On Freedom and Drawers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"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.