Shinto on a mountaintop, and then a backside 180

Ride

Last week I had no time to post something about my recent snowboarding trip to Niigata Prefecture (more specifically the mountains of Naeba, Tashiro, and Kagura) but I am finally getting around to it a week after.

Taking advantage of the recent three-day weekend, fourteen of us (all snowboarders) living in Miyagi Prefecture, representing 8 countries (South Africa, England, Northern Ireland, Scotland, New Zealand, Australia, Japan, and America), piled into four cars at 3a.m. with an array of snow gear, accents, and Ipods, and made the 5-hour journey south to Niigata-ken (on West / Sea of Japan coast, and well known for its snow/powder).



I rode in a car with a fellow American, though with Japanese heritage (Aki), a Scot (Stuart), and an Aussie (Lisa). Unbelievable how often we had to ask eachother to repeat what he/she just said. Some very amusing miscommunication due to the various slang, accents, etc. Yet, we all made it safely, checked in to our two large rooms at the ryokan (Japanese Inn), and were on the slopes by 10:30 Saturday morning. The weather and snow were a bit disappointing the first day (foggy, warm, and slushy), but the good company and an all-you-can-eat curry house more than made up for it. Most of us were "knackered" (a word I've picked up from one of these other countries) by mid afternoon and ended a bit early so we could have a nap and rest up for the "night-ah" (what the Japanese call night skiing). The genki South African managed to stir us all from our slumber, and talked us back into our gear. However, due to my blockheadedness, I ended up at a different ski-hill than ALL 13 others for the night-ah. While they were all playing in the snowboard park, I found a nice, empty, mostly-ungroomed run, and rode until my weary legs could take no more.



Sometime late Saturday night, as we were lazing about the inn after onsen and several nightcaps, heavy snow began to fall, much to our delight. By morning, there was "heaps" (from Aussie or Kiwi, not sure) of fresh powder. After a traditional Japanese breakfast (rice, fish, pickles, raw egg, natto (fermented soy beans), and green tea of course), we geared up and made the convenient 10-minute walk over to the slopes. All of us took the gondola to the top, though we soon split up into groups and explored as much of the 3 mountains as possible for the rest of the day. A few of us found some brilliant off-piste runs, with powder so deep it swallowed you if you happened to fall. The Japanese (the best rider among the group), the South African, myself, and later the Kiwi also attacked an untouched tree run, which had a spectacular 3-meter drop-off we didn't see until we had spilled in the powder below. Racing through the trees on fluffy powder is one of the best rushes I've ever experienced...

After a full day riding, it was back to the inn for another nap and then a large, delicious meal prepared by the mother and son innkeepers. I'm not quite sure how the two of them kept up with all of their guests, especially with a group of loud, unruly gaijin. Anyhow, another merry evening followed, fuelled by the wonderful combination of onsen, good company, and choice beverages.



The snow was STILL falling when we woke Monday, though the skies cleared by mid morning. We had received nearly half a meter of fresh snow in the last 36 hours. Thus, we quickly ate another hearty breakfast and raced off to the slopes. I went to the snowboard park first with a few of the others, before the Aussie convinced me (correctly) that we were wasting good powder. Thus, we returned to the main mountain and one of the sweet, un-groomed runs. The powder was a bit heavier than the previous day, but there was twice as much. So, we spent the rest of the morning playing in it, and only stopped because our passes expired and we had a long drive home ahead of us in the afternoon. An absolutely fantastic weekend, and perhaps the best snow we'll see all winter...

A short discourse of scattered thoughts

Several evenings ago I was having dinner with a new Japanese friend. We were talking about Japanese culture, and I was trying to explain, in a mixture of languages, why I find it so unique--in particular, the Japanese sense of subtlety. However, there was some confusion over the word "unique". Japanese has imported many words from other languages, though the sense of them is sometimes changed a bit in translation--"unique" being one of these words. In the West, the word has a rather positive feeling--something is especially good because of its dissimilarity to anything else. My date, however (and I assume other Japanese folks), had a somewhat negative image of the word ("weird" perhaps), especially with regard to describing people. I was puzzled for a few moments, and then I remembered where I was. Japan. To differ completely here, to stand out, is to be seperate from the whole. Un-Japanese, perhaps. My friend had taken me to mean not only is Japanese culture "one-of-a-kind", but also that Japanese people are rather egotistical about their way of life, a point with which she concurred. I wouldn't go as far as to say Japanese folks are egotistical, but as a whole, the society does seem to have a "elite" air about it, though paling in comparison to American brashness. Yet, it is exactly the delicate nature with which the Japanese regard everything about their culture that I find truly unique.

Near the end of the date, we were walking through the train station and several groups of young, drugged by the West, Japanese hipsters caught my attention. There seem to be two fashion styles for Japanese youth, what I will call Mismatched and GlamRidiculous. The Mismatched folks dress to shock-- they wear just about anything, as long as it doesn't make sense with anything else they have on -- the more colors, fabrics, prints, brands, and accessories, the better. The Glam folks dress to impress--expensive brands, fake tans, $200 nail jobs, sunglasses all the time, rhinestones on everything, lots of white and lots of tight, and fabulous (whether you like it or not) hair. Anyway, I was getting a good dose of hipster watching when the irony struck me--all these young Japanese cats eagerly trying to be different and catch eyes, and all of them looking quite similar (to me at least) and well...very Japanese I suppose.

It's not just for dogs you know...

Two of the previous three nights, I've eaten raw horse for dinner.

aka Candlemas

I wasn't sure if Groundhog-san was even going to bother coming out of his hole today in Naruko as we had our first heavy snowfall of the year last night. There was about 8 inches on top of my car this morning. However, the sun has since come out, though the snow is still falling. The groundhog is likely to be as confused (about the coming of spring) as my students were when I explained the holiday to them today...

Tomorrow, February 3rd, is 節分/"Setsubun" or 立春/"Risshun" in Japan, a day that marks the end of winter and the lunar year (February 4 is the midpoint between the winter solstice and the vernal equinox). Folks throw soybeans from their doorways to drive away evil spirits, and shout "Out with the devil, In with good fortune!". I suppose it makes as much sense as Groundhog Day.

Christmas, sort of.

It has been nearly a month, but Christmas Day 2006 was indeed memorable so I will do my best to recount it here.

My friend Mark and I woke relatively early at our $7-a-night guesthouse in the small beach town of Mui Ne. Absent were any signs of Christmas--no tree, no lights, no presents nor stockings. Only palms, the nearby ocean, and a few nice smells coming from the adjacent restaurant which attracted us immediately. Though a far cry from my own family's Xmas morning Three Kings Bread tradition, we ate a hearty meal of beef pho, fried eggs, fresh French baguettes, and lovely coffee. Bellies full, we mounted our motorbikes and rode in to the village to check out the local market. The market was a collection of several dozen stalls, selling everything from meat and seafood to shoes, kitchenwares, toiletries, and the small plastic tables and chairs seen so often on sidewalks. The stalls mostly surrounded a central area covered by a blue and white tarpaulin, where ladies in the iconic conical (iconical perhaps?) hats sat on their haunches shoo-ing the flies off the fish they were trying to sell, eating from bowls, and jabbering spiritedly with each other. Almost no one spoke any English and all the Vietnamese seemed quite focused on commerce, but being the incredibly strange and outgoing characters that Mark and I are, we still managed to coax a few smiles and have a few laughs with several of the vendors.


After walking around for sometime, we decided to meander down one of the side alleys leading from the market area (and back to our parked bikes). We passed a small salon, where two young women and an older lady sat on the patio. We smiled and called out Xin Chao ("Hello"). They smiled back, returning a "hello" and called us over. Much obliged, we sat down on some of the tiny plastic chairs. We had exhausted our Vietnamese, and quickly discovered their English was little better, and yet between a few more smiles and pointing at things in our trusty phrasebook, we managed to begin a conversation. The young women had been snacking on fresh crab from a small pail, and immediately offered us some. In fact they even did the dirty work, removing the shell and passing us large chunks of crab meat. I don't even like crab and I must say it was delectable.When the crab was finished, out came the scallops, and when the scallops were gone, out came the fish stew and rice and before we knew it, we were having quite a wonderful Xmas lunch with three kind women whose names we could not pronounce and who we hadn't known 30 minutes before. The phrasebook was quite handy and provided much entertainment when the conversation died. We managed to teach each other some Vietnamese and English, though I do believe I forgotten nearly all of it. After the meal, the young women insisted we stay for a shampoo, head massage, and a facial. We did not quarrel. An hour and some 65 cents later, we bid our new friends goodbye, though with plans to go out for coffee later in the evening.


Feeling like kings, we shed our shirts, hopped on the motorbikes again and set off for a long afternoon ride, first along a beautiful coast road, and later just inland through terrain that was more like desert/savannah than the tropics/jungle I had expected. The sky was exceptionally blue, and the nearly empty road made for perfect conditions for cruising. After a couple hours, we stopped for a drink in a roadside cafe in a tiny village, well off the tourist beat. As we parked our bikes, a half-dozen shoeless young boys appeared, all flashing huge grins, a few of them brave enough to say "hello". As we sat down to a cold 333 beer, the 6 boys became 10 and crowded around us. They told us their names and we tried out some new words on them; I successfully communicated my age in Vietnamese, which drew some smiles. I also taught a few of them a secret handshake, of which they never tired. The final part of the handshake requires lightly punching eachothers' fists; the boys tried to prove their toughness (both to me and their cronies) by hitting my fist as hard as they could. Mark wowed them with his digital camera, which also provided seemingly endless entertainment. They appeared to me the happiest group of boys I'd ever seen.



Refreshed by a beer, a bottle of water, and about 1000 smiles, we got back on the bikes, allowing a few more final handshakes as we revved our engines and drove away. I too, felt about as happy as I could imagine, enjoying the late afternoon sun, the open road, and the tremendous vitality of Vietnamese culture. As we neared our guesthouse, we had an incredible view of the soon-to-be setting sun throwing a few of its last rays on the local fishing boats in the harbour.



Back at our guesthouse, we rested and got cleaned up. Shortly after dark, we returned to the salon to meet our new friends, whose names I couldnt pronounce in the first place and now cant remember. We'll call them Phuong and Thuy, two female names I do remember, but likely say incorrectly. Anyway, they were just closing up shop, and needed to get cleaned up themselves, so we accompanied Phuong to her family's home. Immediately we were invited inside and introduced to the rest of the family, which, besides the parents, consisted entirely of young women. While our "date" took a shower and changed clothes, Mark and I chatted with the father (a devoted Catholic who spoke a little English) and evaded politely as we could his offerings of engagement to his daughters. That is to say we accepted them with great laughter and smiles, hoping they were joking as we were! The youngest daughter, who was mute and perhaps still in her teens, seemed the keenest of the bunch and appeared ready to go anywhere with either of us. Luckily, Phuong returned quickly and within minutes, we had said goodbye, were back on the motorbikes and on our way to pick up Thuy. We had planned to just go for coffee but we were all quite hungry and decided on dinner instead. Phuong and Thuy directed us to a nice restaurant, with a 2nd floor that was rather like a posh treehouse. The waiter spoke some English and helped translate for bit, before disappearing to the kitchen to relay our order. While waiting for our food, the language barrier became more evident, and our conversation all but dried up. A phrasebook can only take you so far, we discovered. Yet, we still managed to have a few laughs and our feast orders of goat, crocodile, and seafood stew arrived shortly thereafter, to which we turned our attention. The croc was quite nice, though the flesh was quite fatty. The goat was absolutely delicious, though very very tough. The seafood stew, with scallops and shrimp and greens all cooked in a nice broth and ladled over "bun" (rice noodle vermicelli) was outstanding. Mark and I ate and ate and ate, and when we thought it was gone, they brought us more noodles and more seafood, though the latter we declined, for fear of bursting our bellies. It all made for a fabulous and most unique Xmas dinner.

Bill paid, we returned Phoung and Thuy to their respective homes, and then drove back to the more touristy part of town in search of nightlife, which is a story altogther itself.

Street Walker

The first time one goes out for a walk in Saigon, or perhaps on any street in Vietnam, is a test of courage. The sidewalks are always full, not just full of people like New York City movie scenes, but full of bikes, vendors, tables, chairs, etc. One oft has to step into the street to go around something. The traffic is constant; there are few traffic lights and zero pedestrian crossing signals telling when to walk and when to stop.

The first time I approached a crosswalk, I was quite unsure as to how I would make it across. A never ending stream of motorbikes blocked my way. I considered my options: keep making right turns and walk around the same block until I tire or, make a mad dash through the traffic, testing my speed and agility. I was leaning towards the latter, when a Vietnamese man walked past me, stepped into the street without looking right or left, and proceed to cross slowly, though without stopping or hesitating even once. I watched somewhat perplexed as another young woman on the other side crossed quite similarly. There must be something to this I thought, and decided to give it a go. As I stepped down from the sidewalk, I couldnt help but look right and left, though keeping my feet moving. I walked straight and at a normal pace, and watched in awe as bikes glided by on either side. The drivers didn't slow, but neither did they cut me off or infringe upon my walking space. Everyone seemed to have a great sense of spacial awareness and anticipation.



The more I walked, the more comfortable I became. One learns to walk deliberately, and trust that the other moving vehicles in the vicinity are aware of him/her. I found that stopping in the middle of the street, to let a bus or pack of motorbikes go by, was perfectly safe. Hestitation, however, was dangerous. If the other drivers don't know what you are doing, then they can't adjust. Go, or stop, but do nothing in between. I actually thought it was easier to jaywalk than to use the crosswalks, because the traffic was not so bunched, and therefore more easily navigated.

By the end of the trip, I had learned how to walk as if the traffic wasn't there at all.

Photo courtesy of Mark Barr.