David: A Day at the Races

      

           Saturday morning, Daniel and I went to the keirin races in Tachigawa, not to see if we could make our fortune or even win the cost of dinner, but just to see some fast bicycle track racing. The banked track is in a stadium about a twenty-minute walk from the station, and though I was worried that they might not admit Daniel, who’s not quite thirteen, they let him in free and even gave him a souvenir snack. The entry fee was only 50 yen, anyway: I gather they want fresh blood. We saw a few kids as young as five and also some women, but it’s mostly men.

 

            The bulk of the spectators at the track are the kind of grizzled oldsters you see at the horse races in the U.S., most poring over some tattered tipster sheet with cigarette ash about to fall onto it. The TV monitors keep them apprised of the favorites, the odds, and so on, and the deadline for the betting is heralded by a slightly dire tune over the PA system.

 

            Daniel and I hung out by the cyclone fencing twenty yards beyond the flat finishing stretch. First, six officials dressed in identical khaki pants and blue windbreaker-jackets hopped onto clunker bikes to pedal out to their observing stations, ten-foot-high platforms around the track. Then came the pacer and his bike, an older rider in a blue-and-orange jersey and helmet, his job to lead out the riders for two and a half laps before pulling off to the center of the oval. The racers then complete a lap and a half of active racing.

 

            The racers are numbered 1-9, in jerseys ranging from cherry to black. It’s hard to judge from appearance who’s going to take it, though the riders’ stats from previous races are readily available, as are the likeliest 1-2-3 results. Generally, the thicker the thighs, the more promising the rider.

 

            A recording of a gunshot signals the start, and the riders all gamely follow the pacer in single file, though a few start passing by the end of the first lap. In the backstretch, after the clang of the bell signaling the start of the race proper, the pace picks up as if someone had whipped the riders. At this point, the race is all about jockeying for position because you can get boxed in at the inner circles, but you can swoop down from above if you’re riding in an outer loop, and get ahead that way.

 

            As the racers come around the curve into the flat last-quarter lap, the sprint starts. Some powerhouse has put his head down and is pounding away like a locomotive, but others are moving up on either side of him. A sprinter from behind comes around on the right and is countered by another to the left of the locomotive-rider, who pushes it even harder. At this point, they’re going over 40 m.p.h., and the finish line is just ten yards away, with at least one stadium video camera trained on it for photo finishes. In a lot of these races, someone gets nipped at the line.

 

            In all of the races we watched, Daniel and I managed to pick some winners, but we could never get the 1-2-3 line-up right, so we lost repeatedly. But at 100 yen a shot, we weren’t hurting too badly. Eventually, it started to rain, and Daniel and I decided to call it quits, though the racers ride no matter what the weather. We hopped on a free bus back to the station—shades of the Atlantic City shuttle—and headed home.

 

Daniel: April 28

          Sorry I haven’t written in a while. Three days ago, on the 25th, we went to a garden near the Tokyo Dome with an easy-to-remember name, which I have forgotten. (It starts with a K. . . . ) The garden was built a long time ago by a friend of an Emperor for that same Emperor. The friend had once told the emperor (though I may be paraphrasing horribly) something like, “Before one can enjoy power, one must work to maintain that power.” In thanks the Emperor named the gardens “the place for enjoying power later on.” Of course, he did so in Japanese. The gardens were amazing. They contained so many flowers and trees and stuff, it looked like a manicured forest composed of geometric fractals, it was so organized. There were pigeons, sparrows, ducks, crows, turtles, koi, and other animals, and they all wanted to be fed. Note: fish like bread crumbs. Note: fish do not like soft serve ice cream. Note: fish like fingers. Despite their “Feeed mee, Daanieel!” attitudes, the koi were very pleasant and serene-looking in the many garden ponds. Mom says they have ugly lips and look like catfish. (I know some people like that.) The calm, ancient serenity of the garden was broken only by the screams coming from the rollercoaster next door. We broke down and went.

          Next door to the garden was the Tokyo Dome, an enormous sports arena, amusement park, strip food court, and shopping mall. There we visited the Moomin Cafe (where you are seated with a large stuffed Moomin character), where we sat and looked at Moomin-themed menu entrees, listened to Moomin music, and picked through the extensive Moomin gift shop. If you do not know what Moomin is, I’m sure Google or Wikipedia can help. I went on a plunging water ride, and we all went through a (hilarious) game with a book theme. We ate at Jonathan’s, a Japanese semi-fast food restaurant. The next day, Dad and I went to the keirin bicycle races, the attendants of which you would expect; but that you can read about in Dad’s first entry soon. Yes, you heard right, Dad will be posting an entry on this very blog!

  

Above are pictures from the Moomin Cafe. If anyone out there would like the see the kind of broken English we do, go to www.Engrish.com. It’s hilarious!

Spring Brides

Walking around the grounds of the Meiji Shrine this morning, I wandered into several different wedding parties. And who (or more accurately, what woman) can resist a wedding?

Fashionable and Formal

Reading over past posts, I’m afraid the aggregate effect may be a bit misleading. I don’t want to give anyone the impression that everything in Japan is strange or unusual. My posts tend to focus on what’s different about Japan and Japanese culture because those are the most interesting things to write about. Of course there’s plenty that’s different, and I haven’t even begun to cover all the topics yet. But Tokyo is an extremely sophisticated and cosmopolitan city, and there many times here when I’m walking around that I feel I could be in a big city anywhere. . . albeit a big city where most of the writing is in Japanese and most of the people are Asian.

I’d particularly like to correct the impression that most Japanese women dress like little girls. Only one very small segment of the population dresses that way. These “Goths” and “Lolitas” are engaged in something they call “cosplay” (short for “costume play”). The vast majority of Japanese women (and men) dress far, far better than most of the people you’d see on the streets of New York.

Men wear dark suits, white shirts, and ties. And I’m not just talking about “salarymen” or executives. MOST men wear dark suits, white shirts, and ties. That includes taxi drivers, for example, who are also often wearing white gloves. The professors here at Sophia University, where David teaches, wear jackets and ties to class. David has already had to go shopping to add to the wardrobe he brought, since he hasn’t worn ties to teach in the States for years and only brought one with him.

And the women here dress very, very well. Many are in exquisitely tailored business suits, or skirts and jackets, usually in dark or subdued colors. Clothes are very fashionable, very well-made, and rarely revealing. It’s a look of quiet elegance.  On campus, I’d estimate that at least half of the women students wear skirts or dresses. Their clothes may be a little looser and “funkier” than those of other adults, but rarely sloppy or suggestive. And nearly all of these women wear high heels, all the time, every day. That includes students on campus, women walking their dogs in the park on the weekend, and commuters riding the subway. In fact, the only women NOT wearing heels seem to be older women, women with small children. . . and foreigners. As I clomp around the city with Daniel, wearing my big American sneakers, I can only look enviously at all those beautiful shoes. I wouldn’t last until lunchtime wearing them, since Daniel and I have been walking miles and miles every day.

There are also women in kimonos around the city, and they look stunning. At first, I assumed that these women must be involved in the tourist industry, or work in “hostess bars” (where they chat up tired businessmen after work). But I was wrong. Many women wear kimonos simply because they like them. Older women, especially, seem to dress up in kimonos on Sunday, and they look smashing, too. (I once had a discussion with a friend about native dress, and why Japanese women look so wonderful in kimonos, Indian women so pretty in saris, etc. . . but when Western women put on these clothes they look silly.) Apparently one extra advantage of kimonos for older women is that the way they fit (with the obi tied thickly in the back, and a jacket over it all) tends to hide a dowager’s hump.

Underneath it all, however, the restrained elegance ends. From what I’ve seen (in stores) and read, the lingerie sold in Japan is unbelievably frilly, lacy, flowery. . . and extremely padded. One article referred to it as “I love me” underwear. And a survey of Japanese women found that it was very important to them that their bras and panties be a matched set (the men who were surveyed didn’t seem to care; they only wanted to know how quickly they could get it all off). It’s hard to imagine any of these pouffy confections being worn under a T-shirt or anything even remotely stretchy or form-fitting. I guess it only works under tailored, buttoned-up jackets.

By the way, the reason there are no photos to illustrate this post, is because unlike the Lolitas, who seem to live for the camera, most Japanese seem pleasant and friendly, but also a bit formal and reserved. It was easy to ask the girls in Harajuku to pose, but I’d be embarrassed to intrude on “regular” people here. 

Yesterday Daniel and I were visiting a tall government building with a fantastic aerial view of the city. Near the elevator there was a table with a “complementary ink stamp” showing a picture of the building. Daniel stamped a piece of paper as a souvenir, and then impulsively stamped the back of his hand. An Asian family standing nearby started laughing and teasing Daniel, pointing to his cheek, encouraging him to place a stamp there. We all laughed, but I was startled, because we hadn’t encountered any Japanese families who would interact with us that way. This group seemed so loud, almost vulgar. Then I realized that the family was Chinese. They were perfectly nice and normal, but seemed strident only because I’ve already grown accustomed to the much quieter and reserved manner that’s the norm here.

 

 

 

Daniel: April 23

On Sunday, we went to the Suginami Museum of Animation, the only museum of animation in Tokyo that is generically about anime, as opposed to a single studio. Of the 400 animation studios in Tokyo, 74 are in Suginami Ward. There used to be more; Suginami Ward once had most of the studios in Tokyo. Now there are more in other wards. Across from the museum is a shrine to Emperor Ojin. The front of the museum does not look like the entrance to a museum at all, and the only way we recognized it was because of a set of tiles across the front wall depicting various anime characters. The museum is located within a municipal government building; in looking at the interior of the building when one walks in, one would never guess that it is a museum. It is on the third and fourth floors of the four-story building, and is pretty small. It has a timeline of the history of animation (beginning in 1917), a video and some models on the creation of animation, some animation machines (with cool names), a console that allows you to voice-act in some pre-made animation, and a computer program that allows you to draw your own animation. And that is just the third floor. The fourth floor is dedicated entirely to the works of Fujiko F. Fujio, the creator of, among other things, Doraemon. Over twenty episodes (some with English subtitles) of Doraemon are available on Youtube, and I strongly reccomend readers to try them. Fujio was only his penname, however, and I don’t know his real one. All of the signs and consoles and programs and pamphlets are in Japanese, except for one of the two videos, which has selective English subtitles that may or may not match the video. Anyway, between the third and fourth floors was a small split level with a photo op in a doorway with various characters from Doraemon. A photo was taken of me, but it will not, I repeat NOT, be reproduced on this website. That means you, Mom!

The Thrill of the Unfamiliar

We’ve been here for three and a half weeks now, and as much as I LOVE seeing new things, in some ways there’s something even more exciting about everyday life in a place where little is routine or familiar. I don’t need to be shopping in Ginza or wandering around a temple to know that I’m “not in Kansas [or Mississippi] any more.” And it’s really exhilarating to have to shut off your “automatic” switch and constantly deal with new things. Daily activities like shopping for food, throwing out trash, and even flushing the toilet now require attention.

By popular demand, I’m posting photos of our space age Japanese toilet. You’ll notice in the first shot that there’s a sink in place of a regular toilet tank. The sink faucet runs automatically when you flush the toilet. It’s ingenious, actually, because it means you can wash your hands with water on its way to fill the toilet bowl. It’s conservational brilliance. So why does it seem distasteful? It’s perfectly clean water, but somehow just knowing it’s destined for the toilet makes it seem unclean. Ridiculous. I’m trying to get accustomed to the idea. The second photo below shows the toilet’s control panel. We’ve figured out how to heat the seat, and that’s about it. I think there are a lot of “bottom washing” options. In public toilets (which are everywhere, unlike New York) there are also buttons to press if you want background sounds so people can’t hear what you’re doing, and even buttons to release a spritz of pepperment or other air freshener. (Toilet paper brands, by the way, have names like “Naive Lady” and ”Pity.”)

Throwing out the trash is another daily routine that now requires thought. Garbage here is sorted differently. Household trash has to be divided into “combustible” and “non-combustible” bags, and then bottles and cans are kept separate for recycling. Trying to fulfill the combustible/non-combustible requirement is a bit puzzling. Obviously just about everything can be burned, but some things shouldn’t be. Plastic and paper items are easy to figure out, but others have generated some interesting discussions. Are chicken bones combustible? What about egg shells? Hair clippings? There must be a sanitation guide to Tokyo somewhere, but we haven’t found it yet.

By the way, there are very few “public” trash cans in Tokyo. Since the sarin gas incident in the Tokyo subway system in 1995, when a domestic terrorist group left a cannister of the toxic gas in a subway trash can, public places to dispose of tissues or paper cups seem to have disappeared. It doesn’t make a lot of sense, since there are still banks of lockers available in the subway system. But when there are garbage cans, often outside of convenience stores, they maintain the same trash separation system (see photo).

Food shopping presents obvious challenges, and I’ll mostly deal with that in another post. But just in brief, the difficulty goes beyond just trying to figure out what’s in a box or can when the writing is all in Japanese. The other day David asked me to buy some tofu. He wanted the “firm” kind. Well, it’s easy enough to identify tofu in the supermarket. But it doesn’t say “soft,” “firm,” or “extra firm” here. It doesn’t even say that in Japanese. The tofu here is described (in Japanese) as “silken,” which is soft, and “cotton,” which is firm (I have no idea why). I couldn’t figure out which package was which, and even poking them vigorously to try and feel which was most firm didn’t help. I finally asked a fellow shopper, who didn’t speak English. She kept trying to explain, and I kept apologizing and telling her I didn’t understand. Finally, in desperation, she grabbed my shirt and then pointed to the tofu. Aha! I realized which one was the cotton tofu!

Even everyday household scenes aren’t so everyday. I can glance over and see Daniel with a soda and some chips, watching television. But he’s drinking melon soda, eating lotus root chips, and watching some bizarre Japanese talent show that’s nothing like American Idol. (Photo of bags of chips.)

And now I’ll confess to my one indulgent clinging to the familiar: Starbucks. There are coffee shops all over Tokyo, probably thousands of them. There are easily a dozen or more different chains. I made a game effort to try a bunch of them, but the sour coffee and smoky air kept discouraging me. Good old Starbucks coffee tastes the same here as everywhere else, and it’s the only coffee shop that’s completely non-smoking. In keeping with smaller Japanese portions, the most common order seems to be a “Short,” which isn’t even advertised in the States. Alas, portions are smaller but prices are higher. A Short coffee costs about $2.80, a Tall is $3.30, a Grande is $3.80, etc. So I don’t indulge often.

 

 

 

Daniel: April 19

Today we took a day trip to Yokohama, which is half an hour by train, despite its nearness to Tokyo, hanging by a just-a-little-bit-too-high plastic strap. Once we got there, we headed for some sort of bay or harbour. The wind was amazing, and I took off my jacket and held it before myself spread as a sail. It pulled me along the flagstone walkways far faster than I could run on my Heelys. We went to an observation deck on the top floor of the tallest building in Japan (the Landmark Tower), from which there was a wonderful view of the bay and surrounding areas. One could see the Tokyo Tower, and, supposedly, Mount Fuji, though we could not because of the clouds, er, clouding our vision. We saw a great many ships, including an old (though not pre-twentieth century) tall ship, some small speed boats, tour boats, a small cruiser, and a modern version of a Chinese Junk. I personally think that the name fits the ship. We visited a man-made island, which contained, among other things, a large mall with food court and skyway, multiple office buildings, and a small amusement park with a Ferris Wheel, a water-based roller coaster, an arcade, and a more traditional twisting, plummeting, spinning roller coaster, that Dad and I chose to ride. The coaster was called (in the usual flawless English) “Diveing Coaster, Vanish!” No change was made in spelling of that name, and the comma and exclamation point were present. We lunched at the Ramen Museum (a replica of 30’s to 50’s Tokyo) before all this, and dined in China Town. On the return voyage, we procured seats.

Daniel: April 18, 2008

Yesterday we went to “Kiddy Land,” a six-story-high superstore exclusively for toys and games. There’s a floor for electronics, there’s a floor for “western” toys, and there’s a story just for thousands upon thousands of Hello Kitty toys, among other floors. Of these many toys, included were: a gelatinous ant farm; a DVD of various Rube Goldberg-like contraptions; the “Facebank,” a truly creepy realistic gadjet only available in Japan (look it up); Moomin paraphernalia; HARO, a “mascot” robot; and, my favourite, Gloomy Bear, the brainspawn of a guy sick of cutesy anime. A little boy finds Gloomy Bear all sad and lonely in the road, and takes him home. He looks like a super-cute anime teddy bear (Gloomy Bear, not the boy). The boy raises Gloomy Bear, and Gloomy Bear, fully grown, bites the boy’s head off. Gloomy Bear wanders around Japan with blood dripping from his jaws. Cute, no? No. I’ll see if I can’t find a picture of Gloomy Bear to post tomorrow.

Kiddy Land

Above: Jizo statues at Zojoji Temple in memory of departed children: stillborn, miscarried, or aborted.

Below: Dolls at the enormous, six-story Kiddy Land toy store on Omotesando Street.

Most people in the West seem to think that Japanese children are a bunch of automatons whose entire lives are regulated. They wear uniforms. Do group activities, in unison. Go to school and study even on the weekends. Never misbehave. The truth, obviously, is a lot more complicated.

For one thing, young Japanese children, elementary school age, are probably less regulated than their U.S. counterparts. Yes, they wear uniforms to school. And yes, they have an enormous amount of memorization as part of their schooling, just to learn to read. But parents and teachers here discipline children very little in the early years. Visit a Japanese kindergarten school yard, and you may see a student fighting with another. . . while a teacher sits nearby doing nothing. There are no time-outs, either. That’s because it’s believed that children should reign in each other. In the United States, young children are told to resist peer pressure, which might make them do something they know is wrong. In Japan peer pressure is a positive force. Children will learn not to fight because other children will disapprove or shun them for it. Parents might tell their children to stop doing something, “because other people will laugh at you.”  Peer pressure here brings conformity in a positive sense.

For the most part, children are coddled at least until junior high or high school age. They’re also seen as very precious, since Japan’s fertility rate is one of the lowest in the world at approximately 1.3 (a fertility rate of 2.1 is needed just to maintain a population). Percentage-wise there are more old people and fewer young people here than anywhere else in the world. And a fertility clinic in Tokyo is the world’s busiest.

But here’s another contradiction: Japan also has one of the world’s highest abortion rates. About 80 percent of people rely on condoms as birth control, with the rhythm method and withdrawal coming next. Birth control pills were only recently approved here, and haven’t really caught on. It’s estimated there are over a million abortions here each year.

The photo of Jizo statues above was taken at the Zojoji Temple near the Tokyo Tower. Jizo (also called Ksitigarbha) is a Buddhist “bodhisattva” (an enlightened being who refrains from entering nirvana so he can help others) who’s a sort of patron saint of departed children, and guardian of their souls. While some statues of Jizo make him look like a young man, often the statues are given more babylike features so they ressemble the children he protects. And at some temples, like Zojoji, the statues even wear crocheted red baby caps and carry pinwheel toys. Jizo helps lead the souls of children who have died before their parents. Traditionally the statues represented babies who were stillborn or miscarried, but now they mostly represent aborted fetuses. There are thousands of these statues at the Zojoji Temple, which limits the number. Many other temples around the city and the country have Jizo statues, too.

But back to living children. . . On a lighter note, Daniel and I went to visit the enormous, six-story Kiddy Land toy store on Omotesando Street in Harajuku. It puts Toys ‘R Us and any other store I’ve seen in the U.S. to shame. Six floors of cute anime characters and brightly colored, blinking, flashing robotic contraptions had Daniel (and me!) completely mesmerized. And yes, there were also dolls, trains, puzzles, and all the usual kid stuff. But it was the unfamiliar that was so entrancing.

It was at Kiddy Land that we finally saw Gloomy Bear, an anime character we had only heard of.  Gloomy Bear is a kind of anti-cute cartoon character, designed by a cartoonist who was fed up with all the adorable, wide-eyed creatures that are ubiquitous. Gloomy Bear looks like an adorable cuddly teddy bear. . . with blood on his mouth near his sharp teeth, and more blood dripping from his knife-like claws. The story is something like this: A little boy finds Gloomy Bear, who is a sad little cub, dirty and abandoned. The boy takes him in, cleans him up, feeds him and raises him. But Gloomy Bear grows up, and nature takes over. The now-grown bear attacks the little boy–various stories I’ve heard have him biting his head off, clawing his throat, or just attacking him. I don’t know what happens after that, or how the story proceeds. But you can buy a cute little pink (or white or gray or brown) Gloomy Bear stuffed animal (or key chain, refrigerator magnet, etc.), complete with red blood accents.

 Amazingly, Daniel and I made it out of Kiddy Land without buying anything. But I’m sure we’ll be back. . .

 

From Daniel: April 15, 2008

Today, while Dad and his first cousin once removed, Alexis, went to the “Parasite Museum” (is the plural of “museum” “museums” or “musea?”), Mom and I visited the Tokyo Tower (pictured), a red-and-white structure that is a scale model of the Eiffel Tower (and to me looks like the rocket from “Tintin: Destination Moon” and “Tintin: Explorers on the Moon”) and has an observation deck, many restaurants and cafes, an aquarium (is the plural of “aquarium” “aquariums” or “aquaria”?), and, best of all, a hundred-foot-long line. My favorite part was the aquarium (pictured), which had, among many other things, puffer fish (called fugu in Japanese), jellyfish (called karage), rays and skates, sharks, and, of course, the ever-Japanese koi.