Notes from Kagoshima

First cherry blossoms

Spring!  When I turned on the TV to watch the news on my first morning in Kagoshima, there was a piece about when the cherry blossoms were officially projected to be at their peak, just like what happens at leaf-viewing season in New England.  The reporters even showed a picture of nascent cherry buds getting ready to burst forth.  Cherry blossoms are a big deal in Japan and the reporters were quite excited about this prediction of spring.

Later, on that gloriously warm and sunny day, I actually saw a cherry blossom in full bloom!  It was in a sheltered spot, at the bottom of a cliff, tucked behind a museum’s power system.  It was wonderful to see, especially after three weeks of chill, rain, and  snow (though what else you would expect in February, I don’t know).  I caught a glimpse of the tree and strode purposely toward it, apparently piquing another man’s curiosity, as he followed to see where I was going.  We both cried, “ii desu ne!” (Japanese for “it’s good!”) and took pictures.  Ah, spring!

Lunchtime on a warm spring day

Kagoshima' active volcano, Sakurajima

The next day, in Ibusuki, south of Kagoshima on a peninsula, I saw several cherry trees in full bloom and even some white-blooming trees, which I was told are plum trees.  These cherry trees, my informant said, are the “early” variety, and will burst forth in cool weather.  The cherry blossoms everyone goes to see come later, in late March and early April, when it’s warmer. So I get a full month or six weeks of watching cherry blossoms.  What a treat!

A sand-bath onsen.  I am now a converted onsen-lover.  I went down to Ibusuki on the recommendation of a Japanese friend in New York, who raved about its sand-bath onsen.  As in Beppu, there are hot springs here, and the steam rises up through the coarse-grained sand.  It’s a bit strange to watch the cold sea coming in to a steaming beach, but that’s exactly what it is.  You go down to the beach in your yukata, lie down in the sand with your head on a towel, and get buried in the warm sand up to your neck.  It is like being in a toasty cocoon, leaching out the aches and pains, cleansing the pores.  You can stay briefly or as long as you want, then you take an onsen bath.

Sand-bath at Ibusuki.  See the small round heads!

For me, the bath became a ritual of paying careful attention to and cleaning every part of your body, perched on a short stool with a faucet, showerhead, bowl, and soap and shampoo in front of you.  It’s important to be completely clean and without any soap before you go into the hot bath.  By watching the other women, I learned how to get the most out of my onsen. Choose where you want to be in the bath:  the nearer to the fountain, the hotter the water.  Stay in the water as little or as long as you want.  It pays to bring a towel and, if you use one, a washcloth.   And take your time to enjoy yourself at each step of the process.  I left feeling relaxed, cleansed, and healthy.  Wonderful!

Teenagers are the same the world over.  First, a bit of context:  Japanese high school students can and do commute to a school not in their home town.  I’m not sure why this is, but on the train back to Kagoshima from Ibusuki, I saw students get on and off at several stops along the way.

At one stop, a horde of blue-uniformed high school kids descended onto the train. My seatmates and I moved down, closer together and away from the kids, and those across from us chuckled knowingly. 

The kids were fun and amusing, like any group of teenagers. The boys and girls clustered at opposite ends of the car except for one couple. He was a gum-chewing cool dude with a big rip in the sleeve if his shirt and nuzzled his girlfriend like a knowing stud. She, too, was the hip girl, proud she had a boyfriend and probably considered fast by the others.

It is amazing to me that girls in uniform can project their personalities.  The knowing, "with it" girlfriend had on a grey sweater under her blue jacket that went just below her hips, a mid-thigh skirt of the pleated uniform issue, and blue tights.  The combination looked quite stylish.  At the other end of the spectrum was a proper, forlorn-looking younger girl standing alone.  She was in an ill-fitting uniform, with a too-wide shirt collar and her red bow pressed primly at her neck.  Her skirt extended 3" below her knees and she had on white socks and sneakers that reminded me of saddle shoes.  In between were the “typical girls”, dressed in the uniform with blue tights and loafers, many having a black and white bag of some sort, sharing their Smartphones, gossiping and giggling.

The boys looked more alike. All seemed to be in uniforms that were too big for them and some had their shirttails out, though you had to you look carefully.  My guess is the boys relished the thought that their stereotypically stern principal wasn’t aware of this dress code transgression.  I think all had on tie shoes and several wore white sneakers -- the cool dude’s were untied like the hip teenagers in NYC.   Later, two more boys got on, wearing different uniforms than the first group.  Each took off their jackets to reveal shirttails hanging out and unbuttoned sleeves. Then they rolled up their sleeves, tucked their shirts in, made sure their pants just barely sat on their hips, then pulled out the shirts out and adjusted them just so until each had the same studied slouch effect. It was so much fun watching this carefully conforming nonconformity.

Beppu: Hot Springs and Baskets

Beppu is on the northeastern side of Kyushu and extends from the sea up the mountains.  Unlike other towns so far, I have had trouble orienting myself.   Those who know me well will understand that, even though the sea is on one side and mountains on the other, that doesn’t mean I can figure out where I’m going.  On my first day, I took the bus up to the Bamboo Craft Museum to register for a workshop.  I had clear directions for walking back to town, so confidently tromped back down the hill, only to find when I got to the sea that I had no idea where I was. Naturally I turned away from town first, but I asked where I was and eventually found myself back “on the map” and on my way home.  I still don’t know where I took the wrong turn.

Some of Beppu's hot springs

Enjoying the steam foot bath

Onsens.  Onsens are the tourist attraction here, since Beppu sits on a caldron of hot springs.  I went to the hotel onsen the first night I was here, carefully washing my hair and body before dipping into the rock-lined pool of steaming hot water.   I lasted a few minutes and then had to get out, feeling dizzy.

A few days later, I decided to “do the tour” and wander among the hot springs.  It turned out to be fun:  people were there to enjoy themselves and experience the springs. The first place I found had a foot bath.  I joined several others, putting my feet first  into a steam bath and then into the hot water.  The water, cooler than my hotel onsen, was quite nice, and my feet loved it.  I also liked the camaraderie.  I took pictures of the couple next to me, others offered to take some of me, and I watched as a group of women chatted and another man showed newcomers what to do.  Later, after I’d strolled up and down the streets, looking into onsens and watching the escaping steam, I returned to where I had started.  There I had a lunch of hot-spring-steamed cooked vegetables, joining others who had selected fish, chicken or other food to cook in the “steam ovens”.

Basket-making.  I came to Beppu primarily to visit its Bamboo Craft Museum, for which it is famous (after the onsens).  A delightful Japanese gentleman showed me the museum.  He explained that there are hundreds of different species of bamboo and showed me six that are commonly used in making baskets.  Oita, the prefecture where Beppu is located, is Japan’s primary producer of “magaru”, a tall bamboo about 3-4” in diameter.  My guide told me that each basket is different even if it is of the same type or purpose, unlike ceramics where the ability to reproduce a form exactly is prized.  He also said that basket-making in Japan is suffering in Japan because of cheap Chinese imports.  Fewer were entering the field so the number of basket masters was declining.

Shaving the weaver to size

Splitting a weaver

After I toured the downstairs with my guide, I went upstairs to watch a basket master training several students in his craft.  I spent hours watching the six men and two women in their 20’s and 30’s, each engrossed in making a covered rice basket.  The sensei (teacher), walked about the room, helping when someone needed assistance, giving advice and encouragement.

The students each had 6-8 foot lengths of magaru that they cut and split to make the spokes and thin weavers to use in their baskets.  Using very sharp knives, they cut the desired lengths, then cut the bamboo in half lengthwise, measured with calipers the spoke widths they wanted and cut the lengths into strips.  They used a smaller knife to cut off the thin green outer layer of bamboo they would use. Finally, after checking to make sure their “shaver” was set to the desired width, they pulled each piece through to make spokes of equal width, but only after checking the first shaved piece to make sure again that the width was correct.  They did the same thing with the several-foot long weavers, trimming them down to roughly 1/16” in width. 

Weaving the basket

When I was making baskets many years ago, we used reed that was already cut to different widths, and those weren’t always exact.  I didn’t need to learn the careful, attentive preparation these students did before beginning to weave their baskets.  I suspect it also gave these students a better feel for the flexibility and “life” of the bamboo so they could work with it, rather than fighting it, as they wove.

Sensei advising on shaping the basket

Sitting on the ground and using a little stool as a base for their work, each student laid out the requisite number of spokes and began weaving around them.  By the time I left, several were ready to add more spokes to create the arced base supporting the hemispherical top.  This was a complex process, requiring conversations with the sensei and careful examination of a finished basket. 

Coaster grid

I then went to a one-on-one workshop with my guide to make a small bamboo coaster.  The sensei brought out a bamboo square on which was drawn a grid for me to use, and he showed me how to fit the spokes along the guidelines so that the spaces between them were all even.  He showed me how to use the board and hold the spokes so I could easily weave in the cross-spokes.  All of this was different from what I had learned years ago:  it was both an easier method of weaving a square and keeping the spacing even, and it also focused your attention on doing so. 

Helping to finish the coas

I finished my coaster with my guide’s help and every time I set a cup of tea on it, I will remember my visit here.  I also have a much deeper understanding and appreciation for the  years of study needed, from learning how to wield a knife to prepare the bamboo to being able to weave a basket with a steady tension and careful hands to get the shape you want.  It is quite a skill!

Food and drink.  On my last night here, I went back to the restaurant where I ate first, down the street from my hotel.  It’s a local hangout and both times it was packed:  men and women at the counter (where I sat), couples and groups, young and old, a family with a couple of young kids this time.  The people at the counter mostly drank and talked, settling their stomachs with sashimi and other small dishes.  The food is delicious: you can pick up plates from the display up front, or seemingly you can order what you want and it will be magically produced.   The staff is busy but work together well, almost like a family. Tonight I realized that the person who  stood behind the counter washing dishes was indeed the man in charge.  From where he stood, he could watch his customers, making sure all were served well, and direct his staff.

Tonight I sat next to a couple who were having a lively conversation.  When he left to go to the bathroom, I leaned over and asked his companion about the large liquor bottles on the wall.  Each had Kanji written on it, and I asked her if they were customers’ names.  It took a while to convey that, but once she understood, she said yes.  By then her friend was back, and we began a conversation of sorts, all in Japanese.  They said that there were three kinds of Japanese alcohol:  sake is made with rice, what they call “mugi” is made with barley, and another is made from sweet potatoes.  They ordered a glass of the mugi, which came over ice, so I could taste, then let me take a sip of their preferred drink, hot sake. I liked it better, too.  If it’s hot sake, the bartender fills the cup to the brim, about 4-6 ounces.  Some will drink it straight, the man two seats away poured his into a glass of hot tea, and the first night my seat-mate cut it with water.

We continued our conversation, with the usual “where are you from”, “how long are you here”, “where are you going” questions.  They’re always surprised when I say I’ll be here for a year and that I am going around the entire country.  We also talked about what he did (he’d come from Fukuoka and had worked in a ryokan, wasn’t working now).   When I left, about 7:45, many of the tables were empty and it seemed they would be closed by 8:30.  It was a great time and a great last night in Beppu.

Fukuoka Impressions

Fukuoka Tower

View of Fukuoka from the Tower

Big City. Compared to where I’ve been, Fukuoka is a big city: as the prefecture’s capital, it has over 2.5 million, which is larger than Kyoto according to Wikipedia.  It has taller buildings, more crowds, more extensive public transportation, etc.  I felt I’d just left the more traditional Japan for its modern counterpart.  It took some getting used to.

Ohiro Park

But Fukuoka has much to offer, including a large lake in the midst of a beautiful park, reminding me of Central Park. On a sunny Sunday, lots of people and families were out walking, feeding the ducks, jogging, bicycling, etc.  There even was a place with benches for people to do sit-ups and stretch.  It has a wide variety of food: ramen (a Fukuoka specialty), udon dishes, yakitori, fish, and a variety of international foods.  Tonight I had “motsunabe”, a one-pot meal, cooked on a hotplate, of vegetables, and offal (edible internal organs), which was very tasty.  I’m still at the point of pointing to a picture or what my neighbor is eating and asking for that.  Makes for some very interesting choices!

Playground at Ohiro Park

Department Stores. There are huge, clean, brightly lit department stores here.  Just as in Nagasaki, one is attached to the train station.  In fact, it seems that train stations are destination and gathering points.  In addition to being a transportation hub (the bus station is next door here), they have stores, restaurants, a supermarket, etc., all convenient and of good quality.  It points out how important trains and public transportation is here compared to the US.

The Pokemon Store

The department store at the train station has 10 floors, with the top two housing restaurants and a multiplex movie theater.  There is the usual clothing of all shapes, sizes, and price ranges, but there is also a book store that covers what is probably an entire floor at Macy’s.  I’ve not seen so many books in one place in a long time, since in NY there’s a seismic shift to Kindle, Nook and iPad.  There were also at least two places for stationery, notebooks, pads, stickers, an infinite variety of pens with very fine points and a multitude of colors, etc. There were shops within the store, including a very popular Pokemon, filled with children.  Since it was Valentine’s Day, a major holiday here, there were long lines at the chocolate counter, with women buying for the men in their lives. Later there is "White Day", when the men reciprocate. 

Café Studying. There’s a good-sized coffee shop, Café Veloce, sort of Starbucks without the glitz, that I pass on the way to the train station every day.  What intrigued me was that on both Saturday and Sunday it was heavily populated by students studying.  They came with piles of books and notebooks and seemed to sit there for hours, silently reading and writing.  There was a smoking area, about half the size of the café.  Smoking is much more common here than in the US, which is a bit of an adjustment.

Kabuki.  On Wednesday, I went to see a Kabuki play:  four hours including two half-hour intermissions.  It was just fascinating.  It was funny, bold and dramatic, with bright costumes, people disappearing and reappearing, a frightening ghost, and a huge toad with blinking yellow eyes, a bright red tongue wiggling out and a mouth spewing smoke. The set was simple, with trap doors, and a long walkway extended to the back of the orchestra that often served as the actors’ entrance or exit.  Black-clothed men moved around handling props, changing parts of the set, and at times serving as a chairs for the actors. The actors were all men and played women’s roles, too.  The audience was fully engaged, laughing and applauding, calling out the actor’s name when he first appeared.  Near the end, the lead actor, who played several roles, burst forth from a box hanging high in the air and then sailed out across the audience – great fun!

With a show from 11-3, I worried about lunch.  I discovered the theater had a couple of cafes and kiosks for people to buy snacks and bento lunches to eat.  In fact, many brought their purchases into the theater and munched a bit before the show started.  At the intermissions, people would swarm out and find a seat on the banquettes surrounding the center halls to eat their lunch.  It was quite civilized. 

I sat next to a woman whom I think sees Kabuki roughly twice a year and has been many times (or perhaps she had seen this particular play a few times).  She chatted quite amicably with me, me nodding and smiling and understanding only a bit of what she said.

 

Hakata-Ori

Fukuoka Civic Hall

Crafts.  In addition to being a gateway to ceramics country, the prefecture makes beautiful Hakata-ori woven cloth (Hakata is the name of the old port and merchant town that merged with Fukuoka in the 19th century) and Hakata ceramic dolls.  I went to the local folk museum, which had videos and demonstrations of the local crafts.  I watched a woman weaving the silk Hakata-ori, listening to the rhythmical whack-pause-whack-whack-whack of the weaving.  Next door was a shop selling woven bolts of cloth:  gorgeous and very expensive.  Later, as I walked to another museum, I saw the signature Hakata weave in the city's civic hall.  What a wonderful way to celebrate the craft!

Japanese Traditional Craft Exhibition.  In my last posting on ceramics, I mentioned this exhibition, THE craft exhibition for ceramics, textiles, dolls, lacquer ware, and metal work.  It is quite an acknowledgement of your talent to be accepted into the show.  I had been given the latest catalogue, and even though it said the exhibition was still touring the country, it never occurred to me that it might be near me (besides, I couldn’t read the kanji and didn’t think to ask).  It turns out the exhibition opened in Fukuoka on Wednesday, the last day I was here and of course I went.

It had some of the finest work I’ve ever seen, and the more I looked the more amazing I realized each piece was.  The ceramics were exquisite, from an almost translucent white-on-white porcelain bowl to a more traditional bowl with beautifully painted flowers to a smoky rust and brown earthenware.  The dolls, ranging from 3-4” to a foot tall, were so finely done that you didn’t realize the clothing was clay instead of fabric. Some of the textiles looked like a solid color but on closer inspection were minute patterns.  Those made into kimonos could be a diaphanous, fine weave or elaborately silk-screened. While some were regular in their pattern, many of the kimonos were not,  even though made of panels from a single roll of cloth.  What thought had to go into an asymmetrical design that spread across the panels from left arm, across the back and to the right arm! 

Regardless of the material, the work was carefully planned, meticulously done, sometimes incredibly detailed, and always exquisite.  What struck me was that all of the artists were both masters of their craft and of design.  Sometimes here I think we consider something art even if it is not well made.  In Japan, it is as important that the person make something well and make it beautiful.  It is not always as improvisational and has a different energy than some American art. Each is beautiful, just different.

Kyushu Ceramics

There are some basic realities about traveling in February to the Saga Pottery area in northern Kyushu:  It’s not a heavy tourist time, so you can take your time and really look at the pottery.  But, it’s February, and when it’s cold and snowy, which it was, the potters and shopkeepers take the day off.  The third realty is that you can get lucky, and lucky I was.

Early ceramic plate, Karatsu

I spent the first day in Saga-land in Arita, a small village about an hour by train from Nagasaki.  It snowed on the way. Most of the shops were closed and those that were open offered a mix of wares, primarily tea and sake cups, rice and miso soup bowls, and soy sauce and relish plates.  Though some displays seemed touristy and factory-like, I later learned that each dish was hand made and hand painted.   Several hundred years ago, it was a great achievement to be able to make the same shape consistently and repeatedly.  It is still quite impressive to watch a potter working to do the same now.

Ceramics, Arita Ceramic Museum

I trudged up to the Arita Ceramics Museum, high on a hill, and saw an interesting, extensive collection of old ceramic pieces that gave me a sense of the craft’s history.  Upstairs was a stunning display of 100 contemporary ceramic pieces.  Interestingly, two of the pieces were by women (not shown here).  When my friend and former potter Karen had been here years ago, no women made pots.  Later, at the inn where I stayed, I asked the proprietress about this, since many in her family are potters.  From her firm but quiet, “no”, I gathered that it was normal for potters to be men; for women, it still was just not done.

Late that afternoon, I went to a Gen-emon Kiln, an active pottery workshop, and watched the process of pottery making for over an hour.  Two men were throwing pots, making sure that the height, width, depth, shape, exactly matched the desired dimensions.  Others (both men and women) each specialized in different steps: drawing the pattern, painting the initial lines, filling in, glazing, firing, polishing, etc.   They reminded me of the miniaturists described in Orhan Pamuk’s My Name is Red, working carefully and with such precision that they eventually went blind.

Ceramic quarry, Arita

Then luck happened:  I was staying at Seibouan, a lovely ryokan in the countryside with a delightful, outgoing proprietress.  She was from a family of potters and had married a potter who was also a wonderful cook.  We had a great meal, joined by a farmer girlfriend of hers, with good conversation and much laughter.  

Potter at Nakazato

The next day, I think Miyoko took pity on me, for she took me to a couple of ceramic shops, small one-family operations rather than the wholesaler stores I had visited the day before, and we saw some gorgeous ceramics.  At one shop, a gentleman showed us how he created a design of overlaid shades of colors on one piece:  for each color “layer”, he carefully pressed on tiny pieces of paper, soaked with paint, then took off the paper, leaving a perfect spot of color behind.  Then he put on the next layer, overlapping the first color, and continued for as many as five layers.  Miyoko’s friend, the proprietress, gave me a book of last year’s Japan Traditional Crafts Exhibition (THE national juried show, to which acceptance is a real honor), and pointed out three pieces in it, including one with the layered design.  Her brother made one, her husband another, and her son the third.

Painter at Gen-emon Kiln

Imari Bridge

Miyoko then took me to Imari, the next pottery tour on my journey and, after lunch, left me to my devices.  I walked up the main street here, quiet with not much that intrigued me after seeing her friend’s wonderful ceramics.  But the village’s bridges and some signs were strikingly surfaced with tile.  Then I took the train to Karatsu, my last ceramic stop, where I stayed at a lovely modern hotel looking out on the sea, treated myself to a wonderful dinner and went to bed.

Plate at different stages of creation

The next morning, luck struck again.  As I walked up the entrance of the Nakazato Taroemon kiln, a westerner came out towards me, who on closer look seemed to be an American.  And he was!  What’s more, he was an American from Denver, Barry Krzywicki, a potter who was traveling for a month doing research, drawing on his colleagues’ introductions to potters in Japan (the only way to get entry to the more well-known artists).  We talked briefly about where we each had been, etc. then he went off to lunch. 

Korean-style kiln, Nakazato

I went in, was entranced by the pottery, and Endo, a young salesmen invited me to the second show room, with work by Nakazato XIII (juu-san) and his son, Nakazato XIV (juu-yon).  The Japanese craft system is feudal in structure, with the father passing down his skill, craftsmanship, and name, generally to his son, generation after generation.  Endo said that Nakazato senior, now deceased, had been one of the top potters in Japan, a Member of the Japan Art Crafts Association, second in honor to being designated a Living National Treasure.  His son had not yet been invited to be a member of the Association, at least in part because at 55 he was too young.  Some of the father’s pieces were priced at 1 million yen, roughly $1.25 million in today’s dollar, while the son’s were selling in the 3-500,000 yen range.  “Juu-yon” was the president of the Nakazato company, had no disciple, but his style influenced the work of the men in his studio. Unlike the Nakazato ceramics, these pieces were unsigned; instead there was the company seal of three dots.

By this time, “Mr. Barry” was back to spend the afternoon watching the men in the workshop.  He asked if I could come along, and I gladly did, though briefly as I felt I was intruding.  There I got so see the multi-chambered kiln (a Korean style, Barry said), and the single and dual-chambered Japanese kilns.  As we watched a graceful, highly skilled potter, Barry told me that the Koreans had brought the practice of kicking the drive wheel clockwise, the opposite of what is done in the west.  Again I watched, fascinated.  Barry and I agreed that the Japanese attention to detail and meticulousness comes from a different place than that of stereotypically “anal” westerners:  here it is out of a sense of care and respect for the natural material, almost a sense of honoring both the clay and the craft.  It was so wonderful having someone explain to me what I was seeing, whether the Japanese salesman and I using our iPhones to translate, or Barry who had been a potter for over 25 years and deeply loved his art.

Different Facets of Nagasaki

The Peace Memorial Complex

No visit to Nagasaki would be complete without seeing the buildings and memorials around the epicenter where the atomic bomb struck in 1945.  What follows are a series of impressions that hopefully give you a sense of what this place is:

Nagasaki’s population was 240,000 at the time, predominantly women, children, and the elderly.  Roughly 70,000 were killed and another 70,000 burnt or otherwise injured.  150,000 were made homeless.

Words from the Peace Statue’s sculptor, Seibo Kitamura, 1955:  After experiencing that nightmarish war, that blood-curdling carnage, that unendurable horror, who could walk away without praying for peace?  This statue… standing ten meters tall… the right hand points to the atomic bomb, the left hand points to peace, and the face prays deeply for the victims of war.  Transcending the barriers of race and evoking the qualities of both Buddha and God, it is a symbol of the greatest determination ever known in the history of Nagasaki and of the highest hope of all mankind.”

The Fountain of Peace description:  “When the atomic bomb exploded on August 9, 1945, thousands of people suffered terrible burns and died begging for water….  This fountain is ... an offering of water to the victims of the atomic bomb and a prayer for the repose of their souls….  [It]  sends up a sparkling spray of water in the shape of a pair of wings, evoking the dove of peace and the crane after which Nagasaki harbor has been named….

The Peace Memorial Hall, designed by Akira Kurkyu, has two glass walls extending from a pool of water.  Actually the walls shoot up from the subterranean museum below, where they lead to a tall, thin cabinet filled with the names of those who died.

Nagasaki’s Lantern Festival

 

 

Serendipity pays, especially when you can’t read much Kanji.  Saturday I was walking around town, visiting some temples, when I decided to wander down a pedestrian side street.  Ahead I saw a crowd stopped at an intersection: people with cameras, waiting patiently, a few friendly policemen milling about.  And then I saw what they were waiting for – a parade!  Accompanied by drums and cymbals, groups of men, women, and children walked by, each in brightly colored robes.  Interspersed were small ark-like palanquins with bright paper figures and one with a live, beautiful woman, apparently the “queen” of the parade.  Fun!

And there was more.  I walked down to see Spectacles Bridge, so named because, reflected in the water below, the bridge looked like a pair of glasses.  The area was full of people, lanterns draped row after row over the river, and giant paper figures all along the riverside.  Then I read the signs saying, in English, “Lantern Festival”.  There had been a brochure about it in my room, but of course I had no idea what it said.  This was Nagasaki’s annual celebration of the Chinese New Year and its Chinese population.  The festival had been going on for almost two weeks and this was its last weekend.  Now I understood why there were paper lanterns draped all over town!

Further along, in a lantern-festooned shopping arcade, vendors were making different food specialties.  One made a “pancake sandwich”:  two small pancake-like rounds, some filling and sauce, then sealed together: delicious!  Another was making what I will call a “fish sandwich”.  Here the molds were of fish, not rounds.  As the batter cooked in one row of fish-shaped forms, the vendor plopped some chocolate or vanilla cream on top.  Then he spread a bit of batter on the next row of fish forms, flipped this over the first row and “voila!” a “fish sandwich”.  They were very popular.

 

Today I decided to wander through Nagasaki’s Chinatown, an area I hadn’t been to before.   As I walked down the hill, looking at Confucian shrines and strolling down narrow pedestrian-only residential streets, I discovered a square with a bright red roof over the top, loud speakers blaring, and a crowd.  Inside a show was going on:  women holding 5 or 6 sticks in each hand, plates spinning on top, doing acrobatics.  Another man balanced himself on round “cans”, and a third trio did amazing and beautiful contortions.  All around were more paper sculptures, which at night would light up like lanterns.  It was all quite special.

The Other:  Isolate and Embrace

I was first struck by the diversity of Nagasaki, and as I toured the city I learned more of the breadth and complexity of its different populations.  The first westerners here were the Dutch, who were confined to a several-block long man-made island just off the Nagasaki coast.  I suspect many Japanese felt that such strange-looking people were best kept at a distance, though ultimately that wasn’t possible.

Today I visited the 26 Martyrs Memorial and its nearby museum.  These were Catholic martyrs, twenty Japanese (three of them teen-age boys) and six foreigners, killed on February 5,1597.  Ten years earlier, Hideyoshi, a warrior who unified the political factions in Japan, had banned Christians, in part because he felt they might obstruct his push for absolute rule.  It wasn’t until 1597, though, that he decided to enforce the ban to warn Japanese not to convert to Christianity.  Hence the killings, which were commemorated this weekend in an outdoor mass.  

26 Martyrs Memorial

 Later today, I walked through the Chinese quarter, discovering the “after-party” to the Lantern Festival I described above.  There I found signs pointing to a moat that surrounded the old Chinatown, isolating the Chinese.  The Tokugawa shogun had the moat constructed in 1689 as a “national isolation measure”.

These long-ago instances of separating the “other” from native Japanese reflect a part of Japan’s culture and helped me understand its different phonetic alphabet for any foreign (non-Japanese) word.  At the same time, I was reminded that what happened in Nagasaki is what we humans do in countless ways to protect ourselves from those we perceive as different:  we put the Indians on reservations, segregate our schools, ban homosexuals from serving in the military, set up gated communities so we can be with “people like us”, etc.  In the end, though, we all come to tolerate, sometimes embrace, and even to celebrate the contributions, humanity and vitality the “other” brings.  There’s just a lot of pain and loss between isolating and embracing.