Furusato

The furusato, 古里、the Japanese hometown. I wrote a post a few years ago about Obon, and it struck me recently to consider again how Obon feels to us, to me.

As mentioned before, Obon is the festival of visiting ancestors, the time when they come back to visit from their homes on the other side. It's a Thanksgiving-Halloween combo package, right in the dead heat of August. You go see your relatives, you go clean gravestones, you do the bon-odori and you eat stall food while watching fireworks. There's the homebody component (family focus), and the festival atmosphere. There's the traffic and the heat and the way every single place of leisure will be crowded because Obon is one of the few times of year that everyone is off work, and everyone is off work only a few times a year.

As a new JET, the sense of Obon as a reconnecting, a joining to family and return to one's 'old home' was almost like a cruel joke. Only a week after landing and you get to watch a bunch of people you don't know enjoy returning to their roots, their furusato.

But this is my fourth Obon season (kind of.. last year I missed it by being in the US a bit longer than before, so I was, I suppose, in my own furusato then), and I finally feel like coming to Shiso is a kind of coming home. I spent the last week running around, visiting Japan sites, mixed in with good old fashioned hanging-out with friends in both Kyoto and Tokyo. I've been expending my energy in the city and then finally, like a sigh of mountain and river air, getting off the bus in my own countryside home.

It wasn't so much a desire to be back in Shiso for the 13th, as a natural assumption that this is where I will spend that time, even if its just to be there and do nothing interesting. I've been in the cities doing so much interesting for so many days.. one almost needs a break. Where else would I be when everyone is traveling and everyone is going home? Where else would I want to be?

I walk through the festival with friends old and new, hoping to catch a glimpse of some of 'my kids,' who are graduated or grown or not mine anymore anyway.

I am rewarded.

Earlier in the day, I met up with Rio, my speech girl and last year's winner.

Minato, speech boy from two years ago, to my right in dark blue; glad to see he hasn't changed a bit.

Some current third years, the sweet gangsters? 

Assortment of ages and locations. But all kids I like, from the first-year smartass to the class leader to the sharp-as-hell goof off to the judo star.

She was a first year when I arrived and is still cute enough to tempt me to steal her.

Recent graduate, looking classy.

Second year girls.

Graduates of two years ago; far left is Kumi, who went to America for a short exchange (and who I hope can come back sometime!)

Old friends and new:

Yukata with Lorr

Anna and Miho!

Allison and ELove!

Liz!

Miriam, Marcus, Miho!

foreign travel

In the last month, there have been two instances of foreign travel: one was my parents coming to me, the other was my trip to Korea.

Part of the fun of having people visit you somewhere foreign is remembering what it was like when you hit the ground, reflecting on how far you've come in terms of what it takes to conduct your life. Remembering what stuff looked like when you first saw it, even the things that have become commonplace since then. Remembering what it was like to have never ridden a Japanese train, never have browsed a combini, never have switched shoes three times in ten minutes. Normal things. For you, now.

Going to Korea had much the same effect. Effective illiteracy, total failure to pronounce even "thank you," and inability to remember "excuse me." Complete lack of knowledge on how to buy a subway ticket.

I had shared this link earlier, and so now I can claim a very limited and slow competency in puzzling out some place names written in the Korean writing system, Hangul.

But anyway, it was kind of interesting to be on one end of that hosting experience in the beginning of the month, and at the other in the end.

Mostly, though, the two trips were a little about the place, and mostly about the people. My parents are pretty game for stuff, but their interests don't necessarily lie in Japan or Japanese stuff specifically.

Same goes for Korea; I didn't really have all that much interest in Korea previous to going there. I hate admitting that, but it's just true! I don't really like spicy food, so the reasons for going drop to almost nothing right there (according to the Japanese, who are ALL FOODIES). Other reasons that lots of people go are because there is good shopping for cheap. But lately I'm in the business of getting rid of junk, not collecting MORE, even if it is cheaper there than here. Finally, I know so little (and this is pretty sad actually) about Korean history and culture, I have no compulsion to visit famous landmarks or stuff like that.

Still, have foothold, will travel, as it were. My being in Japan was one thing, but my being here for three years is even more of a thing, and I think that spending that kind of time in a place will naturally cause it to seep into you in a lot of ways. I won't be the same when I get back, that's just the nature of the beast. But in order to understand the new beast, it can be instructive to take a taste of the soil whence it grew. So the new  Emily isn't Japanese, but she did some time there, so... Also, I like sharing the stuff I think is cool or beautiful or special, and there is a lot (LOT, too much for any given visit.. too much for three years) of that here.. and I am gratified to think my parents want to have it shared at them.

I shouldn't be surprised that my parents are troopers and game for almost anything. I don't know.. I think I've spent too much time lately meeting other people's parents or hearing about their plans with them; it's sort of made me believe that parents are a certain way, they can't help it, they're just older, richer, and more experienced at shit than us kids... while traveling with people my own age is more gritty, silly, and catch-as-catch can, by the seat of one's pants as it were.

But there is a saying in Japanese, that the frog's child is a frog. Meaning, the apple doesn't fall too far. Meaning, of course, that other people's parents and my parents are different things, and while other people's parents may be particular about such-and-such, it doesn't mean mine will be. And that, in fact, a fair predictor of what kind of things the will like is actually what I already do like.

Seriously: combini beer in the park is how we DO in Japan.

It doesn't hurt of course that they wanted to have dinner, beer, and karaoke with my friends. I think they won over the Shisoshians forever (or until such time as all the current Shisoshians are replaced). People showered them with gifts (and they, intelligently enough and I don't even know if I suggested they do this, brought gifts to give out as well). What I feared would be an overly traditional ritualistic respect dinner with the kempo people turned out to be the biggest "houseparty" fun fest of all. They tried things, they drank the sake, they watched and learned and it all dazzled me because there are some things I'm kinda proud of being able to do, and watching them reminds me that I come by those things honestly.

These are the light/heavy rocks -  if they feel heavy, your goal will be difficult to accomplish.

Among the lucky, you are the chosen one. It's a fortune cookie that my dad got once. But I feel it goes for me, too. The more people I meet, the more I realize that what I believe as a young child (that everyone has the same kind of life as me) just isn't so. That some people are born into a lucky situation, with parents that teach them to be good, that are proud of their achievements but love them with or without them, and make sure they know. I'm not fearless, but when my parents call me fearless, I really do start to think I can do anything.

Like just go to a different foreign country every time there is a break in the work schedule? Well yeah, like that. Korea, though, was mostly about chilling out and visiting Erin, seeing Korea more through her eyes than as a tourist. I didn't even go to Seoul, but rather spent most of my time in GwangJu, with a little side trip to Busan that I am calling "the extra day," because I got it by changing my boat reservation to Sunday morning rather than Saturday late-morning.

Ever-present water bottle, and the hike begins.

In GwangJu I had a bunch of marvelous experiences that were part Erin and part Korea.. stuff I might have done something like if I had been alone and had done my own research, maybe. On my first day, we climbed up a hiking trail mountain to a temple she liked to visit, stopping also at a small art museum on the hillside. We ate at a vegetarian buffet until we couldn't move, then walked all the way back to her place. Other days, we drank coffee on the roof (which she brewed with cinnamon), or fresh juice (fresh meaning it was a carrot and some oranges a second ago..), baked banana bread and made pasta (SHE did these things, I consumed them). We drank makkoli, watched Wizard People Dear Reader, and Game of Thrones. I visited her school to meet her bosses and her students (all of whom speak way, way better English than mine... oh Japan and your language teaching systems). I met her friends. We talked about all the things. You know; the friend visit.

FRESH JUICE. And coffee too.

We went to a jimjilbang, which is like an onsen but so not like an onsen. For one thing, despite the jokes to the contrary, I have never been touched in an onsen by anyone. In the jimjilbang, after we'd excercised a bit on the top floor and let one of those crazy belts you see old women using in movies rub our waists and butts, we went down to wash and soak in the various pools. It's even more a Roman bath than the onsen because there were pools of hot, cold, and tepid water, including a few different hot ones with different minerals (maybe iron?) in them. The tepid one had exercise equipment, and jets for the back and shoulders. After a few hot and cold dips, it was time for my.. what? Mini massage?

She started by removing what I was wearing. Yes, I was naked: she took off the first layer of skin. Just the dead stuff of course-- it felt really nice to be scrubbed so thoroughly, the only gross part being when I opened my eyes and saw where the dead skin had sort of... well, never mind that, just I saw and it was gross. After dumping water on me, she soaped me down, then oiled me up then womanhandled me as I have never been womanhandled. She wrestled with the knots in my back and shoulders in such a way that it was excruciating but good, like brutal massages can be. When it was all over, I felt as pink and pummeled as ... I wanna say a newborn, but I was newer and cleaner and more relaxed than that.

On the extra day, we hit the beach and spent the night in a minbak, which is mostly a room with blankets for you to use to lie on, and an attached bathroom and semikitchen. The beach was gorgeous under the full moon that night, and four of us even managed to hit a noraebang, or karaoke room, before the end. Before all that, between day beaching and night beaching, we visited a seaside temple that was super awesome for being right on the coast.

Minbak near the beach.

Temple by the sea (Yonggungsa).

Mostly, though, I can see that little changes inspired by my time there, and by my friend there, are going to leak over into my life as they are wont to do. And I think that is the other reason we travel abroad, to get that perspective, to try that new thing, whether it sticks or not, whether it is actually from that foreign place, or just based on what we ourselves found there.

Ichijo-ji, Temple 26

Well, the first day of spring was sunny and only a little chilly, so I took to the road, with a brief stop to gather a traveling companion, and we set out for Ichijo-ji, the 26th temple of the Saigoku Kannon Pilgrimage.

I had forgotten everything I knew about pilgriming in the hiatus known as winter, so I missed out on a few of the offerings scattered around the temple grounds, and didn't conduct myself quite as protocol would have me do.

However, it was a pleasant day, and the things we did see were lovely, so I'll go over it nonetheless.

Ichijo-ji was situated in what felt like the middle of nowhere. It was possibly the first temple I have driven to on the pilgrimage, as the others have all been part of a larger trip or excursion (and even Engyo-ji, the closest one to my house, I biked to from Himeji station!). So we started from the parking lot, rather than the front gate, and that threw me off a bit.

The parking lot is right next to the Jizo-do, or the part of the temple dedicated to Jizo, who is the helper of babies who do not survive pregnancy. This Jizo-do was larger than ones I have seen at the other temples I've visited, and a little less austere as well. The one at Engyo-ji is rows and rows of little statues, all outfitted with knitted things or other accouterments, but these areas were full not only of statues with bibs and collars and knit things, but also toys, a few clothing items for babies, pinwheels, and other such dedications. There were three hexagonal sections like this.



From there, we wandered up the hill behind an Important Rock to what we realized was the Miko Daimyojin, the shinto (not Buddhist) area of the place. I found the Inari area, but did not see the statue or "Welcome Home" sign as described in the website. This side was very pretty in the dappled sunlight, and felt very peaceful, nature-y.

After that, we took a sort of side/back path that led us to the area where is found the Benten-Do. I totally wanted to put a coin in there and give a nod to a water deity of eloquence. I would be worried about it if I didn't think (currently) nah, it's cool, we hang out all the time so no big.

We continued on a back path that ran uphill parallel to the main temple (which was to the left). We found the path to the Okunoin roped off with a big sign in all kanji. Mir deftly convinced me that it was worth ignoring, and so I followed her up the slope toward the small founder's temple.

The reason for the sign was quite clear even from the path below. The whole area had been washed out, probably this past fall with all the rain in the Kansai area, and a landslide had washed a bunch of mud and rocks down around the Okunoin. I took some pictures of the sides of it, where you can see the mud marks. They have cleared around the small temple itself, but the path leading up to it is still in disarray, and the upper part of the mountain whence came the mud and rocks is pretty obvious.

From there we wound our way around to the main hall of the temple, from the back, where I failed to look up at the rafters and also was kind of plebian when I went to get my book stamped and calligraphed. We looked out over the Sanjuto and sighed with gladness that spring is finally coming, then made our way down to the front gate to head out. Ichijo-ji does not have a gate in the same way as other temples, but there was a not-blooming cherry by the entrance.

A badass old tree. 

Not my best exploration endeavor, but I'll do better next time now that I remember how it's done.

New Year's and The Next Beginning

In case you aren’t aware, New Year’s is one of the biggest letdown holidays there is. It’s always bigger, shinier, and more awesome in your mind than it ends up being in real life. Even “I spent New Year’s in such-and-such place!” is often cooler in stating than in actual experience. For example, I’ve had New Year’s in Tokyo, and in Las Vegas. In Tokyo, we stood shivering in the grounds of a temple, waiting to hear the bell toll, while TV-host type people went on as if they were a variety show (but that whole thing was, I think, a cultural experience). In Vegas, we went out into the street for the countdown to midnight, or as far into the street as we could get with the way the crowd was pushing us back; couldn’t really see the sky for fireworks, then immediately went back inside to continue gambling (I’m not saying this wasn’t a fun trip, I’m just saying gambling is something you can do in Vegas anytime). At least in my case, the images of me partying into trancelike states that the phrases “New Year’s in [insert big city here]” conjures are mostly on the false.

As for this year, I figured since we’d got up at 4 (again), we weren’t likely to last long into the night, and maybe we could see the first sunrise or something from either some other hill of Angkor’s area, or even from the roof of our building. Yut said that pub street would be full of people, but I pictured a seething mass of American/Australian/European holidaymakers getting wasted and screaming in my ear and I figured it was safe not to expect a big/fun night out for us in Siem Reap. We got Mexican food for dinner, then moseyed over to take a look.

This captures the general feeling well! With Nohea and Brian.

And Yut and Simon

And, happily, as often happens, having low expectations turned out to be a blessing. There was dancing in the streets. Foreigners, yes, but Khmai too, and none so drunk as to be obnoxious, and minus all that horrific toxicity of smoke that fills the air in dance clubs, but music fit for dancing. Yut stayed with us, and some of his friends coalesced out of the crowd and we all danced together behind the speakers until almost 12, when we went in front of the speakers. Shortly after midnight, we progressed in sleepy stumble back to the hotel. A few of our group went on their own sojourns, but of course I like to sleep, so I turned in pretty much immediately.

And then, it was 2012.The next morning, we had hotel breakfast, and rolled out a bit later than usual to travel to Kbal Spien, which is home to the “Valley of a Thousand Lingas.” A linga is a pillar (or phallic symbol) associated with the Hindu god Shiva. “But wait,” I hear, “I thought all this temple stuff was Buddhist, not Hindu!” Good catch, dear reader, and you are correct! But a lot of Cambodian stories and imagery tend to combine Hindu and Buddhist ideas and images together. A good example is that Buddha-protected-by-Naga thing we saw a lot (lot) of. Naga is not a Buddhist image, originally, but was adapted so that one tradition blended with and served the other.

Anyway, Kbal Spien is one of the oldest sites in the area, and the carvings show Vishnu and other Hindu imagery all over the place. There is also a medium-small sized waterfall… bigger, we were told, in the rainy season (of course).

Lingas!

People were playing in it when we arrived, and Yut asked if any of us wanted to go in. I was hot and sticky from the day’s walk, but wasn’t sure how it would be possible to go in, what with my clothes, my shoes, my camera. Still, if I was going to be damp, it might as well be from the river rather than from sweat. Nohea said he wanted to go in, but not alone, so I handed all my stuff to the others, took off my shoes and overshirt, and walked right in. The rocks under the fall were slippery-smooth and made for good water sliding. The fall itself was chill and refreshing. Of course I loved the idea of getting water poured over me in a river sacred since ancient times. This was another of my little magic moments, playing in the waterfall like a new year’s cleansing.

Waterfall as seen from above

I have an image in my mind of standing under a waterfall in Southeast Asia and seeing your path laid out before you, knowing what you want to do or become. This image is borrowed from someone else’s story, who years ago stood under a waterfall in Thailand and knew what he wanted to do with his life. But I saw nothing, knew nothing new, just that I will continue to pursue adventure and learning, and that I will never stay long in something I do not love, and I was very happy with that; it was enough. It also seemed a little related to a September dip in the crystal greenwaters in the Musasabi Canyon in Shikoku once before.

After this, we walked back down the path, stopping at a little sitting area for our Way of the Day with Yut. He told us about Right Livelihood and Right Effort while Nohea and I dripped on the wooden boards; some Korean ladies gave us candies. We trooped back to the van for lunch, where I drank yet more coconut goodness, and we shared yet another round of amazing and delicious food (you might think this would get old, but it never did) in an airy restaurant.

display pieces

Next up was the Landmine Museum, where we learned about the efforts of Aki Ra to find, uncover, and defuse mines, and also the home for injured children adjacent to the museum that he started up. As with a lot of what I saw in Cambodia, it was shocking and intense, but also.. not just a party of pity and blame. I was interested in his unorthodox way of dealing with mines (he preferred to use just a stick and his hands to find and take apart the dangerous items)… methods that got other people killed. Aki Ra (not his original name) was a child soldier years ago, and grew up using weapons, even setting mines. Now he continues to search for and clean up such things. We didn’t meet any of the kids who live at the museum, which is good, because they don’t need to be gawked at like display pieces.

The waiting area for you to wait on the slowest party member.. whosoever that may be.

We went back to Siem Reap, hit the bookstore, and hung out until dinner at our clubhouse, where Yut talked with us some more about the more recent history of Cambodia. Brian re-joined us for a post-dinner drink somewhere on pub street with thumping music next door (I had yet another coconut drink.. yesss) before we retired to bed.

The next day had no particular plans other than to get everyone on their ways after breakfast. Yut took us to the market and we had breakfast at the crowded counters.  My and Kam’s flight to Laos was midday, and we were on the first round of people taken to the airport. We spent the morning writing in one another’s warm and fuzzy books (little notebooks given to use by PEPY at the start of the trip, in which we were to write messages to one another but not read our own til we had gone) and packing up, reminiscing and sharing stories.

And then we were at the airport! Kameron, Miriam (who wasn’t yet sure if she was flying to Laos or heading back to Japan via Korea), and I, all fairly tired, maybe feeling like we were now carrying something rather important even if we weren’t sure yet what it was, or how to share it.

In several of my postcards, I said that Cambodia is farther away than any place I have ever been, and I still think so.. at least about the countryside village; not spatially, necessarily, but in many other ways, it is a place wholly different from where I am from, and even where I live now. Japan and America have a lot in common, actually, and while the differences are important, and are part of the adventure of being here, those commonalities are also comforting.

And although I am aware that there is a great deal taken for granted, in my life, and in the spaces around me, I had never before been to a place where the electricity only runs some of the time, where there is no running water, where objects are reused and repurposed not because their owners are deep believers in the eco movement, but because those are the objects they have, and these are the ways they want or need to use them. People don’t just use things up and throw them away out in the countryside because they can’t afford to, and because a thing isn’t really used up if it can be repaired or reassigned. And that aspect of it, at least, I don’t think is a bad thing.

The downside of subsistence farming is the way that, in bad years (like this one is shaping up to be), there is not a lot of wiggle room, not a lot of margin for error. If the crops fail, by fire or flood, then you are in danger. Outside of that (very real) danger, a lot of people seemed decently happy.

And I’m not trying to say they were happier, with their simple lives (to simplify the situation) than “we” are with our flushing toilets and 24-hour electricity. Just that they weren’t significantly unhappier because of a lack of those things. Their way of life is different than the one I’m from, but it isn’t any better or any worse. Except maybe that one bad year of floods puts their survival at risk, while the pace of consumption in mine puts our entire system at later risk.

But even just personally, going to a place like Cambodia makes you see, irrevocably, how silly 99% of your stresses are, how unnecessary they are, and it does this not by judging you, or by revealing those stressor to anyone, but just by being so full of people whose hopes and whose problems are so different from yours. And not because it’s all a pity party, or because “they have real problems and you don’t” – I think that would have just depressed me.. it’s that they are working on shit.

There are much bigger fish to fry, and methods are being developed on how to catch and cook them. And whether or not you are part of that, you have to respect it. And whether or not you can do anything for them, you can do something for someone. Especially you.

Especially something like, stop tormenting yourself and chasing yourself in circles.

It wasn’t “they have real problems so I should feel sorry for them.” It was.. if they can be grateful for what they do have, then I certainly can too. Lately, I’ve been reading a lot, from all kinds of genres, and between Guns, Germs, and Steel, and The Hunger Games, and coming back from Cambodia, it occurred to me again the other day that I’ve never really been hungry.

In my world that’s something you more or less take for granted because that’s how it’s always been. But that’s not everyone’s world.

And in the same way that the shocking devastation wrought by a tsunami on hundreds of thousands of strangers moves me to silence and tears, but the violent death of one single person that I knew brings me a different kind of mourning because it’s real in a way that numbers and even TV images are not.. the fact that some people in the world are or have been really hungry is much easier for me to grasp when it’s someone I know, and especially respect. Because of war, my grandmother was hungry. Because of hunger, she never wasted food (it’s a habit we inherit). Because of poverty, people are hungry; when he was a kid, it was Yut.

And for me, who has always had enough and more than enough, for me from a culture where thin is in because we’ve outdone ourselves on ‘food production,’ and are in danger of too much intake with not enough movement, for amazingly blessed, lucky beyond all reason me, well… one can feel only gratitude, which diminishes the other stuff to nothing, just as shadows are so naturally decimated by sunlight.

It isn't something permanent. It's not like I went to Cambodia and was 'cured' of taking things for granted, being selfish, focusing too narrowly, making irrational demands on comfort... but it was a little bit of clarity that I will try to remember as I go forward.