We are a mere three weeks into the New Year and I have yet to make the mistake of writing 2010 instead of 2011 on any official documents. I have, however, written 22 instead of 23 every time, 22 and 23 representing the 22nd and 23rd year of the Heisei Emperor, that is. Every year on New Years day, the Emperor and the Empress, two of the most elegant, poised and angelic people in the world, open up the Imperial palace to the public and give a New Year’s address. This year more than 700,000 people passed through the gates to catch a glimpse of their majesties and receive their articulate and uplifting wishes for the New Year.
The Japanese New Year I experienced this year was, needless to say, full of firsts. But honestly, for having spent New Year’s only once before in Japan, while I was an exchange student in Kyoto, this year’s experience brought a whole new meaning to my conception of the Japanese New Year.
I was very grateful to receive an invitation from my friends from Warabe ceramics studio to join them on New Year’s Eve in Nagashima where Mr. and Mrs. Kurowarabi, the father and mother of the family, live. One of my two ceramics teachers, Miwa also lives in Nagashima, literally 50 meters up the road, while Miki, Miwa’s sister and another one of my ceramics teachers, lives in Akune. Miki and Miwa are the two daughters of Mr. and Mrs. Kurowarabi who have been married happily to Ma-san and Haru-san, respectively, for many years.
Now that we have the family tree out of the way I can tell you how amazing Mr. and Mrs. Kurowarabi’s house is. As one would expect from a family of ceramicists, the Kurowarabi house is immaculately decorated with pieces from both Mr. and Mrs. Kurowarabi. In the centre of the living room are three large (and low) tables made from what looks like one solid tree with a very fine finish. It was around this table that I sat and shared the company of the Kurowarabi family on New Year’s Eve. My previous New Year in Kyoto three years ago was spent bundled up in the chill of the moments before midnight, outside of a nearby temple. I was, indeed, in the company of good friends and many of them, but this year in Nagashima I got a real sense, for the first time, of what it means to spend a Japanese New Year at home with all of the family. I would later learn that a lot of this time, which I supposed to be quality family bonding time, was spent drinking beer and shochu and locked into the television for hours watching celebrities sing their heart out in what has become an ultra-famous collaborative chorus competition.
Nagashima New Year with the Kurowarabis
Despite my intent to stay and soak up the warmth of the evening, and the hibachi coal stove, the snowstorm that had set in outside forced me to go home far before the final hour of 2010. Luckily, on my way home I got a call from my friends at Big Up, the NPO at Akune station. So, from the hours of nine to twelve I sat around yet another hot stove, this one made out of old motorcycle parts, drank more beer and feasted on toshikoshi-soba (New Year’s soba). When the hour finally came I stood among friends in the snow on the platform of Akune station bellowing into the night, in both English and Japanese, “Happy New Year 新年明けましておめでとうございます (akemashite-omedetou-gozaimsu).” In retrospect of all the noise making I have participated in at the stroke of midnight, this was certainly a first.
On the first of January I had the pleasure of joining the owner of my favourite soba restaurant in Akune, Daikon-no-hana (The Daikon Flower), at his house to enjoy a traditional New Year’s festive meal known as Osechi-ryouri. Osechi is delicious on so many levels: it is almost always enjoyed in the company of family or friends; it is presented in a multi-level box, with each meticulously prepared item occupying its own special place; and the taste is simple, deep and does due justice to each of the fine ingredients. Every ingredient used in an osechi spread has a symbolic meaning. For example, sweet beans, a big part of osechi, are eaten in order to work hard throughout the coming year. The rationale for this is a little hard to explain in English since the Japanese reasoning is based on word play. The word for bean in Japanese is 豆, mame, which if repeated twice and changed into the form of an adjective, 忠実忠実しい mamemameshii, means diligent. Right. My favourite of the osechi I had on the first was with out a doubt the saba oshi-zushi, pressed mackerel sushi. The mackerel is first cured in slightly salty, barely sweetened vinegar, wrapped in bamboo skin along with sushi rice and then lightly steamed. Despite the fact that steaming sacrifices the amazing taste of the crispy skin one would get from grilling the fish, it certainly maintains the saba’s beautiful blue colour. From the hours of one in the afternoon to roughly 5 in the evening, I sat with the owner of Daikon-no-hana and his wife, drinking beer, watching television again (I was beginning to see a theme at this point) and enjoying each delectable morsel of the meaningful munchies. Might I add, this was my first osechi experience.
Osechi spread
Saba oshi-zushi
In the remaining days before school started my good friend in Nagashima, Zak, and I visited the prefecture to the north, Kumamoto, a total of two times. First, on a cold, overcast Thursday we drove thirty minutes on route 3 to Minamata city to take advantage of the community bicycles we had heard about from a friend. Within minutes of entering the city hall and applying for a one-day pass we were back on the road, but this time on electric bikes, with baskets. Although Zak and I were eventually aiming for Yu-no-ko, a famous onsen town, we had not particular place to go. So what did we, two hungry men do? We went in search of food.
Minamata community bike rentals
Check it out Dad
Zak’s pretending-not-to-be-hungry face
The route along the ocean-side road, hundreds of meters above the beach, was breathtaking. When we eventually reached Yu-no-ko, it was time to eat, but alas, there was no sign of a restaurant. That was until we stumbled upon a colourful sign with big round lettering lining the circumference of a smiley, golden sun: 福田農場-スペイン村-レストラン Fukuda Farms, Spain Village and restaurant. Not knowing the grueling climb that lay ahead, Zak and I charged forward to the cadance of our growling stomachs.
Fukuda Winery
Electric bikes, shmelectric bikes. That 2km, winding climb up to Fukuda Farms was serious. But what we discovered at the top of what seemed like Yu-no-ko’s largest bluff made it all worth it. There was a bakery. There was a winery. There was wine tasting, home-brewed beers, pizza, a great view of the ocean and more. After a thoroughly satisfying lunch and we saddled our shmelectric city bikes and descended back into the city. Having worked up somewhat of a sweat, Zak and I retraced our steps to Yu-no-ko by car to stop by the nearest onsen we could find. The onsen we settled on, 山海館, Sankai-kan, just so happened to be the cave (yes caves, like bats and moreloks) onsen I had researched the very day before. After a nice long soak in the caves Zak and I drove back up the hill to Fukuda Farms to by some gifts, recalling our arduous ascent that had taken place just hours before.
Fukuda Farms lunch and beer tasting
Hatsushibori, the first juicing of the year, our present from the owners
Our second trip up to Kumamoto was to the prefecture’s second largest city, Yatsushiro, to visit a mutual friend of ours Jon. With only two days, a measly 2,880 minutes, remaining in our winter break, the three of us decided to make the most of every moment and every step, literally. In other words, Jon led us into the mountains to the north of Yatsushiro to climb Japan’s largest staircase, numbering 3,333 stairs in all. The weather that Saturday was pristine, perfect for performing the equivalent of 6,666 leg lifts and then walking 2 km in the snow to an old wooden shrine. Climbing the stairs was actually easier that I thought. That was until we reached stair number 1,800 or so, also known as the freezing point. From then on it was a battle between the ice-covered granite stairs, my sense of balance, which I pride myself on, and my super cool hiking boots (thanks folks). The climb down was absolutely treacherous. While Jon, an experienced 3,333er, headed down with the speed and agility of a mountain goat, I stayed with Zak, who for his own, possibly spiritual reasons, decided to climb the stairs in zori, Japanese sandals. Needless to say, I gained a newfound appreciation for the care and thought that senior citizens put into each step they take up and or down stairs.
The beginning
About 2,000
3,333
The best chicken in Japan
定食 (teishoku, set course) in Yatsushiro
Warabe Winter Fest., Mr. Kurowarabi and Jon grilling and eating mochi and sweet beans
Warabe winter festival, group photo with Miki-san
In light of the New Year, I would like to leave you with this phrase I hear very often about resolutions:
三日坊主, mikka-bouzu.
Literally translated, this expression means, “A three-day monk.” I have often heard it used in regard to one’s inability to uphold personal goals, such as keeping a diary, jogging a few times every week, or other things that we sometimes foolishly promise ourselves, like trying not to eat the delicious doughnuts at the convenient store more than three times a week, oops.
The proverb in this next photo has a lot more depth than the 3-day monk message. I saw this beautifully engraved pillar on my way down the 3,333:
Translated literally, the two short phrases mean, “Today’s work is now. Today’s pleasure is tomorrow.” This really struck me. First because of how simplistic yet profound the message was. And also because this teaching resembles, almost verbatim, a well known Jewish philosophy about the mitvos, “You do them today and receive their reward tomorrow.”
I wish everyone a Happy New Year. 2011 should be a year of health, happiness and growth for us all.
Until next time.
