Exploration: Abroad and at Home

The last few blog posts have been about very specific details of my trip abroad and about the culture surrounding them. Toilets and vending machines in Japan are awesome. I was there in time for the cherry blossoms, and they were amazing. I joined a nihon buyo club and had a great time learning a traditional dance. But some experiences of traveling cannot be condensed into single events or specific details. Some experiences are built up over many events, constructed from feelings and impressions. One such experience for me while I was in Japan was the experience of exploration.

In a new country, exploration occurs pretty much constantly. You are exploring the sidewalks you walk on, the people you encounter, the culture around you. Sometimes, you even go out and intentionally explore, taking the unusual path and getting lost on purpose, for the sake a wholly individualized experience. For me, exploring like this was so much fun. I could describe it with prettier words; it was exhilarating, inspirational, exciting. But really, the best phrase for it is just pure, unadulterated fun.

During the early part of my visit, I wandered away from the classrooms and dormitory on a rare occasion when it wasn't raining. It wasn't sunny, but the lack of rain was good enough for me. Taking along my camera, I drifted towards some unspecific direction, with really no purpose in mind except to look at whatever there was to see. Although I was familiar with the buildings in the center of campus, I had no idea what was behind them or what the mysterious section of woods off to the side contained. So I decided to just walk around. I kept my camera on to record what I saw and my random musings, for posterity's sake, or something like that. 

What I discovered was a street lined with cherry trees; a cute, little convenience store a short block away; a couple picturesque farm plots; a bike rental company; and a large, beautiful garden behind the campus. This garden contained a myriad of unfamiliar plants, trees, and flowers. I was fascinated by the lack of grass, which usually covers American garden-parks. Instead, there was soft, fragrant moss everywhere—even on the pathways. And then, I found a bridge.

(The magnificent bridge, surrounded by leafless trees of early spring.)

It's almost embarrassing how excited I was to find this bridge. It felt like I was walking through the wardrobe into Narnia or using the rope to cross the creek into Terabithia. I had no idea where it would take me, but it looked so mysterious. The thrill grew as I chanced upon sets of stairs leading in two directions. The first path led me to a house and another farm; turning back, the second one led into the heart of the woods near the campus. I discovered a series of raised wooden pathways over creeks that spindled out like capillaries. I noticed how remarkably different the pine trees were compared to my home in Colorado; tall and bare until close to the top where they flourished out in dark green, soft needles. I found a kind of bright green tree with delicate leaves that seemed to float in the air on barely noticeable, thin branches. A couple branches of some tree had wound around each other, forming a rope-like structure that looked man-made. Fiddle ferns grew on the ground, curled up so they appeared almost alien. Although it was not some raw, untouched forest, it felt entirely undiscovered and revolutionary to me. I was disappointed when I came out the other side, finding myself once again near the campus buildings.

(The stairs that went up.)

(The stairs that went down.)

Luckily, these exploration experiences peppered my entire stay in Japan. I followed an unknown path beyond a lighthouse during a school excursion to find myself standing a hundred feet over a beautiful, rocky coastline. Hawks and large sea-birds dove and surfed the winds around me. There, a nice couple offered to take my picture. Back at campus, I took an afternoon to explore to the books in the library, discovering illustrated books on Japanese folklore, an interesting book on the history of chemistry, and texts on traditional dances of obscure cultures. Thoroughly exploring shops at the mall exposed me to the nearly infinite variety of “cute” merchandise in Japan, delicious watermelon puree drink and, conversely, gross placenta drink, as well as super expensive taco ingredients (which were too pricey even for my desperate taco cravings).

(The beautiful, tempting path beyond the lighthouse. How could you not explore it?)

The results of my explorations were always interesting and rewarding, but the real pleasure came from the exploration itself. Simply giving myself over to curiosity and welcoming any result filled me with pure happiness and a cleansing sensation. My existence in those moments was not complicated. I had no preferences, but I was interested in everything. I had no goals, but I felt accomplished whenever I made a found something new. I think this basic level of curiosity rivaled that of an infant. The world was new and amazing to me, and even the smallest detail contained endless entertainment. I think it is the purest state of being; to explore the world, to observe the world, to delight in the world.

The experience was so impressive, that I think I have been chasing after it since I've returned, like searching for the sensation of a first high. Curiosity and exploration gets lost in the bustle of the every day. Responsibilities or even just weariness keep us from opening ourselves up to experiences that have no purpose; they stop us from indulging or perhaps even noticing our natural curiosity. In light of my experiences abroad, I am trying to change this in my life. It's not easy. I have classes and homework and regular work and chores just like everyone else. Not to mention, my boyfriend is currently less mobile due to a hip injury, and my desire to include him in my adventures often prevents me from having them at all. But I forget that curiosity doesn't always mean going out and finding some unknown path in the woods. It can mean turning on my computer and reading about some new fact, then following that interest and learning more. For example, I just finished reading an National Geographic article about the leading theory on how the statues of Easter Island were transported from miles away. I realized I really don't know anything about Easter Island. Instead of just letting my interest end with the article, later I'm going to do some reading about the island and learn more about the culture and its history. Following a curiosity, no matter whether its in concrete or digital form, is always stimulating; and for me, often has the added bonus of inspiring stories I can write.

There may be no point to indulging in curiosity. It doesn't always provide any rewards except perhaps as a conversation piece. It doesn't make money; it doesn't get anything done. However, I really believe curiosity is the most defining and basic characteristic of the human species. Humans love to learn, which is something we often forget when looking at education and homework, but it's true. We want to know things just for the sake of knowing them; because they're interesting, because they're fun. Perhaps that is a goal and a reward enough in itself. So go out and explore, even if it's just from your couch. 

(The sakura lined street near campus.)

(The mossy pathways and bright green trees of the garden-park.)

(The awesome twisted wood in the forest.)

(Floating leaves.)

(A bad, blurry pic of the fiddle ferns that look like they're from Star Trek.)

Below are some of the videos I took while exploring. I swear I'm not as ditzy as I think I sound. I apologize for the awful quality. :) Also my camera has a time limit on videos, so some of them start/cut abruptly. Again, sorry.

The tree lined path. 

Exploring the garden, interrupted by a full memory.

Continuation of the exploration of the garden.

Discovering the bridge. 

Wandering up the stairs.

Parties under the cherry blossoms

When I went to Japan, spring was just spreading over the island nation. Of course, Japan is probably most famous for its beautiful sakura, or cherry blossoms, that bloom across the country like a pink wave. They begin as early as the end of January in the far south, and finish as late as May in the northern island of Hokkaido. In Akita, the cherry blossoms arrived in late April, just after I got there, as if an earthquake-shattered Japan was donning her best kimono to distract me from the shambles around her. Cherry blossoms bloom quite suddenly, with entire trees bursting into cloud-like fluff seemingly overnight. Just as quickly as they appear, they fade within a couple weeks, gently sprinkling their petals over the ground like tears until they are spent and green leaves has taken their place.  

The Japanese love sakura more than any other flower. It has been depicted in paintings, lauded in poems, and glorified as the national flower. The sakura mark the 100 yen coin. It is a popular girl’s name, Sakura have even been made into sweets. The blooming of the cherry tree is both a happy and melancholic event. As the harbingers of spring, it represents renewal, harmony, growth, and beauty. However, their rapid disappearance carries symbols of death, impermanence, and letting go. This duality is a common theme in the Japanese religion*, especially the Buddhist elements.

One of the positive associations with the sakura is the tradition of hanami, or flower viewing. “Flower viewing” is a literal translation, although there is no real, concise English equivalent that communicates the same concept. Hanami is hanami. It is the tradition of going out with family or friends to sit under the blooming cherry trees to watch and appreciate their beauty. It is a chance to feel a sense of oneness with nature. It is also a party, often including lots of drinking, picnic food, and rowdy behavior.

The hanami has a long history in Japan. Although records of the gatherings are found in Japan’s first historical texts, such as the Nihon Shoki, dating them as far back as the 3^rd century, the tradition is said to have really begun in the Nara Period (710-794), with its full form and sakura-only focus beginning in the Heian Period (794-1185). Like many beloved Japanese traditions, it began as an activity for the wealthy and high class, and eventually found its way into the hearts of the common folk. It is so firmly rooted in the culture that it is enjoyed by nearly everyone in the nation, and news stations even have daily reports in the spring to show exactly where the sakura are beginning to bloom. Schools take their students on hanami outings, families crowd the parks with their children, eating obento (packed lunches) beneath the shade, and friends gather together to drink and enjoy the brief time of the cherry tree in full bloom. The tradition of hanami communicates the same sentiments of the sakura, perhaps even more so. It especially emphasizes the idea of “ichi go, ichi e,” which means “One moment, one encounter.” English speakers may be more familiar with the equivalent of “carpe diem,” “seize the day,” or “live in the moment.” The sakura are a brief beauty, and the hanami is the best way to enjoy them while they last. (http://thinkjapanblog.com/sakura-hanami-flower-viewing.html)

In a culture where many people are disregarding their heritage and old traditions, hanami and the love of sakura is one example of a tradition that continues to remain strong even in the face of constant technological development, busy work schedules, and endless distractions. Even the most overloaded salary man, the busiest housewife, and the most absorbed gaming or texting teen gather together to enjoy an afternoon of hanami. Hanami and sakura are the essence of Japan and the Japanese people.

For someone from dry Colorado, the sheer number of cherry trees and the culture surrounding them was completely astounding. I spent a lot of time trying to take as many pictures and videos of the blooms as I could, always aware of their ephemeral nature. I watched the gradual invasion of green with apprehension, despairing at the scattering dead but still beautiful petals on the ground.

 I delighted at discovering how many different kinds of cherry trees were on the AIU campus. Below, you can see a small sampling I collected. The shapes are so beautiful and distinct, and yet they all carry the same emotional symbolism. Someday, I will do a small, watercolor painting of this shot. According to Japan-Guide.com, there are over 100 kinds of cherry trees in Japan. The different kinds range in the number of petals, their general shape, the way they hang on the tree, their color (white to bright pink, as well as yellow), and the location and length of their blooming period. Some of them are wild, but most of them are cultivated. I think the three below are called imose, soushunzakura, and akebono, from left to right. (Those are only my guesses!) (http://www7b.biglobe.ne.jp/~mainn/sakura/sakura.html)

The scattered trees around campus were beautiful, but there is nothing like seeing dozens of trees clustered together. My trip to a town called Kakunodate was the perfect chance to see that the beauty of sakura grows exponentially with each additional tree.

 Their splendor made the rainy days of early spring as far from dreary as possible. And yet, I did not feel the rumored sadness when the last petal fell. The lush green that had replaced the pink was just as gorgeous. Perhaps I am not familiar enough with their passing, or the intense heat of the Japanese summers, but I felt only invigoration from the blooming of the sakura, and the green summer with its new flowers continued the inspiration. I think I focused on the symbolism of rebirth and somehow missed the melancholy meaning of death. All I know is that the memory of those beautiful pink and white clouds springs to my mind’s eye with ease, the feel of the petals lingers of my fingertips, and the curious floral yet fruity taste of sakura ice cream still dances on my tongue. The sakura may be evanescent, but the delight of my memories is constant.

Below are some of the best pictures of sakura I (or my boyfriend) took while in Japan.

(Me by the pinkest sakura I could find.)

(A pathway near the river at Kakunodate.)

(The white cherry blossoms lining the river. I wish it had been sunnier.)

(A set of three pictures from a particularly scenic rest area on a bus trip. Sakura under a blue sky are so beautiful!)

(Sakura petals on the ground.)

The background of my blog is another picture I took, up close. Can you spot the spider I also managed to photograph?

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*Many people distinguish between Shinto and Buddhism as Japan’s major religions; however they have become so intricately linked over the centuries that they are almost a single, uniquely Japanese religion.

Toilets and Munchies

In the United States there are a lot of little annoyances that we ignore; those insignificant problems that bug you in the moment, but later become an afterthought. There’s an attitude of “deal with it,” which is fine, because, really, no one should waste her time being upset about such trifling incidents. On the other hand, in Japan people go to the next level to erase any discomfort or inconvenience you might be feeling. Examples of extraordinary care and concern can be found in nearly every aspect of Japanese daily life, and just like the annoyances are forgotten in the U.S., sometimes I wonder if the conveniences are forgotten in Japan. Their usefulness and rarity were certainly not wasted on me, and there were some amenities that stood out in particular.

Let’s start with toilets. The Western-style toilets in Japan are awesome. The high tech ones come with a button pad mounted on the wall, allowing you an array of options to make your business as enjoyable as possible. There is a water spout option with adjustable angles, which helps wash away the mess from your private bits. It can follow up with a good warm air-drying, leaving you feeling cleaner than any meager piece of paper could accomplish. Some toilets include a button that plays the sound of running water to camouflage any…uh, unfortunate sounds that might happen. There was even a massage button, but when I pushed it nothing happened, so I’m not sure what is supposed to occur. (Does the toilet seat start pulsating or send rotating spheres along your buttocks like those massaging chairs? Or maybe it’s just an undulating, high pressure spout? I have no idea.) The most appreciated feature, however, was the heated toilet seat. During the winter months and still cold early spring, a freezing cold toilet seat is enough to deter you from the bathroom for even the most urgent call. So the addition of a heated seat is happily welcome. For Japanese people the warmth of their toilets seems to be an important thing, because even non-electric ones are covered in some sort of fabric to keep your bottom warm. The electric ones include a programmable timer, so that it doesn’t waste electricity (or money) during times of infrequent use, such as when the user is asleep. My boyfriend was so fond of these toilets that he often scorned our low-tech dorm bathrooms and insisted on traveling across campus to the library to use their fancy ones. They’re that awesome.

Just as Japan cares about what should be kept warm, they also care about what should be kept cool. One of my favorite places in the mall near campus was a specialty cake shop called Fujiya, whose mascot is a supposedly cute girl licking her lips in anticipation.

(To me she’s a little kimokawaii, or cute but creepy.)

Fujiya sells Western-style cakes, with their most popular being strawberry shortcake. Although a bit pricey, I would often pick up a slice of some sweet treat or another, for around 400 yen, as an afternoon pick-me-up, or a surprise gift for my roommate. The slices would come in their own little boxes with a handle for easy carrying and a tiny spoon for eating, but the most impressive part was the small icepack slipped inside. I have never bought a cake in the United States that came with such a courtesy. Even specially made cakes for birthdays are simply put in a cardboard box, so that the icing is less than perfect when it gets home. Of course, higher priced bakeries probably do provide some sort of cooling method, but Fujiya is not overly expensive. Even if you only spend a few dollars there, they still strive to make sure your cake looks as good when you open it as it did when you bought it. The icepacks don't look cheap, either. 

The Japanese also care about variety. In the U.S., vending machines never have any pull over me, because their options are simply too limited. What kind of syrupy soda do I want, even though they’re all variations on each other? Which sugary or salty, vastly unhealthy snack food should I choose, even though they all taste like sweet or salty cardboard? Compared to the U.S., Japan’s vending machines are godly. Their drink vending machines include the usual array of dark and light sodas, as well as some sodas unique to Japan, such as Calpis or Qoo. On top of that they have various juices, a selection of teas including oolong, black, green, milk tea, and fruit teas. They have different flavors of coffee drinks and chocolate drinks. They even have a kind of drink that includes fruit soda filled with fruit jelly squares. Japanese drink vending machines offer both cold and hot drinks, and while some of them are the standard bottle or canned kinds, they also have some that dispense your drink right into a paper cup! My favorite drinks included the addictive Ty-Hi Milk Tea (hot or cold), creamy matcha tea, and frothy hot chocolate (which was often sold out because it was so tasty).

The paper cup vending machines often had options that allowed you change the ratios of espresso, water, sugar, milk, or froth. The warm drinks are sold in extra thick steel cans to provide insulation.

For food, Japanese vending machines went beyond simple candy bars and chip bags. They had assorted pastries with different fruit flavors (melon bread being one of the best), a large selection of instant ramen for your middle of the night cravings, chocolate biscuit treats, Kit-Kats in flavors you’d never find stateside, and pretzel sticks that were the savory equivalent of Pocky. Japan even had vending machines that sold hot food, with everything from hot dogs to fried chicken to grilled rice balls (called onigiri). The one below also has french fries and takoyaki, or pieces of octopus inside balls of batter and covered in a savory-sweet sauce.

The vending machines even say hello (or good morning/evening depending on the time), and thank you for your business in a cheery female voice.  At my school, during mid-terms and finals they said “Otsukaresama desu!” or “Good work!”

Japan’s courtesy could be found in the most unexpected places. Sidewalks are covered in rows of bumps to help blind people move about easier. Shopping carts in grocery stores and suitcases have wheels that swivel in every direction, so it’s never a struggle to move them in any way you like, even in tight circles. Much better than lifting those ungreased, broken-wheeled carts at Safeway whenever you need to move to make room. Ice-cream stores provide guests waiting in line with paper flavor menus, so you can choose faster. Iced-tea orders come with individual packets of liquid sweetener for easy dissolving. Malls have attendants at entrances to help you locate what you need, instead of just providing a map that might be hard to read.

These every-day amenities stem from the fact that the Japanese are a very polite people. In everything they do, they are concerned with being unoffensive and avoiding any discomfort for their guests. They are very hospitable by nature. This attention translates into the entire service industry, even when there are no actual people there to serve you. It is as if the entire country is trying to say, “irasshaimase!” or “welcome,” even if you are just walking down a sidewalk or buying some munchies to get through tests.  Personally, I wish my toilet seat would be a bit more courteous and learn to warm up next winter.