Tokyo Travels (part two)

Rather than try to make a cohesive story out of my week in Japan, the next two(?) blogs are going to be broken up into smaller pieces. I’m going to devote a section to each of the areas of the city I liked most.

Akihabara:

If you were to conjure up an image of Tokyo in your head, you’d be envisaging Akihabara’s Electric Town. The gigantic towers of neon play host to Japan’s largest arcades and smallest boutique anime shops. You’ll find the capsule-toy dispensing vending machines known as gachapons lining the streets and images of scantily clad anime characters covering the walls and a dizzying number of tiny eight-seat eateries and electronics markets of impossible variety and a slew of women dressed as servants ushering you into the closest maid café and endless arcades blasting what I could only describe as “noise” at ear-shattering volumes. It’s overwhelming, to say the least.

An arcade in Akihabara

I wouldn’t say I did all that much in Akihabara. Simply being there is enough to exhaust the most energized travel. I enjoyed most of my time as a spectator, soaking up the bizarre at every turn. I spent a whole 20 minutes listening in on a collector’s phone call as he made bids for the rare Star Wars figurines he found in a random store’s fourth floor basement. For another half hour, I watched kids in the arcade play these circle rhythm games, something akin to music conducting, with specially designed gloves. It’s the easiest place in the world to get lost, but you’ll marvel at every minute.

Akihabara is the mecca of one corner of Japanese culture. It’s the result of combining every fringe aspect of society in a pot, adding a good helping of pachinko machines, turning the burner to eleven, and then letting the pot overflow. I was no more than a bewildered onlooker, but I want to stress that Electric Town does not define the whole of Tokyo. The city of 13 million is diverse beyond belief, and to consider Akihabara as the capital of culture would be a great disservice.  

Yasukuni Shrine:

Ever wanted to support a far-right Japanese political party that does not acknowledge WWII war crimes? Well come on down to Yasukuni Shrine and museum, located just northeast of Ichigaya station! Yasukuni was constructed during the Meiji restoration of the mid-19^th century to commemorate the lives of fallen soldiers, but after World War Two, the shrine fell into controversy after the Shinto priests interned convicted war criminals. Since then, the site has become a point of contention for the Korean and Chinese governments. They claim that the shrine defends the Japanese militaristic aggression and colonization of the 20^th century. Regardless, the gorgeous building and gardens draw thousands of tourists and locals every day.

While I obviously don’t want to make oversimplified statements about a political situation I have limited familiarity with, the museum at Yasukuni presents the most biased, dangerous, and above all, shocking account of the second world war I have ever seen. Before I go any further, though, I want to make it clear that what I saw in the museum is not a reflection of the Japanese population at large, only the ideas of a small, radical, and nationalistic subset.

A plaque outside the museum described the peculiar sentiment that is echoed inside. It’s dedicated to the Justice who defended the Japanese war criminals after the war. The Indian judge has gained a certain celebrity in Japan for his unwavering commitment to “justice”. The inside is just as astonishing as the exterior. What starts as a jaunt through old samurai armor and historical weapons quickly turns into a revisionist nightmare. The exhibits paint Japanese hostility as a necessary inevitability, where the massacre of the Chinese city Nanjing is disregarded simply as the “China incident” and the bombing of pearl harbor is described as a victim’s retaliation. The tour is also filled with letters from kamikaze pilots and widowed mothers exalting the patriotic bravery of soldiers.  

Yasukuni Gardens

The entire facility is a bit eerie yet simultaneously fascinatig, an illustration of national pride run amuck. I’d highly recommend forking over the three dollars for admission, even if it means helping fascists stock their gift shop with Japanese imperial flags. Gotta give and take, right?

Odaiba:

Without a doubt, visiting an onsen was the best part of my trip. For those of you who are unaware, onsen are traditional hot spring baths that serve as the Japanese equivalent of a spa. The particular onsen I chose, however, was some amalgam of spa, theme park, restaurant, and tea house. As you would imagine, it was a fantasy-land of Japanese culture specifically designed for my enjoyment (well, at least for the enjoyment of people like me).

Some festival prizes

The Tea Room

I walked into the massive complex that is Odaiba Onsen around 9:30 on a Wednesday morning –not the most happening time at the bathhouse. Naturally, everyone is required to take off their shoes first thing. So before even being able to speak with an employee, I put my sneakers in a locker and grabbed the key which was wrapped around one of those coiled shoelace bracelets. Key #1. From there, I was directly given a second locker key with an attached plastic barcode and a yukata, a light, cotton kimono worn at onsen. Key #2.

Men and women split ways after the lobby, so I headed on into the men’s room to change. I was a bit nervous at this point that the onsen would disappoint. The main entrance looked like a defunct hotel from the 1990’s and the changing room could have been plucked from any Texas high school’s football locker-room. However, I had just been given a badass, Samurai-Champloo-esk outfit, so I stashed all my stuff, fumbled around with my yukata for 20 minutes not knowing how to tie it, and stepped into the onsen proper.

Whether it was a gimmick or not, the ancient festival scenery blew me away. The building was designed to mimic a lantern-lit carnival in the Edo period of Japan. Games, food stands, performances, and peddlers lined the “streets” in an odd hodgepodge of artificiality and authenticity. Here, families, couples, and lonely white tourists could eat, drink, and take in the sights. In the center stood a lantern-draped tower and a performance stage crowded with cardboard anime figures. The juxtaposition was off-putting but also charming: only in Japan could anime posters be situated in front an historical backdrop feel appropriate.

The Onsen Tower, sorry it's so dark

Through another set of locker-rooms stood the actual, sex-divided hot springs. I was given two towels and another locker for my yukata before heading in. Key #3. Like most traditional saunas or hot springs, onsen typically don’t allow clothing in the baths, so I ditched my skivvies before following a group of elderly gentlemen inside. The springs, again, surprised me. Walking in, on the left were 30 or so seated shower stations where guests first wash up. Around the room were eight or so large, jacuzzi type baths of varying temperature. Along the far wall were private massage rooms (at an extra cost) and a sauna. There was also an outdoor area with an additional set of sun-drenched baths. I was especially partial to the Micro Nano Bath, whatever that is supposed to mean.

Besides the baths, I spent the rest of my Treat-Yo-Self morning eating Katsudon, drinking tea, playing festival games, and generally grinning like an idiot. It was great: a mini vacation in the middle of my vacation. However, at around 1:00 in the afternoon, I had to hang up my hat – in this case return the assortment of key-bracelets I’d been given –  and convince myself to leave.

More to follow in part 3

-JCP

Tokyo Travels (part one)

Going to Japan has always been a dream of mine. As a kid, I watched Cartoon Network’s Toonami, a television programming block that focused on Japanese anime shows like Dragon Ball Z, Rurouni Kenshin, and One Piece. I think I speak for a lot of kids of my generation when I say these shows embodied something more than their bland American kid contemporaries that ran on T.V. at the time. They had serious stories, violent fight sequences, unique characters, and pushed the boundaries of what a “kids” show could be. They didn’t talk down to their audience. They were cool.

Japanese culture seeped through my screen every weeknight from 5:00 to 7:00 as Toonami brought the “East” to my television in good ol’ Cedar Park, Texas. Like any eleven-year-old boy in 2006, I would have given an arm and a leg to try the Ramen in Naruto or wear a Kimono from Bleach. And that was just the beginning. For me, that first peak behind the window alerted me to the existence of other cultures, media, and art. I was introduced to the magic of Japanese cinema through films like Ghost in the Shell and Princess Mononoke. I fell in love with Japanese video games because of Zelda and Soulcalibur. I learned about Japanese history through James Clavell novels and samurai movies. I developed a passion for Japanese food thanks to episodes of Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservations. It’s seems like half of everything I’ve ever liked has come from Japan.

Now, I don’t watch as much anime or play as many JRPGs¹ as I used to, but I still keep a certain reverence for all things Japanese. I was nervous, therefore, that the Land of the Rising Sun would disappoint, that the arcades wouldn’t be mind-numbingly bonkers or that the ramen wouldn’t transcend the idea of gastronomy or that the trains wouldn’t run with the punctuality of a watch-makers wedding. It was too good to be true; there’s no way Tokyo could deliver upon Anthony Bourdain’s hyperbolic praises. Boy, oh boy, was I ever wrong to worry.

My trip to Tokyo started with… difficulty. I stepped out of the Ueno subway station to a gorgeous scene of Hanami, the Japanese tradition and cultural experience of enjoying the cherry blossom season. On that beautiful Sunday, thousands of families and friends sat underneath the Sakura² taking pictures, eating lunch, and enjoying each other’s company. It was a truly fantastic welcome to the country. It was also the moment my phone stopped working.

It’s hard to imagine how anyone traveled internationally before cell phones. I guess, based on first-hand experience, that it probably involved a lot of wandering. But, at that exact moment, sitting under the blossoms and eating an onigiri³ from the local konbini⁴, I wasn’t all too concerned about the logistics of “disconnected” travel. It wasn’t until I decided to find my hostel that I hit a few snags. The first and most pressing issue was that I had no idea how to find my hostel. I remembered it was north of the Ueno station… and that’s about it. The second, and complimentary, issue was that I wasn’t sure how to find out how to find my hostel.

A quick side note on why the place was so difficult to locate. The hostel, a place called Toco, serves less than 30 guests and is situated in the most unassuming alley in Tokyo. I’d call it a speakeasy if it weren’t for the tiny sign out front. Thankfully, what it lacks in findability, it more than makes up in quaintness. More on that later, though.

After walking around the neighborhood for an hour or two, I thought it might be a good idea to try my phone again. I sat criss-cross in the shade of a nearby house – which would prove an awkward decision when the owner arrived home to find me and my stuff sprawled out on their drive-way – and somehow finagled my phone into temporary operation. Google maps worked long enough for me to do two things: learn how lost I had become and provide the opportunity to draw a map a toddler would be embarrassed of on pen and paper.

An hour and two stops to ask for directions later, I arrived at Toco. The place was something out of an Asian fable. The lobby, decked out with wooden floors and a rainbow staircase, also served as small bar in the evenings. Past the lobby was the traditional style garden, complete with Buddha statues and a holy mound of stones. From there, after swapping my shoes for slippers, was the hostel proper, consisting of only 3 dormitory and 3 private rooms. I’ll tell ya’, I experienced something close to nirvana as I slid open the wooden door, slipper-clad and most likely with a stupid grin, to step out of that idyllic garden and into my 1920’s era accommodation. Some boyish fantasy was fulfilled in that moment.

To be honest, I wasn’t all that upset about the loss of my phone. I was in Japan, during the most beautiful week of the year, sitting in a garden straight out of The Last Samurai, and preparing to soak up the sights and sounds of the city. I also knew that getting to my accommodation would be the most trying task without directions, and I’d already done that. Sure, replacing my phone once back in Korea would be a pain, but for the time being, Tokyo was no less accessible to me. And anyways, I had taken too many orientation classes in Boy Scouts to get too lost. No, I was determined to make it the old-fashioned way.

More to follow in part two

-JCP

¹ Japanese Role Playing Game

² A rice ball, usually with grilled seaweed and some sort of filling

³ Cherry blossom tree in Japanese

⁴ A convenience store, AKA the life-blood of Japanese culture

A boy's confusing journey through language

My inability to speak a second language is something I am deeply embarrassed about. For someone who prides himself on his cultural adventurousness, I am doing a remarkably poor job with the most important aspect of culture: language. I spend every day speaking with others in my own language and have made little effort to reciprocate the favor. I accredit my lack of lingual competency to four things:

1. Being American: Americans are notoriously bad at learning languages. We have a decent excuse – the whole world speaks our native tongue – but put little focus on languages in school. Just about anyone from my high school could say they took two years of Spanish and don’t remember anything. I stand on my pedestal of three years of Latin while still not remembering anything. 
2. Growing up in a monolingual family. Sorry mom and dad. I know if you had had the option, Bee and I would have been raised as polyglots. However, it wasn’t meant to be and there’s no use in crying over spilled milk.
3. I don’t know what language I should learn: It would be easier to devote my time if I knew where I might live in the future. I’ve avoided making a serious effort at Korean because I know I’ll be gone in two months. If, for instance, I was certain to end in Kathmandu, it would be easy to buy a Nepali textbook (well probably not that easy) and start from there.
4. Personal laziness: At the end of the day, my shortcomings as a linguist are entirely attributable to a lack of commitment from me. Learning a language requires consistent effort over a long period of time – something that I have yet to do. I’ve made meager attempts at Arabic, Danish, and Korean and never followed through.  My latest foray into French will certainly end up in the same garbage pile of neglected languages.

I imagine that voicing my frustrations does not make for the best reading, so rather than wallowing in my self-shame, I figured I’d share some interesting factoids about some of the languages I’ve come into contact with. These details are not remotely comprehensive and may not even be entirely accurate, so take everything with a grain of salt. I’ll go in chronological order.

English:

Obviously, you are at least familiar with English and are in no need of general information. There are, however, aspects of my own language that continue to surprise me and may prove curious to you.

§  English is a language of intonation. Like the tones of Chinese, English intonations can be grammatical. The most obvious example is the difference between open and closed questions. Think of how differently you would say, “Where are your bags?” vs. “Do you have any bags?” Notice the pitch at the end of the second question. The first question requires a falling intonation to be correct while the second requires an ascending one.   

§  There is a specific order for placing adjectives before verbs. Most of the time native speakers don’t have to think about the correct order, but it certainly stands out when adjectives are out of place. It sounds bizarre to say, “The French, tiny, goofy-looking rodeo clown,” instead of “The tiny, goofy-looking, French rodeo clown.” The official order is: Opinion, size, physical quality, shape, age, colour, origin, material, type, and purpose.

§  To finish off with English, here are a few of my favorite sayings and idioms.

o   I’ll give you the nickel tour – To show someone around

o   We’ll cross that bridge when we get there – To address an issue at another time

o   The peanut gallery – A group of idiots that make jokes off to the side

o   What’cha hunting? – A question to determine what someone is looking for

o   6 one way, half a dozen the other –To say that two options are the same

o   5-dollar word ­– A long or fancy word

Arabic:

I took one semester of Arabic in college. For a million dollars, I would be hard-pressed to come up with a full sentence in Arabic, but I still remember a thing or two that Professor Muna taught me.

• The Arabic alphabet does not contain vowels. Instead, vowel diacritics are used above or below letters. Here’s an example of three words that are separated by only vowel markings.

 The land : البر

     Wheat : البُر

     Righteousness : البِر

• Sounds simple enough, right? Well, there’s one problem. In all but the most formal literary writing, vowel markings are not used. Readers of Arabic are expected to use context to determine what word a means without the vowels.
• It is also important to know that Arabic is more a family of languages than a single language. The difference between Levantine Arabic and Tunisian Arabic could be compared to the difference between French and Italian. A lingua-franca does exist in the Arab world, Modern Standard Arabic (MSA), but is reserved mostly for writing and formal media.

Danish:

Don’t even ask me why I know anything about Danish.

It’s a language spoken by only around 6 million people, 5 and half of whom live in Denmark. It is extremely similar to the other Scandinavian languages of Norwegian and Swedish and shares an early history with other Germanic languages. English speakers will find that it is structurally and grammatically familiar.

• Danish, like a few other languages, uses a base-20 system for counting. That means what we would call eighty-one (8 tens and 1 ones) translates as enogfirs (1 one and 4x20). It gets even more difficult when dealing with odd tens. Fifty is translated as halvtreds (2.5x20), seventy as halvfjerds (3.5x20), and so on. But if you think that’s complicated, wait until we get to Korean’s two different number systems…
• For lack of interesting tid-bits about the language itself, I’ll give you a tip about Danish. If a Dane ever asks you to say Rød grød med fløde (red porridge with cream), just give up. They are having a laugh. The phrase is used by Danes to demonstrate how Danish is an incomprehensible series of guttural noises that you will never be able to pronounce.

Korean:

Korean is a whole other animal. It developed largely separately from its mother Chinese and uses a unique, designed writing system. Along with Arabic, Chinese, Japanese, and Cantonese, it’s listed as a class four language for English speakers, meaning it’s among the most difficult to learn. Although I know a few phrases and questions, I have almost no understanding of Korean grammar or structure.

• Korean’s alphabet was invented in the 15^th century by a Joseon dynasty king to be a simple, understandable, and all-encompassing representation of spoken Korean. It is comprised of 40 “letters”, 19 consonants and 21 vowels, that are combined into blocks that serve as syllables.

o   Ex. The letters: ㅂ ㅜ ㄹ (b, u, l/r) combine to make 불 (bul) or

ㄷ ㅏ ㄹ ㄱ (t, a, l/r, k) combine to make 닭 (talk)

• Syllables are then combined to create words.

o   불  bul (fire)      +     고기   go-gi (meat)     =       불고기   bulgogi (roasted meat)

o   컴  keom   +   퓨  pyu   +   터  teo   =    keompyuteo   (computer)

• Korean also incorporates honorifics like no other language. Practially any verb or noun can be changed in a sentence to reflect a different social situation. Whether it’s child to adult, teacher to student, employee to boss, or friend to friend, Koreans are constantly adding and omitting honorifics to fit the situation. That’s why a very common first question in Korea is “how old are you?” I wish I could elaborate on the topic more, but frankly, I understand very little of how the elaborate system works. Here is the common example:

o   안녕하세요 annyeonghaseyo (hello, used in most situations where you don’t know the person or they are a superior/elder)

o   안녕 annyeong (hello, used when meeting or saying goodbye to friends or close acquaintances)

• I teased the Korean number systems earlier, but I’m afraid that I, again, have very little understanding of how or why Korean continue to count the way they do. Here’s the bottom line, Korean uses the traditional “Korean” system for age, people and things, and general counting and a “Chinese” system for phone numbers, measurement, money, and anything above 100 – the “Korean” system only goes to 99. While that already sounds like a nightmare, here’s the kicker: if you want to tell someone the time, you need to use the Chinese numbers for the hour and the Korean numbers for the minutes. I told you Korea is wild…

French:

Finally, the home stretch. French. It may come as a surprise to many of you to see French as the last language on this chronological list. Fortune, or terrible misfortune for that matter, has resulted in me living with 5* French girls during my time in Korea. I could, and certainly will, write a whole post about the subtleties of French reality shows (les marseillais is easily the worst), but that’s for another time. Being constantly surrounded by French at all hours of the day has necessitated that I learn a thing or two about the language.

*Only 3 of them are actually French. 2 are from Morocco but study in France. I’m going to count it as an even 5 though, based on what language dominates our kitchen. Sorry Neama and Ibti!

• Verlan is a feature of French where words are inverted to create slang, a sort of French pig-latin. Typically, the end of the word is shifted to the front, with corrections being made for pronounceability. It is primarily used by kids and young-adults, but words occasionally seep into the greater French vocabulary. I’ve been unable to deduce any greater significance than “it’s cool” from my roommates, so I think each verlan is different in how it’s formed and what it means. Here are a few examples of original words and their verlan:

o   Femme (woman)  à  Meuf

o   C’est parti (let’s go) à  C’est tipar

o   Louche (shady)  à  Chelou

• My final observation of this post is something more akin to body-language than traditional mouth language. For whatever reason, many French speakers have adopted the habit of using the sound “pfft” (made with a quick puff of the lips) instead of the English “I don’t know”. Along with the “ooh la” and the “mhm mhm mhm,” the “pfft” has become part of my everyday vernacular experience. Someone please help me.

Well, I hope you stuck around for that exhausting linguistic voyage. Language is such an exceptional piece of being human, and, although I’ve yet to take the plunge, I am determined to become bilingual at some point in the near future. For now, au revoir, 안녕, farvel, مَع السَلامة, and goodbye!

-JCP

Minimalism: The One Backpack Lifestyle or “Why do you only wear 4 shirts?”

Alright, I’m cheating a little bit with the title. I do, in fact, have a second, small bag for my winter coat. Give me a break, I wasn’t about to move to South Korea without a shield to defend against Seoul’s soulless winter. But other than that, I was able to fit the entirety of my life into a 70-liter backpack.

My possessions include:

       Clothing:                                            Not Clothing:                 

-        4 pairs of pants      -        3 pairs of shorts      -        1 pair of sweat pants (it was cold, ok)      -        3 flannel shirts      -        2 nice shirts      -        1 sweater      -        2 pull over fleeces (identical)      -        2 short sleeve button downs      -        10 t-shirts      -        12 pairs of underwear      -        12 pairs of socks      -        1 pair of boots      -        1 pair of sneakers      -        2 hats      -        1 light jacket      -        1 medium jacket      -        1 aforementioned heavy jacket      -        1 scarf      -        2 ties

-        1 backpack -        1 travel duffle bag -        1 laptop computer and charger -        1 mouse -        2 decks of cards -        1 camera -        5 books -        1 USB drive with the all 3 of the Lord of the Rings extended editions -        1 flashlight -        1 folder -        1 legal pad -        1 towel (about the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitchhiker can have) -        1 set of chopsticks -        1 phone and charger -        2 pairs of headphones -        1 Gamecube controller and adapter -        1 wallet -        2 chap-sticks -        1 unusable pair of hair clippers -        1 toiletry bag (toothbrush, razor, nail clippers…. You get the idea) -        1 pair of glasses -        A few other smaller things like pens, rolls of film, and pictures that I’m not going to count out

Now, when all added up, that would appear to be a lot of things. “That’s over 90 things!” you might say, and I’d be inclined to agree with you. I’m not even sure whether I qualify as a true minimalist at this point or not. However, I would urge you to do a similar exercise and tally-up everything you own. Unless your name is Terence or Aaron, I’d be willing to bet you’ve got a thing or two more. You would be surprised how quickly it all adds up. Even if you have no intention of shedding all your earthly possessions, knowing what you’ve got can go a long way to knowing what you don’t need.

I won’t go too far into the rationale behind my minimalist mentality – you probably understand the concept – but here’s the general idea in two parts.

First, things are unnecessary.

Second, traveling light means to travel well. In the past year, I’ve lived in 4 different apartments on 3 continents. Moving from place to place is simply easier with fewer things to bring with you. And I’ll let everyone onto a little secret: taking 3 suitcases on the Boston subway is less than fun. Right now, I’m able to move, with everything I need, wherever I need to go, at the drop of a hat. My life is made markedly simpler by each item I do not own.

Third, I was joking about the first point. And, yes, I know I said this reasoning would only be in two parts, but this is my blog and I make up the rules. Minimalism, for me, doesn’t mean that all possessions are inherently evil. Buying a collectible Ninja Turtles pizza van or an extra cereal bowl certainly doesn’t mean you are inviting the devil into your home. Instead, minimalism is a tool for evaluating priorities, an economic model for maximizing utility. I can ask myself, “Would I rather have a Magic Bullet to make delicious fruit smoothies for the next 3 months or an extra 30 bucks to blow on a scooter in Thailand. While that is a trite example, I think you get the point. At this stage in my life, I’d rather buy an experience than a thing to lug around. But who knows, maybe in 5 or 10 years that Magic Bullet will start sounding pretty nice…

That’s not to say that life is made wholly easier without stuff. I can’t collect books. I don’t have any cooking or eating supplies to call my own (besides my chopsticks!). I still am wearing T-Shirts I got in middle-school. I have to buy or rent new bedding every 6 months. There are no posters on my walls or brick-a-brac on my dresser. Ultimately, wherever I choose to set up shop likely lacks the hominess of a true base camp. And that’s just something to which you have to become accustomed. It’s easy to be a minimalist while you’re backpacking across Europe, but it’s a whole other matter to be a minimalist on a random Thursday night when you wish you had an oven to bake a frozen pizza or a toolbox to fix the broken toilet seat.

That's enough life philosophy for one blog. I figured I would have had more to say about minimalism, but it turns out that the topic is easily exhaustible. Anyways, I'll be heading to Japan for a week, so next week will be light in terms of blog posts. I'll be sure to have a lot of pictures and updates soon after that!

-JCP