Kyudo Lessons

I’ll admit, I had this little fantasy that I was an undiscovered archery prodigy. I imagined that I would go to my archery lesson and the teacher would be astounded by my uncanny ability to hit the target on my first try. Humbled, he would ask me to move to Japan and become his star student.

So, it was a huge disappointment when we arrived at the dojo only to have the sensei frown on me – you see, it was unfathomable to him that I was not there to begin years of study. He confirmed with Luke several times that I would only be there once, shaking his head each time and asking again just to make sure, because to him, we sounded crazy. Crazy gaijin girl who just wants to “try” archery.

After his overcame his initial dismay, I was given a plastic handle with an elastic loop for practicing. Obviously, I was nervous – intimidated by the Zen Master, as it were – not to mention a tad disappointed. The bows were sitting right there, why couldn’t I use one of them?

As it turns out, most students practice with the plastic thingy for weeks before they’re allowed to use a real bow, so I guess I was fortunate that I was allowed to even set foot in the dojo.

As we practiced (minus the endless praise I had expected) other students arrived to pursue their study. They, of course, all used bows, bowing before the target each time they set up to shoot their arrows.

The sensei finally reconciled himself to the fact that I would only be there once, and decided that it would be okay if I practiced with a bow. I was very excited, seeing this as an indication that he believed me to be a fast learner, worthy of practicing with a bow my first try. Not really, though, I think he was just warming up to us and decided that it was his only chance to pass along this Zen art to an eager foreigner.

I was so excited, but my excitement was soon replaced by anxiety, as I could not seem to perform the movements correctly. The sensei kept talking to me and adjusting me while Luke rapidly translated – I was a bit overwhelmed. It’s an extremely difficult sport and I can now see why it takes years to learn and lifetimes to master. The only thing I can compare it to is golf. Everything has to be done perfectly and even if it feels like you’re doing it perfectly you never are. Very frustrating.

However, I continued to practice, as awkward and frustrated as I was. The sensei kept coming over and fixing my posture, lifting my elbow, drawing the bow further, etc. – a few times Luke was conversing with someone else and I had to respond to his instructions by myself. I think he was as frustrated as I was, because he knew I didn’t understand and he had no other way of explaining.

After a couple of hours, I was ready to leave, but it was clear we had to stay and finish the class. The other students were very nice, chatting with Luke while I fiddled with the bow. They even encouraged me to study archery back home. When I explained to them that there wasn’t anywhere to study where I lived, they suggested I go to New York, figuring it’s probably only an hour from my house.

I never did get to shoot an arrow, but it was good I got to try it – kyudo, that is. That’s the Japanese name. I think I forgot to mention that before.

At the end of the class, we joined the other students as they finished their practice, bowing to the small shrine on the wall and clapping their hands. I think if I lived in Japan, I would probably study archery – it was a good challenge, despite the Zen intimidation factor.

P.S. There’s no picture for this posting. Luke wanted to snap some photos, but I completely objected, fearing a scolding from the sensei.

Japanese Weekend, Part II

I don’t know that I’ve made all that much progress with my GMAT study – I still can’t remember how to divide fractions – but, I figure there’s plenty of time for that next week, during layovers and sleepless flights on my way home. So, for now, I will continue to spin this tale of the perfect Japanese weekend. Let’s see, where was I . . .

Oh, yes, the matsuri . . . so we watched the parade and the sumo, and stuffed ourselves full of nutritious festival food before getting back on the road. We decided to take the long way to Sakurajima on some back roads that wind through mountains before spilling out onto the coastal highway. These foothills, albeit small, are quite lovely. Everything here is still so lush and green thanks to what I’m told is unseasonably warm weather and a late fall. Some leaves were getting their first tinge of color, but for the most part, the hillsides are still covered in blankets of thick, ripe foliage.

As soon as we reached the coast and turned north, we could see Sakurajima, its imposing figure rising out of the bay, smoke swirling around the summit. Last time I was here, the weather was cloudy, and since Sakurajima is always shrouded in its own smoke, it was impossible to get a clear view of this massive volcano. So, we were very lucky to be able to see it like this.

The last time Sakurajima erupted, just after the turn of the last century, the lava flow created a small bridge between the island and the mainland, which is why it is now possible to drive to the onsens and other tourist destinations. We crossed the bridge and drove about a quarter of the way around the island before we arrived at the ryokan.

Staying in a ryokan was on my list of things to do on this visit to Japan, so I was pleasantly surprised when Luke told me he had planned a stay at one of these traditional inns, no less at the base of a volcano!

When you arrive, they serve you green tea and let you relax in the lobby for a moment before a kimono-clad woman comes to take you to your room. We were greeted by an older lady dressed in a green kimono who was quite eager to share ryokan tradition with a couple of gaijin. She took us upstairs and opened our door to reveal a tiny foyer that led into a giant tatami room overlooking the bay. It was awesome! Definitely the coolest hotel room I have ever stayed in. She showed us where everything was, made sure that we had the right size yukatas and asked us what time we wanted to have breakfast and dinner before she left us to get settled.

Our room was set up with a large table – they come in while you’re at dinner to lay out your futons – and there were a couple of chairs by the balcony where you could sit and look at the view. There was a TV, too, which I didn’t expect, but everything in the room seemed really traditional, at least to me.

When you stay in the ryokan, you wear a yukata everywhere. It’s super relaxing to just chill out in this bathrobe-type garb. We changed into our purple yukatas and headed for the onsen. This particular onsen is coed, which is quite unusual. So, it’s obviously not nude, you get another yukata to wear in the bath.

We descended several flights of stairs and a funky sideways moving elevator to get down to the onsen. It’s right on the water, at the base of the cliffs, so you have to go down quite a ways to get to it.

This is, by far, the prettiest onsen I have ever been to – it’s a relaxing hot pool right in the bay, really, and it’s surrounded by big rocks and a huge tree that hangs over one side, creating a little grotto that houses a small shrine. We were down there at sunset, and the light was amazing! Not to mention, totally relaxing. We stayed in the pool for about an hour before heading upstairs for dinner.

Dinner is served in a big tatami dining room. We shuffled down there in our yukatas and slippers for a traditional Japanese meal. I have never really had a formal Japanese meal, so this was quite a surprise, and I got to try all kinds of things I’ve never had before.

The meal is served in several courses. There are a few things you would expect – pieces of sashimi, miso soup, rice, stuff like that – and lots of things that are kind of unusual. There was raw chicken, which I stayed away from, but I tried pretty much everything else. My favorite was the egg custard – it’s served hot in a little cup and it’s filled with vegetables and seafood. The shabu-shabu was good as well. I’d tried it before in Tokyo – it’s kind of like fondue. We also had some snails and a clam served on the half shell with this amazing sweet, buttery sauce. I think the last thing we got was a tempura dish. It was basically lots of little tastes of different things. I would guess that we were eating for about two or three hours. It goes on for a while.

We returned, totally full, to our room, which was laid out for sleeping. It was honestly a great night of sleep – the futons were so comfortable on the tatami and the duvets were so cozy. I was completely refreshed the next morning.

When we woke up, we headed down to the onsen again for an early morning soak. It was great because it was a little bit chilly and no one was really down there. Then it was time for breakfast, which was also totally traditional – rice, fish, miso, tea, egg and this funny little salad. I actually really like the breakfasts here. I think they’re pretty healthy and they keep you full for a little while anyway – at least as far as the next Lawson.

After breakfast, we packed up and headed out for a drive around the island. It was a beautiful day and we had amazing views of the volcano all the way around. We stopped at the visitor center to learn more about the volcano’s history and find out if they could predict the next explosion. I guess they can’t – personally I think it would be kind of stressful to live under that thing while it constantly rumbles. But, I guess people just sort of deal with it. And realistically, if it did erupt, it’s not like I would be much safer in Miyakonojo anyway.

Once we made it off the island, we plotted our journey home. There’s this restaurant I really like at the base of Kirishima, the volcano by Luke’s house, so we decided to go back to Miyakonojo by way of the cold soba. It is soooo yummy! I would go out of my way anytime to eat there – they have this bread that has a sweet red bean filling that I am absolutely addicted to. It’s delish!

And, so the perfect Japanese weekend came to an end. Between the matsuri and the ryokan and the sightseeing, I would say it was the quintessential Japanese experience. And, we made it home just in time for a nap.

Say No to Forks

I have been eating with a fork my entire life. Nearly every meal – breakfast, lunch and dinner – has required the use of some western eating utensil, be it fork, knife, spoon or whatever. So, how is it that I come to a country where forks are rarely, if ever, used, and the one time I eat with one I bite down on it so hard that I chip my tooth? I find this totally baffling. I mean what are the odds? One would assume that if I were going to chip my tooth on a fork, it would be at home, where I use a fork everyday. But, no! I have to fly all the way to Japan and gorge myself on curry, pork and rice in order for this damage to occur. And though, it’s not a noticeable flaw, I’m afraid my Dad will cringe when he reads this, knowing that if I was going to ruin my teeth anyway, he could have saved on those years of orthodontics and bought a like a private jet or something instead.

Japanese Weekend, Part I

If there ever was a perfect Japanese weekend, this past few days was it for us. After lazing around Luke’s apartment on Saturday morning, we packed up and headed out for our ryokan (a ryokan is a traditional Japanese inn – tatami rooms, futons, yukata, onsens . . . stuff like that) stay on Sakurajima, the smoking volcanic island that rises dramatically out of Kagoshima Bay.

After settling in Luke’s car, getting dialed in with the Eagles football podcast, and stopping for water and snacks at Lawson, we were off. Yasue recommended that we stop at a festival taking place in a small town along the way. She thought it would be a good opportunity for me to have a rural matsuri experience.

So, we headed for Iwagawa, home to an absolutely humongous samurai sculpture – the backdrop of the town, really, and the icon around which the festival is celebrated. The sculpture is modeled after Sekune Takenouchi, who was the chief of the Old Imperial Guard, the leader of the Hyato tribe, which lived in the area from the fourth to the seventh century, A.D.

Every year all the townspeople gather to parade around a giant doll named Yagoro Don that symbolizes this great warrior. This doll wears a kimono and long and short swords and is wheeled through town on a rolling platform every November 3. So, we were really quite lucky to happen upon this matsuri.

And, our timing was perfect. We arrived in Iwagawa just in time to do all things matsuri before the parade rolled through and we headed off to Sakurajima. Our first stop in town was the great statue. It really is enormous. I imagine you can see it from miles away, as it’s perched on a hillside and stands who knows how high. There are several great photos that do much better justice to him than would my elementary descriptions of his robes and swords.

After hanging out at the statue, taking pictures from almost every angle – how very Japanese – and capturing some fairly epic Engrish on film, we headed down the hill to check out the matsuri.

I think this is maybe the third matsuri I have been to in Japan. They all have food and performances and a parade. But, this particular event stands out, one because I ate a really good donut while there, but also because of the variety and quality of the festival fare, not to mention the unusual, but impressive spectacles, and the enthusiasm of the crowd. This was a top-notch matsuri, to say the least.

I mentioned the donut, which was hot and sugary and amazing – definitely rivals any Krispy Kreme I have ever tasted. And of course, there was plenty of octopus on a stick, fried chicken, deep-fried bits of squid and fish, fries, corn on the cob . . . what else? I guess, pretty much your typical Japanese matsuri cuisine. That is, until we happened upon a giant, sizzling hunk of pork that Luke couldn’t walk away from. He debated his purchase for a few minutes, and undeterred by my comment that it could feed a large family, decided he had to experience this greasy delicacy. What can I tell you? He’s from Philly. And, while it appeared to me that most people were wrapping theirs up and taking them home, probably for dinner, Luke dove straight into this fatty brick. I declined his offer for a taste, and after a few satisfying, yet detestable bites later, Luke realized he could not conquer this block of bacon.

But, who am I to judge? I consumed two giant sno-cones, the size of my head, before we left the tiny town of Iwagawa. And, I get ahead of myself! Between slurps of cherry sno-cone and chews of fatty pork, we visited the shrine, also a central part of the festival, and watched some interesting displays of physical prowess.

Midway through my second sno-cone, we ventured into a dusty arena where several groups were performing various arts. Toward the middle of the grounds on both sides, kids and teenagers were standing in lines for inspection of some kind. I don’t really know what was going on there, because I was distracted one, by the judo contest, and two, by what appeared to be the youth sumo league. That’s right, a bunch of little fat kids sumo wrestling.

I’m not gonna lie, it was kind of shocking to see a bunch of little kids – boys only, of course – strutting around in those diaper-thongs (I realize this is very ignorant, but I don’t know what they’re really called, and while I know I could Google it, I think diaper-thong conveys better this visual). I personally felt like kind of a voyeur watching all of this – it seemed like such an outrageous, and really kind of illicit display, like cockfighting or something. It was weird. But we watched anyway, running frantically from the judo competition as soon as we saw the kids start to fight.

The kids seemed so unevenly matched – some of them were absolutely obese, while others were skinny little rails. And, of course, the fat kids always won.

Seeing that it was nearly time to get back on the road and head for the ryokan, we left the arena, just in time to see the parade go through. It was small, but lively and the performers were incredibly enthusiastic as they pounded on their drums and danced around the big doll. I think festivalgoers and participants alike were impressed to see a couple of gaijin taking part in a festival in their tiny town. And, if I ever find myself back on Kyushu on November 3, I will certainly go back to Iwagawa, if for nothing else than donuts and sumo.

Though this lengthy entry does not conclude the perfect Japanese weekend, part two will have to wait until I’ve studied more material for the GMAT exam.