Doshisha Days

Doshisha Days is Dead... Long Live Doshisha Days...

2009-05-13T10:10:00.002+09:00

For the past year or so, Doshisha Nights was a more fertile breeding ground for my thoughts and whims, and as of today, Doshisha Days the blog has entered the Pantheon of blogs that never quite lived up to their original aims. Which is not to say that I have given up on the whole online bloviating businiess...

Enter Pan-asian Vision, which if anything will at least attract more people who come by my site by mistake....

We interrupt this blog to bring you an important message

2008-04-17T09:39:00.002+09:00

This guy, a confidant of mine, has entered the fray. Read his blog; it'll change your life or at least make you happy you have one...

Month of Living Dangerously Part Empat

2008-04-15T18:05:00.003+09:00

19 March

We are now at Ocean Star, a resort on the eastern coast of Pulau Bunaken. It is about 45 minutes away from Manado by boat. We missed, or rather could not find, the ferry, and so we opted to take a private boat to the island. The boat was tiny, our captain shifted between steering the boat and using a bucket to empty the water that was slowly filling the hull, casually smoking his cheroot right above two tanks of gasoline that provided fuel to the engines.

For 35 Euros – too bad for us, but this place had the astute financial sense to change from dollars – we dive twice a day, in the morning and have the afternoon off to enjoy the island. The best part about this place so far is the food, the barbequed fish we feasted on last evening was some of the best we’ve had this entire trip.

20 March

Another day of morning dives and some of the best diving yet! We went down to almost 30 meters in a sea of red-toothed trigger fish. I saw 2 green turtles, some giant trevalley, 2 barracuda and scores of other fish. I was about 1 meter away from the green turtle when it decided to leave its resting place and descend to the surface to breath, effortlessly rising away from us.

After running out of air, both Dries and I noticed a school of dolphins not far away from the boat and so we grabbed our snorkels and swam after them in hot pursuit. A few meters below us, they glided by us, a dozen or more. Sadly, despite our fins and – in Dries’ case a streamlined hair style – we were unable to keep up and they headed out to sea.

The highlight of the day’s second dive was a pygmy sea-horse, about the size of my pinky toe. It was so well camouflaged by the sea plant that it was nigh impossible to see it. The rest of the dive was basically a drift dive, the current just carrying us along at a leisurely clip. Not too many big fish, we hope to see them tomorrow.

That evening, we checked out the main town in Bunaken, having a beer at a local bar before heading back to our resort for dinner.

22 March

Back in Bali, this being the final stint of our trip, and what a trip it has been. Our last day of diving in Bunaken was as good as the first 2. We were on another enormous coral wall, almost 30 meters below the surface. We saw another green turtle, hunting giant trevalley, and a huge Napoleon Wrasse just a few meters below the surface, which really revealed its full colors. The second dive was nice and long, almost an hour. My air consumption is steadily improving. Unfortunately, I am done with diving for a while, and will need to look into diving in Japan.

After eating lunch at the resort, we were given a lift back to Manado where we returned to Pizza Hut after eating there for lunch the day we left for the island. I ate a large veggie pizza by myself, proving to Dries that I could eat a ton and then not bemoan how I had in fact over-eaten afterwards. We then freshened up in the hotel and then headed out with some Indonesian girls from Manado that we had met at Bunaken – getting chauffeured around in one of the girls kitted out SUV. After trying unsuccessfully to find a place to sing karaoke – it was Good Friday after all – we ended up at a night warung by the sea where they had the typical Indonesian version of karaoke (at least when you are not in a brothel) a list of songs and a one-man-band. Not for amateurs. Dries did alright but the biggest hit of the night came from Carlito who brought down the house with a rendition of “Proud Mary” that would have made Ike slap himself for screwing things up with Tina. By midnight we were back at our hotel, exhausted and dreading waking up before 5 am to catch our plane. We bid farewell to our Indonesian and Austrian companions.

Our flights the next day went by without incident and we were back in Kuta by midday. We requested a few alterations for our suits which came our spectacularly and then made our way to Seminyak for a few drinks at Ku De Ta and another brilliant meal. We slept soundly, oblivious to the busy streets below us full of revelers on Saturday night.

24 March

We are now only a few hours from Japanese soil. I will write a coda after we touch down and I have some time to reflect on what it all “meant”, but the final hours in Indonesia were interesting and warrant mentioning on their own accord.

A lackluster breakfast was the only downside to our final day in Bali. We hired a driver to take us inland to Ubud, another major center of Balinese culture and tourism, filled with gardens and architecture, surrounded by mountains and terraced rice fields. We ambled among these temples and palaces, popping in shops and cafes to avoid the rain that inundated the island on our last day. Our final stop was the monkey forest where a bunch of grey-haired macaques ran around, harassing tourists, particularly those with bananas. According to instructions printed everywhere, we were supposed to either toss bananas to the monkeys from afar or else defer to the authority of the so-called monkey “experts” who wore green and were wandering around rendering their expert service. Unfortunately, the monkeys got to me before I could get assistance, and the rules went out the window, my bananas went faster than Beijing Olympic tickets. Out of bananas, my distant relatives became a lot less interested in me, instead climbing on and over those stilling carrying, clamoring as if they had never seen the yellow phalli in their entire life. While fierce and perhaps a bit chauvinist (one male monkey mounted a female, had his way with her and then stole her banana stash), they were much cuter than the monkeys I had seen in Japan and were much more comfortable interacting with humans as well.

We made our way back to Kuta in the rain, picked up our adjusted suits and then made our way to Seminyak for one last indulgence: a Balinese massage at the Mutiara hotel, which I would heartily recommend to anyone who wants to stay in luxury in Bali. Alex had stayed there before and partook in a massage before. It was hands down the best massage I have ever had, besting both Chinese and Thai with ease. First we changed out of our clothes into diaper-like paper briefs and robes. The masseuses then washed our feet and then we laid face down while they lathered our bodies with oil and massaged it in. At one point, they even pulled down our pantaloons and massaged our bare asses, and I suddenly realized how such a sensual massage could so easily cross the line into a less ethical profession. Fortunately, our ladies were chaste and pure professionals, and so this massage was the perfect relaxing ending our month long holiday.

We had little time to enjoy our time after the massage, the rain slowed everything down, we grabbed some vegetarian food at a café, gathered our gear back in Kuta and then grabbed a taxi to the airport. I just got a few hours of sleep and am trying to eat this mediocre breakfast, Garuda Indonesia is not going to win any air service awards like their Singaporean or Malaysian counterparts any time soon.

Month of Living Dangerously Part Tiga

2008-04-09T09:42:00.003+09:00

12 March

We are half-way through our second full day at Kadidiri Paradise, the dive resort we are staying on in Togean Islands. We arrived at the main port Wakai around 3 pm on Monday and we were immediately met by reps from the dive shop who ferried us over to the island. The island is absolutely gorgeous, a narrow stretch of sand – our own private hideaway and a bunch of bungalows a stones through from the beach.

Yesterday was our first day on our open water course, Dan, Dries and I were the only students. We had to read a 250 page textbook, replete with quizzes and a final exam, which we all scored well on (Dries caught a stomach bug and fell behind by a day). We also did our first confined water dive yesterday in which we had to demonstrate a variety skills that we had read about - totally screwed up the mask clearing exercise when I opened my mask from the top instead of the bottom and totally started gagging on brine – fortunately I was only in 3 meters of water and could abort to the surface, but I still became the class idiot of the day.　Still need to sort out my mask issues before I go back in the water today.

This place is amazing. Completely isolated, with no vehicles or even roads, electricity only in the evening for 5 hours, the food is prepared and served communally. This place is pure paradise, no need to try and state it more clearly than that.

14 March

It’s official: I am now a certified diver with 5 open water dives under my belt. My Acehenese instructor Salim, Alex, Daniel and Dries were all a great help in this undertaking. Dan, sadly, leaves tomorrow and I will miss him dearly as my dive partner.. I began feeling sick yesterday evening and today am fully under the weather., so it may be a few days before I go into greater detail, but I will try and do so before all the details fade into obscurity.

15 March

Rested and recovered, still sunburned and sore, but I am otherwise okay. I am up early as I fell asleep around 8 pm last night. It was just as well because Dan was woken up and told that despite yesterday being informed that his boat would leave at 9 am, he was rushed off at 7:30. He’s gone now and only the 3 of us remain. We’ll stay one more night here before heading northward and to Manado.

On the 13^th Dan and I completed open water dives 3 and 4 in which we demonstrated the final skills we needed to complete our course. We practiced a controlled emergency ascent from 6 meters, took off our mask underwater and replaced it and demonstrated our compass navigational skills among others. These dives were all done in the reef off-shore.

Yesterday we went out to Pulau Una Una, about 2 hours northwest. Apparently, as I read after I had gotten back, Una Una was a volcanic island that had exploded in 1983 blanketing the entire island in ash. It’s a shame we had no time to explore the island, we had come to dive off its shores and check out some bigger fish. We anchored off-shore by the pinnacle, a giant underwater island that supported thousands of coral and fish. We saw but a fraction of this, which was still plenty. A bluefin trevalley, hunting for prey, came right up to us but then backed away when the half-meter fish realized that we weren’t food. We saw teeming schools of many different fish, some of the most colorful and oddly shaped fish, Moorish idols, titan triggerfish, bigeyed trevalley and more. We went down to 18 meters and marveled in our colorful surroundings.

I skipped the afternoon dive since I was not feeling so great and rested up for the following day, and I hope today we can head out and see the B-24 bomber…

16 March

T-minus one week to go on this fantastic trip across Sulawesi. This is our final day in the Togeans, our final dive this morning. Yesterday we dove on the B-24 Liberator, my first wreck dive. The bomber went down during World War II due to engine failure. The crew stayed with the ship until it crashed into the water and then they escaped and swam to shore, sinking important top-secret documents down into Davey Jones’ Locker, and evading capture by the Japanese. The entire plane was in quite good condition, Alex and Salim even swam through the windows of the hull. There were thousands of fish surrounding the wreck, including about a dozen or so Lionfish, beautiful yet highly venomous. Visibility was quite bad, although only 21 meters to the sea floor, we could only see about 5 meters ahead. It was quite eerie, dropping down into the abyss, the plane slowly fading into view before our eyes. It was a short dive for us, only 25 minutes, I need to get better at using my air. Still, I made it to 21 meters, almost 70 feet below the surface! I am very much looking forward to diving in Bunaken.

18 March

Paradise lost! But hopefully soon to be regained after leaving the teeming and unkempt city of Manado for the tranquil waters off Bunaken island. We arrived in Manado last night after another marathon 24 hour travel session that was once again not without the requisite dose of tragic-comedy (depending on your perspective, which in this case is quite easy to tell whose was tragic). Our trip started off quite easy, we dove one last time in the morning at Kadidiri, although it was a bit more difficult than normal thanks to some murky conditions and some errant jellyfish. . We were fortunate enough to see a spotted eagle ray at least. Still working on my air consumption, my running lungs need to relax.

After a delicious final lunch we tried once again to search for the famed coconut crabs that live in the Togeans – the largest arthropods in the world (I had gone in search the day before and could only find smaller specimens). Although we did find a few, none were the size that I had hoped for. Upon showering and settling our bill, we boarded the speedboat for Wakai to await the ferry north to Gorontalo.

We left our gear at the home of an Irish expat – his beer belly protruding proudly over his sarong as he watched rugby on the television (why someone would choose to settle in Wakai, the least attractive settlement on the islands must have confounded greater minds than my own).

Our ferry came and we promptly bought our tickets and got our places in the executive class – for an extra $2 with plush reclining seats. In our group were myself, Alex, Dries, Burgit and Carlito, two Austrians and Teemu, a young Fin. We spent the first half of the boat ride watching the islands float by as the sky darkened, revealing a pockmarked star-scape. Eventually we retired to our cabin, where after suffering both bad Indonesian and American programming, the lights were dimmed and we all soon fell asleep. I awoke, the sky had started to lighten at the periphery, and the cabin lights were once again on. I man was ranting in Indonesian for over a half-hour, and his diatribe was hard to ignore. It sounded as if he were recounting a story from his past. I don’t know why I think that as I can only guess as to what the hell he was saying, but that is what I would have guessed.

We finally arrived in Gorontalo not long after dawn, a 12 hour journey in total. Burgit and Carlito had already arranged transport. And so we followed them to our driver who was an associate of the driver that they had used when they were in Gorontalo before. Unfortunately, our driver was incompetent and impatient to the point of danger. We quickly redressed the situation temporarily by accepting his demands for more money when he got mad for making him wait while we logged on at an internet café for the first time in weeks.

Eventually we were on the move which was things got worse with this guy. Driving like a banshee on tortuous, narrow roads; a mother duck and her ducklings waddled onto the road, our lane, and instead of slowing, instead of using his horn, he simply drove over them, quacktracide, the only thing to show for it was a “what me worry” smirk. I was both incredulous and irate at the cruelty of the whole affair. A few hours later, the moron careened into a goat that ran out in front of the car. Poor kid, his owner’s children saw the whole drama unfold. This hit and run was a little less avoidable, but the guy sort of gave a “my bad” look to the children and kept going. I forget to mention that the guy kept on chucking rubbish out the window and into the street the entire time he was driving, and after being repeatedly told to slow down, he continued to drive like a man possessed.

Fortunately, we made it to Manado in one piece, checked into our hotel, got beer, washed up and hit the town – in that precise order. After a pleasant meal at a Chinese-Indonesian establishment, we ended up at this enormous disco, on top of the Mega mall. There was literally no one there, but it was fun for a while at least. I was quite exhausted by the end of the night. We retuned to our hotel at 3 and rested up despite some pretty noisy streets adjacent to the hotel. Teemu took off for Jakarta this morning and the remaining 5 of us head to Bunaken this afternoon.

Month of Living Dangerously Part Dua

2008-04-02T16:04:00.006+09:00

6 March

This morning we were awoken from our slumber by our erstwhile companion – the 4th man- Dries. It was around 6:30 in the morning and we were definitely a sight for his sore eyes after going many days on little sleep (due to his self-inflicted behavior) and a long bus ride up to Rantepao, and searching all around town for us. Fortunately, he found us with little problem. After an easy breakfast, we made our way to the rental shop where we rented 4 motorbikes for the day. Keep in mind that neither Dries nor I had ever driven a motorized two-wheel vehicle in our lives. Hell, Dries had never even driven a car. As such, I had a slight feeling of trepidation at learning how do such a thing on the wild and rough roads of rural Central Sulawesi. After taking the bikes for a spin around the block and proving (sort of) to the renter and to ourselves that we could handle it, we raced out of town like bats out of hell. Or something like that.
Our first stop was a market a bit south of town where animals were sold. Not that we got to see that much, as a bunch of guys tried to extort an entrance fee from us to see the water buffalo auction, and so we decided to wander and peruse the other markets instead. It really reminded me of the Russian Market in Phnom Penh, with the cloth-roofed stalls and the amount of copy and possibly purloined wares.
We grabbed lunch while the sky opened up and poured down. We then rode down a side road which terminated at a cluster of some traditional Torajan houses arranged in a row. We stopped for some photos there and Anya – she served as our interpreter at the market – planned to trek through the hills from there. And so Dan and I made our way back to the main road and then waited for our companions. And waited. Finally, Dan went back and after another few minutes of boredom, I turned round as well, fearing that Dries had had a mishap with the bike – the assumption was that either he or I were most likely to get maimed that day. Instead it was Alex, having wrecked his bike trying to avoid a chicken that had bolted out into the lane. He was a bit out of it, but by the time I had gotten there he had already fastened bandages from his tattered shirt to his arms to arrest the bleeding coming from cuts he had sustained. The most alarming problem, however, was at best a bruised rib and at worst a broken rib that could potentially puncture a lung. He laid down and Dan elevated his legs while we took stock the situation and made sure that he was alright. Once convinced that he was okay, we slowly made our way back to Rantepao where we returned the bikes as if nothing had happened. Alex patched himself up with his crazy first-aid kit and then we sat outside and watched the rain pour down with fury once again.

7 March
The oblong blade glistened in the sunlight as the man pulled it above his head to strike. The bodies, of 3 water buffalo already, lay on the ground already, some still writhing around in the blood-stained mud. Scores had gathered around to watch the final sacrifice. In one swift deft blow, the buffalo’s throat was cleft open and the its next heart beat shot our a geyser of blood, raining down on those who chose to stand a little too close to the action. This was the start of a Torajan funeral, or at least the beginning of the end of one.

The four of us had taken a van that morning and followed Anya on her motorbike about an hour north of Rantepao where we walked on foot down a rocky and muddy path, through the terraced rice fields to the house of the deceased.
We arrived in time for the final sacrifice, which was a gruesome affair to witness. The man, whose funeral we were witnessing, had died 4 months before, remained in the house as preparations were made, buildings erected, the animals purchased and prepared. The body was embalmed and treated like a member of the family, a living member. He was in a coffin at this point, but we were still asked to treat him with the same respect that we afford the living.
As soon as the final buffalo was felled, the men immediately skinned it and started hacking at the limbs and removed the organs as flies swarmed around the carcasses. We were given snacks, coffee, and tea and climaxed in being served the buffalo meat itself, which I scrumptiously declined to eat. Our pictures were taken repeatedly and the kindness of the people was reflected in their generosity and sincerity. We returned to town in the afternoon and relaxed outside as the rains returned.

10 March
After a day of organizing our trip to the Togean Islands and a full 24 plus hour day making our way to the ferry, we are finally on our boat, awaiting our departure for paradise.
We spent Saturday wandering around Rantepao, avoiding the rain and packing up for our trip to the north. We ate traditional Torajan food at a restaurant on the north of town, the food was excellent: fish baked in bamboo with red rice. On our way back to our hotel – we were aiming for an early night – we ran into a wedding reception that spilled over into the street, replete with karaoke band, singing and dancing. They, like all Indonesians before them, welcomed us warmly and encouraged us to join in. For over an hour, we danced and joined in karaoke with the joyous families. Daniel stole the show, dancing the prettiest girl as only he could. It was an unconventional end to a fairly conventional day. We stopped by a talent show as well on our way back, but I was eager to get back since we left the next day at dawn.We awoke on schedule, ate our breakfast and were on the road by 7 am. What should have been a straight-forward 15 hour car-ride, devolved into a 24 hour one. We travelled over tortuous and worn-down roads, through valleys and mountains. Our tires went flat 4 times, delaying us even more as we slowly made our way from Rantepao northeast to Ampana. The 4th flat tire was the straw that broke the camels back; it occurred after midnight and was beyond repairing and the breaks of the car had worn all the way to the metal – I was concerned they were gonna lock up on us at any moment. Alex and Daniel had both taken ill, particularly Alex, who was also still reeling from his bike accident. Dries was exhausted from being unable to sleep. At dawn, an ambulance – station-wagon ambulance that is – offered to take us the final 50 km to Amapana and so we crammed in the back on the stretcher, and I had to convince the driver that none of us needed to actually go to the hospital. They took us finally to the ferry, which we are now on and with luck, we will be on the islands in a few hours.

Month of Living Dangerously Part One

2008-03-28T18:38:00.004+09:00

Below is the first entries from my journal recounting my trip to Bali and Sulawesi.

26 February

I’m sitting on the deck outside my room in Kuta Beach, Bali, Indonesia, Planet Earth. I’ve traded on volcanic archipelago for another. The buildings before me are brick with clay tiled roofs, palm trees are everywhere. My room has a fan and only cold water, which is fine as it is hot and humid but not unbearable. Below my third floor vantage point there is an assortment of rust-colored roofs, but all comprised of different materials – metal and clay- and of different heights.

Alex and I arrived at five and made our way to Kuta, one of the more touristy communities in Bali. It’s like Thanon Khao San with less people (this place has an off-season) and more sand (due to the adjacent beach). We checked into some guesthouse that Alex had stayed at before and we headed out to check out the main drag. I dined on gado-gado, which is basically boiled vegetables with peanut sauce. It was tasty, but I look forward to sampling other dishes. Stuff here is cheap, damn cheap and this should be even truer when we go further afield.

… Ok if these flights [to and from Sulawesi] are gonna be paid in cash, I will have to be pretty frugal with my money from here on out…

…I think any doubts that Alex is anything less than what he says he is has been put to rest…

27 February

Our first full day was not much different than the first evening. Wandering around Kuta, getting a feel for things. Indonesia is cheap, cheaper than either Thailand or Cambodia. Today we are still working out logistics, flights to Makassar, etc. Should buy some postcards today.

28 February

I’m on my own for most of today, which is fine as I can use the time to write postcards, write about the trip and handle some of the remaining logistical questions about Sulawesi at a much more efficient clip than I would have otherwise. On the main agenda are doxycycline [malaria prophylactics] and air tickets…

…tasks complete…

I truly find sitting on the beach to be boring. Unless I am with someone and wrapped up in books, it seems like some sort of time-warping activity, as in time just drags. Makes me look forward to getting the hell off Bali for some weeks. It’ll make a nice bookend for this trip, that’s all it really should be…

… I think Bali is like going to the Epcot Center version of Indonesia, controlled and fabricated…

…I feel that I haven’t written a profound thing for a long time in this diary. Gonna take a breather until I do.

29 February

Alex’s brother Daniel arrived this evening. We had just come from Ku De Ta, a really swank bar in Seminyak, which is the more upscale settlement north of Kuta. We had intended to get massages, but Alex went diving and got back later than anticipated and so we opted to grab a drink and some Indian before meeting Dan, who had been stranded in Singapore for 2 weeks. He apparently read a lot, and is now something of a SAS expert. Interesting guy…

…Happy Leap Year! Absolute madness. It’s the only phrase that can describe today. I’ve never been anywhere like this ever. Rampant problems yet the people are noble and kind. It’s like a totally screwed up version of America. But I’m drunk and tired, and rambling to boot so more tomorrow.

2 March

The madness continues. Last night we arrived in the Mamasa Valley after a 12 hour drive up-country into the interior of South Sulawesi. The night before we spent drinking on the only expat bar in town, recounting the day in Makassar. After accidently going for a beer in a brothel where we were accosted by some of the most vile whores ever, who even worse than being hags, had the gall to drink our beer, we escaped and proceeded down to the pier where we reunited with a couple that we had met before our iniquitous side trip at Fort Rotterdam. Our reunion was short-lived however because we were mobbed by street orphans and others who wanted to talk with us. A group of Muslim school girls interviewed us in English; one asked me my opinion on Islam and Christianity, which left a strong impression on me that they were so willing to speak with us. They seemed thrilled to have had the chance to speak with us. We continued for over an hour, conversing with dozens of random people who approached us on the pier, before heading to dinner where we again ran into the head madam of the brothel, whose cackle was either sinister or deranged if not both.

The next day we left early and took a pete-pete or bemo, the ubiquitous blue van that serves as an Indonesia tuk-tuk, to the bus station to arrange our transport to Mamasa. We jammed ourselves along with 8 other people into a mini-van, 3-5-3, 6 hours to Polemass, where we switched to an all terrain vehicle, 3 in the front and 4 in the back. which we took through a series of switchbacks on a dirt/mud road that wound through the valleys below. It took well over 5 hours to go 100km – probably less – to Mamasa, a rather large settlement considering its location. The windshield wipers on the SUV died a few hours in and so we were effectively driving blind the last hours which was slightly disconcerting considering the road condition and the long way down to the bottom of the ravines that the roads tortuously wound through.

We finally made it to this town after dusk and were anxious to explore - as we were to leave on a 3 day hike the next morn - and hopefully drink some beers after the long, sore ride. We wandered around the city center, and upon approaching a building on a hill that looked promising, but what turned out to be city hall, we met two men, one of whom introduced himself as the chief of police. Smoking a (quite potent) Indonesian cigarette, he recommended a place down the road just outside of town for drinking. He also mentioned that it was a good place to buy the company of women, and before we could graciously thank him and find a non-brothel for once, he offered to give us a lift there. Trapped. And so one by one we got on his motorcycle and he drove us down out of town, dropping us off at this ramshackle building that looked like a small barn, with another building (for the more iniquitous side of the business) behind it. We walked in the barn, which was replete with disco ball and a bunch of karaoke machines - we offered to sing a song, but the English songs were few and unheard of by all. We sat down with a few girls and got our long-coveted Bintangs. The only other thing that really stood out about the place was that it was dark. Very very dark. After taking a few pictures, I realized why. All the girls had - in Cockney rhyming slang - very moody boats. In normal English - they were quite hideous. Not the Pretty Woman type. And so we drank. About 10 minutes later, a guy got up, had some sort of paroxysm, picked up a plastic chair and brought it slamming down on a table, shattering the chair and making a huge commotion. The guy was dragged out of the place by his friends, and normalcy - by rural Indonesian standards - resumed. This was once again interrupted (which may actually be normal in these parts), by the arrival of a few new patrons, whom the women around us said were police. A few minutes pass and then the more noticeable police show up - the kind that wears military-type uniforms and carries assault rifles. They start yelling, stomping on the ground and haranguing some of the people there, for what, I have not the slightest idea. The guys at the place all lift up their shirts, as to show that they are not packing heat. A bunch are rounded up and taken outside and away. The police with the big guns don't even look in our direction. One of the non-uniformed officers assuaged our concerns, telling us that all is fine. They all leave. Queue up the Saturday Night Fever, the place turns into a disco. We do the logical, get another beer. Turn down some drunken bike rides back to our guesthouse and walk back instead, under the moonlight, recounting the bizarre experience to each other.

It was a bit strange, looking back. A guy acts up and the SWAT team gets called in – or at least that was what it appeared to be – it seemed a bit like overkill to me. Still an interesting night. Looking forward to what’s coming next.

5 March

It’s been a few days since I’ve been able to write down what’s transpired. We left Mamasa a little after midday on 2 March. We stocked up food and water, got pointed in the right direction, and headed off towards the east and Rantepao, our final destination. About 3 km in, we stopped at one of the traditional Tana Torajan houses, wooden with an ornate elongated roof, for tea and coffee. While the people were sincere and friendly, we signed their guest book and gave them some money; in the end this had the feeling of a financial transaction. Fortunately for us, it began to rain as we entered their house and as we finished the rain had ebbed, and we continued on through village after village. Around 4 the rain resumed and we made the final push toward the peak of Tadokalua where we hoped there would be a place to rest our heads. The clouds came and the sky darkened and the sky opened up in a maelstrom, so we didn’t exactly pause to take it all in. I finally arrived at the top where shelter did indeed exist, and was long into my coffee when the Jenners arrived 20 minutes later. We met a very nice family, who gave us both dinner and beds. We spent the evening trading Indonesian and English phrases and laughing, happy to be in from the storm. Most of gear was wet and we were not too successful in drying it off by the time we left the next morning just after dawn.

We planned to get an early start and boy did we. The rooster began to crow before 5 am, and I did not go back to sleep. Since we had only done 15km the day before, we had some distance to make up, and so we trekked 27 km to make it to where we needed to go. Alex and Dan destroyed their feet, covering them in blisters. We finally made it to Paku, broken men, drenched from yet another downpour in which the entire trail was completely deluged with water. After a brief respite at a family’s house shield us from the rain, we forded a river on foot and had to avoid some rowdy water buffalos. After eating some less-than-mediocre food that tasted like the Chez Panisse, and cleaning our wounds, we slept like the dead.

The next day, we decided to forgo trekking the final 16 km to Bittuang and so I arranged transport, a Toyota land cruiser that slowly ground itself up and down the boulder-strewn path, bouncing me around in the back bench as I held on for dear life. After 90 minutes, we arrived in Bittuang, where we negotiated transport to Rantepao. We were royally ripped off, paying far more than we should have for both rides. Finally we arrived in Rantepao, ate lunch, were shown a few places to stay by Sri, a 50-ish woman who was quite awkward. In the end, we found nice lodgings; a nice German girl named Anya, and are now awaiting the arrival of Dries, who hopefully will be able to find us despite the utter lack of internet in this place.

The food in Indonesia has been quite good, albeit not as good as Thailand or Cambodia. I’ve eaten a lot of gado-gado and tempeh, both of which have been quite tasty. The food in Bali was fantastic, with some excellent Italian and Indian food. So far the food in Sulawesi has been serviceable, but not always great. On our hike it was good enough but then again it could have been anything and we would have enjoyed it fully. We had an excellent lunch today at our hotel with the owner and Anya.

A bunch of high school students have followed us around, one told me that America was his favorite country, much to the chagrin of my companions from across the pond. We are treated like full celebrities in this town, everyone knows us, I’ve not experienced anything quite like it, even when I was on JET in Kochi. Rantepao is nice except for the crazy amount of tour guides who are a constant source of harassment, even when we eat out. Luckily, our hotel is not too friendly to them and they stay away.

Enter the 合コン(Goukon)

2008-01-21T23:48:00.000+09:00

This Saturday, I had the pleasure of attending a Goukon, an arranged gathering of male and female intended to precipitate some sort of courtship scenario. My friend coordinated the entire event, whereby myself and four Japanese friends of mine went out to dinner with a like-numbered group of Japanese girls. Needless to say, it was a very Japanese experience.

I met my friends and we proceeded to the rendezvous with the ladies, and my companions exuded confidence that this was going to be a successful night, perhaps even culminating in a full evening's companionship. I was unconvinced, not of my own skills are parley with the fairer sex, but with the whole charade. When we met our four counterparts, my first impression was that they were all quite attractive, that their sense of fashion was purely Japanese (read: bewildering) and that this was going to end with everyone going home alone. How right I was.

We walked to the nearby restaurant where we were the sole patrons. We sat comfortably at a corner table and were arranged in a, in retrospect, completely unremarkable boy-girl seating arrangement. I was sitting in the middle and could easily converse to all four of the ladies. We had an endless supply of drinks - perhaps Japan's greatest contribution to its foreign guests, and a full course of food which was about as vegetarian friendly as Hannibal Lecter's House of Ribs. Our discourse was equally quotidian and I knew my friends and I were in dire straits when the girls started to saunter over to the bar to refill their drinks and then sat down to banter with the bar staff for extended periods of time. Still, the drinks flowed freely and at the end of our evening, I considered the experience as a whole, a positive one.

And so we returned to the station where we had greeted our female companions, bowed respectfully and went on our way. No one seemed to be disappointed by the result, and I was in no way mystified by the outcome. The night was still young, however, and so I left my compatriots and headed downtown and the night truly began with a night out with the usual suspects...

End of the Year, but the Blog lives on... sort of

2007-12-22T17:55:00.000+09:00

Friends and Fellow Travelers,

I must admit that the end of this year has crept up on me. Leaves are still clinging to the trees and the only a few people seem to have caught on to the great American tradition of desecrating their houses with gaudy Christmas lights. The indigenous Japanese Christmas traditions seem to revolve around fried chicken and the ever-ubiquitous Christmas cake. On the other hand, Japanese fashion definitely outdoes America in the “gay apparel” department, so perhaps I should not ring the “War on Christmas” alarm quite yet. In the meantime, I will be thinking about how to top 2007 without breaking the law. Sinatra has never been more prescient, it was a very good year.

I was fortunate enough to be reunited with both Ashley and my parents in February when I was back in the U.S. for a month. Spanning both coasts and Ohio, I packed a whole lot into 28 days and had a total blast. I am still in Kyoto and will be for another year as I finish up my research and live out the rest of my sinecure courtesy of the Japanese government. It has been a great year for travel: from hiking in forest with trees thousands of years old in Southern Japan, and exploring the ruins of Angkor, to wandering the streets of Phnom Penh and getting burnt to a crisp on a beach in Thailand, I have had the pleasure of seeing some prodigious sights in the company of unforgettable people. This coming year, the plan is to get my scuba diving license before heading to the wilds of West Papua in Indonesia for some serious (mis)adventure.

Ashley is in the midst of her second year at Harvard Dental School and she is enjoying herself when she is not knee deep in neuro-physio-anatomy. She was able to make it out to Kyoto for a visit in July so she could experience what it was like to actually live in a sauna. We endured the heat, ate a ton of sushi and walked more of Tokyo than any mere mortal has dared. Over the summer, she moved out of Fenway to Jamaica Plains and now commutes to school by bike. As always, her teeth look fabulous, which contrasts nicely with the Japanese dentists, who look like rejects from a 50 cent music video.

My mother has now been at her new job as Assistant Superintendent and Curriculum Director at Ottawa Hills in Toledo. She still comes home every few weeks to work on our house which we are slowly preparing to unload. The pool fence has been painted, and the kitchen has been transformed with painted cupboards and a new floor. My father has been guarding the homestead along with our loyal feline occupants who unfortunately have a harder time finding the litter box than Iraqi WMD inspectors. They are looking forward to coming out to Kyoto in early spring to see the cherry trees in bloom, and witness the depravity that ensues when the cacophonous crowds descend in droves on Kyoto to get a piece of the action.

And so I will spend the second year in a row half a world away from the hearth and home as we bring 2007 to a close, but as this letter transcends both space and time (sometimes more time than we intend when put things off), so do the sentiments and gratitude that it conveys: may our indelible memories of 2007 help guide us in our task to make 2008 all the better.

Cheers and Warm Wishes,

KLM

The “Pearl of Asia” recovers some of its lost glory

2007-09-11T01:02:00.001+09:00

When you cross the streets in Phnom Penh, the capital of Cambodia, you do so with equal amounts of trepidation and urgency. Stop signs and traffic signals are routinely ignored by the myriad assortment of cars, tuk-tuks, motor cycles and bicycles that drive up and down the tree lined boulevards. The French influence still dominates the city with its street-side cafes, and large villas with balconies open to the street. Milo and I stayed at the Lyon D’or, across the street from the Tonle Sap River. Phnom Penh is were the Tonle Sap and Mekong River meet and then diverge again, giving it a strategic location that has been used for centuries by the Cambodians, the French, the Vietnamese and now the Cambodians once again.

Our first stop in the city was the Royal Palace, home of King Norodom Sihamoni, and location of the Silver Pagoda, known for its delicate floor of silver tiles. The king actually made an appearance while we were touring the grounds and came within about 100 meters of us, admittedly not handshaking distance. From there we took a quick tour of the National Museum, housing the largest collection of Angkorian art anywhere in the world.

In the north of the city is the French Embassy, where in April 1975, hundreds of Cambodians and foreigners were sought refuge when the Khmer Rouge, Cambodian Maoists on steroids, took the city. Although the foreigners in the embassy were in the end expelled from the country, the fate of the Cambodians was much more insidious. Stripped of there possessions and forced out into the countryside, as many as 3 million people, over a quarter of the population, died over a 4 year period from starvation, disease, and at the hands of their fellow Cambodians.

One of the major centers where men, women and children were taken to confess their - in almost all cases, imaginary – crimes and to be disposed of – was Tuol Sleng, also known as S-21, located in the heart of the city. Once the Vietnamese invaded their neighbor and drove Pol Pot and his men into the areas by the Thai border, they opened up the prison as a museum to both reveal the atrocities of the Khmer Rouge, as well as to justify their invasion and occupation. The prison no longer caters to Vietnam’s patrons from the Eastern Bloc, but from tourists from all over world. Inside are cells where the Vietnamese found corpses still shackled to box spring mattresses, thousands of mug shots and files documenting the various prisoners who were interrogated, forced into falsely confessing and incriminating others in an endless lethal spiral and then sent to the killing fields. From the photos, one can see that neither children nor the elderly were spared this tragic fate. The head of Tuol Sleng, a man know as Duch, is still under house arrest on the docket of a painstakingly slow legal process which hopefully will bring him to justice before he dies, and like Pol Pot is left to the ashes of history.

From the museum, we visited the killing fields, where in 1981, mass graves were discovered and exhumed by the Vietnamese military. Now, there stands a white pagoda, a huge edifice filled with human skulls organized by age. Surrounding it are pits that were formerly filled with the remains of hundreds of victims of the one of the worst crimes of the twentieth century (although I feel that it would be inaccurate to label what happened in Cambodia Genocide, I do feel that the absence of this label should not diminish from the ghastliness of the crime itself).

We finished our trip in Cambodia on a high note, shopping in what is quaintly referred to as the Russian Market, due to the large amounts of Eastern Bloc nations that shopped there during the 1980s, watching the sun set over the heliotrope sky from along the river front, and indulging in a final meal of Khmer specialties. Our time in this fascinating country with a history of both grandiose empires and unimaginable human suffering, had reached its apex, and it was time to continue our wanderings. Still it was all but assured to both Milo and myself that this was not the last we had seen of Cambodia and I for one was already looking ahead to the next time I walk the streets of the “Pearl of Asia.”

The Road to Siem Reap

2007-09-07T00:22:00.000+09:00

It was around 6 pm when we touched down at the Bangkok International Airport under overcast skies; our plan was not to stick around very long, simply to find somewhere to hang our heads for the night and head out as soon as possible to Siem Reap, Cambodia, the closest towns to the glories of Angkor. We dropped off out bags in a rundown guest house on the notorious Thanon Khao San, grabbed some street food, and arranged for our transport. The following day, the bus was an hour late, and we arrived at the border in the afternoon, and did not board the bus on the Cambodian side of the border until 4 pm, which was when things started to get interesting.

Our Cambodian bus did not have the amenities such as air conditioning, nor did the road have any modern trappings such as pavement. Our bus ambled along the road, torn up due to the eventual construction of a paved road. Being one of the larger vehicles on the road (fortunately) the bus was playing a constant game of chicken with the oncoming traffic and was passing every vehicle in our lane with abandon. We finally arrived at a guesthouse on the outskirts of Siem Reap around 10 pm, 150 kilometers in 6 hours! After some negotiations, we were driven closer to the city center where we found a place to stay.

The following day, the 11th and our first full day in Siem Reap, we hired a tuk tuk – a motor bike with a two wheeled trailer capable of fitting up to 6 people – and made our way out to the further afield ruins of Angkor. Our first stop was Kbal Spean, River of a Thousand Lingas”, a carved river bed deep in the jungle to the Northeast of the main sites. After a 50km ride on red clay roads, we arrived at the site, hiked into the forest and up to the part of the river where you can see the carvings, intricate symmetrical pillars that have been worn down over the ages as well as carvings of the Hindu gods such as Shiva and Vishnu.

After climbing down we headed to our next destination, Banteay Srei – “Citadel of the Women” - known for its treasure trove of Angkorian art. Dedicated to Shiva, the sandstone here has a reddish tint and the carvings are some of the best preserved of all the temples. Although not as majestic as Angkor Wat, or as eerie as the Bayon, the carvings in the red rock were a site unto themselves.

Having wrapped up our sightseeing for the day, we made our way back into town to sample the local cuisine. Amoc is the local dish, steamed freshwater fish from the Tonle Sap in coconut cream served in a banana leaf. While lacking the fiery taste of the Thai curries, the Amoc was delectable in its own right. The beer of choice was Angkor, which was your standard lager, but at the price, no complaints seem appropriate.

The following day we woke up an hour early due to a watch error on my part and so spent our time wandering the local market and sampling the local food, coconut rice and banana, and various fruits. Once our driver arrived, we made our way to the mother of all temples, Angkor Wat. Over 5 kilometers in circumference, with moats almost 200 meter's wide, Angkor Wat is the largest religious complex in the world and the slow approach to the temple, watching it unfold before your eyes, is simply breathtaking. Comprising both Hindu and Buddhist sculpture, it would take days to take it all in. While there were throngs of people in the central areas of the complex (particularly on the upper levels where you almost need a running start to get up the steep, eroded stair case and death grip an iron railing when coming down), it was still not too hard to make your way to the back part of the temple where you could find some more serene environs. Neither words nor pictures truly do it justice. Please see it for yourself!

We next went to Angkor Thom, which was the main palace of the Angkorian empire. We focused most of our attention on the Bayon where every pillar is dominated on four sides by these giant faces of the king, Jayavarman VII. Whether it was just the result of one man’s ego trip is beside the point, it lends the temple a mystifying appeal.

We finished our trip with two more lesser know temples, including one that was overrun with massive trees that have done more damage than any person could. The temple was in this case literally swallowed whole by the jungle. It was an appropriate end to the glories of Angkor and there is no doubt in both our minds that some day will return.

Rest of the photos from Milo and I can be seen here.

Final Days on Yakushima, Kagoshima, Kumamoto and Back

2007-05-21T18:40:00.000+09:00

I was awoken by the wrist watch alarms around 4, and by 5 half the shelter had been deserted by people obviously more concerned than we about reaching their destination by sundown. I checked in with Milo before heading out, around 5:30 to check in with Joe and Haunani. They were already awake having slept in a tent on what proved to be a rather frigid night under the thick cover of fog that clung to the ground in such high elevations. We gathered all our belongings and set off for Miynoura-dake, the tallest peak on the island and the whole of southern Japan.

It took us a few minutes to realize it was not raining. Instead the severe winds were blasting the dew off of the trees and onto us below. A few instances I thought I was going to be knocked over and standing still for too long without cover was no fun at all. We slowly ascended above the tree line and were now climbing on and around massive boulders, seemingly placed haphazardly around us by giants long ago. At last we reached the juncture where the road split in two: one toward the summit and then south toward the coast and one west where we would later have another set of options. We chose to head west and so we dropped off our bags and summit the peak. I ran for about 40 meters before almost falling on my face, and then resigned myself to walking the rest of the way, a prescient move in the end.

As we approached the summit, the sky started to clear, and we were finally treated to a majestic view of our surroundings, up until then obscured by the dense cloud cover. It was a 360 degree view of rolling hills and peaks, green terrain interspersed with massive boulders. We stayed up there until the wind became too much and we headed back to collect our things. On our way toward our next junction, we climbed another peak, which had similarly majestic vantage points. We could not see the ocean, it being obscured by the distant cloud cover.

We then started our descent and the terrain made a abrupt change once again. The trail seemed to lead down into a small ditch underneath a tree branch and at once, the arid alpine terrain gave way to dense humid forrest. I felt like I had fallen down a rabbit hole. All of us were astounded by the speed at which the terrain changed. We were once again jumping from rock to rock and over puddles in effort to not get wet. We finally arrived at another campsite, where we made lunch and prepared for a final 16 kilometer push to the shore.

The hike was long and tiring. All of us were feeling the weight of our packs as we made the final push anyone. The west side of the island was completely empty, or perhaps people had chosen to hike earlier in the day so they could make it back before nightfall. We were not so lucky. At 7 pm we had made it to a service road that lead down to the main ring road that circumnavigates the island, but there were no people or cars to be found. And so we hiked down the final 7 kilometers underneath the stars. Weary and forlorn, we arrived at the main road and made our dinner in a parking. Fifteen minutes had gone by and a car passed us. We flagged it down and inquired about lodging for the night. They told us that there was a beach side campsite only a 15 minute walk down the road. Nice. A van, going the direction we needed to go, passed not soon off the mountain side. While mostly downhill (we had been coming form the highest point of the island no less) there were plenty of uphill still - which we of course noticed quite quickly. We stopped a few times, to drink water, to take in the beauty of this beautiful island a final time. We were most definitely not bothered by after. Milo ran out and flagged it down, jumping up and down with far more energy and enthusiasm than I had guessed we had in all of us combined. The driver got out, and we explained our situation - while a Japanese couple sat frightened in the passenger seats as if we were a group of North Koreans. The driver, on the other hand, was more sympathetic to our predicament and our state of utter exhaustion, having hiked 22 km since 6 am that morning, helped us load our gear into her van and drove us to the campsite where we set up camp and I collapsed inside my tent, physically spent.

Joe came to our tent right after this to inform us that a sea turtle was laying eggs on the beach and that a group of Japanese were heading out to see it. Milo had hoped to catch a glimpse of these amazing creatures and she got out of her bag and headed down to the beach to check it out. I do not regret my decision to stay, although I do know that I missed an amazing site. Sea turtles come ashore on Yakushima during May and June and lay there eggs in the sand before heading back out to sea. Although most turtles come to the northern beaches, this one turtle came to the beach we were staying on the south-west section of the island.

We woke up at 8 the next morning, Milo and I took a stroll down to the beach after breakfast and before packing up and moving out. We had to make it back to the port at Miyanoura on the Northeast side of the island by noon to catch our ferry back to the mainland. A bus left a little after 10 down the road from the camp ground but we were going to try to hitch our way back. Joe flagged down a small car with two older women and they said they were going to check out the waterfall and that they would stop and pick up Milo and I on the way back, while Joe and Haunani tried to find another road. Sure enough, 10 minutes later they came and Milo and I got in. The sky was clear and the inland mountains were clearly visible as we drove along the coast. The women said that there was still plenty of time and so we stopped at a hotel for some coffee and juice. Milo had fresh passion fruit juice and I drank a coffee. When I attempted to buy some gifts for people in the store, they insisted on paying for that as well. I cease to be amazed at the hospitality and generosity of the Japanese, particularly those in the countryside.

The kind ladies dropped us off at the pier with time to spare and we waited for the other half of our crew. I finally got a message from Joe, he was not sure if they were going to make it, the bus was running late. Milo and I decided that it would be better to wait for them on the island and not in Kagoshima and so we asked the ticketing agent to change our tickets. At 11:55 the last call for boarding came and went, but at 11:58 the bus arrived with our companions and we raced to the dock where we were ushered on board and into first class (they let us sit wherever we wanted, and we gladly complied). Two hours later we were back on the mainland and our adventure on Yakushima had ended.

The final days of our trip were nice and relaxing. Joe and Haunani went back up to Kumamoto the night we got back and Milo and I spent a nice relaxing , albeit rainy, day wandering around Kagoshima and then taking the shinkansen back up to Kumamoto, where we dined on Sri Lankan and bought some final omiyage for our friends in Kyoto. It was a perfect trip, from the companions to the weather to the sites, it was quite simply a golden week.

Golden Week in Kyushu

2007-05-14T20:00:00.000+09:00

We set out from camp a little after 8 am, by far the tardiest, most ill prepared hikers there, replete with bags between our socks and our shoes - the poor man's waterproof boots. We hiked down along the waterlogged trail before our descent ended at a set of railroad tracks, and quickly deduced that it would not be prudent to wait for the next train (the tracks are remnants from when the island was used by loggers). We hiked inland further, reaching a rest area with toilets and electricity (to her relief, Milo found a plug for her digital camera charger inside).

We took a short respite before resuming our hike, now an ascent into the thick interior of the island where most of the old growth forest was. After passing throngs of people, all of whom were on their way down and out, we made it to Wilson’s Stump, a hollowed-out shell of a magnificent cedar that was felled many years ago and then named for the American botanist who discovered the glen where the stump remained. A small Shinto Shrine was erected inside and the walls inside framed the massive trees towering above us perfectly.

A kilometer or so from there – and a grueling 45 minute hike – we finally arrived at the largest cedar on the island and in Japan, and perhaps the oldest tree on the planet. Jomon-sugi is an estimated 7200 years old, and is 28 meters in girth. This tree has existed since the time Japan (pottery has been unearthed from this period), and most of the planet, were mere hunter-gatherers. Although there are plenty of trees that are larger and taller, the sheer age of the tree has given it a distinct charisma (which, let’s face, most trees lack) that make it such a site to behold.

A scant few kilometers from the tree, we arrived at another encampment and decided to stop for the evening. We ate a hearty meal of pasta and brown and black rice with miso. We concluded the evening with a game of cribbage before heading off to bed. Milo and I had found space in the cabin, but Joe and Haunani chose to camp outside this time due to cramped quarters inside. The wind began to whip through the trees as the sun set, being at altitude brought a heavy fog and colder temperatures than elsewhere on the island. We slept well that night and we needed it. Being in the very center of the island meant that we would have our hands full the following day, which proved to be the hardest day of the hike…

A Golden Week Indeed

2007-05-09T17:29:00.000+09:00

The final days of April and first week of May is one of the the craziest times to be in Japan. Like Voltron or Captain Planet, four somewhat mundane Japanese holidays join forces to make one super holiday affectionately referred to as Golden Week (ask any Japanese the significance of any single holiday and you will likely be met with blank stares). Of course, most Japanese end up doing the same thing during this week: travel. Buses are packed to the gills, airlines gouge their customers and seats on the shinkansen are hot commodities.

Instead of staying in Kyoto as I had last Golden Week, my lovely girlfriend, Milo, and I decided to head to Kyushu to visit my buddy Joe from Vassar who is teaching English in Kumamoto City. A few weeks prior, we booked tickets on a 12 hour night bus while letting Joe sort out our week long adventure once we got there. We were not disappointed.

Our ride was more pleasant than expected and we arrived in Kumamoto around 9 am on Saturday the 28th of April. Joe met us at the bus stop and walked us back to his apartment where we unloaded our packs and ate a breakfast of coffee with honey, fresh fruit and soba noodles in miso. Being sufficiently stuffed, the three of us along with Haunani, Joe's Hawaiin friend who had just flown in from Istanbul the day before, we took a leisurely stroll down to Kumamoto Castle, one of Japan's grandest, known for its expansive walls that repelled the onslaught of rebels opposing the Meiji Restoration. That day, the castle and the adjacent park was hosting a myriad assortment of activities, including an air show featuring the Japanese version of the Blue Angels (The were of course tons of photos taken on this trip, and four is not even close to doing this justice so please check out my photo website if my words are no sufficient). The planes streaked across the heavens; they passed the castle and the crowds below in various formations, their exhaust creating Olympic rings and hearts in the strikingly stark blue sky, nary a cloud was in sight.

After the show, a small group of Joe's friends converged on Joe's house for dinner and drink. We feasted on Milo's famous guacamole, a massive salad and copious amounts of wine. We then headed to a German beer hall and to a salsa club. By the end of the night, exhaustion had set in and I slept deeply on the tatami mats in the apartment.

We awoke the following day and had another hearty breakfast before heading down to Kagoshima city, the southernmost prefecture in Kyushu. Milo and I snagged a ride with Joe's Canadian friend Amy while Joe and Haunani hitched hiked down from outside Kumamoto city. We arrived before dusk and checked into our ryokan across from the city hall and were joied with our two companions shortly thereafter. We hit the town, eating and drinking and playing cribbige until late into the night. The futons in the ryokan were quite comfortable, and they were the last beds we were to have until the end of the week.

Morning came early, and after showers and packing, we headed down to the ferry terminal were we boarded a hydro-foil bound for Yakushima, approximately 60 km south of Cape Sata and mainland Kyushu. Yakushima is one of the most treasured natural sites in all of Japan, its topography and climate (very wet!) have made it the home to the tallest mountain in Southern Japan, Miyanoura-dake, as well as some of the oldest trees on the planet, including Jomon-sugi, which is estimated to be around 7200 years old.

We disembarked around noon, gathered our supplies for the next few days as we cut a path across this 25km-in-diameter island. By 2 pm, we had arrived at the trailhead and descended into the dense damp forrest. The first trees we encountered were mainly second growth trees that had sprung up from the remnants of the older trees; it was symbiotic or even parasitic in nature, the way the trees wrapped themselves around each other. The vernal greenness of the place is hard to describe, even in photos. Around 5 we made it to the first camping area (camping on the island outside designated areas is forbidden). Unable to push any further today, we entered the (cement) hut and made camp on the wooden platforms. The place stuck of urine - the bathroom was foolishly built inside.

We dropped off our stuff and then hiked out to a magnificent outlook were we drunk up a majestic vista of the valley below us. In the distance was Miyanoura-dake, the tallest peak. We would be standing there in two days time. Ominous clouds barrelled over the peaks in the distance as a river cut through the valley floor below. Eventually the wind had taken its toll on us and we descened back to camp. We made food under cover as the rain started to fall and we all began to dread what we expected was going to be a wet second day.

The others at the campsite started stirring before first light. All I could hear was the sound of water and was unsuprisingly reluctant to make a move. Joe on the other hand was up and discovered that the sound of water was coming not from the heavens, but from an adjacent stream. Although there still was a light mist and trickle, this brought great relief to us and we set out the second day around 8 am.

Pretty in Pink

2007-04-09T16:49:00.000+09:00

Strolling down the Philosphers Path, a quaint single lane street along a small stream flanked by the mountains that comprise Kyoto's eastern border, one can imgine contemplating the myriad existential questions that confound mankind. I say imagine because there would hardly be a worse spot to contemplate these things than when standing in line at an amusent park ride, which is what the Philopshper's Path devolves into every spring when the cherry blossoms bloom and the frenzied crowds dash to celebrate the fleeting beauty of these delicate white pink flowers.

It is the fourth time that I have witnessed this spectacle and every year I hear the same superlative commentary, while drinking the same type of beer while sitting on the same blue plastic tarp. Whether it is on the banks of the Kamo River, in Maruyama Park or on the Path of Philosophy, you'll get the picture. And still, people keep coming back for more year in and year out. I asked some of my friends what they thought about the whole affair. My one friend lamented that the true meaning of sakura has been obscured and is little more than a pretext to drink outdoors - not that an sort of excuse should be a pre-requisite. Another friend disagreed, she thought the trees in bloom was a sight worth celebrating.

I started this inquiry when I was comissioned to write about Sakura-themed tunes for the Japan Times. Of course such sentiments are nothing to Japan, only the mediums have changed. Junichiro Tanizaki’s most famous work, "The Makioka Sisters", has the Japanese title of Sasame Yuki, which refers to lightly falling snow. Most astute Japanese, however, will tell you that it really refers to the falling cherry blossoms, which in turn symbolizes the fragility of youth -and perhaps more ironically now, Japan’s fading traditional culture. These current pop songs are in some ways the descendants of the haiku, wood block prints and of the works of writers such as Tanizaki, all of which used sakura and hanami as an inspiration. One wonders how Tanizaki would feel about Hanami today, along with its cooption and commercialization. The thing is that while the blossoms appear only briefly, they always return the following spring. And thus the tradition of celebrating continues apace as well, only the means by with it is celebrated changes. When Mario and Zelda start having annual hanami outings, then we will know that the symbolic torch, and the more literal buck, has been passed on.

The Return...

2007-04-04T17:56:00.000+09:00

I am going to skip over the part where I bemoan the fact that I have not posted a single word on this feeble little website for six months and jump right into an update on what exactly has been going on in my world since I last took the time to sit down and write something significant.

In the scant past six months, an entrance exam was passed, a romance was forged, a move to the big city was completed, a prodigal son returned home, a rival was bested in a thrilling four-lapper, and now a new school year awaits.

Cryptic enough for ya?

I stand now at the brink of a new term, my first as an "Emu-ichi" which is to say a first year masters student. It is my second time in graduate school, my first in a foreign language and likely my last on both counts. I came here as a research student and I am now going for a degree I already have. Still, this is Japan and as the saying goes "出る釘は打たれる" (deru kui ha utareru" or the "nail that sticks up gets hammered down" so I am just going with the flow.

The blustery northern winds blowing off Mt. Hie have finally subsided and the winter has officially come to a close. The evenings are still brisk, but it has not deterred people from heading down the Kamo River to fraternize and imbibe various fermented beverages. The sakura, or cherry blossoms, are now out in force, and the cacophonous crowds have started to descend in droves on the glens of Yoshino, and parks such as Maruyama in Kyoto and Ueno in Tokyo.

The season's sentiments have even been expressed in song, a tradition that is as annual as the festivities that they celebrate. Check out the article I wrote for the Japan Times detailing this year's hits...

In other news, my friend the Dries, aka Drizzle, has begun is own blog as well. He has been a bit more diligent than I as of late, and it may be worth a peak as our sagas tend to overlap quite a lot...

My friend Yang yang has also some web-related news, launching the beta version of his website Lang-8, which aims to bring people together through language exchange. Using his site, which uses a similar template as the hit Japanese site Mixi, friends can write diaries in the language they are studying and then see comments and edits that have been made by native speakers. A perfect site for those wishing to improve their language writing skills.

I don't have enough time for a sly sign off note at the moment, perhaps next post...

similar argument, better writing

2006-10-30T22:53:00.000+09:00

Well put by the New Yorker as usual...

6 days... The Final Countdown

2006-10-29T21:43:00.002+09:00

Well, the time is upon us - the dreaded entrance exam date is now less than a week away. I am not one to get all bent out of shape over such a thing, but to say I am not fretting would be just as much of a canard. Still, I spent today doing basically nothing of value, so the blame will fall on me if I do not perform adequately.

I was going to take a break from Japanese politics for a second to talk about some things going on in the US. November 7th is the mid term elections where the entire House of Representatives is running and a third of the Senate will be up for grabs, and by that I mean the handful of house seats that have not been gerrymandered out of contention will decide who controls the lower house, while control of the senate will likely fall on the outcome of three or four races that are too close to call right now. Of course, the issues that will determine these are the same that have been in the news: Iraq, the economy, etc. Of course racism, homophobia will likely sneak their way into the debate as "moral" issues as they always do, but hopefully this time real issues and dissatisfaction with the status quo will trump these distractions.

I try not be really partisan when I talk about politics because it seems that there is a lot of people who don't see the big picture because they are too busy cheering on their own team and neglect to evaluate their own side while they tear their opponents apart through distortion and the manipulation of facts and media. That being said, after six years under President Bush and four years of having a Republican majority in both houses of Congress, the fiasco that is Iraq, the fiasco-to-be in Afghanistan, a nuclear North Korea, nuclearizing Iran, Hurricane Katrina, massive deficit spending, erosion of civil liberties, widespread graft, and countless other things that either represent negligence, malevolence, incompetence or mixtures of all three, it is obvious that a change in congress is compulsory to turning the tide.

I was watching this video (on youtube of course) of U2 and Green Day performing "The Saints Are Coming", which was dedicated to Katrina victims. In the video, footage of Katrina was overlapped with CGI of fighter jets, helicopters flying through the overcast skies of the deluged Superdome with faux news headlines along the bottom stating the troops had been redeployed from Iraq to help people in New Orleans. While it is somewhat specious and self-serving to assert that a massive redeployment would have made an overall new positive effect on both New Orleans and Iraq. The US military has been shown to be good at blowing stuff up (ask the Hussein bros.), but not with the reconstruction/hearts and minds type work that is currently needed in Iraq. On the other hand, the video did make my blood boil to think of the squandered resources, the thousands of dead US service men and women - not to mention Iraqi civilians - and the potentially mortal blow American credibility has taken as a result of bad planning, obfuscation of facts and the sheer inability to both acknowledge mistakes, and to correct them. I would even forgive a lack of an apology if in its place was a capability to change.

One of the worst things I have seen is the wonderful use of what are called "straw man arguments". Instead of debating an issue with your opponent by criticizing his position, you spin it to the point that it is indefensible and then you tear it apart. Here are some greatest hits...

1. The anti-war, we-never-should-have-invaded position: These idiots love Saddam. They think everything was all nice and peaceful under Saddam and his rape rooms (this word almost always comes up).

2. Those against coercive interrogation techniques (torture-lite): These guys don't want to do anything to protect us; they will send terrorists to minimal security prisons if they don't outright set them free.

These B.S. arguments are all over the place and it is really sad how those who eschew nuance in favor of platitudes and catch phrases are given the power to deal with issues, which - if they are familiar with - they avoid the appearance of such familiarity. No wonder diplomacy was doomed from the get go!

In sum, I am way too much of a realist to think that November 7th will usher in sweeping change and signal a return to some grand debate, West Wing type era. On the other hand, I do hope that on November 8th, I will feel a bit better about the trajectory of American politics.

Uh oh....

2006-10-19T20:44:00.000+09:00

There has been a month lull between posts which was not my intention. In fact, the past month has passed without much fanfare and I as much as I would prefer to blame someone else (I am looking at you, You Tube) my conscience will not allow me to.

The Fall term is three weeks old and I am preparing for my entrance exam in fits and starts. In fact, I probably should be writing this in Japanese, but I don't want to alienate anyone who either doesn't know Japanese or annoy anyone who is better versed in Japanese than me.

Anyway, I don't want to post another post about my lack of posts. Still, I was wondering what the hell I should write about. A polemic? An educational post about Kyoto or Japan? How about both?

The new Prime Minister of Japan, Abe Shinzo, is a somewhat of a cypher at the moment. On one hand, he is more of a hard liner than Koizumi, the previous P.M, according to most analysts. On the other hand, he does have a chance to mend the currently deteriorating relations with Beijing and Seoul, which he did by paying visits to both nations before the usual trip to Washington. North Korea happened to be testing a nuclear bomb while he was in Seoul, although it is far too early to tell how this will affect relations between the East Asian nations.

Still, there is still reason to be pessimistic. First off, Abe is a staunch nationalist who wants to revive Japan's Constitution to allow it to have a fully operational military. This would not be a serious problem if it were not for the fact that he is also an annual visitor to the Yasukuni Shrine in Tokyo which houses - among the hundreds of thousands of fallen soldiers who have died since the Meiji Restoration - 15 Class A War Criminals. Abe's grandfather, Kishi Nobusuke, was also held as a war criminal for overseeing the forced labor (i.e. basically slave labor) camps during the war. Kishi was not sentenced and ended up becoming Prime Minsiter of Japan in the 1950s. It is doubtful that these things will not be an issue when it comes to Seoul or Beijng.

Japan's actions during World War II in Asia still resonate throughout Asia. On one hand Japan apologies have been undermined constantly by the actions of politicians that have been at best insensitve and at worst revisionist and outright distortionist. On the other hand, in doing so, Japan has allowed these issues to be co-opted and used a wedge and a rallying cry by nationalist and oppurtunist groups in both China and Korea. In order to move on from such issues, they need to be confronted, not ignored. It remains to be seen if Abe is the one to do so, but if I were a gambling man, I would not bet on it.

Next, I'll talk about how You Tube ruined my life...

Why the Great Wall Matters

2006-09-12T16:27:00.000+09:00

I have been prompted - some might say cajoled - into elaborating on why the Great Wall of China, one of the few man made objects visible from the moon, is so "great". As a form of defense it was surely lacking as both the Mongols and the Manchus breached its defenses, conquering the Middle Kingdom, establishing its own dynastic rule in the process. This was over a period of almost two thousand years so perhaps I am being a bit judgemental.

Further, undertaking such construction would have surely taken thousands upon thousands of workers, likely coerced by a king who flaunted his "mandate of heaven" like a cold blooded gangsta. Of course the same could be said about the Pyramids, Machu Pichu and Angkor Wat. That was then, this is now, and emancipating the slaves of today is more important than fretting over slaves of yesteryear.

On a purely aesthetic level, the "Long Wall of Ten Thousand Li", as it is known in Chinese, is stunning due to the rugged and bucolic terrain that it cuts across from east to west. The wall almost seems like an unnecessary defense considering the landscape. Undulating over the hills, our 8 km hike along the wall took us almost 5 hours to complete, stopping for the occasional snack and the frequent photo session.

I know that I risk trumping my own self importance too much by saying this (and so I hope that by acknowledging such self awareness I can mitigate it to some extent), but from Angkor Wat to Machu Pichu, the temples of Kyoto to the canals of Venice, the Great Wall of China is something that can compete of every level. As far as man-made structures go: this is the epitome of the Chinese civilization. I cannot recommend it highly enough.

I have said - for now - all that I need to say about China, from a tourist perspective at least...

Beijing and the like

2006-09-08T12:18:00.000+09:00

Well... that was a longer break than I had anticipated. I really don't have any excuses, or at least any that would hold up in front of a jury of my peers. I promise to be a better blogger. I really have no ideas what that means.

This Q&A by the ever popular Christopher Hitchens about the Korea situation touches on Sino-Japanese relations. Hitchens can be a very convincing polemicist when he is not trying in vain to defend his pro-Iraq war stance ad naseum, but his contempt for the Kissinger/Scowcroft school of real politik is undoubtedly sincere.

I do want to talk a bit more about my China trip, namely the second half that was spent in Beijing. The capital and soon to be Olympic city was quite different from financial hub Shanghai. As a result it had its pluses and minuses.

The biggest minus was the weather. Blanketed in a humid, part pollution, part dust, haze, we did not see the sun the entire time were there. The humid air was oppressive, and we had to barely set foot outside before the sweating began. Other than that though, it was mostly positive.

The Great Wall, was indeed great. The Forbidden City had a Starbucks, and Chairman Mao is still fawned over by the thousands who everyday line up to be shuffled by his body inTianneman Square. Beijing was suprising easy to navigate, especially by bike. We paid visits to the Temple of Heaven, the Summer Palace, the largest Lama Temple outside Tibet and and a charming little Daoist temple.

Foot massages, a torn up hutong and a charming youth hostel, and excellent food also added to the charm that is Beijing. Below are some photos which hopefully will give you some sense of what the city is like.

Quality must trumph quantity, and I fear I am watering down these posts lately in effort to please the masses (i.e. the five people who read this thing). Translation: so long for now!

More on China and Japan

2006-08-20T13:36:00.000+09:00

This op-ed piece in the Washington Post by George Will hits the nail on the head when it comes to Sino-Japanese relations and how Yasukuni affects them. I rarely agree with Will, but he is intellectually consistent and his points here are very insightful.

The Middle Kingdon: Part 2

2006-08-19T14:32:00.000+09:00

If one was to take a snapshot of a typical scene and China and typical scene in Japan and was to ask some unfamiliar with the area which society was democratic and which was authoritarian, it is likely that they would confused democratic Japan with authoritarian China. The sheer aggressiveness and boisterousness of Chinese culture seems more similar to the American way of life as opposed to the more sedate and mellow character of the Japanese. Even my friend Patrick, after spending two weeks in both countries, said that China seemed more familiar to him than Japan.

I definately did not have an overt sense that every aspect of the average Chinese was being curtailed by the Chinese Communist Party, or that anyone seemed upset that they were denied their political rights and civil liberties - although this is what happens when the government is highly skilled at suppressing dissent while ensuring stability and producing noticable results in the form of economic growth and development. Outside of major urban centers and tourist attractions, things are likely to be very different.

Unfortunately, I found out my potential blog audience was reduced by nearly a quarter by the CCP who has taken the liberty of blocking Blogger and its blogs. Wikipedia was also blocked and don't even bother with the three Ts: Tibet (part of China), Taiwan (part of China), or the Tiannamen Square Incident of 1989 (zilch).

One of the more interesting conversations I had was with a former roommate from London and her husband. Both of them work for the Chinese Ministry of Foreign Affairs, both have lived for years in the Middle East, the husband was actually a member of the delegation that helped set up the Chinese embassy in Bahgdad. The conversation inevitably turned toward Japan and - more precisely - Sino-Japanese relations. They had very critical things to say about Koizumi's insistence to visit Yasukuni, and expressed concern that while the Chinese government was handling things pragmatically, the Japanese were risking their own standing with these official visits. They said that every time they spoke about Japan to other Chinese, most Chinese would grow almost instantly hostile.

Of course a lot of this IS the government's doing. The CCP, under Mao Zedong, was the established as the party of the people, the workers and peasants that made up the vast majority of the Chinese population. In the 1970s, after the disasters that were the Great Leap Forward the Cultural Revolution, as well as with the death of Mao, the party opened its economy, repaired its relations with the west, and seemed to abandon its working class, anti-capitalist ideology. Today, this is even more apparent, and the CCP knows it. As a result, it has tried to maintain its legitimacy by identifying itself as the champions of the Chinese nation, the result of which has been a surge in nationalist and patriotic sentiment, and along with this identity has come an increase in anti-Japanese sentiment. Hostility toward Japan has grown so strong, the CCP may be unable to curtail it.

I will continue this tomorrow...

The Middle Kingdom: Part 1

2006-08-18T18:29:00.000+09:00

I have been back in Japan for over 72 hours and have had ample time to reflect upon my two week sojourn in China, the cradle of East Asian civilization. China is a massive nation that seems to relish in its contradictions. Many of my preconceptions of what I thought China would be like were grossly off the mark. Japan, this is not, that much is crystal clear. I must confess that I know even less than I thought I knew before I landed in Shanghai's Pudong Airport on August 2nd.

Actually Patrick and I got our first taste on China atKansai Airport while we were waiting in line to check in. Some guy was trying to cut in front of the entire line, and outright refused when a leader of a tour group told him to get in the back of the line. He was relentless, although he did not attempt to cut in front of us, instead he got in right behind us, as the Japanese behind us were not willing to put up much resistance. That was my first taste of being in a country with no queue culture.

Upon arriving in Shanghai, we were greeted by my friend Sally and her niece Leilei. Sally, who lives in San Francisco, was visiting friends in Shanghai while her husband Peter was on business and was kind enough to take care of Patrick and I for the first week of our trip. We took the maglev train, hurtling at over 400 km an hour into downtown Shanghai and really did not have a dull moment for the next two weeks...

A few highlights from Shanghai would have to include the following:
1. North Korean food, complete with waitresses in traditional garb, sporting DPRK insignias, performing numbers straight from Pyonyang's top 40, as well as some Celine Dion thrown in for good measure.

2. Drinking along the Bund, the colonial waterfront of Shanghai, replete with some of finest examples of late 19 century art deco in Asia.

3. Barbarosa, a bar on an island in the middle of People's Square. It is where the who's who of Shanghai go to mingle and Patrick and blended in, disappeared with our knowledge of Mandarin, local customs, as well with some help from our more fluent, better dressed friends.

4. Old Shanghai. Great bargains. Beautiful gardens. A nice break from number...

5. Pudong. The new Shanghai, with the Oriental Pearl, Jin Mao building, a psychadelic tunnel, enormous shopping complexes, etc. Modernity in all its shimmering glory.

I will continue this narrative in a few days...

Grabs from 御手洗祭

2006-08-01T16:40:00.000+09:00

Thanks again Ai Ling for the photos!
Matsuri in a nutshell: plenty of lanterns, dipping your feet in cold water, dango eating contest. Less crowded than Gion or Tenjin albeit not as grand in scope.

Wet Hot Japanese Summer

2006-08-01T16:25:00.000+09:00

The spring semester at Doshisha ended officially yesterday, marking the end of my fourth month in Japan. I am heading for Shanghai tomorrow morning for two weeks of being a shameless tourist. Beforehand, however, I wanted to take a moment to reflect upon the past few months that I have spent in Kyoto and at Doshisha.

I must first say that the people here have been amazing, and sadly, many are returning home soon and will not be coming back, although I did get some free stuff as a result. Anyway, these wonderful people know who they are, so if I didn't say it before, I will say it now: it has been a true privilige.

Summer is not going to be all fun and games. I need to grab the bull by the horns and seriously commit myself to Japanese and to establishing a more concrete foundation for my research, which - I will wholeheartedly admit - I have not done ANYTHING up to this point.

But that is gonna change pretty damn quickly...

Grabs from Gion Matsuri

2006-07-24T23:58:00.000+09:00

Credit must be given to Caleb, Ai Ling and others who shared their photos with me. Thanks guys!

Grabs from the Hozugawa-gawa

2006-07-24T23:55:00.000+09:00

Matsuri Time

2006-07-24T23:39:00.000+09:00

The largest and most famous festival in all of Japan hit swept through the streets of downtown Kyoto a week ago, shutting down traffic for three glorious nights and culminating in an extravagant parade that was marred by torrential rains as the rainy season finally hit Japan. The Gion Matsuri - a month long festival, the peak of which was the 14th throught 17th of July - was an impressive sight. Millions of people on the streets, drinking beer from convienience stores, eating food from street vendors, frolicking in their yukatas, cotton summer kimonos, amongst the traditional Hoko floats, which line both the main and side streets.
For someone who has spent many a day in downtown Kyoto, it felt quite liberating to be able to walk down the middle of the street with out having to worry about traffic. Of course, it was still slow going, people crowded around some of the Hoko, slowing things to a crawl at times. Still, quite the sight. Many of my friends donned yukatas as well, and I think everyone consumed their fair share of happoshu and a chu-hai.
The Gion Matsuri originated in the 9th century when people paraded through the streets in a effort ot court the Shinto gods to bring an end to a plague that was harming the city.
Basically, this needs to be seen to be believed, and so I will let photos do the rest of the talking for me. I should also state that there are some photos of the Hozugawa, north of Kyoto where friends and I went swimming. I can't recommend it enough...

Filler

2006-07-14T15:06:00.000+09:00

Not much to report on the Kyoto front at the moment, buckling down for the end of the semester crunch. To be honest, not a whole lot happening, a few tests and a paper, both of which are not that intimidating. This weekend is the Gion Matsuri, perhaps the largest festival in Japan, and this weekend the streets of downtown Kyoto will be closed to motorized vehicles and the street vendors will be out, selling their wares. I will, of course, be taking as many photographs as possible, displaying some on this site when I get around to it.

A friend from the US is arriving next week as well. We will be kicking it in Japan for a while before spending two weeks in the Middle Kingdom, for some shameless tourism and cheap food.

More on the Gion Matsuri later in the weekend...

A Homecoming of Epic Proportions

2006-07-05T20:09:00.000+09:00

You may wonder why I am wearing a dress. Believe me, so was I. This past weekend, I returned to Kochi and to Ogata town and Nakamura City, now known as Kuroshio and Shimanto respectively. It had been three years since I had been there and it was an excellent visit. Friendships were reaffirmed and ties with the community that I had left in 2003 were reforged in the beaches, beer halls and snack bars of this wonderful community. I didn't even spend that much money, at least not that I remember.
But I digress. I am wearing a dress because I was told to put one on. I admit that I was not coerced. Very few Karaoke bars are as fun as Miwa were cosu purei (Costume Play) is the name of the game. I was of course slightly - if not fully inebriated - and the cheongsam was calling me. Good memories, however fuzzy they happen to be.
I stayed with a friend of a couple friends of mine named Nina. I had never met her before, but we had heard nothing but good things about each other (i.e. outright lies). I was deeply appreciative of her hospitality. I also met up with Shiota-san, my former running partner and mentor. He is injured at the moment, but is staying in shape by swimming. He was even kind enough to give me a lift back to Osaka as he was heading there anyway on Sunday.
We went to the beach, ate excellent food and drank heavily. It was the thermo-nuclear blast of fresh air that I needed, and I return to Kyoto a man reborn, more than ready to face the final weeks of school and get on with summer vacation, and the fun that comes with it: a trip to China...

Grabs

2006-07-05T20:07:00.000+09:00

Reports on the Demise of the Japanese Military have been Exaggerated

2006-06-25T15:35:00.000+09:00

To say the least. Discounting a few UN Peacekeeping missions in Cambodia, the Golan Heights, East Timor, etc. The Japanese have not participated in military excursions abroad until the current Iraq War. And even in Iraq the Japan Self Defense Forces have fulfilled their mission in Iraq without inflicting or suffering any casualties. While you get over the paroxysm that the last sentence induced, keep in mind that the Japanese were sent to Samawa in southern Iraq and basically stayed there, helped with reconstruction and avoided conflict. Due to constitutional constraints, the Japanese SDF can only use force to protect themselves. They cannot even come to the aid of other coalition forces if they happen to be attacked. While these constraints have gradually weakened throughout the post war period, they still exist and will probably not disappear overnight.

On the other hand, if things were to change overnight, the changes could be implemented almost immediately. The have guns that shoot bullets and missiles that are definately capable of blowing things to very very small pieces. Military culture is also alive and well on these bases, although not in the "I want to conduct hideous science experiments on human beings" sort of way. They did however make me yell "Reinja Fitou" (ie Ranger Fight-oh for those who need some help with their romaji) at the top of my lungs ad nauseum. As you can see from the photo to the left, they made me wear a uniform which, while not exactly making me love the army, was probably the main reason that I lost about a fifth of my body weight in 3 hours, sweating my ass off in the hot, humid conditions.

In sum, despite an impressive GI Joe collection that I amassed in my youth before I discovered girls, I am not a big fan of the army. This weekend, I felt like Bill Murray in Stripes via Lost in Translation. While that may sound like a great deal of fun on paper, just remember that so did communism.

First Ever Guest Blog Post!!

2006-06-25T15:13:00.000+09:00

My Friends Steve and Sue wanted to give their take on Japan. I wish to remind my readers that the commentary below may not reflect the opinions of Doshisha Days or of its founder.

Travelers to Japan, beware. Crazy monkeys and mayonnaise lurk around every corner. Keep Kendall close by to tell you which type of gelatinous bean paste product you are eating. Be sure to try the alcoholic green tea and the takoyaki. When singing karaoke, Tiffany is a hit, but Coldplay is not. Words every gaijin should know: atsui (it’s fucking hot here); tomodatchi (can be thrown around liberally); birru (will be drunk in mass quantities). Kendall, we love you long time. Domo arrigato gozaimasu!

I have been busy losing my mind, but hopefully I will resume a more punctual and frequent posting schedule. Thanks for reading.

Best 500 Yen Weekend EVER!!!

2006-06-11T19:51:00.000+09:00

Doshisha Students from all over the planet gathered this weekend at the Doshisha Lake Biwa Retreat Center for some rest and relaxation. It was a raucous time, with plenty of good food, drink and pleasant company. It was an excellent opportunity for language exchange and meeting others. I actually don't have much else to say about the whole thing: I ate well, drank a lot of Shochu, watched England win its opening World Cup match. I will make a point to make the next posting a bit more substantial...

Kanto: Part IV

2006-06-04T12:44:00.000+09:00

My final ruminations on Kanto concern not Tokyo, but Kamakura, a sleepy coastal town that was the capital of Japan during the 13th Century when the Minamoto Shoguns moved there from Kyoto. Back then Edo was still swamp land. Kamakura is famous for two things: the Daibutsu, a large bronze Buddha that was erected in during the Kamakura Period. A tsunami destroyed the temple that housed it during the 14th century and since then it has remained the largest outdoor Buddha in Japan, stoically sitting through the seasonal bursts of rain, wind and sun.
The other prime attraction in Kamakura is the beach, a beautiful stretch of fine sand that attracts many weekenders from Tokyo and Yokohama. Not only were there hundreds of surfers, there were also some of the most aggressive falcons I have ever seen. Completely undeterred by human behavior, they would swoop down and steal people's food literally out of their hands. Fortunately for me, they seemed averse to happoshu. My friend Miles and I enjoyed some overpriced but excellent sandwiches at a famous Hawaiian burger joint,　and spent several pleasant hours on the beach before heading back to Tokyo. En route, we stopped by a katsuo ramen eatery in Yokohama. I never eat ramen usually due to the use of meat in the soup base, but this place uses fish instead so I gave it a whirl. It was excellent and I do intend to return when I am back in Kanto.
Well, that wraps up weekend that occurred a few weeks ago, so now hopefully I can back on the topics of Doshisha and Kyoto. I have never lived in Kanto, and so Kyoto, and by default Kansai has always been closer to my heart. At the same time, Tokyo is an amazing, dynamic and extremely fun city and I feel that I may one day want to call it home as well.

Kanto: Part III

2006-05-31T22:21:00.000+09:00

Well for whatever reason, Firefox bastardizes my layouts that I so meticulously craft for my posts. Shikata ga nai. Anyway, I had left off with me finding myself underdressed, and visiting enshrined war criminals (when you put it like that, it makes my fashion statement seem somewhat prescient). Next and last on my list of Tokyo landmarks I visited with my class was the Boueichou (pronounched Boe-eh-cho) which translates as the Japan Defense Agency Headquarters. Located in a large sectioned off part of Shinjuku ward, the Boueichou does not exactly overpower with one massive structure ala the Pentagon, but the sprawling maze of buildings is nonetheless remarkable. We spent most of our time in one building which was the old headquarters of the Self Defense Forces (SDF). Now a museum, this building was the setting for two events any student of Japanese history would be aware of. Firstly, it housed the War Crimes Tribunals for the Far East, which consequently led to the death sentencing of former Prime Minister Tojo Hideki among others. The top photo above was the stage where the officials sat during the proceedings. The second event, reenacted to some extent in the picture was the ersatz coup d'tat and ritual suicide of famed Japanese Novelist Mishima Yukio in 1970. A right wing nationalist and aesthete that yearned to return Japan to its samurai roots, Mishima arrived at the HQ with his entourage with the pretext of paying a visit to the commandant. Once inside, he took everyone hostage, and ordered that the SDF gather outside. Once gathered, Mishima delivered a prepared speech where he attempted to incite a movement that would restore the emperor to his rightful place and return Japan to its former (albeit short-lived) glory. The reaction was not what Mishima had anticipated; jeers and mocking from the cadets. Afterwards, Mishima returned to the chamber where he committed seppuku, self disembowelment followed by decapitation. The rumor was that the man that was supposed to sever Mishima's head was his lover and couldn't cut it (literally). After a few repeated strokes, the head did roll, and another one of Mishima's entourage followed suit. Many speculate that Mishima knew that his coup would fail and it was simply a means of staging the death that he wanted for himself.
After that, our class dissolved into groups for a few hours before we all gathered in Shibuya for dinner and drinks at an izakaya. Around 1 am we split up for good, and I went with a friend to Roppongi for the rest of the night. The rest of my Tokyo adventures will continue later.

Grabs

2006-05-28T23:12:00.000+09:00

Kanto: Part II

2006-05-28T22:44:00.000+09:00

It has been about a week since my last entry; I got caught up in some shenanigans with some crazy Europeans and my art suffered for it. Anyway, since what I got up to this week does not merit further elaboration, I can continue with my own Tokyo Monogatari.
After leaving the shrine part of Yasukuni, we entered the museum which is where things got a bit more eerie. I admit that we didn't really make it past the main hall and the gift shop - time and money hindered our advance. Still, I left having seen enough to convince me that the place was basically the epicenter of the resurgence of Japanese nationalism. Not only were exhibits of fighter planes from the war, there was a locomotive from the Thai-Burma railroad with a description that glossed over much of the unpleasant facts about how the road was built and why the Japanese were there in the first place. Despite all of these signs of Japan's past history of militarism - the United States is no slouch when it comes to proudly displaying its past (mis) deeds - the gift store was what really struck me as creepy. The Kyokujitsuki - the flag that represented the Japanese Imperial Navy (and currently the Maritime Self-Defense Forces I do believe) with the red rays extending from the center orb is commonly seen as a symbol of Japanese imperialism was on display. I was to somewhat relieved when many of the students I was with could not read the kanji for the name of the flag. Further, there were books questioning the Rape of Nanking and other Japanese atrocities that have been documented by numerous sources. For a moment I was ready to buy some things to show people back in Kyoto, but decided against it as I did not want to be seen as showing my support for the museum by purchasing something.
From there, we made our way to the National Diet where we took a tour of the halls of government and met with two Kyoto representatives from the House of Councilors, both members of the Democratic Party of Japan. It was quite interesting the hear about their experiences in the Diet, and to hear their views on being the opposition party. Afterwards we toured the grounds of the capitol and posed for a photograph in front. It was not my intention to bring the "casual Friday" concept to Tokyo solo, but I guess it is sort of understood that people dress to impress for these sort of things and I did not get the memo.
Next, I will talk about the Japan Defense Agency Headquarters, war crimes trials, ritual suicides and trying not the get lost in Shibuya while intoxicated and having not slept in 30 hours.

Kanto: Part I

2006-05-22T22:38:00.000+09:00

I spent the weekend in Tokyo and the surrounding environs, my first trip to the capital in three years. I arrived on a night bus with a few other students from my seminar, and arrived well before we were scheduled to gather at the Diet Building for a tour of the Japanese legislature. After grabbing some breakfast in Shibuya, we made our way to the Yasukuni Shrine, north of the Imperial Palace in central Tokyo to see what the controversy was all about. Yasukuni represents the crux of the problem that Japan has with its neighbors in Asia, particularly China and Korea. Commemorating the souls who gave their lives in combat for the Emperor from the Boshin War prior to the Meiji Restoration of 1868 until World War II, including all the war criminals who were convicted during the International War Crimes Tribunal for the Far East - all of whom were enshrined ostensibly because they were registered as being enshrined in a seperate ceremony in 1979.
The Shrine itself is relatively nondescript, particularly when compared to the Meiji Shrine in Harajuku or the Heian Shrine in Kyoto. The steel torii at the entrance of the shrine perhaps symbolizes the shrine's ties to the undercurrent of militarism that has been an integral part of Japanese history up until 1945. The students I were with paid their respects at the shrine, although none of them seemed to be closet Ishihara Shintaro supporters. I declined to participate, citing apprehension to take a side of such a controversial issue at the time. We then entered the museum attached to the shrine, which was where things got a bit more blatant, and that will be the topic of the next entry...

Peace in the Far East

2006-05-17T20:31:00.000+09:00

When coming to Japan you will undoubtedly be confronted with peace signs anytime you have a camera in your hands. Of all the Japanese, schools girls have probably the fastest reaction time, comparable to Billy the Kid drawing his gun and firing off a few rounds. That being said, the older women in this picture had not lost their game either. A friend of mine once asked one of his Japanese friends why the peace sign is so prevalent in photographs. His friend's response sums it up nicely: "you have to do something." And I always thought that smiling was sufficient.
It should be noted that Japan's Constitution is called the "Peace Constitution" not for any clause that stipulates that everyone must use the peace sign; that rule was left off the books. The "Peace Constitution" moniker comes from Article Nine which states that:

Aspiring sincerely to an international peace based on justice and order, the Japanese people forever renounce war as a sovereign right of the nation and the threat or use of force as means of settling international disputes.
In order to accomplish the aim of the preceding paragraph, land, sea, and air forces, as well as other war potential, will never be maintained. The right of belligerency of the state will not be recognized.

How long these two clauses remain is open to debate. Right now there is a push to reform the constitution and although talks have repeatedly stalled, that has not slowed down the loosening of restrictions that govern Self Defense Force (SDF) Operations. A recent article in the Economist argues these points as well and questions how these actions will affect Japan's relations with its neighbors. This much is clear: even if Article Nice remains, it will likely be relegated to an empty symbol, stripped of its meaning and purpose. Just like the peace signs in the photograph.

A music review

2006-05-17T20:18:00.000+09:00

A few weeks ago a couple friends and I went to a show in Kyoto, the highlights of which are covered in an online review on www.badbee.net. The review is titled "There's a (Teenage) Riot Goin' On" and it covers two of the five acts that played. Check it out if you are interested. Many thanks to David Hickey for the edit and rewrite, I appreciate it.

Shout out!

2006-05-14T23:51:00.000+09:00

Happy Mother's Day Mom! Love you!

(for the cynics that think this is all I did and that I just remembered: ERRONEOUS! ERRONEOUS! ERRONEOUS ON BOTH COUNTS!)

THE CRACK, part 2

2006-05-14T23:06:00.000+09:00

Doshisha is a private university that was founded by Niishima Jou, who actually GTFO of Japan in 1864, at the age of twenty-one, and made his way to the United States where he attended both Phillips Academy and Amherst College under the name Joseph Hardy Neeshima. In the process, Niishima became the first Japanese to recieve a college degree from a western institution. These experiences prompted Niishima to return to Japan in the wake the Meiji Restoration and found Doshisha University, a woman's college and the law school. Today, Amherst and Doshisha share close ties due to their historical ties, and are considered sister schools. The original campus of Doshisha is located on Imadegawa-dori, directly north of the Kyoto Imperial Palace. There is a second, larger campus, located south of Kyoto, but is only for undergraduate students so that is all that needs to be said about that.

My education this term consists of six classes: three Japanese language classes and three graduate level political science classes conducted in Japanese. All of my classes meet once a week for 90 minutes and up until now the homework has been less than I expected, although this is probably a good thing considering it is all in Japanese and is quite time consuming.

Kyoto was the capital of Japan from 794 to 1192 and then from 1333 until 1603 when Tokugawa Ieyasu fully supplanted the imperial family as supreme ruler of Japan and based himself in Edo - now known as Tokyo. The imperial family remained in Kyoto until the Meiji Restoration when they also moved to Tokyo. Someone on Wikipedia claims that there is still a debate as to whether Kyoto may still be the capital of Japan, but such debate is purely academic.

Today Kyoto has about 1.5 million people. The streets are arranged in a grid which makes getting lost embarrassing. The tallest building is the Kyoto Tower, a hideous structure that might have looked "modern" in a good sense for about 6 minutes in 1963 (unfortunately it was built in 1964). This is not a minority opinion either - most people claim that the views are so beautiful from the tower because being in the tower means you cannot see the tower. Japanese pragmatism at its best.

Grabs

2006-05-12T15:40:00.000+09:00

THE CRACK, part 1

2006-05-12T15:08:00.000+09:00

A month has already passed, and I am still settling down in Kyoto, Japan - a city that I have known and loved for over five years now. It has been a month of heartfelt reunions, formidable challenges, financial acrobats and wanton fun. I arrived the first week of April. By the end of the first week I was enrolled in not just Japanese language classes, but graduate level seminars (refferred to as ゼミ, or "zemi") which are all in Japanese. I also was introduced to my advisor, Murata Kouji, a very accomadating and friendly political science professor at Doshisha University. I am enrolled in two of his classes and am struggling to keep up, but enjoying them nonetheless.

My living situation is less than idyllic, however. Not only have I just recently gotten internet access in my room, the location is closer to "Of Mice and Men" than "Lost in Translation". Not only is the university campus over an hour away by train, downtown Kyoto is not conviently accessible and the night life in Mukaijima consists of youth street gangs (according to my former host mother), and crickets (according to my ears). Dries Durnez, an affable Belgian who has become a good friend of mine over the last month, and I are considering moving out, and finding some place closer to both the city center and our school.

End Part 1

First photo, still stalling on the substance

2006-05-12T14:45:00.000+09:00

So.

Yeah.

This is me rappelling down some rocks, crossing a river and loving every minute of it. This was before I fell and scraped up my knee, before I became completely jaded by the hike that would never end. Or so it seemed. Now both of my hiking partners have left the Kansai region and are either gone from Japan or will soon be on their way. As for me, I am back to the grind...

By the way, I know have internet access in my room, and this blogging thing may actually start to be a viable creative outlet.

First Entry

2006-04-26T17:52:00.000+09:00

So... Finally made it to Japan, settled and have a near steady internet connection available to me. Slightly overwhelming still; not sure how often I am going to be able to sit down and actually take the time to write what I want to write. Anyway, just want to see if this works for now as well as how it looks. Still need to upload photos and stuff like that. That will happen a few weeks down the line.