Ephemerality: visitors, flowers and the first weeks of spring

Greetings from Akune.



I hope everyone who celebrated had a wonderful Pesach this past week. The wait is finally over. Yes. You can at last make your peanut butter and jelly on matzah sandwiches. I would like to first of all give a huge thanks to my sister and brother in Jerusalem for the amazing effort they afforded to making this the best Pesach I have ever had in Japan. Only seven short days after a call to the Chabad organization in Tokyo, a box full of matzah and a bottle of kosher wine had been sent to my doorstep in Akune. In the three years I have spent Pesach in Japan, including one year in Kyoto, this year was the first in which I was able to, with the help and kind invitation of a fellow Jewish friend, have a real seder in Japan.

Thanks Chloe, Yehudah and Chabad in Tokyo



As six of my friends and I sat around a low table on tatami mats, reclining comfortably, we group read an abridged version of the Haggadah and even had a chance to share and discuss a few supplementary readings; I closed my eyes and I was seated at all the seder tables I had attended in years past. The only thing that was missing was Grama at the head of the table, her matzah ball soup and the harmonies of my mother and her sisters, the one and only Mackoff girls.

The Seder plate



I read a little bit into Pesach this year, more so than I have in other years. I found out that Pesach is, in fact, treated as a kind of New Year, yes, like Rosh Hashana. The reasons for this are many. For the sake of conciseness and not revealing the lack of depth in my understanding of this profound holiday I will state two of these reasons: Pesach is considered a New Year in that we start counting the months (again) from the day we were taken out of Egypt, a truly new beginning; and also because the season of Pesach is one filled with new life, whether it be a new harvest or vibrantly blooming flowers. This latter explanation is one I think those living in Japan could comprehend very well. As I have described before, spring is truly what brings new life into our world, and sometimes from all over the world.

There are few world travelers I know better in Akune than Captain Matsunaga. At the age of nineteen, just out of high school, he set off to the Dominican Republic (DR) to visit his eldest brother and get a taste of a world beyond Japan. Having come back from a similar trip last year, I was able to hear from the source about the extended Matsunaga family in the DR. I was hardly expecting to have a first-hand experience with a thread of that story, but then came spring.

I got a call from the Captain at an insignificant hour in the afternoon; maybe I am saying it was so because I was at the office. Either way, the Captain was in the company of guests from afar and as a result in high spirits. Before I knew it I was online researching the closest and cheapest hotel rooms in Akune for our guests (our?), apparently they were from or had some connection with the DR.

I was sitting in the parking lot of Rocks Inn when the Captain pulled up in his car accompanied by two young exchanged students from Tokyo on their spring break. Gian, from the Dominican Republic-who I would later learn was the friend and employee of a landscaping company run by one of the Captain’s brother’s sons-and Vinny, from Brazil had a traveler’s air about them. They also had the same look on their faces as I do when I came home from an outing with the Captain; it’s the look of exhilaration, disbelief, joy and exhaustion. Over the next few days, which included dining at yakitori, stopping at a handful of bars, a bon fire and taking a dip in my favorite onsen (hot spring) I became instant friends with Gian and VInny. No sooner, however, did they shoulder their packs and head north to Tokyo.

The first 竹の子, take-no-ko, bamboo shoots of the seasons, pulled from the Captain’s neighbors’ yard, by the neighbors of course. Gian and Vinny watched in awe.



Posing after a bath at 湯川内温泉, Yugawauchi Onsen, my absolute favourite spot



The emerald green bath



At the 焚き火バー, Takibi (bonfire) Bar at the Captain’s



There are a few places that stand out in memories of watching sakura (cherry blossoms) bloom. Having learned to ride my bike at the old Roosevelt High School, the University of Washington’s Red Square and the near by Quad, I grew up with superb sakura. This came dangerously close to being over shadowed during my experience at the University of British Columbia, whose sakura are as countless as they are breathtaking. Then I moved to Kyoto. My world of understanding what a beautiful flower could possibly be began to crumbled. What Kyoto and the handful of places I have visited during spring in Japan have that Seattle and Vancouver do not is a clear sense of unfamiliarity, a kind of next-level rarity.

Sakura right outside my apartment door



Sakura lining the 365 step staircase up to Banshogaoka Park in Akune



A few weekends ago, when the sakura in the north of Kagoshima were in full bloom, Zak and I went to his stomping ground, Nagashima’s Hana (flower) Festival. Upon our arrival to Taiyo-no-Sato Park, we were greeted with a piping hot potato. This was very Nagashima, according to Zak. I figured it as a kind of door prize. The flowers were fantastic and lived up to our annual expectations. Walking under the light pink blossoms and chomping on my door prize was the closest I got to Hanami (flower viewing, which entails a tarp, enough friends to fill that tarp seated and enough booze and finger food to last a long afternoon) this year.

Flower Festival opening performance



There is a well-known saying about Hanami that I would like to share:

花より団子, hana yori dango



The grammatical nature of this proverb proves finding its English equivalent a challenge for any caliber of translator. That is, until they have experienced it they do not realize what Hanami is all about. The saying is a comparative sentence, where the two objects are flowers (the first character) and dango (the last two characters, which is a kind of glutinous rice cake filled with sweet red bean paste). Using mathematical symbols, the saying could be viewed simply as the following: flowers < dango. In other words, it is an unmasking of a collective opinion that most Hanami goers share: we’re here for the food (and booze and friends) rather than the flowers.



Until next time.

Strawberries are in season

Southern Hospitality: a trip to the island of Amami

I chose the plane over the boat. I had my reasons: I would be traveling alone; I was not too pressed on cash; and I did not want to spend twelve hours at sea where conditions are notoriously poor. After making the flight reservations, though, there was still one unanswered question that made me a little anxious. How small was this plane going to be? This question was finally answered when I stepped out onto the tarmac of Kagoshima airport. The plane that was to take me to the island of Amami was a twin-propeller plane with a capacity of about fifty-five people, crew included. This was the smallest plane I had flown on since the six-seater in Mexico about eighteen years ago. Luckily, the weather last Friday afternoon was fare, perfect for a flight down south.







Stepping off of the plane at Amami airport less than an hour later, I welcomed the seven-degree rise in temperature with a deep sigh. Winter has been long since been gone, I thought to myself. This observation became even clearer on the hour bus ride into Naze city. The lush mountains overflowed with the green of newly sprouting leaves and were dotted with a tropical palette of wild flowers.



The impetus for my trip to Amami was, as many trips before, an invitation from friends as well as a genuine interest in the southern part of Kagoshima. I had heard so much about the islands, as they are called so often. The people are relaxed. The dialect is unlike no other. The culture is rich with local music, dance and food. And of course there was the color of the ocean, beyond blue. I had four and a half days to soak up as much Amami as possible, every intention to do so and the perfect friends to show me the way.

Yes, that is a Hello Kitty design in the toast



Route 58 is the only highway that runs through Amami. Throughout my trip I got to know this route very well. I was delivered to the city of Naze on a bus via the 58 and the very next day, on another slightly outdated bus, I was on the 58 again headed down to the city of Koniya. With a population of a little over two thousand, Koniya gives off a very at home vibe. The ocean is visible from practically everywhere, the streets are small enough to only allow passage to the narrowest of cars or drivers who have the confidence to squeeze between the parapets that interlace most of the residential streets and all of this is wrapped in green.



魚南蛮, sakana nanban, fried fish in a sweet sugar cane vinegar sauce, the best I ever had



Most of the species of fish in the islands have red flesh



That is perhaps why I thought it was so bizarre that I found myself in one of Koniya’s loud, smoky live houses the evening I arrived. A number of bands, DJ’s and even a comedy troop performed at Juice live house for a benefit event in support of the earthquake tsunami disaster in northeastern Japan. After sitting through a few bands and a very interesting satire of Iron Chef, my ears and eyes, irritated by the heavy smoke in the air, began to tire and my body was easing slowly into sleep. At that very moment, two people, a man and a woman, entered from right stage. Each was carrying a 三線 sanshin (often referred to interchangeably with the 三味線 shamisen), a small instrument resembling a banjo. The distinctive sound of the sanshin does not come form the neck and frame, which are made of wood, but the drum, which is lined with stretched snake skin and sometimes dog or cat skin; technique, of course, plays a large factor as well. When the spotlights hit the faces of the two artists, now seated on stools, heads began to turn and a surge of whispers ripped through the crowd. The music started. While the steady plucking rhythm and fine finger work of the two sanshin, perfectly synchronized, formed a foundation for the song, vocals as high and soft as clouds completed a sound that injected a strange energy back into me. The layed back rhythm and the soft, round sound was to me the aural embodiment of island culture. By the third and last song of the set, dozens of people had found their way to the foot of the stage, hands raised and wrists twisting in a alternating pattern, dancing the classic island dance. This was the beating heart of the island.

Unbeknownst to be, I had just watched a collaborative set of two of the most famous island musicians of the day, Hajime Chitose (female) and Atari Kosuke (male). After the show, my friends, huge fans of the two musicians, raced backstage to get a chance to mingle with the stars. When the backstage door swung open I was face-to-face with Atari Kosuke, who immediately shot me a smile. I took this as an invitation and joined my friends and the two stars for a quick photo opportunity and a friendly chat. Then, unlike anything I have ever seen, the two artists, natives of the area, went out in the venue and mingled for the next hour with friends and guests. The night had come alive.

Having tasted the nightlife, I thought I would use my last full day in Amami to get in touch with the nature that had captivated me so upon my arrival. As one would expect from an island well within the tropics, Amami is blessed with a vast network of mangroves, not to mention the various companies who offer tours through them. Although the tour was short, the tide was out and the majority of the people in my group couldn’t operate a kayak to save their lives, I adored the mangrove experience. Nowhere else have I seen trees like the ones I saw that day. The guide explained how though some of the trees that appear smaller and less developed are in fact much older than the trees that tower over them. And since there are times when the entire tree is covered in water, some of the roots grow to pierce the muddy surface of the mangrove to gather as much oxygen as possible during the brief windows when the tide is out. I was in awe at this mysterious yet logical tactic of survival.









The plane ride back to mainland Kagoshima was one of the smoothest I have ever had. And as the rumble of the propeller just outside of my window vibrated the seat under me, I played back my first trip to the island of Amami.

People are buzzing around the Board of Education office like bees, bees in freshly pressed suits and new nametags. It is the first of April, my parents’ anniversary. Congratulations and Happy Anniversary. It is also the start of the new fiscal and work year in Japan. This is the day when new employees all over the country receive certificates of appointment and bow their heads low to their superior colleagues. This is the day where desks, left pristinely clean by their predecessors, are refilled with files and agendas, pens and bobble heads (actually no bobble heads), fresh memo pads and rolodexes. This is the day where teachers, who can potentially be transferred to another part of their prefecture every year, wake up in their new houses for the first time, boxes strewn everywhere from having moved in the day before. The last week of March and April the first is a time of emotional goodbyes and anxious introductions to new environments. Every year, whether it is with extreme reluctance or euphoric relief, people, especially teachers, are shuffled around their prefectures, sometimes changing the whole makeup of the workplace and or school district. It is a strange system that I find myself in. I am so grateful that I am not subject to the possibility of being torn away from the schools and the city I have become so fond of.

I would like to leave you with a Japanese proverb regarding goodbyes:

立つ鳥跡を濁さず, tatsutoriato wo nigosazu.

Literally translated, this means, the departing bird leaves no trace.

Sightseeing in Amami


Honohoshi beach has uniquely large, round rocks



The crew



The sound of the waves on the rocks was really amazing, just trust me.



Baby goat



Curry, not goat curry



This is a shipping container converted to a karaoke box.





Until next time.