Nihon News Part III

In answer to my last letter, I received the complaint that none of my letters dealt with what I was doing. That, besides being heartwarming, is a good point, for reporting the "strangeness" of my host country was indeed foremost in my mind. Therefore, in this letter I will recount my experiences in Kanazawa and its surroundings.

However, before I do that, a quick recap. Not all of you know that I came to Japan on a university-sponsored program comprising three months of intensive language study and nine months of internship and training in a Japanese company. This year there were three of us: Stefan Gächter, Olivier Rumley, and I. Each stayed with a Japanese family in Kanazawa, I with the Takatas. More than just cheap lodging, this arrangement allowed us to immerse ourselves in one specific microcosm of Japanese culture. During this stay, we took Japanese courses "under the auspices of the Ishikawa Foundation for International Exchange," as is written on the certificate we received upon completion of our studies.

Many of my activities in Kanazawa were planned by the IFIE, anxious that we drink deep of the local culture. Often what we did was not as interesting as the interaction between our Western individualism and the Japanese approach. Our pottery teacher gave us rough directives and then proceeded to philosophize on how our souls spoke to him out of something that coming from the hands of a craftsman might have passed for art, but, coming from ours, was an asymmetrical, overweight tea-bowl. Our Ikebana teacher gave us rules and then proceeded to correct our arrangement if our twigs differed by more than five percent from the required length or by more than five degrees from the required inclination. Of course, I thought pottery class was fun, but in order for Ikebana to be fun, I had to stick the lower end of a lily stalk and the severed knotty part of a twig behind my arrangement, just like young guys write "I was here" on toilet stalls.

Other than pottery and Ikebana, we plated gold leaf, took part in a photo workshop, created our own soapstone hanko seals, learned calligraphy, played go, participated in a (shortened) tea ceremony and visited museums and the crown of Kanazawa, the Kenrokuen.

The Kenrokuen is by public acclaim one of the most beautiful public gardens in Japan. It is full of stone lanterns sitting next to silent ponds and murmuring streams like old men weary from a heavy dinner, full of footpaths carving calligraphy in the mossy forest floor, full of the bright vigor of cherry blossoms and Japanese children. Despite the latter, the Kenrokuen, large enough to offer refuge from the sun and the Saturday crowd, exerted a calming influence on me, and even though the Japanese concepts of aesthetics are foreign to me, I felt the awe that arises within at every encounter with beauty. Faced with the skillful combination of functionality, intricacy, simplicity and novelty, the only proper response is admiration and the desire to create more beauty.

The other public parks pale in comparison, from the large central park to the little green niches between or behind buildings that look like inside-out bathrooms designed by Mario Botta, these niches a result of anarchic urban planning I at first resented for being neither fully Japanese nor fully Western, but later came to value for all the little surprises it holds. (Indeed, it may be more Japanese than I initially thought.)

The influence of Western culture is not limited to urban planning, but extends even to the largest festival in Kanazawa, the Hyakumangoku Matsuri. This festival commemorates the entrance of the feudal lord Maeda into Kanazawa (his name means "in front of the rice field"), and is held on the second June weekend. The Toro-Nagashi starts it off, painted lanterns floating down the lazy Asano river on a balmy Friday evening, drawing a respectable crowd. Even more line the streets the next day for the big parade, although it is little more than a long string of marching bands and baton twirlers, Kanazawa dressing up as Main Street, USA. The acrobatic stunts of Kaga firemen atop bamboo ladders held upright by their comrades, the lion dances preceded by distracted schoolchildren, and the decked wagons where Japanese youth played shifts on taiko drums were welcome exceptions. Saturday evening was completely Japanese, however. To strands of "Houya ne, houya houya ne!" squeaked at barely audible frequencies and amplified so as to become too audible, Kanazawa danced. Clad in traditional garb or in kimonos sporting company logos, countless groups swayed up and down a good five hundred meters of the main drag. I, too, donned a Happi coat and, along with roughly fifty other gaikokujin, chiefly Americans from the Princeton in Ishikawa (PII) program, joined this two and a half hour ordeal. After the dance, in a trancelike stupor with my ears still ringing from all the "houya ne," but elated because the dance was over and our group had won first prize for dancing (for no discernable reason), I let myself be talked into going to a Mexican restaurant where on Saturdays they push the chairs to the walls and drown out the air conditioning unit with loud salsa rhythms. Weary and hot from dancing and a sunburn, I slept long and missed most of what festivities there were the next day.

A fortnight later another weekend fell prey to cultural activities. Together with the PII students we went on an IFIE-organized overnight trip to the Noto Peninsula, the northern half of Ishikawa prefecture. Accompanied by the Japanese pitter-patter of the tour guide's explanations, we stopped at various attractions for just enough time to get off the bus, take a quick look, perhaps buy a souvenir or an omiyage, and get back on. Our tour guide waited in the bus, ready to regale us with pictures, incomprehensible anecdotes, a bingo game, and two songs.

The first day we stopped at the Chirihama Beach driveway, one of the few beaches in world cars can drive on, at the Myojoji Temple, and at the Wakura Onsen (hot springs). Unlike the Onsen I'd been to with Otousan on a family outing to Takayama, this one contained no sulphurous compounds, and its male section offered a lovely view of the ocean. (Or, in the words of my photo album, "I like there commands a fine view of the lake.")

We stayed overnight in a hotel that had unduly saved on the drinking water expansion tanks. The first water out of the tap always came in spurts and gasps, and when someone down the hall flushed the toilet, the shower was deprived of cold water for a minute. Other than that, it was a decent hotel. A short path led to an alcove where fishing boats on limpid water rocked themselves to sleep to the humming of insects and the rustling of crabs. Our dinner, consisting entirely of seafood, probably originated not far from there. The most memorable dishes were fried-fish-on-a-stick (Fritz Nunkie's favorite) and seaweed-in-gelatin. Of course, karaoke ensued; Stefan and I stumbled through an a cappella rendition of "Aux Champs Elysées," whereas Olivier squirmed out of this predicament.

After dinner card games followed, an easy setting to get to know some of the PII people better, and then a restful sleep, a good moment to break off and announce the word quiz winners. I'll wake up in the next e-mail.

The winners are Ryosuke Suganami (15/15), Romans Schmied (14/15), and Sophie Hon (13/15), incidentally the only ones to enter the contest. Congratulations! Here, for everyone else, are the answers: