Seaweed and Sashimi

HAKONE, Japan

It is sobering to think that the great Kawabata sat here nearly a century ago. The innkeeper says he preferred the room furthest from the river, because the sound of rushing water distracted him. He had very large dreamy eyes. He started writing at midnight, with a pen, sitting crosslegged at one of these ancient wooden tables, under the hanging lamp, his bamboo shade open to the night garden of second floor roof.






When he was finished he would place the manuscript outside his door, and retreat to his futon for sleep. His editors would come by each morning to collect his work, never speaking to him. Meanwhile, he slept through the day, visited the hot baths that make this region famous, and took his meals, as I am, in his room.

Later on, when his books reached readers throughout Japan and beyond, he had seen enough of this world, so he committed suicide.




The Japanese eat seaweeds of many varieties at all of their meals. They believe seaweed is good for your hair, and who is to doubt it, as they all have beautiful hair. Like the Chinese, they eat certain foods that keep their skin soft, but I am not sure which ones yet.



Personally, I think if you sit in a sauna every day, and then dry your entire body by rubbing it with a tiny washcloth-sized towel, that probably does wonders for your skin. Something in these hot waters flowing out of the rocks beneath that magnificent volcano, Fuji, restores your skin. Of that I am sure. I came with dry and flaking skin and now I feel almost as nice as a Japanese woman!

Almost being the operative word there.



I love eating in this country. My appetites change, I no longer desire big pieces of meat or potatos, my Midwestern heritage. Instead, I yearn for pickeled cabbage, raw squid, wasabe, soba, miso and -- yes -- seaweed. I love seaweed.

Even my ancient hair feels young again here. And sipping greeen tea as Kawabata once did is to commune with the gods.

His books grace my shelves back home. Here, I can embrace his spirit, and glimpse something of what he saw through those enormous, sensitive eyes, so many years ago.



ake mashiti omede to