Igirisujin Ni Nihon

お疲れ様でした- O tsukaresama deshita

2008-03-27T14:51:00.006Z

Being the eve of our computer being stuffed into a box, this is indubitably the sayonara entry...such a sudden, ignoble end is not what I had in mind for this blog, but the past few weeks have proved that leaving Japan (especially in the manner we have chosen) is possibly even more difficult than coming here in the first place. Presenting a "final word" on an entire country seems premature after such a relatively short time here, so I will satisfy myself with...

What I won't miss about Japan

Commuting
Xenephobia (although I know what to expect in the UK)
Being asked if I can use chopsticks
Being complimented on my language skills for saying "hello".
Certain students
Natto

What I will miss about Japan

The public transport system
Certain students
Certain teachers
My flat
My landlord
The food

Tonight, for the first time, I had the chance to eat fugu, or puffer fish, that most famous of Japanese fish-stuffs, prepared by the most skillful of chefs, deftly separating the meat into that which is palatable and that which is deadly poison.

It really does taste like chicken.

日本語能力試験三級

2008-02-06T07:38:00.000Z

合格した！！

Sankyuu berry macho.

Sayonara Sale

2008-01-04T16:04:00.000Z

B'Jayzuz, we have some stuff to get shot of before we leave...if anyone fancies a peek, here is a website cataloguing the aforementioned. Dozo, irasshaimase.

Manner Mode

2007-12-29T16:56:00.000Z

I loathe mobile phones. The only reason I have one of the damn things is that my company insisted that I have some means of being communicated, and as far as setting up goes, it was far less troublesome than a land line.

In defence of mobile phones over here, they are equipped with that most pleasing of functions, "manner mode," the miracle button which silences the caterwauling of contemporary pop hits rendered into dial-tone soundbites.

The beauty of manner mode is that in locations where one is requested to set it to "on" (trains, buses and hospitals), there is also the expectation that people refrain from talking on the phone. This generally ensures a peaceful commute for all concerned, free from being unwillingly privy to when ones' fellow passengers are going to meet their friends, and what colour underpants they're wearing. This prohibition is, of course, enforced with that most rigid of state police, the complicit public.

Not a month ago, I found myself aboard a bus. The mobile phone of an elderly woman suddenly went off, shattering the silence with all the cooth of a sloppy fart. That was more than enough to direct the contempt of all and sundry towards this old dear. The fact that her conversation partner seemed to be speaking from inside a wind tunnel and was struggling to make themselves heard, further soured the bile poured over her.

"Turn that mobile phone off!" bellowed the bus driver over his omnipresent tannoy.
"I'm sorry, I can't talk now..." muttered the unfortunate granny to her oblivious friend, who nattered away without a thought in the world.
"Kindly turn it off." commanded a fellow passenger.
I'm sorry, no, no...no, I can't...now is really...I'm sorry...no, no, no, NO, I...GOODBYE!"

Abruptly, the sound ceased. Suddenly, the desolation, the solitude, became unendurable. After maybe thirty seconds of being the centre of attention, our senior citizen could once again disappear into anonymity.

I compare this encounter to my first half hour of re-aquaintance with the UK in 2005, on the Tube, listening to an unbearably vulgar woman yakking away on her mobile, and wishing that I didn't understand what she was saying.

Moving House

2007-12-29T03:10:00.000Z

In about three months, Hayley and I will be saying sayonara to our flat and Japan, slowly working our way back to England via a variety of other countries. We've started a new blog here. I'll still be writing about Japan here until the end of March...

So here it is...

2007-12-24T15:59:00.000Z

Sushi War

2007-12-12T15:19:00.000Z

I return, drunker by far than I should be at this hour on a Wednesday, fresh from a midweek sesh with the clerk from one of my schools, who also happens to teach in the weekly assembly of studious foreigners and native Japanese volunteers I've been frequenting since September. Apart from a mutual love of Eberhard Weber, I have learned also of the profound battle between Sushi chef and customer.

Apparently (and bear in mind that at the time of writing, I am pretty damn drunk) when entering a sushi restaurant (a real sushi restaurant, not one of those Kaiten [conveyor belt] places frequented by plebs) the first thing one orders is Japanese style omlette, a.k.a yakitamago a.k.a gyoku. This is the initial yardstick by which the merit of the establishment is measured. The pernickity, overtly sadistic or just plain savvy customer will first examine the colour and aroma of this offering, then taste it. At this point, the chef, or sushi-ya-san will be fretfully awaiting the connoisseurs judgement. As an alternative to a speedy "bill please," the customer may decide that the gykou is good enough to warrant staying, at which point they will order hot sake

Relief for the sushi-ya-san!...for now...

There then follows a battle of the wills, both chef and customer testing the others depth of knowledge in this chosen battlefield. The customer will ask the chef to recommend the days special, a challenge which will reflect on the chef, as he no doubt chose the special himself from the fish market at some ungodly hour in the morning. This is a ritual battle with one victor. The cunning customer could potentially walk away from a sushi banquet fit for a Daimyo for as little as twenty-five quid, the alternative being twice as much if the sushi-ya-san works out that his opponent is in fact blagging it.

This confrontation with the chef is apparently typical of Japanese cuisine, and now this factoid has been imparted to me, it makes perfect sense. In most of the restaurants I've been to here, there is naught separating chef from customer but a modest kitchen counter. Here, the cook is completely responsible for what is served in their restaurant, with none of this hiding behind the double-swinging kitchen doors. If a customer doesn't like what they've been served, then the chef will answer to their complaints, before the entire shop if need be.

Diving deeper into the Japanese consciousness and acknowledging a profoundly militaristic culture, this practice presumably has its roots in the tea ceremony - Samurai, preparing to go into battle would have a nice cup of tea beforehand. Perhaps they had families and children. Perhaps they would go on to win a great victory for their Lord and lands. Perhaps they would die in trying. Perhaps this would be the last cup of tea they would ever drink. Better then, to make it the best cup of tea ever, before them, to make it with all the effort one would put into fighting for their home and to be answerable to ones comrades before death and glory.

It's funny and frustrating that I feel I'm only just getting a handle on this amazing country with only four months left of being here.

Power up! V(^-^)V

2007-11-30T11:47:00.000Z

Ten years ago, the seventh incarnation of the erroneously titled Final Fantasy series bleeped into life on the original Playstation. It may have cost many their degree. It damn near cost me mine. A colossal virtual world and the means to navigate it were presented along with a story arc that potentially offered infinite gameplay. One commanded an increasing troupe of wanderers encountered at different parts of the tale, enemies became friends, friends became enemies and the death of one corner of a love triangle simplified matters in one sense, but deepened them in another. Video game characters had taken a great leap away from the pill popping madman who can only face his ghosts when he`s pumped up with the right stuff.

Ten years on, this supposed Final Fantasy has apparently left more of an emotional dent than the following five (possibly six) – not only are we graced with a feature length, absurdly dense CGI animation, but limited edition drinks bearing the ambiguous moniker of “Potion.”

This has been tickling me for a couple of days now, especially considering where it`s come from – to find, in Japan, source of the life consuming computer game, echoes of the mortally wounded sprites` most treasured resource, precious, life-giving, healing potion, lying around in a convenience store is like a pixelated half-dream come true.

Indeed, this country can be a paradise for the easily amused.

Only in Japan

2007-11-20T06:17:00.000Z

It is only natural, when encountering another culture, to compare it with your own. In recent days, I've found that my Elementary Students are more surprised at England's' similarities to Japan than they are at the differences.

Their questions invariably take the form of

"Do you have (insert object) in England?"

Somewhere along the line however, possibly around the same time they learn that foreigners can't use chopsticks or speak Japanese, the question changes into

"You don't have (insert Japanese object/concept) in (America/England/whatever foreign country you come from) do you?"

The enquiring nature and curiosity about another place has been replaced with Nihoncentricity. This isn't a quirk of the indirect approach to conversation expected of adults - the only way to compare "gaikoku" to Japan is to find what is wanting and revel in the wonder that is Nippon.

These thoughts are stirred by a conversation with the principal of my most recently visited Junior High. He is a good natured, affable and hearty fellow with terrible teeth. A conversation starts about food, questions arise as to what certain things are called in English, and up floats the word "wabi-sabi" (侘寂).

This word embodies the Japanese aesthetic of transience, the beauty of impermanence and impermanence of beauty. Naturally, such an ancient philosophical ideal from the other side of the planet doesn't have too many easily produced equivalents in the mongrel tongue that is English, and this only confirms what is generally considered a given - Japan is brilliant and unique. The principal tried to console me with the oft quoted dictum

"Nihongo ga muzukashii yo ne?" (Japanese is difficult, isn't it?)

followed up by my first encounter with

"Kotoba ga ooi." (There are many words.)

Indeed there are.

Not too late I hope.

2007-11-12T22:00:00.000Z

This petition calls for the abolition of the upcoming law demanding that all foreigners be fingerprited upon entering Japan. Sign and pass it on.

On Dying with Dignity

2007-11-02T10:15:00.000Z

Oh, that this blog could pass away silently, without eulogy, like those which have come before, free from excuses as to absence, brimming with resolution to be a firmer presence on the web.

There is little dignity in death though.

"My friend's friend is a member of al-Qaeda. I have never met him, but I heard that two or three years ago he came to Japan several times."

Thus spake Hatoyama Kunio, Justice Minister, outlining the (official) reasons for his support of fingerprinting foreigners entering Japan.

"I myself am not a friend of anyone who is thought to be a member of [al-Qaeda] and I don't know them personally. I can't verify the authenticity of what my friend said." (full article)

Backtracking there in a way I've only ever seen Japanese Politicians do - there seems to be a pattern of reactionary comments, followed by a stumbled denial that anything untoward was actually said. At least Shintaro Ishihara sticks to his guns of bigotry, probably accounting for his popularity.

In older news, NOVA, giant of Japans English Conversation School market finally came crashing down after a long and unpleasant demise chronicled by Of Rice and Zen. Lest anyone else thinks that I too have been taken down by this fallen leviathan, I work for an entirely different company that seems to be in no danger of failing, especially with the glut of unemployed foreigners suddenly in existence.

Mosquito

2007-09-20T09:03:00.000Z

I've often said that having five cockroaches in your house is preferable to one mosquito. Cockroaches, be they bigger, shinier, faster, creepier and prone to suddenly fly at you, can be humorous in a Keystone Kops kind of way. There's nothing funny about mosquitos though.

Their refined purposeness is but one of their hideous traits, including the way they fly with their legs splayed like a grappling hook, the way those limbs fold beneath them once they've landed, a squatting machine extracting resources, the way ones gradual sink into sleep is yanked upwards by the whirring of tiny wings, the fact that they're too small to dispose of easily.

The morning saw me engaged in combat with a particularly vile specimen - blue, with white band around its legs, the bite of which leaves an ugly red welt which is insanely itchy for about a day, then lingers looking foul. I lost this bout and saw the thing, weighed down after its meal, hopping across my desk, sunlight revealing its formerly slender abdomen, now bloated and red with my blood. The little shit.

Repeating oneself.

2007-09-12T07:57:00.000Z

Maybe I haven't written anything for a while because Japan and the lifestyle I've been leading recently have ceased to inspire me. I can't remember the last thing that surprised me about Japan, but there's one thing I will never get over...

...at my current school, there is a teacher now working on a part time basis. This is due to a sickness which has bound him to a wheelchair - it isn't the result of an accident, rather a peculiar wasting disease. A woman comes in to help him negotiate the trickier parts of the school. Yesterday, as the afternoon slump took hold, I saw him, clearly finished for the day, reading a newspaper, whilst his lady-friend buried her nose in a novel. Such blatant procrastination is all in a days work in any job in the world...but an hour later, I saw he had finished his paper and was staring into space, whilst the lady put her head on the desk and had a nap.

Why didn't they just go home?

Oh, and Abe Shinzo just resigned.

Cut the clap.

2007-08-18T08:27:00.000Z

DISCLAIMER: the title of this entry is not a reference to the myth that Japanese people mix up their "l's" and "r's". "L" doesn't exist in their syllabic alphabet, and the closest thing it has to an "r" only slightly resembles an "l"...anyway...

I’m on a very long holiday right now, and I love it. I have a life beyond public school education and English conversation classes – I can go exploring in Tokyo.

Nestled in between the super-hip neighbourhoods of Harajuku and Shibuya, Yoyogi Park is like the chill out space of a three-room club. It attracts creative individuals looking for a place to do their artistic thing, more often than not, varying degrees of pop group and a near residential tribe of dread-locked percussionists but it also sports jugglers and dancers wielding fans or Santa costumes (depending on the weather).

Yesterday, I discovered in a large concrete boulevard (the starting point for last weeks’ Tokyo Pride March) small pockets of break-dancers. I’ve always found something slightly ludicrous about hip-hop; I simply can't, won't and don't stop. This could be down to a combination of the absolute nonsense some rappers come out with, and bad luck – I’m assured that there is “intelligent” and “right-on” hip-hop out there, but I haven't found enough to convert me. To be fair, my own record collection hardly displays Wildean wit, but lyrical content becomes insignificant when one is witness to the astounding acrobatics on display to the tune of ripped wax.

Back in Kawasaki, itself no stranger to street performers, one such dancer had attracted a crowd of Friday evening shoppers. His backward somersaults were accompanied by a hip-hop soundtrack and the audience doing the unthinkable – there are few things I hate more in the world than rhythmic clapping. The appreciation of a good performance is dulled into shameful silence when one discovers their fellow punters have been reduced to a legion of imbecilic sycophant sea lions.

That’s a rather unkind analogy, reminding me of a trip to the dilapidated dream that is Coney Island, and my first and only attendance to a Sea World style performance. The audience was made up of an elementary school outing and a couple of squadrons of US Marines, clapping the rhythm of a turgid sub-Ibiza house drone, whilst a graceful, beautiful creature of the deep, a sea lion no less, spun round on a back flipper. Our entertainer didn’t clap once, and I was with him on that, although I would have given him a fish had I the chance. Truly, he was a seal of quality.

Ice Cream & Salt.

2007-08-09T04:50:00.000Z

Sailing away from Tokyo bay at night, millions of light bulbs dimly sketch the outline of skyscrapers, whilst more prominent and famous landmarks have their own source of illumination. Having this notoriously cramped city spread before you grants a perspective of scale previously only offered by outings to towering vantage points. Even the pale imitation of the Eiffel Tower looks impressive.

This metropolitan manifestation of the ever-imminent future recedes into the black distance with each wave, and we seem to travel back in time to Hachijojima (八丈島), southernmost of the sub-tropical Izu islands.

Formerly a prison colony of the Edo period, the island boasts an extinct volcano, Hachijo Fuji, Nazumado (one of Japans' top ten scuba diving locations), consistently warm water and no less than seven varieties of mushrooms that glow in the dark. Significantly, it has two features absent from Tokyo; an abundance of space and comparatively few people.

Not ten minutes walk from Sokodo Port lies a free campsite commanding a view of a dark volcanic rock beach and the Mihara mountain range. For the past eleven years, from July to September, a typhoon shelter on the grounds has accommodated Watanabe san, a construction worker from Tokyo who visits the island every summer to go fishing. He is a deeply tanned, well built man of fifty-eight, with a disco-stud curl to his salt and pepper hair, a gold chain hanging around his neck, and a mouth of perfect teeth which appear to be false, but reside in a genuine smile. He is well known amongst the fishermen and professional chefs of the island, and draws a crowd when bearing his prizes from the ocean

There is a great supply of dry wood and fire pits. Our clothes bear the aroma of a week spent cooking by campfire. The highly suspicious Japanese sausage (related to the wiener) is rendered more than palatable with a smoky taste, whilst corn on the cob is fired with a more vigorous character than if it had been boiled, but no campfire pleasure can best baked potatoes and beans after a lengthy abstinence.

In contrast to the emptiness of the streets, the beaches and oceans are teeming with life. Amongst the rocks, coral and rippling polygons of sunlight, it's possible to see puffer fish and stingrays, but also less notorious denizens; butterfly fish sporting black and yellow stripes; long and incredibly thin flesh-coloured creatures, with large eyes and no discernible mouth; lone hunters who seem to change colour, red, blue brown and green; glittering, silvery fish like a shoal of daggers with quietly chattering beaks; graceful streaks of brilliant yellow, delicately nibbling on the nutrition-rich sea-bed; a multitude of tiny flickering wisps of light that swim together like a breathing cloud.

The Uakari is commonly known as the English monkey, as its' red face resembles those of Britons in hotter sunnier climates than they're used to. Within two hours of pitching our tent, we were sunburned to within an inch of our pallid lives and spent the rest of the day sitting in the shade and complaining about the weather.
The Japanese word for sunburn is "hiyake," a fact conveyed to us many times by passers-by. Such is the hospitality and helpfulness of these island folk that we merely had to walk into a shop in order to be directed to the suntan lotion. Aloe Vera is also a suitable balm for this bugbear of the travelling Englishman.

Time is meaningless when you're being a beach-bum for a week. There has been no urgency to our activities, no need to be anywhere or do anything. A week with nothing to do in a beautiful spot has been enlightening, especially upon returning to Tokyo bay. The air became dusty and harsh, eyes itched, previously un-sneezing noses erupted in abrupt reports and we found ourselves surrounded by millions of people, with very little time to do what they had to, crammed into a space which appears both colossal and absolutely tiny. I wonder about our chances of getting a seaside cottage on prescription.

You're not from round 'ere, are you?

2007-07-19T07:43:00.002Z

Some months ago, I was killing time when an old woman stopped me in the street with "Oooo, you're not Japanese are you?" Comparing her with the robust physique of my septuagenarian landlord, she must have been at least eighty, with poor eyes, as she was within a foot of me when she made this disovery. I explained that I was English, and her expression was one of colossal surprise, spilling over into delight.
"Hajimete!" she exclaimed, meaning "first time," and in this context, "this is the first time I've met an Englishman." We bade each other well, and kept walking to wherever we were going. I forgot about it until today.

During the break at school today, I was chatting with the Principal, when seven or eight second year students came to have a chat. Readers who know me will be aware that I have a somewhat flexible face. To children of a culture that doesn't usually communicate with facial expressions and body language, this can be hilarious.
"Foreigners are funny." remarked a girl, mid-giggle. The Principal pointed out that, as far as I was concerned, everybody in the room was a foreigner.
"Really?!" asked the girl, genuinely surprised. Then again, she is only seven.

七夕祭 - Tanabata Matsuri

2007-07-07T11:07:00.000Z

Princess Orihime (織姫, Weaving Princess) and Prince Hikoboshi (彦星, Cow Herder Star) fell in love and were married. Unfortunately, being Gods, they had a number of responsibilities which, post-nuptially became neglected, and chaos was caused by Hikobashi's wandering cows, whilst Orihime's father Tenkou (天工, Sky King) had no more cloth. In his fury, he demanded that the lovers be separated, but then in a moment of fatherly remorse, he permitted them to see each other once a year on the seventh of July. People in Japan celebrate by writing wishes, usually in the form of poetry, and tying them to a bamboo tree.

The number seven is traditionally a lucky number in Japan. For starters, there are the Seven Gods of Fortune, the custom of eating Nanakusa, or "seven herbs" (Seri (Japanese parsley), Nazuna (shepherd's purse), Gogyou, Hakobera (chickweed), Hotokenoza, Suzuna, Suzushiro) in porridge on January 7th to cure illness, seven sins, seven virtues and let's not forget the Seven Samurai.

All this generally tends to point to the 7th of July 2007 (7.7.07) being a pretty damn auspicious day. Not surprising then that my favourite Japanese band, Boredoms (now recording under the name V∞redoms) are performing a once in a lifetime concert with no less than 77 drummers...

...in New York...which is surprising, but not the nice kind. Feast your eyes on the press release, then weep.

Hardly hot off the press, but...

2007-07-05T10:05:00.000Z

On Tuesday, Japan's Defence Minister resigned over comments he made about the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Giving a speech on Saturday, Fumio Kyuma said that the deployment of atomic weapons was inevitable. Japan being the only nation to have been subjected to a nuclear attack, widespread outrage at his remark was perhaps equally inevitable. The sting is in the fact that Mr Kyuma represents Nagasaki in the Japanese Parliament.

Japan's position towards nuclear weapons is that there is no justification for their use. Mr Kyuma has brought further shame to the administration of Shinzo Abe which, ten months in office, is limping under the weight of sundry blunders, scandals and embarrassments.

However, in his apparently thoughtless comment, Mr Kyuma touched upon an element maybe not considered enough in the debate - that the nuclear strikes weren't just in an effort to end the American/Japanese conflict, rather they also served as a show of strength to Russia, of whom America was growing suspicious and didn't want involved in the Pacific War.

Japanese politicians rarely mention the atomic bombings, as the issue could harm relations with the USA. Mr Kyuma, in his defence, stated that he was merely describing what America's position would have been at the time of the attacks. This is not to suggest that he's playing lap-dog to the USA - in January this year, he came under fire from his colleagues for suggesting that the American led invasion of Iraq was a mistake.

On the other side of the planet, The National Army Museum displays a work by Gerald Laing. Titled "Truth or Consequences", the painting shows an image of Tony Blair next to one of the London bus of July 7th. When viewed from a different angle, the painting morphs into George Bush next to a picture of Baghdad in flames. The title (apparently a "scathing critique" according to an unnamed source) refers to the idea that Blair knew claims of weapons of mass destruction were false, the "consequences" being events like July 7th, as if one was an inevitable effect of the other.

While Laing's statement may seem similar to Kyuma's on the surface, there is an important difference - Laing oversimplifies the Iraq conflict and the reasons July 7th happened, whereas Kyuma's voice argues from the broader historical context of a world at war.

Moreover, Laing's message is inconsistent - is it an attack on Blair, or Bush and Blair? There seems little point in having Bush in such a controversial work if he isn't going to at least draw some criticism.

If, by placing Blair next to the bus, the implication is that July 7th is a direct consequence of the Iraq conflict, then what are we to make of Bush and Baghdad? What is the Iraq War a direct consequence of? It's tempting to say 9/11, and it certainly makes sense in the context of the 7/7 image - if the London bombers are to be believed that what they did was inevitable because of what the British Government did, then shouldn't similar ears be given over to the New York hijackers? Did 9/11 happen as a result of Western foreign policy, or do "they" really hate our freedoms? Laing doesn't put the same questions to the American public as he does to the British. Perhaps using 9/11 for political purposes (heaven forbid) would be tasteless and too controversial for Britains leading pop artist, but in that case, "Truth or Consequences" rings like a cyncial, ill-informed nudge and wink.

These are two similarly insensitive statements with different pedigrees. On the one hand, a blunder, albeit contextually accurate, is shamed out of the public eye, on the other, a half baked idea is displayed in a museum. In a funny way, I prefer the latter, but it would be better still if it actually said something constructive.

Chapter the one-hundred-and-fifty-fourth - In which Mr Pig is struck with fresh revelation as to the nature of the Land of the Rising Sun.

2007-06-29T07:27:00.000Z

The Japanese Post Office doesn't sell envelopes. I should have seen that one coming.

蒸し暑い - Mushi Atsui

2007-06-28T08:29:00.000Z

蒸し - mushi, meaning steamed.

暑い - atsui, meaning hot (weather).

The Japanese summer is like nothing I've ever experienced before. The atmosphere is cloying, close, and there is a distinctive smell, as if all the roads and pavements were melting, yet are made from decaying vegetable matter rather than concrete. Sweat is cascading from my forehead, everything is sticky and damp. Shops offer a moments bliss from air conditioners set to full blast, then disappear as you walk past the open door. Now is the season for ghosts and beasties, appearing out of the sweltering madness to say "boo!" before turning back into innocuous objects. The crazy thing is, it's not even July yet. It's going to be much hotter come August.

The dreams of the boy are those of the man.

2007-06-22T08:03:00.000Z

I staggered out of bed this morning, grumpy, drowzy, stiff, barely articulate and fiercely reluctant to go to school. I arrived bang on eight, only to be greeted by the Principal and told that my lessons were cancelled, and my presence wasn't required. He was actually quite embarrassed that my company hadn't been contated to let me know. Naturally, I was very understanding, and not in the least bit cross. What a great start to the weekend.

If it ain't broke...

2007-06-10T09:04:00.000Z

I have become a semi-willing cog in the machinations of the laws to teach patriotism in Japanese schools. The new drive is to be incorporated into the current “moral education” classes. At the school I’ve been to this week, “moral education” is taught by Sakuta sensei, a woman for whom I have tremendous respect, who mostly teaches English. On the first of July, she will teach in an “open class”, observed by dignitaries from the Board of Education, sundry local schools and some of the students parents.

Considering my status as “resident foreigner who came to Japan because he’s interested in the culture”, and in the wake of the 3rd graders trip to that colossal museum/amusement park which is Kyoto, it’s been decided (in the event of my absence) to present video footage of me being interviewed.

She is of a similar opinion to me on the issue (namely that teaching somebody to love their country is akin to teaching them how to love their mother), but she has a job to do, and she’s nothing if not a dedicated teacher. For this reason, I have been holding back some of my more unrefined thoughts as to the line of her questioning and what she is expected to achieve as an end result. The interview was built off the back of an English lesson we taught earlier.

Some of her questions were undoubtedly pitched to lead me to a certain answer, namely that Japanese culture is special in some way. I’ve stopped short of doing that, instead focusing on what I find appealing and interesting about it. I was also given the opportunity to say what I liked or didn’t like about Japan. Bearing in mind that I want to help Sakuta sensei, that I like the students and don’t want to subject them to the brunt of shortsighted ranting about how infuriating I find this country sometimes, I didn’t say everything that was on my mind. One angry foreigner isn’t going to change the attitudes of a civilization older than his ancestors, and can only shoot himself in the foot by using the classroom as a podium to disagree with authority.

That understanding of Japan’s “uniqueness” is the goal of this class is irrelevant – I think it’s fair to say that most Japanese people are born with that sense, whether they realize it or not. To teach it is to define it further, to focus on what Japan has to be proud of. I talked about little things in day-to-day life that I’ll miss when I go back to England, but also the historical trappings, the Tea Ceremony, the legendary sword making, bushido, the concise elegance of haiku.

As for what I don’t like about Japan, complaints of rudeness are a little churlish – human beings are without a doubt the rudest creatures on the planet. Yes, Japan has it’s fair share of imbeciles, ignoramuses, perverts, liars and gits, but there’s just as many in England. I said that what angered me most about Japan was the reduction of the rest of the world into “Gaikoku,” or “foreign country.”

Most importantly, I was asked to give a message to the students. I suggested they imagine everything they loved and hated about their country being taken away, and then replaced with another way of life, different attitudes and people and the necessity to adapt to these things. I said that living in a foreign country will teach you not only about that one, but also your own, and urged them to try it.

There is a wider debate to all of this, not one that’s going to be resolved any time soon and one in which I have little room to comment, primarily because Japan isn’t going to be my permanent home.

Many of Japan’s Asian neighbours (and quite possibly some of her foreign residents) see this as a gradual return to her nationalistic past. On the other hand, maybe Japan feels swamped by Western influences, and needs to re-assert her national identity. Certainly, the main focus of this lesson seems to be instilling an awareness and a sense of pride in Japans cultural heritage.

In England however, ministers have proposed a Britain Day, which Minister of Immigration Liam Byrne describes as a chance "to stand up for the values that we've got in common" in the face of "a new extremism." It's interesting that both the leaders of a near mono-cultural and a multi-cultural society are considering the need to rally around common principles.

With the far right seeming to grow stronger, and the organs of multi-cultural Britain feeling persecuted, a unifying drive is undoubtedly what we need, but looking away from the obvious "them & us" stance, could it be that British citizens have lost sight of their own cultural heritage? Surrounded as we are by what we have achieved, it's easy not to notice it and understand how we've ended up here. Perhaps the fog of the modern world needs clearing, and we need to have a re-appraisal of who and what we are, and what we are capable of, warts and all.

I've joked about it before...

2007-06-04T13:53:00.001Z

...prior to commencing my Monday night English conversation class, I partook of a hearty swig from my water bottle.
"Ah, that's nice." I remarked, to which the lady who organises the class said,
"Ah, you think Japanese water is tasty?"

The new laws requiring that patriotism and a love of the nation be taught in schools seem a trifle unnecessary.

Sushi Bar in Asakusa

2007-05-29T11:27:00.000Z

For those of you viewing at work, volume isn't essential, but it adds something.

The Last Sanja Matsuri?

2007-05-20T07:33:00.000Z

"Oh, you like Asakusa? There are many foreign country people there."

I've received this response from Japanese people with practically every mention of my fondness for this area of Tokyo, as if what drew me was kinship with my fellow non-Japanese, whatever country they come from.

Of course, these demographic commentators are quite right - Asakusa is crawling with tourists, hardly surprising since it's dominated by the magnificent Sensō-ji, Tokyo's oldest Buddhist Temple.

Asakusa is almost like a theme park of traditional Japan, as if Kyoto had been heavily edited and compressed into a Tokyo neighbourhood. Kaminarimon, the Thunder Gate, opens into a long market street, where shopkeepers, well versed in "trade English" provide innumerable trinkets to legion of foreign visitors. I am the slightly embarrassed owner of what I perceived (before purchase) to be a stylish sake flask. Of course, once I actually took the time to read the kanji on the side, I learned that it said 'Asakusa, Tokyo." I might as well have bought a T-shirt reading "I went to Japan and all I got was...<insert joke here>".

The more I think about that slightly ill considered purchase, the less bad I feel. It's like a moment of clarity, because it is so typical of Asakusa. When I arrived over two years ago, alone and illiterate in a strange country, the way Asakusa looked and felt was adequate balm for lingering doubts and fears I had. Now, a bit more savvy and considerably more cynical, I can see the place through two different eyes. Despite its' colossal tourist trap status, Asakusa is still a beautiful neighbourhood, and whilst there isn't an awful lot to do after seeing Sensō-ji (except for holing up in one of the countless restaurants) what I find appealing about it is, when compared to the rest of Tokyo, the relatively gentle pace. This usually doesn't apply when describing Tokyo's most boisterous O-mikoshi festival, Sanja Matsuri.

Over three days, hundreds of portable shrines are carted around the area by packs of able bodied young people, gradually getting drunker. Moving one of these things takes a great deal of effort, even if you are being supported by about twenty other people. The endorphins are palpable, the rhythmic chanting joyous and exciting, the atmosphere utterly electric. For some reason, this year was much quieter than other occasions, but no less charged with a massive sense of community, something I greatly admire about Japan. This communal sensibility isn't extended to all by all of course. Brian overheard an elderly man grumbling that the name should be changed to Gaijin Matsuri.

Perhaps feeling this kind of inclusion in a sprawling metropolitan labyrinth like Tokyo is only for people who live there. At the same time as the overwhelmingly huge Sanja Matsuri, was a smaller but no less rambunctious festival in and around our local shrine, the small and simple Hiedaijinja.

The mood here is warmer, more intimate and familiar, helped no doubt by the presence of my students from several different schools. Stall holders exercise what English they possess, undoubtedly directed at us because we are almost certainly the only non-Japanese present. Local bigwigs have directed us to the centre of activity, asking us to enjoy ourselves, and even greeted us with genuine bonhomie.

As far as our long term plans go, this will be our last Oda Matsuri (although the festival season is just starting). Maybe what we'll miss most about Japan isn't the magnificent otherly architecture, interesting culture or sense of adventure, but the fact that this quiet little nook of a huge alien industrial city has been shaped into a home.