Sprinkles from Heaven

En route to my hotel on the first day here, the chauffeur showed me some people who stood in front of the statue of the Virgin Mary, located directly in front of the Notre Dame Cathedral. There was a miracle, he said. The statue was crying. For days now, believers and plain gawkers have been flocking to the area to witness the shedding of the tear by the stone icon. It would have been difficult on that night to discern the difference between the tears and the drizzles that sprinkled from heaven.

I asked some locals, most of whom misinformed me that there were two religious camps in Vietnam: 50% Buddhism and 50% Catholics. Further reading shed better understanding on this topic: there are a handful of religions instead: Confucianism, Taoism, Buddhism (predominantly Mahayana, as opposed to Theravada or Hinayana Buddhism), and Christianity. The first three, along with Vietnamese animism (the belief that the material world possesses souls) combine to form the Tam Giao (Triple Religion). Catholicism in Vietnam, beginning around the 16th century, is today practised by 8-10% of the population. There are also Cao Daism (a religious sect that fuses the secular and religious beliefs of the East and the West), Hoa Hao Buddhism, Islam, and Hinduism. I was also informed that, unlike in China, communism in Vietnam did not eradicate the esixtence of any form of religion.

While driving across the United States might yield plenty of Flamingo and Gnome sightings on people's lawns and frontyards, driving through the countrysides of Vietnam produced a curious view: statues of either standing female manifestation of the Buddha, or of the Virgin Mary, or of Christ the Redeemer, all of whom occupied the second-story balconies of the people's two or three-story homes. Seen from outside, these figures (especially of the Virgin and Christ) seemed to welcome you into the owners' homes. Perhaps that was indeed the intention. I remember wondering if there was a sense of competition inter- and intra-religion (i.e.: Buddhism vs. Catholicism; the cult of Mary vs. the cult of Jesus Christ).

***

On an unrelated note, I also observed that during a trip to Nha Trang from Saigon (an arduous 9+ hour bus/van ride; mon Dieu I will take a plane ride next time . . . if there is a next time!) the existence of plenty of graveyards; or at least what I originally thought was formal graveyards, until someone explained to me that soldiers who died during the War were buried immediately and at the site where they had fallen.

The road between Saigon and Nha Trang was the same route used by the North to advance to the South, the very same area where the South positioned its defense. Rather than moving these makeshift burials to a designated formal graveyard or a military gravesite, the soldiers' families returned to the site and built upon the makeshift burial. As a result, the landscape along the route was dotted with mounds after mounds of memorials to the fallen ones.

I thought this was a more effective and constant reminder to any passers-by of the toll any war can take. Gathering the fallen soldiers in one formal site and honoring them would have been a solemn gesture, but leaving them where they fell across miles and miles of a major highway would hopefully persuade passers-by to reflect on their sacrifices.

***

During that same road trip, I was also amazed by the existence of many Internet kiosks. In the seemingly most remote village where I did not think electricity existed, there appeared kiosk after kiosk of Internet access. Word had it that Vietnamese who fled the country in 1975 and had returned back to Vietnam either to visit their relatives or to repatriate had decided to bridge the digital gap and to make modest amount of money in the process. That reminded me of the speed at which a Vietnamese friend of mine in Los Angeles travelled to get his hands into this burgeoning and blossoming market that was Vietnam.

Saigon, Have I Seen You Before?

I just landed at the Tan Son Nhat Airport (Saigon Airport), an airport built by the US Army that used to witness the comings and goings of the US military aircrafts during the Vietnam War. The airport bore a quaint reminder of what Jakarta airport was like in the 70s (quick, quick, if you do not know how the Jakarta airport looked like in the 70s, come to Saigon now!). Lines at the immigration was long, but there were more than ten staff members working to process the entrants. The immigration workers had dour faces and worked very slowly, doing what Indonesian immigration used to do a lot: stamping, stapling, stamping, stapling, stamping, stamping, stamping. Then more stamping, stamping, looking at the photo in my passport, then at my face, then stamping, and stamping again. Finally, another round of stapling and stamping, and then returning the passport to me. *Whew* I looked inside, there was only 1 stamp. What the hell?

There was another baggage scanning done during customs check, and observing very briefly, about 10% of the people were sent to the red lane for a more thorough check. A small kiosk of foreign exchange services stared me in the face so I took the opportunity to get my first Vietnamese Dong (VND): I have tried earlier to acquire VND in Japan and in Hong Kong, but none carried VND. The Hong Kong foreign exchange kiosk staff informed me that not a lot of people travelled there, so the exchange did not carry any VND. Back to the Saigon Airport foreign exchange kiosk: to my surprise, the bills given to me were spanking new. Certain bills, similar to the Indonesian Rupiahs, seemed to be made of Tyvek-like ingredients, making it untearable and longer-lasting.

It was drizzling outside when I finally breathed in the Saigon air, seasoned only with a hint of humidity as I chose to visit the country at the end of the rainy season. The hotel limo picked me up and drove me to my hotel (see review here), about 8 km away in Ho Chi Minh City (HCMC). I want to remind you that Saigon and Ho Chi Minh City are two names for the same city. Before 1975 the city was Saigon, but after that year, it was renamed the Ho Chi Minh City. According to guidebooks and learning from locals, the name Saigon is still much prefered here in South Vietnam.

As I was driven through the city, I felt a familiar scene welcoming me: low rise buildings and multitudes of store fronts, street vendors jamming the sidewalk and road traffic running amok, all serenaded with a cacophony of car horns and bike bells. Such encounters I have had in other Southeast Asian big cities. I could be in Bangkok or Surabaya, and probably would not know the difference unless I see local writings and hear people talking. All of these nations have been colonized at one point or another by a Western power: Indonesia (the Portuguese, the Dutch, and the Japanese); Singapore and Malaysia (the British Empire); Vietnam (the French), and the Philippines (the Spaniards). Some came out strong and prosperous, some remained probably more or less the same, and some, like Vietnam, is still catching up with time.

I was delivered to District 1, so named probably because of its importance: most of the city's prominent buildings and formal government offices were located in this area, such as: the Reunification Palace (pictured above), the Opera House, the Main Post Office building, and the People's Committee Building (formerly Hotel de Ville), to name a few. For the rest of the late evening I stayed indoor, having woken up very early today to make the trip from Japan to Saigon by way of Hong Kong. I ordered Pho from room service, all the while telling myself not to expect much from any hotel food. I was surprised to find the dish very tasty, as tasty as the best Pho outside of Vietnam in Little Saigon (Westminster, Southern California).

*sigh*...gone is my first day in Saigon...

Bridges, Creeks, and Maple Trees

If I ever imagine a Japanese Eden it would be in the form of Ukai-Toriyama in Takao-san (Mt. Takao), a sprawling compound of lush greens and Japanese Maple trees, divided by creeks, united by bridges, and dotted with a multitude of pavilions, none of which has the same architectural design.

When my friend asked me out to eat lunch here -a mountainous area 50 minutes away from Tokyo's Shinjuku station by an express train- I had no earthly idea that I would end up in such heavenly a place. From Shinjuku-eki, we took the Keio train to Takaosanguchi. A complimentary bus from the Ukai Toriyama company picked us up and delivered us to the second restaurant (the first was a smaller one at a lower level of the mountain).

Reservation had been made for 4 people the day before; otherwise, it would be almost impossible just to walk in and expect to get a pavilion. There is no dining hall; instead, the vast area is host to numerous pavilions scattered throughout. To reach any of these private rooms, one has to navigate on a pebble track under a canopy of trees while listening to the sound of flowing water in the creek down beneath the many bridges that have to be crossed. I do not think anyone would mind.

We chose the highest course in the menu and were rewarded with a parade of small dishes containing many different Japanese vegetables and meats. At one point, each of us was given a suspended rock that was really hot. This was to be the place to put our raw beef with ground miso topping. As there really is no such thing as "main entrée" in a Japanese meal, each dish bears equal weight.

(When we left Tokyo, it was actually raining very hard. As we were waiting in a station somewhere along Tokyo and Takao-san, an earthquake shook the northern part of the country [6.8 in the Richter scale]. We did feel the train rocked back and forth while in its stationary position.)

It was still grey when we reached the mountain, but as we consumed our repast, the cloud broke and the sun appeared, sending his mighty rays to our compound but they were filtered by the leaves of the Maple trees. The effect was just so beautiful that neither words nor photographs could capture its essence.

Would you mind my sharing with you a little bit more of the pictures I had taken from my outing today? Please visit www.flickr.com/photos/bloompy.

From Here to Eternity...

It may not look like it, but this Oedo-subway-line escalator at the Kokuritsu-kyogijo (by Sendagaya JR Train Station) seems to be one of the longest escalators I have ever seen in Japan, in the U.S., or in Europe. When you hop in it and stay put, it takes quite a while to reach the top (or the bottom). I actually started reading Tolstoy's "War and Peace" at the bottom and finished it three steps before reaching the top. And I read that twice.

Currently Tokyo is building its 13th line, somewhere down beneath the Meiji-dori (Meiji street), one of the busiest streets in the city. While that is not yet near completion, Oedo line will for the time being carry the title of "the last" subway to be built in Tokyo.

Oedo line, the 12th subway line, was inaugurated on 12/12/12 (December 12 on the Japanese year 12 [the Japanese year starts on the beginning of the reign of a new emperor, and as such, the year 2000 was equivalent to the Japanese year Heisei 12]). The depth reached close to 50m at certain points, making it one of the deepest subway lines in the world.

The picture above is just one of the series of escalators that one has to take in order to reach the street level. At the Roppongi station, for example, you have to take at least 4-5 sets of escalators to reach down. Forget having any cell phone signals down there. Perhaps the long journey down to reach the train or up to return to the street level is one reason why the line has not been so popular. The ridership has been below what was originally predicted.

Next time you are in Tokyo and happen to ride this line, bring a good book. A thick book. Forget the thick book: bring your parents' entire Encyclopaedia collection, or do your family tree, going up to your great-great grandparents and down to your grandniece twice removed.

The Shinjuku-2-chome Festival

The Shinjuku-2-chome Festival, originally uploaded by bloompy.

Gay Pride Parade began in Tokyo a few years back, but about three years ago it stopped. I could only speculate why, as I have yet to find out the real reasons. Be that as it may, 2005 saw the rebirth of the Pride with a Lesbian & Gay Parade on Saturday (August 13) starting from and ending at the Yoyogi Park (which I unfortunately missed because of a food allergic reaction) and a festival today at the Shinjuku-2-chome, home to the local LGBT Tokyoites.

The Parade went through the Shibuya district, then turning onto Meiji-dori, heading toward Harajuku (via the Omotesando-dori) and back to the Yoyogi Park. I overheard people saying that the Parade was much better than the last one three years ago. Let's hope that the Parade will be repeated next year.

The festival today started around 5pm and supposedly ended around 9pm. I was there with a couple of friends for the first two hours (as we mistakenly thought the festival would start earlier; we were in the area 3-4 hours earlier, and had had to kill time until the festivities started; geez, I really need to do my homework!!! ).

In other Japanese festivals like the Sanja-matsuri in Asakusa, two rows of attendants would collectively hoist a portable shrine on their shoulders as they did a procession from one point to another (i.e., from the gate to the temple proper). Such a procession was simulated here today, but when it started, everybody died laughing. Instead of marching to the traditional chants or to the beating of Taiko drums, this procession marched to the tune of the popular Romanian disco song "Mai Ai Hee/Dragostea Din Tee" blaring from the loudspeakers in full force. It was a fantabulous riot!!!

The festival brought out the transgenders, transvestites and lesbians out of the woodwork. This is the part of the community that I seldom see in 2-chome. Some attendants wore their yukatas, and at one point, 5 seemingly happy girls with their colorful and patterned yukatas made their stroll in the main street, stopping here and there to flirt with booth attendants. They were also kind enough to let others snap their pictures.

Taking pictures in such event is rather a thoughtful process as one has to consider the privacy of the people involved. True, they are out in public having fun and, to a certain degree, "let their hair down", but it does not mean that they would like their orientation or association with the community be broadcasted to the entire world. At times, when in doubt, yours truly had had to ask the permission of the subjects before immortalizing their images, including of those portrayed above.

Today's festival is dwarfed by the similar Pride-related parties in other big cities in the world, but it is nonetheless significant for the Japanese LGBT community to let their presence known. The Saturday's Parade covered the youth-oriented Shibuya, Omotesando, and Harajuku. Someday, perhaps, the Parade will march through the more traditional Ginza where the older generation is.

The Yanaka Course | Nishi Nippori

The Yanaka Course | Nishi Nippori, originally uploaded by bloompy.

In January, my cousin who visited from Amsterdam went to the area of Tokyo called Nishi Nippori. She recommended the place to me as she found the place tranquil and wonderful a site with many temples, shrines and houses preserved from the old time. I tried looking up the area in the guidebook and the Internet, but the former yielded nothing and the latter came up with only a scant result. So, equipped with nothing, I set out yesterday to go to the area blindly.

I was accompanied by a friend who had been wanting to explore an area called Yanaka, which, according to his reading, hosted a number of temples, shrines and houses that dated back from the Meiji era. I told him that I would be happy to accompany him on his exploration at another time.

Boy, were we both surprised when we ran into a map of the area to find out that what each of us had been looking for was actually the same, exact thing, except that he wanted to approach it from one end (the Sendagi Metro Station - Chiyoda Line) and I from the other terminus (the Nishi Nippori JR Station - Yamanote line). What lay in between these two stations was our interest all along!

During the Edo period, temples and shrines were pushed out of the city to avoid the frequent fires that ravaged the central area. With Japanese homes and building constructed mainly of wood and rice paper (for the partition screens), they became a willing ally to the fire that could lick and burn them at a much faster rate than the incense burnt at the temple to appease any naughty and arsen-minded gods. As a result, the temples and shrines here were also kept rather empty in the interior to lessen the problems with fire.

Temples in the outskirt of town also doubled up as a means of fortification. A lot of people could hole up within the temple to protect themselves from invaders. The so-called invaders, however, usually turned out to be locals who flocked to the area for some tranquility and beauty, according to the Frommer guidebook, which seemed to be the only one so far that had any information on the Yanaka trail.

This site also was least affected by the great 1923 Kanto Earthquake, as well as spared from bombing during the World War II. There were many temples and cemeteries on our first journey here.

The day's heat and humidity was the only reason we decided to end our sojourn. We would treat this as an introductory survey as we both planned to return here to do more observation and to snap more pictures. We wonder if the unavailability of information is meant to spare the site from tourists pouring into the area, making this haven of tranquility a well-kept secret ... Ssssshhhh!

The Yukata Party

The Yukata Party, originally uploaded by bloompy.

Last night I attended my first Yukata Party. It was quite exciting a soirée with about 80 men attending. The event, hosted by my friends at their residence at the posh Roppongi Hills, started around 7pm on Saturday evening, and the last guest left at around 4 in the morning on Sunday.

Yukata is a type of kimono worn by both men and women during the hot summer months. Since my move here in 2004, I learned that yukata was becoming popular again. Perhaps the cultural ministry wished for the young people to wear the traditional costumes from time to time, if not the full kimono then at least this informal yukata.

I learned that the men wear their yukatas loose on top (revealing a little bit more of the middle of the chest) to allow some natural ventilation. The obi (sash or belt) is to be worn under the stomach area, to emphasize the bulge of the belly, which in the olden days signified wealth and economic prosperity; but with young metrosexual men and gay men being very healthy and image conscious these days, the bulge is no longer... As a result, with too skinny a man, a towel has to be wrapped around the belly to give the illusion of a protruding stomach. I have yet to find out if, like the Scottish kilt and the Balinese sarong, underwear is supposed to be worn with the yukata.

The women unfortunately are to wear theirs with the lapels closed to display modesty. Still, I believe that the colors and patterns of the women's yukatas and obis are much more interesting than the limited color palette of the yukatas available to their counterpart.

I read a year ago about a young female entrepreneur who started producing and selling inkjet printed yukatas and kimonos. These are to be sold at a less expensive price than the traditional kimonos. Her aim was to get the young people to buy them at an affordable price with hope that if they enjoyed wearing them, the experience would become the springboard to buying a more traditional kimono, thus preserving the national costume.

In my experience, it is very easy to tie the obi on my own. You start with a temporary sash that holds the yukata closed while you wrap the decorative obi about three times around your hip (not waist). At the end of the wrapping, you tie the obi into a knot two times, and once it looks tidy, you rotate the sash so that the knot would be slightly off centered in the back. Then you untie the temporary sash that is buried underneath the decorative obi.

When I was buying my yukata, I saw a ready-made obi: a sash that had a beautifully tied knot and is easy to apply, using a velcro. I was tempted to buy this until I realized that this was the Japanese version of an American "clip-on tie". So, I learned quickly from the staff on how to tie the obi properly. Later on, I learned from a new acquaintance another way of tying the sash.

I have worn the yukata many times since the purchase. Having paid dearly for it (a good quality yukata can run from ¥22,000 to ¥50,000, an equivalent of US$200-$450), I better put a lot of miles into it. I have riden a taxi, picked up my partner from the train station and have lunch with friends wearing the yukata. My pair of geta (Japanese sandals) was quite comfortable and fashionable too, a little modification from the more traditional and the more painful to wear geta.

With the limited color palette and pattern for men, I am tempted to have my yukata custom made. I have had my shirts and pants custom or tailor made for some time (the US and European garment industry is not really that accommodating to smaller framed people like I am; and the boys department's largest size is still a tad bit too small for me), so why not have a custom made yukata?

Convenience Everywhere!

Vodafone Battery Charger, originally uploaded by bloompy.

I remember Japan as a land of gadgets: there is no end to what this country can invent.

I remember a friend of mine who gave me a book filled with Japanese gadgets, including this small table you can "wear" in front of your tummy (the table is hanged much like the cigarette tray worn by cigarette girls in the US in the 40s) so that you can lay your forearms there while you walk, just in case you are too tired to swing your arms.

The cell phone battery chargers, such as the ones shown in the picture, are almost everywhere in Tokyo: in cell phone stores & service centers and in photo processing places, to name a few locations. I have only seen these machines in Tokyo but have not spotted them in Europe or South East Asia, and for sure, not in the US.

As the name implies, this device charges your cell phone battery. When you are away from home and find out that your cell phone is running out of juice, you go where you can find these devices, figure out which drawer to open (each drawer is specific to a certain model of cell phone).

First, you punch in that drawer number, and if the drawer is available (empty), it pops open. Then you put your phone in there, connect the supplied cord to your phone, closed the drawer, punch in your code (usually it is your cell phone security code) and the drawer locks itself automatically. You can leave the phone there securely (unless someone actually steals the entire machine filled with these phones).

Upon returning, you punch in the same security code, and voila, the drawer opens, and you retrieve your phone with its battery fully recharged. In other places and providers, some fee may be charged for the use of this machine, but at least with Vodafone Tokyo, the service is free.

The Return of the Cicadas

I recently returned to Tokyo from an extended Golden Week vacation. I left it as the city was trying to shed its cold weather and came back to see that some foreigners had donned shorts and light shirts, which could only mean that the warmer weather had arrived (one cannot really tell by the way most businessmen dress as they always wear the same dark suits, whiter shirts and dark ties, but that all will change soon, and I will explain that more later). The smell of the ginkgo (or gingko) biloba tree wafts throughout the city; these showy gymnospermous trees of Eastern Chinese origin can be found lining up the different neighborhood streets, and the smell . . . , well, let me say that there is a distinct scent to it that any sexually aware human being would easily recognize.

Tokyo mornings are beautiful, peaceful, and enjoyable, especially in the Springtime. The sun starts to reveal himself very early in the morning, around 4:30 or perhaps even earlier, necessitating one to have very opaque drapes and curtains in the bedroom if one is to shield him or herself away from the bright light.

Last night a friend, my partner, and I ate at a restaurant called Cicada (review will be available at the accompanying site at bloompyeats.blogspot.com) on Gaien-nishi dori in the Minami Azabu area. The name of the restaurant proved to be premonitory as this morning, for the first time since the end of summer last year, I heard the first of the cicadas in the distance, competing with the squawking of the crows. I had my window opened but the screen closed to keep the mosquitoes out (perhaps it is still too cool a weather for those blood-suckers to return, but so far, I have found and killed 3-4 of those vampiric pests).

(Now, returning to the dress code of the Tokyoites: the government has recently persuaded their male citizens to shed their dark suits, white shirts and dark ties in favor of "Summer Breeze" outfit [much like the American's Casual Friday outfit]. This was done so that buildings' air-conditioning could be set at a higher temperature, therefore reducing the energy intake and the heat outflow to the streets of Tokyo. The government is serious in reducing global warming [it would be rather embarrassing not to set example for other KYOTO Protocol adherents]. Up until now, female colleagues had had to brace the glacial temperature at offices everywhere because the cooler temperature ensures that their male counterpart would be at ease wearing their layered clothing inside the buildings [for further read: NY Times' James Brooke's article "Is a Salaryman without a Suit Like Sushi without Rice?" at www.nytimes.com/2005/05/20/business/worldbusiness/20tieless.html? ])

The Last Shabu-Shabu

Hanezawa Outdoor Dining, originally uploaded by bloompy.

After a 3-day winter-like weather that brought rain and cold wind across the city, Tokyo re-emerged into the sunlight on Thursday, although unaccompanied by the glory of the cherry blossoms. Today the Hanezawa Garden, a favorite restaurant near where I live, offers its last shabu-shabu lunch and dinner for the season. Beginning next week, the Korean BBQ will again be featured as the main and only attraction in the outdoor dining at this elegant restaurant complex.

I was given a seat that was partially shaded by the tree; yet giving me full access to the bath of light available in front of me. The cherry blossoms in this garden still retained some of their flowers, but the look was pretty much emaciated. Throughout lunch, the petals were blown by the wind and fell down to the earth as if scattered by the hands of the gods and goddesses. The effect was magical. The shower of petals looked like a summer snow.

As lunch progressed, the comfort of the shade left me exposed to the mighty sun. Unlike the winter sun whose effect one could hardly feel, this one made its presence known. While enjoying my book -Marco Livingstone's David Hockney- I felt the heat becoming slightly unbearable. The presence of a standing waiter nearby provided a much-needed temporary shelter, but alas, his shadow went with him as he was called by a customer at a far-away table. I was once again exposed.

I am not complaining. After a three-day insistence by the grey winter weather to stay in the city, I welcome the change of weather. Spring, hopefully, is here to stay.

(For a review of the Hanezawa Garden, please consult http://bloompyeats.blogspot.com)

Fleeting Beauty

The white and pink blossoms that only a week ago provided a sight for the tired wintery eyes have been swept away by the wind and rain that came to Tokyo this week. With the temperature dropping to mimic a winter weather, it would be nice to escape to the mountains of Hakone and soak in the hot springs...

Confetti of Petals

Confetti of Petals, originally uploaded by bloompy.

It feels as if there were many weddings and birthday parties taking place these last few days for there were so much confetti strewn across the city. In fact, Tokyo (and all over Japan) is experiencing what the French call elegantly "La Fleuraison de Cerises", better known here as the Cherry Blossoms. In private gardens and public parks, canopies of the white flowers dominate the landscape, and the city is blanketed with confetti of petals. Last year I was travelling back to California when the cherry blossoms happened, much to my regret; the only consolation was that upon my arrival at the San Jose airport, I spotted one or two trees with blossoming cherry trees, but let's be real here, it ain't the same.

Last week, when the entire city was wondering to each other back and forth when the colder weather would give in to the warmer climate to allow the buds to emerge, I asked myself what the obsession was with this particular natural phenomenon. After all, this concrete jungle of a city is graced by the presence of other equally stunning flowers throughout the year, like the pinkish red Azaleas. Last Tuesday, while walking past three trees in my area, I saw that none of the flowers was apparently ready to come out. I tried to imagine if I would be amazed by the sight of a full blossoming tree. Few days later, I saw a third of the tree was covered with flowers. Still I was not too overly impressed.

But suddenly yesterday, on a bright, sunny but cool Saturday, it all changed. Accompanied by two friends and equipped with a camera, I set out to the Kudanshita area, heading toward the complex of the notorious Yasakuni-jinja (the Yasakuni shrine is where the war deads are interred; an annual visit by the Japanese prime minister to honor those deads remained controversial for Japan's role in World War II ). The walkway before and slightly after the two torii gates was lined mainly with food vendors. A vast area on one side, under huge pine trees punctuated by several Cherry blossoms, was occupied by picnickers on straw mats and people eating at tables provided by the food vendors. These picnics are so popular that it is difficult to secure an area for a group gathering. I learned that freshmen of many companies usually were sent early in the morning to block a certain area for their companies' people.

As one traversed the second torii gate and through a wooden double gate, one is greeted by a shower of these confetti, blown by the wind from the canopies of sakura abound. It was a stunning view, indeed. I gathered that because I was so used in seeing the greens of the trees juxtaposed against a clear blue sky that a sight of these millions of white flowers against the same blue heavens presented quite a different view of the landscape. There are other flowering trees, but usually those flowers are but punctuations in a bed of greens, but with the Cherry Blossoms, the whiteness of the flower really overwhelms any hint of greens. For the next few days, these green leaves will yield to the powerful presence of the white flowers.

At the end of the visit to the shrine area, we crossed the street and walked along toward the more beautiful Chidorigafuchi area, a stretch of walkway along a moat. The entire area was like a queue line at Disneyland, with people lining up to see the coming attraction. Even the overpass, a pedestrian crossing bridge, was chockfull of couples in love and family members in cheerful mood. None of this long waiting dampened their enthusiasm in viewing the blossoms up closer. Again, the sight did not disappoint: the moat was lined with the trees in full blossom. The audience was treated with the sight of several boats rowing down below: perhaps young couples in love and old couples rowing down memory lane (I suppose the middle-age couples are busily tending their screaming children and rebellious teenagers). Petals fell onto the moat but with each row of the oars, they were pushed to the sides. I saw a boat rowed by a much abled man, cleaving into a body of water filled with the strewn petals, but then his boat got under a tree. As if punishing the rower, the tree's branches overwhelmed him and for a moment, I saw him struggle to free himself from the clutching branches. He was more careful after that.

A Japanese friend asked me why foreigners always thought that the cherry blossoms were pink instead of white. I do believe the answer lies in the fact that the Japanese themselves depict these flowers as pink, as shown in travel brochures, billboards in the metro, and even fake cherry blossoms that decorate some stores and pachinko parlors; they are all white-centered with pink edges. From any distance, they are unmistakably pink.

There are still many different parts of the city I have yet to visit, but today's viewing of my first ever Japanese Cherry Blossoms will be etched in my memory. Unfortunately, the weather forecast has called for a rain spell in the next three days, reducing the chance that any flowers will remain intact in the branches after the rain subsides.

Hakone, Here I Am!

Tenzan, Hakone, originally uploaded by bloompy.

Once upon a time I had a student, an award-winning surfer from Hawaii, who with his girlfriend went to Japan during one winter. He related a story to me when they went up to Hakone, sitting in an outdoor hot springs, enjoying the hot mineral soak when suddenly the snow started to fall down. He thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever encountered. As he lived most of his life in the ever-sunny Hawaii and then spent four years in the mild-weathered California, he never chanced upon a real winter with snow. He was truly mesmerized by the sight of falling snow.

Since my frequent visits to Japan few years ago, which was followed by my recent transplant to Tokyo, I have often wanted to go up to Hakone to have the same experience my student had the fortune to have. I never realized that wish until a friend from Long Beach came to visit. I used this opportunity to ask a Japanese friend of mine -Kazu- if he would mind showing us the way, and, to my delight, he agreed. Kazu, who did not even know my Long Beach friend, treated us by buying the train tickets to Hakone and giving us two folders of towel set.

We took the Odakyu "Romance Car" at 11 o'clock from Shinjuku-eki (eki=station) with this non-stop train, passing Odawara and delivering us to Hakone-yumoto station. The trip took about 90 minutes. There are other times to take similar train, but this one is a limited express and had no transfer, making it not only a convenience but also very popular, especially during the weekend. Outside, the weather was grey, and rain had been falling since morning. I was hoping that up in the mountains this would translate into a snowfall.

Upon arrival at the Hakone-yumoto-eki, Kazu asked us if we should walk or ride a cab to the hot springs where he wanted to take us. He informed us that it would probably take about 20 minutes to hike up there. Because of the weather, we decided it best to take the taxi, and so we did. Along the way, I looked to my Long Beach friend and said that such path could not have been done in 20 minutes (and this comment came from me, who walked the fastest among friends)! Probably at least 45 minutes will be needed to walk in a comfortable pace. The track goes up and up, and that can slow down those who are not used to such an incline path.

Tenzan (天山) was the day-resort to which Kazu had taken us. Right after we were dropped off by the taxicab, we went to a small depot that housed two ticket machines. Each adult paid ¥1200 (roughly $12) while children would pay slightly less. From there, we followed the stairs up to the lobby area, entering the building of the hot springs proper. As usual, shoes off and into the lockers; then, tickets were presented, and we headed down toward the men's locker area. The baths are divided by gender. There are others mixed-gender hot springs in Hakone, but this one is separated.

After shedding our clothes, we went to scrub our bodies. We just followed our friend without a word, but when we dipped into the first pool, AWMYGAWD! It was so hot that I thought I saw my entire skin left me in that pool alone. It felt scalding hot, and my Long Beach friend and I wondered if this was the mildest one; to our relief, this was not the case. I guess the first pool was designed to kill any germs before we went to dip in the other ones. There were a total of 6 dips: 3 under the roof, 3 al-fresco (including two cascading pools on a higher ground) plus one freakingly freezing cold pool. There was also a sauna that I thought must have been Japanese style: very low ceiling, with people sitting Buddha style on a wooden platform (there were a total of 10 platforms). Some people rubbed salt on themselves before entering the sauna.

My friend and I were quite happy with the hot springs, thanks to Kazu. We changed location every 10 minutes or so, with intermittent visits to the sauna and sometimes just sitting on the bench with nothing on but a tiny towel to express our humility. I believe that going to the hot springs during winter is best for the very reason of juxtaposition between the two temperatures. I have yet to find out what happens here during the summer weather, if at all this area gets warm enough to close the gap between the temperatures.

After two hours of soaking, we went out and got dressed, lying for 15 minutes or so in the tatami-matted common area, which had a glass door that opened to a balcony (the accompanying picture was taken from this area, looking at the outside; Kazu was taking his cigarette break outside). The long roof over a walkway led one to the different restaurants available on that complex. We opted for the shabu-shabu, which was a great choice because of the cold weather outside and the hot shabu-shabu inside. We were soooo relaxed that my friend and I were reluctant in returning back to the bath; you know, just like skiing in the morning, then having lunch mid-day, and at least for me (with the warmth of the restaurant that sometimes was located mid-high up the mountain) I was reluctant to put on my skiing boots back and go out to ski again. Alas, we were mistaken; the second round of soak turned out to be much better than the first. Maybe it was because we were even more relaxed, with our tummy full and brain half-dead, the soak took the last of our energy and we became extremely comfortable; quite a relieving feeling.

Thus, it was with some regret that we had to remove ourselves from this heaven of a place ( 天山 literally means Heaven/Sky Mountain), but for me, there was always a promise for a return soon. I am hoping to make another sojourn before the cold weather disappears altogether.

Japan Immigration Gets More Strict

There was an article late in 2004 that said that Japan Immigration at the major airports like Narita will start taking digital photographs of visitors coming into the country, much like what the United States had started doing recently. Prior to my arrival at Narita today, I prepped myself while still airborne, making sure that no one would take a horrible mugshot of yours truly after 11 hours of flight.

As it turned out, the photo-on-the-spot thing had not yet taken place, but what I noticed earlier was that the landing card had changed. It used to ask for a home address, which one was expected to fill in with a complete home address including street and address number, etc. This time around, only city and country needed to be mentioned. The space for "purpose of visit" used to be a very small block at the bottom corner of the disembarkation card, but is now extended with a multiple choice (business, tourism, transit, others...). They now also ask not only the address where you will reside during your visit, but also a phone number.

I was also oblivious to the fact that there was a fine print at the bottom of the landing card, advising me to turn the card around for more things to read and to fill. On the back side were four more questions about your visit and who you are, completed only when you sign at the bottom of the card. I failed to do this and was asked to do it on the spot. The immigration officer also asked the name of the person who was supposed to be my host. The officer was young, probably just out of college; he was very thorough and polite.

Customs did not give me any problem; it never has, really. The one time they did ask a lot of things, they got around in asking what I did. When I responded that I taught at a university, his demeanor changed. He thought I was a businessman. Apaprently Japanese still have respects for academic figures; how quaint.