One of My Last Posts From Japan

(This is a re-post from January 2007.)


Rinky Dink Studio

Let it be understood, please, that I do not want to make fun of anyone's English here. If I had to write a sign in Japanese, say, advertising "Please come in and read my blog," it would no doubt come out as "Please admit I have a giant horse up my ass."

I know this. Nevertheless, there are many amusing signs here.


Koenji pigeons

Today, I had the pleasure of visiting one last Tokyo neighborhood -- Kichijoji. Like all the others it is built in concentric circles around its train station. Unlike Minatoku, where many gaijin live and Ginza or Shinjuku, where they shop, this seemed to be almost entirely a Japanese neighborhood.


Not a Japanese company, but European

I finally had an American-type meal, more or less, my first since arriving here, at Japan's original burger joint, called Mos Burger. If you have seen the recent Pink Panther movie, you'll recall the scene where a supposedly French Steven Martin tries to learn how to pronounce "hamburger" before he visits New York.

His is almost a perfect imitation of how the Japanese pronounce "am-abou-aguh." So, for example, you may wish to order Spicy Hamburger, in which case you want to say "aspiceeamabougah."

I find it interesting that at the time when hamburgers were introduced here (by Mos Burger) the Japanese experimented and eventually determined that a 70-30 ground pork-ground beef mixture maximized the flavor of their burgers.

Today, most stores and shops still use the 70-30 formula, or some other mixture, like 50-50, because they say it is more flavorful than pure beef. They also somehow manage to cook the burger so it is soft and juicy, never hard and dry.


Swan boats after dark in pond at Kichijoji

Today, I also visited a "100 Yen" shop, which is the equivalent of a "dollar shop" back in the States. Actually, it is the equivalent of an 85-cent shop at the current rate of exchange. In any event, I was shocked at the quality of the workmanship in the goods being sold at these bargain-basement prices.

I purchased several items made of wood -- the kinds of things my father would have loved. I wish I could have brought him these items, because I know he would have marveled at both the grains in the woods and the workmanship. I will give them to his grandchildren instead.

-30-

Season's End

On a cold, rainy day and night, my son's soccer season came to a close. They finished in third place, missing the playoffs for the first time since he joined the team as a freshman two years ago.

This team suffered a lot of losses to injuries, illness, grades, and penalties, and basically had no offense its last four games, scoring just twice, and watching their chance at the playoffs escape their grasp.

He did not play today because he is hurt, with a pulled leg muscle from last Sunday's game with his club team. He probably shouldn't have played in Tuesday's all-important game, but he did and his leg has been worse since.

Today's game was the only blowout loss his team has suffered all year, 1-6, against the best team in the city, which has a 36 game winning streak now over two years. All six goals were scored from "his" side of the defensive line, and afterwards his teammates jokingly blamed him for the loss.

I don't know that his team would have won the game with him in there, but I do know that most if not all of those goals would never have happened.

It's odd watching a game when your kid isn't playing. He was still out there, towering above his teammates, in their huddle, rooting for them from the bench, joking with various friends who stopped by to say "Hi."

He's an upperclassman now, respected, and as far as I can tell, well-liked. He's also had a fantastic season, with two goals, 4 assists, and 21 shots on goal, while anchoring his team's defense game after game. They had five shutouts and gave up 22 goals in the 17 games he played in, and then six goals in the one game he didn't play in.

That's it. Season over. And only one more left in his high school soccer career.

***

Tonight, babysitting my 3-year-old grandson, I thought about my own Dad, who would have been 95 today. How much he would have loved hearing about his grandson's soccer play and his great-grandson's antics.

But he died in January of the year my son first started playing soccer, that September. That was 12 years ago.

As we all know, time waits for no one, and in the end, makes fools of us all. I shivered in the cold today. It wasn't just the weather that got to me, but the passage of time, and awareness of how much that has passed will never be returning.

-30-

More From Japan

Note to Reader: I'm re-posting this as one of a series of articles I wrote when last visiting Japan a number of years ago. I'm trying to understand my own motivations for going there, and how doing so changed my life in ways both good and bad. I hope that what appears here from there helps you in some way or another...



As my trip begins to wrap up, I'm trying to see all of the key parts of Tokyo. But it is such an enormous city that covers so much territory here on Honshu, the "main island" of Nippon, it really will not be possible.

I had heard of the Ginza for many years before I first visited Tokyo. My first mother-in-law told me about this central shopping district, and her memories of visiting it as she raised her children here in the '50s.

Her name was Grace Symroski and I loved her dearly. Because of her stories, I always wanted to visit Ginza. Since the '80s, when I was last here, the Ginza district lost favor among young people, who started flocking instead to other areas.



In recent years, a major effort has been undertaken to revitalize this old section of Tokyo. Now, it is the center of amazing architecture and tony international shops. Young people now flock to the area, especially if they have money. Nine out of every ten people on the street tonight were young women.



The Tokyo government built several white elephants with "Bubble" money, including the utterly amazing Tokyo International Forum. The sculptures and artwork captivated me, especially those laced with rainbow colors, like the glass balls pictured at the top of this post.



Many young and middle-aged Japanese women eat alone at the cafes near Ginza after work, as this is a major center of corporate employment in Tokyo. You can feel the sheer financial power of this country best here and in Shinjuku.



Whenever I travel anywhere, I cannot help fantasizing about moving there for a while and trying to make it as a writer. For me, Tokyo feels like a very easy city to live in, although given my awful sense of direction, which is more properly described as the lack of any sense whatsoever of direction, I am afraid I would get easily lost on the subways here, even though every sign in every station is clearly labeled not only in Japanese but in English.



The Japanese honor their writers and poets and artists. They used to have many local coffee shops, the faded signs for which can sometimes be glimpsed here and there amidst the modern glitz. But Starbucks has taken over the market. Besides the coffee shops, there are the tiny pubs and big bookstores, with readings by authors. Any writer would feel at home here.



I know I am not talented as a photographer, and I apologize to anyone who happens to read this blog for the poor quality of my pictures. But I get so excited wherever I go, I just want to create some sort of record in images, not just in words.

Note to reader: I've been re-posting articles I wrote during my final trip to Japan in January 2007. This is mainly for me, as I try to make sense of why I went there then, what I hoped to find, and how my life was changed, irrevocably, by going there.

Regardless of all that, there may be something of interest here for you, which is why I am doing this.



All too soon, of course, I must abandon this exploration of an exotic place, and the feelings of renewal and hope that have swept over me here. It is time soon to go back home, and continue my life as a commuter to the land of computers.

I hope some of you have enjoyed these travelogues. Thank you, "Anonymous," for the one comment I have received since arriving here.

Mixed Emotions on a Warm Evening

Walking back home on a summery night, after parking several blocks away, I ran into two of my neighbors, separately, both young women, both walking their dogs. Our neighborhood has felt safer lately, since the horrific wave of gang killings appears to have subsided.

A film crew from New York spent the morning here, filming me for an upcoming documentary on a major figure from the 60s. Talking on camera brought up a lot of old memories and feelings form the 70s, which is when much of what people call the 60s actually happened.

In a sad turn of events this afternoon, my son's high school team lost a soccer game that -- had they won -- would have sent them to the city playoffs for a third straight year. They are a small school, about half the size of the larger school they lost to today, 2-1.

My son played the entire game hurt, but nobody knew that but him and me. He didn't tell his coach or teammates, because there was no way he was going to miss this game, with the season on the line.

The injury is to his right leg, the outer muscle on his calf, probably some sort of twist or sprain that has made walking difficult since it occurred in another game Sunday afternoon.

He was in one of those high-speed collisions with an opposing player that makes you catch your breath and hope for the best. Although I could see he was limping a bit afterward, he said he was fine at the end of the game.

But starting that night, the pain was bad enough that he realized he was hurt, and it hasn't abated much since. Nevertheless, with Ibuprofen, stretching and adrenaline, he was perfectly able to play at a very high level today.

In the photo above, he is doing his usual job, guarding an opposing striker. But he also got in on what little offense his team generated, and even after the sting of defeat tonight, I was left with a picture in my mind of the play (no photo, alas.)

From his position at right back, and even with the hurt right leg, he arched a long kick that traveled over half the length of the soccer pitch (over 50 yards) in the air to his left forward, who was in the box to the left of the goalkeeper.

Perfect reception and a cross to the front of the net to a third teammate, and Boom! A goal.

At that point, ahead 1-0, our guys looked like they were on the way to victory and a place in the city playoffs next week. But it was not to be. The other team came back to tie it before the half, and win it in the second half.

I've written many times that sports teaches you not only how to win but how to lose and hopefully to do both gracefully. Although my own kid and his teammates looked pretty downcast after a terrific season fell just short of where they'd hoped to finish, it's also true that soccer is only a game.

And long after I forget who won and who lost, what I'll remember is how he played the game.

-30-

Japanese Memories, Part 3

When reading these posts I wrote across the Pacific, be aware that was nearly five years ago.



Japan is an intensely emotional place. The people carry so many feelings around inside of themselves, and rarely let them show, especially to a stranger.



But their gentleness comes out in their art forms, and even in the workings of their infrastructure. The trains do not lurch about the tracks as in New York; if you have to stand, you barely need to brace yourself as the train pulls into or out of a station.



The gardens are breath-taking. I have visited this country in springtime and the beauty of the cherry blossoms could never be overstated. Even the phone booths are like little Pagodas -- so pretty.



It is a land of beautiful women. They move their hands with lyrical grace as they speak in soft, clear voices. None of which is meant to imply that Japanese women are docile or passive; they are not. Today's modern woman in Tokyo could be in New York or Los Angeles or London quite easily.

They are serious career women, educated, fashionable, worldly. What Westerners often mistake as subservience in fact is a certain refinement of sensibility that Americans -- men and women -- would be wise to emulate.



Japanese men are also very gentle and often very kind. Modern Japanese men can make great fathers -- rarely have I seen fathers so openly affectionate and loving as here in Japan. The one public display of affection that seems permissable is for a Dad to nuzzle, and kiss his little child on the train.

On my other trips, I perceived some of what I have written during this visit, but never in any depth, because I was working most of the time here, giving speeches, participating in conferences, touring factories,conducting interviews.

Also, now I am older, I think I see more. My eyes gather a different kind of information now. These may be the most gentle people on earth, and it is easy to love them.



Koenji KFC

Col. Sanders was out late last night. I think all of his likenesses have immigrated to Japan, where they like to hang out near the Drunk Raccoons and mechanical cats waving one paw.


window displays

No one knew where he came from, but a rogue monkey terrorized Tokyo a few years back. He broke into homes and stole food all over town, escaping every time across the rooftops before striking again. When he was finally captured, he was checked and found to be healthy. Just lost.

I didn't realize Japan had wild monkeys who live in the mountains far from Tokyo. There's not enough time during this visit to go to that distant place, but filmmakers have documented monkey families soaking in hot springs just like humans do.

There was a naughty monkey in the Akita Zoo. He would perch himself at the front of his cage and puff his cheeks out, looking cute. When an unsuspecting visitor drew close enough, perhaps to shoot a photo, he would splatter them with water he was holding in his mouth for just such an opportunity. Then he would clap his hands and screech with laughter at having tricked a human monkey.


little red truck

It's a gray, cool day here in Tokyo. Maybe I'll go out for a walk. The first day of the New Year is now night in the States. Here it is noon on the 2nd.



bamboo screen



I saw these two women on the train today coming back from a religious shrine I visited in Chiba. People in white uniforms bowed all along the way to the temple. They repeated over and over the phrase,"Congratulations on the New Year."

The faithful in this particular religion, which is related to both Shintoism and Buddhism, number nearly 900,000 in Japan. Today, people came both from Tokyo and from the countryside. The former wore the short skirts and boots and fancy hairdos of the fashionable; the latter wore simple clothes and often had rugged faces from working in the sun. Some of the country people actually stared at me, the only obvious gainjin who was present this afternoon, among thousands of Japanese pilgrims.

For the first time during this visit, I felt conspicuous. Since I do not share any religious belief, the best I could do was to bow politely to the faithful, but I could hardly pray, though I tried to a little bit. Many of the displays in the buildings I toured told the story of founder of this church, who passed away in the 1980s. There were the early implements he used as he carved his beliefs out of the earth. There was the simple, elegant rooms where he prayed and studied.

Inspired by his quest to find meaning in life, people gradually joined him, and together they built a magnificent garden, with waterfalls and blossuming trees, rock sculptures, and beautiful temples.

So this place I visited today, 1.5 hours from Koenji, truly felt like a spiritual place. It was so nice to see all of the people who were visiting the shrine, and how happy it made them to be there. This clearly is a compassionate religion, where the faithful devote themselves to try and be better people, kinder, and more forgiving of others.

***



Afterwards, I visited a place that is the polar opposite of the temple -- the largest store in Tokyo, filled with every consumer item imaginable.



It was WalMart on steroids, nine vast floors of consumer goods sold at discount prices. There were too many choices: I felt over-stimulated, and had to leave. I like the small shops with the mechanical cats in the window.

More From My Trip To Japan (late '06-early '07)

Here is the second in a series of entries from my trip nearly five years ago.

Shinjuku Station is so crowded! And immediately, on this blustery Friday night, I notice a transformation in the daytime crowd.

Then, they were all bustling about, eyes downcast, expressions serious, with few words spoken.

Now, after dark, they are traveling in clusters, smiling and laughing. Most are dressed expensively, stylishly.



One of the current controversies in Japan is over whether/how the national pastime, Sumo wrestling, could/should be extended to allow women to participate. As with everything involving gender politics here, it is complicated. The main issue, as I can make it out, is what kind of uniform the female wrestlers could wear. Obviously the sort of thong bikini thingies the men wear is not appropriate.

The women would need an entirely different costume. But Sumo is an ancient tradition, like Geisha, and there simply is no precedent for how to incorporate women into the sport, at least not yet.

My impression is that the Japanese will eventually figure this out, but not until the entire nation has contemplated it for enough time to have puzzled their way to a collective decision.



Of course, in Japan, nobody really makes personal decisions, as we do in the West. Here, the interlocking sets of responsibilities toward one another need to be taken into account before any substantive decision can be taken.

Only this cultural factor can explain how such a peaceful, gentle, even docile people could be whipped up into an imperialist frenzy, yielding the earliest terrorists (kamikazes) willing to crash their planes into U.S. targets -- a tactic never seen before in war.



My ten-year-old will be happy to know that the newest U.S. brand to penetrate the giant Tokyo market is his favorite donut company. It was fascinating to see hundreds of young, slender people standing in line in the cold night air over Shinjuku near Kabukicho to taste these delicacies. I bet the majority of Krispy Kreme's sales here will be one donut at a time.

In fact, I bet the girls will split a donut! I don't think they like to eat anything, let alone something so sweet, in as large a portion as a typical Krispy Kreme donut.



Into a huge bookstore, I had one of those experiences that people claim only happen to me. Everyone was bent over, treading ever so delicately, near the entrance to the store. A contact lens must have been lost. I joined the hunt, the only foreigner to do so. While the Japanese were performing a sort of delicate ballet in slow motion, first raising one leg, then the other, as they awkwardly navigated the area, I squatted down to see it all from a different angle.

Immediately, the lost lens materialized to my sight. Everyone broke into a loud state of excitement, bowing and thanking me over and over. Arrigato! Arrigato! Arrigato! I imagine they were passing the story down the line: "Did you see that? The foreigner found the missing contact lens. How extraordinary!"

I hope so at least; it would be nice to give them a happy story.



Finally, I have reached my true destination: the main red-light district of Tokyo. Giant posters reach into the sky flashing faces of the consorts within each establishment. Lovely female faces, hundreds of them.

But what's this? Here is a section identical to the last one but all of the faces are of gorgeous young men. Is this the gay section? No, I am assured, wealthy Japanese women visit these places to spend time with lovely young men.

(There also is a gay red-light district nearby, but I don't get to see it this night.)

In Japan, sex is something that it is said often happens outside of marriage. Once a couple has produced a child or two, many of them may stop having sex. If a married man after a certain age discovers his wife is once again pregnant, he will act as if he is terribly embarrassed, even if privately he is happy, and loves his wife and loves sleeping with her still.

Maybe this is because he does not wish to present himself as sexually unavailable when there are so many attractive women around. He may wish to be seen as not sleeping with his wife, but instead as consorting with a mistress, even if it is not true.

I cannot help but wonder, though, whether modern Japanese, like modern Chinese, and Vietnamese, and all Asians, may not be hungering for relationships more like the idealized (and virtually unattainable) Western marriage model. When I see Japanese men with children, for example, they are invariably gentle and loving, extremely attentive.

Yet, according to statistics I have seen, Japanese men spend less than half as much time with their kids as American men. (The top Dads in terms of time spent, according to the study, were Canadians.)

One last observation about the red-light district. I'm not entirely sure the local people come down here to actually have sex all that often. The foreigners do, of course. Many men come to Japan explicitly for this purpose and the Japanese brothels accommodate them. But maybe the Japanese themselves are more interested in engaging in elaborate pre-mating rituals.

They like to purchase time with a beautiful, refined young person. Many of these girls are college-educated and capable of conducting a sophisticated conversation on world affairs. After a long work week, some salary man spends their wages here, drinking and talking late into the night with beautiful young women.

Sometimes, if he pays even more, they may have sex. Other times, he may simply fall in love with one of these girls, and come back to drink and talk with her again and again, only rarely or never actually crossing over into actual sexual relations. It is an extended opportunity to flirt for a people who cannot ever do that openly outside of this district.

It is simply considered too rude even to look at another person suggestively. Men do not turn their heads to watch a woman walk by, they don't look them up and down, they do not whistle or make rude gestures or comments.

Instead, all is sublimated into a modern-day version of the ancient art of the Geisha.

Of course, all of the above is only speculation, and I certainly do not wish to imply that all Japanese men like the hostess bars. In the end, it is a game only the rich can play. You can easily drop thousands of dollars down here if you are not careful.

***

Very nearby this district is a magical discovery: Golden-gai. This nexus of five impossibly narrow alleys features 250 tiny bars, each of which can accommodate perhaps 8 people, max. The bars have hand painted signs, and just like the brothels, photos of the kinds of people who can be found inside.

So, there are pubs for musicians, for writers, for artists, for every kind of citizen or visitor. Some of the famous come down here to their favorite pubs, where the bartender and the locals all receive them warmly. There are drawings made by artists pinned over the bar -- gifts to the host.

He doesn't consider it as an object of potential value -- as something to sell on eBay for instance, but as a private token of the artist's respect. In these establishments, the bartender takes your order, and then cooks you a small meal. He tells you the history of the area, how in the 50s when an official crackdown on the brothels led by a feminist politician missed the private clubs that continued to flourish in Golden-gai, much like Speakeasies during American Prohibition. I'm unclear when exactly the little pubs took their place, but apparently there are no longer brothels in Golden-gai, just bars.

For 50 years, this magical little district where there are no motor vehicles, only foot traffic or bicycles, has offered safe harbor to Japanese of all ages and stations of life.

These are, truly, for many men, their "living rooms."

p.s. One word of warning for foreigners who may wish to visit Golden-gai. If you get easily offended by a system where are no set prices, stay away. The host, when sizing you up, may choose to do as mine did, and overcharge you by ten percent or so. This is fine with me, but may not work for you.



This country celebrates the Western New Year, not the Chinese Spring Festival. This weekend, here in Tokyo, everyone is out and about, having a good time. Tonight I had the most delicious Beijing Duck in a Chinese restaurant that remains open 24 hours a day, 365 days a year.

People still smoke inside restaurants in Tokyo. And this has to be the city with the most bars per capita of any in the world. I always thought San Francisco could claim that prize, but only, as it turns out, inside the continental U.S.

Here, people drink like there is no tomorrow. Even when drunk, however, they bow and offer others the chance to go into or out of an elevator, for instance, with respect and kindness. I have not yet seen a fight in Japan. The people do not seem to get angry when they drink; rather they get happy.

Tonight I saw the Clint Eastwood/Steven Spielberg film about Iwo Jima (the Japanese version, with English subtitles.) It was deeply moving to watch this among the Japanese. Many people cried.

I wish these two wonderful cultures -- Japanese and American -- could find a middle ground. We are not respectful enough. They are not independent enough. Together, we should make a perfect fit.

Reprise: Japan and Me

I've decided to repost a series of articles from early 2007, when I last visited Japan. Here are the earliest ones, to be followed by others. This was a significant moment in my life. The stories I tried to tell from there seem to me now, in light of all that has happened since, as hopelessly naive.

But of course, that is when we are at our best, isn't it? When we have no idea that this moment is as good as it ever was to get.

Over the next few days, I'll try to repost the rest of this series. In retrospect, I had no idea at the time what I was getting myself into.

But that is another story altogether...



Back for my third visit to Japan but first in 20 years. It is pouring here tonight (Tuesday) even as Christmas night is ending back in San Francisco. The district where I stay, Koenji, is an old neighborhood criss-crossed with narrow brick alleyways and covered arcades, shotengai, filled with brightly lit shops open late at night. Lots of little restaurants and shops and book stores. Of course, the signiature KFC is here also, with one of the genuine Colonel Sanders statues out front. These are extremely popular in Japan, where the menu includes teriyaki chicken. A sports tradition has come to be involving throwing the Colonel into the river after a victory (or a loss). He's then retrieved, dried off, and placed back in front the franchise outlet from which he was pinched. His expression never changes.

Tokyo is a huge city where no one locks up their bicycles. People don't steal bicycles very often here and when they do, they often return them.

I'm so sleepy after my long flight, I'll close for now, and soon sleep to the sounds of rain outside the window.



It was a tremendous downpour that soaked the city as I arrived, and through most of the night. In the middle of the night, I awoke to light flashes over the city sky. Then, counting the seconds until the terrific booms of thunder, I could trace the storm's trailing edge, as it departed the city and traveled further inland, over this craggy, mountainous series of islands.

There are so many Japanese here! Hai! Tokyo has such a magnificent system of interconnecting railroads that most residents have no need for a car. If they have one, it is mainly for weekend use, and must be stored in a tiny parking place here or there for maybe $300-400US per month.

Therefore all, or much of life, is visible on the train. Only the older of the businessmen are able to be heading home at rush hour, just as I am traversing the city from Narita through Chiba to the brightly lit Shinjuku-ku, center of Tokyo nightlife. One more transfer over to Koenji, where I am staying some of the time here.

Tokyo is a city built around the main stations of the train systems ("Skyliner," and "JR," etc.) Life in the surrounding districts proceeds outward in concentric circles of apartments, shops, theatres, tiny bars, and so many small, cozy restaurants as to render home-cooking distinctly optional for employed persons. There is hardly any auto traffic in the inner circles of these tightly clustered neighborhoods.

Every district has a different flavor, but I do not know Tokyo at all well enough to describe these as yet. In this way, however, it reminds me of two other familiar places -- Paris, and Washington, D.C., the latter, of course, designed by a Frenchman.

As far as I know, the Japanese came up with this concept of circular cities within a grand city quite independent of the French, but the effect is similar. Think of Dupont Circle in D.C. and you'll picture what I mean.

Another interesting factor is that as they bisect these districts, the train lines themselves have developed distinct cultural nuances, favoring certain types of residents, restaurants, and shops. The line I ride to get here is one favored by artists, actors and writers. (Think "red line" on the Metro, or the subways that rumble to Prospect Park from Manhattan.)

Foreign investors, like Starbucks or KFC, first need to grasp these cultural nuances, of course, and the demographics that embrace and define them, in order to optimize their investments. American consumer brands, including McDonald's, have enthusiastically embraced by the Japanese, and tend to be very successful here.

Colonel Sanders himself was said to favor Japanese KFCs over all others (including Kentucky's) and the locals here hypothesize that it is because Japanese franchisees follow Colonel's formula so precisely and unerringly that one can be assured of a perfectly produced KFC meal, matching the original specifications without deviation, throughout Japan.

There are so many young women and men on the trains at rush hour and later. Like youth everywhere, they are always on the move. Japanese young people in the cities are especially stylish, from expensive torn jeans with designer labels on their butts, to sexy skirts and boots. The girls often link arms and sway together on the trains, giggling into each other's ears.

Fewer young men are about at this hour, because, as I said, this is the time when only the older executives who wish to go home, do so. By contrast, the stereotypical Japanese salary man may be in his 30s or 40s and holding down a middle-management position. These men work themselves almost literally to death. And, although they may have a wife and a child at home, when their workday finally ends later in the night, they often choose to go to bars and clubs to unwind.

There are certain clubs, I forget their name, where young female escorts await this clientele, serving them drinks, giving them companionship and conversation. The women serve as virtual dates for these hard-working salary men as they decompress from their stressful days. The drinking can go on for many hours, and if you are about in the wee hours of the night in Tokyo, you can see many men, drunkenly reeling on street corners, flagging a taxi for the ride home.

It is said that, for an extra fee, a man can purchase the affections of some of these young, flirtatious escorts after hours. This is, of course, by another name, prostitution, though distinct in type from that on display in the infamous Red Light District at Shinjuku-ku, which I hope to visit (in a strictly professional capacity as a journalist -- hai) in order to compare to the similar parts of Amsterdam and Paris, both of which alternatively sickened, fascinated, and saddened me.

The world's oldest profession, as an exchange of services for cash, strips sex of all romance, and therefore has never held even the slightest glimmer of attraction to me, as a male. Though I may be interested in female prostitutes as chaaracters for my novel, what I always desire for myself is more complex -- romance.

These tightly woven little neighborhoods strike me as nice places for a Romantic to live. The sounds and lights are stimulating at all hours of night and day. A foreign writer like me can easily rent a room or apartment on a weekly basis, set up a computer connection or visit a wireless cafe, and write happily for hours, drinking coffee, and eating the incomparable ramen, not the frozen Chinese variety, but a rich, spicy dish of noodles served pipingly hot in pork or chicken broth -- or vegetarian, if you prefer.

Soba places also abound. You can find somewhat more authentic soba in New York, Seattle and San Francisco than ramen places.

One never need step inside a car here, all needs are satisfied on foot or via a train ride. At night, if you wish, the tiny local bars accommodate perhaps ten patrons each, serving Japanese beers, sakes, and whisky.

Walking through the winding alleyways, I find my eyes seeking out English, naturally, as I can read no Japanese whatsoever. One sign is "Hot Hands" and pictures a young man and a young woman. This is a professional massage business, non-sexual, although it is said that for an extra fee, additional services may be procured. Again, this has a name, but I find it remarkable how unconcerned the typical Japanese person seems to be what in the Christian U.S. are considered the "sin crimes."

For instance, cigarettes are sold in the arcades in machines. There is little way to regulate underage smoking, which is frowned upon, but only in symbolic ways. What I mean by this is that during the daylight hours, teenagers cannot easily purchase smokes at this vending machines, because they are still wearing their school uniforms, and some adult will spot them, and come to shoo them away, shaming them.

At night, however, wearing their sexy clothes, makeup, and hats, the youth masquerade as adults, and many of them pursue their smoking habits by making after-hour purchases. This must be a source of tremendous upside market developments for the many American brands on display here. I have not done any solid research, but much like the Catholic Church, the tobacco industry's philosophy has always been to "get them when they are young."

I'm curious about the marketing campaigns these companies use here, whether the scandalous "Joe Camel" images, which originally targeted American youths, have proved effective here as well. Of, if, as I suspect, smoking is mainly sold for its supposed sex appeal. (Personally, I find tobacco breath offensive, but maybe that's only me. And it breaks my heart to see a beautiful young woman smoking; or a middle-aged man, hollow-eyed and hollow-chested, tied to his fag as to a ball and chain.)

One thing that has accelerated here since the early 80s, I believe, is female drinking. It was at least my impression at that time that while women shared beers and sake with men in the bars, that they rarely became as openly inebriated. But today, I am told, if you travel late at night, you can see so many young women passed out or sick on the trains or street corners.

Since most other people out at those hours are older men, it is said that many of these choose to act in a gentlemanly way, and help these inebriated young women get safely home.

That job is often left to taxi drivers, however, almost all of who in Japan also are men.

They say that drunken young women are the worst customers, because it is forbidden to touch them at any time, thus they cannot do as they do with drunken men, i.e., grab them by the shoulders and shake them awake.

The image of dozens of taxi drivers, helplessly yelling and waving their arms at the oblivious young women safely passed out in their backseats, their sexy tops and miniskirts awry, their makeup smudged, their long black hair spread like a wreath, all over Tokyo is somehow, I don't know, so Japanese!


Japan is like a painting in the following way. An artist arranges the elements, just so, and tries to bring out beauty from the shadows. The Japanese landscape somehow naturally arranges itself into a series of sensuous hills, green terraced rice fields, and wide rushing rivers filled with rounded stones of many colors.



As you ride in the sweetly named Romance Car out of Tokyo southwest to the mountains above Hakone, the air turns colder and wetter, and the stomach begins anticipating the area's dried fish and fish cakes; the rest of one's body is aching for the area's legendary hot springs. One's eyes will long for parquetry, the uniquely constructed wood patterning work done here that my father would have appreciated.



This district has long been a weekend retreat for Tokyo's large population. For over 100 years, ryokan, the small traditional Japanese inns, have hosted travelers.



Here, you can just look around and see tiny maple leaves still hanging on to their branches, denying winter’s arrival; or, once they fall, ever so delicately complicating the rock paths that serve as sidewalks in this ancient tourist crossroads.



This is a place the Japanese come to have fun, including illicit fun. So, if you look carefully at the couples who arrive here (which locals do), you may spot powerful politicians and wealthy businessmen with their mistresses, but, of course, given this is Japan, nobody ever speaks, nothing is revealed, and no price is ever paid, except, of course, that of the cheating heart.

Further up the mountain from Hakone, you ride on a train that has to switchback its way up the steep cliff. The recorder voice piped throughout the train explains this is second-steepest mountain scaled by any train in the world.

I wish my photos could do it justice. But they cannot. Next, I promise to take you on a visual tour of one of the world's greatest open-air sculpture museums.

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On the Short End

Things have not been going so well on the soccer pitch lately. It's at that point in the season where the competition is at its peak, and only the best teams survive to play on in pursuit of a trophy.

First, my daughter's team, coached by her big brother, has lost a couple of games to very tough opponents, but still have a winning record with two more games to go in the playoffs. If they win one of those games they will have their first winning season ever. If they win both, they will be crowned as champions of their division.

In today's loss, they were down 0-2 at the half. I normally keep a distance from my son's halftime huddles but this time I stepped close enough to hear what he was telling them.

They were somewhat dispirited and also exhausted in what (for us) was the extreme heat of the day, which left me sunburned afterward.

What he told them was, "Go back out there, play hard, forget the score. To me, it's zero-zero. They are big and physical and they are hitting you guys. Hit them back."

In the second half, his players put on a great effort, dominating play and almost scoring numerous times, before giving up a back-breaking goal late in the game. Even then, they kept fighting back and one particular defender, the younger sister of the coach, played a particularly spirited and extremely physical half, at one point knocking a larger girl from the other team to the ground while stripping the ball away and preventing a shot on goal.

I think that was probably the best half of soccer she has ever played, albeit in a losing cause.

But that's how it is in team sports, and also, of course, in life. You can have a great day, do great things, and still end up on the losing side.

We'll see how what happened today affects what happens next Saturday and the one after. Somehow, I doubt this team will end up with a losing record, but who knows? Stay tuned.

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