Bridgestone Musuem and Tokyo Tower

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Well, the end of the trip is coming quickly to a close. At the beginning three weeks seemed like a really long time, and it certainly has been, especially given my emotional side and me missing Gayle, Reed, Lucy and Char. The time has been fruitful, and I really think that I made the most of the opportunity I had.

Today, we were finished with our lectures by around 4, and everyone was deciding to go out to a variety of touristy things, but no one seemed interested in the one thing I hadn’t yet done, and that I always do when I travel: visit an art museum. So, off I went on the advice of the Concierge to the Bridgestone Museum of Art. I wanted to go to the National Museum of Art, but sadly it closes daily by 5, and I’m never finished with enough time to spare. So, off I went to Tokyo Station, and then on foot to the museum.

I was actually quite impressed with the museum, which is currently doing a retrospective on the Japanese painter Oka Shikanosuke called “Variation in Serenity.” It was actually really cool. Although he is Japanese, he trained in France and seems to have a style similar to that of many of the French painters from the late 19th and early 20th century, even when he does Japanese landscapes. And although I really enjoyed his work, I’m always a sucker for the famous stuff by the likes of Picasso, Monet, Manet, Cezanne, Pollock, Goughin, Renoir, Kadinsky, Klee, Matisse, and even one piece by Van Gogh, the Windmill piece, which were all present in the museum's permanent collection. So, I enjoyed my solitary time with some of the masters immensely, and after being in groups for three weeks, some alone time was actually welcomed.

After that, I got rather industrious and set out to visit the Tokyo Tower.

Here above is a picture of the girls working at the elevator inside. They were very helpful, respresenting Japan well with both courtesy and excellent uniforms. I had heard vaguely how to get there—get on the Marunouchi line, switch over onto the Hibiya line at Kasumigaseki station and go one more stop—so, that’s what I did. Only when I came out onto the street, I looked up and couldn’t see the tower anywhere; it looks like a bright orange Eiffel Tower, so you really can’t miss it. All I saw were skyscrapers. So, I asked someone where it was, and they kind of chuckled, but walked me up a block to where the 333 meter monster craned its neck to peer over the tops of buildings. Arigato gozaimasu, I said, and was on my way. As I said the tower is constructed like and looks like the Eiffel Tower in Paris…only taller. Although I only went up to the 150 meter observatory deck due to an unfortunate paucity of Yen, I still got a great feel for the view of the city. Luckily, I was there as the sun was setting and took some wonderful photos. The whole while, however, I was thinking about Gayle and missing her, and I composed much of this poem while there:

“Sunset in Tokyo”

Standing behind two lovers,
watching them watch the sun
setting over Tokyo’s jagged

skyscraping landscape, I see
glowing orange melt to molten red
behind puffs of snowy clouds

in the distance, and an ancient
instinct—a need— overwhelms me:
unconscious movement: my hand

reaching for yours, delicate fingers
really there, and then invisible
in an instant. Looking around,

couples everywhere turn and gaze
and walk a pace, then stop and
pose or kiss or just stand there—

but together—touching the small
of the back, the shoulder, hands;
the crack of searing sunlight

between this couple standing before
me is between us, a gaping crack
ten thousand miles wide, while I

gaze intently at a blazing sunset
you won’t see for thirteen hours
from Tokyo Tower’s observatory

deck, 150 meters high, but missing
you.


I also took a self portrait up there which I kind of like and will call “Self-portrait in Tokyo: A Profile.”

Although my feet really hurt from choosing not to wear sensible footwear, I had a great time wandering through the streets and subways of one of my favorite cities. When I left the sky was a startling shade of blue, and the orange tower contrasted nicely against that backdrop. Here are a few of my best shots.

Tsukiji Fish Market

Tsukiji fish market

Yawn…

early morning
crazy insane—
movement—
rushing of bodies
towards bodies
of fish, best price
sought on both ends

firm round bodies
everywhere heading
for knives, band-saws,
steely cleavers:

the tuna, I mean,
going from 40,000 Yen
to 4,000, smaller
and smaller pieces
dissected
from the fish

early morning
crazy insane—
movement—
of tourists trying
not to get killed
by moving, really
moving vehicles,
knives, blades
and saws, in search

of that one picture
that defining shot:
Tskukiji Market.

What else do you do on one of your last days in Japan, after you’ve been everywhere else, and since you know you’ll be up that early anyway because your body never fully adjusted? Naturally, you’ll meet your friends at 5:00 am and hit the subway heading towards this world-famous fish market. Luckily, your friend Rebecca has a friend who has been living here in Tokyo for several years, and she not only has a strong sense of the city, but she also has a local cell phone with a kind of Mapquest system for the subway/train system in Tokyo. So, she types in the coordinates and you’re on your way.
Bam.
Before you know it you’re there: You, Rebecca, her friend (named…Laura?) and Dr. Joe— who remains infamous for his stories and antics at Club Troi— dodging speeding moped/flatbed hybrids that don’t care that you’re there because their livelihood depends on the fish being delivered in a timely manner. Get the H…E….double hockey-sticks out of the way, or seriously, you’re going to be in some serious trouble.

All of that said, visiting this famous market was a wonderful, once of a lifetime experience. Experiencing the fine cuisine of Japan begins right here with raw fish. We saw everything from tons of skipjack and ahi tuna to octopus, squid, eel, mackerel, and anything else you can think of. Workers were everywhere in a seemingly endless maze of a warehouse spread out over multiple acres. Row after row after row of aisles and businesses looking the same: competing, earning a living, living off of the plentiful sea. And there were tourists everywhere. People obviously not Japanese. They were sleepy, tired, toting cameras. People like me. We actually got a late start because the place opens around 4 am, and we arrived at 5:30. But what a treat to actually see the trade that fuels the industries that feed the Japanese people? Stinky? Yes, but worthwhile and wonderful? Also yes. See for yourself the next time you make it to Tokyo.

Kamakura visit

Kamakura train station:

Kamakura

After leaving the Ryokan in Tskuba, we arrived back in Tokyo at the Grand Prince Hotel Akasaka around noon, and then a few of us who had gone to other locations on our free day decided to take the much raved about trip to the city of Kamakura, located about 1 hour south of Tokyo and home to the world famous “great Buddha.” Once we arrived at the train station in Kamakura with someone who had gone to the city before, we huddled onto a city bus, opting for public transportation instead of walking to take us to the “great Buddha.” Five minutes later, stepping off the bus, we saw a swathe of tall trees, fully plumed and situated closely, masking the view of the Buddha. We then crossed the street and entered a kind of toll-plaza entryway for foot-traffic, and then after paying 200 yen (around 2 dollars) a piece, we passed through a gate and beheld the pathway and stairs leading to the attraction.



As you can see, the great Buddha, sitting in a meditative state, no doubt chanting “Ooooom” silently to himself, is a daunting sculpture of bronze. Despite its enormity, the Buddha and its environs offer a kind of serenity and peace. With incense burning in various small receptacles, the sweet scent in the air gives pause for silence even though swarms of onlookers and amateur photographers jockey for position to take a memorable photo.

Here above, you can see the great Buddha's flip-flops, which are absolutely enormous. They are actually taller than I am (which, as you well know is quite tall), and seem like they very well might fit the great Buddha's feet should he decide to stand and walk across the landscape.

For 200 yen more, we were each able to go inside the hollow Buddha.

Being inside was somewhat how you would imagine being inside of an enormous pot belly stove or cauldron with 20 or so other people might feel like: not for the claustrophic.

Having had our fill of Buddha watching and souvenir shopping, we stopped for lunch in what we later found out was a Chinese restaurant. My friend Laura and I enjoyed a dish reminiscent of glorified top ramen, and then wound our way through a series of souvenir shops, departing with some of our yen for memories and small trinkets.

Kamakura is a situated like a crescent moon in small bay, so we thought we would take in the sights of the beach. There were plenty of surfers in the distance trying there luck on small, curling waves, but most floated about guided back to shore by the current. One of the English Teaching Assistants at the High school in Kamisu-city told us that he liked to surf, and that he did there on the coast near the port of Kashima, warned us that for the most part the beaches he had been to in Japan were trashed. Literally. He said that the Japanese, despite keeping their cities immaculate, had no problem depositing their picnicking, beach-combing rubbish across the sandy beaches already riddled with kelp and seaweed strewn about. Kamakura was no different.

We walked to the beach, then on the beach, and then quickly moved away from the beach because not only were the streets cleaner, the view of the beach and the bay from the Buddhist temple located on the southern hillside of the city was immeasurably better.

This particular Temple was surrounded by amazing landscapes filled with Technicolor flowers, meditation ponds with irises abounding, and stairways and paths zig-zagging through it all.

Luckily, we made it in time to enjoy the scenery before the temple monks called through megaphones, informing everyone that closing time had arrived.

With that, we walked back to the train station instead of taking the bus, got a bit lost but eventually found our way to the train and back to Tokyo for an evening of rest. Sometimes the journey is more important than the destination.

Ryokan traditional Japanese hotel

After leaving our homestay families in Kamisu, where many tears were shed, we drove about 2 hours north to Tskuba, to visit a ryokan, or traditional Japanese hotel, which has a natural hotspring located in the basement area. Ours was located about halfway up Mt. Tskuba situated in the picture below.

Although it was lightly raining, before dinner, my roomate Josh and I hiked up a series of steps towards a Buddhist temple and Shinto shrine and then beyond, heading upwards towards the summit of the mountain, and the scenery was everything you ever imagined Japan would be like, and then some. The pictures below say more than I can with words.

It was absolutely lush and breathtaking. Hiking was an excellent choice. The dinner when we returned was a spectacular array of fish and sundry pickled vegetables, relish, escargot, mushrooms, sukiyaki, squid. Just look at the pictures. Exquisite.





After that, some of us went to take the hot baths, which was also very interesting, since it’s a public bath and everybody is naked (though the men and women are separated). This of course is not for the modest tourist, but to the typical Japanese this is just their custom. But as they say, when in Rome…

So in a similar fashion to the bathing experience at the home stay, one must cleanse himself with soap and shampoo, and rinse off completely before entering the water. The idea is that the water should be cleaner when you leave than it was when you entered. So, after disrobing and de-slippering in one room, you move into a room with 6-8 open air bathing stations in a large, tiled room. You lather up and rinse off, and then enter a kind of warming pool of natural hotspring water to adjust your body temperature for the next pool. This pool, however, is in no way warm or luke-warm. It’s downright hot, and is a foretaste of things to come. So, sitting there, soaking, looking out slightly fogged floor-to-ceiling windows onto a serene hillside landscape, listening only to your thoughts and the trickling of water flowing from a spout in the side of the wall, you look around at the other men, some sitting on the side, easing in, while others, like me, submerge themselves to their chins, feeling the tingling, burning hug of the water warming and healing their bodies. This pre-soak only lasts about 2-3 minutes, and then standing up, you go through a door to an open-air pool outside, lined with large rocks, and you enter it and soak some more. The pre-soaking pool in no way prepares you for the heat out here. It’s scalding, but not bubbling. Hotter than hot, and sensational. Birds chirping in the background, the foliage surrounding you a striking array of lush greens and browns, and this water as ancient as the ritual you are a part of. After soaking in silence with strangers, you wander back to your room to rest, allowing your body and blood pressure to readjust, and the medicine of the water and heat to work.

Although my roommate, Josh, snored all night, I was still able to get a good 5 hours in. When I woke up, I went down for another bath and found myself alone there, until an older Japanese man came in. We said “Ohio gozaimasu” and then sat and soaked in silence. It was serene, peaceful, and contemplative. Then I went to my room, made some green tea, sat at this very table and wrote the following poems, which may sound reminiscent of what I just said, and that’s because I wrote them first for a memory cue when writing the blog:

“A view from my room”
--Ryokan, Tskuba-city

carved into the hillside
stream working against stone
a slow, steady pace
murmuring for an eternity

aged legs, wrinkled with time
deeply dug into soft soil
holding back the steep precipice
stronger than gravity

(Turn your head to the left, the picture makes sense)

morning light glowing cloud white
peaking over forest fringed parapet
revealing clustered bamboo stalks
dancing with dawn’s dew

Haiku #1:
crow screams through the sky
stream mumbles across steep rock
gray boulder ages

“Ryokan Retrospective”

Pampered experience
cordial greetings,
help with shoes
and slippers
mahogany floors
and revealed
beams overhead—
soaking pools
for feet, robes in rooms,
yukattas with a sash,
the clothing
option for
the evening

the sleeping space with one small table
and two chairs—windows open with sliding
white paper doors sturdied by
latticework framing; floor to ceiling
windows—wall to wall—
opening up a lush hillside and babbling
brook below, towering trees, many thick
and wrinkled, the sky peaking through
and an array of limbs and leaves, crows
cawing in the distance—a blackbird swoops
down, perching on bamboo branch.

Onsen below; slippers off,
doors open into changing room,
another door to showers,
you must bathe first:
men squatting on plastic
chairs, naked, soaping up,
rinsing off, then easing
into the hot soaking
pool, now a tiled bath tub.

The prickling sensation
of capillaries expanding,
blood racing,
heartbeat the lone noise
heard, steam swirling
off glass-skinned surface
water hugging skin
moving me into a trance

a moment, a feeling of communion
with not just nature, but the ancient
spirit of existence and God and Being.
this tub, a trapezoid of sorts, two feet
deep, a pool of contemplation.

Standing up slowly, exiting
to outside hotspring in open air,
steam curling from water
surrounded by volcanic rock—
sitting down into primordial heat
soaking, watching a sunrise
at dawn, the birds with their
joyful song, nestled in trees above,
caring for young.

Buddhist temple, high above
in distance, its swooping
triangle of roof turning
into ski slope at corners
surrounding gardens
popping brightly, beautifully
brilliant pinks and purples,
bonsai trees as backdrop.

Skinny stream behind ryokan
its murmur heard up by
the temple, where it begins,
soft enigma with simple beauty,
the coursing from left to right
careening down long stretches
hitting minor switchbacks
makes it look alive:
A snake, a dragon working
its way from mountaintop
to unexpecting city below
that slumbers in silence
unaware of what is to come.

From where I sit now, on a bench
feet sitting in the soaking pool
without water because it’s too early,
I see the city below, see wires of
civilization, connecting it to the world;
tall trees scratch the surface of the sky
and through the relief I see a future
Of my own, seeing my wife and children again,
A future
And what is to come.

Haiku #2
Spider-web glistens
Laced with morning dew and light
The wind blows gently


Breakfast was traditional, and quite tasty. Then we packed up and departed for Tokyo at 10:00 am for the last leg of our trip in Tokyo.