Shimenawa

Shiménawa (七五三縄, 注連縄 or 標縄, literally "enclosing rope") are another common decoration of the Japanese New Year. Rice straw is braided together to form a rope, that is then adorned with pine, fern fronds, more straw and mandarine oranges. They can represent a variety of auspicious items, such as the rising sun over Mt. Fuji or a crane. The shiménawa pictured above is the one that hung on my front door a few years ago.

Used mostly for ritual purification in the Shintô religion, shimenawa can vary in diameter from a few centimetres to several metres, and are often seen festooned with shidé paper. The space bound by shimenawa often indicates a sacred or pure space, such as that of a Shintō shrine.

 Shiménawa are believed to act as a ward against evil spirits and are also set up at a ground-breaking ceremonies before construction begins on a new building. They are often found at Shintō shrines, torii gates, and other sacred landmarks.

They are also tied around objects capable of attracting spirits or inhabited by spirits, called yorishiro. These include trees, in which case the inhabiting spirits are called kodama, and cutting down these trees is thought to bring misfortune. In cases of stones, the stones are known as iwakura.

Most of the following photos were taken of shiménawa hanging at the entrance of restaurants and boutiques in my neighborhood.

This is the kind of shimékazari typically found in Fukuoka.

Corporate Japan

A few years back someone posted an infograph of the “Corporate States of America” with the most representative/iconic companies based in each state. Now someone has done that with Japan. Have a look.

Hokkaidō: ニトリ (Nitori, interior/furniture retailer) and 六花亭 (Rokkatei, confectioner/chocolate)

Aomori: サンデー (Sunday, home center/DIY)

Iwate: 薬王堂 (Yaku Ōdō, drugstore chain)

Miyagi: アイリスオーヤマ (Iris Ohyama, maker/seller of household plastic products)

Akita: たけや製パン (Takeya Seipan, maker of bread and western-style sweets and cakes)

Yamagata: でん六山形県山形市に本社を置く菓子メーカー

Fukushima: ヨークベニマルスーパーマーケットチェーンを展開する福島県郡山市の企業

Ibaraki: ケーズホールディングス茨城県水戸市に本社を置き「ケーズデンキ」の屋号で家電量販店をチェーン展開

Tochigi: コジマ栃木県宇都宮市に本社を置く家電量販店チェーン

Gunma: ヤマダ電機群馬県高崎市に本社を置く家電量販店チェーン

Saitama: 赤城乳業埼玉県深谷市に本社を置くアイスクリーム専業メーカー千葉県イオン「イオングループ」を統括する純粋持株会社

Tōkyō: NTT東京都千代田区に本社を置く日本の通信事業最大手であるNTTグループの持株会社

Kanagawa: 崎陽軒本社を神奈川県横浜市に置き主にシウマイの製造販売ならびにレストラン事業を展開

Niigata: 亀田製菓新潟県新潟市に本社を置き主にせんべいなどの米菓の製造を手掛ける企業

Toyama: 光岡自動車富山県富山市に本社を置く自動車メーカー

Ishikawa: アイ・オー・データ機器石川県金沢市に本社を置く精密機器メーカー福井県増永眼鏡福井県福井市に本社を置く眼鏡フレームの老舗メーカー

Yamanashi: 富士急行山梨県富士吉田市に本社を置き運輸・観光・不動産・流通事業などを行なう会社

Nagano: セイコーエプソン長野県諏訪市に本社を置く情報関連機器・精密機器のメーカー

Gifu: 西濃運輸路線トラック業界最大手で岐阜県大垣市に本社を置く運輸会社

Shizuoka: ヤマハ静岡県浜松市に本社を置く楽器・半導体・自動車部品製造発売を手がけるメーカー

Aichi: トヨタ自動車愛知県豊田市に本社を置く自動車メーカー

Mie: 井村屋三重県津市に本社を置く菓子メーカー

滋賀県近江兄弟社滋賀県近江八幡市に本社を置く医薬品メーカー

京都府任天堂京都府京都市に本社を置く家庭用レジャー機器の製造・販売を行う企業

大阪府パナソニック大阪府門真市に本社を置く世界的な総合電機メーカー

兵庫県川崎重工業兵庫県神戸市に本社を置き二輪車・航空機・鉄道車両・船舶等を製造する企業

奈良県呉竹本社は奈良県奈良市にあり書道用の墨汁・筆・硯などで知られるメーカー

和歌山県オークワ和歌山県和歌山市に本社を置き8つの府県で展開しているチェーンストア

鳥取県寿製菓鳥取県米子市に本社を置く菓子メーカー

島根県一畑電気鉄道島根県松江市に本社を置き交通・観光・流通・建設等の事業を展

開岡山県ベネッセコーポレーション岡山県岡山市に本社を置き通信教育・出版などの事業を行なう企業

広島県マツダ広島県安芸郡府中町に本社を置く自動車メーカー

山口県ユニクロ山口県山口市に本社を置き衣料品の生産販売を一括して展開する企業

徳島県日亜化学工業徳島県阿南市に本社を持ち発光ダイオードなどの電子デバイス扱う化学会社

香川県日プラ香川県木田郡三木町にあるアクリルパネルメーカー

愛媛県大王製紙愛媛県四国中央市に本社を置く独立系大手製紙メーカー

高知県キタムラ高知県高知市に本社を置く写真用品店チェーン

福岡県ゼンリン福岡県北九州市に本社を置く日本最大手の地図制作会社

佐賀県久光製薬佐賀県鳥栖市に本社を置く医薬品メーカー長崎県ジャパネットたかた

長崎県佐世保市に本社を置く通信販売会社

熊本県再春館製薬所熊本県上益城郡益城町に本社を置く化粧品・医薬品・医薬部外品の通信販売業の企業

大分県ジョイフル本社を大分県大分市に置き九州を中心にファミリーレストランをチェーン展開

宮崎県宮崎交通宮崎県宮崎市に本社を置きバス事業などを展開

鹿児島県セイカ食品鹿児島県鹿児島市に本社を置く総合食品製造メーカー

沖縄県オリオンビール沖縄県浦添市に本拠を置く大手ビールメーカー

Mochi-tsuki

Because my sons’ kindergarten is Buddhist, there are no Christmas decorations or Christmas-related events. None whatsoever.

(No worries there as we already do plenty at home.)

The kindergarten does, however, hold New Year’s related events, such as “mochi-tsuki”. 

What’s “moji-zugi”, you ask?

Mochi-tsuki (moh-chee-tsoo-kee) is the making of mochi (rice cake) by pounding steamed sticky rice (もち米, mochi kome) with large wooden hammers for God knows how long. It is in the words of the esteemed Mr. Wiki very “labor intensive”. I think the only thing that we have remotely similar to mochi-tsuki in the US is handmade ice cream.

Now the thing with handmade ice cream is that your effort is rewarded with something that tastes pretty damn good. Mochi, on the other hand, is rather bland. Mixed with sweet beans or covered with syrup, it can be rather nice. But, again, alone it’s so hopelessly boring, it makes you wonder why people go to all the trouble.

My son has already left for school. He asked me to go, too, but as only the fathers of third-year students can attend—damn—I have been spared the forced labor demanded of tradition.

This evening I will be taking my boys to see the Christmas lights in Kego Park and ride the kiddie “Polar Express” train.

There are only five more days till Christmas. For some reason or another, this holiday season has just whizzed by. Last year, I couldn’t wait for it to be over. This year, though, . . .

I think it’s the realization that Christmas with young boys who believe all the stories of Santa Claus, no matter how far-fetched or contradictory, won’t last forever. We’ve got perhaps five or six more years of the season’s magic. And then? Well, we will just have to find a new way to enjoy the holiday. Perhaps with a mochi-tsuki party.

Shimekazari

When you live as long as I have in only one part of a country, it's easy to assume that the way things are done in your region are the same nationwide. It took me two decades to realize that sansha mairi (visiting three shrines at New Year's) was a custom peculiar Kyūshū, and in particular to Fukuoka. 

Similarly, the shimé kazari, a New Year's decoration placed above the entrance to homes and buildings, varies from region to region. Shime-kazari is said to originate from shime-nawa (twisted hemp and rice straw rope placed at the entrance of shrines to indicated a sacred space) and meant to keep misfortune and unclean spirits away and greet Toshigami (年神), the gods and ancestors brought with the new year.

Sorry, but . . .

Few end-of-the-year customs in Japan seem sillier to the casual observer than that of the mochū hagaki  (喪中葉書, "mourning postcard"). Mochū hagaki  (pictured above) are postcards sent out to friends, relatives, co-workers, and others in December or earlier, notifying them that due to the death of family member in the past year they are in mourning and will therefore be unable to send nengajō (年賀状), or New Year's greeting cards. It is as if people are saying, "FYI: I am sending this postcard to you now to inform you that I cannot send you that other postcard later."

To be fair, mochū hagaki do serve some useful purposes. For one, they inform others that they need not bother sending a nengajō to the family out of respect for their loss—even when the person who has died was 105 years old, as is the case in the postcard on the left, and "relief" rather than “sorrow” might be a better adjective describing the emotions felt when Great Grandpa finally kicked the bucket. And, probably more importantly, mochū hagaki preemptively assuage any misunderstandings that might occur when a nengajō goes unanswered.

Kamado Jinja

Kamado Jinja (竈門神社) used to be one of my favorite places in the greater Fukuoka area. Not many people knew about it, which was one of the shrine’s charms. But then a few years ago, the gift shop was renovated and the o-mamori talismans were redesigned to appeal to younger tastes. Couple that with the popularity of Instagram and Kamado is no longer a secret.

I am often conflicted about places like this. It’s the same with bands—the oh, I liked them before they sold out kind of thing. On the one hand you don’t want a shrine or a cafe to be so quiet that it goes out of business, but you don’t want the place ruined with mindless hordes taking a million selfies. Surely there must be a happy medium somewhere.

Fingers Come to a Rest

My fingers come to a rest on the keyboard.

Is this really writing? I can’t help but wonder.

So calculated, each sentence is.

Back space. Correct. Rewrite. Save. Tappity-tap.

Back space. Correct. Rewrite. Save. Tappity-tap. 

Spontaneity has been lost, the flow of words dammed up. Tappity-tap. Back space. Correct. Rewrite. 

How long did it take me to write a grammatically correct, yet insipid and meaningless sentence?

Fucking computer!

Beauty, Looking Back

Several years ago, a friend of mine expressed his admiration of the Japanese language: “They even have a word for a woman who looks beautiful from behind, but when she turns around is actually ugly.”

The word he was referring to was mikaeri-bijin (見返り美人). The phrase originally comes from the ukiyoe woodblock print “Beauty Looking Back” by Hishikawa Moronobu (1618-1694). If I am not mistaken, the phrase didn’t originally contain the connotation of being disappointed once able to look squarely at a woman as it does now.

Even after studying Japanese for over two decades, I continue to be fascinated by the language. Just this morning, when I was looking up “fall from grace”, I came upon a kanji I had never seen before: 寵 (chō).

“Fall from grace” in Japanese, by the way, is kami no onchō-o ushinau (神の恩寵を失う). Bet you won’t be using that phrase anytime soon.

The on (恩) in onchō (恩寵) is a fairly common kanji meaning “obligation, indebtedness, a debt of gratitude”. An “ungrateful” person is someone who literally “doesn’t know the debt of gratitude”: on-o shirazu (恩を知らず).

Chō (寵), on the other hand, doesn’t quite translate neatly into English. It can mean “being particularly loved or doted upon”, “blessed or favored” and so on.

Words containing (寵), include:

            寵愛 (chōai), the favor of (a king)

            寵姫 (chōki), the most loved woman of the monarch

                        This is a word I use daily, as is the next one.

            寵妾 (chōshō), the favorite concubine.

            寵児 (chōji), a darling or star (of the media or literary world)

                        Ah to be a bundan no chōji (分団の寵児)!

            寵臣 (chōshin), the favorite vassal or retainer of the lord

The funny thing about my friend, his initial interest in the Japanese language never developed beyond a handful of expressions, which begs the question: why is it that so many otherwise intelligent and thoughtful Westerners who have lived years, if not decades, in Japan still suck at the language?

Four Burners

Pat was driving, and as we passed the turnoff for a shopping center she invited us to picture a four-burner stove. 

“Gas or electric?” Hugh asked, and she said that it didn’t matter. 

This was not a real stove but a symbolic one, used to prove a point at a management seminar she’d once attended. “One burner represents your family, one is your friends, the third is your health, and the fourth is your work.” The gist, she said, was that in order to be successful you have to cut off one of your burners. And in order to be really successful you have to cut off two.

Pat has her own business, a good one that’s allowing her to retire at fifty-five. She owns three houses, and two cars, but, even without the stuff, she seems like a genuinely happy person. And that alone constitutes success.

I asked which two burners she had cut off, and she said that the first to go had been family. After that, she switched off her health. “How about you?”

I thought for a moment, and said that I’d cut off my friends. “It’s nothing to be proud of, but after meeting Hugh I quit making an effort.” 

“And what else?” she asked.

“Health, I guess.”

Hugh’s answer was work.

“And?”

“Just work,” he said.

From "Laugh, Kookaburra" by David Sedaris, printed in The New Yorker

I normally don’t read Sedaris for mind-bending existential content, but his short story “Laugh, Kookaburra” had me thinking about life and the choices I have made over the years, the “burners” I have turned off or down to low.

Shortly before I remarried, my fiancée would take me over to her parents’ home in the suburbs on Sundays and lock me up in their washitsu—a sparse Japanese-style room with tatami mats—forcing me to write for five or six hours straight. I had a good idea for a book that just needed to be written down, but I was having a devil of a time making any progress on it.

Being locked up in that room for hours on end was torture at first. Whenever I would try to venture out of the room, my girlfriend, who kept guard over me in an adjacent room, would turn me around, shove me back in and say, “Two more hours!”

“Two more? Can’t I have a drink of something or a smoke?”

“No!”

So back in I would go, and kneel down on the tatami only to stare for minutes on end at the empty white page on my MacBook, the cursor flash-flash-flashing as if to taunt me: “You got nothing. And you used to think you had what it took to be a writer! Hah! You got nothing!"

But it worked. After a few weeks, I started to get into the groove and before I knew it I was writing almost every day, usually in the morning, but sometimes at night until I had finished Rokuban. And when I had finished Rokuban, I then went on to do a major overhaul of A Woman’s Nails and managed to get through it without it being too painful. Then, I went on to the next work, and the next, and the next.

Where just completing a novel had once seemed like an insurmountable task, now I was faced with a new challenge: how to sell the novels I was now finishing.

The improved productivity came partially from turning down one of those four burners: friends. I seldom go out for drinks or dinner anymore. If I do, it’s usually by myself. I used to hate being alone, but nowadays it doesn’t bother me in the least. Sometimes I prefer it as I can get stuff done while I’m eating—reading, catching up on the news, and so on.

Being in Japan allowed me to turn the “Family Burner” down to low for about a decade and a half, but then I got married and had kids and now that burner is on full-blast, stealing gas from the other burners.

Raüchermann

I was showing a young woman my collection of handmade German Christmas ornaments the other day.

“And these two,” I said, pointing (mit großem Stolz, I might add) to a large Nußknacker (nutcracker) and Räuchermann (incense smoker), “I got when I was an exchange student in Germany about twenty, no, thirty years ago.”

“Oh . . . So they’re vintage, then!” she said.

It was then that I took the nutcracker and bludgeoned the cheeky kid to death.

Sistema de Transporte Colectivo

A Mexican friend, inspired by my photos of Japanese men sleeping on trains, sent me this photo of the Sistema de Transporte Colectivo. A few things struck me when I looked at it for the first time. 

For one there are no men. The hombres, I was told, are corralled in other cars. Like Japan, the trains in Guadalajara have cars for women only. Three of them, in fact. Not sure if this is to prevent perverts from copping a feel like in Japan or perhaps for religious reasons.

The second thing I noticed is how clean the train was. No garbage on the floor like in China. No graffiti as is all too common in the U.S. 

As for the third thing, take a look at the walls and ceiling of the train. Notice anything? Or rather, do you notice anything missing? Those of you who have ridden Japanese trains will probably be impressed that there isn't a single advertisement inside the train. In Japan, hardly any space is left untouched by an advertisement of some sort. You're attacked by it at every turn. If the train companies could find a way of putting adverts on the passengers themselves, I'm sure they would go and do it.

Hajichi Tattooing

An elderly woman is placed on a stretcher at the close of the Battle of Okinawa 73 years ago.

On her hand you can see a type of tattooing, called hajichi or haduchi (針突、ハジチ or ハジキ or ハドゥチ). The women of Amami also tattooed their hands. “Island women decorated their hands with elaborate tattoos, whose quality was considered a marker of social status. Women tattooed their right hands between and thirteen, when they came of age, and tattooed their left hands when they married. On the Okinawan mainland, it was done at twelve or thirteen. The first tattoo marked chastity. Without a decorated right hand, a woman was unfit for marriage. A tattoo on the left hand, by contrast, represented a woman’s obedience to her husband.”†

The hands were tattooed little by little over a period of time, until they numbered 23 in total, an auspicious number.

Amami Hajichi hand tattooing

Ainu (アイヌ) women (below) tattooed not only their hands, but also their lips once married. Not sure what it was called in their language.

Ainu Tattooing was banned in October of 1871, but had little influence over the Ainu who believed they would gain the wrath of God and not be able to get married if they were not tattooed. In 1876, the restriction was lifted in the name of religious freedom. Similarly, in 1889, hajichi were banned in Okinawa, which had become a prefecture of the Japanese Empire ten years earlier in 1879.

Like the women of they Ryūkyū archipelago, Ainu women also tattooed their hands:

Face tattooing was common among aboriginal tribes on the island of Fermosa (modern-day Taiwan), suggesting that the Ainu, Amami, Ryūkyū people, etc. had Polynesian roots.

†Ravina, Mark. The Last Samurai: The Life and Battles of Saigō Takamori. Hoboken: John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 2004, p.82.

Labor Thanksgiving Day

About this time every year, I have the same conversation with my students: “There’ll be a national holiday next week,” I begin. “Can any of you tell me the name of that holiday?”

Silence.

“C’mon, think. This Friday — and no peeking at Wikipedia!”

One of the student calls out: “Culture Day!”

“No. Culture Day, or Bunka no Hi, was three weeks ago on Nov. 3,” I remind them. “Thursday, Nov. 23. What’s the holiday? Anyone? Anyone?” I feel like the economics teacher in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.

“Oh! I know!”

“Ayano, yes, what was it?”

“Kinrō Kansha no Hi.”

“That’s right! Now what is Labor Thanksgiving Day? Anyone?”

One student suggests that it is a day we give thanks to our parents for working hard.

“Well, maybe, but there’s more to it than that. Are any of you doing anything special for Labor Thanksgiving Day?”

Crickets.

I go around the room, asking students what their plans are. Some will work at their part-time jobs, others will probably loaf about at home. A few may go shopping.

“If you’re not going to do anything special, why have a national holiday?” I ask. “Whenever a national holiday holiday rolls around, I always try at least to wear my ‘Rising Sun’ skivvies.”

When half of them laughs, the other half that has been dozing comes to life. Now that I’ve got their attention I ask why some of their holidays, such as the autumnal equinox, Shūbun no Hi, fell on a Saturday last year? “Why not move the day to a Monday like so many other holidays? Why is the date for Shūbun no Hi and other holidays like Kinrō Kansha no Hi fixed?”

They don’t know.

Shūbun no Hi, I explain, is actually one of two Kœreisai and Labor Thanksgiving Day is in reality a harvest festival called Niiname-sai, a Shintō rite performed by the Emperor.

“Have any of you heard of either Kōreisai or Niiname-sai?”

Of course, none have.

“Are you guys really Japanese?” I ask with feigned disbelief, eliciting embarrassed laughter from the students.

I then ask them how many national holidays Japan has.

“Eleven!”

“Nope.”

“Twenty!”

“I wish!”

“Eight!”

“Sorry.”

“Sixteen!”

“That’s right. There are 16 national holidays. And next year there will be nineteen. Many more than most countries have.”

With their help, I write the names of the holidays on the board with the corresponding dates. Once I have them all down, I tell them to pay attention to the 10 holidays that have fixed dates: National Foundation Day (Feb. 11), Showa Day (Apr. 29), Culture Day (Nov. 3) and so on. “Now, what do these days have in common?”

More silence.

“Anyone? Anyone?”

No one even volunteers a guess. They really have no idea what I’m getting at. None.

“All of the holidays with fixed dates are related to the emperor,” I explain. “Ten of your 16 national holidays are related to the emperor.”

You’d think they would know this already, but for the vast majority of them it is a revelation.

1. New Year’s Day (Jan. 1) was, until 1947, a national holiday on which the imperial worship ceremony called Shihōhai (四方拝) was held.

2. Foundation Day (Feb. 11) was known as Kigensetsu (紀元節), or Empire Day, until 1947, a holiday commemorating the day on which, legend has it, Emperor Jimmu acceded the throne in 660 BCE.

3. Vernal Equinox (Mar. 20 or 21), an imperial ancestor worship festival called Shunki Koreisai (春季皇霊祭).

4. Showa Day, the birthday of Hirohito who has been referred to by his posthumous name Emperor Showa (昭和天皇, Shōwa Tennō) since his death in 1989.

5. Greenery Day (May 4). This is the former name for Hirohito’s posthumous birthday. In 2007, Greenery Day was moved to May 4 and April 29 was renamed Showa Day. From 1985 to 2006, May 4 was a generic “national day of rest,” one more day expanding Golden Week.

6. Autumnal Equinox (Sep. 23 or 22). Like the spring equinox, this was an imperial ancestor worship festival called Shuki Kōreisai (秋季皇霊祭).

7. Culture Day (Nov.3). While this day commemorates the 1946 announcement of the new Constitution, it is actually Emperor Meiji’s birthday. The timing of that announcement was probably not a coincidence. Kenpō Kinenbi, or Constitution Memorial Day, takes place on May 3 and celebrates the promulgation of the 1947 Constitution of Japan.

8. Labor Thanksgiving Day (Nov. 23), again, is the imperial harvest festival called niiname sai (新嘗祭). Niiname-sai (新嘗祭, also pronounced Jinjōsai — lit. Celebration of First Taste) is a Shinto harvest festival that takes place at the Imperial Palace and shrines throughout the country on the 23rd and 24th of November.
   According to the Encyclopedia of Shinto, “The Emperor arranges an offering of sake, rice porridge, and steamed rice (made from the newly harvested rice) served in special vessels crafted from woven beech leaves (kashiwa) and presented to the kami (gods) on a special reed mat (kegomo). Following this evening meal (yumike), the Emperor purifies himself in seclusion (kessai) for the night and, after changing robes (koromogae), prepares the morning offering of food for the kami.”
   The rite is called Daijōsai (大嘗祭) when the emperor performs it for the first time after ascending the throne.

9. The present Emperor’s Birthday is Dec. 23, or Tennō Tanjōbi. With the abdication of Emperor Akihito and the enthronement of his son, Crown Prince Naruhito, next spring, I suspect that Dec. 23 will be renamed Heisei no Hi once Feb. 23 becomes the new Tennō Tanjōbi, bringing the number of national holidays to 17, and those related to the Emperor to 11. (Actually, there will be even more holidays due to the ceremonies related to the abdication and enthronement.)

As for the 10th, Marine Day (the third Monday of July), this holiday used to be held on July 20 and commemorated Emperor Meiji’s return to Yokohama at the end of a trip around the Tōhoku region of Japan aboard the sailing ship, Meiji Maru. (Incidentally, the restored ship is on display at the Etchujima Campus of the Tokyo University of Marine Science and Technology.)

“Why do you know this?” a student asks me.

“Why don’t you?” I shoot back.

“We’re not interested… ”

“This has nothing to do with being interested or not. I’m not all that interested in Japanese holidays myself, but I am curious.”

“Curious?”

“Yes, curious! You have a national holiday called Marine Day. Didn’t that ever make you wonder why there wasn’t a Mountain Day, too? Well, I guess there is now, so go figure. Or, doesn’t it strike you as odd that you have all these national holidays on which you don’t do anything in particular? Again, why have a national holiday? Case in point, the equinoxes: why are they national holidays, but Obon (Japanese festival of the dead) is not? Obon is a much more important holiday for ordinary Japanese people, but it’s not a holiday . . .”

Curiosity. Inquisitiveness. A healthy dose of skepticism. These are things that are sorely lacking among Japanese students today.

Established in 1948, Labor Thanksgiving Day is a day on which, we are told, Japanese “celebrate production and give thanks to their fellow citizens”. In reality, they do little more than blow both the day and their hard-earned money mesmerized by pachinko machines.

Temple of Cats

One of my favorite places in Hakata is Shōfuku-ji, Japan’s oldest Zen Buddhism temple. Every autumn I try to make it over there to take photos of the maple leaves. Today, though, I was surprised to discover that the temple has been over run with very people-friendly cats. (They understand Hakata-ben, too.)

博多にある正福寺は猫だらけですばい。日本の一番古い禅寺はいつのまにか「猫寺」になったと？ 「猫ちゃん」
「にゃん？」
「何ばしょーと？」
「坐禅たい」

A Years Worth

The Kyūshū Basho, Sumō’s sixth and final tournament of the year, was held last month in Fukuoka. 

Although I rarely watch Sumō today, there was a time when I was very much into the sport. Until around the late nineties, I followed the sport closely, almost never missing an episode of “ŌzumōDigest”, a program which aired each night during the fifteen days of the tournaments and recapped the day’s highlights. Quite a few dates were cut short, I recall, so that I could hurry home and catch the results of the day’s bouts.

I must admit, though, that sumō is a pretty boring, especially if you have to watch an entire day of salt-throwing and menacing poses. But back in the nineties, the rivalry between the crown princes of sumō--the Hanada brothers, Takanohana and Wakanohana--and three upstarts from Hawaiians--Konishiki, Akebono, and Musashimaru--made the sport more dramatic than it ever has been. Since the retirement of those wrestlers the popularity of sumō has been pushed out of the TV ring, in a sense: “Ōzumō Digest” stopped being broadcast in 2003.

Anyways, one of the things that I have always wondered about sumō was the prizes given to the winning rikishi (wrestler) on the final day of the tournament. 

In addition to a nice stack of cash (no cheques in this country) and a huge trophy, the winner is often given a number of “supplementary prizes” from a variety of sponsors. Most of these prizes come in the form of a “year’s supply of this” or a “year’s supply of that”. For example, a year’s supply of rice, beer, saké, toiletpaper--yes, toiletpaper--miso paste, gasoline, and so on.

According to the Japan Sumō Association (日本相撲協会), the amounts offered are defined by the sponsor. Ōzeki, maker of the poor-man’s saké, One Cup Ōzeki, provides the winning wrestler with 360x 180ml bottles of their fine saké.

As for rice, Zennō (全国農民組合, National Union of Farmers) gives the winner thirty tawara (俵) of rice, where one tawara is equivalent to about 60kg of rice. The average Japanese, since you’re itching to know, consumes about 70kg of rice. It takes about 78kg of unpolished, brown rice (玄米, genmai) to produce 70kg of polished white rice, or the stuff you usually find in your rice bowl. A 10 “are” (1000m2) rice field, incidentally, produces about 500kg of genmai. To produce enough rice for the average Japanese consumer, you’d need to have a rice field that was 150m2 (or 45 tsubo), about half the size of a tennis court. (For more on this go here.) The winning sumō champ, of course, is not expected to eat all 1,800kg of rice; he shares it with his "stablemates".

Miyazaki prefecture has also been known to award the champion rikishi with a year’s supply of beef. In actuality, this is amounts to one head of cattle (just the head, my rancher uncle often jokes) as well as a ton (1000kg) of veggies.

Itadaki—burp—masu!

5 Cents Worth In 1965

Every year as Christmas approaches, I show my freshman classes "A Charlie Brown Christmas". I suspect that without exaggerating I have seen the special over a hundred times. In spite of that, the TV special hasn't gotten old for me yet. (Probably because of the music.)

In recent years, I have started paying less attention to the story and more to details, such as the quality of the animation (e.g. how backgrounds are recycled, the way movement, like walking and running, is conveyed). Considering that “A Charlie Brown Christmas” was produced in 1965--it's older than me!--when animation was hand drawn, it's not surprising that by today's high standards, it can have a somewhat amateur and hurried feel. 

Anyways, this morning when I was watching it for the nth time, I got to wondering about the value of 5¢ in 1965 and learned, thanks to Dave Manuel's Inflation Calculator, that a nickel then is worth about $0.38 today. Much less than I expected. 

In case you were wondering what you could buy for one dollar in the 1960s, go here.

• Gallon of milk: 95 cents

• One regular size bottle of Heinz ketchup: 22 cents

• One dozen eggs: 53 cents

• One-ounce Hershey bar: 5 cents (Although the price remained the same, the size of the bar shrunk to 7/8 ounce in 1966 and 3/4 oz in 1968.)

• Pillsbury cake mix: 25 cents

• Pound of pork chops: $1.03

• Pound of sirloin steak: 85 cents

• Six-pack of Pepsi: 59 cents

• Package of ten Gillette razor blades: 99 cents

• Can of shaving cream: 59 cents

• Tube of toothpaste: 55 cents

• Can of hair spray: 47 cents

• Revlon lipstick: $1.25

• Revlon nail enamel: 75 cents for crème and 90 cents for frosted

• Generic cold relief capsules: 60 cents for two packages of 12

• Cough drops: 23 cents for three packages

• Cough syrup: 59 cents for a bottle

• Contact decongestant tablets: 77 cents for a package of ten

School Lunch in Japan

My wife visited our son's elementary school today to attend a lecture about kyūshoku, or school lunch. The presentation ended up being more interesting than she had expected.

In Fukuoka City, there are 144 elementary schools (grades 1-6) with a total of 80,077 students. The schools are divided into five blocks to prevent shortages in ingredients as almost all of them are sourced locally from within the prefecture.

To my surprise, each school has its own kitchen and a staff of up to 8, including licensed nutritionists. (I had been under the impression that a central kitchen was being used.) Vegetables are hand washed and hand cut. Although most dishes are made from scratch, some of the items, such as today's paozi(steamed dumplings), are prepared in advance by third party producers.

The lunches, as I have noted before, include many international dishes as a way of introducing kids to other cultures ahead of the 2020 Tokyo Olympics and World Swimming Championship that are going to be held in Fukuoka.

Today's lunch included a Chinese style stir-fry, paozi dumplings, bread with locally grown fig jam, and milk.

Each meal costs on average ¥243 ($2.23) and contains about 530 calories. Meals for junior high kids contain 640 calories; those for high schoolers, 740.

And, no, the food is not gluten-free and may contain lethal quantities of peanuts.

Thai-style Gapao Rice and Japanese-style White Stew

Pork and Beans, Raisin Bread, and Cabbage/Kelp Stir Fry

Fish flavored with Sesame, Miso Soup, and Rice

Kyoto in 2012

Looking at photos of Kyoto from a visit I made in 2012 and I can't believe how empty the streets are. Three years later the "Bakugai Tourists" from China would descend upon this and other sleepy towns in Japan, hold a steel wash tub over their heads and start banging away.

Childhood Poverty in Japan

There has been much handwringing of late with regard to the childhood poverty rate in Japan. This is something I would like to address in future posts, but for now I want to share a graph I found which shows childhood poverty rates by prefecture.

Overall, Japan has a childhood poverty rate of 13.8%, considerably less than America's rate of 21%. But looking at individual prefectures, we find that the poverty rate of Okinawa, the nation's worst, is 37.5%. Ōsaka has the second highest childhood poverty rate at over 20%. Kagoshima is third and my prefecture of Fukuoka is fourth with just under 20%, meaning one in five kids is living in poverty. Sobering statistics, to say the least.

For some albeit dated perspective, here is how Japan compares to other countries in the OECD. On average, 13.4% of children in OECD countries live in “relative income poverty”, which is defined “as the percentage of children (0-17 year-olds) with an equivalised household disposable income (i.e. an income after taxes and transfers adjusted for household size) below the poverty threshold. The poverty threshold is set here at 50% of the median disposable income in each country.”

Iccho Rondon

One of my favorite areas of Tōkyō is Marunouchi, the commercial district located between Tōkyō Station and the Imperial Palace. I love the architecture, both old and new, the wide, uncluttered tree-lined streets, the proximity to the Imperial Palace, and, well, I could go on and on.

The land where Marunouchi stands today was originally an inlet of Edo (Tōkyō) Bay. It was reclaimed in the late 1600s and during the Edo Period (1603-1868) feudal lords close to the Tokugawa Shogunate, known as fudai daimyō, maintained homes in the area. Following the Meiji Restoration, the land was used as a barracks and parade ground for the Imperial Army. And around 1890, the land was bought by the Mitsubishi company which began to develop it as a center for business. Mitsubishi still owns much of that prime real estate today.

The first "Mitsubishi Ichi-gō Kan" (Building No.1) was completed in 1894 (Meiji 27). It was followed by the construction of a large number of similar brick buildings, and by the early 1900s the area was nicknamed Icchō Rondon (一丁 ロンドン One-Mile London) because of its resemblance to the British capital.

Tōkyō Station, designed by Kingo Tatsuno, was completed in 1914.

As is sadly all too common in Japan, very little of Icchō Rondon remains today. Except for Kingo Tatsuno's Tōkyō Station, and the Ministry of Justice building near Hibiya Park, I don't think any buildings from the era have survived. If you ask your Japanese friends why, they'll probably shrug. Push them a little and they might venture a guess that the area had been destroyed in the Great Kantō Earthquake of 1923.

There is some truth in that. The massive quake, which killed an estimated 140,000 people in the fires alone, destroyed much of the city, including parts of Marunouchi.

Damage to the Marunouchi Building. The original building was completed in 1923. Today's building was completed in 2002.

Metropolitan Police Department burning at Marunouchi. Going, going, . . .

The earthquake, however, explains only part of the story: many of Marunouchi's brick and stone buildings, though damaged, continued to be used long after the Great Kantō earthquake.

The aerial bombings of Tōkyō during the Pacific War also took their toll. B-29 raids from the Marianas began on 17 November 1944 and continued right up until the day Japan capitulated on 15 August 1945. The Operation Meetinghouse air raid of 9–10 March 1945 is estimated to be the single most destructive bombing raid in history, wiping out more than 50% of the city.

For more on the war and the bombing of Japan, watch the documentary "Victory in the Pacific by WGBH's American Experience. 

 I have no idea when these photos were taken. Many of the modern-looking buildings were built in the 30s. The Dai-ichi Seimeikan which housed the GHQ of the occupational forces was built in 1938. The Tōkyō Chūō Post Office (the white building just left of Tōkyō Station) was built in 1933. The outer portion of the post office remains today and was incorporated into the design of the new Kitte Building that was finished in 2012.

This photo was probably taken in the sixties, judging by the extent of development. It amazes me that the Japanese will build something, tear it down, build something else, tear that down, then build yet another building. There doesn't seem to be a sense of permanence in the designs, something that is not new to Japan. The Dai-ichi Seimeikan replaced a beautiful brick building. (You can see it in the second photo from the top. It is the building on the left side of the street with the street car in front of it.) The exhibit at Seimeikan says that it was a bold move by the architects to do away with the original building. Bold? I'd say it was egotistical and rash. They took a a real gem of a building and replaced it with something you see in pretty much any city today. But, hey, that’s progress!

Marunouchi today

Mitsubishi's Ichigōkan today. Completed in 2009, it is an exact replica of the original Ichigōkan which had stood on that corner from 1894 until 1968. Wouldn't it have been better, and certainly cheaper, to just keep the original Ichigōkan? Apparently there was a movement to try to protect the building, but they failed to keep it from being torn down. Sigh.

Frank Lloyd Wright's Imperial Hotel, Tōkyō suffered a similar fate. Although it managed to come through both the Great Kantō earthquake and World War II unscathed, it was no match for the wrecking ball. Fortunately, the central lobby and reflecting pool were disassembled and rebuilt at The Museum Meiji Mura in Nagoya.