Thursday, July 15, 2004

Mourning light

The body was found an hour ago. It had been hastily covered by a few boughs broken off nearby firs. In the early morning light the night’s dew shimmered with each passing step. There were now about a dozen onlookers walking around the body in measured steps. Each kept his eyes fixed on the motionless mound, seemingly hoping to discern something, anything, about it. None so much as made a single sound, which lent the scene an oppressive, nearly ritualistic, air. As the hours passed, more onlookers arrived and joined the circular procession. The newly arrived took on the inquisitive look of the rest and soon blended easily into the group. All were dressed in long dark robes with hoods pulled over their heads. They formed a nearly solid wall around the body, leaving only the tiniest glimpse between them as they circled. When more came, the circle expanded outward, but was unceasing in its counter-clockwise rotation.

Left alone with the body, one may have crouched beside it to examine it more closely, to smell the last traces of perfume. Perhaps one would be so bold as to brush back the hair that fell into the face. But in the group, none dared get any closer than another. The sun rose higher and cast a harsher light upon the forest floor and dried the dew from grass, bough and body. The march kept on. Through the hot afternoon the pace slowed only slightly and a few heads hung lower, but never did any of their eyes move from the lifeless form in their midst.

As the sun began to drift behind the distant mountains and the few clouds above began to turn pink, a low murmur started low from the pack. From my perch on a low rise a few hundred yards off, it sounded at first like the distant growl of an avalanche. As darkness crept into the woods, the volume rose. The rhythm of a chant reached my ears, but the words remained elusive. The pace of the mourners – as I had come to regard them – neither increased nor decreased. Their voices matched their steps. With the cooler temperature of the night approaching those that had hung their heads in the heat seemed to regain their strength and now walked erect.

The first stars appeared above and the monotone rhythm of the chant was punctuated by guttural shouts that conveyed much feeling. Each shout was accompanied by the singular motion of the right arm thrown quickly into the air and instantly recalled. As the sky darkened the pace quickened, the rhythm of the chant sped up to match it and the interval between the shouts shortened. When the moon could first be glimpsed above the treetops, shrill yelps came from the previously unnoticed women who had joined the group. The chant continued with the yelps of the women and the shouts of the men alternating and reverberating through the low valley.

For several minutes more there was no change. When the moon came fully over the horizon, however, the women broke the ranks from the four points of the compass and jerked the boughs from the body. They rejoined the march, tossing the boughs high above them and into the shadows of the surrounding forest. Over the chant of the procession the crash of the boughs could barely be discerned. Again the pace quickened and the volume rose.

At last the moon reached its zenith and bathed the mourners in a dull glow. Four of the more stout men stepped to the inside of the circle but continued to keep pace. The four circled closer and closer to the body until they nearly trod upon it. They stopped suddenly and dropped to a knee, each taking hold of a limb. With fluid motion they rose and lifted the body toward the heavens. The outer circle let go a cry – a mix of anguish, jealousy, pain, and fear – then resumed their original chant, the punctuating shouts and yelps now absent. In the center the four men, held the body high. They faced the south; the two under the feet standing side by side so that the ankles touched, the two with the arms so that they extended out like wings. The head, perhaps braced under the neck, did not fall or roll. Long curls of dark brown hair cascaded down and swayed slightly. Loose white fabric from the body’s dressings hung like sails from the arms and legs. Slowly the men turned the body, clockwise, never allowing the hips of the body to stray from above their original position on the ground. By nearly imperceptible increments they turned the body faster until the rotations of the two circles were identical.

From the west clouds rolled in above the trees, but split curiously above the mourners. The clouds, dark and menacing, circled the moon in the manner of the outer circle flowing around the body. The moon continued its journey across the sky, becoming masked by the cloud. The scene darkened, but the chants continued. In the diminished light it was difficult to see, but the revolutions of the mourners did not slow. When the moon was fully behind the clouds a flash of light came from the clouds. It came not in discernible bolts, but rather in a flood from every direction. So powerful was it that the entire forest glowed and lost all shape, leaving only a blinding white. Just as suddenly darkness plunged back in, as if filling a vacuum. The clouds parted without so much as a breath of wind. The mourners stood, with arms and faces raised to the heavens, their eyes closed and lips sealed tight; the body conspicuously absent. Slowly, and in synchronized fashion, the mourners lowered their arms and faces to the center of the circle, turned and parted ways, each walking in a straight line, no two walking together.

Wednesday, June 09, 2004

This is the Army...

Given my geographic location, one of my primary sources of current information has become the Armed Forces Network (AFN) on radio broadcast from a somewhat nearby air force base. This has certain advantages over local radio. Significantly, it is in English and carries hourly news updates from AP and CNN. When sports finals roll around, they broadcast the games live.

Because of rules governing AFN broadcasts, there are no commercials. This is also good. In their stead they broadcast a type of public service announcement. It should go without saying that these announcements are intended for the military community. What they offer to those not in the military, however, is a glimpse into what happens behind the secure gates of the area facilities.

Now, if these broadcasts were the only insight into the life of the military, there are a few impressions one would get. First, military personnel that get into radio are not nearly as funny as Robin Williams made them seem in Good Morning Vietnam. In fact, they are not funny at all. Ever.

Second, they have problems – lots of problems. Here are the most serious problems military personnel have, as determined by the frequency of announcements encouraging them not to engage in the activities:
 Drunk driving
 Sexual harassment
 Shop lifting
 Allowing breaches in base security
 Driving into jet fuel trucks
 Driving motorcycles in an unsafe manner
 Suicide
 Allowing themselves to get out of shape

The station twice a month also broadcasts call-in shows with commanders, or other officers, from the various bases in the area. On these shows they encourage people from the bases or other areas under their command to raise various issues that are affecting them. It seems that most of their problems involve parking, or the lack of it.

Otherwise, it would seem, at least, all is well.

Wednesday, June 02, 2004

Rock for Regime Change

“Rock for Regime Change”

Saturday, May 28, Tokyo Japan – With an eclectic mix of musicians performing jazz with tap, hard rap-rock, DJs, and jam bands, the Democrats Abroad (Japan) staged their “Rock for Regime Change” to register overseas voters.

Co-sponsors for the event included a local restaurant and Red Hook Beer, both of whom donated part of their sales that night to the Democrats Abroad. Despite the event name and the organization by the Democrats, the political aspects of the evening were somewhat muted. Other than a couple of brief speeches, the only thing that really gave it away as a political event were the small John Kerry for president signs in the lobby and the visuals projected on the walls next to the stage. The most prominent of the images was a collage of the current Bush administration hawks, plus George H.W. Bush, superimposed over images from Iraq or Afghanistan. The elder Bush actually seemed more prominent since his image managed to stay on the wall longer as the picture zoomed out.

The night opened with a brief speech by someone who was somehow involved with the organization of the event making a 15-second political note and introducing the first band, a local band by the name of Ebel (or something like that). The smallish female lead singer managed to hold her own over the high-volume guitar and base work. They were followed by Heya no Mori (Peace Forest), a combination of three tap-dancers, a weak bass player, a jazz pianist and a scat singer with little soul.

Following the jazz and tap came another short political appeal, something which had been thankfully absent so far. This one proved to be a stirring plea for action. The emcee held a beer high and announced that the Red Hook being sold would benefit the Democrats Abroad and the quest to remove George H.W. Bush from office, and as such, everyone should do his or her part by drinking much. It was obvious the emcee was doing his part.

The third band of the night proved the best. Going by the name Sonica, it was a collection of foreign and Japanese musicians, including what are perhaps Japan’s best drummer and bass player. The band was rounded off with two other guitarists, a saxophone and an angry sounding “singer,” in the style of Rage Against the Machine. They performed well, with energy and tight musicianship, despite this being their first performance.

Fourth up on the stage was perhaps the group having the most fun. The lead, not really a singer as such, but definitely in the lead, made numerous reference to and chants for Ralph Nader, as well as goading the audience to move closer to the stage. The stage itself was crowded for their set, borrowing the bassist from earlier, two guitars, four horns, a rapper, a fair drummer and a couple of guys who seemed only to scream into the microphones a couple of times per tune.

The true highlight of the evening, however, was located at the back left of the venue. Baird Beer, a microbrewery located in Shizuoka prefecture, about two hours by express train from Tokyo, had a variety of what must be Japan’s best beer. As one gentleman commented over a pint of Angry Boy Brown Ale, “This is the best beer I’ve had in about five years. It is so hard to find a good beer in this country.” Interestingly, Mr. Baird learned his craft at Red Hook, and after a sipped announced solemnly, “Red Hook doesn’t travel well.”

What the expectations of the organizers were, or if they met them, are hard to tell. But, it was obvious that those in attendance enjoyed themselves immensely.

Friday, April 09, 2004

Sakura, sakura...

Spring in Tokyo, as most places, is a time of renewal. The gray skies begin to give way to a softer, more inviting blue. Trees that once offered only charcoal skeletons now nearly glow with blossoms. The hemlines of skirts climb in increments best measured in feet. Offices of the bigger, more traditional firms nearly bubble over with newly graduated recruits. And the event known as hanami greets them all.

A celebration of spring, hanami (literally flower viewing) is the official harbinger of spring. The government launches an official website to track and forecast the blooming of the cherry trees. Schedules are made and changed according to variations in the weather forecast.

On the days when the weather is warm and the trees are in their prime (which usually lasts about an hour), space in a park is at a premium. During the week the spaces are rigorously defended, often by a recent graduate embarking on his exciting career in business. Whether they are also responsible for lining up Peach Girls (escorts specifically engaged to provide company for hanami parties) may depend on the company’s culture. Each company or hanami party may even be so bold as to mark off their territory days in advance. The ingenious may pay a few of the homeless in booze and food to reserve a spot. Availability is on a first come, first served basis.

To properly enjoy the season, one must be prepared, and observe the traditions of hanami:

A blue tarp – preferably large enough to shelter a small nomadic tribe, spread on the ground for claiming territory and later seating; remember to remove your shoes before stepping onto it

Cardboard boxes – for use as tables for the buffet

Food – any assortment of snacks – dried fish and squid, seaweed, chicken skewers, fried noodles, octopus balls, meat on a stick, peanuts, etc. – in large quantities, lest you have to later order pizza from the delivery guys wandering the park

Alcohol – more important than food, one must be prepared to drink until the flowers which you are ostensibly viewing no longer come into focus. Beer and rice wine are the staples, but don’t be afraid to bring the entire bar with you – you will not be looked up with scorn, but rather with envy

Remember also to carry a camera (easily done in Japan, where every phone has a camera and everyone and their dog has a phone), for if you have done the above, you will need some evidence of having seen a flower.

Those who are ill prepared are forced to pay inflated prices for snacks and beer from the myriad of vendors set up around each park, and scrounge newspaper and the dismantled buffet boxes to use as seats.

But as quickly as the hanami season begins, it ends, and one is left to wait for hanabi (fireworks) to start before indulging so conspicuously in the park again.

Tuesday, March 30, 2004

Recommended reading

Nothing new from me, but others are keeping busy. Check out "the hard drinker" by Court Merrigan.

Monday, March 22, 2004

Olympic glory

I can now say that I've boarded down an Olympic run. Two actually. Over the weekend the company took a trip to Shiga Kogen, Nagano Prefecture, which was the site of some of the '98 Winter Olympic competition. After struggling through a 30km (18.6 mile) traffic jam leaving Tokyo, we arrived just before 1:00 p.m. Skipping lunch, we strapped on the boards and headed up the gondola. Snow was falling lightly, and occasional patches of sun poked through. The snow could have been better, but was not horrible. The half-inch of new stuff was not bad, but the base was fairly solid and icy. (One co-worker sustained a broken wrist in a bad fall on a steep run.) After the skiing came a huge meal, and the onsen (hot springs). The bath, referred to as a rotenburo, was situated outside at the back of one of the hotels, at the base of a forest slope. Ringing the bath area was a moat of snowmelt. Very cold snowmelt. The night was capped by a mediocre display of fireworks launched from the top of the mountain, but still managed to draw the applause of the guests assembled in the large-windowed restaurant to watch. The next day was a beautiful spring day, with clear skies and a view from the top of the Southern Japanese Alps. As the day warmed (and the slopes crowded) the snow softened and became slushy, but remained hard and icy in spots. The two Olympic runs, by the way, had been for the Giant Slalom and Super Giant Slalom and are well marked.

Wednesday, March 17, 2004

Four Days of Board-ome on the North Island

Days 3 & 4

The last two days were pretty much the same. Dinner the final evening was a huge feast - a buffet covered in snow crab, grilled king crab, mountains of raw shrimp, grilled squid, a bucket of salmon roe and a variety of other things. The snow remained good, and it was snowing hard as the bus pulled out for the airport.

Thursday, March 11, 2004

Four Days of Board-ome on the North Island

Day 2

From deep slumber to painful aches, the day began much as the previous had ended – light, fluffy snow drifting down around the hotel. On the ground lay a new, if not especially deep, layer of powder. Breakfast in the traditional Japanese style – rice, a small cut of salmon, natto (fermented soybeans) and crisp nori (dry seaweed).

At the summit of the smaller of the two peaks, just above 1000 meters, the sun was shining and the wind was whipping. Near and in the trees, the snow remained soft and light for the first few runs, turning heavier as the day went on and the temperature rose. A fine spring day ensued.

From mid-afternoon the onsen (hot springs) beckoned, cutting the day short in avoidance of the icy conditions that would begin to form. The water steamed in a large room with baths of different description. The largest in one corner near a window looking out to a forested hill was shallow and mostly mild. A small bath waited at 20C (68F) to greet those emerging from the sauna. Nearby, a shallow bath held reclining bathers as air pulsed and massaged from below.

The most enjoyable of the baths, however, was found out a sliding glass door. A small, round bath deeper than those inside sat in the corner below a roof. It looked out, unobstructed, over a wooded hill. Had it been snowing at the time, it would have been picture-postcard perfect.

The dinner that followed was not the grand feast of the first night. Owing to financial considerations, an izakaya (a Japanese style bar) was found to be quite suitable. The fare varied, but mostly consisted of rice topped with sashimi and, being Hokkaido, salmon roe.

With muscles relaxed from the baths, and stomachs full, sleep came swiftly.

Friday, March 05, 2004

Four Days of Board-ome on the North Island

Day One:

The alarm started its usual noises at 5:00 a.m., far earlier than most rational people would have preferred. The city was still dark and still, only a few dedicated workers making their way toward the city center. The train to the airport showed only a little more liveliness.

The terminal building at Haneda International was buzzing with activity, travelers in suites carried black briefcases and overnight bags, others in jeans and ski jackets sat next to their boards and skis, sipping coffee and looking both tired and excited. The plane, a Boeing 747-300 was full for the hour-and-a-half flight to New Chitose Airport.

Outside the warm confines of Chitose’s airport, the sun reflected brightly off the snow. The bus wound its way out of the airport and onto the highway, headed toward the mountains to the south and west. Rising up into the foothills, the sun was masked in cloud and a thick snow was falling. It would continue to fall in waves for the next few days.

By one o’clock the gondola reached the summit of the Kiroro resort, 1,200 meters (3937 feet). Visibility at the summit was no more than 20 feet, the snow and wind combining at times in complete whiteout. The temperature was –15C (5F). The snow was thick, light and dry.

With no crowds on the slopes, the conditions did not deteriorate, and being Japan, not many are inclined to be the first into the trees or even onto the edges of the runs. Throughout the day and until the lights came on there was fresh snow to be explored. The runs were peaceful by Japanese resort standards – no J-pop, gansta rap, or other music pumping constantly from the lift speakers, only the droning repetition of announcements for the ski and snowboard school.

Dinner was taken in the ski village surrounding Hotel Piano (Kiroro is owned by Yamaha music, thus the hotels are named for instruments). This hotel serves as the main resort area, and is five minutes by shuttle bus from the mountain base. The hotel itself houses two restaurants – one Italian, one offering the foods of Hokkaido. Surrounding the hotel are other restaurants of various description – Chinese, sushi, izakaya, etc. This first night’s meal was had in a restaurant adorned almost exclusively in Beatles paraphernalia, with the occasional Elvis poster thrown in for variety. The food, however, was distinctly Hokkaido – tender strips of barbequed lamb, accompanied by bowls of rice topped with salmon roe.

Sleep that night came quickly and easily.

Monday, February 16, 2004

Land of the Setting Sun

The sun has set on what is one of Japan’s proudest cultural institutions, at least to judge from the media coverage.

Following the discovery of BSE in a Washington state cow, the Japanese government imposed a ban on the importation of American beef. This has in turn caused the end of Japanese culture as it is currently known.

As American beef supplies in Japan began to dwindle, and the prices rise, major fast food establishments that rely on the cheap beef to serve as gyudon (beef-topped rice bowls) began to announce the end of an era. Newspapers and television news programs lined up and began feeding the public the dire news.

One by one the major chains removed gyudon from their menus. Finally the most venerable of the gyudon chains removed gyudon from its menu in all except its flagship store in order to preserve the 105-year-old tradition of gyudon at Yoshinoya.

The media reported daily on the fall of gyudon chains and the impending demise of the dish. Extensive reporting was done on what the firms were doing to replace the American beef. Sadly, Australian beef does not lend itself to the dish and costs more. Newspaper and television reported on the final shipment of American beef to Yoshinoya’s outlets. TV crews reported live from the midnight departure and stood in the way of the deliverymen making their final rounds. Newspapers carried full-page articles on the event.

Fed by the reporting on the imminent demise of a cultural staple, consumers lined up outside Yoshinoya’s shops to get one last beef bowl. Reports were full of people who had frequented gyudon shops expressing a sense of loss. Other reporters found some who had never tried one in their 25 years’ of life who had rushed to stand in line to sample one before gyudon was consigned to history.

In interviews, long-time gyudon eaters derided the new menu offerings of spiced pork on rice and Japanese curry. Nothing can replace their beloved beef bowl. This weekend, the beef bowl died in Japan.

From the extensive coverage the demise garnered one would think that gyudon has gone forever, and with it went a piece of Japan. Doubtless the government will eventually accept the steps taken by America in certifying its beef safe and once again allow the importation of beef. However, this is not a possibility that has been raised by the chains’ management or the media. When the government does reopen the market, gyudon will rise up from the ashes like a phoenix and a new dawn of Japanese culture unrivaled since the Meiji restoration will commence.

Tuesday, February 03, 2004

I ate a horse

Well, part of one anyway. It happened very naturally on the return leg of an extended snowboarding weekend to Nagano prefecture, Japan. We had left Tokyo about eleven o’clock Friday night and endured the eight-hour (including four stops of various lengths) bus ride to the base of the aptly named Komaruyama (Small Round Mountain).

Upon our arrival a light snow was falling. The air was crisp, but not too cold, and it was pleasantly quiet after the noise and bustle of Tokyo. A few minutes later the quite was shattered by the rumble of a Snow Cat, which was to take us up to the ryokan half way up the hill and past the mid-sun Shinto shrine. Once checked in the rental gear was brought out, with a bit of a wait while one of the staff took a snowmobile down the hill to get boots to fit the Westerners in the group.

Soon we were geared up and the lifts were running. The silence of the morning was long forgotten and not to return. One feature of Japanese ski areas is the extensive systems of loudspeakers which sit atop the lift towers and blare music all day. The selection this day was a mixture of US top 40 and gangsta rap. (It became so unbearable that we asked the ski patrol to change the music – a request that was thankfully granted. Though not that much better musically, it was at least a change of songs.)

There had been some big snows the previous week and there were still a few stashes of untracked powder for us to exploit. And we did, until it was gone and had to move on to more out of the way places. The light snow of the morning came off and on through the day, but did not add up to much.

In the evening the lights kicked on and slopes emptied, making a couple of us late for dinner. (“I think we have time for one more run” becoming a mantra.) Our group was the only in the lodge, which meant when the lifts stopped (along with the music) we had a very peaceful place to ourselves. The staff is quite friendly, efficient and, like all good ski resort employees, there to enjoy themselves. After dinner we were invited to join them in a few glasses of sake and a chat.

The talk turned to the abandoned building just up the hill, at the top of the first lift. The old hotel had been abandoned for the past decade, maybe more, and was reputed to be inhabited now by a family of ghosts. Whether they were friendly or not was a matter of some debate, but they seemed to keep mostly to themselves. In contrast to the deceased dog of one of the long-time ryokan employees, which was said to follow its former master around the place.

Defying logic we mounted a snowmobile and drove the thirty meters up the hill, flashlights in hand and half moon above. We pulled open the door and stepped inside. We looked from where we were standing and then exited the building. Hotels abandoned for decades, we finally decided, were not going to present the best places to be wandering around after sake and dark, particularly those that house ghosts. Nothing approached us before we made our exit, but simply looking in the window from the outside proved odd enough. The room we could see into was littered with old futons, blankets, single ski gloves, other scraps of rags and a few unidentifiables.

We hopped back on the snowmobile, whipped under the snow machines and, once back at the ryokan, headed for the bath. Typical of ryokans the bath was a common one for the hotel and the water in the bath hot enough to cook king crab, but felt great after a day of boarding.

The next day the skies cleared, the sun came out and it was like spring skiing – everything was wet and heavy (including our heads). Having tracked all the good snow the day before we made our way around the mountain sticking ever closer to the trails’ edges for the little bit of fresh snow there was.

Our final day was started with rain. This was a first for me – snowboarding in the rain in February. But we made the best of it and ensured that we would be as soar as possible by attempting the newly opened half pipe and rail. We stopped in early afternoon, returned our rental gear and mounted the Snow Cat for the ride back down. From there it was back on the bus.

Our bus made fewer stops and made much better time on the way back. It was this first stop where it happened. At this particular rest-stop/gift shop/restaurant there was a somewhat limited menu. They offered the typical ramen noodles, tempura, udon (another type of noodle) and Japanese curry (which will never be confused with the Indian original it is rumored to be based on). In addition, they had Sakura.

There is a tendency in Japan to call foods with the pinkish hue of the sakura (cherry blossom) Sakura. Thus, with its pinkish color, horsemeat is called Sakura. It was served as sushi, cut in thin strips, raw and laid over balls of rice. The taste and texture is that of high quality beef. And so it was that I ate a horse.

Friday, January 30, 2004

Recommended Read

A good read from an up and coming author: In Hiding

Wednesday, January 28, 2004

Excuses, excuses

It was nearly noon by the time I managed to find my way out of my apartment. The air was already thick with the sticky heat that daily grips this little island. The night before had been nothing short of restless; mosquitoes kept up a ceaseless raid on exposed skin and the damp stench of the hovel I was held up in would have allowed no rest anyway.

Now tired, hungry and entirely agitated by the swelling red bites that covered me, I found myself stuck in traffic because of a giant whale. The beast was laid out on the back of a truck, being taken somewhere for something. At this point, however, it was only succeeding in slowing traffic and drawing gawkers from the stores, cafes and dirty alleyways. They, in turn, slowed traffic to an unmerciful crawl. A traffic cop was trying in vain to open the lanes of traffic once again.

A stench rose from the drying beast and mingled with the smell of exhaust, roasting chickens and ducks, frying fish and rotting garbage. I was no longer hungry. I was growing more impatient with each passing second. The little motorbike I was on normally made most traffic problems irrelevant, but then again, I had never encountered a whale in traffic before.

The signal ahead of the truck turned and the cops hurried to push children and their parents from the lane and the whale lurched forward. With a clear line along the curb I hammered down on the throttle and threw myself around the side of the trailer on which the leviathan lay. I found myself coming along the underside of the beast and made my way forward to just about the midpoint. My progression along the beast was halted by another motorcyclist and his camera-toting passenger who seemed intent on taking every inch of the whale’s underbelly in close detail.

Already angered by my own tardiness I found this an unnecessary annoyance. I blew my meager horn, but to no avail. I looked for ways around them, but we were once again slowing as the crowds came into the street.

It may have been my eyes, but I nearly swore the whale was growing larger, as though it were drawing in a final breath. The skin looked stretched, taut as a painter’s canvas. As we stopped I heard a creaking noise and thought the truck bed must be splintering beneath the weight. Then a force I cannot describe threw me from my bike and sent me sliding into the storefront to my right.

I found myself unable to rise; not from pain or broken bones, but from slipping on something slick when I tried. I couldn’t see through the visor of my helmet from the same slime in which I sat. As I raised it clear of my eyes I couldn’t believe my eyes. Before me on its bed lay the whale with a gaping hole in its belly, burst like a balloon.

She looked at me in disbelief, as though I were making it up. I had to return home to shower, I protested, she wouldn’t have wanted me arriving a stinking pile of whale blood, guts and half digested tuna! But she would not be convinced by such a flimsy story. She got up from the table, announced she had finished her lunch and left me the bill as she walked away.


Truth is sometimes stranger than fiction: http://www.etaiwannews.com/Taiwan/2004/01/27/1075168255.htm

Monday, January 26, 2004

The sky is falling!

Snow began falling again in Tokyo Sunday afternoon causing area residents to panic and repeated tell one another that ‘it’s cold!’ The snow clouds gathered over the western horizon early in the day, but left the city untouched until later afternoon. The arrival of the clouds would have been nearly entirely unnoticed had it not been accompanied by a frigid wind of about 5km/hr. With the ensuing draft came the exclamations of cold and eventually some spots of moisture resembling snow were spotted. These melted quickly, but conversations about the cold lingered well into the night.

Friday, January 09, 2004

Commuter Comfort

Good news for those venturing into the heart of Tokyo’s concrete jungle by subway. The Teito Rapid Transit Authority, the operators of about half of Tokyo’s subways, have announced that from the early part of this year they will once again provide toilet paper in station toilets.

Toilet paper has long been absent from these public facilities. Though readily available in the stations from the reconstruction following World War II, the paper distribution was discontinued during the oil crisis of the 1970’s.

Teito officials point to the hording of the precious paper that gripped the city at that time, and what some described as plain wastefulness on the part of subway users.

The new distribution of toilet paper throughout the system will commence by the latter part of January. At first the paper will only be available at a handful of the larger stations in the metro area. By June or July officials hope to have the paper available in all of their facilities.

There was no word as to a similar action being taken by the other main subway or train operators in the city.

Monday, January 05, 2004

Warming Whines

With the second largest economy in the world, and some of the most advanced technology in the world, it is somewhat surprising to find that most houses in Japan do not offer the comforts of central heating. As the weather has gone from fall to winter, the foreign residents of Japan unite in ceasing their denunciation of everything else Japan, with the exception of the bank machines, and focus their complaining skills.

The intensity of complaint is in direct inverse proportion to the air temperature. This is a defensive mechanism which foreigners possess to keep the body warm, according to a theory proposed by Dr. Ken Hashimoto. Dr. Hashimoto’s research team, comprised mainly of students seeking to improve their English skills without having to pay money for it, surveyed a number of foreign residents as they went about their own business.

Eavesdropping on and entering into conversations in which they were not particularly welcomed, the researchers compiled a list of the most common complaints they heard. The team then went through and calculated the rate that the complaints were issued, and what time of year the complaints were most frequent. Using what he termed a ‘complicated formula involving big numbers’ Dr. Hashimoto found that there was a significant decrease in the number of complaints about most aspects of Japanese life when the weather cooled and that in the place of many general complaints central heating was then the target.

In a giant leap of logical thought, Dr. Hashimoto’s team came to the conclusion that this switch in complaints allowed foreigners to channel their ire into heat, thus keeping the foreigner warm without central heating.

The report also noted that complaints about ATMs remained fairly steady, but peaked around the time of national holidays. Asked for a reason for this, Dr. Hashimoto’s spokesman replied only that ‘it is very difficult'.