Recently a private student gave me a lovely little gift after we finished the lesson; two Nioi Bukuro. I had told him I was planning on a trip to Kyoto so in addition to a guide leaflet for the city he kindly gave me nioi bukuro: minature perfumed bags that apparently are famous in Kyoto.

The smell is reminiscent of a New Age shop and are used to scent ones clothing in a wardrobe or tucked in a kimono sleeve to give oneself a subtle incense aroma all day.

There is some information, Here about this delightful Japanese tradition.

Meanwhile, mine are pictured below:

The Japanese have a fascination with Chinese paintings and stories when they craft their beautiful gardens. They draw inspiration from the swirling mists seen on countless scrolls and translate it to ornamental features such as a special arrangement of rocks that water falls around with eerie precision. Rikgui-en in Komagome (Northern Tokyo) is one such of these. Rather it is deemed one of Tokyo’s finest gardens.

Landscaped around a large lake, the walk talks visitors clockwise around the gardens admiring the various scenes such as ‘dragon in the water’ or a hill known as Fujisode (for it is thought of as a mini-Fuji-san with sweeping views of the entire garden). Meiji-period teahouses were tucked away in parts, the wood warped into such fantastical shapes by time that it appeared almost Dali-esque. Then there was a pond, a small waterfall that had been designed with carefully placed rocks so it looked like three powerful waterfalls tumbling into the pool.

Unsurprisingly, Rikugi-en was a pleasure garden for the Japanese nobility, having been established in 1702 Yoshiyasu Yanagisawa, a feudal lord of the region. This link with history is particularly noted by a series of maps that greet visitors at the entrance with charts of Tokyo’s urban development from 1683 to the present day. I love such maps, I always try to find my home, which is always off the map in a rice field somewhere.

They had a small teahouse in the gardens serving tsumetai matcha and a small sweet azuki-filled cake. It was a delight to sit there on a sunny day, as the combination of sweet cake and bitter tea became as exciting for the mouth as the 88 scenes of literature in the garden were for the eyes.

Tokyo has the most confusing weather right now, so confusing in fact that you cannot find a single weather forecast that agrees wholeheartedly with another. Yahoo Tenki says rain, the BBC rainy showers and weather underground, ‘cloud’. You wake up to discover the true weather is somewhere in between all these, despite the previous day being entirely cloud free. Suddenly a plan to head to the beach on one’s day off starts to look shaky but in an attempt to make the most of the warm weather before Autumn brings back the cold, you go anyway. Tokyo’s weather continued to look moody as I boarded the train at Shinjuku and steamed off in the direction of Yokohama. Moody, until we arrived in Enoshima, a small town on the Kanagawa coastline where brilliant sunshine greeted us. It felt like the popular summer island was forcing the summer feeling on the weather, not that we minded of course.

By this point though, neither of us had brought swimwear – and given a charity party I was attending that evening I did not want to take sand home with me – so we spent a relaxed afternoon exploring Enoshima. The gentle main street of the island was lined with shops filled with the usual tourist tat, of plastic samurai swords and the Hello Kitty of the area that intermingled with small traditional food outlets baking soy-covered dango on barbecues and hawking brightly coloured kakigouri. It rather reminded me of Kyoto and the approach to Kiyomizu-dera.

The shrine at the head of the path stood at the top of some steep stairs with an imposing white gate – one that seemed rather Chinese in its grand immenseness – confronting new visitors to the shrine. To the side was an escalator, to transport the lazy up the hill although for this first stint we climbed it: a hard job in the heat. As we made our way into the island interior the humidity sharply climbed as the foliage around us became denser and more jungle like. Little time was spent at the shrine, we merely followed a good luck path creating an invisible knot around a strange ring made of reed and straw – confusedly as even our combined japanese knowledge could not read the sign – and then onwards to the top.

Around the corner the area opened out with a viewing platform and a stunning vista of the entire Enoshima-Kamakura-Zushi area. We paused briefly to admire it before continuing for an even better view. My friend was unsure of how far it would be to this elusive top and so we paid for the escalator. It turned out that the top was no distance at all. We strolled around this parkland area near the lighthouse for a while, looking for the best place for a good view – we found one that looked out to the Pacific, a vast expanse that glimmered under the hot rays of the sun. It looked so very inviting! I am continually amazed at the power of both ocean and a forested mountain to calm the senses and looking out over tropical vegetation and then the Pacific was a delightful way to spend a day far from the stressful architecture of Tokyo.

Not wanting to leave too soon, we went on a walk along the top, through a small town that sits isolated on the back of the mountain. It was a step back in time as the pathway wound past old wooden facades that hid tatami mat dining rooms and plates of soba with a view. Initially we thought this path was a way down but when we wound up at another temple with seemingly no further path to anywhere we realised our error and retraced every step back eventually heading down past the escalators once more.

Back down by the bridge that links Enoshima with mainland Japan, we mused on the beauty of the island and of the ocean and our luck in finding a sunny day. This was accompanied by some tasty and interesting sofuto kurimu in a mix of vanilla and apple mango flavours. On the horizon though, in the direction of Tokyo a very angry cloud hovered pitch black against the blue of Enoshima. It was time to leave; maybe after all that then the BBC was right.

August has not been good to my wallet as festival season came along like a bus. The net result of this is a sudden loss of internet at home, so despite all the interesting things that have happened, I cannot write anything about it! Thank god for short moments in Internet cafes.

Anyway, the festival season is upon us, both the modern music sort and the traditional. The end of Obon heralds the start of Natsu-matsuri (Summer Festivals) to see us through the remaining steamy days of summer before the cool of Autumn sets in. Festivals take a number of guises although they typically involve a parade of a float from the local temple, dances and many food stalls. Occasionally however there will be a festival that takes a more interesting form, like Koenji’s Awa-Odori, held on the 23-24 August.

The Awa-Odori is a long parade of dancing by 188 groups around the streets of the Tokyo suburb. Featuring 12000 dancers, it is the second largest of its kind in Japan and attracts over 100 000 visitors who line the streets with beer, food and a carnival mood even, as evidenced this year, with the rain falling heavy on our heads.

The festival began at 5pm, although my friend and I got to Koenji at 6:30 – after getting lost on the train somewhere around Kichijoji first. We were shepherded down a street parallel to the festivities; an agonising position as the music and shouting could be clearly heard a mere street away all the while we were being led away from the parade. Thankfully the police were pretty ineffectual at stopping people go down roads with ‘no entry’ signs. Their attempts at preventing us went as far as shouting ‘Hairimasen!’ with no follow up. A quick dodge of the police and we had found our spot among the umbrellas with a clear view of the dancers.

The groups shouting to the drumbeat danced along the street – some more energetically than others – in a deeply traditional Japanese style. There was something wonderfully tribal about it, so very entrenched in tradition that for a moment the modern world of Japan was forgotten in a whirl of colourful yukata and enacted stories of demons and gods. It amused us to watch both the spectators letting their hair down with beer and singing and the dancers jump around despite the rain. We wondered how many were salarymen, how many were gals, how many were obaasan… the usual boring and restrained characters put aside for one night as the community got together.

Each group had similar dress, with happi coats for the men and women who led the groups with dancing that skated over the road and then the ladies in yukata. Some of these yukata were stunning, resembling a sakura tree in bloom or gentle colours that reminded one of a tropical beach. Their hair was intricately held up with sparkling hair pieces and atop their head, a curious wicker hat that reminded me of the Gelupka sect of Tibetan Buddhism. Their dancing style, with elegant precise hand movements and feet that tottered on tiptoes in lacquered geta contrasted starkly with the violent movements of the other dancers, so much that as the other dancers moved between the women, it was like a fire dancing dangerously close to a delicate fire.

We watched the dancing for two hours before the rain got to us and we headed indoors for some food. While the Awa-Odori reminded us of summer, the cold rain was distinctly Autumnal and ramen (from a Chinese restaurant no less) was required before we joined the crush for the train home.

My small town had a Matsuri recently too, over the weekend when I had to work. It was fascinating watching them set up for it, building stages and collecting floats near the station but I was sad not to see it. Maybe next year.

A tower of balloons in bright colours adorns the side of La Foret in Harajuku, acting as a beacon for all of Omotesando: Sale time is here, enter at your peril. Inside is the closest thing to consumer hell (or heaven, depending on your viewpoint); it would test even the most ardent shopper as every Japanese woman within the confines of Tokyo descend on the department store. To add to these heaving masses (that make browsing like wading through whitewater) there are the clerks. Bearing placards with characters reading TIME OFF or 100 YEN scrawled colourfully in childish marker pen, they bellow at high speed and pitch, often accompanied by bright plastic megaphones to ‘entice’ shoppers in. Or rather coerce given the frequent screaming matches that escalate between various shop girls. The only problem in this extreme cacophony is that you cannot make out the difference from one sale to the next. Even the stairs are rammed full of people; packed with women waiting to enter particularly popular stores while other shoppers navigating their course between the 8 floors have to pick their way between the hazards of shopper bags and heels. For the uninitiated it is terrifying but for the girl with a mind to spend money the only answer is to dive in. It is a true test of anyone’s sanity, as a friend said ‘I got to the third floor and I just had to get out of there!’

La Foret is not unusual. While other sales (excepting perhaps Shibuya 109) are not quite as manic the frenzied fever for bargains in Japan is huge. Following the Bubble Burst and the recession that followed, the Japanese learnt to become more careful with money and developed a keener eye for a bargain. The spate of 100 yen shops that opened in the wake of the sudden economic downturn are evidence of this. A few jumbled racks of clothing with 20% discounts in the UK is nothing on the madness of a Japanese sale where 70% is the order of the day. Here, 20% is quite simply stingy. Normally such a huge discount may suggest a brand in trouble, but it is usual practice in Japan where fashions change fast and despite the continuing popularity of many items, every store slashes the prices. With their highly disposeable incomes, Japanese women cannot resist as the giant La Foret sales bags become ubiquitous across Harajuku. Shops set out wagons for girls to root through the cheap clothing with a noticeable rush for the coveted items. It is like the opening of Roberto Cavalli for H&M in London, but 12 hours and for five days. After the five days are up, La Foret returns to normal with barely a sale sign in sight. As fast as it came the madness vanishes as if it were a terrifying nightmare.

Watching the biannual scrum of consumerism it is easy to think ‘what economic problems’. Japan has only just started to feel rising prices after months of resistance, not that that would probably affect the single minded determinism of young women wanting new, cheap clothes. As the Japanese economy started to recover the country began to enjoy some high spending once again although the lessons learned during the harder recession years at least taught the young women to bargain hunt fiercely. For a nation obsessed with consumerism and branding to then offer these brands for super cheap prices is too tempting an offer even if that economic situation is once again taking a turn for the worse.

Economic discussion aside, the La Foret Bazaar is a grand circus, a retailer’s ultimate fantasy and for bemused foreign visitors, a unique slice of modern Japanese life that is worlds away from the placid shrine just up the road. The colour, noise and crowds is un-rivalled and un-equalled anywhere else in the world and like much of young Japan, crazy, manic and loud!

Yesterday an erratic schedule at work gave me a lovely long break early in the morning, time I used to wander down the road to Ginza in search of a MAC shop. I hadn’t counted on Japanese department stores being closed until 11am so, after entertaining myself in Starbucks for half an hour with Minna no Nihongo, I ambled back to Matsuya Ginza. For the first time in my life, I queued for a department store to open.

Of all the department stores in Ginza, Matsuya appeals the most both aesthetically and in the brands they hold in store. The facade is interesting and verging on modern art with riveted white metal that is cover by clear squares of glass across the whole building. At night it takes on a distinctly futuristic feel with white light emanating in horizontal lines from between the sheets of metal. The design of Matsuya is elegantly modern and ensures it stands out like a shining beacon at Ginza 4-chome.

When I arrived it had not yet opened and was being peacefully guarded by two clerks who just stood silently watching a bunch of obaa-sans straining to get in. At 10 it finally opened it’s doors and I headed towards the MAC stand. The utterly bizarre thing was the bowing that became a highly discomforting feeling as you walked down the shop pathway. Every shop clerk was stood at the door to their store and as the first people entered there was a domino effect of bowing and announcing ‘Irrasshaimase’. All of which left me feeling quite strange as I wasn’t quite sure what to do. In the end I just smiled nervously at them and quickened my pace to the safety of the MAC store. Later I asked one of my Private students, Hiromi about it. She told me that people just ignore the bows and in recognising them I was being a friendly person. Interestingly she also said that she finds it odd but at the same time it is just all part and parcel of the service culture in Japan that means a customer received treatment we could only dream of in the UK. Thing is, now I want to go to La Foret first thing and see if the same happens there; a bunch of punks and lolis and the Like a Edison staff bowing…. that would be extremely surreal.

On an unrelated point, the weather or rather the forecasting of said weather is annoying me. Today they predicted Thunderstorms and heavy rain all day. I thus cancelled the picnic I had arranged, although I left it until 1am to get more accurate reports. So today I open my curtain and what do I see? SUN! FFS!!! Every weather forecaster I checked got it oh so wrong! It had better be sunny next week now when I want to re-hold it as it is too late to change everyone’s plans again. Instead I shall go to the gym and then to Jiyugaoka for the afternoon.

One of the more delightful aspects of living in Japan is the inherent traditional love for a good festival at numerous points in the year and in a great variety of places. For the casual traveller and indeed for the foreign resident, it perks up a routine weekend with a sudden bustle of colour and noise. This is especially so in the area I work – Nihombashi. While Nihombashi may have an illustrious history amidst the swirling memories of old Edo, today it is a dull business district with only the Takashimaya Department store to boast of. The grand old bridge itself is a telling reminder of how Nihombashi has fallen, it’s beauty overshadowed by a whopping great freeway that spoils an otherwise potentially lovely area. Even as the matsuri moved along the streets the vehicles did not stop, weaving around the dancing hordes in happi coats and tabi socks. For me, however, it was a fantastic spectacle right on my work doorstep.

Nihombashi’s Sannou Matsuri

Before I found out about the Akihabara attack yesterday, I had seen something on television that somewhat impressed me. Eco matters – the topic du jour in the US and UK – have reached out to Japan in the form of Touch Eco 2008. Japan has an interesting attitude to Ecological matters, demanding we sort our trash rigourously into burnable/non burnable/ bottles etc for recyling and advertising energy saving air con units all the while Shibuya and Shinjuku emit more light pollution than your average African state. While there is increasing promotion in using ‘Eco Bags’ for our daily uses, there is also a love for the plastic bag, such as the banana I bought from my local conbini this morning; like a present it was packaged in a clear plastic wrap all tied with a small gold bow. Touch Eco 2008 has manifested itself in Tokyo suddenly as a series of Expos and Festivals – I encountered one such in the approach to NHK Hall – although these have been criticised for lack of actual ecological content. The Expo in particular was accused for displaying products that actively against the issue, for example.

That said, the approach to raising eco-awareness that I saw on TV last night was much more admirable than Live Earth, despite being on a smaller scale. Live Earth I had problems with. It was a good cause, of that there can be no doubt but surely a concert in Wembley stadium with all the energy use that implies cannot be the best way to go about earth saving. On NTV last night they continued with the idea of a concert as awareness raising but taking a much different tack employing many of Japan’s numerous ‘talento’ in the process for a worthy cause.

The premise I watched was a challenge to put on a proper rock concert (albeit only one song) entirely from human power. I admired this approach, it neatly highlighted how much energy it takes to put on one dimly lit song and using humans to generate that electricity was a clever sense of ‘just desserts’ for our wasteful species. The first challenge was to charge the microphones: each mic required two batteries and for eight people that became 16 batteries. The batteries were charged by harnessing the energy output by someone running. This thus required 16 talento to run a certain distance to get the power needed. Then the task was to generate enough wattage to make small bulbs light up and give power to the electric guitars for the during of one song, specially written for the event and performed by Johnny’s band, Kanjani8. Around 50 furiously cycling talento would be needed for this job: the exercise bikes hooked up to cables were on a platform and the various volunteers ready at their bikes. At the count they began to cycle fast as the band began to play. This continued for four minutes until the song was over and talento power had been exhausted. It was a rousing success and followed by a long documentary section explaining the creation and exploitation of oil in the world.

Although slightly all for show, it at least demonstrated how difficult it is to perform normal functions without natural resources and how much we would find ourselves adrift if they were gone. It was gone in a moment though as normal service resumed with full stage lighting again – much like the moment darkness at Live Earth. For all I could criticise this reversion back to the norm it was at least an effective way to raise the idea of eco awareness. It stuck in my mind at least as I instinctively then turned off all the unnecessary lights in my apartment and certainly a better way of showing the need to be both eco aware and careful with our resources than Live Earth. Even with all this though I couldn’t help think about Shibuya and Shinjuku, and like all these awareness raising efforts there still remained the niggling thought that if they really cared, they would turn those two cities off.

Golden Week brought a short welcome relief for me as, like many Japanese, I was given the sudden freedom to explore the country a little bit. Together with a friend we headed North, to the dark corners of Iwate prefecture in search of green world far removed from Tokyo. It seemed to be such a dark, wild corner of Japan that every mention of ‘We are going to Iwate-ken’ was greeted with confused looks from friends. ‘Why are you going there?’ they asked. ‘Why aren’t you going to Kyoto?’
I suppose it is natural to be confused why two foreigners may go to such an unusual place, I however was entranced by the untamed North, especially by the stories of a small town called Tono nestled in a valley shrouded in myth and legend. Rob, my friend was simply in the mood for some travelling and so together we went to Tohoku, catching a late bus to Sendai.

Tono is indeed as atmospheric as the books describe and it is easy to see how both Lafcadio Hearn was so mesmerised by the valley. The approach on the rickety ‘wanman’ train wound through mountainous terrain with steep forested slopes on either side, at the foot of which occasionally a house would sit, a surprising interruption to the wilderness feel. Tono itself was a fairly large town although sleepy nonetheless. We were staying in a ryokan owned by an incredibly friendly lady with whom Rob and I felt rather awkward to say goodbye to. Her level of concern was often embarrassingly high. While aspects of the corridors could have been kept better the room itself was a delight from the wooden lattice sliding door for our private genkan to the two large tatami rooms that we could spread ourselves out in. It had that simple understated elegance that Japanese Inns manage so well; maintaining a raw natural feel to the decor while also being quite refined. Meanwhile my body thanked me for once again finding an ofuro.

That first night we ate a traditional meal at our Inn that challenged the tastebuds; the mountain vegetable pickles were fine, as was the tempura that again used seasonal plants and was quite different from the typical Tokyo fare but the horse was a bit of a jolt. The owner brought out two dishes of sashimi; dark red meat lay beautifully presented on top of each other as Rob looked at it quizzically with a face that said ‘this isn’t tuna’. She explained to me with a nervous giggle that it was in fact horse sashimi and out of politeness I ate it. Rob was curious anyway and decided he rather liked his horse. It caused such a stir to our cautious Western ways that the rest of our meal was occupied with a discussion of the strangest things we have ever eaten.

Tono, as I partially mentioned earlier, is a land of myths and stories of demons and ghosts and strange occurrences. These stories have been told amongst the inhabitants since the days of Edo until the early 20th century when an encounter between scholar, Yanagita Kunio and local academic, Kizen Sasaki led to the publication of these folk tales as the Tono Monogatari in 1912.

As we toured the area it was not hard to understand why Tono had this reputation. We rented bikes that allowed us to get close to small unsigned sights dotted around the valley, sites with a definite spooky atmosphere. Our first stop was the site of a former castle. There was little fanfare, merely a plain sign with kanji printed upon it that pointed into the woods. With a little trepidation, Rob and I climbed up the steps deep into the trees. We climbed for a while going deeper into the forest and were finally confronted by a small, dilapidated wooden building. The dingy interior revealed nothing more than some faded strip of material and a rusting tin and we pondered on their purpose. They did not seem so old and we toyed with the idea that it was either a small shrine or a dwelling place. Tono is apparently teeming with mysterious lodges hidden in the woods that house ‘mountain men’. This latter thought started to make my skin crawl as a distinct Blair Witch feeling came over us. We agreed that come twilight it would be one very creepy place to be.

One of Tono’s more famous myths concerns such a hidden house or ‘magoiya’. A farmer’s wife was out hunting for butterbur one day when she came across a grand gate in the deep forest. Upon entering the gate she discovered a garden full of red and white flowers and then further a great house. The house was filled with expensive lacquerware goods that took the poor woman’s breath away. Considering though that this could be the abode of a mountain man she became suddenly afraid and took flight without removing anything from the house. Her good behaviour was rewarded when, as she washed by the river one day, a lacquer rice bowl came floating towards her. She fished it out and her family decided to use the bowl to measure rice. This rice was to never decrease in volume and as thus the family became the richest in the valley.

Meanwhile, Rob and I continued our cycling heading out 15km to the Furusato Mura. While the Furusato Mura bore no more spooky stories it was an interesting insight into the farming life of old Japan. A number of Magariya (L Shaped) farmhouses from the Edo and Meiji periods had been moved to the site for visitors to wander around and experience a small slice of how life felt 200 years ago. Similarly Fukusen-ji, with a grand Kannon Bosatsu was more of the sightseeing and a fun hike up a hill.

Jouken-ji however took us back into this mythological world and introduced us to the kappa. The kappa is a mischevious aquatic creature resembling a the bastard offspring of a frog and a duck with long skinny limbs and a beak. Kind creatures these are not as Japanese folklore tells of their child-eating exploits and habits of stealing horses. Tono has a few ‘kappa pools’ where supposedly these creatures reside, one of these being at Jokenji temple. The kappa here though was helpful and a story tells of it putting out a fire at the temple. Of course, this being Japan, the Kappa has been thoroughly reinvented as a cute mascot or, as a wooden sculpture resembling the gnorcs in Spyro the Dragon.

Although Fukusen-ji and the Furusato mura were indeed interesting places it was still the hidden secret sites dotted around Tono that were the most magical. 500 Buddhas that lay hidden in a forest of moss-covered granite rocks only revealed themselves upon gazing on the rocks for a period and an old wooden torii protecting a simple shrine was overgrown with ivy and creepers that wound sinisterly over the structure. It was truly haunting and a world away from Tokyo although after a week in the styx I did at least feel ready to come back and the brief stop in Morioka for catching our bus felt like coming back to civilization once more. Just a shame that all that excitement gave me the flu, really!

It’s back! After three years, it’s time to give Nakama Yukie and the next crop of JE boys the bump again. Yankumi has returned to manage another unruly class of schoolkids, fall in love with another boring man and fight in either a warehouse or under a railbridge every episode. Don’t I sound impressed?

I read in all the D-addicts forum comments that Gokusen 3 was great. Tonight I watched it and while I could stand two seasons of the same-old same-old, a third time around is too far. It is flogging a dead horse. Even the main characters look directly influenced by MatsuJun’s ‘Sawada Shin’, except they share his hairstyle. I must admit I was faintly looking forwards to Gokusen 3; I had such fond memories of 1 and 2. I could just about bear the third installment until The Warehouse loomed onto the screen, all cavernous inside with nothing adorning the dusty ground apart from some iron poles that will later be used to beat up one of the 3-D students until Yankumi runs in to do her Yakuza thing. It is a continual source of mystery to me as to why they end up fighting in these conveniently placed warehouses that Yankumi can always find. It is as mystifying as the ‘drama run’, a convention of every drama that believes one can always find anyone within Tokyo’s sprawling mass merely by running around.

Then again, Gokusen must be doing something right. In it’s first week it got a 26.4% rating! I personally blame the adolescent Hey Say Jump fans tuning in to give their boy the boost in popularity stakes. Given the quality of the other offerings this Spring: Last Friends, Zettai Kareshi, Rookies and Hokaben, Gokusen’s high rating seems so very undeserved although it does admittedly have the widest appeal of all series this Spring. My mature adult eyes are blinding me to the obvious marketing winner that Gokusen shall be for NTV. Meanwhile I shall simply not watch and just moan for no reason instead.

Surely NTV cannot do a Gokusen 4…