Progressive Action

You know how in movies (especially in mediocre movies), the director will sometimes fast-forward through time to the next phase of the story by showing a montage of scenes, usually with melodramatic music running in the background? My buddy Tracy insists this is called "progressive action," and I remember us both agreeing that it's a pretty cheap trick. But sometimes you've got to bust out the cheap tricks if only to get on with the story, so grab some popcorn, put on some tunes, and watch as some of the highlights of my last three months in Japan flash by.




Aunt Molly, Uncle Mike, and Grandma came to visit in November. (That's Grandma on the right.) They were on a whirlwind trip through Japan and stopped to visit me on their way to Hiroshima. It was so good to see them and spending time together in Japan was really meaningful for all of us. Molly spent most of her teen years in Japan and my grandparents were in Japan for almost thirty years, including when I was here as a child. Their trip was too short, but I enjoyed every minute I got to spend with them. I love these people.

Grandma stayed for two nights in my apartment and it was one of the most wonderful experiences of my life. There's nothing quite like saying "Goodnight" to Grandma and getting up in the morning to fix her breakfast.





During Thanksgiving break, my buddy Rob and I took a day trip to Himeiji Castle. I've probably been to this amazing castle seven or eight times in my life, but I swear it's completely different each time.







On the 25th of each month, the shrine down the street from my place hosts a great flea market. There's food, games, tons of people, and LOTS of antiques. It's actually a little overwhelming and if I'm going shopping, find it best to know exactly what I'm looking for; a sake set and hibachi are on my current list.






On a Friday night in December, I went to Bosco and Keiko's for tunes and dinner. As I walked through the door, Bosco handed me a flier he had picked up that afternoon for the first monthly Kyoto Contra Dance, which was being held the next day. We called the organizer and it turned out--to no surprise, this IS Japan--that they didn't have a band. We went the next night and had a blast playing. We missed last month's dance because of a gig the same night, but we'll be playing this month's dance. It's on my birthday, so I'm hoping to drag my friends from town to the dance as phase one of my party.



There was a great potluck (I miss potlucks) and a good mix of Gaijin and Japanese folk.







I'll tell you what, Japanese folk do New Years right! Rather than one big Shebang on New Year's Eve, they throw parties for two months straight. December is full of "end-of-the-year" parties and January is spent celebrating the New Year. People throw parties with friends, coworkers, family, neighbors, their ikebana club, and so on. Keiko must have gone to nine or ten end-of the-year-parties in December. It's madness.

I got to go and play music at one such end-of-the-year party with Bosco and Keiko. It was was thrown by their Qigon club and held in a Noh theatre stage at an ancient Shinto shrine on the Imperial Palace grounds. It was a wild experience (see previous sentence).



Check out the guy on the left! (I swear there's one at every show.)





For New Year's, I went to Matsusaka to see old friends, the Hasegawas: Tomoko-san, Akinori-san, Yuki, Ted, and Ted's two AMAZING kids. Akinori-san is a priest at a Tendai-sect buddhist temple, which has been in his family for nearly a thousand years. When Akinori-san retires, Ted will take over. I got to ring in the New Year by participating in 108 gongs of the temple bell. It was a great trip.



The bell:







The Hasegawa's house on the temple grounds:



On the second, Ted brought along his two children and the four of us took the train to Ise Shrine, which is perhaps the most sacred Shinto spot in Japan.



It was crowded





Ted and the kids:





In late November, one of the pedals of my bicycle fell off. I spent the next two months riding around town with one pedal while trying to order various parts to get my bike up and running again. Two weeks ago, it all came together and I'm now the proud rider of a fixed gear bicycle. (FYI: a fixed gear bicycle has one gear, and there's no coasting...at all. When the back wheel moves, so do the pedals. To slow down or stop, you apply back pressure on the pedals. Don't worry, I left the front brake on too.) I used to scorn these things as impractical hipster fashion acsessories, but I've become a believer. Riding a fixed gear is SO much fun and Kyoto is the perfect town for it. I heart my bike all over again!!





....And now we arrive at the present day. I've been playing the fiddle since Christmas, which is incredibly rewarding and significantly less frustrating than I expected. I've caught myself thinking in Japanese several times lately, which I haven't done in years. Some friends gave me an old TV (first TV since I was 18), which I though would be cool because it's such a great language learning tool. I don't watch much, though, because there's nothing on besides talk shows where panels of people watch someone eat. I've also started getting really into cooking again, getting a little more adventurous at the market. Japan has incredible mushrooms.

I'm happy folks, really, really happy down to the bones. I'm hoping you can come visit and share in a little of that with me. I promise to do the same sometime soon. Much love.

End scene

Small Adventures

My Uncle Dan died a few weeks ago.

We used to go bear hunting, or "Bar Huntin'" as he would say, with BB guns in the Smokies when I was a little kid. He knew all the secret swimming holes in the East Tennessee mountains, and he seemed to plunge headlong into life the way he did those clear waters.

One of the last times I really spent with Uncle Dan was right before I went to India. He and I went up to the rock that’s up the park road in Greenbrier one June afternoon. We stripped down to our birthday suits, and while I stood on the bank thinking about whether or not I really wanted to jump naked into that icy water, Uncle Dan was already in mid-leap. He surfaced and stood in the water naked as the day he was born, held out both arms, and gave a rebel yell that must have sent every jackrabbit, deer, and bear within two miles running. That is the image of Uncle Dan that I will always remember--living a raw experience to the fullest: feeling it, being it, with arms outstretched and a yell to shake the rafters.

So with Uncle Dan on my mind and my new buddy Rob in tow, I went on a trip to Nanzenji Temple. We hopped on the bikes and headed across town to find the place swarming with Japanese school groups. You can see some of the kids up on the top of this temple structure:




Hoping to escape the crowds, we headed up the hill, past the aqueduct,




and beyond another temple.




Suddenly we found ourselves alone on a dirt road that led to a graveyard on the edge of a cedar forest.




The road became a path through the woods, where we found this disturbing version of Smokey the Bear:




We climbed a stone staircase, with small shrines to the left and right. We had left the Buddhist Temple grounds to discover a sacred Shinto spot that was surely there long before Buddhism came to the islands.





Shinto is Japan's indigenous religion. As best I understand it, Shinto is a mixture of shamanism and animism. Shinto's kami ("gods") inhabit natural objects and spaces. The shrine we found at the top of the stairs was built on several outcrops around a waterfall.






Practicioners remove their clothes in the little room above. Then they climb the ladder to make an offering to the kami, before going past the wooden door to sit or stand beneath the waterfall.




We stayed for awhile, soaking in the power of the place before climbing back down the mountain.

Before heading back into the city, we ducked into one of the gardens on the temple grounds, meandering quietly through the bamboo groves and ponds. Here are some shots of that lovely little spot:













Sometimes I find it all too easy to slip into the routine of my life. It's good to remember that adventures great and small are right at my doorstep, here and now, wherever that happens to be. I'm thankful that Uncle Dan was one of the first ones to teach me that lesson.

So here's to Uncle Dan, who went on the last great adventure just a little too soon!

Life by Bicycle

I took a cab to the subway on my way to meet Bosco the other day. It was pouring rain and I still don't have fenders for my bike, or a decent pair of galoshes. The taxi driver was of the strange-old-talkative-coot variety, born before the War. if you've been here before you might know the type. Once he found out I spoke Japanese, he launched into a tirade about Koreans, Chinese, and Americans. What drove this guy nuts about Americans is that "they are always cruising around town on their bicycles at high speeds while weaving in and out of the traffic!" How he knows that these insolent cycling gaijin are Americans is beyond me.

(Meanwhile, I blushed and grinned in the back seat. Had he recognized me?)

I'm sure the man has had some experiences to back up his claims, but he failed to mention that most of the people in this town, of all nationalities, are unbelievabley reckless on their bicycles. As far as I can tell, there are no rules for bicycles here. I spent the first week in utter confusion as to what is and isn't ok to do on a bicycle in Kyoto. I even asked a few friends, who just gave me blank stares. Bosco's response was: "You're a gaijin on a bike; you can do whatever you want."

Bicyclists ride on sidewalks and on the streets, go with and against traffic, cross the street at will, and rarely obey traffic signals. And I'm not just talking about rebelious teenagers! Old ladies with their grocery-laden bikes and kids with training wheels weave on and off sidewalks and jay-ride at will. I have had several near accidents since arrival and all were with other cyclists.

What's really frustrating is that although everyone seems to have bells on their bikes, few people use them. Instead, they deliberately squeek their brakes or clack their brake pedals to let pedestrians know they're passing (anything to avoid direct confrontation). I've been a pedestrian a few times in Kyoto and I've decided to avoid it in the future if at all possible. It takes the utmost concentration to look for the oncoming bicycles while keeping an ear open for the sqeak of brakes behind.

So yeah, I'm an American and I go fast on my bike, but I use my bell, go with the flow of traffic, and stop at traffic lights! Take that prejudiced taxi-driver man!

My speed machine:




There are bikes everywhere in Japan. Little kids, old ladies, business men, and high school students cruise around on "Mama-Charies." Below's a pic of a standard Mama-Chari with fenders, basket, bell, light, rear rack, and a max of 3 speeds (most are singlespeed). Slow? Yeah, but look at that comfy upright position!



Here are couple shots of Momma bicycle limos with seats for kids. (Notice the electric motors on the cranks--hey, two kids and a day's worth of groceries can be heavy!):



And my favorite; this thing has a roll cage:




I sat in the tall grass by the river -incognito- waiting to get a shot of a mom and kid(s) on a bicycle. Sure enough I saw one coming, set the aperture for a really cool depth of field, adjusted the shutter speed for a motion shot, and....ended up focusing on the grass.




These days, toddlers and babies who ride shotgun on these bikes are usually wearing helmets, unlike when I was a kid here. Adults don't seem to where helmets, except for the occasional fellow who has bought into the going-for-a-ride-in-spandex-and-on-a-racebike thing.

And when the kids get bigger:



For a city that is perfect for cycling, and where it seems like everyone is on a bike, there are VERY few places to legally park. Every now and again, the police show up with a couple of trucks, load up on illegally parked bikes, and head off to the bike pound. People seem to take the risk; after all, the inconvenience of going to get your bike and paying the $20 fee is nothing compared to finding a place where you're actually allowed to park.

Illegal bike parking:




Ive always been a function-leads-to-form kind of guy. I like things that are designed well to work well; if I have a definable aesthetic, that's it. Things that are really thoughtfully designed with few unnecessary adornments are beautiful to me.

Broadly speaking, the Japanese aesthetic embraces a similar phiosophy. Think of handmade tea bowls, fine woodworking and jointery, and...yes, bicycles. Unlike most commercially available bicycles in the states, bikes in Japan are well made and designed to get you there comfortably, safely, and with lots of stuff. My bike is not cool by most standards here because it doesn't have fenders, baskets, or a rack, and is therefore impractical. On the plus side, it's big, orange, has gears, and rocks cool handlebars.

Unfortunately, there's a scourge on the Japanese bike culture. Kyoto, and perhaps the rest of Japan, has been stricken by a fad of disastrous proportions. I could dedicate an entire entry or even an entire blog to ridiculing these newfangled bicycles, but I'll just say that I DESPISE them. They are the antithesis of my aesthetic in every way. I had planned to do a photo essay on these things, but I won't defile my camera with anything so base. The clown bikes are EVERYWHERE:





I pass this spot on the way home everyday. I don't know if it's the light that time of day, the smells, the bushes and the stone wall, or the kids playing in the park beyond, but I am hit with a wave of nostalgia for something I can't quite remember everytime I pass it. Maybe it's a memory of being eight years old, riding my bike home from school. Shoot, I well up just writing about it.



Friends, I can't tell you how good it feels to ride a bicycle as one's primary mode of transportation. Some of you know, and to you I offer the virtual secret handshake. To those of you who have forgotten what it feels like to be 10 years old with the wind in your face, I highly recommend dusting off your old bicycle and going for a ride. It's SO choice.

Osaka jam and OTC photo shoot

Kansai area old-time musicians get together once a month in this unassuming (and TINY) coffee house in Osaka:



The afternoon begins with an incredible vegetarian meal cooked by the owner/hostess in the small kitchen in back. Yesterday the meal included a delicious tofu miso soup, a bean, tofu, and seaweed salad, a cabbage salad, a pumpkin hashbrown (not sure how else to describe it), fried eggplant in a ground sesame sauce, and of course a bowl of rice--all for about 850 yen. Mmmmmm


The format is pretty much the same as any old-time jam. People talk, mingle, and eat for awhile:



Then all of a sudden instruments start popping out of cases, furniture is rearranged, and the music begins:



Rockin' Charlie Poole style with props to Mr. Wade Ward (plus Uke players):



Aki-san and Fuku-chan:




One of the things that worried me about moving was being so far away from the music community that I came to love in the States. If it weren't for Bosco and Heja, I simply wouldn't be able to live here long term. Not only are they wonderful people and quickly becoming close friends of mine, they are great old-time musicians. We play at least once week, more often twice, and sometimes thrice!

It didn't take long for us to form a band: The Oconaluftee Turnpike Company, or OTC. Yeah, I know, it's a mouthful in any language and an absolute nightmare for the average Japanese, but I was outvoted by my bandmates. They liked the Cherokee connection (they feel a kinship as Japanese) and the Turnpike reference. Google the name and you'll catch the significance for me. I think "The OTC" is kind of catchy.

At any rate, after tunes yesterday, we decided to do a band photo shoot in preparation for our gig at the bar "Honky Tonk" next month.




(Those little bikes are all the rage here. I think they're ridiculous, but I've just gotta get a picture of me on one of those things one of these days!)


Sorry, Jordan and Ben, it ain't a cheeseburger or a milkshake, but here you go: