April 22, 2005
Miyajima Dream
We had a brilliant weekend in Miyajima. Way too tired to write about it in any detail. Yesterday we checked out various shrines and temples, and followed many a meandering path. The weather was beautiful, and we got to eat Hiroshima-yaki. We checked into our ryokan around 3:00, and changed into our yukata. We had an ocean view, and it was phenomenal. Unwound while reading and overlooking the sea. Our dinner was served in our room at 7:00. Fish fish and more fish, The dishes spread across the table and the course kept on coming. After dinner, we went for a walk to see the shrine illuminated, and came back to find our futons set up for the night. We made us of the ryokan’s hotspring onsen before we went to bed. The light flooded our room this morning, beautiful through the paper doors. We had breakfast before checking out, and then we went to climb Mount Misen. It was an amazing trek, quite steep and demanding at times. The scenery on the way was well worth it, and when we reached the top, the beauty 360 degrees around us was overwhelming. Also overwhelming were the near 200 school girls in black tracksuits eating their bentos at the summit. We ended up walking down with them, we kept waiting for them to pass but they never really ended. We made many friends. All in all, the mountain experience was about three hours long and we returned to the bottom sore and exhausted. We went splits on Hiroshima-yaki, and tried kaki-yaki, which was oishii! Around 3:30 we got the ferry, and then the train back to Hiroshima, and then the shinkansen home, sunburnt, euphoric and knackered. We’re leaving in just over two weeks, and what a note to be going out on.
near the floating shrine
atop tatami we sleep
good-bye to Japan
April 19, 2005
Addicted to raisins
I liked Ian Jack’s article here on the media as a “dictatorship of grief”, reflecting on response to the deaths of Diana and the Pope. I really want to read Chernobyl Strawberries by Vesna Goldsworthy. I’ve been reading up on America lately, first from The Star: How to succeed in Bush’s White House. It seems it’s not about success at all but suckiness. Isn’t that John Bolton terrible? Speaking of terrible, why is anyone opposed to the emergency contraceptive pill? And while we’re on about the zealots of piety and the bullshit crusade, how about this little expose on Washington’s most devout citizens? (On the disgustingly-wretched-by-any-moral-standard Mr. DeLay: I’ll never understand born-again Christians, who mess up royally before they find God, and then believe themselves to be more righteous than those of us who were smart enough by our own accord never to make their mistakes in the first place.)
This weekend we are off to Miyajima to stay here! This mini-break has been a long time coming and we’re really excited. I am also addicted to raisins.
April 18, 2005
Six Mats & One Year
Six Mats & One Year is a beautiful book by Canadian poet Alison Smith, about the time she spent in Japan. In three weeks today, we are leaving Japan to fly to England and let the future begin. The feeling of coming to love a place so well we may never see again is awfully tragic. I have cried more than once lately while looking at the mountains from the train, and I can’t quite believe we’re actually going. It’s strange to be frantically counting down and cherishing every second at the same time.
I really love this poem.
Under-Country
by Alison Smith
I have pushed off and landed far away
but you travel with me as under-country
always close enough to pull here,
a blanket lost in sleep.
Small details have caught under heart
like hair under a painting on a wall:
in the dark they rupture the familiar.
If I were to return
the cities would seem smaller.
Everyday your volcanic reality
shrinks into columns of print
while dream, in dimension of depth
and meaning, continues its expansion.
Words that follow-
When I was in Japan-
will soon outsize you.
I left as we do our childhoods:
rushing to escape, without souvenirs.
I collected no sake cups
no tsukemono plates.
All this time
a core of miso grew.
(You can read my review of her book at my ne’er updated book review website, Now Reading. I bought my copy online from Northwest Passages– Canadian Literature Online)
April 17, 2005
The art of everyday life
The baby I’ve been waiting for was born yesterday, unlike the rest of us. My dear friend Paul is now an uncle! The baby is going to be amazingly loved, lucky him.
In technology news, we are getting Ipod Minis. Stuart is getting a grey one and I am getting a pink one. In six months, when I am complaining about having no money, don’t remind me of this decision. I still might get an Ipod shuffle instead. We only bought our Mini Disc players a year ago, and I feel a bit guilty shelling out for something new so soon. Though it is a mini-disc.
The papers have been a bit boring this weekend. No kawaii elephant poo. Because I don’t believe I’ll be one of them, on ubiquitous and poor first-novelists who seem to have forgotten about the art of everyday life. Though this article does reek of something bitter. The poet, Julia Darling, died of cancer this week. She did the January exercise for the Guardian Poetry Workshop and I really enjoyed her stuff. An interesting story on Andrea Dworkin.
We’re going to a hanami party tonight at the castle. The blossom life is nearly exhausted, so we’ll catch it while we can.
April 15, 2005
Forbidden!
I am the worst post office customer ever. Not only am I unable to communicate beyond wild gestures, but I am functionally illiterate. I am the post office chimpanzee. Further, I never require anything easy. One letter first class stamp? Oh no, not I. I have never made a request of the post-office staff that wasn’t bizarre in some construct. I send multiple packages to various continents, I sent 60+ cards and parcels at Christmas, I’ve been sending enormous boxes of our random stuff home monthly since January, there were about 50 wedding invitations mailed two weeks ago, registered mail. Ecetera. Today we sent two boxes containing, among other things, our winter coats, my porcelain Hello Kitty, a few books, knitting needles, my Miffy mugs, hats and scarves. A third box consisted of my entire CD collection, all 5 kilograms of it. This is the end of our stuff, and I was thrilled about that. So thrilled that I decided to explain as much to the Post Office staff member who has to help us every time. “Finished” I said to her in Japanese, pointing to our stuff. She looked confused. I repeated myself a few times, pointing, with a large smile hoping she would understand. Then I realised Stuart was also looking at me rather strangely. “What are you doing?” he asked. I realised I wasn’t actually saying “Dekita!”, which means “finished”. I was saying “Dammait!” which is a very strong way to say “Forbidden!”, and you would yell it at someone who was groping you on the train. I stopped yelling “Forbidden” in the post office, at that realisation. The staff member, who no doubt already thinks I am crazy, didn’t really bat an eye. We ended up spending $150.00, which has become quite normal for us. It beats paying excess luggage fees at the airport. We must be the post office’s best customers. In Japan, it is common for stores to give “gifts” to customers who spend large amounts of money. Today, in spite of me shouting “Forbidden, Forbidden!” at the Post Office staff, we were given the gift of a brand new sponge.
