Gypsy Chic

Koya-san : My Birthday Pilgrimage

2008-01-02T03:55:00.000-08:00

So, I have decided to spend the night of my 27th birthday on mount. Koya, one of Japan's sacred mountains. It belongs to the Shingon sect of esoteric Buddhism, and their many temples on the mountain offer lodging for travellers and some insight into the lives of the believers. I have been curious for some time about the inner world of the Buddhist temples in Japan, and decided it was time to do something about it. I made reservations through this English site that connects you to ryokans and hotels all over Japan (very effective and useful, considering that many hotels don't have websites of their own, even in Japanese) Highly recommend - they offer plenty of information. respond quickly and, well...one can only understand the joy of seeing the English language used properly after living in Japan for a while. My train trip, with the usual exhausting connection in Osaka was sleepy and uneventful, but I found myself enjoying both the easiness with which I can now converse with Japanese information workers, and the luxury of travelling with no luggage. Pretty much all I had in my backpack was - as "The Hitch hiker's Guide to the Galaxy" advises - a towel.

From the train stat ion a cable car ascends to the top of the mountain, almost vertically. I love cable cars with a kind of juvenile passion, can't explain it. Most of the passengers were foreigners, moreover - tourists, and they were getting rather chatty and friendly with each other - exchanging information about sightseeing in Tokyo and Kyoto and what not. I decided to ditch those people before they cramp my Zen, and got off the Koya city bus at the most deserted looking station, having barely taken a look at the map.

However, a five minute walk brought me to my first destination - Kongobuji Temple, the main temple of Koya Shingon association. It was spacious and ellegant, resembling a Zen temple with its serene wooden corridors and sand and stone gardens, but more colorful - many beautifully painted sliding doors, depicting scenes from the life of Kukai (Kobo Daishi, the founder of Shingon), and also natural scenes in distinct Chinese style.

Tea with local sweets was served in a big reception hall covered with red carpets and decorated with mandala paintings by Shingon artists and a portrait of Kukai. There were only a few other guests in the temple, something that would never happen in Kyoto on a weekend, so I was able to soak in the atmosphere. The aesthetics of Shingon temples won me over at first sight, as have the artifacts and quirks such as this altar with decorations of fruits and vegetables... In the temple grounds visitors can also observe the kitchen used by the monks and so on. The feeling of the place is rather warm and majestic, not quite as ascetic as one might expect. Outside it was a beautiful sunny day, and light was streaming through the corridors and in through the attic windows.

I wondered through another temple complex with buildings and pagodas that were beautiful, but not unfamiliar to a resident of Kyoto. In fact I found the very Japanese mixture of styles (various Buddhist and even Shinto influences in the architecture) kind of confusing. But, the lines and colors were still dazzling against the sunny sky, and the mountain air chilly and free of city noises, so I was in a good mood. I was walking towards the temple where I made reservations for the night, on my way passing many of these "lodging temples", all of which looked like any zen temple, usually with a stone garden or a natural sculpture of some sort visible from the gates. The city itself is very small, flat, and not at all touristic. The only souvenirs sold were of strictly religious nature, and at 4 pm almost everything was closed and quiet.

I was to stay at the Rengejo-in, one of the bigger temples which, upon approaching, seemed completely deserted, dark and, well, anything but a hotel. At the entrance I was ordered by signs in English to take off my shoes and change into slippers before I go in. Those slippers, which I've met with many times before while exploring the insides of Japanese temples and castles, have made my list of "most idiotic ways to leave this world" as they are slippery and hold on to nothing, fretting at all times to fly off your feet or off the stairs along with you...

So after standing in the empty hallway for a few minutes I was invited into a little Japanese style room where the priest and two old men were sitting. In one of those situations where I can't imagine what they would do with a non-Japanese speaking costumer, I was asked to fill in forms and pay and so on. Then, allowing me to observe this "office" for long enough to notice a Mac and a Russian matryoshka doll on the desk before which he was kneeling, the priest lead me up to my room, on the way explaining me the schedule of the meditation, dinner, and bath time.

The third floor ( I believe I stayed on the third. Can't be sure as while climbing the steep stairs I was concentrated on trying to hold the slippers with my toes), unlike the entrance, looked like a perfect Japanese style hotel (ryokan) - brightly lit corridors, smell of new wood and sliding paper doors. The inside was fancier than any ryokan I have been in - the golden painted sliding doors, the private kotatsu table ( I turned it on and spent all evening under that blanket, and left my clothes inside for the night...brilliant invention) The room also had an air-conditioner and a TV, which I found to be excessive. But then again, these days the temples and the city probably depend on tourism, including that of barbarians from the west.

The 40 minutes meditation practice was held in a ceremony room that was almost completely dark, only above the altar candle light reflected in gold and near us on the floor big gaz heaters opened their red eyes. On my way there I noticed how the sand in the garden sparkles in the freezing darkness. After all, I have never before seen a zen garden at night.

It wasn't my most successful try at meditation, as I've been having problems with my knees lately, and far from assuming the lotus position, bending my legs in any way for 40 minutes made me too uncomfortable to concentrate. But I gave it my best and so did the other guests (all but one foreigners), breathing in the scented air, thinking about everything and nothing in a dark room of a temple, high on a mountain in a foreign land.

Later, dinner was served in a dining room that also resembled that of a ryokan - you sit on the floor with your personal little table, being served food on many little plates...Food in Koya temples is completely vegetarian, and the dinner was very filling and colorful - 3 or 4 types of tofu (different levels of sponginess...one of them i found edible), tempura (deep fried vegetables) beans, pickled...something, rice, soup and even slices of fruit for dessert. Young boys were serving the meal - shaved as monks but dressed normally. I later learnt that they were graduates of Shingon studies who did not belong to priest families and had no temple to go back to. They served at temples on Koya-san until they were adopted into temples without heirs all over Japan.

This and more I learnt from the mother of the head priest of Rengejo-in, a youthful woman of at least 80 years old, who came to talk to us after dinner. She studied English in Tokyo before the war and ever since became a valuable asset on Koya, helping the temple families to communicate first with soldiers and then with tourists. She indeed had probably the best English I heard from a Japanese person, although pronunciation of words such as "wordily" and "splendid" should probably be forbidden in Japan. She told us about the history of the mountain - since Kukai was led there by a Hunter deity and his 2 dogs and chose it as the base for his sect, through the years of war and hunger, until today.

I went back to my room, treated myself to some green tea (another ryokan perk - there is always tea in the room). Then I couldn't resist the opportunity to change into yukata robe, specially since this time I got a warmer winter robe to put over it. I made my slippery way to the public bath, and as I guessed it was empty. Western women are not that into soaking naked in boiling water surrounded by strangers. I however love sentos and onsens (specially the outdoor ones of course), and having such a big bath all to myself, being able to practically swim and dance around in it totally made my night. Back in the room I almost fell asleep under the kotatsu blanket, but at midnight my cellphone was awakened by birthday greetings. And when I finally got into my futon (which was spread in the room during dinner) I realized that having loud foreigners behind paper walls was not the ideal combination. Why don't more people travel to these places to enjoy the atmosphere and to shut up, I wonder? So between their talking, snoring and packing and my own not necessarily temple-appropriate thoughts I slept about an hour that night. A new enlightening day was approaching fast.

.....To be continued.....

The Sights and Psyches of Kyoto Autumn

2007-11-23T03:14:00.000-08:00

The autumn has reached Kyoto in all it's glory. I guess, living in Japan, one can't help catching on to the locals' obsession with seasonal changes. And while I don't quite support the Christmas decorations being displayed on the streets two months too early, I have been for some time observing the trees anxiously, waiting for the slightest change in colour, and having those very Japanese conversations with people as to when do they suppose the "koyo" will begin. This was partially due to the visit of my parents that has just ended. I wanted them to see the city in its most magnificent colours, and though the said "koyo" appears to be late again, we spent two very eventful weeks touring Kyoto's temples and gardens and witnessing this celebration of nature.

But then, my reader knows me too well by now to assume I'm going to dedicate the entire post to such touristic pleasures. The world is out there for all to admire, and has no need in my testimonies of its beauty. And yet it is beauty, and its power over the human soul that I was thinking of for the past few days.

Beauty will save the world, said Dostoevsky. And while it sounds like a rather vague premonition involving two wide and undefinable concepts, in the micro cosmos of our everyday lives we can witness this phenomena taking place. When I started thinking about this, it brought up a memory from my first days in the army. I was 18, alone in a new city and in a new job with heavy responsibilities which nothing in my life had prepared me for. All that, along with the continuous lack of sleep and such, was keeping me on the verge of depression. Since my home was too far away, after work I would go back to an army base which, not to give out any strategic information, was located in rather uninspiring industrial surroundings. One day I was walking home, tired as usual. The road was wet after another rainy day, and I caught myself admiring the reflection of the sky in a greesy puddle. Then I knew I was still ok. And in my university years, in deepest moments of crisis and loneliness I used to go out to the common balcony of the dormitory building on Mount. Scopus and watch the sun setting and the sky changing colours above the walls of Jerusalem. And as long as I could be touched by these I knew I was still ok.

These days I don't have to look hard. My friends and I draw strength from the beauty of this city to cope with the many challenges of living in a strange society, studying in a foreign language and so on, as well as the usual things life occasionally throws at one wherever he might be residing. So when we have some time we go to a temple to see the maple leaves, or go to the river, to enjoy its serenity and whatever is blossoming or occurring on its banks at the moment. I have had conversations about it with some of my friends, and we agreed that the only two things keeping us sane were having each other and having Kyoto. But it is not really the place, I believe, that makes the difference. What will save you, (and, by association, the world), is the ability to see beyond yourself and your own troubles. Only then do you have a chance to see beauty and be saved by it, as I hope to continue to be saved time and time again.

My Teachers

2007-09-10T18:42:00.000-07:00

I don't seem to get to blogging about my trip home...hopefully it will come. Meanwhile, as autumn approaches Kyoto slowly, biting on the already scarce hours of sunlight, back home it is the most crucial time of the year for one's soul. With the New Year (Rosh ha-Shanah) celebrations, begins a 10 day period called (apparently, in English) "The Days of Awe", that culminates with the fast of Yom Kippur. During this period the fate of each person for the coming year is written in the Book of Life, according to the way he carried himself through the previous one. So it is high time to repent your sins, make amends, and generally clean up your act before God.

But do not fear, reader, I am not about to start listing my sins in this post. Don't want my ailing Internet connection to die of boredom. Trying to keep my soul-searching positive, I turn to Japanese culture where, surprisingly, apologising and giving thanks is the same thing. One of the most common words for apology in Japanese - "Sumimasen", can also be used for expressing gratitude, as it literary means "it is not over", as in "I can never repay / make it up to you". It is really a shame that in modern Japanese society the original profound meaning of some expressions is lost in the jungle of protocol politeness. So today I will be giving thanks for the numerous gifts of wisdom I have received in my life an cannot ever repay, to my teachers, who, sometimes unknowingly, helped my journey through this world. And here we go:

Things I've learned from my parents:

-A sense of duty that would not shame a samurai.

-The importance of friendship over pretty much everything.

-Similarly, that pretty much everything in the world is more important than money.

-That the secret to a good marriage is having a sense of humor.

-The importance of learning history, that for my father is the one true religion.

-That the only sure way to get your children to do what you want is to have them respect you and care about your opinion. It took me at least 25 years to ever think of revisiting any of my parents' ways.

-And the only way of earning anyone's respect is by being a person worthy of respect, as simple as that.

Things I've been taught by my friends:

-To enjoy things I'm not good at. Such as sports, or cooking. A revolutionary concept for me. It was mostly my friend Noa in Israel who taught me by personal example the joy of little everyday activities, and my friends in Japan got me on a bicycle, into the karaoke room and so on.

-That people are different (from me), and I should get over my prude self and support them through the paths they chose if I call myself their friend.

-About fashion, cool places, pop-culture, the ways of the world in the practical sense. Being a person so invested in my inner world I had very slim chances of surviving in the outer one on my own. For example, without my friend Lisa I wouldn't know where to eat either in Jerusalem or Kyoto.

-To speak if I want to be heard. Still working on that one, to stop expecting people to read my mind. But at least now I can stop myself from getting angry at people who don't.

What I've learned from the men in my life:

-That it is absolutely not true that men only want one thing. Or I keep meeting the only ones who want more. Which would also kind of make sense - for God knows they could get that one easier elsewhere. And if there was one thing all men want, I'd have to say it was something diferent than usually assumed. In general, I have this theory that the greatest human desire is having someone to listen to you. Not sex, or fame or anything else. Although I am yet to figure out a strategy how to take over the world by being a good listener...

-About music. It has become an established rule that men come into my life armed with Cd's and (I am that old) cassettes. Again - I'm not in touch with reality enough to find my own, with the exception of my favourite songwriters who get my attention with their lyrics.

-To invest more in getting to know them. Exploring a real person can be a lot more interesting than exploring whatever elaborate fantasy that I construct in my head. Who knew!!!

-There are men in this world who are impossible not to fall in love with and equally impossible to do anything else with. I gradually learned to be their friend and pity the girls who date them. Tell me if you think of a better solution.

-Trying to "save" someone by loving them is an idea not only futile but narcissistic, and plain stupid. Next time I get it I'll hit myself on the head with a frying pen.

What I learned from living in Israel

-That there are ways one can only love his country if he comes to it by ship. I suppose that the patriotism of emigrants is a thing well-known, but it's more than that. Finding a place in the world that fits you like a glove is not something that happens to everyone. Not even people who live in countries that are more prosperous, safer and more comfortable to live in.

-The feeling of the High Holy Days. Maybe it's easier to feel the pulse of the country that small, if only by the changing direction of the traffic jams on the country's only highway with the beginning and the end of a holiday. In Japan, you see the Matsuri, festivals, on the street, and the seasonal holidays mostly in the shops. In Israel you can feel a change in the air, the weather itself when a holiday approaches. In fact even while I'm here in Japan, sometimes I find myself thinking "this feels like a Friday evening in Israel" .

-What really matters. Israeli culture is the opposite of Japanese in the way it values essence over appearance, results over effort, frankness over politeness and so on. Israelis think of themselves as a rude people, which i wouldn't say is completely true. But they are definitely less concerned with saving face and maintaining harmony. I do enjoy more refined manners, believe me. But I also believe that the one time in life you may need help from a stranger on the street is worth years of putting up with thy neighbor's pushy, loud and unceremonious attitude.

I'm Going Home

2007-07-03T09:18:00.000-07:00

Going home to Israel for a month the day after tomorrow. Haven't been there over a year now, or out of Japan for that matter, and as the last days fly by I'm beginning to wonder...

Is there really anything out there? It my be the island thing, or the homogeneity of Japan's population, but it seems that I've caught whatever it is that makes some of the Japanese not quite worldly. I cannot imagine being anywhere out of this country. Imagining myself going out to the streets of Amsterdam (where I have a few hours in between flights) and the air would be cool (and, hopefully breathable, unlike the insane humidity of Kyoto's summer), the people blond (and big) and the city so different. I've been to Amsterdam in 2002, liked it a lot.

Even less can I imagine being back to Israel. It's not like I have lost contact. Through the miracles of modern texhnology I was able to keep record of whatever our neighbours were dropping on us where, and which of our heads of state was inolved in what scandal. But - Israel is a state of mind. Once you are out of its limits - you only think you know.

Ok, time to move. Sincerely hoping to write a lot about the trip. Sayonara, Kyoto!

My Sad Songs

2007-05-16T05:04:00.000-07:00

What is your ultimate sad song?
That is a question someone might have asked me during some (drunk, perhaps) conversation , thus eliminating the need for this post.But, unlucky for you, reader, no one did. So here it goes. Thing is, I don't do sad songs. Not as a music choice, but mostly not as therapy. I don't listen to sad songs when I'm sad. I really don't understand people who do...Is it because I'm an escapist? I've been told many times by my girlfriends that the process of wallowing in depression and self pity to the appropriate soundtrack is something to be enjoyed and cherished, but I fail to do that. My life would make a very weird movie where the character's darkest moments of grief and anguish would be accompanied by some outrageously upbeat body shaking Latin tune.

I'm telling you this because that is what makes my ultimate sad songs so special. Cause they have managed to overcome my instinctive objection to anything trying to tell me how sad life is. I have thought a lot about these songs I chose, and they have one thing in common - they are songs that tell a story, with eloquence that, like a good book, like art is supposed to, gently erase the boundaries between your private world and everything else in the universe. So I invite you to listen to them with me. (Unfortunately, the player embedding didn't work, so just press the twango icon with the right button and open in another window)

The first one might be considered somewhat of a cliche, and comes from way back from my impressionable youth. Unlike, I suspect, the other two, this one is probably well known to my readers. The song is "Vincent" by Don McLean . It is about Van Gogh, and the lyrics make use of the images in his paintings to create an atmosphere. Another thing I like about it is that the writer, rather than shouting out his on pain, as more "conventional" sad songs do, is actually thinks of something outside himself and his world, something we all should be doing much more of:

"Now I understand

What you tried to say to me

How you suffered for your sanity

How you tried to set them free

They would not listen they did not know how

Perhaps they'll listen now

For they could not love you

But still your love was true

And when no hope was left inside

On that starry, starry night

You took your life as lovers often do

But I could have told you Vincent

This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you..."

Aw Gawd.....

Next one is a Spanish song, by the great singer-songwriter Joaquin Sabina, who's art has pretty much dominated the last 3-4 years of my life. While Spanish lyrics occasionally tend to be very emotional and explicit, every Sabina song is an independent universe , and while I don't understand some of the cultural allusions (not to mention, am nowhere near this level of Spanish) they are incredibly real to me. This Song - "Con la frente marchita"- is a very familiar story of love, interrupted by geographical distances and cultural differences, between our Spanish author and a woman from Argentina. I have no real reason to identify with the story, and it is the little details that make it one of my ultimate sad songs. For a long time it was the one song i didn't dare to defile by translation attempts, but I really want to share it with you:

"Sentados en corro merendábamos besos y porros

Y las horas pasaban deprisa entre el humo y la risa.

Te morías por volver "Con la frente marchita" cantaba Gardel

Y entre citas de Borges, Evita bailaba con Freud.

Ya llovió desde aquel chaparrón hasta hoy.

Iba cada domingo a tu puesto del Rastro a comprarte

carricoches de miga de pan, soldaditos de lata.

Con agüita del mar Andaluz quise yo enamorarte,

pero tú no querías más amor que el del Río de la Plata."

"Sitting among friends we exchanged cigarettes and kisses,
and in smoke and smiles the hours flew by.
You were dying to go back, "Con la frente marchita" sang Gardel,
And amidst quotes from Borges, Evita was dancing with Freud.
And the rain came down pouring from then until now...

Used to go every Sunday, to that place at the market to buy you
Pastry chariots, soldiers of tin.
I wished to concur you with the sea water of Andalusia,
But you needed no other love than Rio de la Plata"

Just so you know I have tears in my eyes while translating this now in the middle of Kyoto university library. Specially when i get to the end (skipped a few verses)

..."Te sentaba tan bien, esa boina calada al estilo del "Che".
Buenos Aires es como contabas, hoy fui a pasear,
y al llegar a la Plaza de Mayo me dio por llorar
y me puse a gritar: "¿Dónde estás?"

Y no volví más a tu puesto del Rastro a comprarte
corazones de miga de pan, sombreritos de lata.
Y ya nadie me escribe diciendo: "No consigo olvidarte,
ojalá que estuvieras conmigo en el Río deLa Plata"

..."And you looked so well, in that beret in the style of Che.
Buenos Aires is just as you've told me. I went for a walk,
When I got to the Plaza de Mayo I broke down and cried,
And I shouted and called "where are you?"

And I never went back, to that place at the market to buy you
Pastry hearts, little tin sombreros,
No one writes to me anymore, saying "I cannot forget you,
How i wish you were here by my side at the Rio de la Plata".

Now, those of you who haven't lost interest by now, we come to the ultimate song. This on unlike the others is very personal to me, and people who know me won't need help understanding why I identify with it. The song is "Amelia" by Joni Mitchell. It is dedicated to Amelia Earhart, the lost pilot, but it talks about many many things, and despite its serene melody is a monsoon of meaning and emotion, at least for me.

"I was driving across the burning desert
When I spotted six jet planes
Leaving six white vapor trails across the bleak terrain.
It was the hexagram of the heavens,
It was the strings of my guitar.
Amelia, it was just a false alarm.

The drone of flying engines
Is a song so wild and blue
It scrambles time and seasons if it gets through to you.
Then your life becomes a travelogue
Of picture-post-card-charms
Amelia, it was just a false alarm"

Once in my dorm appartament in Jerusalem I spent one of my extremely rare Bridget Jones moments playing and singing this song over and over again over a bottle of white wine. Talk about things you didn't know about me, reader.

"Maybe I've never really loved
I guess that is the truth
I've spent my whole life in clouds at icy altitude
And looking down on everything
I crashed into his arms
Amelia, it was just a false alarm..."

P.S. If any of my readers, specially the blogging ones, want to share their song choices with me, I'm very curious!

Leaving Egypt : Spring for Japanese and Israelis

2007-04-06T05:17:00.000-07:00

The spring has finally come. Is it the nature of spring, to always come "finally" and never "too soon"?

The cherry trees are in full bloom, and I shall later perform my duty and share some photos from all the "hanami" - blossom viewings I have attended. But let me tell you first this little secret - the blooming sakura tree is most beautiful not when you come to view it, armed with a camera and the intelligence provided by weather broadcasts, but when you come upon it unexpectedly - a shimmering cloud floating over your head in the dark, as you climb over the closed gates of your university at 3 am., on your way from a wild salsa night. Appearing, breathtaking with it's unearthly purity of colour, in some spot of your everyday life, seen by you alone.

As I have witnessed this year, spring in Japan is all about blossoms and graduation/entrance ceremonies, as it is also the end and beginning of the academic year. Walking around the Kyoto University campus I was able to observe Japan's finest youth going through the various changes the season invites: first, the gorgeous, colorful hakamas of graduation ceremonies. The graduates proudly prancing around with bouquets, accompanied by excited parents and taking group pictures in those familiar Japanese poses...The proud graduates soon change into suits and go searching for jobs, faced with the rather depressing prospect of becoming a "shakaijin", productive member of society, rather than the president of "ghost stories" club or whatever. But the nest doesn't stay empty for long - the entrance ceremony, coinciding with the cherry blossoms, fills the campus again with hopeful freshmen with their shiny suits, and all those annoying club representatives, spreading invitations and wasting the rain forests and my patience as I try to make my lonely gaijin way in the crowd.

(As a tribute to the entrance ceremony only one of us was attending, our controversial Israeli - Malaysian trio also decided to bring out the suits)

In Israel, the main event of the spring is the Pesakh, also known as Spring Holiday or the Freedom Holiday. It is the ancestor of the Christian Passover, and commemorates the Jews leaving Egypt where they had been enslaved and tortured by the Pharaoh. Leaving not before performing various miracles and tricks including covering Egypt with frogs and cutting the Red Sea in two, since the Pharaoh, unlike many other rulers of the world, wasn't excited by the prospect of getting rid of the Jews. The holiday is one of the main pillars of the Jewish calendar, and in the modern Israeli society it is the day of getting all the family together, allowing them to fight over all the small grudges they have been holding for a year, and cooking insane amounts of food. That food then has to wait, so appetizing, while the family sits to the table to read (how Jewish is that) the story of the salvation from Egypt, and whatever our ancient philosophers had to say about it.

One of those comments in the scriptures caught the eye of the host of the Pesakh ceremony conducted by the Israeli community of Kyoto. It said that on this day, each of us must think of himself as he was the one leaving Egypt, and moving from slavery to freedom. Our host (far from an Orthodox Jew, father to a beautiful half Japanese baby boy) noted, that the Hebrew name of Egypt - "Mitzraim" comes from the root "narrow", a space closing on you and slowing down your movement. He suggested that it can be looked upon as a metaphor to all the things in our life that are holding us back, denying us our freedom and progress.

Sometimes we are too attached to our own flows and weaknesses. Too comfortable in the narrow spaces we confine ourselves to. It was with doubt and with mutter that the people followed Moses from the familiar slavery into the vague hope. And, after the glorious triumph over the most powerful ruler of his time, leading his people out of Egypt, he had to walk the desert for 40 years (a miracle of its own if you are familiar with Middle Eastern geography) to take Egypt out of the people. And that is the lesson we are called to remember and to pass on - chances might be handed by the sky, but changes come from within.

So, once the cherry petals glittering in the wind settle down, and the air clears for a new year, my last year on the current Japanese adventure, it is time for me, and possibly you, reader, to put some effort into freeing ourselves of some of our fears and inhibitions, doubts and prejudices, and become more ready for the journey.

Sounds of Israel - 1

2007-03-09T17:25:00.000-08:00

A friend from home came to stay with me recently, and her presence, combined with the fact I haven't gone home in almost a year and wont be able to until the summer, made me miss Israel more and more. This specific project I started thinking of (quite different than "working on") after me and my girlfriends had a little cultural exchange over You tube at our autumnal sleepover, but now it can also serve as therapy, so why not.
The Japanese like to claim that no foreigner can ever fully understand Japan, its culture, its people's behavior and so on. I claim that it is possible to get a pretty good understanding of what modern Israel and its people are by personal experience, even a short visit (it can also pretty much be crossed through its length in a one day car ride, very small country, keep in mind). But since for most of my friends such a visit will have to wait for now (in some cases, till hell freezes over, unfortunately), I thought of a way to introduce some of the aspects of Israel's reality and society through its sounds and occasional images. As I've noticed, most foreigners don't really understand how culturally different Israelis are from the image of European Jews of old most of them have from movies and what not. Well, prepare to be surprised. 8-)

I tried to introduce artists of different genres, not necessarily music I listen to myself. I'm everything but an expert on Israeli music (although, in my defence, I did date the guy who wrote the music column in my university's newspaper for a year and a half) I was also limited in my choice by what you tube has to offer, which was surprisingly a lot for, again, such a small country.

I'll begin with one of the most interesting things that happened to the Israeli music in recent years - The Idan Raichel Project. This guy Idan Raichel (and yes, it is his real hair) incorporated his own music and lyrics with the traditional music of the Ethiopian Jews, using Ethiopian musicians and singers, their religious singing and the Amharic language. Providing an insight to one of the most interesting and least explored cultures brought to Israel by immigrants, the project became insanely popular, and the radio stations played it to the point we all wanted to kill the guy. This song is my favorite, and I like the video that shows very typical views of the old city in Jerusalem. Their other songs have amazing female vocals and many other cultural influences, I highly recommend.

The Idan Raichel Project - From the Depths

However, embracing the country's cultural diversity wasn't always as much of a trend as it is now. For a few good decades the country's popular music scene was pretty much monopolised by western influence (as well as musicians of European origin). Some of these people were quite talented, and a lot of them started in the army bands - an important institution in Israeli music. They were young, the country was young, and between the wars they were having quite a good time (as at least the 60's-70's movies seem to suggest). One of the greatest bands that came out of this period and outlived it by far is the band Kaveret (the beehive). These guys, who can be seen in the first video from Eurovision 74, proceeded to become the most unique and influential rock band of their times. What was great about them was their sense of humour that came through in the lyrics, the personages they created, the performances and so on. Few years ago they united for a concert, and the stadium was full of young people who weren't even born at the time they last performed, but who knew all the words of the songs.

Kaveret - I Gave Her My Life

The Eurovision song, seemingly a cute song about hopeless love, was seen by many as a political song, talking about the Yom Kipur war that had just ended, peace with the Palestinians and so on. The English lyrics (that can be found somewhere in the net) don't really reveal all that, but supposedly the songs title - "I gave her my life" refers to the prime minister Golda Meir. "I gave her my life/ I stood on my knees/ Trust me, everyone,/ It wasn't worth it.

I tried hard to find something recent, but 84 was the best I could do. This is another very famous and very funny song (I might find the lyrics later) and you can appreciate the band's music style.

Kaveret - Yo Ya

While as i mentioned, the center of the stage was occupied by the western styles of music, Israelis of the eastern ("mizrahi" - Moroccan, Tunisian, Yemenite and so on) origin had music styles and talents of their own, but those were for a long time neglected and (as western culture would usually have it) looked down upon. The biggest name in this field was doubtlessly Zohar Argov (referred to as "the king"). As you might notice the name Argov sounds quite Russian - the singer was made to change his last name by his managers to become more familiar to the general public. Zohar's voice and talent could not be ignored, but neither, as u may see by the absurd dancers in the background of the video, was the mainstream able to connect to it very well. The singer himself died of drug abuse at a relatively young age. I myself am not a big fan of the traditional "mizrahit" music style, as it was rarely followed by interesting lyrics and was, for the most part, depressing as hell. But this song I do like a lot.

Zohar Argov - The Flower in My Garden

Those days are gone, however, by now artists of eastern origin have taken over the popular music world, and, more importantly - any modern Israeli artist wherever he or his ancestors might be from, views the eastern music styles as part of his cultural background and of what composes the distinctive "Israeli" sound. One of the first to combine eastern sounds in pop music was a band called Etnix, whom I remember well from my school years. This song is not their most famous, and I include it for two main reasons - the social reality portrayed by the lyrics and the fact at least one of my friends might enjoy the guy in the video 8-). It is the actor Sami Huri, and the actual band are the dudes with wigs dancing in the field. The story plays again on the culture clash between the Israelis of European origin (ashkenazim) and the mizrahim. Because of the way he dresses and looks, the golden chain he wears and the music he listens to, the blond girl considers our hero to be a useless punk, a "local Al Pachino", and so he returns to his roots and goes back to the "hood" to party. Please ignore the bar-mitzva boy introduction by a couple of pretty famous comedians.

Etnix - Black BMW

In case the selection is getting too ethnic for you, here is some hardcore rock, where you don't miss much by not knowing the language as the words are pretty impossible to make out as it is.
These are Hayehudim (The Jews). I knew very little about them until in the army I once shared a room with a girl who was all about that music, and this song in particular. These two are actually a married couple in real life. They met (as if to prove a point I previously made) in an army band.

Hayahedim - Ella

Another big name in the rock music is Berry Sacharof, whom I also didn't appreciate until I saw him in concert on some Student Day in Jerusalem. Very interesting musician, great part of his career was side by side with Rami Fortis. I had much trouble choosing a video with a good sound that would transmit the energies of a concert, so to my rocker readers I strongly advise to listen to some more. Fortis and Sakharof can also be heard in English under the name Minimal Compact.

Berry Sakharof - This Is How It Is, Loving You

Ok this is getting long, so perhaps for a first taste that should be enough. If by chance any of my Israeli readers has corrections and suggestions, feel free. Coming up next (if i see someone is actually reading and listening): Zionist hip-hoppers, Hebrew rappers, Israeli Idols (thank God they didn't call it that!) and so on. Stay tuned.

My Stripes and Feathers

2007-02-07T02:50:00.000-08:00

I am not some stone commission

Like a statue in a park

I am flesh and blood and vision

I am howling in the dark

Long blue shadows of the jackals

Are falling on a pay phone by the road

Oh all they ever wanted

Was just to come in from the cold

(Come In From The Cold / Joni Mitchell)

The past week or so, I would have trouble answering the question how am I. The good and the bad are like layers upon each other that do not come in contact.

Well, the only bad thing, that hardly qualifies as a tragedy but is getting to me, is the trouble I have been having with installing Internet connection in my new place. I know from others such things occasionally become a problem in Japan, but the inconvenience of living without it together with a little pressure from home, the completely insane amounts of phone calls, forms, letters ans messages I had to endure, all with no consideration of me not being a native Japanese speaker, no help (which I admit, I didn't really ask for) and, probably the only thing I could really use, someone who would understand how difficult all this really is.

The cloud of Japanese bureaucracy hanging over me, together with a sudden attack of what seemed to be nostalgia, but is more likely, in my case, to be hunger for something new, left me with a general feeling that I am in a black stripe. My mom always told me life had stripes, black and white, good and bad. That's why realizing you are in a black one is actually half a comfort, since you can expect an improvement.

A sudden wave of relief was not late to follow. First, the chase after the rare and fast fading Kyoto snow led me up Philosopher's Road, into the mountain temples, that remind me why was it that I came here, and what I love about Kyoto and my life at this point.

Later, my new friend and role model Melinda took me to a calligraphy lesson, were I was not only able to get into a mood of concentrated creativity, but also find out I don't suck in an art so demanding. Hope to continue that seriously.

Another foreign resident of Kyoto had unknowingly contributed to me jumping to the next stripe, by inviting me and my friends to his birthday party, where under the influence of surprisingly tasty drinks I was able to have a lively conversation with people outside my usual gang, spread my feathers a bit, after forgetting I had them for a while. And another little piece of joy in a girls life - having a "high-spirited" conversation all the way to sleep with one of my forbidden Malaysians, and a completely absurd mail exchange with the other.

Ever since my energies are high and I walk the city happily and proudly, being its only bikeless citizen. and from the balcony of my newly furnished apartment I can almost see a new spring coming.

The Gypsy and the Refrigerator

2007-01-15T22:49:00.000-08:00

I choose the rooms that I live in with care
The windows are small and the walls almost bare,
There’s only one bed and there’s only one prayer;
I listen all night for your step on the stair.

(Leonard Cohen / Tonight Will Be Fine)

As unpredictable as the shifts of one’s destiny can be, so it happened that my first time of renting an actual apartment is now, in Japan. For years I have been residing in dormitory rooms and apart from occasionally being bothered by neighbors and roommates, I liked it. So I am kind of curious to see how I would do in this mission of building my own, though temporary, nest from scratch.

Well, notwithstanding the indescribable tortures of Japanese bureaucracy, the need to conduct all my business in Japanese very different from what I’ve studied back home, the unreasonable amounts of money needed for signing the contract, I am actually enjoying it. It occurred to me recently that it is not the thought of having my own place that makes me happy, but the feeling of change, of an adventure. I even enjoy the relative poverty I have been thrown into by the expenses of moving, and the big empty room with nothing but a futon and a window viewing a Japanese style roof and a bit of a bamboo forest.

The emptiness of the room sure makes me understand one of the basic concepts of Zen aesthetics – the beauty of the void. As much as I’m looking forward to designing this room in a way that represents my personality, I can’t help feeling that every piece of furniture or decoration I bring in takes away some of the options. (My personal style of interior design is, by the way, something between a monk’s cell and a French brothel. That means very minimal, but with a lot of red-scale colors).

My first purchases (and also last till next month – no money left) were a kotatsu (a great Japanese invention – a low table with installed heater) and a refrigerator. The thought of me owning something as solid and prosaic as a refrigerator is beyond hilarious to me. I actually have to pretend to be only renting it for a year to avoid attacks of commitment phobia. But other than that, and the Kyoto winter closing on me its cold embrace, I’m really happy. I’m starting a new life again, walking great distances every day, falling asleep on the floor of my empty room while trying to imagine what may this new life bring, and occasionally waking up to scenes such as this snowy day. Living the Gypsy Chic.

On Freedom and Drawers

2006-12-07T21:07:00.000-08:00

I'm emptying my drawers before my (still uncertain) move in the beginning of next month. Throwing away few kilos of waste always makes me feel good, I forgot how much! The new sensation of lightness, freedom. Before leaving to Japan I got rid of so much stuff, I felt like I could fly. Apparently, I hate stuff. Clothes I'm not wearing, old school notes I'm never going to read again, all kinds of old newspapers and ads, all the things the routine of modern life forces on you, trying to fill you world with them. And once in a while you must protest against it, saying "to hell with it all. I can take off this moment and go anywhere I want. I refuse to be burdened down by things that have no real meaning in my life."
Another benefit of cleaning up your world is that you might reveal under the waste things that really do matter to you. For example, I stumbled upon a pack of music Cd's I forgot all about. Those few were the only ones I brought to Japan with me, having the others sent later. These I wanted with me at the start of my new life, and it wasn't because of the music, most of which I could keep on my comp or something. Most of these Cd's were gifts from my friends back home
for my last birthday before leaving. If there is something I'm ready to suffer the extra weight upon my suitcase and my existence for, it is the memories of people I love. Gifts are the only thing I never throw away, meaning that during one's life it is impossible, and perhaps, wrong, not to accumulate any burden, as long as you try to keep it a positive one.
Life is such a complicated dance. Like walking on a wire, you must always keep the right balance between so many things. Between being free and being involved, remembering and leaving behind, accepting and changing.
All the things I'm learning at this point in my life, from observing my own reactions to things and those of the people arround me, all of it only became possible after I threw away a very big part of my familiar reality. I know now I will never regret it.

The Floating Bridge of Dreams

2006-12-04T01:02:00.000-08:00

The title is the name of one of the chapters in the Genji Monogatari, Tale of Genji by Murasaki Shikibu, one of the chapters associated with Uji town. Among the few, very few I might say, reasons I liked the idea of living so far from the center of Kyoto was Obaku's proximity to such a cultural land mark.

Uji, in the past a fashionable resort for the Kyoto nobles, is now famous mostly for its green tea, and of course, Lady Murasaki, who's statue overlooks the river.

The Uji chapters of Genji Minigatari are among the darkest in the book. It is the stage when the protagonist, and more importantly, the author reaches an age of buddhist disilusionment, and the colourful costumes of the Empirial Palace are replaced by the stormy sky over Uji River. Unsurprisingly, reading these chapters back home made me imagine Uji as a gloomy clouded place. But my few visits there were blessed by good weather, blossoms and, recently, momiji leaves.
Starting a cold winter morning in a cosy but fancy Uji restaurant with an extremely non Japanese breakfast of strawberry jam toast and cinnamon tea, I proceeded, along with my matcha crazed friend, to enjoy the leaves, and then shop for some tea ceremony artifacts.

Autumn Winds

2006-11-24T05:52:00.000-08:00

What is one to do when sick at home other than uploading pictures and reminiscing? (Well, watching online Seinfeld episodes, but you don't need me to tell you about that).

Autumn has come to Kyoto. With it came the cold, the Christmas themes, and...everything is made from pumpkin and yam. But you haven't experienced Japanese autumn unless you've absorbed yourself completely and actively in the admiration of the autumn leaves and their changing colours. Gazing dreamily from a window or passing by on the way to school doesn't count. Admiring or enjoying something in Japan inevitably requires a camera, and the presence of the rest of the Japanese people there with you. I believe it's a substitute to the Heian era court gatherings, there the guests would each compose a haiku about the tree in question (sakura, momiji), while enjoying tea or sake. Thus it became a shared experience.

The maple leaves are a bit late this year, but all over town the autumn is visible. Visions of autumn leaves (yellow rather than red) make my memory leap over my entire life in Israel and back to my childhood memories, at least some kind of a distant, postcard version of them. In the words of an Israeli song writer "I remember the 80's/always when it rains/as if there was winter all the time". Autumn reminds me of Petersburg, The Summer Garden and Pushkin (the poet, and all the places in the city somehow linked to his person and work). The only living memory of my own I managed to produce is of coming back from school with my friends through streets named after various revolution leaders and picking up colourful maple leaves (the leaves are big there, as the trees are tall, an image a little different than the Japanese momiji.

Here however, apart than enjoying solitary viewing of the autumn around town and uni, I also participated in a "leaf viewing tour" along the Philosopher's Road with a colourful group of ladies, as in best of Heian tradition. The maples, as I said, were still pretty green, but if you are loyal to tradition you can always find the perfect tree and admire the hell out of it.

Resting from this adventure we had a night of movies and warm wine in the Mukaijima dormitories. Warm wine reminds me of Jerusalem ("as if there was winter all the time"). Two of my most memorable encounters with it took place there. First - New Year's eve, 1998. I'm on a bus from Haifa to Jerusalem, to celebrate at the place of my brother's wife to be. Due to the rain the traffic is incredibly slow, it's taking hours more than it should have, as I'm sitting on the bus's back door stairs, and the back of the bus is stuffed with soldiers, sleeping on the floor, singing, talking on cell-phones, we all begin to fear that's how we will meet the New Year. However, we make it barely, and In the apartment warm wine is being prepared with kinds of herbs and berries and it smelled great and was very strong too.
Second one already as a student, a gathering and sleepover at my friend Noa's place. The wine was made with oranges and cinnamon, preceded by a wonderful pasta dinner and followed by Monty Pyton's Holly Grail. Definitely one of the best winter nights. This time in Kyoto was mostly practice - we made it with mandarins (that's what I call it) and cinnamon, and it had the desirable effect of making everything feel good. I'm suspecting the Kyoto winter will bring a lot of improvisations in that field.

Meanwhile - more pictures of the autumn views and more to follow.

My First Halloween

2006-11-12T06:13:00.000-08:00

Japan, it seems, has imported a few holidays from the West, but since they really have no roots in the local culture they are mostly about decoration and highlighting the everyday life. And, of course, shopping.

Autumn is a busy season for the Japanese shop keepers / restaurant and bar owners. First come the pumpkins of Halloween, with occasional bat seasoning. (El Coyote had a Mickey Mouse with bat wings!). Not to forget, autumn is also momiji season, and the red maple leafs decorate absolutely everything long before they are seen on the actual trees. And though its only middle of November, in a few shops I've already seen the sales-ladies dragging out little Christmas trees, santas and deers. To my personal relief, they go easy on the baby Jesuses so far.

As to my personal experience - me and my group of friends who also know Halloween only from American movies decided to take a ride on the "imported Holiday" train and celebrate Halloween without much preparation and effort. This meaning minimal costume and a short appearance on a party until our last train (23-30, hate it, will be over soon as we move closer to town).
Now the party wasn't an actual Halloween party, but a regular night in the Metro club, moreover, a "Beatles and Stones" night. Thus we were the only ones dressed up, but being a foreigner in Japan you gradually lose all fear of seeming weird or inappropriate, as you are always it. Riding the train in our costumes we hardly got more looks than usual.

As we all met in Metro and had less costumes and people we passed ours around, and what came out of it was mostly a game called "fun with wig". Presenting our gallery of interracial cross dressing: Afro-Malaysians, Afro-Russian, Afro-British, Afro-Portuguese and yours truly with a hair-do not that far from original.

So, In today's issue of "Anthropology for Dummies" : what is it with people(s) and masquerades?
Since Halloween is originally supposed to be about ghosts, monsters and so on, so I would say its design is to provide a healthy way of dealing with demons and evil spirits, with your fears and with the Unknown.
Someone was explaining me once about the Rio carnival, that it has social functions, as it blurs the boundaries between classes and gives the poor a chance to celebrate, dress up and proudly march the streets, literally shaking their tail feathers.
Purim, the Jewish masquerade holiday, of which i will tell later and possibly celebrate in Japan as well, apart from dressing up, requires you to get drunk until you cant tell the bad guy in the Purim story from the good one. So I guess many cultures got the idea that occasionally one must escape the familiar and defined, shake it up a bit and look at the world from a new perspective.

My Search for Zen

2006-11-05T07:47:00.000-08:00

Tofukuji （東福寺） temple made its way to the top of the list of places I must see for no apparent reason. I've seen a few postcards of the place and noticed the train station of same name, that's it. But somehow in past few weeks it was clear to me that next time I go traveling alone it will be to Tofukuji.

In general, of all the numerous temples and shrines in Kyoto, I love those of the Zen sects most. (So if any of my readers want to recommend one I'll be grateful). Mostly because they are less overcrowded with golden Buddha statues that don't agree with my either religious or aesthetic ideas. Instead you get quiet wooden corridors, smell of rain and forest and enigmatic stone gardens.

As I arrived to Tofukuji, my first impression was that way too many people were walking around and no Zen was likely to be had. But as it goes with the big temple complexes, you can always find a secluded corner, some tree or rock no one else is admiring at the moment. And when you breath in the temple's atmosphere, nothing disturbs you anymore. The feeling of raw wood beneath your bare feet, the open corridors drowning in green take your mind away.

I was swept by the Japanese obsession with changing seasons. I can't explain why is it that I can't wait for the leafs to change color but it's true. What do I think will happen once they do? One of the greatest things in Japanese culture is its ability to celebrate nature. The most simple things, colored by ritual, give reason for harmless and effortless joy. And I believe the human soul demands it - the promise of change, of new hope and of continuation at the same time. After all, maybe it's all there is. Flowers blossom and scatter, people live and die, and seasons come and go.

When the leaves turn red this place will be violently beautiful. Now it's just a touch of blush, a hint of change, a promise of a miracle. If I were a Japanese poet it is this passing moment I would find most beautiful.

My Salsa Lessons

2006-10-20T22:44:00.000-07:00

Tú no tienes la culpa mi amor
Que el mundo sea tan feo
Tú no tienes la culpa mi amor
De tanto tiroteo
Vas por la calle llorando
Lágrimas de oro
Vas por la calle brotando
Lágrimas de oro

It's not your fault, my love,
How ugly the world is
It's not your fault, my love,
All this fighting
You walk the street crying
Tears of gold,
You walk the street sowing
Tears of gold

(Lágrimas de oro / Manu Chao)

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The salsa bar El Coyote is one of the prominent institutions in the not exactly happening night life of the Emperial Capital. I was brought there on my second night in Japan, and recently have been going there quite a lot, learning very little salsa skills, but enjoying the opportunity to observe the crowd this place attracts, whose story I will attempt to tell here.

Now, I am not talking about the beautiful, elegantly dressed Japanese ladies, or the gentlemen, who compensate their unfortunate lack of physique by pretty damn good dancing skills. With all my respect to the citizens of Kyoto, who master this foreign dance so surprisingly well and prove a lot of anthropological theories wrong by the swing of their hips, this is not their story.

Nor do I wish to speak of the true Latino residents, who might have not been considered that hot back home, but sure feel like virtuous salsero here, and who must suffer the ignorance of all Japanese and foreigners who think everyone in any South American country (that is if they know there's more than one) dance salsa all day long.

I'm not even dealing with the weird cases like yours truly, who, due to some distortion in their own cultural identity, are made extremely happy by a single word of Spanish, specially one attached to a tune. No, I'm talking about your average gaijins, the gypsies of Kyoto, for whom this twice foreign place somehow became the sanest way to spend Friday evening.

I see them at the overcrowded tables in the dark, exploring the drink menu at the bar or standing in colorful lines for the salsa lesson. Some ridiculously young and ridiculously blond, others look rather worn out by either studies or partying too much. And then ofcourse there is my little bunch, inevitably taking over the dance floor performing...hm...very free interpretations of the original dance. The alcohol levels might vary among the above, but all very determined to enjoy the evening and leave the week behind them.

It would be a huge lie to say we foreign students don't have it good here. We have lots of fun and for the most lead a much more interesting life than we would be at home, specially since many of us pretty much sacrificed the last few years back home for the chance to get here. But, although it's almost impossible to understand it without experiencing - our gypsy life is not that simple, and I can see that when I look at the drinking and dancing crowd around me.

They are having troubles with the Japanese language morning day and night - each one on his own level - whether you're trying to write a research, open an account or order food in a restaurant - the devil's language is there to get you. They are often less than thrilled with the behavior of the locals, or with the local cuisine, fashion and weather, but that's never the real problem. The thing is - when you arrive here alone, all stripped of your familiar reality, even if it was your dream - it's a human instinct to try and fill the void. As a result you sometimes let people into your life before studying them well enough, or try to build your new reality too fast, without providing it a solid base, which leads to possible accidents. Also, your old life never really leaves you - you miss it if you're lucky, or are haunted by its demons if you're not. New people and situations inevitably bring you face to face with yourself. And there - well, you tell me, providing you've gone through the soul searching and done blaming others- what is your personal handicap? Perfectionism that makes every little mistake into a huge failure? Low self esteem that makes u feel so unworthy you avoid anything worthwhile? Past hurts that don't allow you to trust or be trusted? Or, if you want to borrow one of mine - the painful inability to except the fact some things can't be changed or helped.

But then, just as those black holes open on your path it is important not to ignore the positive surprises this experience sends your way. Like meeting across the ocean someone who understands you and excepts you the way you are. Or finding out you're not as anti-social as you used to think, and much stronger. And if you're lucky - find in your darkest hours the chance to improve yourself, or at least new little ways to make yourself feel better .
"Ay, why crying" - sings Celia Cruz, in a song familiar to most from the movie "Love bites (Amores Perros)", and to me because i was trying to download a completely different song featuring love and dogs - "Life is a carnival". And as much as you want to protest against it at that moment, then you think, hey, I'm dancing, guess I'm not that depressed after all.

And as you leave El Coyote hastily to catch the last train, all your troubles and worries remain there they were, but the little scoreboard says you spent one more day of your life celebrating it. And when you're back in your far away corner of the world, these are the things you will remember.

Gifu

2006-10-09T05:26:00.000-07:00

The Gifu prefecture...Want to know where it is? Get a map. I only know how to walk to places in walking distance. Other places have no geographic description, only a name of a station and a number of a bus/train. Sometimes they can be north or south or "up in the mountains". Or as in our case "down by the Sea of Japan".
I don't like organized trips. I really don't. But in Japan it becomes so annoying it's even funny. Our guide (nice lady in uniform who was cursing the day she got that job entertaining a bus full of gaijins) didn't speak any English. Which ofcourse makes perfect sense on a trip offered to new students who are new in Japan. But no worries - she didn't speak Japanese either, as she was speaking keigo, the polite form of Japanese where honorific verbs, suffixes and prefixes take the place in the sentence where meaning used to be. Now, I like having the option to show your respect to someone through language, but don't see special need to show that kind of respect to the fact the bus is stopping for a toilet break...

The upside of the organized trip was the nice fancy Japanese style hotels (ryokans) we stayed in.The nice tatami rooms, cute yukata robes, elaborate many-course dinner most of which I had to feed to my non kosher-challenged friends. And then - the wonders of Japanese style relaxation - get drunk on warm sake and cold beer and hop to the onsen.
The onsen is an endless pleasure, especially if its outside in the cold air, and you can go in and out. One of the places had a jakuzi on the roof, and when it got too hot you could stand there naked and observe salarymen working late in an office building across the street.

Of the places we visited I recall mostly Shirakawa-Go, an authentic village famous for its straw roofs and practice of traditional arts and instruments.

The Festa Forest (?!) in Takayama. This things (never knew what to call them) are used for festivals such as the Gion-matsuri. In the exhibition u can see the figures move, dance, fight and play the drums. All in very detailed design and quite impressive.

Tonjibo rocks. A placed favored by suiciders. very nice view, but I prefer my suicides less violent.

I loved one of the last places we went to, Eiheiji Temple, but have no pictures of it, as it was forbidden to take pictures inside. It is a practicing Zen temple, very beautiful wooden buildings and garden, the atmosphere is very serene and the apprentice priests pass u by silently in the gloomy corridors.

In conclusion, rural Japan indeed has a lot to offer. Visiting it in the winter is an idea we have been considering since the trip...Hope it works out.

On Shining Cities

2006-09-18T07:24:00.000-07:00

"I've looked at clouds from both sides now,
From up and down, and still somehow
It's clouds' illusions I recall,
I really don't know clouds at all."

(Joni Mitchell/Both Sides Now)

The sudden autumn winds through the heat-struck streets of Kyoto sent me on a nostalgic ride to Jerusalem, where I'd been watching the changing seasons (all 2 of them) the last 5 years.
The series of flashbacks were triggered by a tea cup. I was watching a movie at my dorm neighbor's room, and we didn't have enough cups for all present, so I went to bring mine. I pictured it in the eyes of my mind standing on the counter, from which I shall take it and return. But as I looked and looked in front of me I couldn't find it. Took me a few minutes to realize, that the cup I was visualizing didn't exist in my room, or in Japan, or in my present life. I had it in several dormitory rooms of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, in another lifetime.
There were 2 of them, both brown and light beige, but the colors inversed. They had on them thin flower drawings and the saying "look at the jar". (The one you are not supposed to look at in the Hebrew equivalent of "don't judge a book by its cover"). All the friends I have in Israel now had the opportunity to drink something from them one time or another. Coffee between nights of fun and days of school, at winter all kinds of herbal tea infusions bought in a small shop at the market, red wine of different quality, improvised cocktails, warm wine with cinnamon and oranges...Damn, those were the days.

Jerusalem is a Dream-City. It was made so by history, religion and literature. Its geographic existence is inseparable with everything that has been said, written and felt about it through the ages. There are many cities like that in the world, they differ from one culture to another, and change with time. The general rule is, that having never visited it doesn't keep people from idealizing Paris, Venice, or Atlantis for that matter. You know what they are, and why you like them. You know which of them is your kind of place, and why you have to go there, otherwise your life will never be complete.
Unlike other Dream-Cities, Jerusalem also has the holiness factor going for it, and its name is filled with all the passion of monotheistic religions, the drama of history and civilization in progress, and a lot of personal stories and human feelings building up to make its unique aura.
The heavenly, shining city on the hill of the Puritans I'm supposed to be writing a paper on, the anchor and object of longing, the heart of Jewish existence, the place where Jesus was just a man and so on.

But of course, each person has a personal relationship with his Dream-City. It wasn't for religious reasons I fell in love with Jerusalem on my first visits, but perhaps its multicultural-ness had something to do with it. It was a real City, unlike many places in Israel including my home town.
It was attracting people from all over the world, and its narrow streets were filled with stories of the old world and the new. It was beautiful too, and different, with its Jerusalem stone and its green hills overlooking the desert and the Dead Sea. Another object of admiration, and, in the end, my ticket to life in my Dream-City was the Hebrew University. Its shining stone buildings on top of the sunbathed green hill, its library with books in exotic languages, its atmosphere of liberalism, it was everything missing in my highschool years.

So I moved to my Dream-City and it became my life, with all that life is. Exams and lectures, lousy student jobs and cold rainy winters. My greatest moments of happiness and despair, my wonderful friends and our simple pleasures, my little love stories that blossomed like flowers between the city's cold stone fingers. My dormitory rooms, temporary like the seasons.
And with all the inevitable bitching and complaining at the time, I loved my life there madly and I loved the City that made me what I am and brought me where I am, how ever ridiculously far that is. It was beautiful when I was miserable in it, it was holy when I was gazing into my own drunken eyes in a mirror at some bar's restroom, and it was shining when it was crowded and dirty, terror-struck and abandoned by tourists. It never seized to be my Dream-City. Not even when the desire to travel and to find me a new life became so strong I lost the peace of mind the City gave me.

Kyoto was also a Dream-City of mine, long before I had any reason to believe I'll get a chance to live in it other than my unreasonable optimism. First, I read a lot of Heian literature so for me it was the capital. Second, Kyoto too was both ancient and international, attracting more scholars and artists than people trying to get rich. It was also a meeting point between the old world and the new, and in these aspects it didn't disappoint me. Though it is a bit too rural for me at times, and at other times resembles a big souvenir shop, I'm steadily growing to love Kyoto, the way it is in reality. The serenity of the river running through its heart, its numerous temples that reflect through the ages the human respect for beauty and nature, the paradox of its Japanese-ness and the many foreigners that live here. The interesting people you meet here, and how easily you all feel at home all of a sudden.
I don't know if the way to make a City yours is by being happy in it or the other way around. What kind of experience makes a place more than a place? But as I walk the streets of Kyoto these days of early autumn, looking at the streets and the people walking them, sometimes I get this fragile, evasive sensation. One of being exactly in the right place.

That's it for this long hideous introduction. Next posts will contain pictures and anecdotes of my life in Japan, starting with my latest trip to Gifu prefecture. A new year begins in the Jewish calendar, time to clear the heart from illusions and disappointments and go on discovering and trying to enjoy the ride.