimichi</strong><br /><br />• Okubo is one of the Ishin Sanketsu, the Three Great Men of the Restoration. Moreover, he was the only one to consistently play a role in the center of government politics and thus was able to carry out extensive reforms.<br /><br />• Okubo was a part of the Sono (“Revere the Emperor!”) movement. He advocated government change within the domains, organized the loyalists, and caught the eye of his mentor, Shimazu Hisamitsu (the new head of Satsuma Domain), who saw Okubo’s talents and utilized them to the fullest extent. Alongside Saigo, Okubo recruited like-minded men to their cause and synthesized various domains’ arguments on how to deal with the crisis. He traveled all over Japan to promote the idea of uniting the feudal domains into a single national government, and he actively endorsed restoring the Emperor to power and returning all land to his control. <br /><br />• The two times Saigo was banished to the islands—once to Amami Oshima to hide from the Shogunate and then to Okinoera Bushima—Okubo went to work in the government to get him released. Once Saigo did return, he and Okubo combined their talents and the Meiji Restoration took off.<br /><br />• After the inauguration of the new Meiji government, Okubo pushed for the transfer of the capital from Kyoto to Tokyo. He came out with new government programs, one after the other, and he was especially adamant about creating a prosperous country with a strong army and promoting enterprise and industry. He poured all his energy into making Japan a modern nation.<br /><br />• After Saigo helped him abolish the domains and establish prefectures in their stead, Okubo went on an overseas expedition with Iwakura Tomomi, among others, to tour Europe and America. Prussia’s Bismarck, in particular, made an enormous impression on him, and once he returned, Okubo enthusiastically devoted himself to creating a monarch-state similar to that of Prussia. <br /><br />• In Okubo’s absence, Saigo had been left in charge of the government and had planned to send an envoy to Korea. This clashed strongly with Okubo’s own ideas of prioritizing internal matters. Sadly, the fallout between the two would eventually lead to the Seinan War, but Okubo, as Minister of National Affairs, did his best to control the crisis.<br /><br />• Okubo was assassinated on May 14, 1878, a year following the Seinan War. His killers were six disgruntled samurai led by Shimada Ichiro of Iwakawa Prefecture. At the age of 47, Okubo’s life came to an end. <br /><br />• Okubo was given the rank of Shoni’i and the prestigious title of “Minister of the Right.” Afterwards, he was awarded the rank of Juichi’i.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-osiYooXm-8-3UZt9j8HXyLonMcjI2u2cE3VwlVqMwHLNCpuTfZlHtXppdMvHF5Ep82DEqSi9oVx6i1K6ZXZqTwo-pd1F1rDA-fUIjcMWHId-vl5Ol_qd-Ooms8Uj0A4UmlPe5t_h4twt/s1600/Museum+translations+006.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-osiYooXm-8-3UZt9j8HXyLonMcjI2u2cE3VwlVqMwHLNCpuTfZlHtXppdMvHF5Ep82DEqSi9oVx6i1K6ZXZqTwo-pd1F1rDA-fUIjcMWHId-vl5Ol_qd-Ooms8Uj0A4UmlPe5t_h4twt/s400/Museum+translations+006.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458159855606408050" /></a><br /><br />Please note: All names are written in Japanese style, with the family name first and the personal name last.Rebecca Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16751163568561321683noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3284105143898396022.post-47372470695010973152010-04-10T00:02:00.005+09:002010-04-10T00:23:32.089+09:00Translation: Saigo Takamori<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxEOGvHyWaOz6U0f03u8pRKkx7xvS3G-v7_nbTBwVV9dAMyucTabWBHql27kX0r11I5ffq51ch5zbJIIB4gj8y6IwZOtMKe0C8GCPDe9-xswugUiKlB-L_y_NLhqQwuUm8FoLgR8nLjqsA/s1600/Saigo.bmp"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxEOGvHyWaOz6U0f03u8pRKkx7xvS3G-v7_nbTBwVV9dAMyucTabWBHql27kX0r11I5ffq51ch5zbJIIB4gj8y6IwZOtMKe0C8GCPDe9-xswugUiKlB-L_y_NLhqQwuUm8FoLgR8nLjqsA/s400/Saigo.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458154997087500178" /></a><br /><br />(From the Museum of the Meiji Restoration, in Kagoshima City)<br /><br /><strong>A Man of Virtue Trusted Even by His Enemies</strong><br /><br /> During the Boshin Civil War (1868-1869), Shonai Domain (located in present day Yamagata Prefecture), which was a supporter of the Tokugawa government, came under fierce attack by the Imperial Army and was defeated. It is well-known that, under the influence of Saigo, the “rebel army” of Shonai Domain was treated magnanimously, and as the government changed and the Meiji era began, Shonai Doman felt an obligation and special trust for Saigo.<br /><br /> In the 4th year of Meiji (1871), Suge Sanehide, the chief retainer of Shonai Domain, met with Saigo in Edo (Tokyo) for the first time. The record of Shonai Domain contains the following statements: “The Elder (Saigo) is honored as an older brother” and “The Elder is in fact a great Sage, bestowed with Oyu’s gift of virtue.” It was also written that the previous year the former ruler of Shonai, Sakai Tadazumi, personally studied under Saigo during his visit to Kagoshima, and his retainers trained with riffles as rank and file soldiers in Hayato Garrison in Satsuma (Kagoshima Prefecture). Due to this association, a number of people from what was once Shonai Domain joined the Satsuma troops at the outbreak of the Seinan War.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQqE8TzHAr36IIYdYKnE9E83yPNpEHW1TNho-PGqKAvVMlCb_qFLGWYgm7SlvASdssH3u64vz0x_HrZ-FBxNG40jphUm9wpT-_4qNiBLqRYADjBgkbO7969wzEPmJGOFp3Rh_gHPwRs4If/s1600/Museum+translations+001.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQqE8TzHAr36IIYdYKnE9E83yPNpEHW1TNho-PGqKAvVMlCb_qFLGWYgm7SlvASdssH3u64vz0x_HrZ-FBxNG40jphUm9wpT-_4qNiBLqRYADjBgkbO7969wzEPmJGOFp3Rh_gHPwRs4If/s400/Museum+translations+001.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458156841244857122" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Men Who Put Their Lives in Saigo’s Hands</strong><br /><br /> There seemed to be a special kind of power to Saigo’s charisma. After the inauguration of the new Meiji government, Saigo differed in opinion with Okubo Toshimichi and Kido Takayoshi over whether or not to dispatch ambassadors to Korea and was subsequently dismissed. When that happened, many Satsuma officials holding high positions in the government also resigned and returned home to Kagoshima under the direction of Saigo. The number reached into the hundreds, including such distinguished men as Shinohara Kunimoto, the Major General of the Imperial Guards; Kirino Toshiaki, the Chief Justice of the Army; and Murata Shinbachi, the Deputy Chief of the Imperial Household. Many of these military officers and public officials would later take part in the Seinan War and share in Saigo’s fate.<br /><br /> Masuda Sotaro, who was in command of Oita Prefecture’s Nakatsu Corps, said this about Saigo: “If you know Saigo for a single day, the love of one day is born. If you know Saigo for three days, the love of three days is born. With each day, the love for him increases, until it won’t let go. It is enough to live and die with him…” The men who followed Saigo to their death at the end of the Seinan War probably thought the same thing. It is for this reason that Saigo is called “A person of great affection.”<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbP00gj7uohQNd97EieqITWzavQ292RT0qpLIhnYOuHDfq8RE3SCZXxMhYcmPE_B5cTaxpXpFAvQ2ZzjmB5cPR7BGNpBeRKDcG9l9h3Yqtb-T8_t5P7I85R_CfFISmVfqyhAhGeFOmJJvT/s1600/Museum+translations+002.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbP00gj7uohQNd97EieqITWzavQ292RT0qpLIhnYOuHDfq8RE3SCZXxMhYcmPE_B5cTaxpXpFAvQ2ZzjmB5cPR7BGNpBeRKDcG9l9h3Yqtb-T8_t5P7I85R_CfFISmVfqyhAhGeFOmJJvT/s400/Museum+translations+002.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458156852755314898" /></a><br /><br /><strong>The Mystery of Saigo’s Real Name</strong><br /><br /> Although it was common for samurai to change their names several times over the course of their lives, the amount of names Saigo went through was excessive even for the time. (See chart.)<br /><br />Age <strong>Name </strong> <em>Reason for Change</em><br /><br />Birth-14 <strong>Kokichi </strong> <em>In Saigo’s family, this was the traditional name for the eldest son and heir.</em><br /><br />15-26 <strong>Kichinosuke</strong> <em>This was used from Saigo’s coming of age on forward.</em><br /><br />27-29 <strong>Zembe</strong> <em>Saigo took this name after his father’s death when he inherited control of the family.</em><br /> <br />32-35 <strong>Kikuchi Gengo</strong> <em>During the time of the Ansei Purge, Saigo harbored the monk Gessho, a fugitive. Saigo was forced to change his name by edict of Satsuma Domain. </em><br /><br />35 <strong>Oshima San’uemon</strong> <em>The name he took after being reinstated and returning to Kagoshima.</em><br /><br />35-37 <strong>Oshima Kichinosuke</strong> <em>When Saigo was banished to Okinoera Bujima (an island in southern Kagoshima Prefecture near Okinawa), he was again ordered to change his name by domain edict.</em> <br /><br />38-40 <strong>Saigo Kichinosuke</strong><br /><br />41-Present <strong>Saigo Takamori</strong><br /><br /> Takamori was not, in fact, Saigo’s real name. His real name was Takanaga; Takamori was the name of his father. However, when Saigo was awarded the rank of Shosanmi in the 2nd year of Meiji (1869), the government made a mistake in their documentation and used his father’s name instead. Saigo ended up refusing this rank, but in doing so, he sent back the name “Takamori.” From that time forward, Takanaga and Takamori were used interchangeably until the last years of Saigo’s life, when the name Takamori stuck.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEz8IsXrmKVAWwiDkxA-GgVlL6N6J1V8LgQyLQQYwpcoQFmfGBYi5Lmf6qTpqm29XNZ5r-s2ztdDJ63GI2hUlEE9q1n6q_-QfoHLMLnG5Ue50mSJBujuIb_pDOeWndsEGERjhBFAsT6OoZ/s1600/Museum+translations+003.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEz8IsXrmKVAWwiDkxA-GgVlL6N6J1V8LgQyLQQYwpcoQFmfGBYi5Lmf6qTpqm29XNZ5r-s2ztdDJ63GI2hUlEE9q1n6q_-QfoHLMLnG5Ue50mSJBujuIb_pDOeWndsEGERjhBFAsT6OoZ/s400/Museum+translations+003.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458156861812639554" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Kei Ten Ai Jin</strong><br /><br /> The words Saigo carried with him all his life Kei Ten Ai Jin, or “Revere Heaven, Love Man” mean “As Heaven blesses all people without discrimination, so I, too, with a heart of compassion, want to love mankind.” Saigo demonstrated this philosophy throughout his life.<br /><br /><strong>The Accomplishments of Saigo Takamori</strong><br /><br />• The people who contributed the most to the Meiji Restoration are known as the Ishin Sanketsu or the Three Great Men of the Restoration. Saigo is one of them.<br /><br />• Saigo was selected by Shimazu Nariakira, the head of Satsuma Domain, to travel the various feudal domains in Japan and drum up support to reform the Tokugawa Shogunate.<br /><br />• After Nariakira’s death, Saigo was banished to Amami Oshima and then to the distant island of Okinoera Bujima. Both times he was summoned back, and in the first and only year of Genji (1864) Saigo demonstrated his skill and capability in the handling of the Incident at the Forbidden Gate and the first invasion of Choshu (Yamaguchi Prefecture).<br /><br />• In the 2nd year of Keio (1866), Saigo played an important role in the alliance between Satsuma and Choshu, bringing the movement to overthrow the Shogunate one step closer to fruition.<br /><br />• Saigo gained full authority over the Imperial Army as the Eastern Expeditionary High Command during the Boshin Civil War (1868-1869). By meeting with Kaishu Katsu, an important official in the Tokugawa government, he was able to take Edo Castle without bloodshed. His army came to dominate the domains of Nagaoka (Niigata Prefecture), Aizu (Fukushima Prefecture), and Shonai (Yamagata Prefecture), to name a few.<br /><br />• After the new government was established, Saigo became General of Japan’s first national army and attained the ranks of Totoku and Sangi. His important work in the government led to feudal domains being abolished and prefectures established in their place. He also began to overhaul the education and conscription systems, and he was active in the center of Japanese modern architecture. <br /><br />• In the 6th year of Meiji (1873), Okubo Toshimichi and Iwakura Tomomi returned to Japan from their trip to Europe and America. They opposed Saigo’s plan to dispatch diplomats to Korea, and Saigo went back to Kagoshima. Saigo built schools for the samurai youth, but his students came to distrust the new government. This invited a storm of controversy, which eventually led to the Seinan War (1877). After several violent skirmishes, Saigo’s army was defeated by the government army, and in September 1877, he died alongside his students. He was 49 years old.<br /><br />• After the war, Saigo was branded a traitor and stripped of his official rank. But by the 22nd year of Meiji (1889), Saigo’s accomplishments during the restoration had come to be much admired. With the issuing of the Constitution of the Japanese Empire, Saigo was granted a pardon, the name of traitor was removed, and he was awarded the rank of Shosanmi. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixy1Ob9B6flNhC3aA8dp7dG51vDf3hrLiMMuhQtxnGaBscKXcd6B4NBBy87elZ3TA6EXoQ1i-2Fy1NlgaxqMBcrNxaeeOHlKQxQjgELz6kVfIveUgnzwkOyj44N7RD8tY_O7igC5hCEPzH/s1600/Museum+translations+004.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixy1Ob9B6flNhC3aA8dp7dG51vDf3hrLiMMuhQtxnGaBscKXcd6B4NBBy87elZ3TA6EXoQ1i-2Fy1NlgaxqMBcrNxaeeOHlKQxQjgELz6kVfIveUgnzwkOyj44N7RD8tY_O7igC5hCEPzH/s400/Museum+translations+004.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458156871950040370" /></a><br /><br />Please note: All names are written in Japanese style, with the family name first and the personal name last.Rebecca Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16751163568561321683noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3284105143898396022.post-14752112484381039862010-04-09T23:49:00.005+09:002010-04-09T23:58:03.192+09:00Ash from Sakurajima<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbxtDckl7rONxDcLpwVBgOyp34Eq6q8NJq3GF0FyUv8vEaf3CTwaOujS_wQ3hHWkxIXYr_6ADiiiItw5enTWHxY9LZQC5mxrVPr30gar5mYKb-Mu7hMG4afoKvKGOFaPY3reew9xoQPMsB/s1600/Misc+100.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbxtDckl7rONxDcLpwVBgOyp34Eq6q8NJq3GF0FyUv8vEaf3CTwaOujS_wQ3hHWkxIXYr_6ADiiiItw5enTWHxY9LZQC5mxrVPr30gar5mYKb-Mu7hMG4afoKvKGOFaPY3reew9xoQPMsB/s400/Misc+100.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458151956521408466" /></a><br /><br /><strong>January 2010</strong><br /> <br /> It’s been a really long time since I’ve written. You’d think I’d be bursting with new information, but no. As of now, I have nothing in particular happening in my life. <br /> <br /> Our volcano, Sakurajima, has been spewing more ash than usual into the air for a while now. It turns the streets grey. Today it rained and as I walked to school, my laces splashed in the puddles of ashy water and got the hem of my khaki-colored pants stained an awful drippy black. The weird thing was that once my pants dried off the ash just fell away, restoring the color, as if nothing was wrong in the first place. Weird, no? <br /> <br /> The ash falls onto my balcony. I’ve been sweeping it weekly lately. Even so, by next Saturday a layer of grey soot has formed. I sweep it up and it completely fills my dustpan. Sometimes I can taste it at the edge of my teeth or feel it like grit in my eye. <br /> <br /> With so much ash in the air, it’s no wonder I kept getting sick this fall. I still get a little bit hacking/ gagging in the mornings, but not nearly so bad as in October, November, December. I think it’s gotten better since I finished my test. I took the JLPT (Japanese Language Proficiency Test), 2nd level, this December. I’d been studying like crazy for it. Now that it’s over, and now that the holidays are over as well, I’m a little more relaxed. I’ve been studying Japanese by translating museum signs into English. <br /> <br /> I spent my holidays cleaning my house and trying to ignore the germ of loneliness growing in me. The holidays are the worst: everyone is away or busy and the whole community turns into a ghost town. For my 25th birthday, I wanted to have a party, but in the end, only one person could come. We had fun talking, but it isn’t quite a party. It’s not just that. It’s coming home and having no one to talk to, no one to cook for, no one to take care of or take care of me. When I first got my own place, I was so excited about having my own space and my own rules. But I kind of miss having people around. <br /> <br /> That’s how I know I have to come home. The papers are signed; I’ll leave in August. There’s a conference for “Returning JETs” in Yokohama to help us deal with adjusting to life outside of Japan and write resumes and things like that. I want to go. I do want to attend this conference, but I also want to visit Yokohama (a city near Tokyo, one of the 5 largest in Japan) and, more importantly, Kamakura. Kamakura is near Yokohama. It was the capital of the really, really old Japanese Shogunate. It has one of the two famous “Big Buddha” statues in Japan . <br /> <br /> School is going fine. I’m teaching the kids about rhyming. I’m getting better at preparing lessons. Not perfect, but better. The odd thing is that the more I understand what it means to be a teacher, the less appealing it becomes to me. I love to teach students who love to learn. But I hate trying to control noisy classes, motivate students who don’t want to learn, and grade papers. And that seems to be most of what being a teacher is. Honestly, I’d rather be a student; or better yet, just give me my own work and I’ll do it happily. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxLYq06eD0GJxGjZTQzoxxcdH7jVpAsxpRPEt01Cfh4PhHaYVEYR_D7WFHj-k3cVGIf8CO_x25NTPTNMgtojtHbyfWixWdQ0cmOOTrvX4E0D2DEuaFmLJQ3fjfl7CcNqFPF-ZPCn9cUkkF/s1600/Misc+086.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxLYq06eD0GJxGjZTQzoxxcdH7jVpAsxpRPEt01Cfh4PhHaYVEYR_D7WFHj-k3cVGIf8CO_x25NTPTNMgtojtHbyfWixWdQ0cmOOTrvX4E0D2DEuaFmLJQ3fjfl7CcNqFPF-ZPCn9cUkkF/s400/Misc+086.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458151591968433042" /></a>Rebecca Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16751163568561321683noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3284105143898396022.post-80444988524341464952010-04-09T23:40:00.002+09:002010-04-11T09:10:53.009+09:00Northern Japan: The End?<strong>Late August 2009</strong><br /><br /> Writing this took almost as long as the trip itself. Fortunately, traveling refreshed me, and I returned home healthy and bursting with energy. I tackled the job of writing down my experiences. Like putting together a scrapbook, I carefully arranged my thoughts and feelings. <br /> <br /> I included a lot of history, and I know that’s not everyone’s cup of tea. But history is an integral part of my travel. I chose cities with the theme of the “losers” of the Bakumatsu conflict, but I ended up retracing the Boshin Civil War (1868-1869) in backwards manner.<br /><br /> In the spring of 1868 most of Japan had already acknowledged the new Imperial government, created under the alliance of Satsuma (Kagoshima), Choshu (Yamaguchi), and, to some extent, Tosa (Kochi). But there were pockets of resistance. The direct retainers of the Tokugawa Shogunate fought the Imperial army in <strong>Tokyo</strong> in the summer of 1868. They were defeated. War raged in Aizu that autumn, led by such people as Saito Hajime. By November, <strong>Aizu</strong> was broken. Enomoto Takeaki, Hijikata Toshizo, and a few others retreated to <strong>Sendai</strong>, briefly, then up to <strong>Hakodate</strong>. They set up the Ezo Republic that winter. The imperial army arrived in spring of 1869 and destroyed the republic. The Boshin Civil War came to an end.<br /><br /> And with it, officially, Bakumatsu history. <br /><br /> I have run out of places to visit. This was my last major history-themed trip. That’s not to say I won’t travel in Japan anymore or find ways to bore you with my obscure interests. But I will not put as much effort into planning my trips or recording my adventures afterwards. It’s just too much work. I have one more year in Japan. I feel like this part of my life is coming to an end, and I need to prepare for the next phase. <br /><br /> I hope you enjoyed the ride. I did.Rebecca Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16751163568561321683noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3284105143898396022.post-23289087797716844212010-04-09T23:18:00.014+09:002010-04-09T23:47:57.361+09:00Northern Japan #6: Edo-Tokyo<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr2D5BybNn2D7LKSKbJVfYP7Hk7LSaK85joZR1OeApsDf4Yl6f5_OwaMXV5JzFhvY2yXbE_FWeAkApNlfhp9edGAjiha4m_VwHaRERX5RQ5BptOdUWyqYAesEGqBCWwge8Ehh8QVfd6U13/s1600/Northern+Japan+09+423.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr2D5BybNn2D7LKSKbJVfYP7Hk7LSaK85joZR1OeApsDf4Yl6f5_OwaMXV5JzFhvY2yXbE_FWeAkApNlfhp9edGAjiha4m_VwHaRERX5RQ5BptOdUWyqYAesEGqBCWwge8Ehh8QVfd6U13/s400/Northern+Japan+09+423.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458147307634288434" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Late August 2009</strong><br /><br />(Friday, Saturday morning)<br /><br /> Last time I came to Tokyo, there were times people gathered so thick around me, I felt like I was no longer walking but getting swept away by a slow-trudging river. Even at its best, Tokyo was a city where you couldn’t escape people. A walk in the park meant tripping over picnickers; breakfast at a temple was shared with a film crew. <br /><br /> But this time it was different. I caught the 8:45 train on the Yamanote loop from Ueno to Akihabara on a Friday morning. By all logic I should have been crushed like a soda can in a trash compressor. Instead, no one even touched me.<br /><br /> Obon probably had something to do with it. The tradition of returning home to pay respects to the ancestors is the one genuine excuse the Japanese have to travel. Then again, it might have been the places I chose to visit: Iriya, Ebisu, and Ryogoku aren’t exactly popular. Whatever the reason, Tokyo didn’t feel as crowded as I’d remembered. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnKNuS6wInpbqD0f7IQAS0pJHwFcrMRj4547sdIGZnIuPhSbm8YTjTBwHkdFijBNo8iVUlvRjJOA3PUmQd7_Jj6_q090Y6c0XrB5KoBgFDYqhwF-bmDzNL29ZaHZlI1lZoM9WW0nUvXI0M/s1600/Northern+Japan+09+355.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnKNuS6wInpbqD0f7IQAS0pJHwFcrMRj4547sdIGZnIuPhSbm8YTjTBwHkdFijBNo8iVUlvRjJOA3PUmQd7_Jj6_q090Y6c0XrB5KoBgFDYqhwF-bmDzNL29ZaHZlI1lZoM9WW0nUvXI0M/s200/Northern+Japan+09+355.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458144456825072738" /></a> <br /><br /> Long colorful paintings of sumo wrestlers met me at my stop. The Sumo Stadium was somewhere nearby, but I drifted along to the Edo-Tokyo Museum. My guidebook called the massive building structure impressive; I called it ugly. The bottom part of the museum was hollowed out—groups met under the shade and waited for their guides to buy tickets—while the roof was bulky, containing most of the exhibits. I wondered that the roof didn’t simply squash us flat. Grass or trees might have softened the effect, but there was nothing but concrete around the area.<br /> <br /> The Edo-Tokyo museum was my entire reason for coming. A month earlier, two phone calls and a fax had secured me an English-speaking guide. I met him on the sixth floor in front of the permanent exhibition. He was an older Japanese man with slightly longish grey hair. I asked his name and he told me to call him “Simon.” <br /><br /> “If you’re Simon, then you can call me Isako,” I said, jokingly. From the very beginning, he and I got along wonderfully.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIiS17vlj_WqCZGOnFMnHoDWneEOhRWPll6MY8zWqd98nCVy95AYEIDYvSM-_PpR73lC8HedRPp5PLY_JVnU6k9cViUuVFsTsnN7jAKhA0a5Ag-2YYYYPJk8RMWSIQSQigHVsCtS2BqBwV/s1600/Northern+Japan+09+373.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIiS17vlj_WqCZGOnFMnHoDWneEOhRWPll6MY8zWqd98nCVy95AYEIDYvSM-_PpR73lC8HedRPp5PLY_JVnU6k9cViUuVFsTsnN7jAKhA0a5Ag-2YYYYPJk8RMWSIQSQigHVsCtS2BqBwV/s200/Northern+Japan+09+373.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458145098242359266" /></a><br /><br /> A giant bridge, a replica of the Nihonbashi, split the permanent exhibition in half: Edo to the left, Tokyo to the right. (Just so you know, Edo and Tokyo are both names for the same city; it was called Edo from 1600-1868 and Tokyo from1868 on out.) The room was dimly lit, but I could see the various life-sized buildings and artifacts scattered just below the bridge. Most impressive was the kabuki theatre and newspaper building.<br /><br /> On a normal day, I think Simon would explain the basic history of the two eras, but I already knew that, so we just leaned against the railing of the bridge and chatted. I told him I was from Kagoshima Prefecture and that I liked to study about the Bakumatsu period (1853-1868) in Japanese history.<br /><br /> “You probably know more about it than I do,” he said. <br /><br /> The Edo-Tokyo museum focused on the Edo era (1600-1853) and skipped over my favorite era completely. This didn’t really surprise me. It didn’t bother me either, because the actual lifestyle of the people in the Bakumatsu era was almost identical to that of the Edo era. Except with more violence.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR-iPyCLcReCt0xXZzHpFhMiPSmyyZJyFIB9Iq7vOhQJhamsqw9UsQaoG5_1ZJcxh2P6LIPAmOcivkivhov6ZMRWDOE1VxXUZcxWVfoylP6oMUgKJeV_hUwdMR8GupEU_2-YwXjc4QHUmS/s1600/Northern+Japan+09+360.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR-iPyCLcReCt0xXZzHpFhMiPSmyyZJyFIB9Iq7vOhQJhamsqw9UsQaoG5_1ZJcxh2P6LIPAmOcivkivhov6ZMRWDOE1VxXUZcxWVfoylP6oMUgKJeV_hUwdMR8GupEU_2-YwXjc4QHUmS/s200/Northern+Japan+09+360.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458145297415044786" /></a><br /><br /> We eventually walked off the bridge and came to a life-sized replica of a palanquin. Simon urged me to get inside. The lacquered box was roomier inside than it looked. I could stretch my legs all the way out. While I was making myself comfortable Simon told me that this palanquin was used by the lords.<br /><br /> “You’ve probably heard of this word—‘alternate attendance.’ ”<br /><br /> I did. It was a system set up by the Tokugawa Shogunate wherein the lords, sometimes called daimyo, were required to make trips to Edo every other year. This trip drained them of their money and broke their ties to the land. A very clever system for to keep control of the daimyo and ensure the samurai didn’t rebel.<br /><br /> “How long do you think it took to come to Edo from Kagoshima?” Simon asked me.<br /><br /> “Four months?” I said.<br /><br /> “Maybe three or four months. As soon as the daimyo came to Edo, he had to start planning his trip back.”<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgilYsDow6GtHlNhNJwDppSU7nxuurKQDR5i8nApiRmbpYB2AsWFqxn1nbbJs1kncbIMnlP_hWTnJcRAxNiF7p2CXp1kmi06ZiAdqkmwER0LiIkUSBJU3wCJbTaLOmNYYUDOXHVlGco8gEG/s1600/Northern+Japan+09+371.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgilYsDow6GtHlNhNJwDppSU7nxuurKQDR5i8nApiRmbpYB2AsWFqxn1nbbJs1kncbIMnlP_hWTnJcRAxNiF7p2CXp1kmi06ZiAdqkmwER0LiIkUSBJU3wCJbTaLOmNYYUDOXHVlGco8gEG/s200/Northern+Japan+09+371.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458145867284500386" /></a><br /><br /> We passed more traditional documents under glass. Simon showed me a picture of Edo burning and explained that in 1657 a great fire burned down 60% of the city. They had to rebuild, a common theme in the history of Tokyo. A crowd was gathered next to a chart of the Tokugawa lineage, but I had no interest, so we moved on. <br /><br /> We came to models of the aqueduct. <br /><br /> “The water went to wells,” Simon said. “Of course the samurai had their own well, but the townspeople had to share. They also shared toilets. But the waste from the toilets didn’t go underground. The farmers took it. They would come in the mornings with buckets of vegetables and leave with buckets of manure. It was useful for growing vegetables. Nothing wasted.”<br /><br /> I like to think of myself as fairly well-versed on Japanese history, but Simon made me look like an amateur. He told me about hazardous birthing practices, explained that bookstores didn’t sell books, and showed me a print of carpenters worshipping catfish as a symbol of earthquakes. I followed with my notebook open, a pencil in my hand, and eagerly scribbled notes. <br /><br /> We came to a display of gold coins—gold for Tokyo, although Osaka and Kyoto used silver. The big flat bars were used only by the Shogun. I pointed to the small coins with the hole in the middle, resembling a five-yen coin of today.<br /><br /> “Did people use those coins when they went shopping?” I asked.<br /><br /> No, Simon said. Most people didn’t actually go shopping. Vendors came to them, selling fish or tofu or renting out books. People knew each other face to face, and they didn’t exchange coins except once or twice a year. Credit was the preferred method. I thought this funny. Japan, the land of cash, using credit long ago.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTgxa0563g6rh8INQrwcBxrZ87d7IRETpovuZYZ8KSBWRNfi3OknppXWKZiel0-bCbwykqbMpPhJeasbj13Z5xY3hV6wOUTywTTjl4z2t3Fdz8cr3aOlIt5yzebQtaXMHIQ_4MpTBFn8z1/s1600/Northern+Japan+09+372.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTgxa0563g6rh8INQrwcBxrZ87d7IRETpovuZYZ8KSBWRNfi3OknppXWKZiel0-bCbwykqbMpPhJeasbj13Z5xY3hV6wOUTywTTjl4z2t3Fdz8cr3aOlIt5yzebQtaXMHIQ_4MpTBFn8z1/s200/Northern+Japan+09+372.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458146155018354354" /></a><br /><br /> Simon led me to a miniature of a long, impressive building with a black roof and no walls on the first floor. Faceless little people bustled in and sat on the tatami mat, looking at the displays of goods.<br /><br /> “Now this was a very successful store,” Simon said.<br /><br /> “What’s its name?” I asked.<br /><br /> “Mitsukoshi,” he said. “Do you know it?”<br /><br /> “It sounds vaguely familiar.”<br /><br /> “It’s still in Tokyo. Today it’s a department store.”<br /> <br /> Mr. Mitsukoshi had been a very clever man, Simon explained. First of all, his enterprise was based in Kyoto, so he benefitted from the gold-silver exchange rate. The actual store, like Wal-mart, had everything. People from all ranks and classes could shop freely. But what made the store so revolutionary was its “cash only” policy. You see, those vendors working on credit occasionally had people who would take off when their bill was due. So, to insure they made money, they charged interest. But because Mitsukoshi only accepted cold, hard currency, it did away with the interest. It sold its products at rock bottom prices.<br /><br /> There was so much to see and soak in—but I won’t bore you any longer. There is only one more display I’d like to mention because it seemed to be of special interest to him. It was a simple map of the city of Tokyo during World War II. A press of the button and various sections of the city lit up.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbzHEx6xOhZ87UY0aFPyZ5MsEvZVfDCpp3BATNoMDEKr0m7RIgq7M8UOxgRk5hRtlqnTiWZPuy0JwQYTS3yMFq0DO-08DUWDSVGnAOw1GAtUSz7_9AhFEerq_k3grbCuBOBXGHjdVarJx1/s1600/Northern+Japan+09+384.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbzHEx6xOhZ87UY0aFPyZ5MsEvZVfDCpp3BATNoMDEKr0m7RIgq7M8UOxgRk5hRtlqnTiWZPuy0JwQYTS3yMFq0DO-08DUWDSVGnAOw1GAtUSz7_9AhFEerq_k3grbCuBOBXGHjdVarJx1/s200/Northern+Japan+09+384.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458146362228922370" /></a><br /><br /> “When we become a tour guide, they make us learn three dates,” Simon said. “1657—that’s the year of the fire. 1868—you know, the year of the Meiji Restoration. And March 3, 1945.”<br /><br /> “March 3rd?” I said. It didn’t sound familiar. “Why is that date important?”<br /><br /> “March 3rd,” he said, “was like our September 11th. That was the day the air raids fell hardest on Tokyo.”<br /><br /> For each area that had been bombed a portion of the map lit up. At first, it was only a couple of small insignificant areas. But on March 3rd a huge chunk in the center of Tokyo flashed red on the map. All that area destroyed. And the air raids continued—for three months—until the whole city was blotted out.<br /><br /> “Tokyo—our capital city—was completely destroyed,” he said. “But even then, we didn’t give up.” This last point was important to him.<br /><br /> “I didn’t know,” I said.<br /><br /> “Even Japanese people don’t know,” he said. “They forgot. Because after that—Hiroshima and Nagasaki…”<br /><br /> “The atomic bomb,” I said. “It overshadowed it.”<br /><br /> The atomic bomb gets a lot of attention, but we forget—normal bombs can do the same amount of damage. It just takes a little longer.<br /><br /> “March 3rd is nothing like September 11th,” I said. “We only lost a few buildings—you lost a whole city. America doesn’t know what that feels like.”<br /><br /> After that, we sat on the benches and talked. I explained my theory about how the difference in America and Japan’s views on war and peace springs from their different experiences in World War II. As the conversation turned to cultural differences, I jabbed that Japan liked “losers” of battles more than winners. He acknowledged this, but jabbed back that America’s tendency of liking only the winners was “simple.” I said that sometimes I really didn’t understand Japan’s way of looking at things, but that I still loved to learning about their culture.<br /><br /> “I just wish there were more information,” I said and vented my frustration at Aizu.<br /><br /> “They should have English signs,” he said adamantly. “How can foreigners learn about our culture?”<br /><br /> “But I was so happy to meet you,” I said. “I learned so much. Thank you.”<br /><br /> Words—such a poor way to express my actual gratitude.<br /><br /> How can I express what this experience was like? It was as if, for a moment, I was a college student again, in class with a favorite professor, and the other students forgot to show up, so we just chatted casually about whatever struck our fancy. <br /><br /> When I talk about the history of Japan in English to my friends and family, I end up explaining. When I talk history in Japanese to strangers or acquaintances who share my interest, we generally toss a few names around and give our opinions. But to be with a person who can teach me about history and to have complicated discussions about how it affects our culture afterwards—that is a rare treat. And I think Simon enjoyed my company as well. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjicC6SZ6Yikas-n6uj8NLeT-N8TyZNCdWT94D57bXniYw9iG__NPpfmv1K06ne7SYmOpvkXOwTBR2Zjsr0Ml1H6Sso0VPPibROMCmN_PMwbKIktn2CImduKXkFjNX4gnLuN85Z7SLP3km7/s1600/Northern+Japan+09+387.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjicC6SZ6Yikas-n6uj8NLeT-N8TyZNCdWT94D57bXniYw9iG__NPpfmv1K06ne7SYmOpvkXOwTBR2Zjsr0Ml1H6Sso0VPPibROMCmN_PMwbKIktn2CImduKXkFjNX4gnLuN85Z7SLP3km7/s200/Northern+Japan+09+387.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458146921620247170" /></a><br /><br /> After the museum, I did a little sightseeing. I went to Meiji Shrine in the afternoon, a large but oddly plain shrine dedicated to the Emperor Meiji. The next morning, I walked around Imperial Palace Park in central Tokyo. There, pieces of old Edo Castle mingled with a background of shiny skyscrapers. The park was large and spacious. A few people came for jogging or sightseeing, but certainly not hoards of people. All in all, it was a lovely walk.<br /> <br /> The food in Tokyo was expensive, but delicious. The first night, I had spaghetti with meat sauce and a fluffy scrambled egg on top. I know it sounds weird, but it was excellent—and I rarely, if ever, compliment Japan on their Italian food. The second night I had hearty Russian food and Russian tea. I was a little wary about the tea—three kinds of red wine added and strawberry jam—but it was good. The chunky jam made the tea sweet and fruity, and I could hardly taste the wine at all.<br /><br /> But excellent food was just the icing on the cake. The cake itself—my reason for falling in love with Tokyo at all—is due to Mr. Simon Aga and the Edo-Tokyo Museum.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnyd8ksyvBmA-xylnhrn018x6IeSMAE1VY7eoQ8SLcKeCNum2HI-_Te76Pn6pRRjWa94ZSJcxbS2cZOUW8zI0sg8B8vZ5sJpJ22wlNX7d6LTQj_3a9rsdPzIi1XpeZA3-sEra0dXNXYN75/s1600/Northern+Japan+09+402.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnyd8ksyvBmA-xylnhrn018x6IeSMAE1VY7eoQ8SLcKeCNum2HI-_Te76Pn6pRRjWa94ZSJcxbS2cZOUW8zI0sg8B8vZ5sJpJ22wlNX7d6LTQj_3a9rsdPzIi1XpeZA3-sEra0dXNXYN75/s200/Northern+Japan+09+402.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458147138606184210" /></a>Rebecca Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16751163568561321683noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3284105143898396022.post-18537681640673244152010-04-09T22:47:00.018+09:002010-04-11T13:45:17.830+09:00Northern Japan #5: Aizu-Wakamatsu, Tohoku<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWeORgOmDgOfOzG8FXHP-YJHgKGRmpx1VHyPEG-DtDPFurHhTkAdM1NScu_QaOZnQqMZZVMBtxCd2o1vPJVCTa7YfxNKSjJxMemOC0IUfyA5eEx4bocjBprSptpQRwt0wjUTrMUcxTJtFd/s1600/Northern+Japan+09+304.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWeORgOmDgOfOzG8FXHP-YJHgKGRmpx1VHyPEG-DtDPFurHhTkAdM1NScu_QaOZnQqMZZVMBtxCd2o1vPJVCTa7YfxNKSjJxMemOC0IUfyA5eEx4bocjBprSptpQRwt0wjUTrMUcxTJtFd/s400/Northern+Japan+09+304.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458141443310915330" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Late August 2009</strong><br /><br />(Tuesday afternoon, Wednesday, Thursday morning)<br /><br /> It was 6:00 when I arrived at my hotel. Dinner time. But as I walked around the quiet neighborhood, I realized a problem: there were no restaurants. There were several small hotels like mine that would feed you breakfast and dinner if you ordered it when you made your reservation—I hadn’t. There was a tourist attraction nearby—the large housing complex of an important samurai—but the two or three cafes and souvenir stands were already dark. Besides that there were only residential houses, a long empty street, and a 7/11 around the corner.<br /><br /> I didn’t want to have dinner at a convenience store, but I didn’t have a choice. There was no other place. I made the best of it. I tried the “red” spicy fried chicken (very tender) and a piroshky, a Russian snack that resembled a fried dumpling. It was cheap—even with drinks and dessert and breakfast for tomorrow, I still spent less than ten bucks. It was casual—I plopped myself down on my futon bed, spread out my food on the tatami mat floor, and ate while holding a book to my nose. It was fun.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj3VgvO3bpFXwVpKmVgZm-BO7CvgUQ6aePHd72nUKBvMvK6HKxr5RS6gcA0vc4Z-X9pE59OG9uMjuOgDjscWZ_ZKRTiGBkPQ43hiYWViCjzSsOWi-kqMqFx9rLCO8ohI9J4iGf1MbH7kDG/s1600/Northern+Japan+09+316.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj3VgvO3bpFXwVpKmVgZm-BO7CvgUQ6aePHd72nUKBvMvK6HKxr5RS6gcA0vc4Z-X9pE59OG9uMjuOgDjscWZ_ZKRTiGBkPQ43hiYWViCjzSsOWi-kqMqFx9rLCO8ohI9J4iGf1MbH7kDG/s320/Northern+Japan+09+316.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458135215585446002" /></a><br /><br /> Aizu-Wakamatsu reminded me of Kanoya, except with more history and less restaurants. It had a very small-town feel, and like Kanoya, it’s in the middle of nowhere. There are hills inside the city and hills surrounding the city on the outside, but no ocean. Aizu is as deep inland as a city in Japan can be.<br /><br /> When I woke up the next morning, a miracle happened: my earache, which persisted since Hakodate, suddenly vanished. I was healed! Of course, this ailment would be replaced with another, namely giant blisters on my toes, but I don’t want to complain. Point is, I was mostly healthy by now and feeling pretty good.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7AI0NFeAcoFkrfTHXSWKgsMKshRs2HdmIT-MrlIOPajZYWwf3Mb7JIUYZt01HfZ1xwcCAUykaXrqH-iFbh6bhsE8ORJDX5_Y6w4RWIs4tuq8zeWBQzF94onDcYl5w4wKYgy7tD1i9Ip2r/s1600/Northern+Japan+09+284.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7AI0NFeAcoFkrfTHXSWKgsMKshRs2HdmIT-MrlIOPajZYWwf3Mb7JIUYZt01HfZ1xwcCAUykaXrqH-iFbh6bhsE8ORJDX5_Y6w4RWIs4tuq8zeWBQzF94onDcYl5w4wKYgy7tD1i9Ip2r/s320/Northern+Japan+09+284.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458135649019221538" /></a><br /><br /> My first stop was the aforementioned tourist attraction, Aizu Bukeyashiki, the home of one of the most important retainer samurai of the old Aizu domain. The houses were typically pretty with wooden beams and gleaming roof tiles. There was even a pond with golden carp that swam so close to the edge of the water, you could practically scoop them up in your hand. But what I liked even better were the life-sized dolls interacting with the artifacts in the room. A samurai greeting a guest, a woman playing a musical instrument, a girl with short hair playing with a paper ball. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXLGKAcb1l9ly9aO65KqbIPWKzKdC8Bb8uhftOKONKcS7ZtVtRpiTaLwfz7DiYtG5r4YOrTKi1VR7UsPVoL45rwZjJlAT_XAkENDjiU21G9BTn8k1wb08HuGsyy8N5ZgNtkZQuPgZIE5aa/s1600/Northern+Japan+09+291.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXLGKAcb1l9ly9aO65KqbIPWKzKdC8Bb8uhftOKONKcS7ZtVtRpiTaLwfz7DiYtG5r4YOrTKi1VR7UsPVoL45rwZjJlAT_XAkENDjiU21G9BTn8k1wb08HuGsyy8N5ZgNtkZQuPgZIE5aa/s320/Northern+Japan+09+291.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458135898052689426" /></a><br /><br /> And the signs! Glorious English signs! They explained things like why there was a wagon of sand underneath the toilet. (Apparently the doctor checked the excrement for warning signs of sickness—ew!) Or that the giant chugging water wheel in the dark room that smelled of damp wood was a rice polishing machine. (Although it didn’t explain how it polished rice or even why rice needed to be polished in the first place.)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKwbJ8SjHBC2DTKLy1PA99tj2txFrpZ7AGH_P5wjLAPUTN32HlsPTDDSWSzgUhnkmwQ3SLCHKerw4L24cbNG3r-jPQo8H2DzCdv4ztj57-XqStWvZ9V9M-DDhkwvtebtycT95eM9lpa6AW/s1600/Northern+Japan+09+294.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKwbJ8SjHBC2DTKLy1PA99tj2txFrpZ7AGH_P5wjLAPUTN32HlsPTDDSWSzgUhnkmwQ3SLCHKerw4L24cbNG3r-jPQo8H2DzCdv4ztj57-XqStWvZ9V9M-DDhkwvtebtycT95eM9lpa6AW/s320/Northern+Japan+09+294.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458136094046710530" /></a><br /><br /> But there were no English signs in the museum. Coming up the stairs from the rice polishing machine, I stumbled across a room filled with the portraits of great men. Hanging off the second floor balcony was a banner showing the last lord of Aizu, Matsudaira Katamori, and two members of the Shinsengumi, including my old friend Hijikata. (Remember him from Hakodate?) I was curious. What was the relationship between the two parties? And why was it displayed here, in a house neither owned by the lord nor the Shinsengumi?<br /><br /> I asked these questions to the women at the front desk in my garbled Japanese. <br /><br /> “No, there’s no relationship between these people and this house,” she said. “The banner is old.” <br /><br /> “That’s too bad,” I said. “I have an interest in the Shinsengumi.” <br /><br /> The women picked up the phone. “Just a minute,” she said. <br /><br /> A short while later she showed me the location of the Shinsengumi Memorial Museum on a Japanese map. Incidentally, this did not appear on my English map at all. I thanked the woman and bought an akabeko keychain from a basket on her counter. An akabeko is a red cow with a bobbing head that’s a symbol of Aizu.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaFry_EzcGj7vFRMNxG4FJ2Fir3Hj5Qaoer2cR2fmoUQPLJ592IDA641d41L1YQdFsxPx0qoNZja_ybkRtNbO663osMnnlruVoTLHUi1PCOZp_7cf-7-WiVtHDxh2Lr1pOzHxCpHfrjGgK/s1600/Northern+Japan+09+296.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaFry_EzcGj7vFRMNxG4FJ2Fir3Hj5Qaoer2cR2fmoUQPLJ592IDA641d41L1YQdFsxPx0qoNZja_ybkRtNbO663osMnnlruVoTLHUi1PCOZp_7cf-7-WiVtHDxh2Lr1pOzHxCpHfrjGgK/s320/Northern+Japan+09+296.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458136910907890754" /></a><br /><br /> Another museum on the grounds showcased women and children of the household committing suicide. Two women slumped over, one with a child over her lap, its eyes shut. The dolls wore traditional white gowns of seppuku. Considering seppuku involves ritually disemboweling oneself, their clothes were oddly pristine and bloodless. <br /><br /> When Satsuma and Choshu (Kagoshima and Yamaguchi) declared the end of the Shogunate, the restoration of the Emperor, and the coming of the Meiji era in 1868, Aizu resisted. The Imperial army marched on Aizu, and their armies clashed. Aizu’s castle burned. Sensing defeat, the wife of the manor declared the household must commit suicide. Seppuku followed.<br /><br /> A third woman in white leaned up in agony. She gazed up at scary-looking soldier with a long orange vest and a sword in his hand. “If you are a friend, help me to die,” she pleaded. In fact, he was an enemy. But he obliged. A quick swipe of his sword, and she too lay dead.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI1xGKPVtNrh2xnobF_7jPHW39fOeRXT_z1aSiX35qqpsM0SQxmHepr8xHJB8ZdmdKDPnYC6Qgw7s0xYL0K3b4P2BHseOInUg3Nvruo_Q2a8t-b3cA-9IQPvZi8Wz8mvqQWr2FVgiIKs8q/s1600/Northern+Japan+09+297.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI1xGKPVtNrh2xnobF_7jPHW39fOeRXT_z1aSiX35qqpsM0SQxmHepr8xHJB8ZdmdKDPnYC6Qgw7s0xYL0K3b4P2BHseOInUg3Nvruo_Q2a8t-b3cA-9IQPvZi8Wz8mvqQWr2FVgiIKs8q/s320/Northern+Japan+09+297.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458137154235379202" /></a><br /><br /> The soldier had long red hair.<br /><br /> “Kenshin!” I gasped in horror. <br /><br /> (Kenshin is a red-haired samurai who worked as an assassin for Choshu at this time in history. He appears in the comic series Rurouni Kenshin, which I read in college.)<br /><br /> Somehow, though, I doubted the fictional hero of my comic would appear in a history museum. My memory flickered; I recalled another red-haired soldier among the miniatures of Goryo-kaku Tower in Hakodate. There was a pattern here. If only I knew what it was.<br /><br /> Before leaving the samurai villa, I asked a woman working at the souvenir shop why the soldier had red hair. Apparently the men in the Imperial army wore wigs in order to intimidate their enemy. They were supposed to resemble some kind of animal. What animal? I didn’t actually catch that, but later I read something about “red bear” wigs. Odd. Whoever heard of a red bear?<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV7FRzsaeA-2ZBC3Viskslii_lkI2gxbypgQt06gSz4Grkx7L7eOouh_8ZfMEPGq8TwMLo7K_0lxALmKNX1h_ybNpzV97yqyzY2WoynD0-s5YJXWY44gQzXIdhRaWAH2KtHMsd8dg3pFF6/s1600/Northern+Japan+09+346.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV7FRzsaeA-2ZBC3Viskslii_lkI2gxbypgQt06gSz4Grkx7L7eOouh_8ZfMEPGq8TwMLo7K_0lxALmKNX1h_ybNpzV97yqyzY2WoynD0-s5YJXWY44gQzXIdhRaWAH2KtHMsd8dg3pFF6/s320/Northern+Japan+09+346.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458137984075165138" /></a><br /><br /> The bus ran a loop from tragedy to tragedy. My next stop was Iimori Mountain. In a tale similar to that of the women in white, a group of teenage boys had climbed the mountain, seen the smoke of the castle burning, and decided to plunge their swords into their stomachs. Today souvenir stands crowd the base of Iimori Mountain, selling deep-fried vegetables, soft serve, and a thousand brick-a-bracks with the name of the group plastered on it.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicidM7qyuGbzunoLIqWYC_0Ef1fPXocyNmFhRLhJ2Ogu7fjgm0v6bIPohzHNuag-hp0ZVDgkfC1f4MfVaKYwgFA1xOfd5kMxpSLVZmsCBBeob0y46FB1eX0QWmYHTtBlg9Vdnkfubp_LRL/s1600/Northern+Japan+09+303.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicidM7qyuGbzunoLIqWYC_0Ef1fPXocyNmFhRLhJ2Ogu7fjgm0v6bIPohzHNuag-hp0ZVDgkfC1f4MfVaKYwgFA1xOfd5kMxpSLVZmsCBBeob0y46FB1eX0QWmYHTtBlg9Vdnkfubp_LRL/s320/Northern+Japan+09+303.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458138465801670354" /></a><br /><br /> Byakkotai. White Tigers. Most of the boys in the group were only 16 or 17, but they were samurai and soldiers. Two swords hung at their hip, and they held a long black riffle in their hand. I studied their statues and the paintings of their journey, from a skirmish at a bridge to a retreat up the mountain. What struck me was their clothes. They all wore black, high-collared military jackets with a line of buttons down the front. I’d seen those jackets before: it resembled the school uniforms worn by my own high school students. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc2UFo8cXWxK3yL4cIKaAtt9hHVvYLII6fNtugYd0A6NDI01KFj9kZMA8GKgsODi1D_QZMeEy8zrLIPgE7lQssSSe95WP698hhEjdoPjn43fESkdnukFs072S1lqATZ2gV8hZdpIe1skKl/s1600/Northern+Japan+09+306.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc2UFo8cXWxK3yL4cIKaAtt9hHVvYLII6fNtugYd0A6NDI01KFj9kZMA8GKgsODi1D_QZMeEy8zrLIPgE7lQssSSe95WP698hhEjdoPjn43fESkdnukFs072S1lqATZ2gV8hZdpIe1skKl/s320/Northern+Japan+09+306.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458139324862708706" /></a><br /><br /> The White Tigers are enshrined in a temple at the mountains, and tourists surround their graves, burning incense and taking pictures. What is it about stupid acts of teenage suicide that tickles the sensibilities? Why do people think it’s romantic? It’s not. It’s a waste of life. Yet here are the White Tigers, the biggest tourist attraction in Aizu, and me, a hypocrite, snapping pictures just like everyone else. <br /><br /> The bus ran a loop from tragedy to tragedy, and now I came to Aizu Castle, also called Crane Castle. The crux of both acts of suicides. The fact that the castle had been at least partially burned down a hundred and fifty years ago didn’t in any way hinder its existence today. Its grey tiles gleamed in the sunlight, and its walls shone bright with a fresh coat of paint.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA2PXOAJYvDVkKH5cWYdCf0BrtHGxhf2qSzvTqhNlwODj8XF1kXSVF4g9a46U8haHsuZgdV0NhyphenhyphenqxWk0zIJHzKeh8ye0qUROGRU8d5CVV4qdSICgrGCfmJPK4TF6bzrlxYXKHZLy5fYWx8/s1600/Northern+Japan+09+314.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA2PXOAJYvDVkKH5cWYdCf0BrtHGxhf2qSzvTqhNlwODj8XF1kXSVF4g9a46U8haHsuZgdV0NhyphenhyphenqxWk0zIJHzKeh8ye0qUROGRU8d5CVV4qdSICgrGCfmJPK4TF6bzrlxYXKHZLy5fYWx8/s320/Northern+Japan+09+314.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458139855135911954" /></a><br /> <br /> My English pamphlet patiently explained all the information I already knew. Yes, yes, yes a battle was fought here and Aizu lost. I got that. But how did they lose? How did their castle get burned? What was the breakdown of the battle? Who were the people involved and how did they decide to surrender? All the answers may have been inside. But if they were, they were all in Japanese—and I couldn’t read them!<br /><br /> I was a dog behind a chain link fence with a juicy bone on the other side. No matter how I jumped at the bone, the metal links would snap me back. That’s how I felt when I explored the museum inside the castle. I saw pictures of the battle, but I couldn’t read the explanations. If only there was a guide, like that lady in Yamaguchi Prefecture, someone who would take me by the hand and lead me like a child through the displays—but there was no guide, no one in this afternoon crowd who would stop and talk to me. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYmuljGOGCu7JzY7yUGQnx4pROQI4gyBnXYMD_gxnDJjPYUqBcswLw6sK1PyPFedRy3_5-nyZRO-9ixDfvJ10qZgzEOOpm-a65Ym0U2CyzW538SShT-Fhyphenhyphencqg6a80I2lhXs1nct1yEjcBS/s1600/Northern+Japan+09+339.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYmuljGOGCu7JzY7yUGQnx4pROQI4gyBnXYMD_gxnDJjPYUqBcswLw6sK1PyPFedRy3_5-nyZRO-9ixDfvJ10qZgzEOOpm-a65Ym0U2CyzW538SShT-Fhyphenhyphencqg6a80I2lhXs1nct1yEjcBS/s320/Northern+Japan+09+339.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458140103389204482" /></a><br /><br /> That was the real source of my frustration, I think. I went to these places of history in order to find someone who shared my love of history. <br /><br /> To find someone to talk to. <br /><br /> The alarm rang the next morning. Slowly, sleepily, I got out of bed, sorted my trash, and packed my bags. It was time to leave Aizu, but not before making one last stop. The Shinsengumi Memorial Museum was located in the old town district of Aizu. The train station had no automatic wicket or even a person to take my ticket. I walked right out without anyone checking to see if I’d paid the correct fare. Across the street was a temple and down the road, rows of quaint, wooden shops selling painted candles and local crafts.<br /><br /> I recognized the Shinsengumi museum by the triangle-striped banners bearing the kanji “makoto” or sincerity. The first floor was packed with Shinsengumi figurines and memorabilia, candy to my eyes, but I didn’t buy anything until after I saw the museum, on the second story. This floor was even more crammed with artifacts—no English of course—but as I had some information of the Shinsengumi already, I didn’t mind. I browsed through the small, empty museum and took pictures of anything that caught my attention.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBOtitQM0Sv1zjLcFg-UWM9TR_JrdL3ohEDrD_IZZhljPNvVDONnhuP8LgKqkB0LLkURxc0vajDmu3TJ8AOXDjt75F_SANqCRysTfEslvvYFm4fLcBODIIz4HjXgroSmmm32yROWeJ3YPx/s1600/Northern+Japan+09+344.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBOtitQM0Sv1zjLcFg-UWM9TR_JrdL3ohEDrD_IZZhljPNvVDONnhuP8LgKqkB0LLkURxc0vajDmu3TJ8AOXDjt75F_SANqCRysTfEslvvYFm4fLcBODIIz4HjXgroSmmm32yROWeJ3YPx/s320/Northern+Japan+09+344.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458140722482645074" /></a><br /><br /> Quite a bit caught my attention: banners, paintings, old photographs—and costumes. I came across a black button down jacket very similar to the ones the White Tiger boys wore, except pinned to the sleeve as a badge of identification was the word sincerity. It was a Shinsengumi uniform. After taking a picture, I skimmed the explanation for any kanji I knew. A single horizontal mark caught my eye. It was the mark for the number one, but read as a name it could be Hajime.<br /><br /> Saito Hajime. Unlike most of the Shinsengumi, he survived, long into the Meiji era. He became a policeman. That’s what impresses me, that he continued to live and serve in society. Compared to all the other tragic suicidal wastes in Aizu, here was a man who chose to live. <br /><br /> When I came down stairs, I said to the man at the counter, “You probably like the Shinsengumi?”<br /> <br /> “Yes.”<br /> <br /> “Why do you like them?”<br /> <br /> “I like Saito,” he said.<br /><br /> Saito? He wasn’t one popular ones. “Really? Why?”<br /><br /> “He fought for Aizu,” he said.<br /><br /> That was true. Saito was the one who led what little Shinsengumi remained in the battle of Aizu, amid the burning castle.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieJGoaZhe7iSIv_R2OgrqMluKbq6I_fpab0jGF7SnqTkB6wav2GCvxNfKcaX73v02i0HKuvXssa4JhjRepvO74ckOxe5l2PKGA64mxilgztKYhaU35BpyByD5qmPeDR81r7ANSvSDdWiiG/s1600/Northern+Japan+09+349.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieJGoaZhe7iSIv_R2OgrqMluKbq6I_fpab0jGF7SnqTkB6wav2GCvxNfKcaX73v02i0HKuvXssa4JhjRepvO74ckOxe5l2PKGA64mxilgztKYhaU35BpyByD5qmPeDR81r7ANSvSDdWiiG/s320/Northern+Japan+09+349.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458140995301005474" /></a><br /><br /> “Have you seen his grave?” the man said.<br /><br /> “Grave?”<br /><br /> “It’s at the temple over there.”<br /><br /> He drew me a map and I thanked him. The temple was quiet. It was not a major tourist attraction; indeed my guidebook hardly noticed that part of town. But there was a sign, surprisingly in English, that identified the grave as Saito’s and gave a brief account of his life. According to the sign, he wished to be buried at the temple. <br /><br /> Maybe it’s better this way. Tourists flock to the graves of the White Tigers, buying souvenirs and making a racket. But Saito, who in surviving showed more heroism than any of the foolish boys, is able to rest in quiet, dignified peace. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_VkNV3xHbxHZ4tAedwziPVr2GSL18C2jGnCIcCFIy2GwExtlT79WqQqhh0zk-Kn-yD3Kzt7wgXzFBapQUipg88_g4pJdLLVsCUkfWyBlqAwoDP3zG06DLoOa9ax0LyFalQU_BuqccXTOy/s1600/Northern+Japan+09+299.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_VkNV3xHbxHZ4tAedwziPVr2GSL18C2jGnCIcCFIy2GwExtlT79WqQqhh0zk-Kn-yD3Kzt7wgXzFBapQUipg88_g4pJdLLVsCUkfWyBlqAwoDP3zG06DLoOa9ax0LyFalQU_BuqccXTOy/s320/Northern+Japan+09+299.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458141203105409970" /></a>Rebecca Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16751163568561321683noreply@blogger.com0